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Heads up, before anyone protests, Ashley was originally a boy's name.

"Please don't stab me," Merlin said. It wasn't a plead. It was a statement.

Amusement pulled the sides of the woman's scarred, uneven lips. "And why should I do that?"

"Egc misse!" Merlin muttered.

The short sword flew out of the woman's hand. The shocked expression on her face quickly shifted into suspicion and intrigue.

"I would rather not kill my own kind," Merlin stated. He couldn't help but smile a bit.

"I agree. But why were you spying on us?" she asked.

"I like knowing about people before asking their hospitality. I'm just a poor traveler, and not everyone is kind."

She raised her eyebrows skeptically. She carefully apprehended him before answering, "Alright, old man, come and have some hospitality." She retrieved her blade and sheathed it. Striding straight into the encampment, she announced, "Everyone, we have a guest. This old sorcerer needs some food and rest."

Merlin heaved himself to his feet. He saw some sighs of annoyance. The woman standing by the amphora was shaking her head at the scarred woman. The man with the crate rolled his eyes. Each person showed some sign of disapproval before turning full attention to the old man who was clambering out of the underbrush. It took Merlin a moment to realize that the disapproval was probably more a result of the woman's horrible rhyme rather than of his presence.

Merlin stood before them, brushed himself off, and stretched a little. Mid-stretch he involuntarily froze for a split second and took a sharp breath. Now that Darby had turned around, Merlin realized that he had seen the man before. Darby was the one who had stabbed Merlin in the stables. Merlin quickly reminded himself that he wouldn't be recognizable and tried to make his behavior look natural. He dropped his arms. Time to get into the confidence of the enemy.

"Well," he said, "I guess it's time for introductions." He looked at his hosts expectantly, and they stared back in surprise.

The scarred woman spoke up, "I am Rose. This is Ashley," she indicated the man who was kneeling by the crate. "Finley," Rose pointed at the woman who seemed very concerned about the amphora. "And I believe you've already overheard their names, but this is Darby and Ruby." Darby nodded. Ruby was folding her arms and standing the farthest away, on the other side of the fire. For the first time, Merlin noticed that Ruby's face, not the rest of her body, was unnaturally pale.

"Pleasure," Merlin responded good-naturedly.

"And you are?" Rose asked.

"Oh, I am..." Merlin hesitated. He couldn't go by Dragoon. He wanted that name to remain only attached to his long-bearded identity. He needed a reasonable sounding name that didn't belong to any of his close friends. His mind went to the last person he bought vegetables from. That guy who was always covered in blisters, what was his name? "Parsnip," Merlin blurted when the man's name wouldn't surface.

"Parsnip?" Ashley repeated.

"Yes, Parsnip," Merlin affirmed with a maniacal look. "My mother had interesting taste. No pun intended."

Ashley tried to hide amusement underneath a cough. He turned back to his business of nailing a crate together.

"Well, Parsnip," Rose said shortly, "you can have food when it is ready." She glanced at Darby who took the hint to start cooking.

"How generous," Merlin smiled. "What is that?" He pointed to the amphora. "It's pulsing."

"That is the fall of Camelot," Ruby answered proudly. She moved to stand by it as if she were showing off a masterpiece.

"Really? It's very small," Merlin commented.

"Exactly," Ruby said quickly and exaggeratedly. There was enough of a pause before her next words that Merlin knew she hadn't thought before speaking. She was making up an explanation for her automatic, thoughtless acceptance. "They would never expect so much from something so small."

Finley murmured something. Whatever her words were, her face said that they weren't attached to a happy thought.

"Well, what exactly does it do?" Merlin questioned further. He stepped closer to the "fall of Camelot."

"Let's just say you don't want to be near Camelot a week from now. Now, make yourself comfortable," Rose said with a harsh edge. "Ruby, go help your husband." Not waiting to see her orders followed, she walked behind the pot to where some tents sat connected by clothes lines.

Ruby rolled her eyes and stiffly joined Darby by the fire. Over the fire turned a spit laden with skinned squirrels. Merlin followed Ruby. He might as well sit. It would relieve some of the aching.

"Mm, I just love bushy-tailed rats," Merlin teased to stimulate conversation.

Darby chuckled.

