It is finally done. This has been a true labour of love...I loved every moment of writing this. I may have offended some with a few chapters of Lance/ Morgana, I truly apologize. But most of you kept your patience, with me and the story...all credit to Arthur and Guinevere the lovely couple that they are. So, here it, the final update. Thank you for reading. I love each and every one of you.

I do not own Merlin. I will never give up on owning the Crowned Prince of Camelot.

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Merlin lost Guinevere at the fair. He did not actually loose her; he just misplaced her, that's all. He had been too dazed after witnessing the disaster at the kissing stall that he did not realize Guinevere was missing from his side. She must have said something to him; he remembered responding, but after that, he drew a blank. He could not remember what happened next, but soon found himself sitting on a bench outside the Tintagel Post Office. It was a good place; Guinevere could find him there if she was looking for him.

He really did not think Guinevere would be looking for any one of them any time soon. He had no idea how she would be feeling right now. If she was there with him, Merlin felt that he did not have the courage to ask her how she felt. He knew what they said about hell and a woman's fury and did not particularly relish the idea of being the front lines of facing down the wrath of Guinevere. She had looked normal and had asked him if anything was wrong with him...but that could just be the initial shock.

The more he thought about it, the more frightening it seemed to him. Guinevere was out there in the peaceful village of Tintagel and God knows what she is doing...he had images of burning cottages and lots of blood and gore on the cobbled pavements. If that were to happen, Merlin decided that it was a fair reaction, seeing that she was their guests and had been subjected to the worse kind of public display of affection.

What was even more shocking to Merlin was not the kiss itself, but the person who initiated it. Having had the front row seat to this spectacle, along with several hundred villagers, Merlin clearly saw that it was Lance who kissed Morgana...he should have turned his head, but he did not. He just kissed her. Lance had kissed Morgana before, but it was the avuncular, social kind, similar to the way Merlin kisses her. There was hardly anything platonic about the half a minute lip lock that he had witnessed not too long ago.

Merlin sighed, tired for unknown reasons. It had been decided a long time ago that the day Lance kisses Morgana, like the way he did today, would be a cause for a celebration. Getting drunk had been accepted as a most suitable form of celebration. Merlin felt like getting drunk, but not for celebratory reasons. If he could get smashed enough, he knew he would not have to face Guinevere and her wrath. Or her heartbreak. Which would be even worse.

Merlin was surprised at how a day that started fairly well for him ended up this way. And it was not even lunchtime yet. Surely there had to be a quota of bad things happening to someone; it seems that he had fulfilled two weeks' worth of bad days in just half an hour. Merlin knew that he did not directly do anything wrong, but he felt that he had betrayed Guinevere; because he was a friend to Lance and Morgana. He felt as if he had taken a lamb for slaughter...he should have just stayed with Arthur at the surgery and Guinevere would not have protested. And now, here he was; confused and at loss.

Suddenly, he caught of glimpse of Guinevere at the other end of the village square. The crowd was thinning as people began to crowd into the cafes, restaurants and pubs for their lunch. She was walking determinedly towards one of the lanes that led out of the square. Merlin followed her trajectory and his breath caught when he saw Lance walking ahead of her. She was following Lance.

The image of burning cottages became more sharper and pronounced. It was time for Merlin to do something. He stood, a determined look on his face, his hands fisted by his side. He turned and started walking in the opposite direction of where Guinevere was headed. He headed straight for the castle. The servants were surprised to see him back early and those who inquired about Arthur's misadventures were greeted with pointed glares and silence. He went straight into the cellar and locked himself in. Between Arthur falling for Guinevere and Lance kissing Morgana in front of the whole village, he decided that he is better off without them and spending time alone in the cellar might just be a balm for the southbound direction his life had taken in a matter of days.

