When Gwaine and Merlin finally found Lancelot, five of his attackers had already been knocked out cold. Several others had bruises, were clutching their sides or limping. It was an impressive feat, but there were just too many. Even for Lancelot.

Of course, neither Gwaine nor Merlin had expected Lancelot to look scared; he was just too inherently brave. Still, it was a remarkable sight. The Hispanic boy had mud in his hair, there was blood dribbling from his nose and at the corner of his lip, and he was leaning heavily on his left leg. But still he stood, a random, foot length branch in hand, facing off a gang of about a dozen attackers, gaze steady and unflinching.

Merlin grinned, and Gwaine gave a low whistle. "So, what's the plan Mer?"

The warlock cracked his knuckles. "You go round the far side, I'll take this lot, Lance can manage the front, but back him up if you need to."

"Can I expect any lightning bolts?" Gwaine asked, lightly, rolling his shoulders and waggling his eyebrows.

Merlin laughed. "Only if I get bored."

The only person that noticed Gwaine lightly stepping round the back of the crowd was Lancelot. The rest of them were too focused on their adversary; and who'd try their hand against him next, to notice much at all. Lancelot started to smile, and one of the thugs took that as their cue.

He was standing at the edge, on the far left of the group. With a grunt he growled, "what do you think you're smiling for kid?"

Behind the thug, Gwaine grinned, rocking a fist hard into his temple and shrugging when he dropped like a sack of potatoes. "Isn't it obvious? He's pleased to see me."

Lancelot laughed, lashing out with his stick like some sort of expert in martial arts, taking down two of the attackers in front of him. Someone tried to hit Gwaine from behind with a hockey stick and Gwaine whirled, not sure why but following his instinct, catching the wood before it made a fatal connection with his skull, easily twisting it out of the other boy's hand. He laughed; but it was wild and fierce, not light or casual. "Oh, you really shouldn't have let me get this."

In moments, three more of his attackers were knocked out, including the former owner of the hockey stick, plus the ones Lancelot had taken, it made six. Six down, six to go. Gwaine looked over to Merlin's side, and felt a wash of surprise. This was a side of Merlin he'd never seen before, past life and present. It was refreshing, if a little frightening.

Merlin was enjoying himself. Not in the way he did practicing his magic, or spending time with Morgana and his friends. Not like when he read a book or watched a film or had a lie in. This was different; very different. This was primal and wild and angry and deliciously satisfying. Merlin grinned and whirled, sending an elbow into another boy's neck, winding him and knocking him to the ground. It was a dirty move, but that was most of his repertoire; you didn't grow up on the streets following a knight's code. You just survived.

Another attacker came up behind him and Merlin spun, kicking his ribs hard and stamping on his stomach once he was down. He could recognize the faces of some of his attackers from way back, when he'd first come to the college. In a way, he was bitterly indebted to them, but he still remembered the pain and humiliation they'd put him through. He wouldn't let them off that easily.

A third boy managed to squeeze in a punch and Merlin spat some blood from his mouth, gingerly probing his teeth with his tongue. He grinned, eyes going gold in a flash, and the other boy's feet slipped out from under him. He crouched down over the brunette's pale face. "Y-your eyes…" He muttered, incoherently. Merlin raised his eyebrows, then quickly, efficiently rapped his knuckles against the other boy's temple. His eyes rolled up into his head and Merlin stood, rolling his shoulders.

There were three boys left. Lancelot was fighting one of them, the other two were facing up against Merlin. He could see Gwaine, behind them, coming closer. He smiled at his attackers. They were brothers, in fact, if he remembered correctly one of them was Scott, a slimy little snob who'd asked Gwen to the school disco. Merlin couldn't remember his brother's name, Aaron? Jules? He didn't really care.

Stepping over to Scott, he tilted his head to the side, smiling as he breached the other's personal space. "Hey Scott? Remember me? I'm Gwen's friend. I remember you."

Scott looked like he was about to wet himself, and then he narrowed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and spat at Merlin, lifting a fist to try and punch him. Merlin caught it and twisted his arm viciously behind his back, pulling hard; too hard, until there was a sick sounding pop. Scott screamed in pain and his brother punched Merlin head on. Merlin grunted as his nose snapped, blood flowing down over his lip, and pushed Scott to the ground, kicking him quickly in the head, thankful for the end of his screams.

He turned to Scott's brother, kicking his shins hard. The boy grunted and Merlin raised his eyebrows when he managed to stay standing. "Brave are you?" He stepped forward, lifting a hand as if to punch the boy. Scott's brother went to block and Merlin reversed the strike, elbowing him hard in the kidney. This time his opponent crumpled, and Merlin kneed him in the face, nose for nose he thought wryly to himself as blood spurted over the other boy's face. Merlin rolled his eyes at the expression of exquisite agony on the boy's face, spitting on the ground next to him. "Just let go."

