A/N: here it is, somewhat late, but it is the Easter holidays; and strangely enough I found that my children don't take too kindly to it if I spend whole days pondering over, and writing away at, my little story. ;) But here it is. It could do with a little more action, perhaps, but my wounded heart needed this confrontation very badly. I hope those among you who share my weak spot for Sir Leon will be pleased. Also, I want to thank you for your continued support – your reviews really are very, very special to me – so please keep sending me those easter eggs! Happy Easter!

CHAPTER 11 – Sir Leon Speaks Up

When Merlin finally sighted the lights of Camelot's castle keep shimmering at a distance, a pale moon had already risen, and he was beginning to feel the exertions of the day; a fact that went not unnoticed by his mount, who kept trying to use his loosening hold on the bridle to slow down to a more relaxed pace. Sighing, the young man concentrated, willing his magic to release its pure, golden energy into his bloodstream, then sat up straighter and shifted his weight into a more alert position, clicking his tongue. With a resigned shake of his large head – clearly a horse equivalent of a sigh – the animal took up a brisk canter again.

"Good boy! That's better," the warlock told him soothingly in that special voice, several semi-tones lower than his already quit deep natural tones range, that he'd always adopted with the Camelot horses on his many trips with Arthur, and which made them follow him more willingly than most of their other handlers – although according to Gwaine, that was because as the only servant in the crew, it was him, more often than not, who fed and watered them. "You'll get a large bucket of oats in Camelot, I'll see to it, but we have to keep going," he added, because it felt good to talk to someone, even to a horse. The gelding gave a low snort and pricked his ears as if to indicate agreement, and galloped faster, earning an approving pat on the neck. Although Merlin's body was hurting in every imaginable place, from his lie-in on the rocky ground of the Crystal Cave and the ride on Aithusa's hard, scaly back, he wished to get to the city as fast as possible. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time, and besides, it was long past the hour he had said he would return, and he was sure that Gaius was anxiously pacing the length of his room by now, awaiting his arrival.

Half an hour later, he nodded to the guard on duty at the lower city gate, and was allowed to pass without difficulty. He felt thankful for that, as he had half feared to be detained, but then deliberately staying away from the King's last rites hardly was a punishable offence, though certainly bad manners; the latter point, he thought, being proven when he rode up the main market street leading to the keep. He was well known in the city as Arthur's manservant, and, contrary to his numerous predecessors, also generally well liked. In a castle that employed as large a staff of help as Camelot did, the dealings between the nobility and their servants couldn't remain private for long, and it had soon become common knowledge all over the town how the prince's new serving-boy, that underfed lad from Ealdor, wasn't afraid of confronting his master when the hot-headed young prince had once again overshot his mark, whilst showing a loyalty to him that went far beyond what could be expected from a servant. So he had usually, in his comings and goings, been greeted amiably and with respect by the people who passed him in the street.

Now, it was different. The few scattered citizens who still were out and about just stared at him, wide-eyed and mute, accusing him silently, or so it seemed to him; although if he had had the heart to look closer, and not to avert his eyes when someone fixed his gaze upon him, it might have dawned on him that they were watching him not with contempt, but with curiosity, mingled with sadness, and great pity.

Keeping his head down, he made for the citadel at a speed that was the tiniest bit too fast for the uneven cobblestones and the nightly gloom in the narrow street, glad to reach the main gate to the keep. He slowed his horse down with a pull at the reigns, not wanting to disturb the heavy silence that hung over the courtyard, and glanced over to the still smoldering remains of the funeral pyre. So the spectacle was over. Good. One thing less to distract him from unriddling what exactly had happened to Arthur, if it wasn't death, and how he could bring him back.

A click of his tongue sent the gelding off to the moonlit stable yard without any steering effort on his part. The main barn was dark and deserted, all the grooms apparently having left for the night, which suited Merlin's need for haste just fine, but just when he reined in, the stable door opened with a creak and a familiar, curly-haired figure emerged from the building, torch in hand, wearing full knight's array and a tired expression on a lightly bearded face that lit up when he recognized the individual in front of him.

"Merlin! Thanks to the heavens!" Sir Leon exclaimed with palpable relief in his voice. "Where the devil have you been? I've been looking for you all over the town and Percival too! We feared you might have done something stupid!"

