It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly down on the cheerful dwelling of Camelot, whose cobblestone walks and alleys were alive with the hum of the mid-morning market. People walked together down the paths, some arm in arm and some laden with packages and bushels of food and other supplies. Children laughed and played, their delighted cries bouncing through the town and drifting up through the open windows of the palace. The Lady Morgana sat at her window, brushing through her thick, dark hair until it was gleaming in the golden sunlight. Guinevere was on her way to Morgana's chambers with a hot plate of breakfast, smiling serenely and humming quietly to herself as she made her way. Gaius bustled about his crowded workshop, busily grinding and mixing herbs with his gnarled but practiced fingers. Even Uther was out and about, overseeing the training of new knights and instructing those who needed it. Everyone's spirits were high, encouraged by the lovely weather. Everyone...save a certain moody prince.

Prince Arthur of Camelot was lying on his soft, magnificent four-poster bed, staring morosely out at the sunny weather as though the closed window had done him some great personal wrong. His arms were folded sulkily beneath his chin, and he hadn't even bothered to change out of his dressing gown. He had been in an exceptionally foul mood all morning, and though he was loathe to admit it to anyone, let alone himself, he knew the reason why. Most people would sack their servants without a second thought if they caused a row, but not Arthur. Oh, no, not Arthur. Arthur reduced himself to sulking in his bedchambers, thoroughly irked but not doing anything at all to solve the problem.

He gave a grumbling sigh and rolled onto his back, moving his arms beneath his head so as to better admire the stone ceiling above him from which was perching a small, thin-legged spider. He now glared at it in much the same way he had scowled at the sunshine outside, though it was not the spider's fault that he felt so out of sorts. It shouldn't bother him so much, he told himself, but he couldn't acknowledge his own words.

The slamming of his chamber doors the previous night was still echoing in the darkest recesses of Arthur's mind, and nothing he did could shake it. He had been left, fuming and entirely alone, to watch a lowly servant storm out of his room with all the righteous fury of a man of a much higher status, his slender figure whipping out of sight around the heavy wooden door even as Arthur shouted obscenities. It had taken hours for Arthur to cool his head-and several cups of strong wine-but when at last the prince had calmed down, he felt curiously guilty, though he tried very hard to justify his behavior. It was hardly his fault that Merlin…Well, it wasn't his fault.

The young man shook his head like a dog dispelling water, but it did nothing to ease his mind or clear his conscience. He felt laden with guilt presently, and he felt sure that nothing he did would shake it, short of confronting Merlin about the problem. This presented a slight problem though, since they hadn't exactly parted on agreeable terms and the dark-haired boy would likely be coldly courteous this morning. Also, it was hard to confront anybody when they weren't where they should be.

With a groan he swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat up, raking a hand through his shaggy hair and glancing automatically at the door, though it was long past the point when he would have expected anyone to come in. Merlin was rarely on time, but he was never this late. Resigning himself to the fact that he would have to wash and dress alone today, Arthur went to his wardrobe. He would go to Gaius and have words with him about Merlin, and if Merlin was there, he would get an earful. Shirking his responsibilities as Arthur's servant just because he was pouting would hardly be tolerated.

The irony of this statement was lost on the prince, who fumbled around clumsily, attempting to put on his chain mail and then realizing with embarrassment that he was trying to put it on over his dressing gown. Fervently thankful that there was no one there to witness this, he pulled his night clothes off and tossed them into a pile, retrieving instead a fresh pair of trousers and a clean, dark blue tunic, pulling on both with little struggle. This was the end of the easy part, however, because chain mail had never been an easy task even when there was another person cynching it up, and try as he might, Arthur could not fix his own chain mail. Angry and frustrated at his own ineptitude, the prince gave up on wearing the chain mail and chucked it across the room, scowling. Merlin would definitely pay for putting him through that ordeal, just for him to fail anyway.

