1x04 – The Most Noble of Them All

It had been nearly a week since Arthur first woke to an obnoxiously cheery,

"Rise and shine!"

Arthur groaned and blindly felt around for his extra pillow, smothering it over one ear and turning so his main pillow covered the other. Though Merlin's other far too energetic words were successfully muffled, the sudden blinding brightness searing against his closed eyelids could not be muted out by the flimsy protection of cotton and down. Arthur's arm was half-pulled back, intent on launching his pillow at the source of his annoyance, when he remembered for the umpteenth time in as many days the only reason his mornings were less peaceful than they'd been before: royal edict.

Arthur dropped the pillow and pushed himself upright, climbing out of bed with much groaning and rubbing of the eyes.

"… Good morning, my lord." A beat too slow to be a natural turn in conversion, Merlin continued, "… It's nice out."

"Oh… er, really?"

"… Yeah… real sunny, sire."

"Well, um… good."

Neither having anything else to add, the room fell into stifling silence.

Squinting while his eyes adjusted to the change in lighting, Arthur could see his clothes already laid out for him. Breakfast as well was already on the table and – while not the usual voluminous layout he'd received every day for years – it was decent fare, nothing like the crusty bun and piece of cheese Merlin had served him in his first bout of servitude four months ago or the sorry excuse for soup he'd forced him to drink not three weeks ago.

It would be ridiculous to be disappointed to have a decent breakfast, so Arthur wasn't disappointed. There was another word for what he was feeling, and one of the advantages of being a prince was that he didn't have to think of what it was. He said there was a more fitting word, so there was a more fitting word, and that was the end of it.

His self-assurances, though, couldn't block out the sheer wrongness of his recent morning routine.

On the surface, it was similar to that morning of the last day of Merlin's first round of employment, when he was moderately competent and they hadn't spent the entire time trying to make each other miserable. Digging past that first layer, however, revealed the shallow façade for what it was. The key was not to look at what they were doing, but at what they weren't doing.

They were behaving perfectly civilly to each other, the picture of politeness so much so that it was difficult to believe just a few weeks before they'd been teasing each other mercilessly. Now they talked about the sodding weather, of all things. Merlin's constant cheeriness lacking its previous thinly veiled sarcasm felt like an itch that had crept beneath his skin and wouldn't go away, twinging every time he saw that smile so big and unchanging that there was no way it wasn't fake. Arthur wore a similar one himself and his facial muscles ached from the effort of keeping it plastered on.

He'd never be able to get through the day like this, so as soon as he was readied for training he set Merlin as many chores as he could think of. Then they smiled at each other like many of the 'friends' Arthur had been assigned when he was younger. At last Merlin disappeared to go do his chores and Arthur let out a deep breath, wiping a hand down his tense face and massaging his cheek muscles, which begged him to never smile again.

Arthur couldn't take it much longer. The politeness was killing him. Even his previous barely-existent servants had been more comfortable to be around than this… this… niceness.

But how on earth could he go on insulting Merlin's intelligence and clumsiness and all his other embarrassing attributes when the only reason he was here was because the king had forced him to be?

It was tempting to concoct some excuse to fire Merlin again, but he didn't know how Merlin would react to being unjustly fired twice by the same person. He probably wouldn't speak to Arthur ever again.

Not that they were really speaking to each other now, beyond endless rounds of "How are you?" and "Looks like rain."

Maybe he was overthinking this. It couldn't possibly be so terrible to be Arthur's servant, could it?

But then why had he turned it down when Arthur offered him the job?

But he hadn't refused it when Uther asked.

Why on earth would he say no to the man who'd ordered his death the last time they'd spoken? Even Merlin wasn't that much of an idiot.

Of course most people would say that refusing the prince was an equally stupid move. Of course, most people would also say getting in a mace-fight with the prince even after learning his identity was an even stupider move, so maybe Merlin for some reason figured he could get away with it with Arthur. He always said whatever he thought about Arthur to his face; there were no honey-coated words pouring forth from Merlin's lips.

Except not lately. All week he hadn't offered a single sarcastic comment or even added an insolent ring to the oft said words: Yes, my Lord. He was behaving disturbingly un-Merlin-like, as if he was just another servant Morgana had drudged up from somewhere for him. As if he hadn't drunk poison for Arthur, as if Arthur had risked his life and father's wrath to get him a cure. As if they hadn't fought an afanc together. As if the first time they'd met he hadn't tried to punch Arthur in the face.

Was he mad at Arthur for letting his father rehire him?

Was he going to quit, damn the consequences of spitting in the face of the king's generosity?

Was he going to ride it out, letting this awful week span into more weeks and months and years, for God knew how long?

What if they spent the rest of their lives living like this, in this awful amiability that was trying too hard to be amiable to truly be amiable?

There were only two options that Arthur could see. He could leave matters as they were and spend the rest of his life second guessing what lay behind Merlin's too competently completed chores and too unwaveringly happy smile, all the while acting like his personal shadow was a political visitor he had to be painfully careful not to offend, doing so for every waking moment of the day he couldn't fill with pointless chores, no matter that he already felt the strain of faking niceties slowly sapping him of life. Or, alternatively, he could pull Merlin aside to have a heart-to-heart about their feelings.

The choice didn't even bear thinking about.

He'd better think of more chores to keep Merlin occupied.

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A week ago Merlin would have laughed in the face of anyone who told him that he'd soon be glad to be ordered to muck out horses. Now, after rounding the corner he dropped the charade he'd painstakingly been upholding, his shoulders sank in relief to hear those words.

