A/N: Originally this chapter was actually two but I decided to combine them. Hopefully it works well!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Ch. 7-Now What? We Stay the Course

It was some time before Merlin's grief wound down to manageable levels, his magic and grip relaxing somewhat as he sprawled bonelessly in his king's lap.

"I missed you too," Arthur whispered, smoothing his hand down the trembling back. He felt as though he were floating, buoyed by both Merlin's magic and Merlin himself. If it had been in any way possible, the blond royal wished he could just curl up as he was and sleep. With Merlin safe and sound (and he would stay that way, if Arthur had anything to say about it) and the warlock's magic sinking into the king-prince making him feel as though he had just settled into a warm bath after a long training session, Arthur felt himself relaxing for the first time in ages. It was amazing that he'd gotten anything done considering just how tense he'd really been!

"Arthur," Merlin whispered back, hands still spasmodically fisting in the other's tunic.

"Merlin," Arthur returned, snickering. He knew he was terrible for teasing the warlock at a time like this, but just the fact that he could tease him, well…it was overwhelming. The king-prince was sliding out of his depression and right into giddiness because somehow they had done it. Somehow, they had once more beaten the odds that were stacked so alarmingly against them and emerged triumphantly at the top. Well, mostly triumphant. They were alive, together, and in Camelot. Even if he wasn't currently king and fitting rather terribly back into the role of crown prince, he wasn't alone.

He had Merlin.

"Prat!" the other grumbled wetly, voice still clogged with tears. Arthur only snickered harder.

"I am your king," he reminded him in his best pompous voice, trying so desperately not to laugh any louder than he already had.

"Still a prat."

"Only to you."

Merlin huffed, a breathy chuckle escaping. "Of course, as always." He blinked, eyes snapping up when the prince shifted his weight. "Arthur?" And oh, the blond royal hated that vulnerable tone as it dashed any lightheartedness that had managed to find its way into the situation. It set his protective instincts on edge and he wanted to pound some manners into who ever had caused it.

Too bad he was the cause.

"Are you really here?"

Arthur leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. "You can't get rid of me that easily," he said. And it didn't just sound like reassurance; it sounded like a vow. Because it was. Arthur had no intention of letting Merlin suffer through this alone anymore. The last week had been torture enough for him with the uncertainty of what was actually going on, but for Merlin, oh, it had to have been so much worse. Arthur had tried not to contemplate what it would be like if his warlock had not remembered their life together simply because it was too terrible to think of. How could so much be forgotten? So much blood, sweat, tears, triumphs? But that could have been what happened. He could have been all alone.

And now he could see what it was like for the shoe to be on the other foot. Merlin would have to struggle with keeping his magic secret once more on top of Arthur's prattishness and his old memories. Would he have been able to stand it, or would he have broken underneath the burden?

Arthur was very sure he never wanted to know.

"What do we do now?" Merlin's question brought him out of his thoughts. Arthur glanced down at the dark-head that had returned to his shoulder, the warlock's eyes half closed in exhaustion. The king-prince grimaced. As much as he would like to lock Merlin away with him today so that could find their equilibrium once more, it just wasn't possible. Arthur had to train the knights in the afternoon followed by dinner with his father and sister and as much as he would not mind skipping over all of those activities, it just wasn't possible. Not yet anyway. As crown prince (again) he had responsibilities that could not be shirked, but it was the same for Merlin. He just…wasn't sure how would react to letting the other out of his sight at the moment.

Arthur drew in a deep breath. "Right now, you need to go back to Gaius and send Thomas back to me." A faint shadow crossed his warlock's face and he could almost read the others thought. "You're not my manservant yet, he is, and it's his job. How we are going to get you back to that we'll have to talk about later. As much as I hate to say this, it's business as usual."

"If it were business as usual, you would be escorting me to the dungeons right about now," Merlin pointed out and the blond royal scowled. As much as Arthur hated to admit it, Merlin was right. There had to be some form of retribution for what Merlin had done earlier because although those noble idiots needed their behavior called upon, it should have been Arthur, not Merlin, who had done it. Even if the idiots deserved it, they would expect Merlin to be punished.

