"Did you check out the docks area, Merlin?" Morgana asked when he staggered into the kitchen.

"Good morning to you too," he rasped, voice unsteady with sleep.

"Did you?"

"No. I forgot."

"Merlin..." Morgana's voice was reedy with disapproval.

"It's Saturday, 'Gana. I can to do it later today," he muttered, heading straight for the fancy coffee maker Morgana blessedly kept full.

"You're on the front page again. The police hate you."

"Hate me?" This roused him a bit. "Why do they hate me?"

"You do do their job, Merlin," she returned wryly, biting into a piece of toast.

After half a mug of chugged coffee, Merlin dropped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. "Well, I wouldn't have to if they did a better job of it."

Morgana laughed. "You don't even believe that."

He ducked his head, muttering, "Maybe not, but if I have these talents, then there's no reason why I shouldn't be helping out, right? I can help, so I may as well do my part as a good citizen."

"Of course, Merlin."

He joined her at the table and yawned jaw-crackingly before sipping his coffee at a more sedate pace. "I did see more lights around the docks area when I flew near it," he said quietly.

Morgana looked up over her glasses, waiting.

"I didn't check it out, but I think there is definitely something going on there. I have this... this feeling that something's not right there. I can't really explain it, Morgana, but I—"

"I believe you," she said simply, lowering her eyes.

"Y-you do?"

She smiled at him. "Merlin. You've never lied to me. Not about anything important. So there's no reason for you to lie to me now."

His heart swelled. "Thanks."

"Plus you keep my flat tidy, organised, do my laundry, make me food, and do all of the things that I really don't want to do."

He rolled his eyes. "Glad to be your live-in maid."

"In return for room and board."

"You don't have to remind me," he mumbled into his mug, feeling his cheeks flush.

"Oh, Merlin. You know I don't mean it like that. I'm just ribbing."

Returning her smile, he hopped up to get his toast, spreading a generous amount of butter and marmalade on top.

"Merlin, with the amount you eat, I'm really quite amazed you're so skinny," she sighed, looking at him over the back of her chair.

"Must be the magic!" He chirped, returning to his seat. "What are your plans for the day?"

"I think some shop therapy is in order."

"Um...did you...want me to come with?"

"Yes."

"Ugh, Morgana!"

"You need a new suit jacket, Merlin. That one that you've been wearing to work is looking ratty."

"There's nothing wrong with it!"

She rolled her eyes. "I can find you a new one just like it. Don't worry."

"For three times the price!"

"All in the name of charity."

"Thank you, Morgana," Merlin drawled rather ineffectively around a mouthful of toast.

"You're welcome. Now you'd best get dressed. And have another piece of toast. We'll lunch out today, but knowing you, Merlin, you'll be hungry before long."

He scowled at her but dropped another piece of bread into the toaster before shuffling back to his room. Messy room. "Glân," he murmured, and the items on the floor hurried themselves into drawers properly folded and back to where they belonged. What was the point of doing laundry when things could clean themselves. He grinned, pulling on proper clothes, slipping his wallet into his pocket and rejoining Morgana in the main room.

"Ah, there's the Merlin that doesn't look like a hobo!"

"You know perfectly well that I wear respectable clothes all week," he retorted without heat, grinning. "I'm all ready for your shopping marathon." He snagged his piece of toast.

"Excellent," she replied with a toss of her head. "I need shoes, a bag, a new suit, and probably some new glasses."

"Morgana, you have eight pairs of glasses," Merlin countered as they made their way out the door and down to Morgana's car in the parking garage.

"Maybe even a little moped for you to make your getaways."

Merlin rolled his eyes, sliding into the passenger seat of Morgana's expensive car. "And we've talked about this, right? It doesn't matter when I can fly, anyway."

Morgana just laughed, pulling into traffic. "Merlin, I don't think you understand how amazing you are."

"Why...Morgana! If I didn't know better, I'd think that you were coming onto me."