Part of the reason he didn't mind was that the chore didn't take as long now he knew Tyr Sewart, who was more than happy to lend a helping hand whenever he saw Merlin walk through the door. Having another, more experienced set of hands help out made it go much more quickly. That being said, it was still a smelly and unpleasant chore, just less time-consuming than it had been before.

So the real reason he was relieved to be shoveling horse waste was simply that it got him away from Arthur.

Arthur was acting nice to him. Words could not describe how utterly wrong that was. It was as if he'd seen a bloodthirsty killer rabbit or a domesticated, cuddly bear. Like the sky being green or a singing rock, Arthur and overt niceness just didn't go. It was bizarre that something that should be pleasant was instead just discomforting; Arthur's insults were a thousand times more natural and inviting than "… Nice weather today…. Er… How are you?"

Merlin dragged all of Arthur's stuff he'd been assigned to clean back to his room, enchanting it spotless in about twenty seconds. Then he pulled out a book and flopped on his bed for what he would argue was a well-deserved rest; he needed to recuperate his energy so that when the time came for him to return to Arthur's side he'd have enough strength to fall back into the role of a cheerful servant.

A week ago, after Uther walked away having turned Merlin's world on its head once again, Arthur had just sort of stood outside Gaius' chambers, visibly stunned. It hadn't helped that Merlin's emotional state was too tumulus for words. What on earth was he supposed to say to Arthur, when neither of them wanted this turn of events?

He wasn't sure what Arthur had been doing outside Gaius' chambers. Perhaps he had a medical complaint, or perhaps he wanted to check on Merlin - under some other pretext of course. Merlin would never know, because while he was just sitting there in stupefied denial, trying to envision a way out of the mess he'd been thrust into yet again, Arthur had come to his senses. He'd given a jerky nod, and an awkward well… I guess I'll see you tomorrow, and then stiffly walked away without whatever he'd come for.

He'd seemed in a hurry to go, and the next morning Merlin found out why. While gathering Arthur's breakfast alongside Gwen, he found out that Arthur had spent the remainder of the previous day arguing with his father, trying to get him to revoke the 'reward'.

So he couldn't blame Arthur for his situation. Arthur was as forced into this as he was. Not to mention Arthur had risked his life on a dangerous quest to bring Merlin a cure, and gotten only an insider's perspective on the dungeons as his reward. He didn't want Arthur to be peeved at losing a competent servant and gaining just a Merlin in his stead, so he resolved to be nice to Arthur and try his best in the job this time.

Now almost a week had passed, and he was sick of being nice to Arthur and cheerfully and silently mopping his floor and cleaning his boots and sallying off to muck out his horses, but with Arthur being nice to him it would feel strange to out of nowhere insult him. He couldn't tell what Arthur was thinking. Did he feel he owed Merlin for warning him about the poison? Did he blame Merlin for his stint in the dungeons? Was he annoyed that Merlin the amateur had replaced his more experienced servant? Was this how Arthur treated his servants these days, and now that Merlin was his servant once again they had to fall into a relationship of distancing politeness rather than the mocking-centered one they'd had before? Was there some kind of law that said thou shalt keep thy distance from thy servants?

Or did Arthur just feel awkward having Merlin back against his will, and was trying to hide his discomfort under uncharacteristic politeness?

Ideally, he'd talk this over with Arthur and iron out all the uncertainties hanging unsaid between them. Unfortunately, this was Arthur. Not two days ago Merlin had barely gotten we need to talk out of his mouth before he was hastily ordered to go muck out Arthur's horses… which he'd just done two hours before. He'd tried since then several other times, each time being thwarted by Arthur's sudden desire to give him a chore that made talking impossible.

Merlin shifted restlessly, only two chapters in and already tired of his book. For a change of pace, he took the satchel out from Gaius' store cupboard and left to gather herbs, one of his more soothing chores.

Picking herbs always brought to mind sunlight caught in the leaves of the trees in the Forest of Ascetir, and the swish of his mother's skirts against the foliage. In those precious childhood days of trailing after her with the herb satchel, everything had seemed right in the world. Out in the forest with just him and his mother he could forget the uncomfortable stares and whispering that came to abrupt stops whenever he looked over, and the taunting of the children his age whom the adults weren't as careful to hide their gossiping from. Hidden in the trees, it didn't matter whether he performed small acts of magic. His mother would smile and tell him that he was just like his father, then ask him for the name of the herb she was picking, making Merlin feel smart and important for being able to answer even though he knew she knew all the names herself; she was the one who'd taught him, after all.

In Camelot, trips into the forest to pick herbs were still peaceful. Though his mother wasn't there and he couldn't use magic in case an ill-timed patrol happened by, merely being among the trees and wind, far from other human souls, was like coming home.

Gaius used many more varieties of herbs than his mother, but by this point with only a passing glance Merlin could successfully identify even the ones that didn't grow in Ealdor's harsher climate. Not needing to devote much attention to the task, therefore, he let his mind wander.

For a while he entertained himself with devising ridiculous ways to force Arthur to talk. He could hang him from the ceiling by his ankles until he conceded they needed to talk, or spike his evening drink until he was so loopy he couldn't stop talking, or hide all his clothes and refuse to fetch them until they'd worked through their problems, or invent a deadly illness whose only cure was confiding your worries to someone. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of any that weren't liable to land him in the stocks or the dungeons (or the stocks and the dungeons, in true tribute to their first meeting) and Merlin wasn't quite desperate enough to set himself up in that way.

Tired of the viciously awful niceties awaiting him within the city walls, Merlin forced all thoughts of them aside. The trouble was that the void was then filled with another unsolved problem: his dream.

