They stood, leaning on each other and the valuable wall for a few breaths, whether it was two or twenty Mithian didn't know, she was still fighting through the faint ringing in her ears when she felt Merlin's lips moving against her neck.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Mithian felt a tired smile pull at her lips; she carded her hands through his black locks absently. "Don't be, I wanted it too."

He shook his head against her neck, seeming to push closer to her, hiding his face in her skin. "We shouldn't have done that."

"I'm sure it's nothing that hasn't been done before by young people tired with the rules of courting."

"That's what…" Merlin pulled back, troubled eyes darting around the room. "Mithian, I can't court you."

She felt the cold absence of where his body had been a moment ago. "What?"

"You're a princess, Mithian. And Arthur…" Merlin shook his head running a hand through his hair, "I'm just the king's servant."

Mithian shook her head, straightening up from the wall, not quite believing what she was hearing. All the warm and sated happiness within her a moment ago draining suddenly, leaving her feel cold and grey. "You can't possibly be saying that your position is an obstacle. Merlin: the patron saint of true love. Arthur and Queen Guinev-"

"But it's different for them," Merlin interrupted, beginning to pace the room. "For one: the servant in this case is male. There is no possible way I could provide for you."

"You wouldn't need to provide anything for me," she implored, reaching out a hand to him. "I have a castle full of things I have no want or need for!"

Merlin stared at Mithian's outstretched hand. She could read the longing in his gaze and her heart begged for him just to take it. He took a step back. "I'm not my own man Mithian; I cannot just make decisions based on the whims of my heart and hope it works out alright."

"You seemed quite happy to follow 'your hearts' desires a moment ago!" Mithian raged, her blood bubbling to the surface of her face, tinging it red.

Merlin hung his head, hands resting loosely on his hips. "And I told you I was sorry."

Mithian felt like her euphoric afternoon and future were crumbling away from her, slipping through her hands like sand with no way to stop it and no explanation as to why.

"Please Merlin, we should at least... you can't just give up on this, on me, because of simple barriers."

"Simple?" he intoned, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "In what world do you believe that I would be able to afford the dowry your father would ask for you?"

"I'm sure Arthur would help-"

"Ask Arthur for money so his bumbling servant can marry a princess?" Merlin scoffed, an awful sound that made Mithian frown. "I think I know what his reaction would be to that."

"You think that Arthur would disapprove?"

"It doesn't matter Mithian because it. Cannot. Happen."

"My Lady?" They both whirled from their confrontation to see Clarrisa poke her head around the door, Merlin quickly pulled back from their casual closeness and his face backed up behind a cheerful mask. Mithian felt herself seethe at the sight. "I can come back later."

"No!" Merlin interrupted. "No need Clarrisa, I was just leaving. Have a good day princess."

He left. Mithian didn't watch his retreat, her eyes focused on the rose now littering her chamber floor. She listened to the door close in his wake.

Merlin's feet moved. That much he was aware of. They moved fast and unconsciously, taking his body further and further away from that room, what he had just walked away from.

He kept his head down, barely paying attention to where his feet were leading him, just 'away' was enough.

Then finally, when he couldn't take it anymore, he stopped. Perhaps he should have found somewhere hidden and dark with solitude but he couldn't go any further.

He rested his head against the cool stone and clenched his jaw. It was no use though. Tears began to leak from each eye, running unchecked down each cheek.

Being hit in the chest with a fire ball hadn't hurt as much as he did at the moment.

"Merlin!"

Merlin startled at Arthur's call, he swiftly wiped at his face with his sleeve, removing any tracks on his skin and turned to his king. He was sure his eyes were red with evidence of his sadness and thought his heartbreak so deep that it must show on his face. But, luckily the king was too enraged to notice.

"You!" he seethed, coming forward to Merlin, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and dragging him down the corridor. Usually Merlin would struggle, just for show really, but this time it was quite nice to be able to focus on the odd burn of his neckerchief pulling against his neck and the awkward angle.

