Griffins are the pests of this earth. While dragons are more ferocious, griffins lack any sort of intelligence. They are carnivorous animals obsessed with feeding and do not sympathize with anything, even their own young.

Chapter Four

Griffin

Two days ago Merlin had been poisoned. His body was recovering fast. Magically fast. Gaius spun some tale about the antidote and Arthur, Gwen, and Morgana ate it up. Uther did not care.

His first day back at class was interesting. Apparently he had missed some inanely important lecture notes for Chemistry and would have to get them from Gwen. Gwen, of course, was happy to provide.

She walked with him to his French class, like usual. And something very strange had taken place while Merlin had been gone.

"Hello, Lancelot," Gwen greeted. They had arrived early to French, and Gwen was lingering. She had not lingered two days ago. She gave the professor her prettiest smile and swayed a little bit.

Lancelot beamed at her. "Lovely to see you, Gwen," he said, and he looked genuine. "Are you liking the book I gave you?"

Gwen's eyes went wide. "Oh, it's amazing!" she cooed, leaning on his desk with obvious flirtation. "Honestly, I love it. I've been reading it to Morgana because she's been so sick, but I just couldn't wait and kind of finished the whole thing." She blushed.

Lancelot lit up. "What did you think of the ending?"

"Oh, the ending," Gwen said, and her whole body said the word. "It was genius. And it made perfect sense! The whole thing is an allegory for Christianity."

"Yes, exactly!" Lancelot exclaimed. "Why does no one else see it? I've debated for hours with my professors over that book and they all claim it's embracing utilitarianism. But it's not!"

Merlin stood there stupidly, watching this exchange with utter confusion. He also watched their hands, which drew closer across the surface of the desk. And closer. They kept making eyes at each other, and it was so obvious it made Merlin uncomfortable. He turned and sat down and opened up the first book he found in his bag. His chemistry book. Good. He needed to study this anyways.

The rest of the class filed in, and Lancelot looked at the clock. "Oh, god, I've got to start class." He smiled sheepishly.

Gwen blinked. "Whoops. I'm going to be late then. Bye!" She spun around and hurried from the room.

Lancelot watched her go.

Merlin looked about at his fellow students. All of them were staring at their professor, who was grinning idiotically after Merlin's best friend. Beside him, Gwaine let out a soft whistle. "Well those two are shagging more than a carpet, if you know what I mean," he chuckled. "Or at least, they want to be."

"Don't tell Arthur," Percival cautioned with genuine pity in his eyes. "It'd break his heart."

"And ruin our season," Gwaine added.

It took Lancelot a little bit to get over his embarrassment, but soon he was enthusiastically spewing French and writing different verb forms all over the white board. Merlin let his mind drift. He considered Lancelot and Gwen and decided that was fine. He did feel bad for Arthur, though. The poor sap had really no clue about courting women, and Merlin learned a lot of what not to do by watching the mortal prince.

Eventually, Merlin's thoughts went to Cara, the witch who had poisoned him. Was it possible she knew he real name? Who he was? He should ask the dragon. Kilgharragh seemed to possess infinite knowledge.

But he probably had to be with Arthur after class, now that he was well. The prince usually needed "help" training, which meant that Merlin was going to stand in front of the goal and be pummeled by footballs.

Perhaps he could take a detour and—

Merlin blinked. Every eye in the room was turned to him. He straightened up apologetically. "Quoi?"

Lancelot looked at him, and Merlin could see the disappointment in his gaze. Rapidly he repeated the question. Merlin answered it easily and then tried to be more attentive.

"Sorry," Merlin said after class, feeling guilty. "I was just… daydreaming."

Lancelot shrugged. "It's all right. Really, it's not an exciting class." He smiled good naturedly.

Merlin grinned back. "So, Sir Lancelot, are you—?"

"Merlin!"

Both Lancelot and Merlin jumped. Prince Arthur strolled into the room, a book bag slung over his shoulder. It smacked against his leg as he walked. "What are you doing out?"

Merlin stared at him. "I'm… recovered, Arthur, I'm doing fine," he told him hesitantly.

"Recovered?" Lancelot inquired. "Were you ill?"

"Ill?" Arthur snorted. "He was on his deathbed. Get back to Gaius, this instant, else—."

"Gaius let me out," Merlin protested.

