First: oh my goodness gracious, guys, I am so, so sorry for the delay! School has been crazy and ugh, that's really no excuse, but-fdsfda. I'll make sure to get the next chapter out at a much more reasonable time. Thank you so much for all of your reviews and favorites and follows and GOODNESS. You are all perfect and I love you. X'D

Arthur was ready when his father called for a council meeting. Or at least, that was what he told himself, as he hurried down to the throne room with his hands hot and his stomach a-rumble. Arthur clenched his fists before he opened the door. He had to remember to control his nervousness, or he was going to burn a hole through something.

Eadwin was there, of course. He'd come to understand his situation since his last appearance, Arthur was sure, and as he turned his beetle-y eyes to him Arthur felt his stomach clench.

Uther was seated plumply on his throne, legs spread and fingers knotted around the sides of his chair.

Several guards popped through the door behind him like worried sock puppets, and were accompanied by a crowd of ordinary staff members. They must have smelled a good bit of gossip. Uther was never one to turn the nosy people away. He liked to have an appreciative audience, particularly when he was about to do something dramatic...

Merlin fumbled through the door behind a horde of young ladies, his eyelids heavy and his clothes mussed as though he'd been yanked from bed moments before. Arthur would have berated him, should their circumstances have been different.

The young ladies were dressed casually. A cook walked by, and slapped his meaty hands together, to rid bouts of sugar from his dough-crusted palms.

The crowd rumbled about for a while, as Uther and Eadwin debated something at the front of the room. Eadwin's shoulder blades popped out from behind him where he stood like plate halves. He was hunched over Uther, and Arthur turned away. Merlin was at his side, now, although he looked like a kicked cocker spaniel and wasn't much for emotional support.

Uther raised his hand, and the noise eased, then dropped out.

Arthur was at the head of the assembly of guests, Merlin at his shoulder.

Arthur really didn't know how he was going to get out of this. His hands sweated at his sides.

Eadwin was slow with his motions, but when he did lift his hand, his motions were precise, calculated. A warped index finger poked from the knot of the rest, to point with deliberateness at Arthur. The old crone opened his mouth, and said,

"Step forward, boy."

The crowd shuffled confusedly behind him. There were mumbles. Arthur's muscles were rigid, so that his legs refused to bend for him. He managed to boot himself forward, but before he could advance more than the barest of toe-lengths, Merlin had stepped ahead of him, and suddenly, Arthur realized…

Eadwin's finger was not trained on Arthur, but a few, very significant degrees to his right.

"You, boy," Eadwin demanded, at Merlin. His adam's apple bobbed. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Merlin's fear was tangible. He forced his chapped lips open and said, "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"Don't you, though."

"Eadwin," Uther reminded the older man, and his tone communicated his mistrust. "You told me that you'd happened on our sorcerer."

"Ah, yes," Eadwin said. He gestured again. Merlin stood rigid as the old man poked his way to and fro, this way and that.

"Merlin's not a sorcerer," Arthur said. His tongue had peeled away from the roof of his mouth. "I would know. Regardless, he was accused of a similar offense some time ago, by the likes of a sorcerer." Arthur raised an eyebrow… "Forgive me, but I can't help but find your logic at fault, Eadwin."

Uther had a doubtful look on his face, too, which caused Arthur to feel a twinge of relief. Eadwin was not finished, however: "I suggest," he huffed, "to quell your suspicions, that we escort the boy to your rooms, sire."

"To my rooms?"

"A handprint, of good quality, rests on the edge of your wardrobe, sire," Eadwin reminded him. He'd used his most crotchety of tones. "Compare his hand to that which sits there, and you will have your answer."

Well, then.

"All right," Uther agreed, at a slow speed. "Escort this 'sorcerer' to Arthur's chambers." He stood with a certain, kingly deliberateness, and started for the door. He seemed rather tired with the whole affair, reduced to a wimpy sort of stupor. He'd probably hoped to have ousted a member of the staff by now, and to have had such a lowly person as Merlin denounced to him, yet again, must have been a letdown. He'd done this before, after all…

Merlin, however, was rigid. He tried to make his discomfort discreet, but Arthur knew him too well to be fooled by him. The set of his shoulders, the way he held himself as he moved…he seemed frightened, still, and confused. Arthur couldn't ask why, however, and they proceeded together down the hall without a word.