"Running off without leave, to the tavern again I am sure, no explanation, no notice and I get saddled with George throughout my entire council session!"

"Sorry, My Lord," Merlin mumbled, eyes on Arthur's leather heels as they came one after the other into his vision.

"Well you definitely will be sorry after you see the list of chores I have for you."

Arthur handled him roughly over the threshold to the king's chambers, grinning madly at the thought of causing Merlin grief. Merlin couldn't really care what Arthur made him do, it couldn't possibly hurt worse than the pain he had just brought upon himself.

Merlin was glad for Arthur's extra chores, though he was aware of the king's less than pleased mood at his silent compliance to the mountain list of jobs that 'absolutely had to be done before morning'. But it was no matter. It meant that Merlin's mind was occupied and when he finally did meet the acquaintance of his bed it was late enough to collapse quickly into an exhausted sleep for a few hours before sunrise.

Not thinking about it helped.

After Merlin's experience with loss he had perfected this mind stance where he was present and could perform simple task required of his station, but his mind was shut down, a soothing pit of nothing.

It worked after Will, Freya, Balinor, Morgana, Uther, the dragon attack; the guilt and the grief were pushed away, far down under a locked hatch, the Merlin-shell walking around, but empty.

And it was grief; an internal emotional response to loss.

His heart had known the moment the words left his mouth what he had just given away. But it was over the subsequent days that his mind caught up.

Mithian was nowhere he could see. He used to bump into her at least once a day, either to exchange some words or just a smile, but either way he would follow her graceful body with his eyes until she would look back with a shy smile before disappearing from sight.

Now there was just… nothing. The same faces, the same chores, the same rigor and routine that he had followed every day since he arrived within the white stone walls.

He'd learnt enough from past experience to smile and poke at Arthur every now and then, but it was like a bright curtain had been pulled over the window to a dungeon, hiding the gloom within. Every smile he grimaced felt fake, every jabbing insult felt forced, but it got him through the day without question.

And he returned back to his chambers at night, which seemed even more sparse and small than the day before, and flopped onto his bed. Sometimes sleep came, sometimes it didn't, but he laid there until the first flecks of sun tinged the horizon.

Whenever he allowed his mind it would wander; to the pink rose on pale cheeks, to thin elegant arms wrapped in fur, a tinkling laugh like bells. He wondered where Mithian was, what she was doing, imagined her clever fingers creating a picture or flicking the pages of a book in the gardens, wondered whether she was feeling the same pike through her chest that he was. Then he would get the inexplicable urge to drop the gauntlet or sword he was polishing and find her and just grab on and not let go.

Then he would bite his cheek and force it all back down again, focus on the murky shine on the metal in his hands and wait for the day to be over.

Mithian's moods cycled like the seasons. The icy chill of hatred, the thawing warmth of longing, the burning feeling of anger, decaying into heartache, her joyous afternoon falling and crumbling like the autumn leaves.

But all the way through was the cloying feeling of disbelief, that she had allowed this to happen to her again. That she had put her heart out there, again, and it had been rejected, again.

It shot through her, a sharp sting amongst the ache in her heart.

It wasn't until she was attempting to avoid Merlin that she realised actually how easy that was, and realised how often she had actually sought out the servant during the day.

It made her throat go tight and tears sting her eyes.

It wasn't like Arthur. Sure she had felt embarrassment, and the hearty slap of rejection. But this was worse, because what she had felt had been true and warm and exciting, and mirrored right back at her, and then taken.

That cloying anger carried her right through until King Arthur's next hunt. Apparently, according to Gwen, it was a bit of a celebration, a sign to Camelot's people that the king felt comfortable enough leaving them to fend for themselves for a few days.

So the standard close circle of knights and their king rode out of the courtyard one afternoon. Mithian calmly ignored the servant on the mare at the back of the pack as she watched from the balcony with Gwen. The crowds below waved and wished their good lucks, Gwen smiled brightly by her side and the mood of the castle lifted.