That didn't mean Arthur had to like it.

"I could just make up a punishment," he tossed out hopefully and pouted when the other shook his head.

"All it would take would be a few questions and any story we concoct would fall apart," A bitter smile crossed Merlin's face and frankly, Arthur hated it. "The best and most believable lies have a grain of truth to them."

"You would know," Arthur muttered before he could stop himself and winced when Merlin snapped back as though struck. "Great dragons! Sorry, sorry, you know I'm a prat, I didn't mean it. I didn't!"

"Yes you did," Merlin whispered, "but it's okay. You're right, I do." The awkward silence that followed was stifling and Arthur was sure how to dispel it. Of course he was cocking this up, wasn't that just how the sword fell? Perhaps he hadn't dealt with his feelings over the lies that Merlin had been telling all of these years as well as he'd thought. As the silence continued to stretch, and Arthur continued to fail to find a way to put a stop to it, Merlin took matters into his own hands and rocked back on his heels creating some distance between them.

"I guess it's time for the dungeons, then the stocks." Try as he might, the lightness the warlock was trying to bring back was falling flat and all the blond royal wanted to do was reverse the last ten minutes and do this again. But then, hadn't he already been given that opportunity? And still he couldn't get it right!

Arthur finally nodded, albeit unwillingly, but, quick as a snake, grasped Merlin's wrist as he attempted to rise. The other blinked in shock. "We will talk about this, I promise," the king-prince vowed and was pleased with the bewildered nod he was given. He squeezed the wrist he held. "Merlin…" he trailed off, words suddenly deserting him when he needed them most. His friend waited patiently and Arthur cursed in his head. Why was this so difficult? What words could he possibly say to relay how much the other meant to him? Was now the time? He'd already messed up once, maybe he should just keep his mouth shut. Besides, he often let his actions speak for him.

Releasing the trapped wrist, he grasped the warlock's shoulders and pulled him snuggly into his arms once more. The dark-haired youth tensed for half a second before letting loose such a loud, long sigh that Arthur was sure he would just deflate because of it. Thin arms snaked around his waist and a dark head returned to his damp shoulder. Heaving his own heavy sigh, the future king turned his head to place a fond kiss on the pale forehead before resting his temple against it. The dungeons could wait just a little bit longer.

And just maybe he wouldn't screw this up after all.

~Merlin~

The harsh clang of the dungeon cell door rang in his ears as he stumbled and eventually fell in to the straw that covered the stone floor. The guards hadn't been particularly gentle and already he could feel what would be purple bruises forming on his upper arms. Arthur had insisted on seeing him to the dungeons, reluctant as of yet to let him out of his sight. Merlin couldn't say that he was very keen on it either, but if they were to pass unnoticed for now, nothing could change. Merlin would have to play the part of ignorant newcomer, and Arthur the pompous prince. Though the warlock could tell that the scowl that was dominating his king's expression was for the guards, not him, one look at his warlock and Arthur had only scowled harder before turning on his heel and leaving Merlin behind.

Merlin kept his eyes on the other till Arthur disappeared completely, already feeling the pain of their separation. When he finally acknowledged that he couldn't see his king any more, the warlock sagged, his body completely drained. Never in his life had he been so tired. And what a funny thing to think, especially after all that he'd been through, that crying (which he would not be ashamed of, he wouldn't) could do this to him. Oh, he knew that it wasn't just the crying, but the actual act of seeing Arthur again that did this to him. Arthur.

Alive, here, alive. Arthur.

Merlin shuddered, curling into a tight ball on top of the straw. Being away from the man so soon after gaining him back (and with his memories as well) was like being stabbed repeatedly in the gut. It was bad enough that his body felt like he'd spent all day and night training with the king-prince (in other words, having Arthur whack at him with a sword), but adding the emotional upheaval on top was too much.

He wondered how Arthur was handling it.

Now that he had time (plenty of it unfortunately) he wondered over Arthur's reaction. The man clearly remembered their previous lives. That was a better outcome that the warlock could ever hope for. He hadn't known if it would work, but he'd been so desperate…

Losing Arthur hadn't been an option.

