A/N: Warning: A baddish word. Sorry, any way around using it sounded dumb…

More than a week passed.

Arthur observed it passing with a sort of vague, indifferent surprise, because he hadn't actually expected to make it this long. He'd convinced himself that the chances of him getting caught, of someone noticing a family resemblance, of him slipping up, of someone demanding he do magic and him being unable to comply, or of some similar situation occurring were too high. But at the same time, he just couldn't see himself failing. He couldn't really comprehend dying; he'd seen others die, yes, but he hadn't done it himself, naturally.

So his surprise was only vague, and not as severe as his shock would have been if something had actually happened.

Things moved rather slowly in that week. He didn't see anyone on the street checking on him. He gathered more information, rarely stuff of much importance, from Merlin, Morgana, overheard conversations, and the castle staff (they were gossip-mongers, every one of them!). Storing all the information away, he went about his business and fell into a sort of pattern.

Gaius and Lancelot both appeared to relax a bit around him, so he could breathe again—though occasionally he thought he saw a sparkle leap into Gaius's eyes when Arthur showed a certain mannerism or put a certain inflection on a word. (Out of everyone in Camelot he saw now, hadn't Gaius known his father best?)

The scroll that burned Arthur never made a reappearance. Merlin seemed secretive about anything like that now; he doubtless read those things when Arthur wasn't hovering over his shoulder.

Arthur got used to the pattern and work around the castle, and learned to do his chores correctly. They got easier.

He told himself not to get relaxed and careless.

He did pretty well on the latter bit, but not the former. Life was peaceful living inside the law. There weren't struggles for food or bone-crushing news of an attack by bandits or suspicious villagers. No one showed up, staggering, infected burns seeping on their chests. You could forget that life wasn't so nice everywhere.

Well, some people could. Arthur couldn't, not really. Not with his friends still out there living that life.

Arthur clung to that thought a lot, actually. Because otherwise it was too easy to remember that Merlin had proven himself to be nice, likable, and embarrassingly trusting, and Arthur had never before been the kind to betray anyone. Even if he volunteered for this.

But still, he was getting used to life working in the castle, taking everything in stride.

That was why, when the large dragon landed right in the middle of the courtyard, ignoring the hay bushels and fruit he crushed on the grounds of wanting to talk to someone rather urgently, Arthur looked up from polishing Merlin's boots and wasn't too concerned. The dragon hadn't posed a threat to him yet, he thought as he looked out the window and continued his motion with the polishing cloth. He would have to discover what was happening from Merlin later.

Did the dragon, he wondered, often land there?

When Merlin came in, face stony, and threw down the paper he was holding onto his desk, announcing to Arthur, "We've got some place to go. Might be dangerous, but you're good with a sword," Arthur wasn't too alarmed.

When Merlin turned away, fist tight, and whispered to himself, "Damn Mundanes," was when the fear started growing in Arthur's chest. And wasn't Arthur surprised to find himself a little bit hurt as well!

But if Arthur had known the events that were coming, or what the dragon's news would bring about soon, he wouldn't have just been concerned. He would have been sweating, as afraid as he had been the first day in the castle… perhaps more.

Merlin ran outside immediately when the dragon landed in the courtyard, his father close at his heels. They'd been having a breakfast and king-to-prince council when they heard the wings flapping and a guard came running into the room, calling that Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon, had landed in the courtyard and was destroying food with his tail, wanting to talk to the royal family.

Kilgharrah would never do that unless it was an emergency.

Merlin was running before the man finished, pushing him out the way. His eyes flashed gold, but nothing happened. He had his magic at the ready, prepared for anything. He didn't know how much of an emergency this was yet.

He ran out into the sunlight, shielding his eyes in order to look up at the glowing orbs of the oldest dragon living. Kilgharrah saw him too, since he was facing and watching the steps of the courtyard for the royal family. People were milling behind him, trying not to pass too close in case the giant lizard decided to make a sudden movement. Several were running, trying to save their trashed goods. Balinor would have to pay them back later, Merlin decided, surveying them with pity.

Then his eyes snapped back to the dragon as the king exited the castle behind him.

"What is it?" Merlin asked clearly. "You wouldn't be here crushing things if this wasn't important."

Balinor looked faintly disapproving at Merlin's familiar tone with the Great Dragon. (So what else was new?)

"Yes, Kilgharrah," he agreed in a booming voice that made Merlin want to roll his eyes.

"I have kept an eye on the towns of Camelot as I promised," the dragon said. "One of them is being attacked near the border."

"Is being? Presently?" Merlin asked. His father gripped his sword.

"Yes," the dragon said."

"Which one?" Balinor snapped, forgetting respect.

"Ealdor is the target of the bandits." Ealdor. Taken from Cenred's predecessor shortly after Merlin was born. Also, the town where Hunith was born.

"Did you see them?" Merlin asked. "The people attacking?"

"I did not watch," the dragon replied sardonically, still calm of voice. "I assumed you wanted to know as soon as possible." He looked like a cat who wanted to lick his paw. Merlin wouldn't have been surprised. If Merlin wasn't so fond of him, he could hate that dragon.

"How long ago?"

"It was several hours before my arrival here," the dragon said.

Merlin looked at his father. "How fast can we get there?"

"I'm not sure," Balinor replied, already thinking of the spells that could be cast on the horses to make them run faster and whether that would endanger the animals' lives. "Prepare yourself; there may be battle."

"When do we leave, Father?"

"As soon as possible," Balinor replied.

