A/N: New chapter! And I remember the motherfricking page break this time. Three times that thing has caught me out and made me look dumb by completely disappearing because this website apparently does not recognize two dashes next to each other on their own line as a thing. -sigh-

**EDITED**

The kingly duty which Merlin enjoyed the most was holding open audiences. It was the only time that he was able to interact directly with the people of the kingdom for which he was now responsible. Granted, it could get a little bit tedious at times solving other people's problems for them, but it was worth it just to be involved in the lives of his citizens.

There was something very gratifying about having a direct effect on his people's lives. He preferred the immediacy of solving concrete problems over the more abstract political ones he dealt with in council meetings.

Merlin had long since abandoned his throne in his audiences, disliking the way it placed him above the people seeking his help, removing him from them even more than the honorifics did. Instead, he stood on a level with them, as Arthur had often done, making sure to look each and every one of them in the eye and actually listen to what they were saying.

The people came to him with disputes over land ownership, with arguments over the calf of one farmer's sow who had been impregnated by another farmer's bull and which farmer had more of a right to it, with pleas for help from villages beset by raiders, with any number of small quarrels and petty disagreements. Merlin did his best to resolve them all as fairly as possible.

Sir Gerund stood by his side, returning to the advisory capacity in which he had served Queen Eleanor and giving his opinion whenever Merlin asked for it. Other councilors sometimes stood around the room as well, to observe, and Merlin did not hesitate to consult them if he felt that they would have a better idea of what should be done than he would.

Lord Melbourne had warmed up to Merlin considerably after he had asked the councilor's opinion on how to respond to a wizened old villager who could not pay his taxes due to having been robbed blind by his traitorous son-in-law.

Merlin adjusted his crown absent-mindedly as the last supplicant of the day was ushered from the throne room. He had promised to send a handful of knights and mages to the aid of her village, hoping that that would be enough to drive the raiders out. They had defended Ealdor from Kanen and his men with far less, after all.

Merlin turned back to collapse into his throne, too worn out to care that it was less than comfortable, but he didn't make it that far. Before he reached it, the door to the throne room was pushed open and a portly, well-dressed man stormed in followed closely by a pair of guards dragging a boy between them. They pushed the boy down to his knees before the raised platform of Merlin's throne.

"What is this?" Merlin asked, bewildered. "What's this about?"

The boy was young, maybe fifteen years old, but he raised his head boldly in spite of the heavy hands pressing on his shoulders, keeping him down. The heavy-set man stepped forward, his nose firmly in the air.

"This boy is a thief, my Lord," he declared, pointing a thick finger in the boy's direction.

Merlin cringed internally; he had not yet had many occasions to preside over trials or pass sentence, but he already knew that it was not something that he enjoyed.

"And what was it that he stole from you?" Merlin asked; the value of the object taken was to be directly proportional the punishment, as per the laws.

"Two apples and a loaf of freshly baked bread, sire. Some of my finest," the man said, his haughty tone making it sound as though these were priceless artefacts.

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him. "He stole food?"

"Yes, my Lord."

The man was obviously awaiting a harsh sentence, even though the value of two apples and a loaf of bread was so low that the punishment warranted by the law would be little more than providing repayment and receiving a slap on the wrist, maybe a few hours in the stocks at most. It wasn't near enough to get the boy's hand cut off, as more serious thefts would have been.

Merlin ignored the pompous merchant and climbed down from the dais once more, taking a closer look at the boy kneeling before him. His face was streaked with dirt, as were his hands, and his clothing was tattered and threadbare. He bore that pinched look of someone who had gone without sufficient food for a long period of time. He had no shoes on his feet. Merlin wondered if he owned any at all.

Merlin turned to the guards still holding him down, which really was not necessary seeing as he had made no move to get away.

"Did he eat the food?" Merlin asked.

"Pardon, sire?" the guard said, confused.

"The food that he stole. Did he eat it? Or can it be retrieved and returned to its owner?"

"It was eaten, sire, but not by him," the other guard explained.