Ruby, however, responded petulantly, "And this is how you show gratitude for our hospitality?"

"I said that I loved bushy-tailed rats," Merlin explained, feigning innocence. "You are giving me one of my favorite treats."

Ruby glared. Her face being several shades whiter than the rest of her skin stole every ounce seriousness from her expression. Instead of looking dangerous, she was comical. How much powder was caked onto her face?

Merlin turned as he heard Finley say something. She was painting symbols onto the amphora while chanting. Magic pulsed even harder out of the pot. Merlin began to push himself up. She wasn't very loud, and he wanted to hear the incantation. To his dismay, she finished before he could convince his bones to let him up. The magical pulse calmed to the strength it had a moment ago.

"What was that?" Merlin asked.

"An enchantment," Finley said without looking at him. She carefully wrapped the paintbrush in a rag and corked a small bottle. She placed the items by the amphora and then joined the group by the fire. She sat at the farthest possible point away from both Merlin and the couple.

"How does this enchantment work?" Merlin pressed. "How will a pot finally bring down Camelot?"

"Sitting inside the city will do," Rose answered. Merlin looked up to see her walking toward them. At that moment he noticed, with her hair now pulled back, that a piece of her ear was missing above the scar.

"Who's bringing it in?" Ruby asked.

Rose gave an annoyed look before answering, "Ashley and Darby can do that."

"No, I can't," Darby objected. "I stole the prince's shirt and stabbed his manservant. They'll recognize me."

"You stole the prince's shirt?" Merlin interjected. So he didn't lose it because of carelessness!

"Yes."

"What did you do that for?" When Merlin saw the quizzical looks, he realized how stupid he was being by showing such outrage over shirt thievery. "It just seems like a waste of time," he mended. "But since you have it anyway, can I see it?" he asked even though he knew that the man didn't have the shirt anymore.

Darby looked even more taken aback. "No."

"Anyway," Ruby interrupted, "Darby you might need to take it in. The women can't exactly take it in. That would look odd."

"I could take it in," Merlin offered. "I'm going to Camelot anyway."

"That won't be necessary," Rose assured.

"Well, what are we doing then?" Ruby asked.

"Right now, we are making sure those squirrels don't burn."

When Arthur awoke his blood itched fiercely. And he ached—everywhere. What did that buffoon Merlin do this time? At least there were no more loud noises. That meant it wouldn't be painful to put some knights back on babysitting duty. It was annoying to his servant but a necessary precaution. That man was completely defenseless. Besides, Merlin's reaction to having guards on him was rather amusing.

As Arthur pulled himself out of the bed every joint in his body protested. He tried to stand up straight. However, he found standing straight to be very arduous. Arthur could bet that this aching was Merlin's fault.

Arthur hurried to the doors. He had only been a few yards from the exit, but the very short journey left him slightly winded. Arthur placed his hand on the door. He drew his arm back in alarm. For some reason, his hand looked like it belonged to someone else. It was now wrinkled and shriveled. His breathing became uneven with panic. The prince stared at his hands and then touched his face. The skin beneath his fingers was rough and heavily creased. He slid his hands over his scalp. His hair was gone. Quickly, Arthur pulled a key off his belt and locked the door. This had to be a dream. A sick and twisted dream. The prince hobbled back across the room. Maybe if he just looked at his reflection everything would be resolved. He found a mirror and gaped at it. The reflection was just like his hand, not his own. The man staring back was very old and very bald.

Arthur grunted in frustration. Now, he couldn't risk leaving his room or allowing anyone to enter. He could be mistaken for an intruder sneaking around his own chambers. What if no one believed that he was Arthur? He could be put on trial for kidnapping or murdering himself. He might not even make it to trial. He could get run through by one of his own knights. Arthur made his way to a chair and sank into it. He was helpless. No knight would obey any of his commands. None of them would believe that he was Prince Arthur Pendragon. He was trapped. He was a dottering old man. Even the most pathetic of his knights could take him on in this state. It was humiliating.

He was going to drop dead any minute now. Merlin was romping around right now, begging to get stabbed. Maybe Merlin wasn't feeling good enough to leave his chambers—Arthur doubted that.

