The Yuletide feast was as splendid as anyone could have hoped for. The great hall was filled to the brim with Camelot's finest nobles, guild leaders, ambassadors, clergy, and all the servants necessary to attend upon such folk. Strains of bright music hung in the air, courtesy of the Breton minstrel and his troop that Arthur had invited to stay through the winter. The songs lightened as the evening progressed, the bright rhythms drawing people to dance as much as the wine that lowered their inhibitions.

Arthur stayed in his seat, content to watch over his people as they celebrated, and keeping an eye on who talked to who, and which couples danced the most. Taking note of who refused to dance, who glared daggers at rivals, and who was oblivious to it all. Feasts and balls, he had learned, were as much about politics as they were about celebrations and it behooved a king to keep abreast of factions and rivalries.

The food was good, too.

He swirled a goblet of wine around and around while he watched, taking a sip now and then. It was sweet and well-watered, and he drank it more to keep up appearances than for the taste. And re-filling it gave George something to do now and then. Try as he might, he couldn't dismiss the ever-present servant. He was starting to wonder if George was so adamant about remaining at his side because he was devoted to his job, or if it had something to do with the quality of the music. Perhaps it was a little of both.

Arthur sipped at the wine again as he sought out certain faces in the crowd. There was Guinevere in the middle of the dance floor, her crimson skirts swirling about as she spun through the ranks of dancers along with the other ladies of the court. The maneuvers seemed too precise and intricate for such drunken revelries, but none of the women were bothered by it. A few of the men had tripped over their own feet, but that was to be expected.

On the far side of the floor, Lancelot smiled at Elayne as the dance brought them together again. The young woman couldn't conceal her happiness, and why even bother? A dozen or more other ladies stared her down, unconcealed jealousy on their faces. And no wonder. Lancelot might have been common born and a foreigner to boot, but on a night like this any girl could seek the company of any young man on the dance floor. Arthur had heard more than one woman coo over the knight's handsome face. But Lancelot's dances had been reserved for a dazzled Elayne, a laughing and stumbling Niniane, and even Guinevere herself.

And there, in an out of the way shadow, Merlin was propping a wall up, his arms folded over his chest. Dressed in gray and black, he blended in with his surroundings, though Arthur knew that that wasn't the only reason the sorcerer was being left alone. Even after all this time people were still leery of his presence in Camelot, though they tended to simply avoid him these days rather than hurl threats or stones at him. Still, he looked worn out, even from this distance.

He looked up as though the king had called out to him. Arthur gestured for him to come over. "You should be out there dancing. It's the night for it," he said once Merlin had threaded his way through the crowd.

"I don't know the steps," Merlin said. "But you do, and your wife is dancing with another man."

"I hardly have to worry about Gwaine these days," Arthur said, though he still kept an eye on how the knight smiled and bowed to Guinevere as they paced through the intricate turns of the dance. "He has his own betrothed to think about."

Linnet watched the knight and the queen, too, a thoughtful smile on her face as she turned about and held a slender hand out to the guildmaster she was momentarily paired with. Her eyes hardly left Gwaine, though.

"True," Merlin said. "He's loyal to the end, once you've earned it. But you should be out there. People will think it's strange if the king doesn't dance with the queen at least once. You know how gossip spreads."

"I do," Arthur said, biting back a scowl. Even now, certain ladies were whispering together as they took note of Guinevere's dancing partners. He sighed. He knew the steps to the courtly dances, of course, and to many of the so-called peasant dances as well. Such things were part of every prince's education. That didn't mean he liked it. "After this one ends, then. I'll put up with it."

Merlin smiled at this small triumph, though the shadows under his eyes only deepened.

"Are you alright? You look tired," Arthur said.

"I'm fine," was the curt response. And the expected one. Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin, and the sorcerer sighed. "I've never liked being under the court's watchful eye. All these people who are… afraid of me. Or who hate me, it's… uncomfortable. And very loud." He brushed a hand over his eyes.

