Author's Note:

Special thanks goes out in this chapter to M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng and Smuffly for beta help, nagging, support, and encouragement. Thank you, friends! I couldn't have done it without you!

2. Things Left Unsaid

Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid.

- Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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Arriving at the stables in the tepid light of early dawn, Arthur found himself shocked by several things that he did not expect, the first being that his manservant wasn't just on time but actually early, waiting for him with horses saddled and bags packed. He would have quipped some flippant comment about time and someone finally learning how to tell it, but the silent, wounded anger he felt practically radiating from the boy stopped the words on his tongue, and then a good look at the servant's black and blue face killed them altogether.

The tiny voice in the back of his mind that Merlin would have called his conscience and he liked to try and ignore whenever possible pricked at him, reminding him of the real purpose of this outing and that he had much to atone for.

But not here, where the eyes and ears of every noble and servant alike were open and waiting for the next bit of juicy gossip to sweep the kingdom. The Prince of Camelot seen apologizing to his servant was just the sort of scandal they lived and breathed for, and it would take probably an hour at most after catching the rumor-mill for the whole messy affair to make its way back to the King. The King who had been in an increasingly short-tempered and violent mood as every day with no news of Morgana passed. If that were to happen, Arthur would be on the receiving end of another shouting-match and Merlin would probably have more than just a few bruises on his face to worry about.

No, it was best to wait for a while, even if it meant he had to deal with Merlin's justified anger a little longer.

So Arthur simply nodded to his servant, acknowledging that things were as he'd requested, and spoke a short command for them to go.

"Yes, sire," Merlin answered quietly, and Arthur's gut clenched even more.

Quiet, polite, and on time – yes, Merlin was highly upset.

They rode from the citadel and through the lower town in strained silence. Arthur found his thoughts drifting again to the day before and the argument that had started this whole disaster.

Why had he been so quick to assume Merlin had stolen the missing cloak-pin? The boy was loyal to a fault, always thinking of others before his own needs. If Arthur was being completely honest, and it was just in his own head and no one was around to even guess that he might be thinking it, he had to admit that Merlin was the closest thing to a best friend he'd ever had.

So why had he assumed his friend would betray him like that? And assumed it so quickly?

Was it because in the end everyone always did? No one had ever become close to him without having some hidden agenda of personal gain? Was he really so cynical and untrusting?

That made him feel slightly frozen on the inside, and he shivered without realizing.

Or maybe, that was just the residual chill from yesterday's storm lingering. He should have brought that blasted cloak again.

Which just brought his thoughts full circle once more and etched the frown deeper onto his face as he urged his mount down the last twisting streets of the lower town.

The smell of fresh air and green things growing hit Arthur as they passed through the last city gates and he breathed deeply with relief. He might be a prince, born to privilege and rank, but there was something about the forest that called to his soul. He could always think more clearly when lost in the lush expanse of the woods than he could anywhere else.

Heaven knew he needed it today.

A hurried man dressed in the official livery of a Camelot messenger passed them a few yards out of the gate. The prince didn't recognize him, but his father had pressed so many new men into service out of desperation to find any lead that would bring Morgana home, he was hardly surprised the man's face was unfamiliar. The messenger gave him an almost startled look before rushing on, and Arthur frowned.

Perhaps there was news? Perhaps they should turn and go back?

No, he decided after only a moment of hesitation. This pretend hunt was not meant to last more than the good hours of the day. Any news wouldn't be acted upon until the morrow, anyway, and fixing things with Merlin was the more pressing issue at hand.

He stole a glance to where his servant was for once riding a respectful pace behind him. The boy's eyes were glued to the mane of his mare, his bruised jaw clenched and his hands holding the reins in a white-knuckle grip.

Arthur sighed and veered his horse off the main path, plunging them into the shade of the rustling trees.

There was a clearing a short distance ahead. It would serve well enough for what he needed to do.

Now he just had to figure out what to say.

Merlin, it was unfair of me to put you in the stocks for most of the day in an awful storm, especially when you really didn't deserve it, although, if you were better at taking care of my things like you are supposed to then –

Arthur gritted his teeth, discarding that train of thought.

I shouldn't have blamed you for stealing, Merlin, and I should have listened when you tried to explain. Next time, don't be so clumsy and slip and hit your head. Then we can avoid –

Again, he threw the words out, growing angry with himself. Was it so hard to swallow his pride, admit he had done wrong, and ask his friend for forgiveness, without somehow throwing a pointless barb of blame back at the boy?

