He almost hated to leave the forest behind the next morning. The summer heat did not press as heavily with a cooling breeze drifting through the trees, and the rustling of the leaves and flowers sounded like water flowing. Altair's hooves broke up the soil of the trail, sending the scent of the damp earth high into the air, a sweet sillage for Merlin to remember Lughnasadh by as he neared Camelot's walls. The city held a far different energy from the forest, a living energy either way, but everything moved faster in the city streets whether he was amidst the dizzying array of shops and merchants in the markets or near the fields where the knights practiced. The noise of it all had nearly overwhelmed him when he first arrived all those years ago. Now he was used to it. The smell, though, he never agreed with.

Merlin sighed as he passed a pigpen on his way toward the citadel, then held his breath until he was well away, bounding up the stairs and threading his way back down towards the kitchens to collect Arthur's midday meal, tossing his pack over his shoulder as he went. There was time enough to put it away later, and Arthur was grumpy as a bear when his meals were late. There was no sense in baiting the bear any more than he had to. He dodged the cook and gathered up the proper trays, balancing them with a skill borne of long practice as he navigated the stairs back up toward the prince's chambers.

"Merlin!" Guinevere's voice rang out above the normal castle din. She hurried toward him, her blue skirts rustling. "I didn't think you'd be back 'til later. How was your, ah. . . trip?" Her cheeks darkened when she realized she had nearly blurted out the real reason for his journey into the forest.

"It was fine. Even relaxing. It's cooler in the forest this time of year. Especially when you find what you're looking for right away. Speaking of which," he shrugged the pack off his shoulder and let it slide down his arm, catching it in the crook of his elbow, "Can you take this up to Gaius? I only just got back. Figured I'd see to Arthur before anything else."

"Oh," Gwen rolled her eyes as she took the pack's strap, being careful not to upset the trays as she claimed it, "That was a good idea. He's been in an awful mood all morning. Something about secret affairs of state, or the like. Whatever it is, it's the sort of problem he doesn't know how to fix, and you know what he's like when he can't fix things."

"Angry at the world for not being a better place. I know it better than most." He looked up the stairway that led to Arthur's chambers, wondering what problem had set itself across the prince's path this time. "Whatever it is, I'll see if I can't help him sort it out. And if not, then at least he'll be able to yell at me and leave the poor laundresses alone."

"And the Privy Council, and the knights. He knows better than to yell at me," Gwen smirked, "But if you can cheer him up, I'm happy to let you do it."

"Oh, so I get to face down the bear on my own, then?"

"You've faced far worse, Merlin," she rose to her tiptoes and planet a quick kiss on his cheek. "Thank you! I'll take this to Gaius and let him know you're back!" She was gone before he could object further, disappearing into the rush of servants as they went about their tasks, heedless of their compatriot who suddenly felt very put upon as he started up the stairs, only hesitating a little as he pushed the door open with a foot and slipped inside.

"Dammit, George, I'm trying to concentrate on these reports," Arthur did not look up from said reports at the sound of Merlin's footsteps. If his tangled hair and rumpled clothing were any indication, he had worked through the night.

"I'm almost insulted," Merlin raised an eyebrow as he set the trays on the table and whisked the cover off. The scent of roasted chicken wafted through the air, grabbing Arthur's attention. "And it's good to see you, too."

The prince looked up, blinking in confusion. He glanced out the window, then back at his servant. "You were supposed to be back by midday."

"And I am. It's before midday, and I'm back." Merlin pulled out the chair, then narrowed his eyes, studying Arthur for signs of. . . Anything that would explain the continued confusion. "Did you spend the night drinking, and then try to do all of your work this morning, because honestly, Arthur, I know that sometimes you're not the sharpest tool in the shed, but right now-"

"Shut up, Merlin." Arthur tossed a sheaf of parchment onto the desk before stalking over to the table. He dropped into the offered chair and dug into his food as though he had not eaten for days. "Did you have a good time, then, dancing around fires and sacrificing chickens, or whatever it is that you do?"

"We don't sacrifice anything, Arthur. You're mixing up the Druids with the priestesses of the Triple Goddess. There was no dancing, either. Around fires or anything else. Where do you get these ideas?" Merlin bustled about the room, gathering bits of laundry before setting about returning the papers on the desk to some semblance of order.

Arthur glared at him from over the edge of the wine glass. "I spend my life being told certain stories, and then you wonder that I'm not an expert on Druid holy days. Now who's being the idiot, Merlin? Whatever rituals or whatever you do, just. . . be careful about it."

"I am nothing if not careful. That's me, 'Merlin the Careful'. I'm as careful as careful can be." He fished about in a drawer for a new stick of sealing wax. A quick glance over the writing had told him the reports would be heading north; their official status meant a royal seal was necessary. "I take it the Sarrum has been harrying the outposts on the northern border, and that's what kept you up all night?"