"You don't have to stay here, you know. These things aren't required of anyone."

"We both know that's not true." Merlin almost smiled. "Kings and servants alike are beholden to the ones they serve. Besides that, do you really think I'm going to let them drive me away?" He nodded in the direction of a group of nobles scowling at him.

"I suppose not," Arthur said. Under his gaze, they wilted and turned to find other sources of gossip. "We'll just have to endure, then, and make the most of it."

"Feasts are meant to be enjoyed, not endured."

"Now who's deluding himself?" Arthur said archly. "You've endured every feast you've been to in Camelot. It doesn't take magic to tell that you don't like them."

"I've been through worse," Merlin said. His back straightened and his shoulders twitched. Arthur could only imagine what sorts of memories were swirling around in that head of his.

"I think we've all been through worse things that a feastday," Arthur said, his voice brightening as he tried to lighten the mood. "Anyway. If you don't want to be here, or if there's something else you need to be doing, then go. That's an order, if you'd bother following it."

Merlin smirked. "As long as you dance with Guinevere."

"That's a suggestion I can follow without qualms," Arthur said. He rose and walked around the table, reaching the dance floor as the music reached its end. The crowd fell silent save for the rustling of clothing as everyone hurried to clear the floor and bow or curtsey as the same time.

Within moments, Guinevere was alone in the middle of the room, a smile spreading across her face as she approached Arthur. "Your Majesty," she said, dropping a graceful curtsey even as she reached out to him.

"My Lady," Arthur said and kissed her hand, half-bowing to her in return. They straightened, standing close to each other in the quiet. Then he winked at her. "Gaspar!" he called out to the musician, "play a Volta."

Guinevere's eyes widened in surprise but she mastered herself quickly, allowing only a tiny smile to play about her lips. All around them, the whispers rose as the first strains of music rose into the air.

The Volta had migrated north from far, far away. Arthur never found out where Morgana had learned the dance. Uther had considered it too lewd for his court, and yet Morgana had found someone who knew it and conned them into teaching it to her. Then she had taught Arthur. And Guinevere. And then talked them into practicing it together so she could make sure they both knew the proper forms, all of it in secret. Just like the lessons in swordplay he had given her.

Uther wouldn't have approved of Morgana's knowledge of the sword anymore that he would have approved of her knowing the Volta. It had felt so dangerous, this hidden knowledge of a dance and a weapon. They had been so much younger then- Guinevere was merely a shy lady's maid, he had been a prat of a prince, and Morgana had been innocent. But that had all been years ago, when they were hardly more than children.

Still, he remembered the Volta and its twists and turns, and where on Guinevere's back he needed to put his hand to raise her up. How to step so he wouldn't catch her skirts, and on which beat she would jump so he could raise her higher than anyone else in the room, just as he had done at her coronation.

Guinevere was light as a feather in his arms, like a bird ready to take flight and he was the one keeping her earthbound. And while he sensed that everyone in the room was watching them, the only thing he could see was Guinevere gazing back at him.

'Let anyone try to whisper about discord between us now.'

Merlin lingered in the great hall until the buzz had died down about the dance Arthur had chosen. He hardly knew what a Volta was, or why everyone was reacting to it with shocked expressions. The most conservative courtiers were as wide-eyed as if Merlin had walked to up them and explained, in great detail, the Druids' Beltane fertility rituals. But they had a right to their opinions, and Arthur and Guinevere hardly noticed. They looked only at each other, ignoring everything else as surely as if it had all disappeared while they danced.

He smiled and slipped out of the hall. He'd had his fill of the feast and the celebration though he hadn't been a part of it, choosing to while away the hours at the edges. Just watching. Waiting. There was no sense of danger tonight, no impending doom. Even the storm clouds outside were beginning to thin, though he sensed there would be more snow tomorrow.

The hallways were lit as brightly as ever. And while the guards still patrolled the corridors, no one could blame them if their toes tapped in time to the echoes of the music. Yule was a time for celebration, after all.