And now here they were at the beginning again. How and why here were thoughts for another day, he decided with a yawn, giving into his body's need for rest. Just as he felt himself slipping away to blessed sleep, a new (old) voice filled his head.

Merlin.

The warlock's eyes popped open and he didn't even bother to stifle his groan.

Bastard.

~Arthur~

Arthur didn't bother to train with the knights, knowing that if he tried, he would surely hurt either himself or someone else. Better to take out his frustrations on the training dummies. After giving his marching orders to a bemused Leon, Arthur had done just that, throwing himself in to the practice with gusto. Seeing the ferocity with which he was attacking his 'foes', the other knights had let him be, assuming that working out his frustration over something his father had said or done, or perhaps the mouthy peasant he'd escorted to the dungeons personally.

Funny; they were right on both accounts.

Knowing that it would be some time before he would be 'allowed' to see his warlock again brought no end of frustration to the king-prince. It had practically torn him in two to walk away from that dungeon cell and it had taken all of his self-discipline not to look back when he'd left. And that self-discipline was still being sorely tested for with every breath, Arthur wanted nothing more than to march back down there and take Merlin back, possibly knocking a few of the guards' heads together for touching the man. Merlin was his, his to protect, his to defend, but what kind of defender was he when he allowed them to rough his warlock up as he had?

Hence, his broiling frustration.

And wasn't it just a wonderful end to the day, he groused internally as Thomas stripped him of his armor and he sank into the awaiting bath. He had to have dinner. With his father. And Morgana.

Which ever higher power he had angered so was very sadistic, he decided as he scrubbed his skin, relieving the manservant of his duty. One thing he could not get used to, despite how hard he tried (which, he would admit, was not that hard) was Thomas touching him. Oh, he could tolerate the man's presence in his chambers (he was in and out so quickly as it was), but actually allowing him to touch him…Arthur found he couldn't do it. The first time the other had tried to help him dress, the prince-king had nearly jumped out of his skin, barely restraining himself from taking a swing at the servant. Arthur had been horrified by his reaction because what, in the name of the kings of old was wrong with him?

Merlin. It continued to boil down to his warlock. Merlin had been his manservant for so long, and Arthur had become so comfortable with him that allowing another into his space seemed a like a betrayal (but it wasn't, really). Frankly it was also bloody disconcerting. Over time, Merlin and he had developed a rhythm, a secret dance to which only they knew the tune. As easy as breathing they moved throughout their day, knowing the other was always within easy reach.

And Thomas just couldn't compare.

Eventually he was able to still his fidgeting when his manservant fitted him with his armour, but it was always a test of his patience and tenacity. And Arthur was tired of it. Why couldn't he have Merlin back now?

Really, Arthur? Two voiced tried to superimpose themselves over the other as he rose from the bath, accepting the towel Thomas held out. One held the distinct disdain of Uther and it was a phrase and tone that the king-prince had heard more times than he cared to count. Many times when he had offered his thoughts or solutions to a problem that the (current) king believed to be ill-conceived (meaning anything that did not fall in line with his father's thinking), he earned that phrase.

It angered him that it still affected him more than he would like.

The other was colored with Merlin's fond exasperation (no doubt accompanied by an eye roll) that often came when Arthur was teasing or just being more of a clotpole than usual. Arthur was grateful for it, as it had grounded him more than once. Now, he focused on it, drowning out Uther's voice as it attempted to pull him under once more.

"Sire?"

With a start, Arthur returned to himself, gazing in confusion at his (current) manservant. Thomas extended the clothes once more. "Sire, you must dress soon if you are to dine with the king and Lady Morgana," the other reminded and Arthur grimaced. These spacing out episodes were happening more and more often and were slightly alarming. He would have to talk to Merlin about them.

At least he hadn't threatened Thomas with a knife again.

Exchanging the towel for the clothes and Arthur quickly dressed, reflecting once more on his current and former (future) manservants. When Arthur had suddenly changed the routine by dressing himself, Thomas had hardly batted an eyelash, offering no comment, merely acceptance of the situation. Merlin, the king-prince knew, would have at least teased him over his apparent new found knowledge of what most would consider basic skills and happily exclaimed over having not to dress him like a toddler any longer. Beyond that, the warlock would have questioned him (while teasing him no doubt) over the abrupt change and keep an eye on him to determine if something was amiss. Arthur hadn't realized how much he took for granted having Merlin's support and grounding in nearly everything he did. If nothing else, suffering its lack now was certainly putting it into perspective.