Arthur yanked on his boots with such ferocity that, if they had been of any lesser quality, the leather would have ripped. These however, being fit for royalty, just protested loudly at their mistreatment. When Arthur was sufficiently dressed, he strode out of his room, dragging his dreary cloud of gloom along with him for all to see. Nobody dared speak to him, recognizing one of his rare but infamous fits of wrath, and everybody silently pitied the poor boy that was undoubtedly about to suffer said wrath. It was no secret that, while Arthur may be fond of his manservant, the boy was hardly kind to him; he was something of an outlet for Arthur, and not the healthy kind. The prince was known to take out his anger on the young man, who had little choice but to grit his teeth and deal with it in silence.

Not a single person spoke to him as he stalked up to Gaius' quarters, but when he flung the door open violently, the old physician did reprimand him for scaring the man.

"Prince Arthur!" he exclaimed, clapping a hand to his thin chest. "You should know better than to startle me. What if I had been treating somebody's wounds?"

"Sorry Gaius," said Arthur curtly, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "I'm looking for my useless servant. Where is he?"

Gaius went back to what he had been doing as he spoke, and his answer did not please the prince.

"He isn't here, Sire."

"What do you mean, he's not here?" Arthur demanded furiously.

"I mean exactly that, Sire," said Gaius patiently, ceaselessly grinding the poultice in his old hands. "Merlin is not here."

"Well then where is he?!"

Gaius gave him a warning look that made him fall silent, though what the prince had to fear from a court physician was anybody's guess. There was just something about his eyes, sharp in spite of his old age and their lopsided appearance, that made one feel like he was staring straight through you into your soul. Arthur swallowed and gestured silently for Gaius to speak.

"He said he wanted to visit his mother," the old man said, looking back at his poultice to inspect its consistency. "I thought he would have told you."

"Well he didn't," Arthur seethed. "Thank you, Gaius. I will be on my way now."

He turned to go, but the white-haired man called him back

"Arthur?"

"Yes, Gaius?"

The physician waited until the prince turned to face him again, and the look on his face was very stern. When he set aside the poultice, Arthur swallowed convulsively.

"What happened last night?" he asked seriously. Arthur feigned ignorance, but from the way all heat left his face, he doubted it was convincing.

"Last night?" he echoed. "I-I don't know what you mean."

Gaius looked at him shrewdly. "Do not lie to me, young man."

Arthur pressed his lips together.

"Nothing happened," he said, hoping he sounded persuasive. "We just had a little disagreement, that's all."

"Little, was it?" Gaius wondered. "I wonder…"

"Gaius, if you have finished your aged rambling," Arthur said with an attempt at his usual pomp. "I need to go track down my runaway servant."

With that, the young prince strode out of the room, a wrathful air settling over him. Go off to see his mother without even consulting his master? Oh, Merlin was in for it this time. The idiot who never did what he was told had reached new heights of mediocrity, running off and leaving everybody behind to wonder where he was. If Arthur hadn't gone to Gaius, he might have thought something was seriously wrong with the boy! How many other people had he made worried about him when they tried and failed to get a hold of him? Arthur ground his teeth furiously.

So wrapped up was Arthur in his dark mood that he didn't see the servant girl until he walked straight into her, and in his foul temper he told her off, not even bothering to notice who it was.

"Excuse me?" she said venomously. "Most people apologize when they knock into someone, unless I'm very much mistaken."

Arthur blinked, and realized with a start that it was Guinevere. Face flaming embarrassedly, he lowered his head.

"My apologies, Guinevere," he said stiffly. "I did not realize that it was you."

"It shouldn't have to be me for you to show some manners," she replied coolly. "You can be such a royal brat, I'll have you know."

A vein in Arthur's temple ticked, but he did not bother with a retort. He had a long ride to prepare for, and he was wasting his time arguing with the Lady Morgana's handservant.

"Excuse me," he said, and started to leave, but Guinevere caught his elbow in a grip only a blacksmith's daughter could have.

"What's got you all riled up?" she demanded. "You look like you've just killed a man."

"I am about to," Arthur growled. She gave him a startled look, and he elaborated. "Merlin. He is dead when I get a hold of him."

"What has he done now?" she wondered. "Did he forget to do something before he left?"

Arthur rounded on her.

"He told you too?!" he exclaimed furiously. Far from being impressed, she raised her eyebrows at his temper.

