It was a furious looking Merlin Arthur met on the other side of the doors when he stepped into his chambers later that afternoon. He looked like a mother bear waiting to reprimand her kids for wandering off without letting her know, and Arthur couldn't help but snort at the image formed in his head.

"Where have you been?" asked the dark haired man, his shadowed eyes narrowed at Arthur with accusation. "Didn't you hear me this morning about your lunch date with Lord Appleby? Do you have any idea how many excuses I had to come up for you because you thought it was a good idea to skive off your princely duties? As if I have no other work to do!"

Ah. Arthur did not -in fact- forget about it. It was just the fact that commissioning a silversmith took a lot of his time, and he wanted his gift to be perfect, so he stayed at the forge to see the progress with his own eyes. It was just that he didn't remember to inform Merlin of his whereabouts.

"Well then," Arthur said, squaring his shoulders and placing the box in his hands on the nearby table, "have you done my clothes for the evening?" He was certainly not changing the subject of his missing appointment with Lord whatshisname, but merely speculating what his servant did in his work hours.

His question seemed to strike the dark haired man into silence, and Arthur raised both his eyebrows with veiled amusement and the silent victory of winning another verbal battle.

"Ah— no" was Merlin's genius reply, and Arthur inwardly smirked.

"No? Well, what have you been doing? Other than reminding me of where I should be?"

The man in question looked dumbfounded, at a loss of words for his question and it painfully reminded Arthur how young Merlin looked. There was still a sparkle in his deep blue eyes that Arthur had seen missing in the eyes of his old friend, and his heart gave a painful throb. He looked away, unable to hold the other's gaze which painfully reminded himself of his failures, and found himself looking at a pile of clothes sitting on a chair at the table.

"Right then," Arthur continued, with a hint of a smile at the edge of his lips and walked towards the aforementioned chair. "You can start by pressing my robe" tossing the said crimson robe at the younger man, Arthur didn't hide the smirk that came over him. Secret sorcerer or not, Merlin could still be an idiot. "And cleaning my shirt and my boots"

Arthur's hand gently hovered over the carved wooden box on the table and didn't miss the questioning glance Merlin sent at it. He wanted to wait until the dark haired man's curiosity got the better of him and questioned him about it, but Arthur was bouncing on his heels to show off his present that he ran out of patience. "Oh alright, Merlin" he huffed exasperatedly and signalled him to come closer as he opened the box. "Take a look at what I got for Morgana!"

Inside the small chest rested a sharp, well balanced dagger with its crimson grip and sheath embossed with gold and silver highlights of swirls. It's pommel decorated with a cut ruby which glistened in the sunlight. The design was quite similar but different from what he got for her the last time, but nonetheless, the weapon was beautiful. It cost Arthur a small fortune, but it was for Morgana, his sister, who he dearly loved and wanted back in his life. He knew that maybe it would come back to bite him, but he desperately wanted for her to know that he cared for her. He didn't want to see her being wasted into a half mad, vengeful woman she had been.

"What do you say, Merlin?"

Arthur glanced at Merlin who seemed to have quietened for some reason, only to realise that man had gone dreadfully pale with a look of fearful apprehension in his face. He was looking at the blade with dread in his eyes, and Arthur had to wonder what had happened to make Merlin to be that way. Sometimes Arthur could only imagine what was going on in his servant's head.

Sighing to himself and rolling his eyes, Arthur resisted the urge to cuff his companion at the back of his head, instead went to clasp his hand on Merlin's shoulder, trying to pull the man out of whatever stupor that he was in. True to this, the dark haired man blinked, and gave Arthur a very strained smile as he met his eyes.

"Well," the younger man said, trying and failing to pretend that there was nothing that was bothering him. "That's what every woman wants isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, don't ladies like things like jewellery and not— you know — stabby things?"

"This is Morgana we're talking about! She would adore a pretty dagger like this!" She would, if she could surpass the temptation to stab everyone in the back. Arthur thought bitterly as he remembered dark halls filled with immortal soldiers and Southron men, killing innocent men and women just for being the citizens of his kingdom. For a moment he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Wouldn't it be easier to kill the woman who would be responsible for so many of their deaths?

Could Arthur work up the courage to kill the woman that was his sister?

Could he justify an execution of someone who was yet to do an evil act just because they would do so in the future?

Morgana.

Mordred.

How could he judge someone for the crimes that they were yet to commit?

His companion didn't seem to hear the raging thoughts swirling in the golden haired man's mind, instead stiffly picked up the pieces of clothing that were thrown at his face by his master. Arthur did not stop him as he left, his fingers curling around the hilt of the ornamented dagger that he had commissioned for his sister.

The silver of hope he had for Morgana diminished every time Arthur stopped to think about her. Can he forgive the woman who was responsible for the torment of everyone in his life including himself? Can Arthur be selfish enough to give her a chance? The Morgana whom he saw that morning hadn't done anything that he was aware of, but Arthur knew that she was still a traitor. Her changed demeanour was plain as day, and Arthur cursed himself for being so foolish in the past to be fooled by her.