Even for Merlin, though he hardly felt like celebrating.

His fingers trailed along the wall, the rough stone grounding him in the present while his mind wandered through the corridors and out into the winter night. It was quiet there, without all the people pressing in around him with their whispers and the heaviness of their thoughts rumbling like thunder from a storm on the horizon.

He hurried down the stairs. A courtyard door beckoned him to the peace of the trees and slumbering flowers. Snow had covered the path and kept the door from opening, but it was easy to clear it away with a whisper of magic.

Merlin stepped outside and took a deep breath. The air was icy cold, but it cleared his head and washed away the residue of so many souls brushing against his. For him, Camelot was a crowded place, even if he was alone in a room.

He drew in a long breath and let it out just as slowly as he looked skyward. Stars peered through the breaks in the clouds, and their faint, celestial music rang through the air. There were no warnings in the notes and no premonitions of doom or otherwise. Somehow, and if only for a night, the world was at peace with itself.

Merlin closed his eyes and listened.

Only a few people had climbed the stairs to the gallery above the great hall to watch the goings-on below, and Gwaine was fine with that. The young couple whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears hardly noticed him or Linnet, giving them a warm and relatively quiet place to sit down for a while.

"So what do you think the gossips will be on about tomorrow?" Linnet asked. "They wouldn't stop talking about how the king and queen weren't dancing, and if it meant there were troubles between them. Then His Majesty up and calls for a Volta. Didn't that just ruffle their feathers and make them squawk like a bunch of angry old hens?"

Gwaine laughed at the image that conjured, of chickens done up in silks and fine jewels. "I'm sure there's nothing that the old hens wouldn't gossip about, even if Guinevere had been a noble lady and heir to half a kingdom."

"This is true. But she carries herself like the queen she is. If you didn't know any better, you'd say she was born to rule."

"And I'd say where you're born shouldn't dictate what you can become," Gwaine said.

"Indeed," Linnet drew out the second syllable. She made a show of looking out over the gathering below them but her gaze turned sidewards, her dark eyes appraising him. "You dance very well for a commoner."

Gwaine's eyebrows went up at the change in topic. "The steps aren't that difficult. Any idiot could pick them up."

"But any idiot hasn't picked them up." Linnet gave him a scathing look. "Unless you're prepared to call Niniane stupid. Elayne's been trying to teach her the basic steps for days, and she still stepped on Lancelot's toes half a dozen times. So I have to wonder. Just where did Sir Gwaine, one of the king's common-born knights learn the steps to the courtly dances. I bet it wasn't in the tavern where His Majesty found you."

"Ah, no."

"I thought not." Linnet turned back to watch the dancing. The light from below limned her face, catching in her artfully tousled curls and outlining her lips. Gwaine wanted very much to kiss those lips just then. "It's another piece in the puzzle that you are," she said before he could so much as lean toward her.

"What puzzle is that?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. He snapped his mouth shut on whatever ill-advised comment might have popped out next. "You," she said. "You're very strange sometimes. You wear the guise of a rogue like a comfortable old cloak, but sometimes it slips and there's someone else underneath. Someone who knows how this game works."

Gwaine licked his lips and did his best to hide his growing unease. "What game would that be?"

"The game of the courtier, of course. The political game we wrap ourselves up in so tightly it's nearly impossible to get ourselves back out of again." Linnet looked at him over her shoulder, Her mouth was hidden behind the high collar of her gown, but the crinkling around her eyes suggested a smile. "But you seem to have gotten yourself out of it before, Sir Knight. Where did you come from before you came to Camelot?"

"All over the place," he began, stopping when her eyebrows started to knit together in an irritated line. "That's the truth, Linnet. Before I came to Camelot, I wandered all over the Five Kingdoms. I even thought about crossing the sea to Eire, just to see what was over that horizon. Then one day I was in a country bar and these two fellows got themselves in a nasty fight, and I ended up here. After a bit." He gave her a smile that quickly fled when he thought back farther than than a handful of years ago. "But before all that, when I was too young to remember, my father was a knight in Caerleon's army. He died in battle, and when my mother went to the king to collect what was owed to her as a war widow, he refused to pay, leaving us penniless."