Merlin stared at him; both touched by the knight's concern and at a loss for words, as he didn't have the slightest idea what excuse Gaius had come up with to explain his absence. Leon, however, just smiled and took hold of the gelding's head-collar so the young man could dismount with ease, and when he had done so, Leon handed him the torch, grabbed the reins and led the horse off towards the stable, saying, over his shoulder, "Come, I'll help you unsaddle. The stable boys are all off to bed already – or to the taverns, more likely, to commemorate their king's last rites, and I wanted a word with you."

The warlock hesitated, not wishing to waste any more time, but remembering the kindness with which Arthur's second-in-command had welcomed him back from Avalon, a grieving wreck, and reckoning that a quick talk with him wouldn't make that much of a difference either to Gaius or to his…project, he followed the older man.

Leon waited at the stable door, tossing his head forward to indicate that Merlin was to go first and light the way, and went into the building behind him, where he fastened the torch in one of the holders that had been nailed to the wall.

Silently, they freed the gelding of saddle and harness. Sir Leon carried the gear into the tack room while Merlin hastily rubbed down the animal's sweaty flanks and directed it into a free stall. He had just drawn fresh water from the well outside and presented the horse with his promised bucket of oats when Leon reappeared carrying a large armful of hay, which he handed to Merlin. Watching the longtime servant stuff the sweet-smelling dried grass into the hayrack, he cleared his throat, and asked, casually, "So, Gaius said you didn't feel up to attending the rites today, did you?"

Merlin continued arranging the hay and answered without looking up, trying to make his voice unsteady. "No… not quite. I'm still…I had to be alone. You understand. He…he was my friend."

Leon snorted. "You've never been a good liar, Merlin, in spite of the great secret you kept all these years. You are his friend, his best friend even, all right, but you were never one to shy away from death. Percival was worried that you might...be considering violence against yourself. But I know you better than that. You would never leave everyone who cares about you without as much as a goodbye. And you wouldn't have missed Arthur's last farewell without having a very good reason. Now, I'll ask again, and you can answer truthfully. What is this reason, and where were you today? Gaius refused to tell me when I confronted him after the ceremony."

Merlin now faced him, although his eyes were dancing nervously from side to side in embarrassment. "Gwen told you about me then?" he asked hoarsely.

The knight raised his chin, assuming his signature stance of reassuring gravity, but his soft blue eyes, usually so pale, were shining with a subdued fire when he responded. "Oh yes, she did. Not everything, surely, there wasn't enough time for that. But from what I've heard, without you, Camelot wouldn't be what it is today, and the King would have been dead long before. Strictly speaking, I don't even need to know that. I may be not the not the most quick-witted of knights, but I'm not blind either, nor deaf, for that matter. I've seen you at Arthur's side all these years, Merlin, and I've seen with my own eyes how you looked at him – as if there wasn't anything at all of consequence to you in this world, except him; and I've seen how he trusted you more than anyone else – and rightly so - even if he tried hard to conceal that fact. That's all I need to know." He unlatched the stall door to let the warlock out, but Merlin didn't move, his narrowing eyes now locking with Leon's.

"But I'm – I'm a sorcerer. Doesn't that bother you at all? How I deceived you all about who I really was?"

Sir Leon shook his sandy head sadly, without breaking eye contact. "I readily admit that I don't know the first thing about sorcery, but I know you. You're a good man, Merlin. One of the best and noblest I've ever known, if truth be told; a good man forced to hide who he was because the circumstances left him no choice. And if a man like you practices sorcery, then it has to follow that just maybe, it isn't the purely evil force I have been made to believe it was." He smiled apologetically, a sad, small smile, full of regret. "Maybe Uther was wrong. I'm almost sure he was. Arthur trusted you in the end, even when he knew, Guinevere said." He straightened. "And so do I. I wanted you to know that."

The skin over Merlin's sharp cheekbones stretched ever more tightly as his facial muscles worked and twitched and he gazed upon the man before him: mild, honest face; gentle eyes; but hardened body, unfearful heart, and undaunted spirit, his steadfast companion of many adventures, and saw in him, that moment, in that humble, dusty horse stable, everything a knight of Camelot was supposed to be, everything Camelot stood for. He saw Gwaine's strength and gallantry; he saw Elyan's calm confidence and desire for justice; he saw Lancelot's heroism and unselfish devotion; and he also saw Arthur's honour, and valour, and compassion, and the friendship he had carried in his heart for his lowly servant. He stepped out of the stall, fastening the door behind him, and with his head tilted slightly forwards, the torchlight painting blazing patterns on top of his shiny black hair, he nodded to Leon in somber acknowledgment. "Thank you, Sir Leon. It's good to know we're still friends," he said slowly, but with a sparkle in his eyes, which now were the deep, bluish-black colour of fresh ink, "though you need to be careful. It seems that whoever befriends me risks early and violent death."