"What does he know? And did you just interrupt your prince?" Arthur scowled. Then he seemed to notice Lancelot. "Who are you?"

Lancelot blinked. "Lancelot du Lac. I'm a substitute for Professor Waters," he said routinely.

Arthur evaluated him, the anger leaving his eyes. "Are you?" he questioned softly.

The teacher swallowed and nodded.

"I don't remember your name on my father's roster," Arthur noted.

"Please, Arthur," Merlin interrupted. He could see that the prince was figuring it out and was determined to protect the teacher. "He's a good teacher. It's not his fault he's not—." He broke off and went silent.

For a moment, Arthur considered his words. He looked Lancelot up and down, glancing at the papers on his desk, before he finally looked at Merlin. "It's against the law," he said quietly.

"I understand," Lancelot stated. "I will leave."

"No!" Merlin argued. "Your birth should have nothing to do with your right to teach!"

"It's not just that, Merlin," Arthur said with a sigh. "My father is very particular about these things. He only lets nobles be knights, too. And often, would-be knights apply as teachers first." Arthur slowly lifted a piece of paper from Lancelot's desk. It was baby blue and thin, and Merlin could nearly see through it. "I can't just let this go by, Mr. du Lac."

"Of course," Lancelot replied. He reached out a trembling hand and pulled the paper from Arthur's fingers. "It was… just a boyhood dream, after all."

Merlin could not believe what he was seeing. In the Druid kingdom, mages were chosen based on their magical ability. There were nobles, and their blood usually ran better, but it was not a contributing factor. "Arthur," Merlin snapped, turning to face the prince, "he doesn't deserve this."

Arthur scowled. "I am not the king," he said firmly. "And until I am there is nothing I can do for him."

"Let him prove his worth."

"Merlin—," Lancelot tried.

"My father won't care," Arthur nearly growled. Merlin set his jaw and did not retort. Arthur looked to Lancelot. "I don't want to ask you to leave."

Lancelot forced a smile. "I know," he said quietly. He reached under the desk and produced a filing briefcase. "I'll pack up."

Arthur nodded. "Let's go, Merlin," he ordered.

Merlin did not move. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Lancelot extended his hand. Merlin recognized this as a mortal custom and shook it. "I'll see you again, I'm sure." He winked, and Merlin managed to smile. Then he and Arthur left the classroom in silence.

Arthur kept glancing at Merlin as they walked. Merlin was determined not to look at him. "Ahem." Arthur cleared his throat. "So, um, you're doing better?"

"Yes," Merlin said shortly.

Unexpectedly Arthur clapped him hard on the back. "Then I look forward to training later. Cheerio." He smiled and strutted away.

Merlin stared after him with disbelief. How could anyone be so arrogant? How?

Merlin had to run so as not to be late to his history class. He skidded into the classroom just as the professor was getting to his feet and buttoning his jacket closed. He looked startled as Merlin entered, and blinked at him behind his glasses. "Won't you sit down, Merlin," he said eventually. "We're about to start."

Nodding, Merlin went for the seat that was generally his, only to find it occupied.

The Lady Morgana stared up at him owlishly, as if she could not believe his presence.

"Merlin." The professor teetered on his toes.

Immediately Merlin dropped into the seat next to Morgana. He tried not to look at her as he retrieved his notebook and pencil, and focused his gaze straight ahead while really his entire concentration was on the sound of her breathing beside him.

What was she doing here? She had not been in the class when Merlin started. Her illness? Probably. Which would mean that Merlin had taken her seat, and not the other way around. But Merlin was happy to give up his seat to her. She was next to him, after all. What more could he ask for?

The entire hour Merlin was painfully aware of her every movement. Every scratch of her pencil, every tap of her index finger, every toss of her hair. He tried very hard not to look at her, but she seemed to be a magnet for his eyes. They kept drifting that way of their own accord.

The class ended and Merlin was no wiser on the subject of history. He did hear something about a test coming up, so he wrote down "study" in his notebook.

"Study?" Morgana noted, and Merlin jumped. The lady was leaning back in her chair, chewing absently at her pencil. She wore dark jeans and a forest green blouse, and her eyes seemed to shine.

Merlin had already forgotten what he wrote, and he had to check. "Yes, it's my to-do list," he stated matter-of-factly.

