As the prince's servant, Merlin had always assumed he knew the castle inside and out—even if he had only been serving for a week he thought he must know more of back halls than Arthur. After all, the prince did have the right to be anywhere he pleased. Merlin couldn't fathom a circumstance in which Arthur would deign to use what he'd once referred to (in a fit of annoyance brought on by a serving girl running into Arthur with a cup of red wine while he was wearing a new white shirt) as "the peasant alleys."

But without Arthur to lead the way now, Merlin would be hopelessly lost.

The two barely spoke during the escape. Once, when Arthur took the first unfamiliar turn, Merlin had asked, "Can't we just go through the front?" Arthur had shot Merlin a look that said you're a fool, without the prince having to open his mouth. Since then, though, the two had walked in silence.

The prince's actions confused Merlin. He wouldn't believe for a second that the prince had volunteered to break him out. They may not have hated each other after spending a week together, but they certainly weren't friends. Merlin supposed he trusted the prince—at least enough to believe he was actually helping him—but he always thought Arthur held a grudge from that time with the enchanted snake shield. He had proven himself to be right of course (wasn't he always right?), but not before Arthur had made a fool of himself. And if there was one thing the prince did not lack, it was pride. And honor, a little voice in the back of Merlin's head chimed in.

Suddenly, Arthur stopped. He signaled for Merlin to do the same but the boy only knew to halt his walking when he bumped into the prince's backside. "Merlin," the prince snapped. Merlin mumbled out an apology, and Arthur, more or less satisfied (though, was he ever satisfied?), took out his keys again.

The two stood at an intersection in the hallway, a door resting on the wall in front of them. Arthur glanced right and then left, made yet another hand signal that Merlin couldn't interpret, and moved elegantly across the hall. Merlin followed—earning a look that said he wasn't supposed to, but quite frankly, Merlin didn't care—and the door opened, slowly at first, but then faster as Arthur pushed at it. As the hinges squealed, causing the two to shudder and Arthur to glance around, Merlin could see that just beyond the door were steps down into the dark. It almost reminded him of entrance to Kilgharra's cave—prison, Merlin corrected.

The two stood there in the doorway for a minute, exchanging looks.

"Anytime, Merlin," Arthur finally said. Merlin looked down the steps, and then back at Arthur.

"You want me to go first?"

Arthur just sighed in exasperation.

"Honestly, Merlin," he said, pushing past the boy and into the stairwell. "If I had known you were this much of a coward—"

Quite unexpectedly, Arthur was now in the air. His foot had slipped on the steps—the stone stairwell was musty and it was a bit wet, and after all, it was dark and the prince had no torch—but almost as soon as it became obvious he was falling, Merlin's eyes had flashed gold and suspended him. Unlike the time he had used magic to catch Gaius, there was nothing soft for him to put underneath Arthur, so momentarily uncertain as to his next action, Merlin just stood there.

At first, Arthur said nothing. In surprise, he had cut off his last words, but now, apparently, he didn't feel compelled to finish them. So, after a couple heartbeats, sheepishly and a bit out of character for the cocky blond prince he was, he said, "Could you help me down, Merlin?"

As though Arthur could see him, Merlin nodded, before carefully stepping down the one or two steps he needed to be equal to Arthur. Another moment's hesitation—it wasn't often one had to helped down from the air—and Merlin more or less figured out how to take most of Arthur's weight, so that the prince could put a foot on the steps gently, maintaining balance.

Arthur didn't say thank you, and Merlin didn't make a snide comment. The two merely carried on down the staircase—Arthur using one hand to brace himself as he did so—until they reached the bottom, which intersected with yet another hallway.

"I should have brought a torch," Arthur groaned. He was just about to tell Merlin to wait here when, with an unintelligible whisper, a flame illuminated the dark hallway. Not looking at the prince, Merlin held his hand out, and Arthur just watched as a small fire danced in the serving boy's palm.

"Handy," Arthur said after a moment, not without a hint of amusement in his voice. Merlin looked at him, and smiled awkwardly.

"Sometimes."

"You have studied sorcery a bit then," Arthur said, beginning a slow walk down the hall. Merlin followed, a look of guilt flashing across his face.

"Um, well, I mean—" But Arthur chuckled.

"Still doesn't make you a full-blown sorcerer."

Merlin sighed. "What does, then?"

"I don't know. Maybe a pointed hat?"

"And here I thought we were having a serious conversation."

"We are. This is a deadly serious conversation."

"Well, I have no plans of ever wearing a pointed hat, for your information."

"Then you're not really a sorcerer."

"Well, what am I then?" Merlin asked, and Arthur was a bit taken aback by the pleading tone of his voice. The prince stopped, looking at the serving boy behind him.

"You're Merlin, my manservant. The worst one I've ever had at that," Arthur said, his tone somewhere between lighthearted and serious. "And, occasionally, when I am ill-prepared, which is very, very, incredibly rare, you… prove surprisingly resourceful."

Merlin didn't respond, lifting his hand a bit. A beam on the ceiling came down very low here, and grateful for the extra light, Arthur ducked underneath it. They walked on in silence, Arthur turning right at a certain corridor that slowly became narrower and narrower. At some point, the two had reached what could best be described as a tunnel, and a particularly foul-smelling one at that.

The prince took a couple more steps into the tunnel before stopping. At which point he asked, "And anyways, why do you do that?"

Merlin, due to the fact that he had again bumped into Arthur, was trying to discreetly pat out the small pieces of flame that had crawled up his tunic sleeve. He responded rather distractedly, "Do what?"

Arthur turned, just in time to see Merlin put out the last flame, besides the one in his palm of course. He stared open-mouthed at the boy, who made eye contact with him and gave a smile that said, whoops. Arthur turned around again and began walking, rolling his eyes as he did so.

"Wait!" Merlin called, jogging a bit to keep up. "Do what?"

"Forget it, never mind," the prince said.

"No, come on, you started the conversation."

"Yes, well now I'm done with it."

"Arthur—"

"Prince Arthur."

"Sorry, Prince," Merlin said, before muttering to himself, "Jeez, no need to be a prat."

This comment was apparently not as low as Merlin meant it to be, because the prince whipped around and demanded again,

"Why do you do that?"

Surprised, but somehow managing to stop before bumping into Arthur this time, Merlin huffed, "Do what?"

"Save my life and then call me a prat."

Merlin scoffed, not making eye contact, "I, well—if being a prat means you deserve to die, then the world's gone mad—"

"What?" Arthur asked, and Merlin rather relished the look of bemusement on the prince's face. The young magician chuckled.

"Believe me, a week ago I couldn't have cared less about you," Merlin said, realizing too late that was probably not the best thing for him to say when the prince was his sole means of escape.

But Arthur's shoulders slumped a little as he relaxed. "A week ago? What changed?"

Merlin hesitated, then shrugged. "I'm not sure," he said. "I mean, you did toss me in the dungeons."

"Alright, that—"

"And I mean, you did that more than once."

"Today doesn't—"

Merlin laughed, "Well, I suppose I can't hold that against you. You're the prince after all, even if you are a prat."

Without waiting, Arthur turned away and kept moving. His pace was quicker now, but Merlin kept up without too much trouble, having been prepared now for Arthur to take off. The serving boy only fell a bit behind when he heard Arthur mutter, in a voice that Merlin knew he wasn't supposed to discern,

"That doesn't always make me right."

Something is wrong, Merlin noted, as Arthur continued, louder now, "Come along, Merlin. This tunnel is a bit dark, if you hadn't noticed."

Never in his life had Merlin not wanted to leave a place so much.

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