A/N - This is the next part to 'Indict', and it follows on from where that one left off. For absolutely no apparent reason, I wrote nearly this whole thing backwards.

Also, I don't think I specified previously, but this is set at nearly the very end of series 2, in between episodes 10 ('Sweet Dreams') and 11 ('The Witch's Quickening'), and is AU from there. I've taken and adapted some speech from series 2 episode 12 ('The Fires of Idirsholas') and series 3 episode 5 ('The Crystal Cave').

Tragically, I have not come into possession of the rights to 'Merlin' since I last told you I don't have them.

(Updated 09/01/2022 to fix a few grammar and word choice errors and to actually include the word 'exonerate', which I apparently forgot about...)

-JKelly

Exonerate:

v. (of an official body) absolve (someone) from blame for a fault or wrongdoing

release someone from (a duty or obligation)

"Tospringe!"

Arthur stood in surprise as his cell door sprung open.

"Merlin…"

"Go, Arthur, I'll distract the guards. You still have to fulfil your destiny. You'll be a great king one day, but only if you go, now!"

Arthur stepped through the cell door and towards the dungeon exit, before stopping. He turned back around to face Merlin.

"Arthur?"

Arthur stared back at Merlin, thinking rapidly. Merlin was a sorcerer. He'd seen the irrefutable proof now, and there was no pretending that this was all some big misunderstanding. The laws of Camelot dictated that Arthur leave him here to rot, that he should rejoice to hear that he was being burned. But at the same time, he couldn't help but remember that the laws of Camelot had been written by the man who had just coldly plotted the death of his own son for having a sorcerer as a manservant. That small voice at the back of Arthur's head that was either rebellion, or conscience, or individuality, seemed to ask why he should owe any loyalty to a father and king who would do a thing like that.

While those two sides of Arthur battled, the strategist in him recognised that the cell door had not exploded open quietly (because this was Merlin, of course), and that whatever he decided, it would have to be soon. It was that same part of Arthur that decided that leaving Merlin here to die was a far more permanent decision than breaking out with him. He could execute him later, if he really wanted to, but he could not piece his ashes back together into a living, breathing man.

It was that last image that decided him. "Well, come on then." he said, falling back on their previous camaraderie but with none of the usual tone. He sounded like one of his father's old councilmen trying and failing to make a joke.

"What?"

"Are you deaf as well as stupid? They'll kill you if you stay here, you know."

"Isn't that what you want? I'm a sorcerer after all."

"Look, I...I don't know what I want. But I thanked you for helping Morgana, and I meant it. So stop being a martyr and get on with distracting the guards, would you?"

Merlin grinned, and repeated his spell, this time making his cell door bounce out of the frame with an even greater cacophony than Arthur's. Arthur shook his head at him.

"Ever heard of subtlety, Merlin?" he muttered. Merlin gestured for silence (too little too late, Arthur thought, but he kept it to himself this time) and crept forwards towards the guards who, not being totally incompetent, were making their way towards the cells.

"Swefe nu!" Merlin whispered, and immediately both guards fell to the ground.

"What- I said distract! Did you just kill them?!" Arthur cried. Merlin gave him a strange look, almost surprised.

"They're just asleep. It won't last forever, so come on!"

The two of them padded up the dungeon steps, Merlin taking the lead with his eyes burning gold. As they progressed through the castle, he somehow seemed to know exactly when they needed to hide in an alcove or duck into an empty room before someone walked past, and Arthur couldn't escape the thought that he must have done this before.

As they passed Morgana's chambers, Arthur hesitated for a moment, the desire to ensure that she really was recovering warring with his desire to avoid being caught. Eventually, he settled for quickly peeking through the door.

Morgana lay still on her bed, but it was not the deathly stillness that had come over her before, and it was not the restless incoherence that had preceded it. He was no physician, but she seemed to Arthur to be improving.

He closed the door softly and looked up to see Merlin looking at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Now do you believe I wasn't trying to kill her?" he asked. He was trying to sound flippant, but the slight desperation in his tone wasn't lost to Arthur.

"Yes Merlin," he replied, "I believe you."

Merlin nodded, and they continued on their way. It was not the most direct route from the dungeons, and Arthur had a feeling that they had passed Morgana's chambers as some sort of test for him. He tried to convince himself that he didn't care what the man who had lied to him for years thought of him, but the tiny traitorous part that remembered everything they'd been through hoped that he had passed.