That was until the group and their king were due back and there was no speck of red on the horizon.

Two days passed, then three. Mithian spent her time attending court with the queen, gripping at her hand when she saw it tremble, distracting her when she stared from the window for too long. But it was all a distraction, for if Mithian thought too longingly on what her heart was screaming she would surely join it.

Her nights were full of gasping nightmares, filled with lifeless pale faces and grotesque wounds hidden beneath brown jackets, waking bolt upright into Clarissa's arms, soothing her nightmares away. All the while thinking that these arms are too short, too slender to comfort her really.

It was nearing a week later when horse hooves in the courtyard sprung the queen from her council chair and down the stairs. Mithian stayed up on the balcony, peering down below with trepidation, afraid to get any closer.

She saw him ride in at the back of the pack and all her breath left her lungs at once, making her grab to the balustrade for support. She watched him amble neatly off his horse, leading both his and the king's to the stable. Her legs were moving before she even knew it.

Merlin was tired and he ached, but for him that was basically his primary state so he gently ushered the horses back to their stables, each going in happy enough, glad to be home. Merlin stayed for a moment, running a distracted hand through Hengroen's mane. The horses were quiet company, uncomplicated company, happy for Merlin to pet at them, sneak them an apple and be on his way. He blamed his distracted, tired state for not realizing he wasn't alone any longer.

"You're back."

Merlin startled, Llamrei snuffing in annoyance when his hand tugged harshly through his hair.

It was the first time Merlin had set eyes on Mithian since that night and the sight of her knocked the breath from his lungs. He had thought perhaps his brain had embellished his memory and made it brighter than reality, but seeing her stand before him now; she was more beautiful than his mind had remembered.

"Yes." He responded dumbly, belatedly realizing the princess had asked him a question.

"And you're alright?" Mithian's eyes wandered meaningfully up and down his body, Merlin knew what she was doing, searching for a hair out of place or injury, so he let his arms hang loosely and carefully at his side.

"We're all fine." He intoned in a reassuring voice.

"You had us worried." Mithian's eyes finally finished their travels and landed on his eyes. Merlin swallowed.

"I am sorry we worried you."

She frowned, her eyes zeroing in on something, and stepped forward, her hand reaching up to Merlin's face. He stayed stock still, not daring to move a muscle as Mithian laid gentle fingers against his jaw, her narrowed eyes fixed on the spot where her finger tips touched.

"It's just a scratch," Merlin spoke, his voice slightly strangled. Mithian continued to stare at the graze, her fingers running excruciatingly above his oversensitive skin, "From when we were riding."

Mithian's ministrations lost their focus, her hand just stroking absently at the skin where Merlin's jaw met his neck, sending shivers down his spine. Merlin didn't say anything, just happy to bask in this light touch that wasn't enough and all too much at the same time.

"I want to kiss you," she whispered after a moment, so quiet that if the stable hadn't been silent apart from Merlin's overloud breathing he would have missed it.

Mithian's hard eyes flicked up and into his, he felt pinned in place, like a butterfly through the wings. "But it wouldn't change anything would it?" Mithian asked. "You would let me kiss you, would kiss me back, and we may feel whole for a moment, and then you would go. To your life of washing and cleaning and I would go to my life of fancy dresses and court etiquette and nothing would change, would it?"

Her voice choked on the last few words and Merlin watched in pain as tears began to form behind her eyes.

"I'm sorry." He could say nothing else, nothing would change either of their positions, nothing would change his destiny and nothing could change the stinging pain. He opened his mouth to say more, a new variation on the same song but Mithian held up her hand for silence.

He obeyed and let her put valuable distance between their skin, until he couldn't feel the heat of her body clawing and calling for him.

"Don't" she spoke lowly. "I am glad you are alright, but just - don't."

Then she was gone. Merlin sank against the stable door for a moment before Llamrei reminded him of her presence, her nibbles to his hair a demand for apples and that he could at least offer.