Arthur, normally not prone to modest silence, was curiously cagey when asked about his quest to the Caves of Balor. So Merlin had to hear most of the details from Gwen, who'd heard them from Morgana, who'd wrestled them from Arthur. It was eerie how his dream fell perfectly in line with the admittedly third-hand account. At this point Gaius had told him to give up looking in the science books for his answer, and now the old physician was puzzling over the significance of Merlin's vision.

Merlin was more reluctant to mull it over, because he didn't like the direction it had been going in. He and Arthur had been threads on a great unfinished tapestry. Not only had they been threads, but they'd been woven together like a rope, from their beginnings all the way through to the inky blueprint. They'd been connected – the unknown light spell he'd used across leagues to save Arthur was undeniable proof of that.

More than just that though, looking back it seemed a fantastic coincidence that on his second day in the city he, a foreign peasant, had integrated himself with the prince of the land – not well, but memorably, at least. A couple of days later he'd been forced into the position of the older boy's personal shadow, and though he'd escaped that, it hadn't ended his contact with Arthur. With the amount of injuries Arthur got on patrols he saw him daily on his medicinal rounds, and now only four months later he was again forced into shadowing Arthur. The chances of all this happening seemed so astronomically low that Merlin couldn't help but hold it as another form of proof of the veracity of his vision.

Two strands of a rope, indeed. It was as if no matter what they did, he and Arthur were stuck together by forces outside of their control, whether it be from crossing each other's paths in the street, patrol wounds after patrol wound, or the king's decree.

Why Arthur, of all people? They had absolutely nothing in common. Not their class, not their interests, not their upbringings, not their political stances, not their world views, not their bloodlines, not even their nationalities. They were polar opposites in almost every way imaginable. He'd heard that opposites attract, but nothing said anything about it being between a magic-hating prince and a magical commoner.

Merlin had nothing against Arthur, aside from… alright, that was a lie, he had a ton of things against Arthur; just most were relatively trivial. But before they'd been thrust back together and Merlin had had a strange vision, he'd considered them to have something like a taunt-based friendship. Now, however, he couldn't see how they could possibly be expected by fate or whatever to work together for the rest of the foreseeable future. The most likely outcome of that was Merlin's own end coming early in a grisly manner.

It had been more than five months since he'd come to Camelot, and since then he'd come dangerously close to forgetting that the son of Uther Pendragon would not suffer a sorcerer to live within his borders, much less consider him a friend. It had taken poisoning himself for the prince and a dying vision to make him see how dangerously close they'd gotten.

It was one thing to pull Arthur out of the way of a dagger. It was one thing to use magic in a large crowd to even the odds of his death match. It was one thing to use magic in front of him and on him after he'd taken a blow to the head. Those things were all risks, yes, but they were risks he'd take for anyone. If it had been Gwen or even Morgana, whom he wasn't as close to, he would have still done those things. He had done similar things for Gwen's father and the tomato girl, neither of whom he was especially close to.

Somehow, though, in their months of annoying each other Arthur had crossed some line where Merlin would drink poison in his place, if push came to shove. There was no good reason for it. Merlin had no idea what had possessed him to do it. In that moment, though, Arthur dying had seemed such a great travesty that he'd taken his place.

Even as he lay dying himself, he'd abandoned his attempts to find a way out of the darkness in favour of saving Arthur. Gaius and Gwen's voices had been with him in the void the whole time and he hadn't recognised them, but a bit of string had been all he needed to not only remember Arthur when he couldn't even remember himself, but to see from afar the danger stalking Arthur. In that moment, when he'd forgotten all else, saving Arthur had felt paramount to survival itself; it was instinct, pure and simple, even more overpoweringly so than his bid to escape the darkness.

That wasn't a usual level of closeness, and he couldn't stop himself from thinking of a dual-stranded string whose implications he didn't wholly understand but was wary of.

So perhaps, Merlin couldn't stop himself from thinking no matter how much he didn't want to, it wasn't for Arthur's sake after all that he'd started the civil act they were caught in. Acting polite meant throwing distance between them and, with his worries that unwittingly he'd become dangerously close to the son of his father's pursuer, distance had seemed appealing. It still seemed appealing, but not like this.

He wanted two things that he couldn't have together: he wanted to be a safe distance from the prince of Camelot so he wouldn't be roped into some great design that he couldn't see a happy ending to, and he wanted to keep the quip-filled friendship he'd so easily slid into with a boy his age named Arthur.

The world, however, did not just conveniently halt for him to work through his problems. There was a great angry cry of some animal from behind him, bringing him crashing back to the plane of reality.

He pushed himself up from where he was crouching and spun around. Slack jawed, he stared at the great beast glaring at him. It looked like nothing he'd ever heard of; the head and wings of a raptor on the body of a large feline. It would surely be listed within one of the pages of the strictly regulated books that Gaius was only allowed to keep out of an old friendship with the king, listed in the section on magical monsters.

Thought was pushed out of Merlin's head by the pounding of the blood ringing in his ears, screaming at him to act but drowning out all instructions on how to go about doing so. There were spells to defeat monsters like this, he'd been studying them for months, but as the beast charged him he could only recall his most basic instincts: he ran.

He hadn't gotten very far before he tripped. He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for a messy, bloody end. The monster screeched above him, but its predatory cries were broken up by unexpected noises: the clang of metal upon a hard surface and a male grunt. Merlin opened his eyes, and there was a stranger, come out of nowhere to fend off the monster.

He drove it back and hauled Merlin to his feet, and together they ran from the foul beast. Jumping over a great tree trunk, the stranger yanked Merlin down to the ground. Panic blinded him and every throb of his racing heart cried out for him to break free and continue running, but the other man jerked him back.

The beast cleared the giant log in its charge and took to the air. Merlin watched it fly away, his pulse finally beginning to slow as the danger passed and his breathing evened.