"Those are supposed to be secret, Merlin. Keep your nose out of them."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I've been writing your speeches for the past five years and attended more Privy Council sessions than I care to think about. I'm sure by now I know as much about Camelot's secrets as the high lords. Your enemies will not hear them from me, I can promise you that."

Arthur's shoulders slumped. "I know," he mumbled, just loud enough for Merlin to hear. "Yes, the Sarrum has been sending troops against our border forces to test where they're weakest. Sir Ector has been sending me reports from Blackheath, where they're pressing hardest. I'm sending two thousand men to strengthen his defenses, but that is where we're weakest. Blackheath is an old fortress. That's its strength and its weakness. I fostered there, with Sir Ector for a time when I was a child. I know the place well enough." He let his spoon fall to his mostly empty plate. The clattering of the silver was loud against the quiet of the room. "The walls are starting to crumble, the southern gate's doors need replacing, some of the siege tunnels have collapsed. . . The list goes on. If the Sarrum attacks there with his full strength, I don't know if we'll be able to hold it."

"Surely he can be reasoned with? You came to an accord with both King Caerleon and King Odin."

"Caerleon's a reasonable man. He was testing me after my father fell ill. I pushed back, and we decided the border was acceptable where it was. And Odin. . . " Arthur sighed, the shadow of memory falling over his eyes, "Odin ultimately did not want a war. Not really. He wanted vengeance against me, but there was no way to achieve that without both kingdoms going to war in the end. He still hates me, but he wasn't so keen on war. The Sarrum, though. . . " He swirled the dregs of his wine round and round in the cup, watched the liquid swirl for a time before going on, "The Sarrum is another beast altogether. It's said that, when he claimed the throne, he had his two brothers put to death to keep them from plotting against them. He is beyond cruel, terrorizes his people. Merchants don't go to Amata unless they have to; troubadours don't go at all. Our last three spies were captured and tortured to death. I won't send anyone else. Not at that price. And he hates sorcery even more than my father did. Does." Arthur downed the last of the wine, wincing at the bitter taste.

A small smile spread across Merlin's face, in spite of the prince's dark words. "You've changed." He remembered a night in the forest not so long ago, when Morgana had attacked them and his magic had been revealed to Arthur. The prince had been so frighteningly close to executing Merlin for his magic. And now, a warning to stay away from a man who hated magic.

"What do you mean?" Arthur looked up sharply, brows knit in confusion.

"The Sarrum hates sorcery even more than your father does," the warlock quoted, "It sounds almost like a warning. Would you have said that to anyone six months ago? I'm sure you never would have told a sorcerer not to go."

"You read too much into things, Merlin," Arthur scoffed. His meal finished, he pressed to his feet and drifted to the window, pulling the shutters open in the hope that a breeze might find its way in to ease the humid stillness. He stood quietly for a time, watching as the people came in went in the square below. "I don't want a war. Especially not one with Amata. I want peace for the people of Camelot, but I will not give over a single league to that man. No citizen of Camelot should have to endure even a single day of the Sarrum's tyranny. Not while I rule."

Merlin closed the latch on the wardrobe door with a quiet snick and turned to regard Arthur for a quiet moment. "You're worried about them, aren't you? The people you stayed with at Blackheath?"

The prince nodded slightly but kept his gaze on the streets below. "Lord Ector is a good man. Courageous, wise. He has always been one of my father's most loyal bannermen. His son, Kay," Arthur smirked, "Is perhaps less wise, but he's just as fair-minded as his father. And Lady Drusilla was always kind to me, though she didn't treat me differently from Kay just because I was the prince."

"They sound like good people," Merlin said softly. Arthur nodded again. "You should invite them here for Samhain, even if only the Lady Drusilla is able to come."

Arthur looked over his shoulder, a stormy cast to his eyes. "Do you really think that Ector would willingly leave his post when it's under threat? He would-" The warlock's meaning finally soaked in and the anger softened into amusement, "You mean Drusilla should come to Camelot for Samhain to keep her safe, and make it look like it's for the festival, and not because I worry for her safety." A quiet smile was Merlin's only reply. "Sometimes, you do show an ounce of sense."

"One of us has to," Merlin said, just loud enough for Arthur to hear before ducking behind the changing screen to gather up the last of the laundry. And to escape the cup the prince chucked at his head.

"Shut up, Merlin!"

"You're the one who told me to tell you the truth," Merlin peeked around the screen, an impish look on his face

"A command that is going to come back to haunt me forever, I suppose," Arthur rolled his eyes but could not keep a smile from pulling at his lips. "Now get back to work. I have a border to fortify and an invitation to write, and I don't need your big nose in the middle of it all."

"Yes, sire," Merlin mocked a formal bow and cleared the now-empty dishes off the table, throwing a last glance back at the prince before slipping out the door. While the lines of care had not been wiped away, Arthur was noticeably calmer. Perhaps even happy again. 'One grouchy prince cheered up. I could almost call it a good day's work, if not for everything else that needs doing.'