Author's Note – I hope you all had a fantastic Christmas. I certainly did. I loved being round all my friends and family. Now I've got older I've realised that I can actually talk to my aunts and uncles like real people rather than scary grown ups who ask loads of questions when all I want to do is play :-)

Sorry for the wait on this chapter. It was really hard to write for some reason and even now, as I post it, I don't think its one of my best. Sorry.

Thanks especially to WhiteOwl05 for practically reviewing each of my chapters in the past few days and bringing my review total up to 400! I've never got that many reviews before. THANK YOU ALL!

Arthur hesitated.

He had watched the back of his manservant disappear into the crowd and he wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to go after him or not. There had been an unfamiliar frustration in his eyes – anger even. The fact that he didn't get angry often, not like Arthur, meant his emotions and words were even more potent. It was like a dam inside of him had broken and everything just spewed forth in a raging torrent of frothing water.

Every muscle in his body was screaming for him to go but he knew that he needed to sort out what was happening here before he could run after Merlin, no matter how much he wanted to.

Lifting his foot up, he watched as Morholt rolled his shoulders and scrambled to his feet. There was still a fierce element to his expression and a definite aggressiveness to his stance. He was like a bull that wouldn't back down from a fight. Seg, his rival, stared at him with cold eyes and a detachment that made Arthur realise that he was over the heat of the brawl. The blond haired man, despite being a competent knight of Camelot, did not draw arms unnecessarily which is why Arthur took his words at face value now.

"Can I leave you two now?" Arthur said, slowly and firmly, "In the knowledge that I will not return and find you at each other's throats like a pair of wolves?" Pausing, he looked around. "Where are the others?"

It was Sir Segwarides that offered him the answer. "At the local infirmary, sire. Sir Tristram had a particularly bad injury to his leg from one of the lions and it became infected. He's being treated by the best physician they have, Sir Erec made sure of that. And the others…." He frowned, sadness passing across his face. "Well, you know what happened to them."

"They will not be forgotten," Arthur stated, solemnly, placing a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder. "But I need to find Merlin now. I will be back soon." Then he turned to face Morholt, his blue eyes as dark and stormy as the ocean. "I do not know if what has been said is true but I am very sad to say that all the evidence points in that direction. I expected better from you, Morholt. I will get Merlin's side of the story and when we return I hope you are ready for whatever punishment comes your way."

Looking indignant, Morholt stepped towards the prince and raised a hand to emphasis his point. "Don't believe anything he says, my lord. It's all lies. He's just a servant."

Arthur, who had been in the process of leaving, whipped back round and practically growled, "He may be just a servant, Morholt, but I think I can judge his words for myself, don't you?"

"Sire…" Morholt bowed his head, contritely.

Satisfied, Arthur strode purposefully passed the spectators, ignoring their confused whispers and pointing fingers. There was determination emanating from his body; he would get to the bottom of this. Merlin had clammed up for the last time.

Unsurprisingly, Merlin wasn't difficult to find. After all, he wasn't the best at covering his tracks and he tended to pick the most obvious places in order to sulk. On several occasions, the prince had offended the boy and searched for him all over the castle to apologise only to find him holed up in his pokey bedroom. If he wasn't there then he'd be by that damn lake in the middle of the forest that always seemed to fascinate him for hours on end – Arthur guessed it held a certain significance to Merlin that he could not fathom.

This time he discovered him leaning on a tower of barrels, arms crossed over his chest and the toe of his boot dug into the soft mud beneath his feet, scuffing up dirt. There was a knot in his forehead and that same intensity in his eyes that Arthur had seen just a few minutes ago as he stared at the ground. It was obvious that he'd heard the prince arrive because his stance changed slightly but he did not acknowledge his friend's presence.

Feeling a bit awkward as he was never one with words, Arthur scratched the back of his head and coughed a little. Merlin's scuffing only faltered a little. Sighing, the prince wandered tentatively over to him and leant on the barrel beside him. They both stood there for a time in mutual silence.

