Merlin brought Arthur to a stream deep in the middle of the forest. As Arthur washed, Merlin lay on the moss with his hands behind his head and stared up at the canopy. Sun peeked through the leaves and dotted the forest floor in tiny berries of light. It was daytime, still, even after everything that had happened. The two men did not speak, lost in their own thoughts.

Merlin thought about Gareth. If Morgana truly was his mother, that meant he was half-fairy, which explained his unusual skill at magic. But Merlin could sense other fairies—strongly—and he could not imagine that he had been within Gareth's presence for such a time without discovering that truth, magic barrier or not. But it was ingenious of Morgana to align herself with the humans in order to destroy them, and that seemed like her. He still bore the scar she had given him under his right shoulder; a near death, despite being magically stronger than her. She was a dangerous package of competence and cunning. And now, possibly, she had made a creature the world had never seen before and which Merlin could not predict.

Arthur thought about half a dozen things, and sometimes a dozen more. After what Merlin had told him, it was strange now to be in nothing but forest, surrounded by trees which still to him seemed inanimate and emotionless. But the knowledge made Merlin's anger at the corrupted Dryad more poignant. He wondered if the Dryad knew of its actions and grieved over the humans it killed. And then Arthur thought of how ridiculous he was, thinking any of this or believing it.

He thought of what to say to his council, and his men, and his allies. He thought of strategies. He thought of Gareth, and of Morgana, whom he knew little about beyond rumors. He thought of war and the battles he had fought, and the battles he would fight. He thought of Gwaine. It was what he least wanted to think about but his mind kept returning to it more than anything else.

When they returned to the castle, Arthur dry and in fresh clothes, the only remnant of their excursion was their inner turmoil.

Arthur dismissed Merlin almost immediately, though with a promise to talk later that night. He needed to gather his men and hold a meeting. Merlin was not as put out at the thought of a listless day as he had been before. He wandered the grounds for an hour or so, memorizing the maze-like halls of the castle. He watched the kitchens work until a sweaty woman shooed him out, apparently unperturbed by his revered guest status that the other servants bowed to. He liked her, so he left to please her.

He found himself in a place he had passed over the other day. A barren field—though calling it a field did poor injustice to real fields, Merlin thought. Next to it was another stone structure. The place had seemed empty and boring when he first saw it, but now there were strained sounds coming from within. He poked his head inside to find Guinevere attacking a fake wooden man with a sword. She wore the trousers and shirt Merlin had so far only seen on human men, and she wielded the sword with as much deft as a knight, not that a man made of wood was a formidable enemy.

Splinters of wood pushed to the side and Gwen's frazzled state indicated she had been doing this for a while. As Merlin watched, Gwen cleaved the current dummy in two with a grunt more akin to a scream. Then she leaned heavy on the hilt of her sword and glared down at the unfortunate decoy, panting.

She startled at Merlin's movement into the arena, stepping back as though not wanting him to associate her with the destroyed dummy. "Merlin," she greeted, still breathless. She tossed her sword onto the sand and wiped away the sweaty strands of hair clinging to her forehead.

"I thought woman of your kind were not allowed to fight," Merlin said. Most others seemed taken aback when he started conversation without a proper greeting, but Guinevere never seemed to mind. She did laugh at him now, though.

"Woman of my kind?" she repeated.

Merlin scrambled mentally to come up with an excuse for the phrasing. "Of your status," he amended.

Guinevere shrugged and straightened her chemise. "Before I married Arthur, I was a peasant. Not that woman peasants are allowed to fight, necessarily," she raised her eyebrows at Merlin, "but there are more leniencies for them. After my mother died in a war skirmish, my father was determined to teach me how to defend myself."

"How delightful," Merlin said with a grin. Gwen gave a tired smile in return.

"I am glad you think so. Few others do."

"Does Arthur?" Apparently, that hit a sore spot. Gwen's smile fell and she grit her teeth.

"That patronizing scoundrel…" she muttered.

Merlin raised his eyebrows, smiling wider. Up until that point, he had only heard Gwen speak of the king with gentle concern and love. He sat himself down in the sand and waved his hand. "Go on," he implored.

Gwen blinked at him, surprised, then her grim features brightened and she let out one of her beautiful laughs. She sat down across from him. "I wish others were like you. You treat me like a person, not a queen. Or a child." She sighed and picked up one of the smaller splinters of wood, drawing absent patterns in the sand with it. "Arthur knows I can fight. He pretends to appreciate my skill and opinion until it comes a time when it actually counts. Then he leaves me out. What burns me up most about it is that as queen, regardless of my combat skill, I should know everything concerning this kingdom. Instead he pats me on the head and shoos me away." She huffed and threw the wood down. "I have half a mind to challenge him to a duel. That might set him straight. Only it would reflect poorly on both our thrones, and our relationship. We need to be stable for the kingdom, now more than ever."

Merlin listened to her grievances, finding it difficult not to think about their very adventure mere hours ago. Arthur had disregarded her advice then, despite knowing her insight was true. But, as little as Merlin wanted to defend him, he thought he understood Arthur's annoying behavior. The man sought out truth and justice. Blindly and rashly, yes, but it was an honorable pursuit, and he seemed well aware of his own impetus. He knew of its dangers, and it was why he kept the ones he loved clear of its raging waters. Merlin was sure telling Guinevere any of this would set her mood sour.

