Arthur wondered how it was possible for his idiot servant to have such an uncanny ability to frighten away every possible prey that had come near during an entire day of hunting. A sneeze came from said idiot as their mounts plodded sedately along the forest path in the waning sunlight.

"You're still angry with me, aren't you?" came Merlin's voice from behind the king.

The man's insight was astounding. "We spend the entire day hunting and catch nothing because every time we get anywhere near anything you sneeze and frighten it away."

"Not the last time," his servant said.

"No, that time you fell into a stream. No one can accuse you of being predictable, Merlin."

"I think I'm getting a cold."

"I certainly hope it's a bad one." That should forestall any further attempts at conversation.

A shriek reverberated through the trees.

The king's head snapped around. "What was that?"

"I think it was a bird."

Arthur paid no attention to his friend's ridiculous assertion. His eyes scanned the woods surrounding them as he rode. A moment later another shriek echoed in the forest and Arthur had pinpointed the direction the chilling sound had come from.

"That? That was definitely a woman screaming," his servant admitted as Arthur dismounted and grabbed his sword from his saddlebag to sprint in the direction of the cry.

Over a wooded hill, a small village was laid out below him. He crouched behind a tree to take stock of the situation. The leader of a procession of villagers carried a torch and behind him a bound figure was pushed along as they marched toward a pyre in the centre of the group of dwellings.

Abruptly Merlin, who had followed the king, rushed past him to get a closer view. Arthur was momentarily distracted by his servant's sudden and intense interest in the proceedings below.

"What are you doing?" the king demanded.

"Well, I assume you want to risk our lives to see what's going on." Merlin did not take his eyes off the scene below.

As much as Arthur hated to admit to that succinct summation, Merlin was right. Standing, the king led the two of them straight into the village, sword in hand.

An elderly woman had been tied to the stake in the middle of the pile of dry brush. Wisps of grey hair hid her face, her head hung low. The village elder held his torch high in the air as if it was a judgement, playing to the crowd of villagers circled around him where he stood next to the pyre.

"Let the woman go," Arthur commanded.

Several villagers turned but it was the white-haired elder who responded.

"This woman has been sentenced to death, it does not concern you." He made to light the pyre when Arthur's voice interrupted him again.

"I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, and your village is in my lands."

That got the man's attention, although apparently the white-haired man had no intention of allowing his show of authority to be usurped.

"Her sorcery has brought sickness and suffering to this village," the old man pronounced, glancing around to ensure his audience appreciated his deep concern for them.

"Has she received a fair trial?" the king asked evenly.

The man's eyes narrowed under his bushy white brows. "Your father would have shown her no mercy."

That meant no. "I am not my father, now cut her down."

"I will not endanger the lives of all who live here." The elder swung around to touch flame to kindling, but the king had had enough of the sanctimonious windbag. Implacably he levelled his sword at the man's throat. "I said cut her down."

The stubborn old man's eyes went wide. Two young men rushed to the cut the elderly woman's bonds and caught her frail form before it sank to the ground. They looked questioningly at the white-haired man before their eyes darted to Arthur. The king motioned Merlin to take charge of the woman.

Without another word to anyone in the village, Arthur sheathed his sword and led the way back to the waiting horses. Merlin followed, carrying the old woman. His soft voice stopped Arthur in the act of mounting his horse.

"She's ill. She needs rest and warmth."

Arthur glanced at the sun moving lower in the sky and calculated the hours it would take them to return to Camelot. There was no way they would arrive before dark, especially carrying a sick woman.

They went only as far as Arthur deemed necessary to discourage further interference from the villagers before they set up camp. The king himself gathered wood for a fire while Merlin ministered to the feeble old woman with a tenderness Arthur found surprising for a total stranger. He would have thought that given the likely fact she was a sorceress, Merlin would have treated her with indifference at best. But then Merlin had never voiced any particular disgust with sorcery. In fact, since his guardian had more than once shown an affinity for those who used magic, it was not surprising that Merlin would show a tolerance for them as well. Gaius had all but admitted he knew Dragoon personally which meant his ward would be familiar with that crusty old sorcerer, too, maybe even a friend of his. Merlin had not hesitated to say he would use sorcery when Arthur debated whether he should make such a desperate attempt to save his father's life. Far from showing an aversion to magic, Merlin had often demonstrated a keen desire to learn all he could from his mentor's vast store of knowledge and Arthur would not be surprised if his servant even spent his free time reading books.