It wasn't long then before Merlin led them through one of the servant's exits and into the courtyard, when he promptly encouraged the reins of a knight's horse to snap, disturbing the horse and creating enough of a distraction that they were able to pass into the lower town completely unnoticed.

They quickly made their way to the edge of the forest, where they swapped roles, with Arthur leading them further in. It suddenly dawned on him exactly what he'd just done - escaped the castle, with a sorcerer no less, one accused of trying to kill the king's ward. The internal conflict from earlier was back in full force, now, and Arthur had no idea which side was going to win.

"Just follow me," he called back to Merlin.

"Always, sire."

Arthur couldn't help but wonder if there was a double meaning in that. And with Merlin having magic, he couldn't help but wonder if it mattered.

Morgana blinked up at the awning above her, feeling as though she had just surfaced from a deep ocean where currents had been pulling her in different directions and waves buffeting her face every time she had tried to come up for air.

"Gwen?" She called, her throat dry but her voice stronger than she had expected. A face swam overhead, but it did not belong to her friend. Instead, she found herself looking into the familiar eyes of her guardian.

"My Lord?"

"Morgana. You're awake." His relief was obvious, and she wondered why he had been so concerned. Attempting to pull back some control, she struggled to sit up amongst her pillows, and the king immediately rose to help her.

"What happened?" she asked, "The last thing I remember is being taken unwell, but nothing that would cause you such worry."

Uther looked at her for a moment, apparently bewildered, before smiling.

"You always were perceptive, Morgana. I confess, I have been very concerned about you these last few days. You remember you were taken ill, but you took a turn for the worse overnight and couldn't be woken. Gaius thought...but you're awake now, and apparently well on the way to recovery."

"I didn't realise I was so unwell. Gaius managed to find a cure?" Uther seemed to freeze for a moment, before smiling down at her again.

"Something like that, yes. But no matter how, the important thing is that you've come back to us. You are...very precious to me, Morgana. I want you to know that."

"And you to me, my Lord." Morgana knew that Uther was a man who rarely showed his affections, and she couldn't help but feel a little glad for the illness that had brought out this caring side of him.

"Arthur...is my heir. He goes into many dangerous situations, and as you're well aware, it can be very difficult to keep him safe when he's got some idea or another in his head. If anything were to happen to him, Morgana, if one day he ran off and didn't make it back, my crown would fall to you."

Morgana's brown crinkled with confusion, "Surely not, my Lord; we're close but I'm no relation to you. The throne would pass to Arthur's surviving uncle according to the laws, wouldn't it? Besides, Arthur is a strong fighter and, despite what you may think, a decent strategist. There's no need for concern that he'll be defeated in his arrogance, and you shouldn't even speak of such things."

"I'm sorry. I've upset you," the king placed his weathered hands over one of Morgana's pale ones, "but by rights, the throne should pass to you if anything were to happen to Arthur. You're more closely related to me than you think."

"My Lord?"

"Morgana...perhaps now you ought to know. I've come so close to losing you and...it is a time for truth. Morgana, you are my daughter."

The room was silent for a moment, as Morgana gaped at Uther, trying to form a single rational thought out of the swirling mass within her mind. Finally, one appeared.

"...I...Gorlois is my father."

"He was away, fighting on the Northern Plains. Your mother...grew lonely." The king had the grace to look away then, ashamed.

"No…"

"I betrayed a good friend, but when I see what came from my transgression…" he paused for a moment, reaching out to cup Morgana's face before dropping his hand when she flinched back, "I cannot bring myself to regret it. I love you very much, Morgana."

"Why then did you never say anything? For all these years…"

"For Arthur's sake. But I have seen now how easily a child can be taken, by illness or...other means. I would be a fool not to acknowledge that I have a bright, strong, and beautiful daughter when you were so nearly lost to me."

"I...I cannot believe this."

"You need time. I understand. Let us speak of other things."

Morgana's thoughts on how best to tactfully refuse and ask the king - no, her father - to leave the room were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"My Lord," the guard said, bowing slightly, "you are needed in the throne room."

"Can it not wait?"

"I believe it is a matter of some urgency, my Lord."

"Very well. Give me a moment." The guard retreated at his words, and they were alone once again.

