Hello! Thanks all for the lovely reviews *love* We're still on the bridge, but it's a flashback bridge now. I wrote this bit to answer someone who said that Arthur forgave Lancelot too easily. I thought it was a great idea to flesh it out, so thank you and I hope this puts it in perspective a bit.

Arthur was all but sulking on top of his horse. He didn't want to be here. He really didn't want be here, traveling to a tiny village to settle some petty dispute, sleeping on the hard ground, eating what Merlin called food. With Lancelot. He scowled at the back of his friend's head ten feet in front of him, talking animatedly with Gwaine.

A week ago today Arthur though it would make a pleasant addition to his ride if he went by the lake, stick his feet in the cool water, let his horse have a drink. He'd had no chance to do any of these things, however.

His scowl darkened further. Lancelot wiped sweat from the back of his neck. Arthur saw Guinevere's arms wrapped around it, grabbing at Lancelot's hair. Great, hot rocks of anger and hurt dropped heavily into his stomach. It had been awhile since she had kissed him that way. Now Arthur knew why.

"Talk about if looks could kill…"

"Huh?" said Arthur dumbly, still focused on Gwen's most perfect fingers wrapped in Lancelot's dark curls.

"You've been glaring at Lancelot," Merlin muttered.

"Have I?" asked Arthur, hoping he sounded nonchalant. Merlin wasn't fooled.

"Whatever he did, forgive him. You're even more of a prat when you're sulking. Besides, he's your best mate."

"You're my best mate," said Arthur without thinking. When Merlin didn't immediately reply with a witty, thinly veiled insult, Arthur looked over at him, Lancelot and Guinevere temporarily forgotten. Merlin gave him a half-smirk.

" 'Course, but don't you like to pretend otherwise?" Arthur grunted noncommittally in response, but his heart flitted playfully in his chest. Anyone who didn't know Merlin would have missed the subtle elation in his voice, but not Arthur. He'd made Merlin happy.

"Don't look so cheery, Merlin. I'd rather have a friend who didn't constantly make a fool of himself."

"And I'd rather have one who wasn't a royal ass." Merlin's face was serious but his tone was teasing.

It was easy to fall in to conversation with Merlin. Arthur was able to ignore Lancelot's presence without difficulty.

All that changed in the early evening, however. While Arthur's mood was moderately improved by Merlin's prattle, once they had dismounted it was hard not to interact with Lancelot. Whenever his friend, if he could still be call that, spoke to him, Arthur felt the thick, blunt needle sticking into his heart progress further. He found that he couldn't look Lancelot in the eye either.

"Arthur," Lancelot called. Arthur found his teeth glued together and merely answered,

"Hm?" But Lancelot hadn't heard him.

"Arthur?" Unprovoked fury gusted through Arthur's chest and he whirled around.

"What?" he said, far more sharply than he meant it. Lancelot's face was filled with hurt and confusion. That angered Arthur even more; what right did he have to feel hurt? Then Lancelot's gaze locked on to his. The eyes that had expressed so much adoration for Guinevere, he remembered. His stomach turned against him; a burning sensation spread through his chest, replacing the indignation.

"I-I just…Gwaine…" Lancelot stammered, clearly taken aback, "We're going hunting-for dinner…wanna come?" Arthur shook his head, fearing what would happen if he opened his mouth. He tore his eyes away from Lancelot's.

"O-okay then…" Lancelot walked away, looking completely befuddled as to what had just happened.

Once he was positive that Lancelot was out of sight, Arthur collapsed on the ground and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His stomach had begun to settle, but his heart beat hot and rapid, turning out a typhoon of sensations inside him that he couldn't begin to sort out. He wanted to run to Gwen and apologize for whatever he had done and promise to make things right again, or he wanted to banish her from Camelot, tell her that he never wished to see her again, that he didn't know why he had ever loved her, and anything else that would make her hurt as badly as him. As for Lancelot, well, he needed to be beaten senseless or forgiven or…or…Arthur didn't know, but tears were lacing the rim of his eyes, begging to fall…he wouldn't let them. Not for her or him…not for his utterly pulverized heart or his lost friendship. He was clenching his fists so hard his nails were biting into his palms; his bottom lip was starting to swell from the pressure of his teeth…

"Oh, come now…" said a familiar voice, "I know you don't like sleeping outdoors, but really…" Merlin had just come up the rise of a hill, carrying two buckets of water. Arthur straightened himself out quickly, hoping he hadn't looked as pathetic as he thought.

"I thought you'd be out hunting with Gwaine and…" he couldn't bring himself to say, 'Lancelot'.

"Nah. You know me, it's not my thing."

"You come with me when I go," Arthur pointed out.

"Sure, but Gwaine and Lancelot aren't nearly as helpless as you." Despite himself, Arthur smiled.

"You truly don't understand the fact that I'm a prince, do you, Merlin?"

"I just don't think you should be placated," Merlin groaned, setting down the water buckets. "Want a cup?" he offered. Arthur waved his hand in refusal. Merlin sat down next to Arthur, leaned back on his pack and sighed contentedly.

"I know you hate being away from the castle but…well, look around." Arthur did.

They had settled on a hillside overlooking a creek. The grass around them was a green darkened by the long summer. Yellow and purple flowers dotted the ground and were tall and open wide, drinking in the last bit of sun before autumn. The sun was growing low, drenching the earth in a warm crimson glow before it left. It seemed to be taking Arthur's torrential flood of emotions with it. He was calmer, his head clearer, and the stake in his heart let up almost to the point of disappearing. This…this is what he had been desperate for; an escape from everything. Here, there was no impending confrontation with Gwen and Lancelot; it was a place where he didn't have to think or feel pain. He looked over at Merlin, smiling, feeling better than he had in days. Merlin beamed back, his usually affable grin enhanced by the sun's brilliance. The color of his hair, too. Light brown streaks among the dark brown were augmented and suddenly gleaming in the late evening light. His pale skin radiated with the red and yellow, his lips were the color of an apple picked on the last day of harvest, and, Arthur imagined, were just as sweet…he wondered if it would be all right to have just the smallest taste…Arthur reached out and touched Merlin's arm; muscles made hard by daily work twitched under his hand. He sought out Merlin's blue eyes, ready to lean in and graze, just graze his lips with his own.

Wait…he thought. The wonderful world he'd been in crashed. Merlin furrowed his brow at him briefly, then shook his head and got up; he clearly wasn't going to ask what had just happened. Arthur wasn't sure himself, he felt rather dazed. He was certain though, that no matter what happened in other parts of his life, he had Merlin, and that was a lot.

Now, Arthur stood with his hand on the door to his room. In his other hand he held a dinner plate with food that had long since grown cold. He didn't feel he could enter his room and shatter the warm laughter he heard behind it, nor would his honor allow him to walk away. He was stuck. He did want to see Merlin, see him smile again. Perhaps that would replace the Merlin in his nightmares whose face was stubbornly lifeless. Just do it, he told himself. His grip on the door handle tightened. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then again, what would Merlin have to say? The dinner plate began to shake in his unsteady hand. Do it, you coward, said the firm voice inside his head.

Back to the present now, fun things are sure to happen next chapter!