A tiny grin crept onto Leon's face, and he clapped the younger man lightly on his back. "I think I can deal with that. Risk is my second name. I'm a knight of Camelot, after all. Now, back to my question: where have you been, on horseback? What is going on here? And please don't tell me you went gathering herbs."

Merlin regarded him tentatively, knitting his hands. Going on here? What is he talking about? How can he know…wait. What had he said…? "you are his friend"? Not "were"?! Then it hit him. Something must have happened while he had been away, something out of the ordinary. Something that had made Leon suspect that all this about Arthur was not how it seemed. Something maybe… to do with magic?

The knight kept looking at him with his open face, an encouraging half-smile playing around his delicately drawn lips, and nodded almost imperceptively.

All at once, Merlin was sure that he could trust Leon with his secret hope, that he could be a much needed ally on his quest to save Arthur, but in spite of his new resolution to act openly, he was only too aware of the fact that it wouldn't be able to act in any way whatsoever if he was thought to have lost his senses, and taken into custody. And it felt so strange to actually enlist help! Always he had acted on his own, with Gaius his sole, overly cautious advisor, and though he had been very lucky most of the time, almost nothing had ever really gone exactly as planned. If there would ever be a time to stop carrying his burden alone, then, surely, that time was now?

He took a deep breath and looked at Leon sideways, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks, eyes dancing again, unable to master the self-consciousness that still took hold of him every time he spoke openly of his secret, and to the people he had lied to for so long. "I went to see a dragon," he said simply.

He wasn't sure what he had expected, but certainly not Leon's fist punching the air in triumph.

"Morgana's dragon! Right? So there is something going on. You went on an errand. I knew it." They were now standing opposite each other. Leon laid a hand on one of Merlin's bony shoulders, drawing him nearer, and continued in a lower voice, "Listen. I've been having…doubts."

Merlin looked at him with his eyebrows raised. "Doubts?" he repeated quietly.

Leon let his arm fall to his side again and said, haltingly, "I'm not quite sure how to phrase this, but my guess is that you are thinking along the same lines. Arthur. His death. It seems all so strange, so far out…when you came home without him, I couldn't believe it at first. No body, no proof at all for what had happened to him, save for Gaius' word, and your blatant grief. Everyone knows how much you loved him –" Merlin looked down, his stomach clenching with sudden pain at these words – "so there could be only one sane conclusion, but after today I'm not so sure."

The warlock's head jerked up. "What happened?"

Leon cleared his throat, throwing a quick look over his shoulder as if to make sure they were indeed alone, before he answered. "I saw him. Arthur – his face, I saw his face at the funeral. Not really in the flesh. It was a reflection in the polished surface of a shield." He stopped, trying to read the younger man's face for a sign of disbelief or ridicule, but Merlin just looked at him attentively, waiting for him to go on, so he recounted, in his calm fashion, but with many nervous little gestures, how the large raven had appeared like a black flash out of nowhere to steal the physician's eyeglasses, and how for the fraction of a moment he had seen the dead king's face looking out of the shield, not like a vision of a man deceased, but the strained, worried face of a man who's been pushed to the limit, but very much alive, moving his lips, pleading, soundlessly forming words that Leon, in his shock and bewilderment, couldn't decipher, and the ruckus that had ensued among the people gathered in the courtyard, so that it had been nearly two hours before the ceremony could proceed as planned. "Many had seen the face in the shield; others even the body belonging to it. Needless to say that most of the simple people, superstitious as they are, at once declared it a message from the otherworld, their King's Last Goodbye, while the other half tried to take immediate measures against the evil eye. It was pure chaos, screaming and shouting everywhere, people running blindly into each other. The castle guard had their hands full restoring peace and quiet again, and it was only when the Queen addressed the people, reassuring them that it was nothing more than a trick of the eye, brought on by a combination of their fasting in the King's honour, the brightness of the sun, and a clever, cheeky bird, that folks calmed down. Guinevere," he added in response to Merlin's inquisitive glance, "had been standing with her eyes closed, lost in grief and memories, so she could easily dismiss the whole occurrence. But I know what I have seen."