Scott's brother did, and as his eyes fluttered shut and his muscles unwound, Merlin suddenly remembered his name. James. That was it.

Gingerly, he reached up to his own nose, wincing as he straightened it – he'd had enough practice, and wiping away the blood dribbling over his lips and chin with his sleeve.

"Bloody hell Mer! That was…well…that was…" Gwaine seemed at a loss for words, shock and respect evident in his slack jaw and wide brown eyes. Merlin laughed, stepping over the unconscious bodies, and Lancelot limped over too, smiling, bleeding, but alright. His branch lay discarded by his last opponent, though Gwaine still had a tight grip on his hockey stick.

Lancelot winked at Merlin, and gave him a nod. "Thankyou." Gwaine still hadn't said anything, and grinning Lancelot clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Speechless Gwaine? That's got to be a first."

So, punching his own father so hard he passed out was not, perhaps, the smartest move. Especially if said father did have a tendency to violence himself. But Arthur honestly couldn't have stopped himself. Uther had hurt Guinevere. That crossed a really very big, serious line for Arthur, and his instinct to protect her was as natural and inevitable to him as breathing. Of course, as Morgana had pointed out, once she'd cleaned Gwen up and sent her safely to Gaius', this was not likely to get the girl out of trouble, or to go any further to explaining why Uther had acted the way he did.

Gwen hadn't shared anything, though she'd seemed conflicted and both Pendragon siblings were sure she was hiding something. Neither Arthur nor Morgana wanted to push her further than she was comfortable with. So now they had their father, passed out cold on the sofa, no answers and an awkward silence as they stood in the kitchen, waiting for him to wake up.

Morgana seemed worried about something; her summer lake eyes narrowed, fingers tapping on her leg. Arthur would have put it down to their father's imminent return to consciousness, but honestly she'd never shown any fear of Uther, in his presence or outside of it, in all the time he'd known her. Instead she just seemed…bothered…like she'd forgotten something important, or she somehow blamed herself for what had happened with Gwen.

Arthur was about to ask, not really sure how to phrase his concern, when Uther woke with a groan on the sofa. Morgana quickly picked up a glass of water and two paracetamol she'd left ready on the counter, flashing her brother a glare which read clearly that he should let her do the talking.

Uther seemed confused as he sat up, grey-brown eyes searching his daughter's face as he gratefully took the painkillers, taking a sip of water. "Morgana…what happened?"

Morgana shrugged, blue-green eyes as clear and transparent as a foreign sea, beautiful face angelically innocent. "I don't know father, Arthur and I came home and you'd passed out on the floor in a dead faint. Gwen was here, but of course she couldn't move you, poor thing, she didn't know what was going on. We've sent her to send Gaius over shortly." She glanced up at Arthur, standing behind the sofa, who took it as a signal to send a quick text to Gwen, passing on the instructions.

"How…how long was I out for?"

"Before we got back, I don't know, but it's been about fifteen minutes since we got home." This was a lie, it had been about half an hour since Arthur had punched Uther; in fact both Pendragon siblings had been getting quite seriously worried about him. Still, that would hardly do.

Still looking confused; unsurprisingly thanks to the pack of lies Morgana was feeding him, Uther reached up, gingerly touching the red area where Arthur had punched him.

"I…feel as if I took a blow to the head."

Morgana pulled her dark brows up in a picture perfect image of pity. "Oh, yes, Gwen said when you fell you hit the floor wrong, she couldn't do anything to stop it though; you know how small she is, and she said it really was quite sudden."

Sometimes it frightened Arthur how easily and convincingly his sister could lie to both his father and, he had little doubt, himself, though he rarely caught her out.

Uther nodded. "You don't think she…?"

"Gwen? Hit you?" Morgana laughed, a little of her true herself coming forth in the burst of derision. "Father, I know you took quite a blow to the head, but I doubt small, sweet Gwen would be capable of dealing that sort of strike."

Smiling, their father nodded, shaking his head a little at his own foolishness. The doorbell rang and Morgana stood. "I'll get that, Arthur, why don't you get father a cold compress for that bruise?"

Arthur did as he was told, hesitantly coming over to his father. He felt a flash of guilt go through him when he saw the beginning of a bruise blossoming over the left side of his father's face. He didn't regret protecting Gwen, but the fact that because he was protecting her he'd had to hurt his father was hardly a pleasing thought. He held out a flannel, soaked in cold water and folded, pressing it gently to Uther's face.