Linnet's eyes widened, but whether it was due to shock or outrage, he couldn't tell.

"We got by," Gwaine shrugged it off as though it were nothing. "Though when she was old enough, my sister married a man she didn't love to keep herself fed. I don't think she ever forgave herself for it. She got bitter and old before her time. I was old enough to hold my own in a fight when my mother died of a fever. After that, it was just me against the world. I was good with a blade, so I became a sellsword. Wound up in the courts of a few kings here and there, but none of them were any good, so I left them."

"And Arthur's a good enough king that you're willing to stay?"

"Aye. He's alright," Gwaine's smile returned. "I think I'll stay here awhile."

"Well. Sir Gwaine, a nobly born rogue. It seems I'm marrying well enough after all," Linnet smirked.

"Did someone say you weren't?"

"People always whisper," she said. She folded her arms on the ledge and rested her chin on them. "I'm a noblewoman, after all. The daughter of a baron. They all say I should have married another baron or some other man with titles and lands. Or an heir to titles and lands. But the trouble is," she stopped to take a breath. Gwaine thought he saw the glint of moisture in her eyes. "My father's lands are minor, and I have three brothers who will inherit everything. I have no great wealth, am not exceedingly accomplished at singing or some other skill, nor am I one of the kingdom's great beauties. So while I might have noble blood, I have little else. I may be one of the queen's ladies, but even that isn't enough to entice a wealthy man to my side."

Gwaine reached out to her, his fingers hovering above Linnet's shoulder. "Do you regret saying yes to my proposal, then? Do you wish some other, higher-born man had asked you?"

"No. I don't regret it." She took his hand and kissed it before leaning into him. He wrapped his arms around her. "If I'd had any doubts about my feelings for you, I wouldn't have given myself to you that night."

"I guess that did make things quite clear between us," Gwaine chuckled. "It's a good thing we have each other, then, if no one else would have us. Now it's two of us against the rest of the world."

Linnet laughed. "The two of us, and our very good friends here in Camelot. Friends who probably think we've gone off to commit some unspeakable act of passion somewhere." She stood and took his hands to lead him away. "Come on. Let's go back to the dance."

"Emrys?"

Merlin opened his eyes and looked back. Niniane stood in the doorway, framed by the soft torchlight from inside. It made a sort of halo around her head.

"What are you doing out there, just standing in the cold? It's warm in here," she said, though she left that warmth and walked through the snow toward him.

"I needed to clear my head." He wrapped his arms around her. "There were so many people, and it was getting so stuffy in there. I just needed some…"

"Quiet?"

"Yes."

"I understand," she said and nestled against him, her head just under his chin. She smelled of soap and sweet flowers. "What were you listening to?"

"Just now?" he asked. He felt her nod. "The music of the stars. I hear them singing at night, when the skies are clear and my mind isn't too full of worries."

Niniane was silent for a moment. The only sound was their breathing and the faint ting of the falling snow. "I don't hear anything," she whispered. "Just the wind and a little music."

Merlin smiled. "I've never met anyone else who can hear them. It's one of my… gifts, I suppose. There seems to be no other word for it, and no ill has come from it. It's just… music."

"The gods have certainly blessed you, then, to be able to hear the stars singing. It must be so beautiful," she said. She looked skyward, her eyes catching the warm glow from the windows overlooking the courtyard. "I wish I could hear it."

"Maybe you can," he said. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do," she replied. "More than anything."

He kissed her gently, brushing a hand along her cheek and pressing a fingertip to her forehead just between her eyes. "Let your mind clear, and just listen."

There was a ringing like a thousand silver bells chiming in unison, the sound lengthening, stretching out until no mortal hand or tongue could sustain the notes. New voices emerged then, like a choir composed of thousands upon thousands of voices singing just loudly enough to be heard over the horizon. There were no melodies, no beginning or ending. The music was simply tones, hypnotic and eternal. Celestial music that dared mortals to define or mimic it.