"The raven! Of course! I knew it was no ordinary bird," Merlin muttered to himself. He had been listening to the knight's tale with waxing excitement. This had to be the clearest sign that had been sent so far, with exemption of his vision in the Crystal Cave, and the most exciting thing about it was that this time, other people had seen it, many people, and people whose word carried weight, like Leon's. "There was a raven that kept following me around these past days," he said aloud, for Leon's sake, who nodded.

"It surely was the same bird. – Well, it had come to my ears that you'd had another fainting fit in the Queen's chambers, and I somehow couldn't believe that you were still so weak just from grief. I know how tough you are, in spite of your scrawny looks." He grinned, though immediately becoming serious again. "When I heard Gaius lie about you being too sick to come – which I didn't buy for one minute, by the way – I had two of the knaves, boys I trust, enquire after you around town while Percival and I searched the castle, and they found out that you had been given a horse and departed west in great hurry. So I was sure you were up to something. As in truth you were. Merlin…," his voice trailed off.

"Yes?" the young man gave back, although he knew what had to be coming, but experience also told him that certain matters were better not rushed, and trying to come to terms with magic was definitely one of them.

"I don't know much about sorcery…about magic, I should say." Sir Leon shook his head regretfully, "I'm just a warrior – I know how to wield a sword and not much more. But it seems to me…the way Gaius said the King died – a sword forged – in a dragon's breath – it seems to me that this was no ordinary death. And maybe, from what I saw today…" The knight's voice dwindled to nothing more than a whisper as he faced the warlock. "Maybe it wasn't…"

Merlin was standing perfectly still, only his arms spread slightly to steady himself against the vision of the world spinning and whirling around his body. He could literally feel his posture straighten, the weight on his shoulders lighten, the tiny creases around his eyes smoothen. A warm tingling in his stomach seemed to travel through his veins into his arms, and his hands, until his very fingertips were prickling with the potency of his gladness that for once, he didn't have to take on destiny alone.

He stepped still closer to the knight. Now it was his turn to lay his hand lightly on the other man's shoulder as he finished, slowly and clearly, the sentence that was floating between them. "Maybe it wasn't death at all."

Sir Leon reached for his own shoulder and clasped the slender white hand that was resting on it with a strong grip, but Merlin was shocked to find that it was shivering ever so slightly. Never before had he seen Camelot's second-in-command display even the slightest sign of fear, but when he spoke, his voice had a distinct tremor to it, too. "Arthur is…alive, then? But…ensnared…by evil sorcery? Is that it? Merlin?"

What do I tell him? How can I even begin to explain? I know so little yet! "It is something like that, yes," Merlin began carefully. "I won't lie to you, I don't know exactly what happened, but I…I believe that Arthur either didn't truly die, although I would swear he was dead when I left him – or else that the creatures who live in the lake – the Sidhe, whom I was supposed to take him to so he could get healed – that they did truly find a way to heal him, but not entirely, something's lacking, they…", he removed his hand from Leon's shoulder, making fists while he spoke, so carried away by the ideas that were coming to him that he hardly noticed that he was talking aloud, "that's it! They need our help, my help to complete the healing. The tears…! – I –I must speak to Gaius, it's – we – ". He started to run towards the door, opening it with a golden flash of his eyes, but remembered where he was and with whom when he almost knocked down Leon. "Sorry – I'm so sorry, it's just – I think I know now –". The knight stared at him, bewildered, and – Merlin thought guiltily – even more frightened than before. He ran his long fingers through his shock of thick black hair with erratic movements, pulling at it, searching for the right words to break down a lifetime of magic in a few short moments, but as he couldn't think of any, he settled for concentrating on what mattered right now.

"Leon, I'm sorry. I'm a bit…I'm not myself right now. Look, you don't need to fear me. I know it's hard to understand what's going on. I really believed Arthur was dead, yes. But I was wrong. I'm not sure why I didn't notice that he wasn't, I guess it was all too much – I was a hopeless bundle of grief and guilt. It interfered with my… magical senses, I think," – he could feel his cheeks blaze with crimson heat at these words, "but so I thought I was too late. Only I wasn't. I can't explain to you how I know, but I can sense Arthur's presence. The white dragon, which I sought out today, does so too. I think I know what happened to him, but I'm not sure yet, that's why I need to speak to Gaius now. I'm sure I can piece this riddle together with his help. I – we – need information, and quick. We –"

"I can help with that," Leon interrupted.