Finally, Arthur broached the quiet with a tentative question. "What exactly did you mean by 'I told you before'?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Merlin mumbled.

"What?"

Merlin snorted but still didn't make eye contact. "I said, 'Isn't it obvious?'"

Arthur frowned. "No. Why should it be? You know, Merlin, you could try being a bit more helpful-"

"You're right, its not you that's the problem it's me," the boy said, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm.

"Hang on, Merlin, I didn't mean-"

Merlin moved so abruptly that Arthur flinched away. The young man pushed his shoulder off the sturdy wooden barrel and threw his hands in the air, wielding round on his master. His jaw was set with an unfamiliar defiance.

"May I ask why exactly does Sir Segwarides' word carry more weight than mine?"

"Huh?"

"You even took Morholt's half-cocked version of events rather than my own. Why can't you ever see the obvious even when it's staring you right in the face?!"

"Is this about the mountains incident because I thought we'd already sorted that? It was a simple misunderstanding," Arthur said, visibly confused. He was trying to listen to Merlin's side of the story but to be honest he was making it very difficult.

"Oh yeah, the same way as Morholt threatening to sell me as a slave was a simple misunderstanding? And trying to throw me off the ship was a little misunderstanding? And perhaps even tipping off the gladiator slave dealer that there was a potential catch on the street? Plus all the times in-between when he insulted me, hurt me and denied me food when you weren't looking. I mean look at me, Arthur!"

Brandishing himself like some animal to be inspected in the market, Merlin stretched his arms and then let them drop by his sides with a somewhat dejected emphasis. He stared his master in the eyes, willing him to believe what he had said, willing him to understand what he had been through.

And Arthur did look.

Merlin could only be described as haggard. Like an old man. With a horrifying awareness, Arthur suddenly realised he had been referring to his manservant like an old man an awful lot lately. It hadn't been a conscious change but a change nonetheless. Physically, the peasant boy was gaunt and sickly in colour with huge purple rings under his eyes that made him look like a corpse rather than a living thing. His skin seemed to have lost its elasticity – no doubt from the malnutrition and prolonged exposure to the elements – and was peppered with wounds both from the lion in the arena and Morholt's hand. His hair hadn't faired much better than his skin; once glossy black it was now lacklustre and unkempt. The stubble on his chin that Arthur had mocked him for only hours before had a new resonating significance: Merlin had just stopped caring.

There was a dullness to him that was a complete opposite to his normally enthusiastic, puppy-dog personality. He moved with effort rather than exuberance. Before, you could tell that he had a love for life and now he just seemed to be dragging his limbs along like unwanted lumps of driftwood. His quips had become rarer. Yes, they did come but was it with the usual charm and gentle nature?

It was like he had lost his spark. When had Merlin aged and how had Arthur not even noticed?

"Is this because of Morholt?"

Arthur reached forward and gripped the young man's wrist, finding to his astonishment and disgust that he could wrap his entire hand round it. It was skeletal and as fragile feeling as a bird bone. He desperately wanted to retract his fingers but there was somewhat of a morbid fascination holding him there. Merlin's skin felt paper thin too – like the membrane of a flower. Beneath the delicate layer he could feel the steady pulse of his manservant but he could also see the veins through which the blood. They were blue cords standing rigid in a complex map across his forearm; much like the branches of a river.

"Merlin…" he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief and shock.

Periwinkle eyes met indigo and the two boys stared at one another, enraptured.

With a fury that Arthur hadn't realised he was possible of he said, "I will make Morholt pay for this."

A muscle twitched in Merlin's jaw as he shook his head slowly. "I don't want you to make him pay. I just want you to make him stop."

It actually hurt Merlin to admit that he needed Arthur to help him stop the bullying. He had thought he could handle it, after all ever since he was a small boy he had stood up to those who looked down on him, who thought him puny and insignificant. He had a strong spirit, as his mother had told him time and time again, like an unbreakable horse.