With little to do other than tend the fire, Arthur watched his friend nurse the frail, elderly woman. Clearly she had not been treated well as she awaited execution and her rattling breath indicated she had already been quite sick. Perhaps her weakened condition had prompted the village elder to attempt her execution.

Merlin's growing ability to care for his patients was impressive. Arthur remembered his friend's words on their trip to Ismere: 'I have many talents you failed to notice.' Like making eggs appear and disappear into thin air while juggling and single-handedly dragging a wounded king from a battlefield when Morgana's forces surrounded him and his knights. It actually was amazing some of the feats the inept idiot pulled off despite his clumsiness.

Of course, some of that good fortune which fell on Arthur followed Merlin as well. Like when he chased after a dragon without being fried to a crisp, or threw himself into the path of a Dorocha and lived to tell about it. Which no one else ever did. There was more to his friend than met the eye, definitely more than Arthur had seen on their first meeting. Of course, even then there had been something about Merlin, he just could never quite put his finger on it.

Arthur came to on the floor of the throne room, his head pounding. Had the Horn of Cathbhadh which the old woman gifted him as recompense for saving her life really been a reward? Now he had unwittingly released his father's vengeful spirit into the world to drop a chandelier on the round table, throw an axe at Percival, and attempt to murder Guinevere.

Arthur sat up and looked around quickly, wondering where Uther's ghost had disappeared to. It was strange the spirit had simply left. Arthur had been certain it was going to kill him and instead it had knocked him unconscious, probably to go after its next victim. The thought that Guinevere might be in danger again sent Arthur racing into the corridor.

He looked up and down the palace hallway. A heavy thud echoed through the corridor that was the sound of at least one weapon biting into wood with great force. It had come from the weapons storage area near the throne room and he darted in that direction.

The room was brightly lit although it should have been dark at this time of night. His father's voice came from inside the room.

"It will give me great pleasure killing you."

Arthur reached the open doorway. To his horror he saw Merlin pinned to the far wall by two spears. The spirit advanced on its helpless victim, footsteps echoing through the empty chamber.

"Father!"

When the spirit turned to see Arthur standing with the Horn of Cathbhadh held high in the air, a pleading look replaced the ghost's murderous expression. "Arthur! No! Please! Whatever I have done, I have done for Camelot."

He stared back coldly. He had released this spirit and he was the only one who could send it back to the Other World. As much as he had wished for his deceased father's guidance, their views on what was best for the kingdom would never be reconciled. Nor would he allow the vengeful ghost to continue to terrorize his wife or his friends. "You've had your turn. Now it's mine." Arthur put the horn to his lips and blew a single note.

"Merlin has …" The sentence faded into a scream as the ghost was swept back to the spirit world.

It occurred to Arthur then to wonder why the spirit had attacked Merlin, when its fury had until now been directed at the commoners Arthur had knighted and the former maid he married. What did his father's ghost have against his manservant? A cold chill of foreboding crept up Arthur's spine as he pondered the last words Uther's spirit had uttered: 'Merlin has …' has what? Strangely Arthur was reminded of what he himself had said so long ago on meeting the dark-haired peasant boy: 'There's something about you, Merlin, I can't quite put my finger on it.'

A horrible suspicion stole into his mind as he stared at his friend whose fear had not lessened with the disappearance of the menacing spirit. Fear of discovery? Arthur gave his head a mental shake. Although he did not doubt there were those with magic who went peaceably about their business in the kingdom, avoiding discovery by hiding their talents, the idea that a person with such power would be serving Camelot's king was absurd. Magic was evil, it corrupted as it had corrupted Morgana, and there was not the slightest trace of evil in his bumbling, cheerful, loyal servant. Whatever the spirit had been trying to tell him, it was not that Merlin had magic.