Merlin nodded, not at all surprised. He turned back to the boy, making sure to stand far enough back that he wasn't looming over him, kneeling as the boy was.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Derrick, my Lord," he answered readily. There was no guilt in his expression, but nor did he attempt to deny the charges or proclaim his innocence.

"Why did you steal from this man, Derrick?" Merlin asked, not unkindly, though he had a feeling that he already knew what the boy would say.

"I had no other choice, sire. I had to," he asserted. "My parents are dead, and I got to look after my little brother and sister. They were starving, sire, and I couldn't just sit by and let it happen. I tried to do it right, I swear I did. I tried to get a job, but no one would hire me. I know it was wrong, but there was nothing else for me to do. It was wrong, I know it was, but I'm not sorry for it."

His jaw was set defiantly, his eyes blazing, though Merlin could see the slight tremor in his hands before he tightened them into fists. The poor boy was fighting so hard to hold himself together, to be brave for his siblings.

Merlin knelt down before him, ignoring the scandalized noise the merchant made at seeing his king kneeling on the floor before a peasant boy.

"I understand, Derrick," he said. "I have been in your shoes."

"You have?" Derrick asked dubiously, eyeing his clothes, which were of expensive and brilliantly red material.

Merlin chuckled a bit.

"I know that it may be hard to believe, but I was not always where I am now. This is a rather recent development, actually. I have known true hunger, like you. There were winters in my youth when I did not think I would live to see the spring," Merlin confessed. "It was just me and my mother, and I would have done anything to provide for her. I would have stolen everything under the sun if I'd had to. But it didn't come to that; we survived on the generosity of our neighbors. And I am happy to pass on that kindness to you."

"Sire?" Derrick breathed with that timid sort of hope, not sure if he was truly understanding what his king had said.

Merlin met his gaze and held it for a moment, thinking. Then he stood and turned back to Gerund, who was still standing on the platform by his throne.

"Sir Gerund, is there still a position open in the royal stables?" he asked.

Gerund smiled at him knowingly. "I believe there is, sire."

Merlin nodded definitively.

"Tell them that their new stable hand will report to work in the morning," he said.

"What?!" the merchant yelped indignantly. "Sire, I must object! I have been robbed by this ruffian and I demand recompense!"

"You will be reimbursed for your losses, I assure you," Merlin said. "Out of my own pocket if need be."

"My Lord, this boy is a thief. If you let him loose, he will surely steal again," the merchant insisted.

"You're wrong, sir," Merlin told him, ignoring the way the merchant bristled in offense. "Derrick did not steal out of any spiteful inclination, but to feed his family. If he is given a steady income, then he will have no reason to do so again. This boy needs a helping hand, not a punishment. And I am glad to give it to him."

Merlin gestured to the guards and they released their hold on Derrick's shoulders, giving the boy room to get shakily to his feet.

"Return to your family, Derrick," Merlin said. "You will be expected at the royal stables first thing in the morning. Don't be late; first impressions are everything."

Derrick beamed at him and turned to go.

"Ooh, wait!"

Merlin fished the purse of coins that he had been given from the royal treasury—far more money than he had ever had in his possession at one time—out of his pocket and counted out a few coins, which he then held out to Derrick. The boy looked from the coins being dropped into his hand to Merlin's face with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Here," Merlin said. "Buy yourself something to eat as well. You are all that your siblings have left. You cannot take care of them if you do not take care of yourself first."

"Thank you, your majesty," Derrick said fervently, clutching the coins to his chest. "Thank you, thank you!"

He bowed low to Merlin, his eyes near to disappearing his smile was so wide. Then he turned and sprinted from the room, leaving behind a highly irate merchant, two vaguely confused guards, and a handful of speechless councilors.

In the silence, Merlin counted out a few more coins, almost certainly more than the stolen food was worth, and handed it to the merchant without a word. The man took the coins, recognizing that the battle had been lost, and gave him a jerky bow before sweeping from the room as quickly as such a heavy man could.

