A/N: Thank you GuestM, and Buckhunter for reviewing!

Chapter 4

It took Arthur three whole days to work himself up to going to see his father. The east wing never ceased to frighten him, ever since he was a small child and had wandered up into the darkened corridors, only to suddenly find himself underfoot of his father. He of course knew what his father looked like, but in the dark with the flickering torches, he had gotten his first glimpse of the feral beast. Uther had never been warm or companionable to his son, but he had been furious that this small child who had only been lonely and curious would trespass where he'd been forbidden to tread. It was that moment that instilled Arthur with a deep understanding of fear regarding his father.

Arthur paused outside the door to the main hall and took a shaky breath. He then raised a hand to knock. "Father?" He held his breath until he heard a gruff,

"Enter."

He pushed the door open and forced an appearance of calm. Uther was sitting on his old, weathered throne, scratched up and dented from rough treatment.

"What is it?" Uther asked tersely.

Arthur swallowed hard. He couldn't let himself lose his nerve, lest his father recognize his weakness. "Lancelot has proven a dutiful servant," he began. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"He's competent enough," Uther harrumphed.

"Then perhaps we can remove the chains."

Uther narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"They are a hindrance to some of his duties."

Uther waved a dismissive paw uncaringly.

Arthur held his chin up. "I will take responsibility for him. He will not attempt to run away."

Rather than getting irritated and immediately shooting him down, Uther seemed to be contemplating it. "Very well," he finally said, surprising Arthur.

He got up out of the throne and pulled a key from his coat pocket to hand over. The next thing he hollered made Arthur startle badly.

"Guards!"

Two suits of armor came clanging into the hall.

"Set a constant guard on the gate," Uther commanded.

Arthur held his tongue as he took the key and the guards departed to fulfill the order. But he didn't leave yet, and Uther shot him a sharp look as he shuffled back to his throne.

"Was there something else?"

Arthur itched with anxiety, but he had succeeded in his first goal and needed to press on—and hopefully not press his luck. "I was thinking we might begin dining together in the evenings. Now that we have a proper servant to attend us."

Uther snuffled as he appeared to consider it. "Yes," he said agreeably. "Be sure to inform him."

Arthur bowed in respect and turned to walk out as calmly as he could, though he was vibrating with tension. Every interaction he had with his father left him on edge, always wondering if he might wake the beast within. Dining with him was going to be extremely uncomfortable, but if it meant Lancelot wouldn't be left alone with Uther, Arthur was willing to do it.

He returned to his chambers where he found Lancelot scrubbing the floor, the chain of his irons scraping across the wood and through the soapy water.

"Lancelot."

The young man stopped and looked up. Arthur beckoned for him to stand, then held up the key.

"I was able to convince my father to remove the chains," he explained as he reached to unlock the shackles.

As the manacles came off, Lancelot rubbed at his wrists, which were discolored with varying shades of bruising. Arthur frowned at them.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize…"

"It's alright," Lancelot said, quickly dropping his arms to his sides. "I appreciate that you even went to your father. Uther doesn't seem like an easy…person to approach about anything."

"No," Arthur agreed. "I'll just get rid of these," he said, nodding to the chains in his hands.

Lancelot knelt down again to resume scrubbing the floor.

Arthur exited the room with the chains, Merlin trotting out after him to keep pace.

"It's my fault Lancelot is here," Arthur said remorsefully to his only friend.

"You heard Lancelot the other day: he hasn't received so much kindness anywhere else," the cat replied

Arthur scoffed. "Some kindness."

"It's not ideal," Merlin admitted. "But he's got a place to sleep and food to eat." Merlin loped forward so he could sweep around to face Arthur head on. "You truly did help him by bringing him inside for shelter," he insisted.