He looked over to his rescuer in gratitude, thanking him and gaining the man's name as they shook hands.

"Lancelot."

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There was something about Merlin, though Lancelot couldn't work out what it was.

At first glance he had looked like a regular commoner in a bind: no way to defend himself and in desperate need of help. And he had been: Lancelot didn't doubt that Merlin been in danger of imminent death. But in the days he spent as his house guest, Lancelot was coming to the ever growing conclusion that there was more to Merlin than met the eye.

First he'd found out that Merlin was a servant who'd spent several months as the Royal Physician's apprentice. That was unusual, but it hadn't been terribly strange. Then he'd found out that not only was Merlin a servant, he was Prince Arthur's personal servant. That was certainly a more unique position, but logically someone had to fill it. So the only thing strange was that Lancelot had coincidentally saved the life of the servant of the man he wanted to train him in knighthood. But coincidences did happen, so he could put it aside.

Then Merlin had produced a seal of nobility for the nonexistent Lancelot, fifth son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria, beautifully forged down to the miniscule swirls of a scribe's writing which differed markedly from the thin plain scratch Merlin wrote in. It was at that point that Lancelot truly began to question what lay behind the veneer of good-natured cheer and friendliness that Merlin emanated.

Possibly Merlin had a friend who was good at forging who'd volunteered to help with the papers, much as his lovely friend Guinevere kindly had with the tailoring. Or possibly he'd bribed a crooked official for it. Indeed, normally Lancelot would think it far more probable that the servant himself wasn't the hand behind the forgery. However, Merlin's face when he held up the parchment hadn't just been smug at his planning, there had been a measure of personal pride in there which made Lancelot hesitate; Merlin looked far too pleased with that piece of parchment to have gotten it from someone else.

When Lancelot had handed the document to the prince himself, the man hadn't noticed anything strange about it, despite doubtlessly seeing dozens upon dozens of these seals and therefore knowing exactly what they looked like. So it wasn't as if Merlin had just produced a mediocre copy, which made Lancelot wonder. And once he began wondering, he started taking notice.

Merlin stood at the very heart of Camelot, wandering between the spheres of the highest of the high and the regular townsfolk as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He looked completely at ease in the forest, the lower town, and the castle, as if the entire city and surrounding countryside was his home, though he'd told Lancelot he had only come to Camelot mere months before. But in this brief stretch of time he appeared to have integrated himself to the entire city; people of all ages and classes waved hello to him as he passed, and Merlin seemed oblivious to how unusual it was for a man to be this well-known in a city the size of Camelot, let alone this well-liked.

There was also Merlin's insistence that Lancelot deserved a chance to prove himself. It would be easy to write it off as a commoner cheering on another commoner or the rescued wanting to repay the rescuer, and those things undoubtedly played their part. But it went deeper too, Lancelot could sense it. There had been a look in Merlin's eyes when Gaius brusquely broke the news that commoners couldn't be knights that bore far too much understanding, like he was well acquainted with similar pain. Lancelot doubted Merlin had ever had a burning desire for knighthood, yet there was something he wanted more than anything but couldn't have. What that thing was, Lancelot could only guess at.

Then, aside from Merlin's easy skill at producing expertly forged documents from who-knew-where, he was good at getting through menial labour at an inhuman speed. Despite this, Lancelot rarely saw him actually doing any chores, and the few times he did Merlin moved as slow as a snail. But if Lancelot left and came back, even only several minutes later, then the chores would all be complete and Merlin would be lazing about reading through a book.

So there was definitely something about Merlin. He was more than he seemed – or, rather, more than he wanted to seem.

But Lancelot held his tongue and stayed his curiosity. He had only that mysteriously produced seal to think of to ask himself if he really wanted to know the story behind these unexplained aspects of Merlin. And the answer was always a resounding no: Merlin had given him a chance to prove himself, and he wouldn't use that as an opportunity to pry into matters that didn't concern him.

For the most part his knight training occupied his thoughts, and if not that, then the beast still roaming around attacking innocent people did. But occasionally his mind would drift to his new friend, and he'd wonder.

But not tonight. He'd finally fulfilled his lifelong dream of being a knight of Camelot, and in the evening there would be an official ceremony and celebration. Tonight, he felt he could fight a thousand dragons and come out without a scratch. He knew he'd have to come crashing back down to earth sometime, but for this one night he was determined to hang up all his concerns and uncertainties and just enjoy the elation of a dream coming true.

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When they came for Lancelot, it was like watching Gwen be manhandled through the castle halls all over again.

Lancelot didn't call out for help as she had, but he'd looked back at Merlin not once, but twice as he was dragged off. Sick realisation and guilt churning in his stomach, Merlin followed at a distance all the way until the great oaken doors of the council chambers shut in his face and the two guards standing outside blocked his way. He tried not to assume the worst, but it was so hard when all the signs screamed one thing: their bluff had been called.

When at last the doors opened again Lancelot was still being led by guards on either side, and they turned in an opposite direction than Gaius' chambers, or the practice courts, or anywhere else that a newly instated knight would go to. The witnesses to the trial out filed out, among them an old, bearded man in the long robes of an academic. With a sinking heart Merlin recognised Geoffrey of Monmouth, keeper of records, court historian, and – worst of all – court genealogist; if there was a man in Camelot able to see through the forged seal, it would be him.

Merlin didn't waste any more time; he turned in the same direction the guards who'd taken Lancelot away had: towards the dungeons.

At the bottom of the steps there were two guards stationed, and he was stopped by one of them. He was an older man with an ale belly who looked to be in his mid-forties, and when Merlin tried to walk past he lowered his pike to block the entrance.