"If you must attend to matters of the court then…"

"I do not wish to leave you. Perhaps we can continue this discussion later?"

"Yes, later. Thank you, my Lord."

"Please, Morgana...you may call me father."

Morgana managed to scrounge up a weak smile, hoping her lack of enthusiasm would be blamed on the deadly illness she had just recovered from and not her inner turmoil at discovering who Uther really was to her. "Perhaps in time."

"Of course. I will see you later this evening, perhaps."

"I'll look forward to it."

The king left, and Morgana released a deep sigh. She had always believed her father to be Gorlois, and indeed, he had been for the first part of her life. But she had been living in Camelot for far longer now, and she had to admit that there was a part of her to which it made perfect sense that Uther was in fact her true father.

She wished Gwen was here, or Gaius, or perhaps Merlin. Gwen had always comforted her when she woke from her nightmares, and she almost believed that this could simply be a dream that had managed to evade the defences of her healing bracelet, and that if she saw Gwen she might wake up again. Gaius had always given her wisdom and advice when she had needed it, and she knew that he might be able to shed some light on the whole affair. And Merlin had proven himself trustworthy when she had told him about her magic and he had helped her flee to the druids. Perhaps it hadn't ended so well, but he had been a friend to her, and she knew he would be now if she asked it of him.

The one person she was glad hadn't chosen to visit her was Arthur. She still wasn't sure how to react to the revelation that he was her half brother (and thinking of all the subtle and not-so-subtle suggestions from the nobility that they ought to court one another now almost made her feel sick, and she finally understood why Uther had never encouraged it himself) and she was fairly sure that however badly she was taking it, he would be worse. Her...brother (and somehow that seemed more right than calling Uther her father) was truly awful when it came to emotions.

Settling back into her bed, Morgana closed her eyes. Perhaps there really was something to be said for her this-is-all-a-dream theory. And if not, things often seemed better in the morning.

Morgana soon fell into a restless sleep, filled with images of Gorlois, the father she remembered, turning away from her as she called out to him. She woke up feeling as though she hadn't slept at all.

Uther stormed into the throne room, already irritated by whatever matter of state had dared to call him away from spending time with his daughter.

"Yes?" His frustration was clear in his tone, and the already terrified looking man seemed to shrink back slightly. Uther sat on his throne and levelled a glare at him. The message was clear: get on with it.

"I'm a herder from the northern plains, sire. Three nights back, we were camped beneath the walls of Idirsholas…"

"And this concerns me how?"

"Well, while we were there, we saw smoke rising from the citadel."

Remembering the legend, Uther leant forwards in his throne. Usually, such a story would barely even register to him, but today...today he needed a way to be rid of his wayward son. And whether this fire was as a result of bandits or the infamous Knights of Medhir, it was exactly the sort of thing that his son might just rush off to investigate. Arthur would either die, or rid the kingdom of a few more bandits before he did so. Either way, for Uther, it was a win-win.

Gaius began speaking, but Uther quickly cut him off. He had all the information that he needed.

"I know the legend that is worrying you, but it is nothing, pure superstition," standing, he motioned to one of the servants that he knew would be over his shoulder, "see to it that this man is fed and has a bed for the night."

Uther stalked out of the throne room, the tell-tale shuffle of his Court Physician following him.

"My Lord…"

"What is it Gaius?" Uther snapped, his patience already tried by the blathering herder.

"If there is even a chance that this could be the Knights of Medhir, surely you cannot just sit back and do nothing, sire?"

"There are no Knights of Medhir, Gaius, it's nothing more than foolish superstition," he said, wishing he could be as confident about that as he sounded, "and regardless, surely it's not for you to question the actions of your king?"

"I do not mean to question you, sire, only to ensure that your decisions are...fully informed."

"I know about the legend - 'when the fires of Idirsholas burn the Knights of Medhir will ride again' - but there are no Knights and if there is a fire it's the results of bandits or some such sheltering in the ruins."

"If you're certain, my Lord… Perhaps then, we might discuss the matter of Merlin?"

"Hm? What is there to discuss?"

"Sire, I don't know what you walked in on exactly, but I can assure you that Merlin would never harm the Lady Morgana. Perhaps in your concern for Morgana you simply misheard, or-" Uther waved a hand for silence, and Gaius instantly complied.