Arthur supposed that was true. So in keeping with that, after disposing of the chains in the dungeon, Arthur went searching through old chambers that hadn't been used in years for some extra clothing. He grabbed some shirts that looked like Lancelot's size, along with a second pair of trousers and a nice coat. Arthur's chambers were kept warm enough, but the rest of the castle was definitely chilly when Lancelot would be out and about performing chores.

Arthur brought the armful of garments back to his chambers and set them on the table. "These are for you," he said without preamble.

Lancelot came over and looked at them in surprise. "Oh, you really don't have to…"

"No one else is using them. And servant or not, you're part of this house now and should dress accordingly."

Lancelot picked up the coat and one of the soft shirts, fingering the fabric almost reverently. "Thank you," he said softly.

Arthur shrugged in discomfort. Perhaps Merlin was right, if the simplest thing like an extra set of clothes seemed like gold to Lancelot, that being here wasn't so bad for him.

Arthur also wondered whether he should get Lancelot his own chambers…but he rather liked having the consistent company, he privately admitted, so he didn't mention that.

Lancelot put his clothes away, then finished cleaning the floor.

"Now that you're done, why don't you put that coat on and we can go for a walk outside," Arthur suggested.

Lancelot dutifully followed Arthur's lead, and the two of them plus Merlin headed downstairs and out onto the castle grounds. It was cold outside with autumn waning and winter approaching. Arthur walked the grounds with its dead gardens, the exterior a reflection of the disrepair within the heart of the kingdom. None of them said anything.

They came across a white horse standing idly in a patch of sparse grass, its glorious mane so long it nearly draped to the ground.

"He's beautiful," Lancelot commented.

"He was once a man who came to kill my father," Arthur replied grimly.

Lancelot grimaced at that. "Why a horse?"

"My father thought it would make a nice 'gift' for me. But he's too feisty to let me come near him."

As if to emphasize Arthur's statement, the horse bared its teeth at him.

"Well…I could understand why," Lancelot said, eyeing the horse with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

Merlin bounded over and jumped up onto the horse's bare back. "He's nice to me," the cat preened.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "He's rather girly looking for a prince to ride anyway. More fit for a princess."

"Weell, you are kind of a damsel stuck in a tower," Merlin said.

The horse let out a chuffing sound that could have been a laugh. Merlin grinned.

Arthur crossed his arms with a glower. "Keep it up and you'll be sleeping with the dog."

"The dog is nice," Merlin rejoined.

"I don't suppose the dog was once a man too?" Lancelot asked hesitantly.

Arthur's expression fell. "Yes. Another knight who came to try to slay the beast."

Arthur felt bad about what had happened to them, but he couldn't be sorry they each failed to kill his father.

Lancelot had an almost rueful, wistful look on his face. "And to think I once dreamed of becoming a knight," he commented quietly.

"You did?" Arthur asked, surprised.

Lancelot nodded and ducked his gaze as though abashed by the admission. "After my family was slaughtered…I never wanted to feel helpless again. I never wanted anyone else to be that helpless. But as it turned out, only nobles can become knights, not commoners like me."

"Oh." Arthur supposed he knew that; he'd read books on the Knight's Code and been trained to follow it. "I could teach you," he said.

Lancelot blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Sure. It'd be nice to have someone to train with who isn't a bulky pile of armor."

Lancelot smiled for perhaps the first time since they'd met, and Arthur couldn't keep from returning it.

Lancelot returned to his chores after that afternoon excursion, but between trips to and from Arthur's chambers, he found himself drawn back to the corridor where Guinevere sat. She was a lifeless statue gazing despondently at the floor as he approached, but then she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"Hello," he said awkwardly. "I'm Lancelot."

She ran her fingers down the strings in a lilting chord that sounded welcoming.

Lancelot looked around the empty halls, then took a seat on the window bench in the alcove. "You play beautifully."

She gave him a wan smile and began to play a tune, one that evoked feelings of nostalgia in Lancelot. He wondered if she was playing of times before the curse.

"I liked that," he said when she finished. "It reminded me of my home, before I lost it."