"Halt! Where do you think you're going?"

"I'd like to see Lancelot, please," Merlin said. Normally prisoners were allowed guests, under supervision of course, but for commoners that generally depended on the disposition of the guard and his mood; whether he fancied going for a walk, or whether he wanted to remain seated.

Given that this guard hadn't even stood from his seat at the guard's table, Merlin was not overly optimistic that he was looking for light exercise and a change of scenery.

Indeed, the middle-aged guard started to refuse, but his younger cohort placed down his goblet and stood. "You're Merlin, Gaius' apprentice, correct?"

Merlin wondered whether or not that was strictly true anymore – he still did chores for Gaius and was assigned books to read, but as he now had a job he didn't have the time to devote towards studying that a proper apprentice would. Still, this was neither the time nor place to get into that, so he nodded.

The guard picked up his pike from where it'd been leaning against the table, holding it in his left hand like a walking stick. His right he held out to Merlin, "We've met before but I don't believe I properly introduced myself. I'm Sir Leon of Penarth."

Merlin shook his hand, picking through his memory. There were a lot of knights and they all kind of blurred in his memory, but he did feel like he recognised this one. "Right. Er, I'm Merlin, but I guess you already know that."

Leon motioned him forwards, and the older guard slowly lowered his pike, looking as though he wasn't sure he should be unblocking the entrance. Merlin started forwards, feeling like he was testing the ground as he would ice to see whether it would hold his weight. When no one stopped him, he relaxed slightly.

From behind him he could hear footsteps, and glancing over his shoulder he could see Sir Leon accompanying him. Feeling as though he should say something, Merlin said, "Thanks. For letting me through, I mean."

Leon shrugged lightly. "There's no harm done letting trustworthy people visit the cells. And I know you're a good person; I haven't forgotten what you did for Gwen."

It took Merlin a good minute to work out what he was talking about, and this must have shown on his face because Leon clarified, "The incident with the afanc. You cleared her name."

Strange, that a knight would remember that; it had been several months after all. Perhaps Merlin would expect him to remember Arthur and Morgana's involvement, but certainly not his. It was also surprising that he remembered the name of the serving woman falsely accused of witchcraft, or that her sentence had left any kind of lasting impact on him.

Then something else struck him: Gwen, Leon had said, not Guinevere. Gwen. "Do you know her?"

"All her life - her mother served my mother." Leon said, smiling with the clumsy air of one trying to lighten the mood but not accustomed to doing so. Merlin couldn't bring himself to reciprocate, and they fell into silence, their footsteps echoing through these empty cells where the very air that tasted of decay.

Lancelot was down here, here in this forsaken realm, and it was all his fault. Just like with Gwen. He had cleared Gwen's name, but then Gwen hadn't done anything. At Merlin's behest Lancelot had committed a crime – albeit a crime that shouldn't be a crime, but something that had nonetheless gotten him imprisoned.

Leon cleared his throat, pulling Merlin from his bleak thoughts. "I'll stay here to give you some privacy. Lancelot is just down that way, keep going and you can't miss him."

Merlin thanked him again and kept walking, until he came to the one occupied cell. There weren't usually prisoners in the dungeons for any lengthy period: why waste food on criminals, after all, when it was so much easier to sentence them to hard manual labour or death?

Merlin's throat went dry at the sight of Lancelot behind bars. Their conversation didn't last long. Merlin wished he could just apologise, but Lancelot wouldn't accept it; he was determined to shoulder this alone, and told Merlin he didn't blame him.

Merlin was struck by Lancelot's character; surely, as the forger of the seal and the mastermind behind the deception, Merlin was the one who rightfully should be behind bars. He owed Lancelot so much, and his attempt to pay him back had only deepened the debt. Lancelot could have told the king that Merlin persuaded him to do it, perhaps bargained for a lighter sentence by giving the name of the forger, but as Merlin was still on the other side of the bars it was obvious he hadn't.

Lancelot might not blame him, but that didn't mean it wasn't his fault.

Returning to Gaius' chambers, he remembered Gaius' reprimand the night before about how Merlin had played God. In no mood for another lecture, Merlin mumbled, "Whatever you do, don't say 'I told you so.'"

"I have no wish to gloat, Merlin. What's done is done." Gaius slid one of his books over, tilting it to face Merlin. "… Here. Come and take a look at this."

The open page caught his breath. On it under the heading griffin was a stylised drawing of the monster terrorising the countryside. Lancelot's arrest had pushed the creature from Merlin's mind, but he gratefully seized on it again. Helpless he may be against the king's judgement, but as a sorcerer mythical beasts were within his area of expertise.

The resounding, urgent peals of the gong interrupted them. Peering out the window, Merlin could see a dark shadow swooping into the courtyard below. He ran out the door.

However, by the time he arrived, the monster was already flying away, leaving Arthur staring after it in front of a line of knights. Uther was unimpressed with this failure, and even more unimpressed with Gaius' warnings that griffins could only be killed by magic, curtly ordering his son to slay the beast as soon as possible.

So it was then down to Merlin and Gaius to, within a two hour time window, come up with a way to kill a griffin without Merlin losing his head in the process. The first part of the problem was easy: the weapon strengthening spell Merlin had learned during his months of study should do the trick. The second part, however, was more difficult; strong magic's tendency towards bright lights and general flashiness came with the unfortunate downside of Merlin's head on a chopping block.

Merlin wasted about ten minutes flipping through his book for a powerful but imperceptible spell to defeat griffins, before changing tactics. "Gaius! Do you have all the ingredients for the aging potion in stock?"