However, he had been worn away, like a limestone cliff: bashed and broken and fast disappearing. Having had the three days away with Arthur had been great, it had been a release but returning and coming face to face with Morholt – the man who would quite happily kill him – had really sucked the life from him. There was only so long that someone could put up with constant bullying until they broke. Seg had only helped fracture the blockade but the pressure had been building up long before that.

He was ready to give up. Therefore, spilling his guts to Arthur was both a relief and a terrible disgrace. Any second now and he was bound to burst into tears like the girl Arthur always called him.

"Merlin, he can't away with this," Arthur began. The anger still bubbled in his chest.

"You've lost enough knights already, Arthur, you need him," Merlin said, "Besides, I'm just a servant. Plenty of masters beat their servants. I am just fortunate enough to have one that doesn't." He offered the prince a small smile.

Arthur, however, was not impressed. "Not many masters try to kill their staff. It's despicable. I can't believe I didn't realise and that I took his word for it."

"Well, you aren't exactly the most observant of people, Arthur," Merlin murmured, wryly.

"Hey," Arthur protested and went to cuff his friend in the playful admonishing manner he usually did but stopped himself, realising that it could do more harm than he intended. "I resent that."

"I think I have enough proof to make your objection moot."

The familiar grin worked its way onto Merlin's face and the prince felt like a great weight had been lifted from him. Obviously, this wasn't over but it didn't look like Merlin would be maintaining his simmering anger for too long. He had no stamina that was the problem; Arthur could make an argument last days.

"Fair point," Arthur said and slung a slightly tentative arm over Merlin's shoulders. The bones stuck into him and he tried not to wince. "Shall we return to the others?"

"Er…" Merlin looked unsure again, like a frightened little boy and the prince felt the rage rise inside him once more. "I guess."

"I won't let him hurt you," Arthur stated, softly.

"Ha," Merlin grinned, "Its not me I'm worried about; it's him. You're quite scary when you're angry, you know."

"You shouldn't feel anything towards him, Merlin. Come on."

They found them at the infirmary: Segwarides, Erec, Tristram and Morholt. In fact, they were just leaving as the manservant and his master arrived. Tristram was hobbling on a crutch tucked beneath his armpit; his leg was swathed in white bandages. His baby blue eyes lit up when he caught sight of Arthur and he wobbled forward with a huge smile on his young face. The prince came to meet him halfway so he didn't have to cover so much ground with his injury and clasped his elbow in a gesture of friendship, offering him a bright – if slightly strained – grin. Unfortunately, his gaze kept straying to Morholt and therefore the expression could have been more genuine.

"You all right, Tristram?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, they fixed my leg up pretty well all things considering."

"Good. Good. You'll make a full recovery?"

"They said I would. I'd rather take their word for it rather than worry about all the possibilities," Tristram replied, solemnly. Despite his usual enthusiastic demeanour there was something more sombre about his tone and his expression. This was no doubt down to the loss of two companions at the amphitheatre. A loss like that could hit a young man hard.

"You'll be fine."

"Where have you been anyway, sire?" Sir Erec stepped in at this point, his dark eyebrows furrowed. He had definitely not enjoyed the abrupt departure of his king's only son and the rumour that was circulating about him flying a horse had not helped matters. Having made a promise to Uther, on his life, Erec had been beside himself with worry.

Arthur offered him a tight-lipped smile. "Well, you'll be glad to know that Merlin and I managed to seek out the dragon egg and…"

"Have you destroyed it?" Tristram asked, eagerly.

"Er….well no because it seemed impenetrable. Therefore we have brought it back with us so I can show it to my father and see what he wishes to do with it."

"So, how did you find it?"

"It's a long and complicated story. I will explain later, first I wish to talk to Morholt." He looked meaningfully at the tanned knight whose brown eyes darkened with trepidation. "Come, Morholt."