Guinevere lost Merlin at the fair. She did not actually loose him; she just misplaced him, that's all. After Lance had kissed Morgana, the crowd had surged forward. Guinevere found herself unable to complete the surging rivers of testosterone that had bee ignited by the sight of the kiss. Merlin was rooted where he stood and as the guys clamoured about her, trying to get to the front of the line, she lost Merlin. Knowing it was futile to look for him when the crowd was at its fullest swing; Guinevere moved away from the kissing stall line and headed towards the stalls at the edge of the square. Only a few elderly women were there, looking at the quilts and knitted tea-cosies. Of course, she was not there to look at the merchandizes, she just needs a little space to clear her mind. A decision had been made; she just had to sort out the million and one thoughts currently racing around in her head. She walked around, not really seeing anything, until she spotted a familiar figure heading out of the village and towards the farmlands where she and Merlin had just come from. Guinevere paused, watching Lance, who walked with his head down, his steps quick, as if he was running away from something. The opportunity to right everything was there; Guinevere decided that thinking about it would only be delaying what should have been done a long time ago.

She followed him, almost running to keep up with him. Lance walked on, his destination the river at the edge of the village; the same river Arthur had fallen into earlier this morning. Lance went a little down stream, to a little clearing by the riverbank that would have been a heavenly picnic spot, with its shady trees and abundant wildflowers. He stopped at the river's edge. Although Guinevere could not see his face, she was sure he was feeling rather tense; his body language was a dead giveaway. She hesitated by the tree line, wondering if she had been too hasty in following him there. As a response to her own question, she took a step forward.

She stood next to him, watching the river water run. It made a soothing gurgling sound, the only sound that could be heard in the peaceful surrounding. Guinevere felt instantly relaxed there, but the same could not be said of Lance, who stood looking ahead of him, oblivious to both the wonders of nature around him and Guinevere's arrival.

"I'm sorry."

Guinevere was surprised. She had hoped for some kind of response from Lance, but this was the least expected of it all.

"What are you apologizing for?" Guinevere asked, looking at him. He maintained his gaze towards the farmhouse on the other side of the riverbank, a small dark box in the horizon ahead of them.

"For being a bad host," he said, his voice quiet.

"I'm having a great time," Guinevere assured him, but Lance was not done yet.

"For not really giving...us...a real chance..." he continued, his eyes still locked unto the farmhouse.

"I am included in that 'us' and I don't think I did anything significant," Guinevere replied, a wan smile on her lips.

"Most of all, I am sorry for what happened at the fair," he said, this time, turning to look at Guinevere.

"You knew we were there?" Guinevere asked, amazed.

"I saw Merlin as I...as I left the stall," Lance said, shrugging. "I reckoned you and Arthur would not have been too far away."

"Oh," was all Guinevere managed for the moment.

"Arthur must be with Morgana," Lance spoke almost to himself. "He must be really pissed with me..."

"Arthur is at the surgery, getting an x – ray," Guinevere said, quickly, taking hold of Lance's arm in an effort to stop him from talking and just listen for a bit. "He fell into the river..."

Lance's eyes widened, his body tensed and Guinevere could practically hear the questions that were churning in his mind. She kept a strong grip on Lance's arm, as she continued, "He is fine. The trout probably isn't..."

Lance frowned but, thankfully, he did not interrupt.

"But Gaius insisted on an x – ray," Guinevere said. "So, Merlin and I left him with Gaius and came to the fair."

"And then..."

"You're in love with her." Guinevere was not asking for a confirmation from Lance, she was merely saying aloud something that no one, not even Lance himself, have spoken of.

Lance looked at Guinevere, the anguish of a man torn; between a girl he could not have and a girl he could not be with, clear in his eyes. He did not have to speak, Guinevere knew this to be true.

"Does Morgana know this?" Guinevere asked, letting go of Lance's arm. Not because it was awkward or anything; it was merely a gesture of distancing herself from Lance, so that he would be able to admit to himself how he truly felt about Morgana.

Lance shook his head. "She doesn't."

Guinevere nodded, looking thoughtful. "Interesting," she said, almost to herself.

"I am sorry, Gwen, but it could never..." Lance began, trying his best to salvage the situation between them.

Guinevere waved aside Lance's explanation; they hardly had a day's worth of a relationship, so there was no need for an apology over something that should have happened, but never happened. The bigger picture here was Lance and Morgana; two of the most oblivious persons on the face of the planet. Both were clearly in love with each other and yet acted so indifferently when they were together...that itself should have been a clue for everyone, but apparently, not even Merlin and Arthur, who are close to both, had an inkling of what was going on.