Just for a second, Uther's grey-brown eyes danced over his son's face, going wide in recognition and memory. "Arthur…" But then he shook his head, smiling, reassuring himself with Morgana's lies; believing them rather than the possibility that his own son could have done this. Gaius came over, taking the compress and Arthur got off the sofa, feeling like he'd been stung.

Gaius started to examine Uther's injury and Morgana went to the door, her new hat clutched tightly in her hand. "Father, Arthur and I are just going over to Gaius'; we thought it best to give you some space and quiet. We'll be back for dinner, don't worry."

Uther waved them on, and Morgana jerked her head at Arthur. The prince was all too willing to go, slipping past his sister and walking away from the house as fast as he could, hand clenching and unclenching, eyes fixed firmly ahead.

For once, Morgana let him be.

Gwen was watching the discovery channel. It was a programme about medieval craft, however, every time the presenter returned to a gaggle of women weaving or sewing, or men pretending to be blacksmiths, she couldn't help pursing her lips. She wanted very badly to correct them; a wave of skills and techniques, words and pronunciations rushing to the forefront of her mind. And then they'd go on to a cordwainer or a thatcher and the memories would fade and she'd be left feeling incredibly confused

Curled up on the corner of Gaius' sofa, she spent about half an hour like this, worrying about Lancelot, and Arthur, Merlin and Morgana and Gwaine. At last, after what felt like an age, the door opened, and Gwen leapt to her feet, leaving the TV playing in the living room. Gwaine, Lancelot and Merlin all bundled into the narrow corridor, all bleeding, bruised and muddy, but beaming happily.

Gwen's eyes went wide, and she made a small sound of concern as she looked over her friends. Merlin smiled, sniffing away some of the blood trickling from his nose.

"Hey Gwen, seen Gaius? We sort of need his attention."

Shaking her head, Gwen took Merlin's hand, leading him and the rest to the kitchen and opening a cupboard to start making some tea. Which was when the strangest thing happened. She glanced over at the kettle, and it turned itself on entirely of it's own accord. Behind her, Merlin and Lancelot made strange, strangled sounds halfway between amusement and surprise. Whirling, and tearing her gaze away from the kettle, Gwen put her hands on her hips, raising her eyebrows at the two boys (Gwaine seemed as confused as she was). When she did, the kettle turned itself off with a quick, furtive click.

"Now, what's this? Some sort of practical joke?"

Gwen pursed her lips, folding her arms and tapping her foot as she waited for a reply. Merlin scratched his head awkwardly, and Lancelot couldn't meet her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Gwaine frowned, looking at his friends.

Eventually, Merlin took a deep breath. "Ok, don't freak out. I was experimenting with my magic-" Gwen cut him off, looking hurt.

"No. Merlin. Come on. I'm serious. Look, I've had a really bad day and of all people I'd have expected you to at least be polite enough to give me the truth-"

Lancelot interrupted her, concern re-shaping his handsome, bloodied features. "Bad how? What happened?"

Gwen glanced down, hating the tear that stung at the corner of her eye, and shook her head. She could hardly tell Lancelot, of all people; he'd be furious with Uther, and he'd blame himself. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does." Merlin's gentle voice came from directly in front of her. His nose had stopped bleeding, thankfully, and he was smiling gently down at her. "And Gwen, I'm not being rude when I talk about my magic. I know it's really hard to believe so… so I'm going to show you instead." There was a creak and a shuffle as Lancelot and Gwaine came closer, crowding round to see what Merlin would do. Gwen watched the three of them apprehensively, a little distrustfully, not really sure how to react. Merlin gave her one more, gentle smile and then cupped his hands, holding them up to his mouth, whispering what sounded like nonsense to her.

"Forbearnan. Blossma."

Gwen gasped when Merlin's blue eyes turned a brilliant, glowing gold, and then she was distracted by what he was holding out to her.

In his bare hands, a naked flame danced in the shape of a Lily, flickering and glowing gold and crimson. Gwaine shook his head, and Lancelot stared at it, transfixed, before looking over to Gwen.

She had a small smile on her soft, plump lips, and the light of the fire-flower was reflected clearly in her dark eyes. Carefully, Merlin pressed his hands to together, and the flame died. He smiled. "Believe me now?"

Unable to speak, Gwen nodded, and Lancelot and Gwaine went back to sit at the table. Slowly, still in a state of mild shock, Gwen got four mugs down from the cupboard, glancing at the kettle again. It started up, and this time both Lancelot and Merlin laughed out loud.

Gwaine looked as annoyed as Guinevere when he asked, exasperated, "alright you two, what is it with the kettle?"

Still chuckling, Merlin coughed. "Well, I was experimenting with my magic…"