Arthur led the man away from the group and round the corner of a grey stone cottage. There was a small wooden pen behind the building and in it were two goats and a solitary duck that quacked raucously upon their arrival, flapping its wings like a mad thing. Fleetingly, the prince was reminded of the recent farewell of Pegasus and was surprised at the attachment he had grown to something so obviously borne of magic. It was almost unfathomable that he should care for such a thing. And yet, he did.

Shaking his golden haired head and focussing on the matter at hand, he wheeled around to face the young knight who he had believed to be a good man, one that could be trusted and who he could share jokes with, but had really turned out to be a deceitful bully. He couldn't believe he could have judged a person's character so poorly. Then again, he had to refer back to Merlin and the way he had treated him without even knowing him because he was a peasant with a runaway mouth. If Arthur hadn't been thrown together with him in a master-servant relationship then he would never have had the opportunity to learn what a frankly brilliant human being he was. Unfortunately, Morholt was the opposite. He had believed him to be honest and honourable because of his rank rather than his real character. It was a steep learning curve – one that Merlin had paid the price of.

However, he couldn't blow off like he really wanted to. If he was acting without someone else to think about then he would have exploded like a furious volcano, spouting a lava of scorching words and throwing punches like hard pieces of pumice. As it was, he needed to try and keep a cool head. For Merlin. Well, a reasonably cool head as Pendragons weren't generally known for their calm dispositions. They were fiery like the dragon they were named after.

"Well, Morholt," he said slowly, edging each of his words with untold fury, "I have been speaking with Merlin and he informs me of some very interesting facts concerning our trip so far. You may have thought you could bully a servant but that is not the case. Merlin may be lower in you than status and he may not have money and finery and the armour of a knight but he has the heart of one. He's certainly more chivalrous and courageous. Even as a servant, he still wears the Pendragon crest and is therefore as much a part of our kingdom as you or I."

"Sire, I never did anything to Merlin," Morholt protested.

"Don't you dare try and lie to me, Morholt. I have succumbed to your clever manipulations too many times and this will certainly not be another. I have the word of Merlin, a servant and friend of mine that has no reason to lie, that you have committed these heinous acts: trying to kill a vulnerable man…how could you?" Arthur's blue eyes narrowed and hardened with rage as he paced in front of the man he so despised. He was just itching to lash out but he restrained himself.

"He must have misunderstood my gestures, my lord! He's just a simple serving boy after all." Morholt continued to claim his innocence even though it was obvious that his web of lies had come crashing down around him.

Suddenly, Arthur looked positively murderous. "If Merlin is anything then it's certainly not simple. You ignorant, lying…weasel." He had to knead his forehead with his knuckles in order to stop himself from giving the other knight a well-deserved punch. It was touch and go for a moment.

"None of it is true," Morholt was whining by now, like a petulant child that was not getting his own way. All his previous unruffled façade forgotten; he had realised there was no way he could worm his way out of this one. That damn servant had scuppered all of his plans. He wanted to hurt him, to cause him pain. "What are you going to do?" he asked quietly, in barely more than a whisper.

Arthur sucked in a deep breath and placed his arms across his chest. "Well, Merlin wishes for you to stay with the group whereas I would rather like to throw your sorry backside off the nearest cliff. He claims it's for the good of all of us. After all you've done to him you should be truly thankful."

A red haze blanketed Morholt's mind as he heard those words. "I shall never be thankful to that slave!" he spat and tore off before Arthur could react. By the time the prince had realised what was happening, the young man had rounded the corner and was charging straight at the raven haired boy who was causing him all this grief. There was only one thought in his head. Arthur gave chase, frantically.

"MERLIN!" the prince yelled in warning when he saw what Morholt was about to do but the shout came too late. The muscular knight came in with a ringed punch that tore a scarlet chunk out of Merlin's cheek and knocked him flying. He crumpled like a ragdoll on the floor just as the cannonball that was Arthur smacked into Morholt and wrestled him to the ground, landing a well-aimed blow to his abdomen in order to quell him.

Crimson blood spewed from the manservant's pale cheek, dripping down his face like molten ruby.