Morgana smirked. "Mine is the same, actually," she noted coyly. She leaned forward and took the pencil from her mouth, adding "w/ Morgana" to Merlin's list. "There."

Merlin's heart pounded like a horse's hooves. "But my lady," he began, "you didn't specify when." He straightened up, proud of his word choice.

The lady raised her eyebrows. "When would you like?"

"I'm bound to Arthur until seven."

"Then seven ten," Morgana decided. She smiled. "Come prepared." Then she stood up and picked up her bag in one fluid motion, and before Merlin could really register what just happened, she was gone.

Merlin had only spoken to four human beings before coming to Camelot: his mother, his father, his tutor, and Lady Freya Silverblood, because there had once been an idea to betroth the two that Hunith had vehemently opposed. Only his parents had seen him without his cloak. Merlin had not been allowed out of his room without his cloak, and really no one was allowed to speak to him if they saw him.

The only experience Merlin had with the outside world were books. Queen Hunith brought him dozens of books, and King Balinor was thrilled to let him read. So he read everything. And every social protocol he knew had been in the books he'd read.

Before going to Camelot, he had studied up on mortal social relationships so he would be prepared to interact with the people. He felt remarkably unprepared for a date with the Lady Morgana.

"Sire," Merlin began, then stopped, halfway through restacking targets. Today's training had been archery. Archery. It had quickly become Merlin's least favorite training.

Arthur pulled his archer's glove off and blinked. "What's the matter, Merlin?" he inquired. He put his foot on the bench to untie it.

Merlin hesitated. Asking the prince of Camelot about how to go on a date with his sister seemed like a very bad idea.

"How are—?" No. Don't ask about Gwen. Not after the whole Lancelot affair.

The prince looked at Merlin expectantly. "Yes?"

"Nothing," Merlin said. He put the targets up and turned around. "Will that be all, sire?"

Arthur frowned. "Something on your mind?" he asked teasingly. He strutted towards Merlin, and Merlin sought an explanation. Luckily, he didn't have to, for Arthur's eyes went wide and his grin fell. "Is it about Lancelot?" he murmured.

The subject of Lancelot had been nagging at the back of Merlin's mind the entire day. He latched onto this as his excuse. "A little," he admitted.

"Merlin, I really couldn't do anything," Arthur said gently. "Really, the best I could do was get him out of there before my father found out and had him imprisoned."

"Prince Arthur!" One of the knights, missing his suit jacket, appeared in the doorway of the weapons storage. "A griffin has been sighted circling the town."

Arthur straightened. "Clear the streets," he ordered. "Merlin, ready my bow." He marched back to his boots and put them back on rapidly.

Confused, Merlin grabbed the bow off its hook on the wall and slipped more arrows in the quiver by his feet. "A griffin, sire?" he questioned. "Here?"

"I think there's a flock nesting on the mountain," Arthur told him, grabbing his bow from Merlin, who followed him. "This is the third griffin we've seen in the last two weeks. The last one took a little boy." His expression was steely as he walked. "This one will pay for that." He glanced at the stables, put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled.

The stallion came almost immediately, galloping hard across the grass. It was missing its saddle, and its reins flopped about in front of it. The horse came to a skidding stop beside its master and clopped its feet as it waited to be mounted.

Arthur jumped aboard fluidly, as if he had done this his whole life. "Quiver," he ordered, hand out. Merlin gave it to him, and he slung it over his back.

"Are… are you going alone?" Merlin said incredulously. "Bareback? On a horse?"

"Better aim than a car," Arthur stated. "And hunting griffin must be done alone. Give it only one target and its easier." He kicked his heels and the horse sprinted off.

Merlin gaped after him. He looked at the stables. He glanced back at Arthur's shrinking form. Suddenly, he knew what he was going to do.

Getting a horse out of its stable was much harder than Merlin had expected. Mounting was nigh impossible, and since he didn't know how to saddle a horse he bounced along painfully as the animal ran at full gallop after Arthur. Merlin gripped the reins like a lifeline and spat mane out of his mouth.

Once again, the streets were eerily empty. He glimpsed eyes peering out of windows as he thundered down the cobblestone streets. Ominously, he heard a vicious shriek.

The griffin.

