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The lyrics in the beginning: Bruce Springsteen, In the Land of Hopes and Dreams

Chapter 3: Fools and Kings

Well, this train carries saints and sinners

This train carries losers and winners

This train carries whore and gamblers

This train carries lost souls

I said, this train carries broken-hearted

This train, thieves and sweet souls departed

This train carries fools and kings

Duke Bale of the Kingdom of Lauith was a very influential man. He had hands in about as many pies as nobles in the kingdom, which meant if he wanted something done he could make it happen. He had worked his entire life, up to his current age of forty, to build these ties. He did favors for certain people who told other people and slowly but surely, every important person in the kingdom somehow, at one point, relied on Duke Bale.

The King of Lauith, Richardson the Third, was no exception to this rule. In fact, he owes his reign as king to the Duke who helped weed out his older brother so Richardson the Younger could take the throne. For this act, the king owed just about everything to Duke Bale.

Duke Bale was no above using this to his complete and utter advantage.

"Your trade agreements have been revoked?" The King's voice, which the Richardson was clearly making deeper on purpose so it would echo through the marble throne room, asked. Duke Bale, who was standing humbly before the King nodded.

He clutched a letter in his. The letter bore the symbol of Camelot's royal court on it. The Duke had just received this letter a few hours before from a courtier who seemed rattled and late much to the Duke's annoyance. He had ripped the letter from the courtier's hands, read it, and made his way directly to the king.

The Duke looked at the king expectantly and Richardson the Third knew, if he wanted to keep his title, needed to help this man in any way possible. "I shall send a letter to King Arthur immediately regarding this issue."

The Duke smiled, bowed, and left the room.

"Prince Boyle of Hanom will be joining us next week to revise our treaty we made with the kingdom years ago, so I need you to clean out the room across the hall today." Arthur stated as he rushed about the room, trying to find clean clothes to wear. Merlin sat on one of the chairs around the dining table in the king's chamber. Gwen was absent having already left the room hours ago.

Merlin watched the king bemused. "Do you need help sire?"

Arthur growled something out but the sound was muffled by the shirt he was pulling over his head; his head sprung free. "No Merlin I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself."

"Now." Merlin whispered under his breath and ducked as a wayward pillow was sent towards his head. Arthur pulled on a pair of pants, put on a belt, and began heading towards the door with a smug expression on his face. He would reflect on this moment and realize that it was quite sad that he felt proud at dressing himself.

His hand reached for the door handle. "You're not wearing any shoes."

"Damnit!"

Merlin was ready to declare dust as his arch enemy at this point. He had been in the room for a good half of the day and the dust still was not gone. He at the beginning thought foolishly that he had quite the easy day, only having to make a room inhabitable for a prince; no one told him the room had not been used since Camelot was first discovered though.

He was pretty sure that he was inhaling more dust than actual air at this point. He was surprise to find his breath didn't come out as dust bunnies. It was everywhere too: in corners, on the walls, on the bed, underneath the bed, on the table, on the chair, in his hair, on his clothes, in his eyes, and in the air.

He sighed, pulled the cabinet further away from the wall, and was met with the sight of the wall behind the cabinet that was covered in more dust. He flicked the rag in his hand, pushed his sleeves further up his arms, and began scrubbing at the wall.

He reached to dump the rag in water.

He collapsed to the floor in fits as visions assaulted his mind.

'No, we must be smart this time Morgana; blatant attacks will not succeed.'

The voice of Mordred filled her head. It was still on odd sensation to her, being able to hear him clearly and yet knowing that nothing was actually spoken aloud. His physical appearance added to the odd things about him. He was taller, broader, though not broad enough to look like a warrior, his hair had grown little bit longer, and his eyes were sharper and filled with anger caused by the five years he had been left alone.

"What do suggest we do? We can't exactly disguise ourselves long enough to see inside the castle." Morgana did not want to try and see just how long she could hold up a self-changing spell in the very heart of Camelot. Mordred shook his head to that idea.

'We will plant someone on the inside. That is the first step.'

"Who can we trust enough to do this for us?" She rarely addressed him by name.

Mordred gave a small smirk. 'I believe your uncle is getting pretty bored.'

The scene shifted.

A shield came from nowhere. It was pushed forward and made a hard contact with his face, his nose cracked. He saw a flash of a tree, a tree he had seen before, and then he dropped to the ground. He landed on dirt, he was outside, and he looked up as blood began to trickle down from his nose. He saw Camelot's castle, rising high in the sky that was beginning to fill with smoke.

The scene shifted.

Guinevere was running down a hallway of stone. Her heels were clicking on the ground loudly and muffled the sound of her crying, but the tears streaming down her face were still evident. She was running away from something, something that she couldn't face.

There was nothing chasing her though.

The scene shifted.

There were houses, two rows of them. He recognized those houses, he had seen them before, he had walked inside those houses before; he knew who lived in those houses. He just couldn't remember the name.

There was a woman screaming. She was yelling something, they were words, sentences, but he couldn't make them out. Whatever she was saying, it was important to her. She sounded scared and determined. Her screaming increased and the voice sounded closer to him than it was before.

He turned to look, but his vision was blocked by the pillars of fire that erupted from the house next to him.

The scenes dissolved into reality. Merlin gasped in a lung full of air to try and compensate for the rate of his heart beat. His flew open, seeing but perceiving the area around him. His brain was still latching onto to the visions and his other senses were still trying to come back to the present.

His breathing was becoming more erratic as his body and mind stayed in the future. His eyes locked onto the ceiling above him, a ceiling that was recently cleared of dust. His mind clung to that and latched onto reality. His sense began to come back to him. His breathing began to slow.