"You believe me, then?"

"Yes. Of course I do. And I'm not afraid of you, Merlin; it's just strange to see you like this – your eyes… You're carrying a power you never had before."

Merlin chuckled. "No, it was only hidden. It was always there to see, you just didn't look, none of you ever did. It never even occurred to you that a servant could have power of any kind. And it's nothing unusual that my eyes change colour. Magic is channelled through the eyes, and becomes visible in them, just like any other sensation."

The knight smiled a sheepish little smile. "I see. It's just – I'm not used to it, is all. We certainly didn't look close enough, but give us some credit! You never were only a servant to us – to the original Round Table knights, at least. You know that, don't you? Not just because you were his best friend, and Gwaine's, too. We all – we all liked you for your…sweet nature and your courage. And we knew you were not without power of your own – you were pretty much the only person who could occasionally talk sense into Arthur, after all."

Now they both chuckled. "Yes, provided he actually listened!" Merlin shrieked madly and, startled by the unnatural shrillness of his own voice, wondered if his nerves could take this crazy state of uncertainty, of everything hanging in the balance, for much longer.

"Which he never did, or only to ignore your counsel!" the knight agreed with him, likewise laughing, but only briefly. "Anyway, I believe you. I – I can feel his presence too, in a strange way - don't look at me like that, I don't have sorc…magic of any kind, I just…I just know he's here, somewhere. – You said you need to look for information. Well, I'm prepared to scour the library from top to bottom if it's any help. Percival, too, I'm sure. Shall I accompany you to Gaius' rooms now? You can tell me the whole story then while we set to work." Without waiting for an answer, he handed Merlin his leather bag, opened the door, holding it until the young man had walked through it, and following suit himself. Merlin slung the bag over his shoulder, ashamed that he had, even for a short spell, forgotten about the bag and what was contained in it.

"Wait," he said quietly, as they walked. "There is no whole story yet. I have still to convince Gaius that my theory is correct. What the dragon told me will help, as will the raven incident – where's that raven now, by the way? – but perhaps it would be better if I talk to him alone first and fetch you when I've made progress with him."

Leon, however, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into a faster pace, making a beeline for the castle entrance. "I don't think that's necessary," he retorted with grim cheer. "I trust you will find that the afternoon's proceedings have served to shape his view on this matter differently – he acted very queer, leaving before the ceremony was over, and burrowing into his books with much more than his usual zeal when I came to enquire after you. And don't worry, the raven is safe. You'll see!" he added, when the young warlock raised his very Gaius-like eyebrow again. "I'll show you where it is presently. Do you…reckon it could be Arthur himself?" The question was asked with a droll mixture of eagerness and abashment, as well as a shy smile, and Merlin could tell just how silly the knight was feeling, but nonetheless he had a point. He paused.

"That didn't occur to me until now, I had taken the bird to be a messenger of some kind, but...yes…he might be! Only then why…oh, this is no good, I have to get to Gaius now, it can't wait, Arthur won't stand a chance when we keep dallying, of that much I'm sure. Come with me, then, Sir Leon."

But Leon stayed where he was. Somehow, it seemed to him as if he was seeing Merlin for the first time; he looked into his pale face – the cheeks fuller than they used to be although they still weren't, and probably would never be, round – searching for the boy he had known, and discovered a man in his place. And although the man didn't look much different from the boy – just as tall and lanky; same old brown leather jacket worn over a simple blue tunic, girded at the waist and topped off with the unavoidable red neckerchief, same full head of short-cropped raven hair over protruding ears – so although he almost hadn't changed at all, to Leon, in that moment, standing next to him in the dark courtyard, Merlin appeared like a figure from times past, wise like a druidic soothsayer with flowing white hair; powerful like a general of the Eagles who had once ruled the land; commanding a mysterious, ancient force with a wink of his eye; deadly unto his foes, but loyal to the death to his friends. Leon looked onto this apparition with fear and wonder, and his gentle heart was filled with the desire to serve this man, to be his, to fight at his side for the king they both had sworn allegiance to, he himself in public, the other man in his heart.