To Merlin's delight, Gaius did. They worked on it like men possessed, as even with two of them it was cutting it rather fine to prepare it so quickly. They were about three-quarters of the way through when the door burst open. Merlin hurriedly closed his spellbook and stashed it under several other more legal books.

It was Gwen, and she wasted no time in blurting out, "Merlin! Lancelot's riding out to kill the griffin!"

Merlin almost wasn't sure he'd processed that right. For starters, last he saw Lancelot was locked in the dungeons beneath the castle. Also, where would he get a horse and weapons to kill the griffin with? And how did Gwen know this, anyways? But he shoved these questions aside and took Gwen's word for it, racing out the door. Gaius called out after him, no doubt alarmed that Merlin left sans potion, but they didn't have time for that now.

Running through the courtyard, Merlin realised with a sinking heart that it was later than he'd thought. He'd assumed Arthur would send for him before riding out to help him get ready, but it would appear he'd found someone else to saddle his horse and prepare his weapons for him. Panic drove him ever faster, determined to catch up with Lancelot before the other man set out.

Inwardly, Merlin swore to himself that if he got out of this with his head still attached to his shoulders, he'd make a galleon of that potion and store flask upon flask of it under his floorboard, keeping one on his person at all times. The next time an emergency came up, he was going to stride out in full-out glory as an open sorcerer, without all this last minute scrambling and not getting the damn thing finished in time.

For today, he'd just have to hope no one would question why the weapon that slayed the griffin erupted in mysterious blue flames.

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Lancelot at first refused to let Merlin tag along with him.

When they'd first met Merlin had been nearly killed by that monster, and Lancelot couldn't afford to cover for him again while simultaneously trying to slay the beast. However, Merlin was obstinate that he not be left behind and the fire in his eyes told Lancelot that this time, there was something different.

Merlin had many mysteries surrounding him, and Lancelot couldn't help but remember the record keeper calling the forgery "flawless," only being able to see through it because of the lack of any other records, rather than any fault found in the seal itself. There was more to Merlin than met the eye, this was something he'd acknowledged. Lancelot wouldn't have pegged him for being of use in defeating a magical monster, but then he wouldn't have pegged him as being of use in forging faultless credentials. He'd just have to trust that Merlin had more tricks up his sleeve than he let on.

So as he was riding through the darkened woods surrounding the city, Merlin was riding right behind him. Off the marked trail, somewhere shrouded in the moonlit mist came the sounds of the griffin's shrill roars, intermingled with men yelling in a mix of terror and pain. They turned their mounts to follow.

All was silent. The dim glow of the moon was enough to make out the vibrant capes against grass, pooled around still bodies of knights like they were lying in a puddle of blood. Merlin quickly identified Arthur among them, letting out a shaky sigh of relief as he felt his pulse.

The creature's cries broke the silence, echoing in shrill menace from afar, hidden by the misty cloak of the night.

The sheer force behind a charge wound was Lancelot's only hope. If this failed he would die. If this succeeded, the beast might still mortally wound him; with only a lance for a weapon, he was in trouble if it came to close combat. But if he did nothing then there would be much death, starting with the wounded knights lying here and continuing as the beast roamed free to terrorise the city. He could not stand uselessly aside again, while innocent people died.

When the raiders destroyed his village, he'd been but a child, unable to stop them. He'd spent the last fifteen years training to never be helpless in the face of such wanton destruction again. This time, he'd meet death head on, riding out to it willingly instead of crouching terrified inside a barrel as everyone he knew was cut down around him.

Lancelot remounted his horse. In one hand he held the lance, with the other the reigns. The griffin scratched at the ground and charged him. He nudged his mount into a gallop. He braced his upper body to inflict maximum damage upon impact. He passed Merlin in a blur, barely able to make out the strange words he was muttering over the beating of his horse's hooves.

A high crackling hiss, like a fire struggling to lick at damp leaves, flared beside him. Tongues of blue flame leapt from the tip of his lance to his arm, and only years of rigorous training stopped Lancelot from dropping the burning weapon.

The otherworldly fire did not scald, as he thought it would. Instead the chainmail encasing his arm felt as though it had been dipped in icy water. Beneath his gloved touch, the polearm shifted, hardening like the cold fire was refining it.

His horse thundered onward, and everything felt perfectly aligned. Lancelot felt lightheaded; he'd forgotten to breathe. His lance connected, the griffin fell.

It's fall was loud, full of dying squawks and the resounding thud of a large body hitting the ground at great speed and flipping several times. The glow faded, and his horse slowed enough that he could turn around, looking at the dead monster.

From behind it, Merlin was looking as Lancelot had felt when the prince informed him he'd be knighted.

Lancelot's breathing had yet to even out, and he looked on, his mind fuzzy from lack of air, but even then several things were clear to him.

The griffin was dead.

They said the griffin could only be killed by magic.

Just before his lance had burst into magical fire, Merlin had muttered something which had not been in the Common Tongue.

Merlin looked extraordinarily pleased with himself, for someone who ostensibly had done nothing.

That flawless seal being made by magic would make a lot of sense.

As he was thinking these things, fragmented but when pieced together explained so much, Arthur awoke. Merlin, for someone who had been so eager to come after him, was extraordinarily quick to run away now that Uther's son was regaining consciousness, cementing whatever doubts Lancelot may have had.

Thankfully for Merlin, Arthur had eyes only for what lay in the opposite direction. "You did it," he said, the words falling dumbstruck from his lips like he couldn't quite believe them. More forcefully, he repeated, "You killed it, Lancelot!"

His instincts screamed to correct the prince, to not claim credit he hadn't earned. The consequences of lying still felt physical to him; he could still smell the stench of dungeon rot lingering on his skin, still feel Uther's distaining gaze sizing him up as unworthy filth to be tossed out like a cankerous plant that ruined the garden.