The collection of castle staff tumbled after them as they marched down the corridors, all huddled together, a-bustle with murmurs and the raspy hiss of fabric. Merlin's boots, which were by this point the equivalent of papery sacks, were the only real noise. They "clumped" and "clomped" like a dead cat being tossed again and again at the floor.

Arthur wanted to strangle something, he was so anxious. He held his chin up, though. Unlike Merlin, he was very good at not being scared.

The wardrobe was an old, sturdy thing, which housed Arthur's collection of paraphernalia as well as his clothes… Merlin tried to keep the thing tidy, but Arthur would routinely stuff the shelves with random artifacts and doodads and whatnot so as to get a rise out of him. He did like to argue with Merlin. The clothes were half-sorted out now, a couple piled at the bottom of the wardrobe. They had no need to open the thing; the handprint was on the side.

The crowd congregated around the bit of furniture and Arthur crossed his arms over his chest.

"Go ahead," Uther heaved out, his eyes half-lidded with boredom. He drummed his fingers along the crevice of his arm. Eadwin prompted Merlin to step forward, and Merlin treated him to a confused look. He did so, finally, although not without a random clench of the fists.

Merlin pressed his hand against the print, his motions weary but defiant. His fingers were too small to fit the print, too elongated at the ends. What a surprise.

"Well," said Arthur, before Eadwin could open his mouth. He didn't really know where to go with the statement, so, with all his maturity, he chose to shrug his shoulders. Merlin propped himself away from the wardrobe, and the crowd grumbled amongst themselves.

"We are still in possession of the print," Eadwin argued, almost to himself. Uther had his hands flat against his temples. "Surely we can run the castle staff through the room and have each place their hand-"

"The results of such a method would be… ambiguous, to say the least…"

"We would narrow down our options." Eadwin squinted up his eyes, neck flab apparent as he lurched to his left, so as to pucker his face at Merlin. "As for this…suspicious character," he grumbled, "I am not yet convinced of his credulity."

Merlin looked as though he very much wanted to stick out his tongue.

"Eadwin, for all his folly, has a valid point," Uther managed, after some time. He turned to address the crowd. "Each of you, form a row on this side of the room. Yes, this side… do summon the others, Gladmere…"

Uther was, once again, provided with a purpose as a man of dramatics, and he loitered about with an aloof sort of demeanor as men and women were tugged passed the wardrobe. Merlin was beside Arthur again, although the color of a parsnip.

"Merlin," he said, as a kitchen staffer struck her hand against the wood of the wardrobe, "what on Earth has gotten into you?"

"You know very well," Merlin hissed back, so as not to be heard by their fellows. Eadwin had sharp ears for an old mop, for example. "Eadwin still thinks I'm a sorcerer, Arthur."

"Yes. Well." Arthur pursed his lips. "He's already been discredited for his assertions…"

"Not entirely." He paused. "Should I have a toad come out of his throat or something, like the last time?"

"Have a-what?"

"A toad. Or maybe a newt…"

"Very funny," Arthur grumbled. He scratched his nose. "I'm honestly concerned with this… test thing that he's up to now. Someone's going to have a print similar to mine, eventually, and then I don't know what I'll do."

"A print similar to yours?"

"Yes, Merlin. Or, what, you did know about those prints, didn't you? That was how you found out."

"Found out what?"

"Oh, for god's sake, Merlin. We talked about this last night. Are you really so dense to have forgotten already, or did you obtain some kind of concussion since then? Or perhaps a few too many sips of mead?"

Merlin's expression was that of such blatant confusion that Arthur could not help but feel that there had been some kind of miscommunication between the two of them, and he bunched up the muscles of his hand. "Merlin," he churned out, slowly. "Sometimes I wonder how you manage to perform the most basic of physical functions."

