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

Chapter 5

The clack clack of sparring sticks punctuated the air as Arthur put Lancelot through some basic paces. The servant was a quick study, and after a week of lessons, was keeping up very well. Arthur could see he had what it took to be a knight, nobility or not.

Merlin, the horse, and the dog were off to the side, watching. Arthur and Lancelot went through another series of maneuvers, picking up the speed a bit more.

"Excellent form," Arthur praised.

Lancelot lit up at the compliment and picked up the pace again.

A different kind of clanking interrupted them as Sir Leon came out, expression taut.

Arthur frowned. "What is it?"

The knight tilted his head toward the castle, and dread flooded the pit of Arthur's stomach. His father was summoning him.

Swallowing hard, he handed his sparring stick to Lancelot. "That's all for today."

Lancelot looked at him in concern but didn't say anything.

Arthur headed into the castle and up to the east wing. He found his father standing at the window looking down onto the grounds where Arthur and Lancelot had just been sparring. Uther was practically bristling as he turned a livid glare on Arthur.

"Why are you teaching the servant boy to use a sword?" he demanded.

Arthur spluttered, utterly taken aback. "It's helping me keep up my own skill."

"The knights have always done that," Uther rejoined.

"They're slow and don't move naturally. And it's given me something new to do for a change."

"The boy could turn on us!" Uther snapped.

Arthur huffed in irritation. "Lancelot won't do that."

"You are too naive and trusting," Uther snarled.

"Lancelot has nowhere else to go," Arthur retorted. He knew he was treading a dangerous line but he couldn't hold it in anymore. "He's not going to turn on us."

Uther surged forward, getting right in Arthur's space, puffing nostrils buffeting his face with hot breath. Arthur flinched but stood his ground, which seemed to give his father pause.

After a lengthy beat, Uther moved back. "Very well," he bit out. "I will allow this to continue. But should that boy show even the slightest inclination of ill intent, he will not be added to the menagerie of animals—he'll be roasted on a spit."

Arthur's jaw ticked and he bowed stiffly. "Thank you, Father," he forced himself to say as graciously as he could muster.

Uther chuffed. "You're dismissed."

Arthur pivoted sharply and strode out. Once he was far down the adjoining corridor, he stopped and slumped against the wall, sliding to the floor and pulling his knees up. He bowed his head in despondence. Why could he never have a reasonable conversation with his father? Yes, he understood why his father was constantly angry, being under such a terrible curse for years. But surely he could try to be better, for his son at least.

But Arthur had learned long ago that was just a naive little boy's wishful thinking.

He was drawn from his morose thoughts by Merlin brushing against his ankles. The cat peered up at him with those blue eyes full of understanding and no judgement.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a tone that said he already knew the answer.

Arthur scowled. "My father is so paranoid about everything. He sees enemies everywhere."

Merlin leaned against his side comfortingly, and Arthur plopped his hand down to stroke the cat's back.

Arthur hesitated, then lowered his voice. "Do- do you think Lancelot would turn on us? If he got the chance? I mean, with me teaching him how to use a sword?"

Merlin leaned back to meet Arthur's gaze. "The only thing Lancelot would use that sword for is in defense of those who need it."

Arthur exhaled and nodded; he thought so too, but it was nice to have the affirmation from someone he trusted.

He pushed himself off the floor and headed back to his chambers where Lancelot already was.

"Are you in trouble for something?" Lancelot asked worriedly.

Arthur shook his head. "My father and I just had to discuss something."

Lancelot shifted in discomfort. "Is Uther angry because I'm a commoner and you're teaching me the ways of a knight?"

Arthur's jaw went slack at the question, astounded that that's what Lancelot was worried about. It only emphasized how different he and Uther were.

"No," he answered truthfully. "And it doesn't matter. You're my servant; I can have you do whatever I want, even if it's to train with me as a knight."

Lancelot dropped his gaze and gave a small nod of acceptance. "I'll go get our midday meal," he said and excused himself.

Arthur dropped into his chair with a sigh. "I can't believe how many times I've challenged my father since Lancelot arrived."

"No doubt that's the stick up the king's—"

Arthur shot Merlin a sharp look.

The cat snapped his mouth shut, whiskers twitching. "You're almost a man, Arthur," he went on in all seriousness. "It's time for some things to be challenged, or they will never change."

Arthur couldn't imagine change being possible when he lived in a preserved time capsule. Then again, Lancelot's arrival had changed things. Maybe Merlin was right.

He usually was.

Lancelot sat on the window bench in the alcove, Elyan perched on his shoulder as they listened to Guinevere's harp playing. At first, she always played such sad melodies, but the more Lancelot had made a habit of visiting, the more her music began to shift, and she started playing more uplifting tunes.

At the moment, her fingers were flying across the strings in a whirring harmony with high vibrations that sung like fire. Lancelot recalled Merlin saying she was the blacksmith's daughter, and he could visualize a forge through the various chords.

He smiled when she finished the tune. "Beautiful as always."

Guinevere, as usual, couldn't respond with words, but her eyes were so expressive and so were her songs, that Lancelot felt as though he was getting to know her through the music.

A thought struck him then, and he stood up, dislodging Elyan from his shoulder. The falcon flapped his wings with a shriek and flew out the window.

"Sorry for the abruptness," Lancelot apologized to Guinevere. "There's something I need to check on."

She offered him a kind smile as he went on his way.