"Gaius. You've been a good servant and a loyal friend for many years. It pains me enough that you must soon retire-"

"Retire?" Gaius was taken aback. "My Lord-"

"But I've no desire to see you on the pyre with that boy of yours. Unless, of course, there's something else that you feel I ought to know?"

Uther had thought about the fate of the physician for some time. He knew that he was close to the sorcerer boy, and he was sure that he must have had at least some inkling of his powers. But Uther had always known that Gaius had dabbled in sorcery in his youth, and he had chosen to overlook that fact on the basis that he no longer used it, instead dedicating his mind to the scientific art of healing. Besides, though he was loath to admit it, Gaius' magical knowledge had been useful more often than he would have liked when defending the kingdom, and he strongly suspected (although he had purposefully refrained from gathering evidence on the matter) that several members of the royal court had received certain magical ministrations from the physician during times of dire illness. He himself had even requested that Gaius look into every possibility on occasion, and neither of them were under any illusions as to what that meant.

Arthur was broken. Arthur was supposed to be his, to share his views and become a strong king once he had passed on. He was not supposed to be harbouring a sorcerer, and he was not supposed to be defending that filth to the king, his father, the man he was supposed to be loyal to.

So Arthur was broken, and Arthur had to die. Gaius, on the other hand, had never really been his. He had always known who and what Gaius was, and had made use of that fact. There was no question that Gaius had to leave Camelot; even if people never made the connection between the serving boy and the physician and realised that the king must be permitting a sorcerer not only to survive, but to reside within the castle itself, Uther could not live with the infestation of magic in his kingdom any longer. Gaius had to go, but Gaius did not have to die.

"I...no, my Lord."

"Good. You have a month to find a suitable replacement, and then perhaps you would prefer to leave Camelot - maybe move to the south, where the warmth would be better for your joints. Do you understand me, Gaius?"

"Yes. I understand you perfectly, my Lord." There was a certain tone in Gaius' voice, a bitter hardness that he had only heard a couple of times before. But Uther was the king, and the king did not fear the anger of an old physician.

Uther continued on his journey to the dungeons, leaving his oldest friend behind him.

Guarding the dungeons was usually a fairly dull job. When prisoners were escorted to and from their cells, the dungeon guards would only have to march them from the cell doors to the top of the steps where they would be collected by someone else, or vica versa. The job mainly consisted of long hours sitting at a table in dim light, keeping an eye on a row of locked doors that never opened, and ensuring that only those with permission walked past them. It was boring, monotonous work, and most guards avoided it like the plague.

However, all of this suited Warren down to the ground. He was not a man of action by nature, and he had always been content to sit alone with his thoughts. He could create a whole world in his head - get lost pondering the origins of stories he'd heard in his youth, or come up with a new design of woven basket, or decide on the true meaning of justice. He never envied those men who had to patrol the city walls or stand to attention outside the throne room for hours on end, instead being perfectly content to sit and pontificate on all manner of topics down in the bowels of the castle.

There was the odd bit of excitement - an attempted (or even occasionally successful) escape, but they didn't occur nearly as often as one might imagine, and thus far Warren had managed to avoid anything particularly unpleasant. Every so often there was a noisy prisoner who had some choice words for their jailers, or who was unable to control their wails after being sentenced to death, but Warren had lived in Camelot his whole life, and he had learnt long ago to block out the sounds of the hustle and bustle around him.

Besides, a job guarding the dungeons was safe. The dangers were all stuck behind cast iron bars, and they had nothing while he had armour to protect him and a sword to defend himself with. It was a safe job.

Or, Warren amended as he looked up at the sword of a furious king pressed against his neck, it was usually a safe job. An important distinction.

"Where is the prince?" The king's anger was fiercely controlled, but Warren did not think so highly of his king's self restraint that he would delude himself into thinking that he wasn't in danger of having his throat sliced open at a moment's notice.

"I...I don't know, my Lord. I heard a clatter coming from the cells, and then the sorcerer and the prince were both running towards me, and then the sorcerer...I think he said something? And then I woke up here on the ground, only moments before you walked in. I'm sorry, sire, I couldn't stop them." The king seemed to look at him thoughtfully for a moment, his face displaying a range of emotions, but his grip on the sword never wavering for a moment.