"Are you sure that was wise, my Lord?" a wheezy older councilor with very few teeth left asked from the side of the throne room.

"Quite," Merlin said. "The merchant got his money, the children got their food, that boy got a job, and the royal stables got a stable hand who will work his fingers to the bone in gratitude for the opportunity to be there. Everyone wins."

The councilor considered this for a moment, sucking his lips in over his gums. Then he nodded, seemingly satisfied with Merlin's decision. Gerund climbed down from the dais to stand at his side as the remaining people trickled out of the room one by one.

"A just and merciful ruling," he said as he came up alongside Merlin.

"Castigation will solve nothing if the root of the problem is not addressed," Merlin said. "Fining him would only have increased his desperation and led him to steal again. There is no escape from hunger such as that, and there is no ignoring the pain of watching your loved ones wither away from it."

"Were you really so hard off as a child?" Gerund asked with a frown.

"Growing up without a father has its consequences," Merlin said softly.

Gerund nodded sadly. Then he brightened a bit and clapped Merlin on the shoulder.

"You may not have known Balinor well, but I did. And he would have made much the same decision," he said.

"You think so?" Merlin asked hopefully.

"Definitely. He would be so proud of you," Gerund said warmly, and Merlin beamed at him.

Arthur stood before his throne, never hating it more than in that moment. Before him, held tightly by two burly guards and surrounded by three more, was a little girl. She could not be more than ten years old, if that, and yet the guards and the handful of knights scattered around the edges of the throne room were all eyeing her with the same caution and wariness they would a wild boar about to go on a rampage.

Guinevere beside him had her hand over her mouth, horrified by what was happening, and Gaius stood off to the side with a painfully familiar blankness to his expression. The girl was not struggling. Instead she was limp in her captors' grip, shaking fit to fall apart and with tears running down her face. Arthur could see where the tight hold of the guards was leaving red marks on her skin and it had to hurt, but she did not protest as they dragged her forward.

"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur demanded even though he already knew. "What has this girl done to deserve such treatment?"

"She is a sorceress, sire," the guard on the girl's left told him, his voice harsh, and he shook her.

The girl whimpered but still did not speak.

"And what was her crime?" Arthur asked.

The guards looked amongst themselves, uncertain.

"She committed acts of sorcery, my Lord," the guard repeated as though this explained everything. Of course, under his father's reign, it would have. But Arthur was not his father, not any longer.

"And what did she do with it? Whom did she harm?" Arthur clarified.

The guards looked even more bewildered by this question.

"Well…no one, sire," the guard on the girl's right admitted. "But she—"

"I will ask you one more time," Arthur said through gritted teeth with very forced patience. "What did she do?"

One of the guards from behind the girl stepped forward, sending a glance toward her. He looked a bit discomfited by the rough treatment, sorceress or not, and Arthur mentally thanked him for it.

"She saved a boy, sire," he said. "He fell off of the roof of the baker's hut. She used magic to catch him before he hit the ground."

"He's my brother!" the little girl cried, finally raising her tear-streaked face from the floor to look at him imploringly. "My brother! I couldn't just let him fall. He would have got hurt, he could have died. I know it was wrong, but please, I just—"

The left guard shook her again, harder, and she fell silent with another pitiful whimper. Arthur stepped forward until he was stood directly in front of the man, closer than was probably comfortable, and he gave him a cold stare. The guard shifted anxiously, reading plainly his king's displeasure.

Arthur let him squirm for a moment longer before he turned to girl. He knelt down in front of her until he was on her level, ignoring the murmur of the guards and knights around him.

"What is your name?" he asked gently.

The girl looked up at him slowly, disbelief etched all over her face. She stared at him for a moment, glancing up at the guards on either side of her in fear, fearing their retribution should she speak again. Arthur gestured for them to release their tight hold on her, which they did only reluctantly, still hovering over her in case she made to attack him. The girl rubbed at the sore spots on her arms; there would be bruises, Arthur was sure. It made his blood boil. No child should suffer such ill-treatment, no matter their supposed crime.