"I believe you are ready, sire," Thomas's voice once more interrupted his thoughts and the prince-king heaved a sigh. Another absent-minded episode.

"Off to the den of the dragons," the blond royal muttered under his breath and even though he was (fairly) certain the other man had heard him he offered no reaction.

He really missed Merlin.

~Arthur~

"You seem preoccupied, Arthur, is everything alright?" Morgana's inquiry would not be ignored and while the king-prince wanted nothing more than to make a face at her, now was not the time.

"I merely have a lot on my mind, it has kept my head full as of late," he returned, taking another bite. Dinner was just as he feared it would be—tense and exhausting on his part, distant on his father's and nosy on Morgana's. There was a reason he avoided her as much as possible and it was not just her nosiness (though that would be reason enough!) His body might be different, but it somehow retained the fight or flight response when it came to his sister and he wasn't certain on how to be rid of it (or even if he should be). Sister or not, it would be a long time before he could trust her, if ever.

Was that even fair?

"Oh?" If the dark-haired woman didn't really want to know, she was faking it well, "Such as?"

The fact that I died but somehow along with my best friend seem to be getting a second chance at life. Yes, because that would go over so well. Oh, and just how was he supposed to answer this? Think!

"The new batch of knight trainees are not nearly as promising as I had hoped. It's going to take a great deal of work to raise them to Camelot's standards and while I don't doubt that, with the proper work ethic, they can rise to the challenge, some are frankly hopeless." It was all true; not one lie within it. He'd had similar thoughts the last time he'd had to do this, but kept them to himself. Partly because his father would no doubt lecture him, but if he had brought up his concerns, Uther wouldn't want to listen to him.

Morgana expression showed just how she felt about Arthur's response (hah! Take that!) while the (current) king sat forward, now interested. "Whom do you deem hopeless?" he asked, surprising Arthur with just how sincere he sounded.

"Sirs Orvin, Estern, and Val," he returned promptly, rattling off the names of his (very much former) 'friends'. Had they ever been his friends? No, he thought to himself, not really. Merely hanger-ons hoping their 'status' as the crown prince's friends might prevail upon them the goal they sought.

Not likely.

Uther's brow creased when he frowned. "They are all fine second sons of good lords." And damn him if he wasn't going to leave it at that. It was a test to see how he Arthur would respond. While he previously might have fallen into the trap of allowing his emotions to rule his argument (it's not whining, no matter what Merlin says), the king-prince had enough experience now to neatly side-step it. Had Uther always done this to him?

Great dragons, he had. Arthur was beginning to suspect that his entire life had been one large test that, according to his father, he was consistently doing poorly on.

"Indeed they are, and credits to their fathers. They have the potential, I have seen it, but are unfortunately lacking in the work ethic. On more than one occasion they have found themselves beaten by other trainees who are behind them in skills, but beyond them in their dedication to their craft. Perhaps that will change in years to come, but I have seen no evidence so far. I would not wish to weaken Camelot's defenses by having knights who are lax in their training." Framing arguments: start with a praise, follow with the problem and example, offer hope (but not too much), and end with a point that will stick. For his father, Camelot was always the point (in most cases barring magic) and Arthur was fairly certain it would be a useful one in this case.

And Uther, it seemed, was surprised by his rather eloquent speech (he was capable of those, even without Merlin's help) and before long was nodding his head. "You are correct. It would be unwise to allow such attitudes to prevail among our knights. Keep after them for now, see if you can change their ways. If not, I will begin looking for a place for them elsewhere."

Arthur nodded, silently cheering his minute victory. One more step into ridding himself of those miscreant idiots once and for all. He caught Morgana's narrowed-eyed look out of the corner of his sight and offered her a bland smile before returning to his meal.

Deal with that, Morgana.

End Ch. 7

A/N: As always, please let me know what you guys think! I love reading your reviews; they are awesome!