"Turn," Merlin said. He was hoping Arthur was in the square, the only place open enough for him to be properly exposed. "Turn!" He yanked at the reins, and to his immense surprise, the beast turned.

And screeched to a halt.

"Whoa horse!" someone shouted.

Merlin glanced around the head of his panting horse and could not believe his eyes. "Lancelot?" he cried.

The teacher was holding a suitcase, and wore a hat meant for travel. "Merlin?" he said in disbelief.

"What the hell are you doing?" Merlin snapped.

"Leaving. What the hell are you doing?"

"Saving the prince!"

Lancelot's face went from confusion to hope. He dropped his suitcase and appeared at Merlin's side. "Move over," he ordered. "I can ride a horse."

Merlin scooted back and Lancelot jumped up using a windowsill, landing in front of Merlin and grabbing hold of the reins. "All right," the French teacher said, and he sounded thrilled. "Hold onto me.

Obedient, Merlin put his arms around Lancelot's waist. The horse reared, taking him by surprise. Lancelot's hat flew off as the mare took off in a sprint, taking them to Arthur and perhaps their doom.

Above, Merlin could hear wings flapping. His heart pounded. Griffins were pests, known for picking off livestock with their treacherous claws. He did not want to meet those claws.

Lancelot egged the horse on, whipping the reins and making the animal whinny. As if in response, the griffin screamed.

They came barreling into the square, only to see Arthur riding in circles about the fountain, an arrow poised to shoot. Merlin looked up and there was the griffin.

It was bigger than he had imagined. Bigger than most dragons. Its body was gold, like a lion's, and its back legs pedaled uselessly in the air. Its head was the tawny brown of an eagle, feathered and beaked with beady birdlike eyes. And at its front were two sets of shining claws, more curling and menacing than dragon teeth. Arthur galloped underneath it, commanding his horse closer so he could shoot. Every time Arthur let loose an arrow, the beast let out a horrific screech. It was enough to make Merlin's ears bleed.

At that moment, Arthur happened to glance them. He did a double take and nearly fell off his horse. "Merlin!" he cried, shocked.

The griffin saw its chance and swooped down. A set of claws swung out, and caught Arthur across the arm. The prince let out a terrific cry of pain and was thrown to the ground, hard. The griffin screeched with victory and turned back sharply. It touched the ground and its claws pulled back. It hardly stopped moving. Its hind legs, useless in midair, pushed hard against the cobbled ground as it began its charge across the square.

Merlin's heart stopped. He tightened his grip around Lancelot. He barely heard the teacher urge the horse, hardly felt them propel forward. His gaze was on Arthur and Arthur alone. I have to save him, he thought. How can I save him? I have to—

"Ahredde hine," he breathed. The spell was like an inhale, turning his eyes gold for the briefest of instants.

The griffin-tripped. It squawked with surprise and careened over itself, tearing up cobblestones until it abruptly cracked its head on the fountain and went still. Merlin's horse reared in surprise and came to a halt.

For a long moment, there was silence. Then Merlin slid off the horse and hobbled over to Arthur, panic in his eyes. "Arthur?" he said, kneeling by his side.

The prince groaned and tried to move. The griffin had only caught his shoulder, and the wound did not look too deep, although it bled profusely. His first thought was to heal it with magic, but did not. He couldn't, not in the middle of Camelot. Merlin grimaced and remembered the pain in his own shoulder, profusely bleeding and incurable by magic. We match now, he thought bitterly as he pulled his shirt over his head and proceeded to tear it to strips to staunch the bleeding.

"You're all right, sire," Merlin assured him. "You'll wake up tomorrow as pratty as ever." He smiled.

"Merlin."

Merlin froze. He had forgotten Lancelot. Hesitantly, he turned around. "Yeah?" he said uncertainly.

Lancelot gazed at him hard. "I heard what you said," he told him quietly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Merlin answered immediately, his eyes becoming fierce.

Lancelot's mouth opened, but the words died in his throat. He paused. "I won't tell," Lancelot said eventually. Merlin's defensive expression softened. "Not a soul."

Merlin did not know what to say. He looked at him for a long time. "Thank you, Lancelot," he said finally, and he meant it. He smiled. "Let's get the prince to Gaius."

My sincerest apologies for the tardiness of this chapter. I'm in the process of leaving for college and it's very stressful.