Merlin nodded curtly, put his hand on his sword to steady it, and ran into the castle, up to his room. But he was intercepted—suddenly his mother was standing before him, her face pale and her eyes wide. "Ealdor?" she asked faintly. "Ealdor is being attacked?"

"Or was, at least," Merlin said, nodding, sorry to see her face crumple. "If we hurry we can catch the attackers, I think."

"I'm coming," she said, lifting her chin.

"No," Merlin responded at once. "It's too dangerous."

"If its safe for you, it is safe for me," she replied, her face set. She looked a ridiculous sight, her hair crimped within an inch of its life and her odd blue dress, unbecoming with her coloring.

"You aren't armed," Merlin argued. "You can't use a weapon."

"The first," said a new voice, and there was Morgana, approaching with her half-smile as she pulled her own hair back to braid it (a feat which no other woman of her standing would be capable of) and walked towards the pair, "is easily fixed, and the second is not necessarily true. I'm coming as well."

"I don't have time for this!" Merlin said, throwing his hands up but paling at the thought of them in danger. "Is every female in the castle going to insist on coming?"

"I don't doubt it," Morgana replied without pity. "Now, you haven't much time. Shouldn't you… shoo?"

There was nothing else for it. "Father will deal with this," he said, and with a quick half-bow to both women, he continued at a flat run towards his own room, where he slammed the door open and caused Arthur to jump and look up from the window.

Mood sour, still worried about the women, Merlin announced, "We've got some place to go. Might be dangerous, but you're good with a sword."

Arthur nodded and dropped his chore, making his way over to his master and ready to help.

Merlin looked away. He could understand, he realized, why his mother was insisting upon coming. It was her once-home in danger. He would do the same in her position. But still… "Damn Mundanes," he hissed.

And then he looked back at Arthur. "They've attacked Ealdor."

Arthur supposed he should be worried—riding into battle, into danger, facing those who were of his own, the possibility of being discovered. But his first thought upon learning their destination was, Good. That meant that he would finally have the chance to discover who was giving his father's rebellion an even worse name than it had.

He helped Merlin prepare swiftly and raced downstairs to ensure that the horses were prepared. The stable boys were obnoxious because they were so slow, though he supposed that in truth they were going as fast as they could.

Don't be too anxious, Arthur. There's no need to go rushing into the unknown.

Though, in truth, rushing into the unknown was what he'd always done best. Arthur made sure the horses were ready; he was going to have to borrow one, but Merlin had told him that was expected.

Soon, though it seemed like a long time to everyone involved, they were setting out. They made an impressive sight, though they didn't have time to prepare the army. The king and Merlin rode in front, with Arthur behind Merlin's horse and Morgana and Hunith behind the king. Not so much because that was their place but because they wanted to be there and no one had time to argue. Behind that group, the knights and at least five sorcerers (the ones who could leave without prior warning) rode on their own horses, and Gaius was along too—there would be injuries, almost without a doubt, he figured, so he packed every herb and poultice he could possibly think might be useful.

Arthur was nervous, but the possibility of fighting didn't scare him much—he'd been hiding in the court of Camelot, where he could be killed because his father was the king who had been cast out, for more than a week. Almost two. He cast Morgana a look as they rode, and she smiled at him.

He returned her bright flashing of teeth with something more subtle and less familiar, and then, looking up, saw that Lancelot had witnessed the exchange.

There was that suspicious look again.

Arthur turned around to face the back of Merlin.

On horseback, riding fast, magic spurring them on, the ride took a mere five hours. It may have seemed long to Merlin and Hunith, who had begun to sweat visibly, but Arthur knew that it would take more than a day to walk that distance, and he was suitably impressed.

And then Ealdor was before him, and he swallowed.

It was a small town, one his father would have snuck into for food, but not one really worth harassing—it was too far from Camelot to draw much attention if it hadn't been the birthplace of the queen. And Uther would not have attacked it, Arthur realized, because it was the birthplace of the queen.

The queen was the closest thing to an ally Uther had in court (he didn't know about Morgana), even if she was far from agreeing with him and his anti-magical teachings. He wouldn't do anything that could be seen as an attack on her personally.

Ealdor, even from outside, was obviously in distress; people could be see wandering the streets, some looking lost, others running like they were trying to get their life together. The homes looked collapsed. There were fires, some on houses, some in the streets, and smoke made Arthur cough.

He thought he could see bodies.

Riding into town, his eyes stung from the smoke and heat. He heard Merlin curse in front of him.

There were no signs of remaining attackers, and so they dismounted, everyone standing next to their horse and looking a little lost. What was there to do? There was no battle to be fought. How could they help?

Arthur glanced towards the trees, eyes narrowed.

Why? He wondered. The woman passing by him looked empty, hurt, clutching a shawl around herself. Why attack this town? They didn't have money or power! This town would help no one, only good for pillaging to get a little gain and for the cruel enjoyment of chaos.

But really. Where was the logical sense?

"The attack is over," Merlin observed with dismay. "We didn't make it in time."

The logical sense would be to draw out the entire royal family to a place away from the citadel. A place with less protection. A place where they would be more vulnerable to surprise attack.

Arthur saw something move in the trees.

"No," he said, surprising everyone and causing people to look at him. "No, the attack isn't over yet."

And then he saw it again, the movement, recognized it, and leapt forward. Without warning, causing everyone to stare with horrified, scandalized surprise, he hit the queen, pushing her back and into the wall of the house behind her.

Just in time for the arrow whizzing by to miss her.