"M-Mary Lida," she stammered eventually, her voice barely above a whisper. "My name is Mary Lida."

"And how old are you, Mary Lida?" Arthur asked.

"I will be nine years when winter comes, sire."

"Tell me what happened, Mary Lida," Arthur prompted, keeping all his attention on the child before him instead of the crowd of suspicious and hostile figures around them.

"It was…it was my brother, Jacey," she said immediately, desperate for him to understand. "You see, Father is sick and cannot work and Mother only makes so much. Jacey has to work too, and he was fixing the baker's roof for him, but he slipped. He was falling, sire! I didn't even mean to, I didn't, I swear. I just wanted to keep him safe, and then he wasn't falling anymore, he was just floating there. I didn't do any magic, sire, I promise I didn't! It just happened, I didn't mean for it to. Please, he's my brother!"

She was getting more and more upset, her tears coming faster and heavier now. Arthur put a hand on her shoulder, feeling the raggedness of her breathing.

"I understand, Mary Lida," he assured her. "You did nothing wrong."

"My Lord, I must object!" the left guard said harshly, startling the girl. "She is a witch! She practices spells and enchantments! Magic is evil and—"

"Did she utter any spell?" Arthur asked, standing up to face him. "Did she speak words of magic in order to do what she did?"

The guard mouthed at him soundlessly, taken aback at the question that had never been asked in such a circumstance before, but Arthur ignored him, turning to address the room as a whole.

"How long does it take to become proficient in casting spells? How long must someone practice sorcery before she can be considered a sorceress? Because this girl has not had the time to practice anything. She is a child."

"My Lord—"

"This girl saved a life," Arthur said. "If she had done so by any other mechanism, we would be praising her, not clamoring for her death."

Arthur looked around at all the stunned faces, meeting everyone's eye.

"You have a brother, Sir Roth, do you not?" he called, gesturing to an older knight, and again then to the guard who had looked sympathetic. "And you as well, Timothy? If your brother's life were in danger, would you not sacrifice your own gladly? Would you not do anything to keep him safe?"

"I would, sire," Timothy said fervently. "Anything, sire."

A beat later, Sir Roth nodded reluctantly.

"This is preposterous!" the left guard thundered, reaching for Mary Lida's arm again. "Her evil actions have condemned her."

"Her actions show only love and compassion for her family," Arthur argued. "I see no evil in that. She did no harm to anyone."

"The law states—"

"I cannot uphold a law that I know to be unjust," Arthur stated.

There were a number of audible gasps and the guard reeled backward, looking nothing short of thunderstruck. Arthur held his ground against the shocked and disbelieving gazes, refusing to back down from what he had said. The law held that magic was evil, but Arthur had seen far too much proof of the opposite to be able to subscribe to that view anymore. He could not execute a little girl for her act of love, no matter what method she had used, and may the law be damned.

Arthur knelt down in front of the crying child again, leveling the hostile guard with another look until he released her arm once more.

"Go home to your brother, Mary Lida," he said gently. "You did a good thing, and I will not punish you for it. Go, tell your parents not to worry. No harm will come to you."

Mary Lida stared at him through wide, wet eyes for a long second, hardly daring to believe what she had heard. Then she threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over backwards, and hugged him tightly. The sound of swords being drawn echoed through the throne room and Arthur held up a hand to stop them in their tracks. He patted the child on the back and then pushed her away again.

"Go on," he said with a gesture of his head.

She ran from the room, the guards too stunned to even think about stopping her, and did not look back. Arthur stood and turned to resume his throne, but he should have known better than to think this was over.

"My Lord, surely you aren't going to simply let her go?" one knight asked in disbelief.

"Why not?" Arthur asked, resigning himself to defending his decision against pretty much everyone else in the room.

He wished the Knights of the Round Table were there; their opinions carried a good deal of weight now that they had established themselves, despite their common blood, and they would have readily supported him in this. As it was, they were out on patrol and he would have to stand alone.

"Sire, just because she has not done anything to harm anyone yet does not mean that she never will," the knight pointed out. "She will surely rise against you."