"It is ridiculous," he agreed with her, since he did agree. "If you are in charge of the kingdom while he is away at war, how can you ready yourself and your people if you do not know what you are readying yourself for?"

"Exactly!" Gwen replied emphatically. She dropped her head in her hand and gave a pitiful sound, a sort of sighing whine, that made Merlin's heart twinge for her. "How do I make my husband respect me as queen, and not just as a wife?" Merlin had no answer for her, so he just sat in silence. They remained there for several long minutes, Guinevere lost in thought and Merlin lost in Gwen's features.

A scrawny boy wearing clothes too big for his frame interrupted them. He traipsed into the room and began picking up armfuls of broken wood and carrying them out. Guinevere paid him no mind, so Merlin left her side and stood outside the doorway to watch. The boy was dumping the wood into what he thought humans called a 'wheelbarrow'. When it was full and the sand was clean of debris, he wheeled it away. Merlin was about to follow when Guinevere's presence at the doorframe stopped him.

"Thank you for listening," she told him, her troubles seemingly gone and her face once again serene. Merlin thought it was a mask, like most humans wore. "I have known you only a couple days, yet I feel as though you are an old friend. I hope you will stay in Camelot a while longer."

Merlin smiled down at her. "I will stay, if only to spend more time with you." Guinevere blinked at him, a strange look coming to her eye, but she lowered her head before Merlin could translate it.

"Good, I look forward to more conversations," she said with an air of forced politeness, before she hurried away. Merlin watched her vanish into the castle, fighting the urge to follow. Instead, he set off the way the boy had gone.

The path took him into the city. It had been centuries since Merlin last entered a human city. Much had changed; a fair amount stayed the same. It was still crowded, smelly, and noisy. But structures seemed more elaborate, things for sale looked better made, and people exchanged uniform metal pieces for goods instead of the trade of items that Merlin remembered. He was greatly intrigued by this latter material, but his attempts to see them up close were met with astonishment and outrage.

He abandoned those efforts and wandered the streets for hours. At the onset of darkness, huge torches were set around the streets, and most of the population vanished into buildings. He took the opportunity of a dark, empty corridor to fly back to his bed chambers.

Candles were already lit in his room, and the platter on one of the tables had been replenished with fruit. He plucked a strawberry and popped it into his mouth whole. It was sweeter than the tart wild berries he was used to, but it wasn't unpalatable.

He opened the door but didn't get a foot into the hallway before a man apprehended him. "Sir, the king is waiting for you. I knocked and knocked but you did not answer, and the king forbade me to enter."

Merlin eyed the man, who had clearly been waiting in the hall for this very moment. Possibly for hours. He could not imagine how humans gave themselves over to ridiculous tasks so easily for another person, king or not. "How perfect, as I am headed his way," Merlin told the man, skirting around him and starting down the hall. "Did you happen to know where he can be found?" he asked over his shoulder as the servant followed.

"No, sir, not at this current hour." From his tone of voice, the man had in fact been waiting for a long period.

Merlin waved him off. "Then you are of no use to me. Go occupy yourself with something else." The servant wouldn't be dissuaded so easily, but after promising to tell Arthur that the man had found him and had a hand in sending Merlin to the king, the servant left him alone. Merlin found Arthur in a horrible little room with no windows and only three candles to light the space.

When they had parted ways earlier, Arthur had looked confident and determined. But the man who stood to greet Merlin looked exhausted and disheveled and at the ends of his wits. It did not prevent the sharp cut of anger in his words. "Where have you been?" he demanded. "I told you I wanted to talk tonight, and I have sent servants all over this damn castle searching for you."

"I went into the streets," Merlin replied easily, falling into a chair. He couldn't shake off his own fatigue, after such a day.

"Into Camelot? I would not think you'd like city streets."

"I didn't like them. But they were interesting enough, and at least I could see the sky. I'm sick of walls. And I wanted to see this 'kingdom' you and Gwen cherish so."

Arthur's eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't call her that. She is Queen Guinevere to you. And the kingdom is far more than the city of Camelot." Merlin shrugged and Arthur closed his eyes, leaning heavy onto the worn table beside him.

"I've spoken with who I could today. Thankfully your… artistry this morning has been lost in all this chaos. My men and I must completely replot the strategies for this war. It is difficult, when I cannot imagine Gareth's abilities. When I cannot imagine what lay in store…" Arthur sat in the chair across from Merlin and leaned on his knees, meeting his eye. Merlin did not like the earnest look he had, rather uncharacteristic of the king. "Teach me. About magic, about Dryads, about Morgana… whatever you can."

Merlin blinked down at him for a second before he glanced around the cramped room, mostly as an excuse not to keep looking into those blue eyes. He rolled his shoulders as though he could stretch out the unease he felt. "Very well," he acquiesced. "I will teach you. But I will teach you my way, and if you give one order I will cease immediately."

Arthur smirked, combing his fingers through his dirty blonde hair. Instead of straightening it, it only made his locks stick out every which way. "I will do my best," he promised.