"I'm a sorcerer," Merlin said.

"What?"

"I remember." He crunched up his eyebrows. "That's what we talked about. I'm a sorcerer."

"Like hell you are, you hungover nut." Arthur brought his palm down his face, to massage the dark skin under his eyes. Merlin's boots only scraped against the wood of the floorboards. "Do you remember-honestly-anything. From last night."

Merlin's face was all skewed up under the weight of his eyebrows… he was so obviously confused that Arthur could not help but clap a hand on his shoulder with an exasperated, but genuine, resignation. Merlin didn't remember what they'd talked about. Fine. It wasn't as though Arthur had any reason to be discouraged. He'd been tired and conflicted, himself, and hadn't been thinking clearly… he shouldn't have tried to tell Merlin, or anyone, about his condition at all. He ought to be glad that, for whatever reason, Merlin had forgotten about their conversation at large… although, Merlin hadn't seemed at all drunk throughout their conversation. Perhaps he'd gone and guzzled a couple pints after their chat, or something of the sort. Such things weren't unheard of. There had to be a rational reason for Merlin's… blatant confusion, anyway.

Eadwin had slugged closer to the two of them, and Arthur could not confidently continue their conversation, so he turned himself to face the wardrobe and the crowd of men and women at its front. Eadwin smelled of bruised prunes. At this proximity, you could almost taste the distain of his expression, feel the bristle of his caterpillar eyebrows. The old man raised a hand and picked the gunk from his tear ducts. Arthur's nerves caused his hands to clench again, but he fought down the heat that wanted to spill through his fingertips.

Slowly, the crowd thinned, then bloated out again as more men and women were escorted through the door to Arthur's rooms. Arthur's hands were roundish… gentle, yes, but burly, skin made thick by a build up of callouses. His fingers were rather short. As of yet, no one's hand had matched of size or shape, for which he was lucky…

Things did tend to go wrong a lot for Arthur, however, and this time was no exception.

"Aha," Eadwin announced, and Arthur looked up. There was a pale-faced lad at the foot of the wardrobe, eyes wide and round as Eadwin advanced on him. "Looks as though we've found our first suspect, m'lord."

Arthur could not help but stare. The boy's hands were of the same size and shape of his… Arthur had never seen him before, but when he turned to Merlin, there was a look of recognition on his face.

"Arthur," he managed.

And suddenly, Arthur remembered. George, that was his name. He had a heavy chin and a small nose… he had a brass sort of character. On occasions when Merlin hadn't been available, George had acted as Arthur's valet, and tended to his royal sheets and floors and his other stupid chores. He was polite, aloof, and sometimes boisterous… normally, anyway. Right now, he looked as though he wanted very much to meld with the floor.

"Arthur," Merlin said again. George was heaved to one side, and forced to sit. Eadwin questioned him furiously, but George couldn't seem to open his mouth… the staff continued to pass the wardrobe, thump their palms against the print on the wood, and Arthur began to wonder how many of his people would be blamed for his own offense…

"Ask Eadwin to put his hand on the print," Merlin demanded suddenly.

Arthur pursed his lips, confused. "What?" he asked.

"I said," Merlin repeated, "ask Eadwin to put his hand on the print."

"Why? His hand won't fit." He paused. "Oh, and I resent that order-y tone."

"Arthur," Merlin managed. His eyes were dull. "Please."

"Are you about to do something stupid?"

"What?"

"You get that look on your face. That resigned look. When you're about to do something stupid."

There was a pause between them. George had curled his hands up to his face, and although Arthur couldn't make out his words, he knew that they would be of no use to him…

"So, are you?" Arthur said. "Going to do something stupid, I mean."

"Oh, very," Merlin assured him, glumly.

Arthur glared at him, and his stomach clenched…

"You owe me," Arthur ground out, like pepper from an unwieldy shaker, "a colossal favor." And with that, he clapped his heels together, brought his hands together, wrung them once, and announced to the congregation, "a moment, please, everyone."