"Well of course he did," she scoffed. "What, did he not tell you? Or were you just too absorbed in yourself to notice when he did?"

Arthur glowered at her, and her eyebrows rose higher.

"He didn't tell you," she said, surprised. "But why wouldn't he-"

"Damn good question. Now will you let me go? I need to pack so I can go after him."

She didn't release him, though, and gave him a shrewd look.

"What did you do?" she said after a moment.

"What?" Arthur repeated, the fire in his eyes sputtering and dying.

"I said, what did you do?" Guinevere repeated herself sharply. "Merlin would never have just up and left without telling you."

"Well, he did this time," said Arthur, avoiding her hard stare.

"Hm…" she murmured, and finally let his arm go.

"Finished interrogating me?" Arthur asked, coldly courteous. "I would have thrown most servants in the stocks if they spoke to me the way you two do."

Guinevere laughed. "It's not a new thing for Merlin, though," she pointed out. His lips twitched.

"True enough," he conceded.

"I can pack you some food, if you'd like," Guinevere offered. "You'll want to be heading out soon, I imagine."

Arthur nodded. "That would be very helpful. Thank you, Guinevere."

She bowed her head, and then made for the kitchens. His mood lightened a little, Arthur made haste for his bedchambers. He'd have to get out without his father noticing; Uther would never let him leave to search for a servant.

The prince ran a hand over his hair as he returned to his room and dug a shoulder bag out of his wardrobe. The leather was curiously poor quality, and he realized with a start that it wasn't even his. How Merlin's bag had gotten into his wardrobe was anyone's guess, but he supposed it would serve the purpose. He flipped it open and rummaged through it curiously, but it was empty save an old, musty book. Dismissing this as one of Gaius' old herbal encyclopedias, he left it in the bag and rolled up a soft gray tunic with a pair of dark trousers, stuffing them unceremoniously over the old binding.

He wanted to be quick, and ideally he would be avoiding trouble, so he left his unpolished armor lying in its corner and didn't even bother trying the chain mail again. He would want to take his sword, so he strapped his belt on and sheathed the blade at his hip. A cloak hung over the foot of his bed, and he picked it up and swung it around his neck. The dark blue fabric flowed like water down over his shoulders, and it fastened comfortably below his chin.

Moments later, a quiet knock sounded on his door, and he swung it open quickly, coming face to face with Guinevere. She handed him a generous parcel of bread and cheese along with a full wineskin, smiling widely. He gave her a suspicious look.

"Why are you smiling like that?" he wondered, peering at the parcel like he expected the cheese to rear up and bite him. "What did you do to the food?"

"Nothing," Guinevere said, slightly affronted. "I just think it's sweet, that's all."

"What's sweet?" he said sharply. "Did you drink the wine?"

"Of course not!" she snapped, tossing the wineskin into his arms. "I meant Merlin. It's obvious you're worried about him, and I think that's sweet."

"I am not worried," Arthur denied at once. "I'm just racked off that he went off without even bothering to ask me. The stables are a mess, and my armor still needs cleaning!"

Guinevere shook her head slightly, her smile remaining.

"Whatever you say, my lord," she sighed, amused.

"I should think so," he retorted as he packed the parcel of food and drink into the shoulder bag. Guinevere noticed this.

"Is that Merlin's bag?" she wondered. "What are you doing with it?"

Arthur glanced down. "He left it here. It was just the first one I grabbed. Is there a problem?"

"No, no," she said quickly, her smile growing. "No problem. Well, I had best be off. Lady Morgana wants me to draw her bath."

"See you later, then," Arthur said absently, shouldering the satchel and pulling up his hood.

"See you," she acknowledged. "And try to bring Merlin back in one piece, won't you?"

Arthur smirked. "I suppose we'll see about that."

Guinevere rolled her eyes and left the room, not bothering with the door because she knew that he would be leaving shortly after her. He did a quick double check to make sure that he had everything he needed, and when he was satisfied that he could make it to Ealdor on the provisions that he had, he set out, making sure to lock up his room when he left. The knights didn't ask questions-they never did-and he rode out to the woods on his ebony horse, making all haste for Ealdor and that stupid, stupid servant.