AN: Sorry it took me so long to churn this one out. Too much to do and so little time to do it in.

Anyway, this one definitely is not the best as it's more subtle than the others (I think) so please don't hesitate to leave me a review if you think it's too subtle! It's been bugging me all day but I decided to post it anyway :L.

As usual, standard disclaimer applies. :)


Greed; the sin of all men, or so they say.

Arthur can't remember a time when he couldn't be described as greedy. Maybe it just comes with the life style, but Arthur's always expected everything. After all, he's entitled to it, is he not? He's nobility. No, he's more than that. He's royalty, the purest in the land.

Still, maybe Arthur should try and enjoy life while he can. After all, why shouldn't he? He has the rest of his life to worry about the country, his father, finding a wife... That is, unless he dies soon. All these responsibilities and Arthur just wants to be a boy.

Still, he knows that he could never give up his position, not after having grown up with a life of luxury. He's used to having everything handed to him on a plate, not having to earn anything other than the grudging respect of his father that Uther's not fully certain he deserves. Maybe that's why earning Merlin's friendship has been so important to him, why he's tried so hard. Someone finally believes in him. Now, he just has to believe in himself.

The feast is beginning and someone hands Arthur a goblet of wine. He downs it before taking another off the silver platter, catching his father's eye in the process. Uther frowns disapprovingly, his cold eyes stern. I wonder how far you'd have to delve into his heart to find a spark of warmth, Arthur wonders to himself, before smiling cheerfully at his father and raising his goblet in defiance. Then he empties it, the fire in his stomach warming the coldness in his heart.

Alcohol always brings out the worst in Arthur. It allows him to drop the painfully rigid shield he keeps around himself at all times, the illusion of strength and security. In its wake, it leaves fear and oppression, a miserable coward who can only dream of a better life. Still, with alcohol comes a contentment that's hard to find elsewhere. Arthur's tired of searching for something he can only find at the bottom of a bottle.

The feast is in full swing now and the guests are chatting animatedly, occasionally pausing to give the sombre prince a strange look. Arthur glares back, both defiant and broken, a mere echo of the man Uther was, the man Arthur should be.

Someone starts talking to him and Arthur fights to hold back a grimace. It's Henry, a recently appointed knight far too enthusiastic for his own good. He doesn't understand about the true cost of glory, not yet. He doesn't realise that every time he kills, you become more and more of a monster until your only satisfaction in life is this. This that is nothing.

Henry continues to witter on, talking about how Arthur is his idol and he's following his dreams. Arthur listens to him nonchalantly surveying the hall with mild interest in the hunt for more wine. He spies a servant, arms laden with several bottles, intent on weaving his way through the crowd to the exit. Arthur rises to his feet, before taking the goblet from Henry and gulping down the contents. He then hands it back, leaving the younger man with a bemused look upon his face.

A hand on his arm stops the servant who whirls round in surprise. Two of the bottles slip from his fingers and he can only wait for them to shatter. The crash doesn't come and he opens his eyes in confusion; there in the prince's hands are the two bottles, expertly caught. The servant holds out a tentative hand for them, fingers splayed, but the prince simply laughs and shakes his head. When the servant returns to the kitchen, he's beaten for stealing.

The feast continues and Arthur retreats to his corner, idly watching the world go by as he polishes off one of the bottles. Arthur spies Morgana dancing with one of his knights and a strange feeling of jealousy and protectiveness washes over him. He passes it off as brotherly affection and takes another swig of wine, wondering how it can be both his friend and his demon. It provides him with escape, he realises, but also with pain, pain he needs to keep him sober and stop him from going mad. It's easy to do here, cut off as he is from anything vaguely resembling normality.

As he drinks, he remembers a time when he had let his greed and cruelty get the better of him. He had been young, about sixteen, a flighty, conceited boy old enough to know better but too full of his own self importance to care.

It had been an accident, really. The woman hadn't known he was there, how could she with that great cart in the way? She hadn't meant to barge into him, to send him sprawling in the dirt. Her apologies rung in his ear, but he had smiled coldly and ordered her to pay five shillings on the spot. She hadn't the money, she told him. Very well, he had replied. Your necklace will do. She'd looked at him with frightened eyes, begging him to reconsider. It was her mothers, she'd said, but he took it anyway, so eager had he been to humiliate and cause heartache. What made it worse was that Arthur had known that he was in the wrong, yet he had punished her anyway, a little old woman too feeble to match up with the prince. Today, the necklace sits in his wardrobe collecting dust, the silver chain having grown tarnished and unsightly. The Arthur who had taken it had thought himself invincible. The Arthur he sees today is anything but.

Uther is chatting to Gaius, the court physician. Arthur watches them nervously, wondering what tribulations they are plotting, what secrets they are discussing. Uther has many secrets, and Arthur's tired of being last to know. A tall, gangly figure approaches Gaius and Arthur finds himself smiling for the first time since the feast began. Merlin. Arthur can trust Merlin with anything because Merlin is the one person who doesn't lie to him. The one person who believes in him.

Still, even Arthur is surprised that he's fought so hard to gain Merlin's friendship. The boy's only a servant after all, no one important. It's not like his opinion matters. That's wrong, Arthur realises, because Merlin's opinion does matter. It matters to Arthur. Arthur, who's used to having everything handed to him on a plate, not having to earn anything other than the respect of his father. Maybe that's why earning Merlin's friendship had been so important to him, why he's tried so hard. No. That makes it seem so fickle, almost as if it was a game to him. Arthur's tried because he's finally found someone who believes in him.

A tap on his shoulder makes him jump. It's only Morgana, her eyes bright, her mouth stretched in a tight line.

She asks him something about a glass, but Arthur's too lost in the soft lilt of her voice to pay much attention. She's the very effigy of beauty, he thinks before shaking his head. Of course, there are far more beautiful people but they are not Morgana.

Arthur stares at her with bewilderment as she hands him a glass. You drink out of it, she tells him, a mixture of concern and laughter in her eyes. Arthur scowls, purposely taking a long swig from the bottle. The alcohol burns his throat but he doesn't care. Finally, only a few mouthfuls remain and he decants the rest into the goblet, realising that with every drop of it, Arthur's pouring away a little of his soul.

Uther catches his eye, and beckons the prince over. Arthur sighs, rising too quickly and making his head swim. Momentarily, he has to clutch at Morgana for support. He lets go quickly, ambling over to the king's throne clumsily.

When he gets there, Uther pats the chair next to him, an invitation for him to sit. Arthur shakes his head and stays standing, unwilling to partake in the games Uther no doubt has planned. Arthur's father gives him a strained smile, this time thumping the seat so hard that several dancers look his way. He beams at them before turning back to his son, expression clouding as Arthur, ever the unwilling, sinks into the chair beside him. Uther immediately removes the empty wine bottle, much to Arthur's annoyance. He decides to seize another as soon as he can, not because he wants it but because he knows it will anger his father.

The dance is picking up now, though neither Pendragon nurses any desire to join in. All the false pleasantries and what will they have to show for it? Nothing other than grief, despair and regrets. And so they watch, the two generations of Pendragon, united by blood, but distant by heart.


Please read and review! :D All feedback is very much appreciated and I always reply (though it might be late as I have the memory of a fish :L)