He went down to the castle grounds in search of where a blacksmith's lodge might be located. It would have to be set apart from the main castle, Lancelot figured, and he wandered around the whole exterior of the grounds.

Elyan flew over his head, veering around the next corner. Lancelot decided to follow. Sure enough, there was a solitary structure with a large chimney. Lancelot knocked as he opened the door, knowing that if a person was inside, they were under the curse and wouldn't be able to respond.

It was a blacksmith's shop, with a large furnace, tools hanging from hooks around the work stations, and an anvil. And there was a man who looked to be made of iron standing by the cold forge.

Lancelot cautiously approached, but unlike the other servants he'd encountered, this one didn't wake. There must not have been much call for his services.

Elyan flew through the open door and landed on a chair. He screeched at Lancelot.

Lancelot looked around in contemplation. Perhaps if the forge was heated, the statue would waken.

He turned to the falcon. "I don't suppose you know how to light this," he said.

Elyan stretched out one wingspan to point out a flint stone on a shelf. Lancelot went over and retrieved it, then brought it over to strike above the charcoal in the fire pit. The sparks flew and lit the coal into embers, but little else.

Elyan screeched again and pointed the tip of his wing toward a contraption that had two wooden rods on the top and bottom and folded material in between. The narrow tip was sitting against the edge of the forge. Lancelot looked at it dubiously as he grabbed the two handles. Elyan bounced up and down on the chair, so Lancelot imitated the motion with the bellows. Gradually the air fed into the fire and fueled it into a burning blaze. Lancelot watched in fascination as Guinevere and Elyan's father slowly heated up as well. His eyes snapped open.

"Um, hello." Lancelot shifted awkwardly. He hadn't had much of a plan when he'd come out here.

The blacksmith lifted a hammer expectantly.

"Oh, no, I don't have any work for you to do," Lancelot said. "I just…thought you might want to know how your daughter is. She's in the castle, with a harp. I don't know if you would know that. She's doing well. Or, as well as any of you are in this state."

The man looked sad, like so many of the servants did, trapped in these not alive shells of mortar and stone. Lancelot wished he could offer him something more.

Elyan screeched and flapped his wings impatiently.

"And that's your son, Elyan," Lancelot quickly added. "I don't know if you would have known he was here or not."

The blacksmith flicked a fond yet exasperated expression at the falcon. Elyan flew from the chair to his father's shoulder, but neither of them could speak to the other; all they could do was exchange mournful looks.

Lancelot glanced at the fire. It would die down without tending, and the blacksmith would probably go back to sleep. He wondered if that was kinder to him than those half awake all the time.

"Well…I should go," he said awkwardly and started to turn away, only to pause. "I'm sorry," he added.

Both the blacksmith and the falcon gazed back at Lancelot with somber understanding. Lancelot left them to their privacy for however much longer Elyan's father would remain awake. He went back up to the third level in the castle to where Guinevere sat in a ray of golden sunlight. She looked at him in question.

"I saw your father," he told her. "I- I just wanted you to know he's all right. Given the circumstances."

Her eyes glistened, and for a moment Lancelot thought those bronze orbs capable of tears. But it was just a reflection of light. Still, Guinevere smiled at him with such gratitude that Lancelot smiled back. He felt good about what he'd done, and that feeling carried him through the rest of the day and into the evening when it came time to serve Arthur and Uther at supper.

Until Uther looked directly at him and in a tone of deadly calm said, "What were you doing lighting the forge in the blacksmith's shop?"

Arthur stiffened and threw a questioning look at Lancelot.

He didn't know why that would have been a problem but he could tell he had to answer carefully. "I…" He didn't want to mention Guinevere or Elyan to Uther, given Uther had been the one to curse the blacksmith's son and therefore probably held some animosity toward the family. Maybe that was it.

"I was exploring the grounds and came upon it," Lancelot said. "The man inside didn't wake like the other servants and I was concerned he was permanently frozen or…dead. I thought heating the forge might waken him."

Uther's glare was narrowed and harsh. "And did it?"

Lancelot nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, but I assume he went back to sleep after the fire died down. I didn't stay that long." He flicked a look at Arthur, who still looked tense, then back to Uther. "I'm sorry if I did something wrong."

"You didn't," Arthur quickly interjected.

Uther was chewing on his meat and studying Lancelot shrewdly. "And why would you care about the blacksmith?" he pressed.

Lancelot faltered at the unexpected question, because wasn't it obvious? "Because everyone here was once human, and somewhere inside these mannequins they still are."

Uther didn't respond to that, and after another long minute in which Lancelot began to sweat under the scrutiny, Uther finally went back to his meal.

Lancelot's knees nearly gave out from the release of tension.

After the king and prince had finished supper, Lancelot took the dishes back down to the kitchen. Arthur followed.

"Was what you told my father true?" he asked somewhat stiffly.

Lancelot hesitated. "Not completely," he admitted. "Are you familiar with the woman at the harp on the third level?"

Arthur shrugged. "There are a few women with instruments in the castle."

"The blacksmith is her father," Lancelot explained. "I just…I wanted to see if he was all right, so I could tell her…" He grimaced. "They haven't seen each other in over a decade. I just thought…"

Arthur's expression shifted to kindness. "You are a noble man, Lancelot," he said with what sounded like full sincerity. "I'll see you upstairs."

Lancelot exhaled heavily as Arthur left. Navigating these cursed halls was more exhausting than being manservant to a prince.