There was a rumble of words, the collective murmurs of a crowd. Uther turned with his usual glower, obviously displeased that Arthur had decided to interrupt their proceedings. Eadwin, too, turned to him with a squeak like a bad mattress, and George brought his head up to stare at him through saucer-wide eyes.

"I'd like to ask that Eadwin be so kind as to place his own hand on the print," he said.

Uther fixed him with a look.

"My hands," said Eadwin, from across the room, "are no where near the size of the print on the wardrobe, sire."

"We won't know for sure until we try, though, surely?" Arthur ventured.

Eadwin narrowed his beetle eyes.

Uther massaged the bridge of his nose. "Arthur has every right to ask this of you," he began, slowly. "You may as well prove your innocence, Eadwin."

"I don't see why not," Eadwin sniffed. He bowed, stiffly, and released his fingers from the front of George's tunic to lurch towards the wardrobe. Arthur pretended to watch his advance, attention devoted to his valet as Merlin bunched up his hands at his side. There was a very concentrated look on his face…
And then the atmosphere changed. The air was crowded, suddenly, condensed like clam chowder and heavy with spice, so that Arthur felt his nose twitch with the urge to sneeze. Arthur felt a particular tickle up his spine, one that was strangely familiar… Eadwin placed his hand on the print, and there was a sharp 'shup' noise like a suction cup…

…And Eadwin's hand fit solidly against the print. With George, there had been room for doubt, but Eadwin's hand was, without question and against all odds, the perfect fit. A panic filled Eadwin's dark eyes, and he yanked his hand back as though stung. Arthur felt something grip at his chest, a kind of realization, and as he turned his head from Eadwin to Merlin, he saw a sheen of gold slip from Merlin's eyes as he lowered his hand, the one he'd extended before him slightly… saw his lips come closed, as though he'd only just said something…

"There's been a mistake," Eadwin announced. He'd brought his hand to his chest, the muscles of his arms taught. He gestured wildly to the wardrobe, and the veins throbbed along his inner arm. "You saw… you saw my hand, you saw the difference… there was absolutely-"

"Eadwin," Uther said, calmly, but with all his usual authority, "I suggest that you remain level-headed, and allow us to sit you beside that boy there as a potential suspect…"

But Eadwin would not be swayed. "I will not stand for this," he snarled. His curved body heaved to one side, his flabby cane-hook of a nose all a-waggle as he moved. The old man stared at Merlin with vehemence, then thrust himself forward suddenly. Eadwin had Merlin pinned against the wall behind them before Arthur could open his mouth, gnarled fingers tight and purple where he dug them into the flesh of his friend's arms. "This was your doing," he spat, and Merlin stared at him with wide eyes, "this was your doing. You may fool these cretins, but you'll never fool me, you sinful thing, you stain… how dare you soil this place with your filthy presence, how dare you stoop to… to harm the likes of me, how dare you-!"

"Oh, gods, he's psychotic," Uther complained, from across the room. He yanked off his gloves. "I should have known this was a waste of my time. Guards, escort this fool to-"

Eadwin wasn't done, however. "Can't you see?" he demanded, so that Uther stopped mid-sentence to glare at him. Eadwin heaved out a laugh, one of those old-men laughs that no one under the age of seventy-five can pull off. "Can't any of you bloody twits see what's right in front of your eyes?" Arthur had him from behind, now, and he dragged him bodily from Merlin with a none-too-gentle touch. Eadwin flapped at him angrily like a disgruntled walrus. "He's a sorcerer! Can't you feel the pulse of his magic, smell his putrid stench?" Uther had turned and started out of the room, and he called after him; "you're all fools! All of you! You're wrong, you'll see, you'll see that I'm right…"

Arthur continued to wrench the man to his left, until broad hands found Eadwin's arms and hauled him from his grip. Arthur handed the old man off with a look of disgust on his face. George, from beside the wardrobe, stared, seemingly too stunned to move. His shoulders were up to his ears, kind of like how Merlin's were…

Merlin.

Arthur turned himself around, as a wordy Eadwin was forcibly removed from his quarters. Uther, from down the hall, could be heard over the hum of the crowd…

Merlin was gone.