"Sorry to disappoint, dear; you're hardly my type."

But Merlin caught her flushing, fingers tight around the steering wheel. He smiled to himself. "Just be sure we're home before six. I'll, no doubt, want a nap before I go out and stroll the streets," he said, moving into safer territory.

"Of course of course..."

He thought it was revenge that prompted Morgana to acquire so many bags, Merlin thought as he panted after her. As they made to step into the latest shoe boutique, Morgana raised an eyebrow at him.

"Really, Merlin? One would have thought that you, of all people, would be able to carry that many bags." She smiled smugly.

Eyebrows shooting up, Merlin suddenly scowled. The blasted thought hadn't even occurred to him. He immediately whispered a word and the bags were lighter. He grinned.

Morgana took a blessedly short amount of time in the shoe store before dragging him as promised—threatened—to a men's clothing store. She sighed and then dragged him back to a hidden corner of the store. "Merlin, can't you just magic the bags back to the car. They really won't help you here."

"Magic the—Morgana!"

"Just do it."

He glared at her and then looked around furtively before murmuring, "i'r car." The bags obediently vanished. He blinked. "I hope they ended up in the car..." He looked at Morgana, maybe allowing himself to be a little pleased by her rapt attention.

"I never tire of watching you perform magic, Merlin," she said with a smile. Then promptly grabbed his wrist and handed him over to a tailor.

After another hour of being told to stop fidgeting and stand still and stand up straight, young man, Merlin finally slumped into a seat as the stuffy old tailor brought out bolts of fabrics, Morgana eyeing each one as if trying to discern the answer to a test from sheer will. Merlin excused himself to the loo.

Or, he would have, except that he bumped into another person as soon as he managed to duck away.

"Watch where you're going, would you?" A snide voice chastised.

Steadying himself on the counter next to him, Merlin looked at the person he'd run into, a little bit shocked at the golden man's splendour. "Um. Hello. Sorry."

The man huffed and then looked him up and down. "Just watch where you're going next time, right?"

"Uh-huh," Merlin responded dumbly, feeling a little violated.

The man looked at him strangely and then moved past Merlin to talk to the tailor like they were old friends.

Merlin managed to find his way to the loo.

Morgana met him on the way out. "Are you alright, Merlin?"

"Just fine. I think I might..." he breathed out. "I think I might fancy men... A man."

"Merlin," Morgana drawled, "you're drooling, sweetie."

This drew Merlin from his stupor. "I am not."

"No, but you were about to start."

"Oh,..." Merlin stared at Morgana, thinking of all her fondness for him. And his for her. "I think... I think I still like women. And you're great. You're intimidating, but you're great. And I just... He was amazing, 'Gana."

"Merlin."

He blinked at her.

"I saw him. That was the chief of police."

"Shit."

"Mm. Come along now." She patted his shoulder and breezed by, driving them home. "As much as I hate to interrupt your sexual crisis, I would not get involved with that man. His father is the Mayor, and he's likely the one who put a reward on your head.

"Reward?" Merlin yelped as they re-entered Morgana's flat.

"Yes," she said mildly, removing her coat. "You didn't know?"

"Does my reaction suggest that I knew?"

"Well, just be careful, Merlin." Morgana smiled. "It's just for information, but still. You should be extra careful. Now go take your nap."

Stunned, Merlin made his way to his room, shut the door, and fell flat on his bed. There was no way he was going to be sleeping now.


Arthur spread all of the information about Warlock across his table. He'd just arrived home from the tailor. He needed a new suit for an honorary banquet that his father was hosting for the civil servants of the city. The trip was nothing new. Except for the bumbling idiot that had run into him. With big ears.

Arthur snorted and then promptly felt embarrassed for laughing alone. At the poor man whose ears stuck out too far from his head. He started laughing again. He really couldn't help it. He'd just stared at him, like he was some sort of delectable chocolate cake. Or something. He shuddered briefly. Nature really had been unfortunate to some people.