After a hearty dinner of roasted squirrels, Merlin could see that his welcome in the sorcerer camp was worn out. Every word Rose said indicated that she didn't like him. Throughout the meal, whenever Merlin thought he could wheedle out extra information she found a terse way to shut everyone up. Being that he was unwelcome and in need of returning to Camelot, he left. But, of course, he would return later. He had to.

Arthur was probably angry. He had certainly noticed Merlin's absence by now. Merlin would think of an excuse though. He always did.

Upon getting to Gaius's chambers he told his guardian that he had a lot of information to discuss. Then he quickly quaffed the potion to restore his youth. The potion started to work for a few seconds. His skin started to smooth itself out, and then it wrinkled back up. He stayed old. The potion wasn't working.

"Gaius!" Merlin yelped. He began to mutter, "No, no, no."

If the potion wasn't working then... No, Arthur couldn't be old too.

Arthur sat for several hours trying to figure a way out of this situation. Right now, his blood was getting less and less itchy. He needed to make a point to ask Gaius if he really did know about Merlin's "rare blood condition."

A loud rap sounded at the door, interrupting his revery. He couldn't leave; he would be putting both his life and Merlin's in jeopardy. He needed an excuse. He needed to say something. No, he didn't need to say anything. Because if he didn't say anything, then whoever was banging on the door would think that he wasn't in and go away.

"Princess," Gwaine's voice wafted in. "I know you're in there."

Arthur rolled his eyes. Of all the knights to be sent to fetch him it had to be Gwaine. Arthur stopped himself from retorting. Gwaine was bluffing. The knight most certainly did not know where the crown prince of Camelot was. Silence was Arthur's best weapon.

"You're a half an hour late to whatever it is that you do in the council chambers." Gwaine rattled at the door handle.

On the other hand, if he kept quiet they might eventually resort to breaking down his door in panic. That might be worse than being caught leaving his chambers. "Tell them that the meeting is canceled," Arthur rasped.

"Oh, stop primping and let's go."

"Just go away, Gwaine."

"I can't do that. I was told to go fetch you. How could I face anyone if I let them down like that?" Gwaine jibed.

"Last I checked, a few rounds of mead was your answer to everything," Arthur retorted. "You know where the tavern is."

"That's not fair. Besides, everyone in the council chambers was in a bit of a panic."

"Tell them I'm fine, and I'm just... indisposed. And I won't make to the council chambers. Find Merlin and make sure someone's keeping an eye on him. Then discreetly tell Gaius to come here."

Gwaine rattled the door handle. "Arthur, open the door." The knight's voice was now filled with anxiety. Arthur had not expected this reaction.

"No."

"You started to bleeding like mad a few days ago."

"Do as I say!" Arthur commanded.

"Who are you?" Gwaine asked randomly.

Startled by Gwaine's outburst and without thinking Arthur replied, "I'm the prince."

"Not now, Gwaine," Merlin's voice snapped. "Move out of my way."

"Not a chance," Gwaine said. "How do you know my name?" What was wrong with Gwaine? That was definitely Merlin's voice, even if it was a bit raspy.

"Merlin, go get Gaius," Arthur called.

"Merlin's not out here," Gwaine growled. "Just some strange old codger trying to break into your chambers."

Arthur stood up. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Merlin was now an old man too. "Gwaine, I think the old man is Merlin."

"Arthur, what gives you that idea?" Gwaine yelled.

"Later," Arthur dismissed. "Merlin, go get Gaius."

"Gaius is already on his way," Merlin replied

"I should've known. All right, I'm letting you in. Gwaine, do not run me through." Arthur cautioned.

Merlin really wished that Gwaine would put the sword down. They had already drawn the attention of one passerby. Merlin was just waiting for a patrol to march down the hall and make matters worse.

"Is there anyone out there?" Arthur asked through the door.

"Just me and the old man," Gwaine replied.

The lock clicked, and the door opened, revealing Arthur. Both Gwaine's sword and jaw dropped. Merlin had to hold back uproarious laughter. He couldn't stop himself from sniggering though. He knew to expect an old man, but not a bald old man. He couldn't help but think of Uther's displeasure at being bald.

"Remember, Gwaine, don't run me through," Arthur reminded sternly.

That was a little longer than usual. Hopefully we didn't bore any of you out. Please review!