Her eyes were full of sorrow as she played a mournful melody next, and the notes resonated in Lancelot's soul with grief and pain so much he almost couldn't bear it. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he didn't know whether he was feeling her sadness or his own.

Her brother the falcon flew through the window to perch on the crest of the harp bow again, cocking his head suspiciously at Lancelot.

"I'm sorry," Lancelot found himself saying. "I wish I knew how to free you."

Guinevere looked sad as she turned her gaze up to her brother, who squawked at her in return. She gave one string a twang and then fell silent.

Lancelot reluctantly got up to leave when the time for the supper bell began to approach, but he resolved to visit Guinevere when he could.

Arthur was poised almost anxiously when Lancelot returned. "I'll be dining with my father tonight," he informed Lancelot. "So you can serve us both together."

"Oh," Lancelot said in surprise. "Alright."

"It'll be from now on," Arthur added.

Lancelot nodded. He was actually a little relieved he wouldn't have to be alone with the beast king anymore. The past few evenings were enough to put him off eating meat altogether.

It was still a very tense environment, though. Lancelot placed their plates of food before each of them and stood back at attention. Uther tore into his chicken as usual while Arthur ate in a more subdued manner.

"How are your studies coming along?" Uther asked.

"Fine," Arthur replied. "I'm reading Sir Bors's volume of war strategies."

"Mm, an excellent source. And what is Sir Bors's primary method to ensure an enemy kingdom's defeat?"

Arthur hesitated, then answered, "Scorched earth." He faltered again before adding, "It's a dishonorable method."

Uther's eyes narrowed. "It's effective. Burn the land and crops and the enemy soldiers cannot feed themselves."

"Neither can the people."

Uther snorted. "They are the enemy as well."

"How?" Arthur challenged. "They're not involved in any fighting. They had no say in two kingdoms going to war."

"A king must look to the welfare of his own people," Uther rejoined sharply. "Where are you getting these ideas?" he asked and shot Lancelot a suspicious glare that skewered him to the spot.

"I have my own ideas," Arthur said firmly. "And I've read extensively on the subject."

"You have book knowledge," Uther countered. "Not practical."

"And what is the cause for that?"

The question was obviously delivered rhetorically, and Lancelot felt the temperature in the room drop with Uther's angry chill.

"We will not discuss this further," Uther declared. "And I expect an essay on the merits of Sir Bors's strategies before tomorrow's dinner."

Arthur's jaw ticked and he turned his attention back to his meal.

Lancelot's heart went out to the prince.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, and when they were done, Lancelot took the empty plates and goblets down to the kitchens where he then ate his own meal before returning to Arthur's chambers for the night.

Arthur looked more despondent than usual as he sat at his writing desk, a quill poised over a blank sheet of parchment and an open tome beside him.

"For what it's worth, I think you're right," Lancelot said. "The common people have no part in kings' wars."

Arthur looked up, a pinch between his brows. "You said your village was destroyed by raiders, not an invading army."

"It's the same, though, isn't it? Innocent people being slaughtered for simply…being in the way."

Arthur lowered his gaze. "It doesn't matter anyway." He set the quill to the page and began to write.

Lancelot puttered around the room for a bit, noticing Arthur's posture turning more dour the more he wrote. He shared concerned glances with Merlin, who was loafing on the bed.

"How about you take a break for some chess?" he suggested.

Arthur blinked and looked over at him. "I have to finish this."

"By supper tomorrow, not breakfast." Lancelot canted his head. "Any of Sir Bors's strategies that can be applied to the game?"

Arthur quirked a confused look at him, then shook his head. "Well, there are a few principles," he said, getting up to come over to the dining table.

Lancelot set up the board and turned the white pieces toward Arthur. He then took his own seat and listened to Arthur explain about some of this author's more renowned battle strategies as they passed the time with a friendly game of chess. And if Arthur seemed a bit in better spirits afterward, then that was a strategy well-played.