Adam, the other guard who had been guarding the dungeons with Warren that shift suddenly groaned, coming round at last, and the sound seemed to spur the king to a decision.

"I suppose you didn't have much of a chance against a sorcerer."

"No, my Lord."

"This is why I have spent so long stamping it out, to protect my people, you know that, yes?"

"Yes, of course, my Lord." Warren wasn't sure where this line of discussion was going, but he was glad that the king didn't seem to blame him for the escape.

"Then you understand why I must do what I'm about to do. For the good of the kingdom. For the fight against magic."

Warren looked at the king, curious. "My Lord-"

In another life, had he been born to different parents of a different station, or in a different time under a different king, Warren could have been many things - a philosopher, an architect, a teacher, an artist. But as it was, Warren died on the floor of a dungeon, his throat cut by the man he'd spent the better part of his life serving.

Merlin trailed several steps behind Arthur as they trekked through the forest. After the initial thrill of their escape had worn off, Arthur had become withdrawn, walking purposefully ahead of Merlin as though trying to forget that he was there.

Merlin felt the distance between them - metaphorical as well as physical - keenly. He knew that Arthur had been raised to believe that magic (and anyone who used it) was evil, but over the years he had hoped that Arthur's opinion may have softened slightly. More than the magic though, Merlin knew that Arthur felt betrayed. After all, they were pretty well best friends, even if neither of them would admit it, and Merlin had been lying to Arthur since the moment that they met.

Apparently, Arthur had been thinking along similar lines, because when he finally spoke, his question took Merlin back to when he was just a bumbling country boy and Arthur was...an idiot.

"Merlin, you remember all those years ago, when you insulted me repeatedly and then lost to me in a mace fight?"

"Yes, I remember." Merlin replied warily.

"Why did you lose?"

This wasn't the question Merlin had been expecting. "Don't you remember? You chased me with a mace and then hit me with a broom."

"No, I mean...you could have won. You could have used…" Arthur trailed off, either unable or unwilling to say the 'm' word.

Fortunately, Merlin had no such reservations. "Magic?"

"Yeah." Arthur looked down to the ground for a moment, before looking back up and meeting Merlin's eyes, "Why didn't you?"

"Well, um. I did, actually." This wasn't exactly the first story Merlin would have chosen to tell Arthur, but he supposed that he may as well get it over with.

"What?!"

"Yeah. You tripping over, getting your mace caught...that was me."

"You mean…" Arthur didn't seem as angry as Merlin had anticipated. In fact he looked rather thoughtful, "you had the power to knock me out in an instant like those guards, and instead you just...played a few petty jokes?"

"Well, not exactly. I mean I wasn't so experienced then and a lot of the tripping you up stuff was to avoid being beaten to a bloody pulp, but...sort of."

Arthur just looked at Merlin for a moment, before continuing his walk in silence.

Morgause had been surprised when she hadn't found Morgana in the market. Her maid was there, looking particularly troubled, and as though she hadn't slept for a while, but unusually she was not accompanied by her mistress. Confident in her disguise as an old woman, her curiosity got the better of her, and she decided to ask about her sister's whereabouts.

"Excuse me? You are the Lady Morgana's maid, are you not?"

The girl looked at her, apparently jolted out of her sleep-deprived stupor by her question.

"I- yes, I am. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that I often see her with you in the market, and couldn't help but wonder if she's alright. She is, isn't she? Alright?"

The girl seemed to pale, and Morgause instantly worried. If anything had happened to her sister after she had left her here, she would never forgive herself. She would burn this kingdom to the ground and slay its tyrant king and-

"You mean, you haven't heard?" the girl interrupted her dark thoughts, "The Lady Morgana was taken ill almost a week ago. It looked like there was no hope, but then- well, supposedly a sorcerer tried using an enchantment of some sort to kill her, and it backfired, curing her instead."

Morgause's horror at the first part of the girl's tale was soon overshadowed by her curiosity over the second. "Supposedly? You do not believe it?"

"I know the...person who did it. He's a kind man. I can't believe that he would ever harm Morgana." She seemed uncomfortable with the idea that this 'kind man' could be a sorcerer, but she also didn't seem to hate him on principle. Perhaps her sister could have a friend within Camelot after all...

"This man, he's in the dungeons now?"