By the time Arthur dragged himself out of his own head the clearing was long in the distance and he still had no idea what to say.

Perhaps by the time they arrived at next one he'd be ready.

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The deeper they rode into the forest, the more jumbled and mixed up Merlin's thoughts became.

He was still angry – a righteous fury that burned just beneath his skin and threatened to boil over every time he looked at the back of the arrogant prat's head, but it was becoming tempered as another emotion overtook it: fear.

What was Arthur going to do to him? His master was convinced he'd stolen something precious to him, and lied about it afterwards. He could not let that go unpunished.

Merlin had no doubt in his mind that was the real purpose of this trip. They'd been riding for several hours and Arthur hadn't even looked twice at the game they'd startled from the undergrowth. The prince was going to hand down his sentence, or at least interrogate him to decide which course of action to choose.

He didn't think Arthur would kill him – not over a cloak-pin. The prince was a better man than that even when he was at his worst.

Stealing from – and lying to – royalty was a serious crime, however…

Even though he knew he wasn't guilty, Merlin's stomach churned with fear, the last of his anger leeching away.

Flogging. Thieves were flogged. The more serious the crime the greater the number of lashes.

Arthur was going to have him beaten…and maybe imprisoned for a time. Purposefully hurt, publicly humiliated, and then locked away from those he loved and needed to protect. The prince was bringing him out here to tell him in private what would happen, out of some remaining sense of duty to their shredded friendship.

He'd never thought that Arthur would do that to him. But then, he'd also never thought that his friend would think him a thief, and that belief had been proven spectacularly wrong.

Once the worries took hold in his mind, Merlin found he couldn't stop them as they swirled and grew, logic and reason slightly blinded by the hurt and panic as his terrors ran away with him.

Thieves also had their hands cut off, as a punishment and a warning.

Merlin remembered stories of King Cenred; had grown up hearing them. He met a beggar once, one-handed and clothed in rags, shunned and alone…

But Camelot was civilized. Arthur would never, ever do that.

Uther might, though.

Merlin's breath hitched and he squeezed the reins tightly with his two hands, hands he was suddenly very aware of.

Uther burned children alive for having a spark of magic. The thought that he could order Merlin's hand cut off wasn't so very far outside the realm of possibility. He'd see an affront to the Crown Prince himself, a lesson that needed to be learned, a personal offence from the servant he himself appointed.

Oh, what if Arthur did turn him over to the king for punishment? He'd rather endure public flogging and imprisonment than lose his hand!

"Merlin."

He jumped at the sound of the prince's voice, startling his horse, and it was a good thing she was used to him or she might have bolted. For just a moment, Merlin was convinced there was almost a smile on Arthur's lips, but when he looked again, the solemn expression that had been etched firmly in place since yesterday was still there and the servant knew he must have imagined it.

"We'll stop here. I assume you brought some sort of lunch?" Arthur said, dismounting.

"Yes, sire," Merlin answered quietly, sliding from his own saddle to the ground. It was still wet from yesterday's storm, and he shivered at the feeling of winter approaching that hung in the air – at least that's what he told himself was making his flesh prickle in bumps.

Merlin prepared the light traveling meal he'd brought while Arthur paced. Like he did when he was working out a speech. Or had something great on his mind.

He shivered again.

Arthur's steps took him farther away, near the edge of the clearing they'd stopped in, and Merlin watched sadly for a moment before returning his attention to his tasks. This was hard for Arthur, passing this judgement. If only he could get the man to listen to him, to realize there was no need! Merlin was guilty of plenty of transgressions, some of them even considered crimes, but this time he was actually innocent! But just as Arthur was a good man, he was also a stubborn one. Changing his mind once it was made up was near impossible.

Merlin found himself fighting back tears as his insides twisted. This was it – the last moments of them, Merlin and Arthur, servant and master – friends. Once the meal was spread and Arthur returned from his pacing, everything would change.

Except everything changed even sooner than he expected when a hand suddenly wrapped around his mouth and the tempered steel of a blade was pressed against the soft skin of his neck.

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Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, or favorited this story! I can't tell you how much that means to me! I hope I haven't disappointed you with the next chapter.