"Lance, it is never going to work out for anyone with you, unless it's Morgana, isn't it?"

The shock on Lance's face when he heard her confirmed to Guinevere that she should have taken a few minutes to ponder what she wanted to say. There was truth to what she had said, but it seemed rather brutal when spoken aloud. Maybe that is what Lance needs; the man has everything going for him, looks, a great job and a fantastic wardrobe of cashmere and rugby shirts. For the life of her, Guinevere could not see why Lance and Morgana were not married already; they would be perfect together.

"I..."

"You will just keep looking for a substitute for Morgana, not someone whom you would truly love," Guinevere said, her voice much softer. "That should not happen to anyone. That is almost cheating, Lance."

"I know."

"Why haven't you told her?"

"I do not know how she feels about...about me."

"And you will never know just standing here," Guinevere said. She could have told him that Morgana feels as strongly as he did of her, but she knew from experience that people are usually sceptical of the truth when it comes to love. She could have insisted it was true with the aid of a stick, but perhaps Lance deserves to know that Morgana loves him from Morgana herself. "What is stopping you from telling her..."

And at that moment, Guinevere answered her own question. "Arthur."

Lance turned to look at Guinevere. "He's my best friend," he said, as if that justified his pain. It did a bit, but not to the extent of self- flagellation that Guinevere knew Lance was going through on a daily basis.

"You're just giving excuses," Guinevere said. Lance looked surprised when he heard this, but Guinevere continued. "You think you are content with having Morgana as a friend when you are obviously not. This excuse of she being Arthur's sister is just your way of keeping things safe. Safe is good, Lance, to an extent. Nevertheless, safe can be tedious. Safe is just not you. Take the risk, reap the rewards and don't worry about Arthur. Morgana will protect you."

A smile broke Lance's severe expression; the smile turned into laughter that Guinevere joined in. "Why didn't I think of this?" Lance said, looking at Guinevere.

"You were too busy trying to make things work with other women," Guinevere said. "And now, please, go make things right with Morgana."

"What about you?" Lance asked, concern clouding his features again.

Guinevere's heart constricted, the onset of a minute grief. It was time for her to take a bow from their lives. Merlin, Lance, Morgana...Arthur. She swallowed a lump in her throat; but surprisingly managed to look and remain cheerful. She knew any other reaction would trigger sympathy from Lance. She did not want that. "I have a favour to ask of you," she said to him, her voice steady.

"Anything, Gwen."

"You are going to walk away first and then I will. You will not turn around to see me go..."

"Gwen..." Lance began to protest, taking a step closer towards her, but Guinevere took a step back, shaking her head.

"We are parting as friends, Lance. What more can we ask from each other?" Guinevere said, looking at him. "I had a great time..."

"You can't leave..."

Guinevere just smiled. This time, she took a step forward and kissed Lance on his cheek. "Thank you for a great time. Let me know what happens between you and Morgana."

There it was. The end of something that hardly ever began. Guinevere would be lying if she said she was fine; she felt all right, but there was a slight tightness on her chest that indicated otherwise. She turned away from Lance and walked away, keeping her side of the bargain. She was headed towards the general direction of the castle, thinking of suitcases and packing. She felt relief and some happiness for setting things straight with Lance. Overwhelming these good emotions was a little bit of melancholy...just a little, but enough to remind her that she will be leaving Tintagel alone. And she would be leaving behind people whom she considers as friends. She was now a mere footnote in the lives of Lance, Morgana, Merlin and Arthur.

Guinevere kept walking, not caring where she was going, just as long as she could put some distance between herself and Lance. She assured herself she would be all right; after all, she had only known them for a few days.

A lone tear ran down her cheek as she reached the front gates of the castle. As she walked up to the castle, she allowed herself to admit that she would miss them all very much. With that out of the way, Guinevere quickened her steps towards the castle, hoping to leave and get this over with as soon as she possibly could