Arthur sighed, his hands reaching to his temple as he realised there was another headache building at the back of his head. This was ridiculous. He thought he had a plan this morning. but the doubt that had creeped in his mind as time passed was more than just a passing thought, and if anything goes wrong, Arthur wouldn't know how to fix things on his own.

He- He needed to stop thinking of possibilities, else he might go mad.

A break was all he wanted! Death was supposed to be freeing. Not being thrusted into his past and shoveling his mistakes into his face!

The confines of his chambers no longer felt comforting, and Arthur felt strangely trapped. Not that he felt anything other than trapped since he woke up in the living nightmare that was his past, and all he wanted was to get out of this trap. Or sooner or later he knew that he might snap.

It wasn't long after that Arthur found himself once again wandering -patrolling- around the hallways of his castle, getting out of the way of servants hurrying along in preparation for tonight's feast. He desperately wanted to stretch his muscles, to feel the strain in his arms, to feel the familiar grip of the sword in his hands. But alas, he had missed that morning's training, and he had only but a few minutes until Merlin would find him again to coax him into going to the feast that evening. Not that it meant that he couldn't go to the training grounds, his servant had no say in what he could or couldn't do, except he did, and Arthur didn't want to be on the receiving end of the disappointed look in his friend's eyes again no matter how amusing it sounded.

He turned another corner in the hallway and from the corner of his eye he got a glimpse of dark brown curls framing a familiar face with a warm smile.

Guinevere-

Arthur sucked in a breath, and his heart skipped a beat -several beats- when his eyes met hers on the other end of the hallway. She looked young, beautiful and radiant as ever, even though she was dressed in the simple yellow dress that matched her beautifully. His love, his wife, his Queen.

He desperately wanted to go to her, to take her to his arms and kiss her gently, to press a loose curl of her dark brown hair behind her ear. His heart fluttered, soared, he felt as if his heart suddenly filled with something he was missing all this time, but couldn't understand. But he knew now, he missed his Guinevere, his radiant Queen.

Things had been a whirlwind of events since he had last seen his Queen, in the doomed fields of Camlann, before his final battle. He had been stabbed, betrayed, died, brought back to his past, had been forced to confront his father and his evil half sister, but it didn't excuse the fact that his mind had slipped the thoughts of the love of his life.

Not forgotten. Never forgotten.

His lady stood at the end of the hallway, holding a basket of dirty laundry at her hip, her head nodding in his way and giving him another sunny smile. The golden haired man wanted nothing more than to embrace the woman and pour his heart out, to tell her of the absolute disaster of life that he was now living. He took a step towards her, but as soon as he did, reality crashed on him like a heap of rocks as he realised that this Guinevere was not his Queen, not the woman whom he crowned on the throne room, not the woman who fought with him to take Camelot back from Morgana's clutches.

But-

But she was still the woman he fell in love with. She was still Guinevere, Blacksmith's daughter, the woman who fearlessly, furiously spoke her mind about his rude behaviour when he was a guest at her home, the woman who trained an army of common women to defend their home, and the woman that Arthur was hopelessly still in love with.

But- again, this was too much, Arthur wanted to get away, away, away from all this. Back to his Camelot, back to his Guinevere, back to his Merlin.

But in the back of his mind, Arthur was glad he was back here, trying to help in any way he could.

Except he had no idea how to.

Not for the first time that day, Arthur took a breath, determination filling his veins. He is not running away again. Time to face things head on. He needed to face things as a King.

He would not force Guinevere to love him, because Arthur was mature enough to realise that she still had a place in her heart for Lancelot. No matter how much that hurt him, he would give her the choice.

He would not force Merlin to reveal his secret to him. He would give him time, let him know that Merlin could trust Arthur, that he would choose his best friend over his father at any given time, because Arthur knew that the dark haired boy had suffered more than he let on, and the only thing he could do was to be there for him.

Except-

Arthur didn't know if he could survive without the two of his most treasured people at his side.

He didn't know how to stay sane without having to confide in anyone.

A King must rule alone. That was his father's policy. Never Arthur's. Arthur believed in equality. In mercy. He would be nothing without his most trusted people by his side.

CLANG!

The sound of a loud long ringing noise of a metal plate hitting the floor brought Arthur to the surface of his sea of thoughts, and when he blinked and looked back at the end of the hallway, Guinevere was nowhere in sight.

Arthur tried not to let his guilt and disappointment show.

Hello! Apologies for the late update and for the shorter chapter, I wanted to add one more scene to this one, but I've been trying to write this chapter for while, and I've got exams and assignments coming up this week, so this is what I came up with.

Arthur's character exploration and his insights on somethings.

Next chapter would (hopefully) be the last chapter for this episode.

Have a Happy holidays! :)