At last, he blinked, confused, as though awakening from a dream, turning his head here and there; but the majestic figure was gone. Before him, regarding him with a look of concern and puzzlement, there was just Merlin, tall alright, but skinny, his jacket dusty, his tunic torn, dark crescents under his eyes betraying his weariness; just a gangly young man, almost a boy still, who could not be called beautiful in any conventional sense but for the singular grace and litheness of his movements, which was very much at odds with his notorious clumsiness, a combination that charmed and irritated at the same time; and his pleasant, sincere face with the deep cornflower blue eyes, though the latter did not easily disclose the fact that they had already seen much, much more of the dark side of humankind than he could ever care for; a likeable man with a hint of mystery, but not an awe-inspiring sight, not in any way magnificent. Not in the way Arthur had been when he faced the people, or braved battle. And yet…. and yet, Leon knew that he would willingly give his life for the boy.

A thought occurred to him. His eyes still fixed on Merlin's, he shook back his cloak, drew his sword, and turned it so that he held it by its blade. He knelt before Merlin on the cobbled stones and held out the hilt of the sword to him, and looked up.

Merlin, who had been wondering what came over the otherwise so sober knight, protested, embarrassed. "What are you doing? Get up, I really must get to Gaius now, he will be worrying –"

"Merlin." Leon said in a steady voice. Merlin fell silent. "My sword is yours," he continued, still kneeling and looking up at the warlock. "I won't pretend to understand what is happening here. But I serve King Arthur; now you're telling me my king is in grave danger, and I feel in my heart that you are right, even as a fear that most of the court will dismiss your claim and ridicule you for it, if not worse. But I believe you. As you serve the king and always have, I here swear fealty to forthwith serve you as his agent, until such a time when the king will have returned to do with you and me as he sees fit. My sword is yours. I acknowledge that you have powers beyond my imagination, and possibly you'll have no need at all of a knight and his swordsmanship, but I doubt that, and I will help you on your quest in any other way as is necessary. For the love of Camelot, my sword is yours to help you defend the king and the realm; take it, my lord."

It didn't often happen that Merlin was speechless – only once in a blue moon, as Gaius liked to say – but looking down on Sir Leon kneeling at his feet had stunned every possible answer into nonexistence.

"I thank you," he managed, as his fingers closed around the hilt of the sword, completely taken aback by this unexpected demonstration of loyalty. I think I see now why Arthur always holds back so much. If he took every knight's pledge of fealty to heart he'd be a blubbering wreck all the time. He wrecked his brain for an appropriate answer, but the words Arthur used to say at the knighting ceremonies felt all wrong. He wasn't a king, only his sorcerer, as it were, and it wasn't his place to – wait! I'm his sorcerer! Let magic be my answer. He gripped the hilt of Leon's sword with both hands and then lifted them high up in the air with the tip of the blade pointing down, to the ground. Resting his forehead against the cool steel, he willed his magic to flood into the sword, blessing the metal in a low voice: "Hé þrítiges manna mægencræft on his mundgripe!"

A stream of pure liquid amber swirled round the blue in his eyes, making the sword glow, ever so slightly, with a golden sheen. Merlin handed it back to Leon and slowly, solemnly, laid his hand on both of the knight's shoulders to pull him out of his kneeling position. Their eyes locked, deep blue met light; they remained still and silent, Merlin marvelling at the absurdity of it all; then Leon held out his right arm, and Merlin gripped it with his, and so they shook hands for the first time, both of them grinning broadly as they started walking again.

"What did you do to my sword?" Leon inquired, returning it to his side.

Merlin was only too glad to return to matters he felt familiar with and smiled. "Nothing much, I'm afraid; just a blessing. Enhancing weapons is a dangerous art; if my spell worked, your blows will be the strongest in the kingdom, but you will still have to see to it that they don't go amiss."

"Thank you, Merlin. I'm honoured. I sincerely hope I won't be needing a sword on this quest we've taken up, but if we do, I will use it with pride, and protect you until my last breath."

Merlin chortled. "I'll hold you to that. Because if Arthur is really visiting us in the form of a raven, there's only one person he's going to blame for that humiliation when he's back and I don't exactly fancy being put in the – Sorry! Sorry! Just joking!" he said with his hands raised when he saw Leon's incredulous face.

"No. You weren't," Leon answered happily, and then both men, unable to control themselves any longer, burst into roaring, hysterical laughter as they walked up the entrance stairs, laughter that resounded loudly around the main courtyard and made those in the castle who heard it in their sleep shiver with fear, but with anticipation, too.

Spell: Hé þrítiges manna mægencræft on his mundgripe! - Thirty men's strength in the grip of his hand! (From Beowulf)

TO BE CONTINUED