He stared at the ceiling, afraid that blinking would break his concentration and he would be thrust back into his mind. His body was shaking. His injured side flared with pain.

His breathing was normal now. He took in a deep breath and sat up.

The door to the room banged open.

"Merlin!"

He turned automatically, which caused his side to flare with white, hot pain. He sucked in a pained breath and ground his teeth together to keep from making any sort of indication of his pain. He opened his eyes, which he hadn't realized he had closed, and saw Arthur standing in the doorway.

"Yes?" He was too tired and in too much pain to bother with titles. His voice came out more forced than he intended. He saw Arthur giving him a calculated look; most likely taking in him sitting on the floor, holding his side, looking like he just ate a lemon, and the room that was still messy.

"Why are you sitting on the floor?"

Merlin lied. "I fell." Arthur looked at him, hard. "I was cleaning away the dust and I breathed in too deep. I had a coughing fit, tripped, and fell."

Arthur knew his expression was caused by more than a simple slip. Then he put two and two together. "You landed on your injured side." Arthur just didn't realize that he should have added two, two, and two. "Do you need to go see Gaius?"

"No!" He practically yelled it. Arthur was taken aback. Merlin did not want Gaius or anyone to know. They would worry, which would lead to questions and then his lies would begin to crumble down around him. He would be left with nothing. "I mean, I don't want to bother him and he can't do anything about broken ribs, so there's no point." I'm beyond any type of help Arthur.

Arthur conceded. "Well I can at least give you the day off then. I'll get someone else to clean this room." Arthur walked up to stand next to Merlin. He offered out his hand. Merlin did not hesitate to take it. "Come on, I'll walk you back to your room." He pulled Merlin to his feet, who was still clutching his side on the floor. Merlin felt a sense of déjà vu.

"Should I ask George to finish the room for you?" Smirk.

"Ha ha very funny Merlin." Sour expression that was slightly fearful.

"There's quite a lot of brass in the room I'm sure he would enjoy it immensely, especially if you asked him to do it." Large grin.

They walked side by side out of the room and into the hallway.

"I wish we didn't have to rely on Agravaine." Morgana stated as she looked over her collection of jars. The only other person in the room, Mordred, was sitting still as statue in chair in the far former of the room. He had been in that position for hours, had not even opened his eyes and Morgana was unnerved by it. "I do not trust that man. He is only doing this because he believes its best for himself."

'I know my kin, but it is necessary if we want Arthur gone and Camelot to fall.'

Morgana gave up her search for the jar containing leeches and turned to face the silent boy-man in the corner. "Why? It's not like they can defeat us now that we have found each other. They have no defense against two sorcerers. The kingdom would fall." Frustration was clearly lacing her voice.

Mordred opened up his brilliant blue eyes to look at Morgana. His eyes stopped any movement that she was thinking of making; she was pinned to the ground and he wasn't even using magic.

'You don't know.'

"Know what?"

'Emrys.'

"May I present Prince Boyle of the kingdom of Hanom." The servant bowed as the Prince stepped into grand dining room. There were claps form the occupants inside in order to greet the traveling royalty. He was not a tall man, but he stood with the knowledge that he was above most adding inches to his height. His eyes were a hazel brown that swept over the joyful guests in an absent manner. He swept his shoulder length deep brown hair in a regal manner and took his place to the left of Guinevere, marking him as a guest of honor.

Arthur, who was standing, raised his goblet. "Let the feast begin!"

The people did not need to be told twice.

Merlin hated feasts. If there was one thing that caused him more grief than dust it were the damn feasts Camelot's court seemed to hold every week. He was busy during the entire feast running to and fro filling up glasses, getting new plates (which people broke!), and escorting out the too drunk nobles back to their rooms or a guest room if they were really drunk.

He was currently set yet another plate down for Lord Herald who continued to break them with his overly eccentric hand gestures, much to the amusement of those sitting around him. Merlin was not amused by this.

"Merlin!" Gwaine called from the other side of the table, holding up his empty mug. Merlin sighed, grabbed a pitcher from another servant, and made his way over to the inebriated knight. He reached the table and Gwaine clapped him hard on his back jarring his ribs and causing him to hiss. It been a week since he had fallen on them again, but they were still sore. Gwaine was too drunk to notice.

Percival leaned over Gwaine, grabbed Merlin's arm, and tugged him down onto the bench in between himself and Gwaine. "You need to stop serving other people and join us!" He wasn't as drunk as the rest but he was talking in a louder voice than normal giving away that he had downed a few drinks of his own.

Merlin smiled at the gesture and set the pitcher down on the table. "What are we having?" Gwaine clapped him on the back again and Elyan raised his glass in support. If Merlin had been a tad more observant he would have noticed that Lancelot was never at the feast and that Gwen had quit early from the celebrations.

"Is that your servant over there, feasting with the knights?" Prince Boyle pointed out to Arthur. The chair that was between the two men, the one for the queen, was unoccupied allowing for the two men to talk freely. Arthur followed Boyle's gaze and saw that indeed that was Merlin sitting next to Gwaine.

He shrugged. "It's fine." The next statement Arthur uttered was something he knew he should not say to other royalty because he had a few drinks and the words were flowing. "I work him too hard, he deserves a break." He rambled on not noticing the shocked expression on Boyle's face. "He's a good servant, really good, my personal servant. Takes care of me…"

If Arthur had been paying more attention to the person he was talking to he would off chosen his words more carefully and he would have noticed the odd expression that was now adorning Boyle's face. If he would have seen this he would not have let Boyle stay in his castle for as long as he did.

And that's the end of chapter 3

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