Lancelot remained silent for the second time at Merlin's behest. As he did so, it occurred to him that this was the reason why Merlin, who looked like such an honest boy, had been so blasé about propagating a falsehood; it was something he did on a daily basis, as natural to him as the instinct for survival, and as necessary as breathing.

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After stopping to inform Gaius of his success, Merlin headed over to the council chamber, thinking that that was probably where Arthur would be and that after he was done with his report he'd need Merlin to help him out of his armour. He was surprised to see Lancelot walk out the room – in his place, Merlin would be trying to hightail it as far away from Camelot as possible.

The doors shut behind him to muffle out all sound, but not before Merlin heard the king yell, "You had no right to-!"

Walking up to Lancelot, Merlin asked, "What are they doing?"

"Deciding my fate," said Lancelot, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. "Arthur released me from the dungeons without the king's permission, and now Uther knows he's not pleased."

Merlin wondered at the shock he felt at this; Arthur had gone against his father's wishes for Merlin a week ago, it shouldn't be shocking that he'd done it again for Lancelot. But it was, because – regardless of circumstances – Lancelot had lied to him and broken the Code that Arthur held such store by. When Merlin had first mentioned Lancelot to Arthur he had only considered training him when Merlin lied that, yes, of course he was a noble, and he knew from personal experience that Arthur didn't think much of commoners.

Merlin had saved Arthur from dying of poison; Arthur could have just felt obligated to repay the favour, against his father's orders or not. But here, Arthur owed Lancelot nothing. Yet he'd still freed him.

Merlin suddenly remembered Arthur ordering the guards to let him go after their disastrous mace-fight, and how he'd trusted him about Valiant's dishonesty. There were such long lulls in between Arthur's acts of true nobility that it was easy to forget that somewhere, very deep down, Arthur had integrity.

But, on occasion, it shone through. And whenever it did, it gave Merlin hope a sense of hope for the future of this country.

"They'll restore your knighthood, of course they will." He wouldn't have been comfortable trying to convince them both of this before, but now it seemed an actual possibility. Arthur had seen the justice in releasing him, surely he would also see the justice in reinstating him, given everything? "You killed the griffin."

"But I didn't kill the griffin." Lancelot's eyes flickered over to the guards standing outside the council chamber, and he casually strode away. Once they were far enough to not be overheard, Lancelot said in a low voice, "You did."

Merlin's first instinct was to deny it. But Lancelot repeated part of the spell, batting away all his unprepared, poor excuses (just because Lancelot had seen magic defeat the griffin and Merlin was the only other conscious person present didn't necessarily mean that Merlin had cast the spell, right? Maybe all spears caught magically on fire within the presence of a griffin.).

Panic thudded frantically through Merlin's veins, screaming at him to flee or fight. He cursed whoever designed transportation magic – what did it have so many limitations on it for, anyway?

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." Lancelot was quick to reassure him. "But I cannot take credit for what I did not do. There'll be no more lies, no more deceit."

And to Merlin's great amazement, and no small amount of fear, Lancelot turned and strode through the great oaken doors of the council chamber. The king and prince's heated argument abruptly cut off as both turned to stare at him. Uther looked like a smelly hog had burst into his halls and made a mess on his floors. Arthur merely appeared surprised at the interruption, but he was regarding Lancelot without the dismissal that Arthur generally had for the lower class; more how he would look at a fellow knight, especially one who'd just slayed a monster and saved the city.

Lancelot's farewells appeared to dismay Arthur, who protested that he'd already proven himself. But Lancelot would not be dissuaded. The guards looked at each other as he passed, but let him go. Even Uther didn't make a move to stop him. Arthur watched him go for a long moment, then abruptly turned away from his father and stormed out, tight-faced and silent.

Merlin hesitated, looking between Arthur and Lancelot. Lancelot turned the corner in the direction of Gaius' chambers, rather than the outer courtyard, and it occurred to Merlin that he wouldn't be setting out at this hour for a long journey. He had until the next day to say his farewells to Lancelot. His mind made up, Merlin jogged to catch up to the prince.

Arthur didn't speak until they reached his chambers, and even then it was just a curt order to help him out of his armour. It was late; Arthur would go straight to bed, so he had to get answers from him before then. Only, now he was face to face with the prince, he wasn't sure how to go about doing so. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to ask.

But all too soon Arthur was out of all his armour and moving towards his dressing screen. Merlin steeled himself. He couldn't procrastinate, or the burning need driving him, the need to know, would dim. Any answer was better than sheer guesswork at what went on in Arthur's mind.

"Why did you do it?" Arthur paused just before his screen, turning to him cocking his head in silent question. Merlin clarified, "Release Lancelot, I mean. You must have known your father would be furious, and he lied to you."

Only then did it occur to Merlin that Arthur probably remembered that Merlin was the one who first claimed Lancelot was a noble. His need for answers flickered; what if Arthur worked out that the deception was all Merlin's idea?

Fortunately Arthur didn't look like he was angry with Merlin – it either hadn't occurred to him that Merlin was in on the deception, or he didn't care. The first seemed more likely, but the latter no longer seemed an impossibility. After all, it was beginning to feel like every time Merlin thought he'd nailed Arthur's personality, he'd do something that threw off all of Merlin's assumptions, right before resuming his daily life as a royal schmuck.

"What is there to say about it?" Arthur asked, looking uncomfortable. This probably fell too close to talking about feelings for him. "Lancelot is one of the first knights in a long while I can instantly say I'm proud to have trained, and who his parents are doesn't change that. He lied, but he had to lie. If the Code says Lancelot can't be a knight, then the fault is with the Code, not Lancelot himself."