"And why exactly would she do that?" Arthur queried, looking at the knight expectantly.

"She is a witch, sire."

"Yes. And I could easily have killed her for it," Arthur said. "But I did not. And that is something that will stay with her for the rest of her life. She will remember my mercy and she will be grateful for it. I spared her life because she had done something good. She will remember that as well, and she will continue to do good in appreciation of that."

"Sire, you cannot just let her—"

"Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do," Arthur said coldly, facing the left guard once more. He would need to find out this guard's name so that he could make absolutely certain that he was sacked.

"Your father would never have—"

"I am not my father," Arthur all but growled, his dark tone effectively silencing the guard; he was sick and tired of being compared to Uther.

Once it had been a source of pride, but now it nearly made him ill to think of his father's crimes. All of his life had been spent either trying to live up to his father's legacy or being targeted by his father's enemies. It was about damn time that people realized that Uther's rule was over, and that Arthur could not rule the way he had.

"I am my own man," he said, "and I make my own decisions based on the facts that I have before me. My father claimed that all magic is evil, but that girl showed no malice. What she did was an act of compassion. I cannot justify condemning all magic-users as evil when evidence of the contrary has been presented to me."

"My Lord, her actions cannot be used to exonerate the rest," a knight spoke up, trying to sound reasonable. "This girl may not have been malicious, but that says nothing about the rest of them. The acts of one individual have no bearing on the group as a whole."

"Then why is every sorcerer tarred with the same brush as Morgana?" Arthur countered. "If one person's actions cannot exonerate the whole, then why can another's condemn them? Why are her actions more worthy of transference than Mary Lida's?"

"But the law, sire!"

"My word is law," Arthur said, his voice ringing with undeniable authority, and all protests were silenced. "I will not murder a child for her act of kindness, no matter what the law states. The letter of the law is not always absolute, nor is it just in every circumstance. From this day forth, I will do what I believe to be right. If a person's only crime is possessing magic, if they have not wronged another person, then they will go free. Am I understood?"

No one responded. Everyone seemed to be too stunned to speak, all of them gaping at him with varying degrees of disbelief or outrage on their features. This would have a serious backlash, Arthur knew. Someone would inevitably call enchantment and he would have to find a way to convince them that he had not been ensorcelled, that this was his own decision made with a clear mind and his honest judgment.

He had not even realized that he had made the decision to change the law, but he had certainly committed himself to it now. It would not be easy. It could prove to be damn near impossible, but he would find a way. He could no longer stand by and allow his people to be killed for something they could not control, not with everything that he now knew to be true. He could not let good people, people like Merlin, live in constant fear of persecution.

"Understood, sire," rang out a voice. Timothy, the concerned guard, was standing tall at the back of the room, paying no attention to the livid gazes that turned his way. Arthur nodded to him in thanks and Timothy smiled at him.

There were murmurs of hesitant agreement from a handful of others around the room, those less vehement in their hatred of magic quailing under their king's determination. That one guard looked more hostile than ever, an ugly scowl on his face, but he did not speak out again, obviously realizing that his king was beyond reason on this matter.

After a long moment of silence, Arthur barked a dismissal and people began filing out of the throne room, whisperings flying. The tale of what had happened here would be all over the town by nightfall, Arthur was sure, and through his kingdom and into others within days. He released a heavy sigh, the last of the tension draining out of his shoulders as the door to the throne room finally fell closed, leaving him alone with his wife and his physician.

"I am so proud of you, Arthur," Gaius said, his eyes bright and a huge smile on his face.

Arthur nodded, far too exhausted to feel pleased at the moment. Guinevere pulled him close and held him tightly against her, stroking his hair.

"I know how hard that must have been for you," she said. "But it was the right thing to do. And Merlin would be proud of you too."

Arthur hugged her back, wishing that his best friend were here to see this, that Merlin could be by his side as he fought on behalf of magic. As Arthur fought for him.

"I hope so."

"I know so," Gaius said.