Sighing, he pulled the Chinese carton closer and stabbed randomly at the contents while he perused the facts again. Nothing useful had come in about Warlock. He saved people. He did good deeds. He frowned, stuffing a forkful of food in his mouth.

After an hour of looking through the information, Arthur realised that he didn't know much more. Warlock was young, had dark hair, wore a mask, some ridiculous outfit, carried a staff, looked like a dandy, was kind, skinny, soft-spoken, and tall. About 1.83 metres. About his height. A little taller, one man said. The man was obviously skilled at hiding his identity and being subtle if no one knew anything about him other than demeanour and appearance. And a 6 foot tall, skinny, dark-haired man was not enough of a description was nothing to go on. There were hundreds of those in Camelot.

Dropping his head to the table he was actually relieved when Leon called wanting to know if he was interested in going to a pub where 'a really great local band is playing.'

"Sure. Which one is it?"

"The Grey Maiden. Corner of Abthfer and Guiding Avenue."

"Be there shortly." Arthur hung up and stripped off his lounge clothes into something more appropriate, finally pleased with a tight pair of jeans and a soft red t-shirt that hugged his chest and arms.

"Leon!" Arthur said with a smile as he clapped his friend on the back.

The man turned and looked up at him. "Arthur. Good to see you. Good to know even the law can take a night off."

He grinned. "Of course!"

"Brilliant. I wanted you to meet Nimueh." He gestured to the woman sitting next to him, all smiles and dark hair and beauty.

He held out a hand. "Pleasure."

"Pleasure's all mine," she smiled gently, shaking his hand.

"She's just moved here," Leon said, his arm resting easily around her shoulders.

"Oh? And what brings you to Camelot?" Arthur asked, sliding onto the bench across from them.

She smiled and Arthur learned that her parents died recently, so she moved from a small town in the Islands to Camelot for better job opportunities. She loved the colour red, was into tarot, and hated chips with a passion. But she was keen for beer. So it flowed for the three of them until Arthur glanced at his watch and rose unsteadily.

"I need to be getting home," he slurred.

"You going to make it, mate?" Leon asked, voice just as slurry.

"Yes..." Arthur swayed. "I'll be...just fine. Catch a cab back. Nimueh...s'lovely to meet'cho."

"Lovely to meet you too!" She replied with a smile and a wave.

Arthur staggered out of the pub, trying his honest best to walk straight, stumbling a little into a lamp post. He decided that was as good a place as any to try and regain his equilibrium. He glanced up at the moon, frowning when a blue light streaked across the sky. A figure. A person.

He scoffed in his head. People don't fly.

Unless they're magic! Sobering quickly, Arthur took off, loping down the pavement, trying to follow the figure in the sky. He had a little blue light with him—that wasn't very subtle, so it made him easier to follow in the darkness.

Nearing the docks, the suspicion grew louder in his mind and wilder in his heart. The docks had always been a problem area, especially after dark, so it would make sense that the mysterious figure—presumably Warlock, would be involved. He slowed when he buildings grow shorter and further apart, taking on the attitude of a casual person walking home after work. The docks soon stretched before him, imposing towers of shipping canisters like mountains, making Arthur shudder against the sudden chill of the wind off the water.

He skulked through the shadows, wishing he had his gun on him, feeling the last of the liquor fade in his blood. Small lights bobbed in the distance—torches? Clearly, there were people there. He could catch no hint of the dandy-figure, no blue light from the staff amongst the golden lights, however. Frowning, Arthur crept closer, trying to hear some of the words, cursing as his foot knocked a stack of empty cans. He turned and fled back into the shadows, not waiting to see if there was anyone after him. It was only when he was four blocks away that he paused and checked behind him. Nothing.

Arthur cursed and then pulled out his mobile to call for a cab.

He got back to his flat and promptly passed out in his bed.