One word struck Merlin above all others: Lancelot is one of the best knights. Is. Not was. Is. Arthur still considered Lancelot a knight, even if Uther had stripped him of the rank.

Merlin had half expected him to try and brush it aside, or else justify his actions by twisting Uther's teachings to fit them. Instead, Arthur freely confirmed that his regard for Lancelot had not been tarnished by the necessary deception and he had, indeed, freed Lancelot because he saw the injustice in his sentence. And Arthur, for all his faults, was not a man to let injustice stand once he'd recognised it.

Arthur's eyes flickered over to his changing screen and back, and he stiffly moved behind it, throwing his clothes over the top and calling out orders to ready his bed with the voice of a man trying to pretend an awkward conversation hadn't taken place.

Merlin automatically went about readying Arthur's room, his mind leagues away, trapped someplace between a never-ending tapestry and a prison cell with no prisoner.

Merlin hadn't realised that Arthur's views on right and wrong were not cemented in place. He'd considered them to be something like a fortress, built up by his father and manned by Arthur, where any assault would be met by impenetrable rock. What he hadn't thought of, though, was that no matter how strong the fortress, it must have a gate.

He'd always felt a difference between Arthur and Uther; that Arthur was more than just a less hardened, younger version of his father. He hadn't had a word for it before, but now he did: open-mindedness. If all fortresses had gates, then Uther's had been bolted shut years before. But Arthur was not as set in his ways; his worldview was still being formed.

Lancelot had gotten Arthur to admit that the Code, the cornerstone of all of Arthur's moral judgement, was not always right. Even in the face of his father's displeasure, Arthur had not yielded his new beliefs.

For the first time, Merlin could see why the world at large seemed determined to stick him and Arthur together, and could believe that maybe the two threads on the tapestry meant more than a dying sorcerer's subconscious mind rearing its strange head.

If he stayed alert to opportunities and was blessed by luck, he might be able to change Arthur's views on the inherent wickedness of magic as Lancelot had his views on the worthiness of commoners.

If Arthur could be convinced to accept magic, when the time came for him to be king Camelot could at last move out from the shadow the Purge had thrown on the lives of people like Merlin. He had until then to convince Arthur that his father was wrong; it would be beyond difficult, but Lancelot had proven it wasn't impossible.

"For tomorrow," Arthur drawled, wandering out from behind the screen in his night clothes. "I need you to clean my armour, sharpen my sword, wash my tunic, and polish my boots."

Only Arthur would be able to put a damper on Merlin's great resolve and optimism by giving him more work to do when the moon was already high in the sky. Merlin rolled his eyes and muttered, "Yes, my Lord."

Arthur froze and stared at Merlin incredulously, and Merlin remembered abruptly that they had never figured a way out of the horrid dance of niceties they'd gotten stuck in. Pinned under Arthur's disbelieving gaze, Merlin wished he could take back his sarcastic words – they'd just slipped out of him, like they were the most natural thing in the world to say.

Arthur quickly turned his head away, but not before Merlin could see a grin spreading across his face. Emboldened by this reaction, Merlin ventured more words dripping with insolence that clashed horribly with their objective deference. "Is there any other way in which I can be of service to you tonight?"

"Yes," Arthur replied easily, definitely grinning. He grabbed the socks off his feet and drew his arm back for a throw. "Here, wash these too."

Merlin threw his arms up to block his face. The socks hit them and fell to the ground. He didn't react for a second; stunned it had been that easy. Why on earth had he and Arthur been walking on eggshells around each other, when apparently all they needed was insolent remarks and thrown objects to make amends?

Arthur's smile faltered when Merlin just stood there. For an awful second it looked like he was going to apologise, so Merlin dropped to the ground; there was no way they were getting into that again. He picked one up, recoiling from it, perhaps injecting more disgust than necessary into his tone, "Ugh! What, did something foul crawl in this to die?"

"If you did a better job of washing them then they wouldn't smell," Arthur said, sounding too relieved they'd moved past that moment of almost rebounding into politeness to formulate a better retort.

"Maybe if you did a better job of washing your feet, then they wouldn't get like this."

"Well maybe if you spent less time griping and more time working, then I'd have clean socks after every training practice and they wouldn't have time to get like this."

"How many times a day do you need to change your socks! Besides, you have loads of unused socks in your drawer - wear those!"

"Those ones are itchy; I want to wear these ones."

"Oh, I'm sorry the finest in the land aren't up to your standards, Sire."

"That's alright, you're quite forgiven. Now off you go, there's armour to clean, a tunic and socks to wash, boots to shine, and you know what? I think my horses could use an extra rubbing down."

For all his shining moments of great displays of integrity, Merlin would always soon be reminded why he'd tried to smash Arthur's nose in on their first encounter.

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Arthur, you finally show a glimmer of something worth following. *pats on back* It took four chapters, true, but well done!

I thought Lancelot was nice but kind of bland up until 3x13… just in time for him to die in 4x02. Then all of the other knights were introduced… and aside from Gwaine and Mordred, Lancelot has the most personality out of the lot. Leon, Elyan, and Percival seemed to have been written with the personality description of: they're knights. Oh well, more for me to delve into.

And now the truth behind why I introduced Tyr Seward five seasons too early comes to fruition: I want him to take over Merlin's main too-public-for-magic chore so Merlin has more time to study. Also, was I the only one taken aback when the show introduced Arthur's stablehand? Seriously, why would Merlin have to muck out his horse all the time if he had a stablehand? How many other servants are technically assigned to do all the jobs Arthur just dumps on Merlin?

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