"Thank you. It's beautiful," Niniane breathed after time had passed. Whether it was minutes or hours, Merlin couldn't tell, but the snow had not covered them, and they weren't frozen in place. "I've never heard anything like it."

"I'm not surprised. You could probably spend the ages searching for something like it in the world and never find it," Merlin said.

"I'm sure," she said, and finally turned her eyes away from the stars to look up at him. "But sadly, it's not music you can dance to," she laughed.

Merlin couldn't keep the smile from spreading across his face. "You can never stay serious for long, can you?"

"Sadly, no. Unless the circumstances are truly dire, I prefer to laugh," Niniane said. "Life is too short to spend it being dour when you could be happy instead."

"That's not a bad way to go through life. I wish I could do the same."

"Perhaps for one night, you can." Niniane grabbed hold of his hands and took half a step away. "Forget your cares for a little while. They'll keep until the morning. For tonight, just dance with me."

"I don't know the steps," Merlin said, though he couldn't help but smile as she swayed in time to the music they could both hear coming through the windows.

"I don't know them very well, either. Lancelot was sweet enough to dance with me, but I stepped on his feet so many times it's a miracle he didn't walk away!"

"Lancelot's too kind for that, " Merlin said. "And I really don't know any steps. I've seen people perform all the dances, but that's not the same as being taught how to do them."

"It doesn't matter," Niniane said. "Come now. It's simple. Just follow me." She grasped his hands tightly and drew him through the snow, leading him in an awkward series of steps that resembled two people trying not to trip over each other more than an actual dance. But Niniane still laughed and released one of his hands long enough to twirl about, the skirts of her bright gown flaring out like an unexpected flower blooming among the snowflakes. Her laughter filled the courtyard, drowning out the music of the stars.

It was nearing midnight when Arthur found Guinevere again. She had slipped out of the great hall sometime earlier when he was stuck listening to an aging guildmaster drone on about something or other. He'd hardly paid attention after the first ten minutes and would happily have run away after the second ten minutes was up. But politeness had keep him rooted to the floor through the man's wandering stories, right up until moment the old man's wife had tired of the pointless tales and ushered him away, freeing everyone else as well.

Guinevere stood by the window in an alcove overlooking courtyard garden. Her arms were folded across her chest to ward off the chill the thick glass couldn't keep at bay, and she was smiling.

Arthur came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "What's so amusing out there? Have a bunch of sprites and fairies come out of the trees to play?"

"Not quite," Guinevere said. She leaned against him, soaking in his warmth. "Look down there."

He looked, over her shoulder and down a storey into the garden outside where two dancers flitted in and out of the shadows, spending half a moment in the warm light from the windows before returning to the moon's silvery half-light.

Merlin and Niniane. Not quite forest sprites.

"They remind me of little birds learning to fly," Guinevere said, her voice hushed as though she were afraid they would hear her. "They know how it's supposed to look, but they haven't quite got the knack for it yet. I suppose the fact that it's cold and neither one of them is dressed for it doesn't help."

"I don't think they've noticed the cold," Arthur said.

"Perhaps not."

As if by some unheard cue, the dancers stopped their turns and came together. Merlin took Niniane in his arms, and she nestled her head against his chest. Like two sparrows coming together against the cold. It was a gesture no more intimate than Arthur and Guinevere's; just two people standing together in the night. And yet Arthur suddenly felt as though he was intruding, watching something not meant for his eyes or anyone else's.

"We should go," he whispered in Guinevere's ear. "It's late, and our bed is far warmer that this hallway."

Guinevere looked up at him, her eyes shining. "If you insist," she said, and kissed him.

"I do insist," Arthur replied and led her way, not sparing a glance back to the courtyard with its fairies and sprites, or the two lovers keeping each other from falling too far into the darkness.