"No, he escaped...with the prince. Apparently he was under some sort of enchantment. They're saying that they killed the guards and left the castle before anyone knew they were gone."

Catching on to this maid's subtle way of casting doubt on the official story, Morgause smiled. "You do not believe that either." she stated.

"No. I have spent enough time around him that I'm sure I would know if Arth- Prince Arthur were under any form of enchantment. And the...sorcerer...he's his manservant. He wouldn't hurt Morgana, he certainly wouldn't hurt the Prince, and frankly I don't see him killing two strangers for doing their jobs either."

If she had been paying attention, Morgause would undoubtedly have caught the girl's slip over Prince Arthur's title, and her, perhaps less scandalous, slip over Morgana's. But Morgause was not paying attention. Upon hearing that Arthur had left Camelot, her mind had been filled with possibilities.

"So Prince Arthur is no longer in the citadel…" Catching herself, Morgause paused her scheming. "I do hope the Lady Morgana recovers fully soon. Please, pass on my best."

"Of course. I'll let her know that people are thinking of her."

Morgause certainly had a lot to think about. But first, she would have to see Morgana in person. She had to confirm that she was truly getting better for herself.

With that in mind, she thanked the maid and limped off to plan her entrance to Morgana's chambers later that night.

As the old woman walked off, Gwen caught a glimpse of her face in a mirror, hanging over a stall. The face in the mirror had no wrinkles, and the hair was a striking blond, not a matted grey mess. In fact, Gwen couldn't help but think that she remembered her from somewhere…

She knew one thing though. Someone sneaking into Camelot in a magical disguise and asking questions about Morgana could not be a good thing. And with Morgana still healing, and Arthur and Merlin on the run, she had no idea what to do about it.

At first, Arthur had been angry.

He had dedicated his life to Camelot, and now, because of Merlin, he was forced to escape his own kingdom as a fugitive. Not only that, but he was helping a self-confessed sorcerer to escape with him. Maybe he should just go the whole hog and rob the royal treasury before starting a fight with the first knight he came across, he thought wryly.

But Merlin's answer to his question, while it did not necessarily exonerate him, certainly changed things. He had been expecting him to tell him that hurting him hadn't been part of his plan, or perhaps that he hadn't learnt such advanced magic yet (if indeed the display he'd witnessed earlier was advanced; Arthur had no way of knowing and little desire to find out). But no. If Merlin was to be believed (and thinking back on his abnormal clumsiness that day, Arthur was starting to think that he was) then, upon being attacked by the son of a king who would have had him killed, a man who it was glaringly obvious that he didn't particularly like, his reaction wasn't to win at any cost, maybe succeeding in striking a blow against the enemies of magic in the process, but instead to do just enough to barely avoid serious injury. Arthur had been humiliated, yes, but by rights, surely he should have been killed?

So now, his anger was replaced with confusion. Magic was evil, therefore sorcerers (or warlocks, same difference) were evil, therefore Merlin was evil. And yet Arthur couldn't think of a single person less evil than his friend and manservant.

And if Merlin wasn't evil, then sorcerers weren't evil, then magic wasn't evil, and his father had executed hundreds, maybe thousands of innocent men, women, and even children for no reason beyond his own personal vendetta.

Forget confused. Arthur felt sick.

"Arthur…"

It had been several hours of walking since they had last spoken, and this was the first time since they had escaped the citadel that Merlin was initiating the conversation.

"Hm?" he replied, still lost in his troubling thoughts.

"Where are we actually going?"

The question brought Arthur up short, because he suddenly realised that he didn't know. He didn't know what they were doing, where they were going, or what they were going to do when they got there.

For once in his life, Arthur the tactician did not have a plan.

"Anywhere. Away from Camelot."

"And how will we know when we've got there?"

"...I don't know, Merlin. I just don't know."

Silence fell between them once more.

Merlin slept fitfully, and not just because of the uneven floor of the cave they were sheltering in for the night. Images and sounds flashed through his dreams - a glimpse of blue and silver galloping across familiar cobbles, tinkling laughter with an edge of something unrecognisable, a curl of blond hair over a green dress in a heartfelt embrace, that same dress floating over a wooden bloodstained floor to sit on a throne, the shout of the knights far quieter than usual, the citadel burning as people shriek in the distance -

He bolted awake at the resounding cry of 'long live the Queen'.