17. Part 1: Blackmail/Wrongfully Accused

("Sarra" from Renewed by Love)

When the door clicked shut behind Sarra's maid, the sound seemed to penetrate the sleep of the enormous half-naked stranger in her bed.

He grunted, and Sarra discovered she did not want to meet him lying down, after all. Slipping out from between the covers, she retrieved her over-robe and shoved the curtain behind its hook on the wall to let in the morning light, before creeping carefully around the other side of the bed.

His eyes were still closed, though there was a line between his brows, the same light brown as the hair-bristle on his head. His arm, on this side, lay palm-up, down along his side and hip – and there was a tiny pink scratch just below his thumb.

She recognized him, then, though he was horizontal and his face half-mashed into the sheet. It was the knight who'd helped her rescue the kitten from the other children in town, yesterday.

That made her smile, and sigh with relief.

Except that, he was waking up.

His face drew into a frown, and he pulled his arm up, as if to push his body away from the mattress. He lifted himself up only enough to turn his face the other direction – relaxed for a moment – then turned back, groaning aloud as he bent his near leg for his knee's help in separating his body from the bed.

He slurred a word – someone's name? she thought. And went on, speaking slowly and half-incoherently.

"Feel like hell. Worst night… 'S there any water?"

One foot, then the other, tumbled over the side of the bed to the floor, and he pushed himself upright. She'd never seen a man's naked chest before in her thirteen years, and felt herself blushing, before he rubbed one hand over his eyes to allow thumb and fingers to squeeze his temples.

Headache, probably, she sympathized. And fetched a silver goblet to pour half full of water for him.

" 'Re you even there, Gwaine?" he whispered hoarsely, before she was through.

His whole body bent over, forehead propped on the back of his hand, that didn't help hold it up. She dared to approach him, holding out the cup.

"Here's water," she said, making sure to keep her voice quiet, out of consideration for his headache – and because she still wasn't sure what her grandfather's instruction let him do as he pleases entailed, and whether it still applied, if the wrong man had come to her room in the night.

But he didn't move, and she focused on the hand bracing himself on the edge of the mattress, moving the goblet closer.

"Here. It's just by your hand…" She brushed his hardened knuckles lightly, and his hand responded automatically, opening to allow his fingers to grasp.

She looked up to see that he'd raised his head, his eyes wide open, gazing at her. His mouth drooped slightly in bewilderment and shock.

"Who–" he said. "Where–" And ignored the water she'd given him to stare about the room. "This isn't my chamber," he concluded hoarsely.

"No," she said. "It's mine."

He gaped at her another long moment, seeming almost amusingly childlike in his incomprehension. "Who are you?"

"I'm Lady Sarra," she said. "I'm the granddaughter of –"

He didn't seem to be listening to her answer. His eyes roved the room again, lingering on her jacket over a chair, one side of the wardrobe open to show the gowns that had been packed for this trip by her maid. When he'd twisted all the way around, his glance fell last upon the bed behind him, the sheets mussed by her last night's sleep – he startled so badly he was on his feet before he was steady.

"What – " he said, gesturing at the bed with the goblet. "What… did… we – what did I…"

"Nothing," she said immediately, though she wasn't sure why. He'd gone as white as the sheets, as if afraid he might have rolled over and crushed her while they were asleep. "It's all right. I'm all right. You slept very hard – were you ill?"
"Was I…"

He trailed off, focusing on the goblet in his hand, as if he'd forgotten he was holding it. Then dashed it down on the side table so suddenly and hurriedly it slopped over his hand – but that was forgotten in an instant also, as he seemed to realize his state of undress.

"Oh! My lady, I…" He swooped down on a rust-red garment, a sort of long-waisted jacket without sleeves.

Instinctively she backed a step – he was very large and very fast – but he concentrated on his buttons, awkward and crooked. Then his boots, one after the other, hopping a bit in a way that might have been amusing at another time.

Then, gathering up his tunic, chainmail and sword-belt in his hands, "I offer the profoundest apologies for my offense, Lady Sarra. Please believe it was an honest mistake, and if I…" He glanced her over quickly, before dropping his gaze and flushing. "I'm so sorry. I must have frightened you very badly."

"Only at first," she admitted. "A little. But then you were asleep, and – you're not very scary when you're sleeping."

He didn't smile, but shook his head as if it still wasn't clear. "If I… woke you when I came in. Why didn't you scream, or… yell at me to get out?"

Sarra hesitated. She'd been told not to scream, so she hadn't. But was she supposed to tell him that?

"I'm sorry," he blurted again, before she could say anything. "This isn't your fault, it's mine. It's just… I don't… do, this sort of thing, and… I can't imagine why it… happened."

He looked very like a little boy in his confusion; Sarra felt sorry for that, and his shock, and his headache, and took pity.

"Because you drank from the wrong cup," she told him.

He looked right at her, puzzlement beginning to clear because – he knew exactly what she was talking about.

But before either of them could say a single word more, the door slammed open, all the way into the wall, and two of her grandfather's knights stormed in. Behind them she glimpsed two more in the blue of the Mercian capital where they were staying.

Her knight reacted immediately, sidestepping in front of her and drawing three inches of the sword from the belt in his left fist.

"Sheathe that now!" the elder of her grandfather's knights, Sir Hectyr, ordered furiously, pointing, as the other tensed and laid hand to the hilt of his own weapon. "You're under arrest for the violation of Her Ladyship, Sarra the granddaughter of King Alined."

"Granddaughter?" her big knight said, and slid his sword back into the sheathe. "King Alined? Oh…"

He slumped slightly, and her grandfather's knights approached to take hold of his arms. One of the Mercian knights entered to seize his chainmail and sword out of his hands.

"Wait a moment," Sarra said, her pulse quickening at her own daring. "Where are you taking him?"

"Before the kings," Sir Hectyr told her, somewhat sharply.

"And Arthur also?" Sarra's knight asked.

Sir Hectyr nodded, and yanked his prisoner toward the door. Sarra hesitated, then picked up the skirts of her dressing gown and bed-robe to follow.

They were very rough with him, though she didn't see any sign that he resisted them, and no one spoke a word. She trotted behind her grandfather's knights and their prisoner, the two Mercians behind her in escort, aware and scared of the fact that several people saw them, along the way. Maybe not scared, exactly. More – nervous and embarrassed.

They came before the three kings in the small receiving chamber where the introductions had been made, the first day when they arrived. Though the party from Camelot had followed them by a significant enough amount of time, she had been excused to rest in her chamber.

So she knew right away the names of half the men in the room. There was their host King Bayard, and his son Prince Wolfrick, both looking thunderously displeased. Her grandfather, of course, looking livid in a way that made her want to turn and flee, back to the safety of her room and the bedcovers over her head. She didn't.

The other three men – the golden-haired king, the armorless sorcerer, and the loudest of their knights – turned immediately when they entered, king and sorcerer each expressionless in a stern sort of way. All three seemed to see her in an instant, but the knight took two quick steps toward his restrained comrade.

Exclaiming, "Percival! What the hell!"
Percival was his name. She thought it was a nice name; it sounded noble and kind.

"It was as the maid said, my lord," Sir Hectyr reported, addressing Sarra's grandfather. "He was still in her chamber, yet only half-clothed."

"Sir Percival of Camelot," Bayard began, "you are hereby charged with the rape of the Lady–"

"She's a child, Percival," the king of Camelot said, disappointment and disgust faint and bewildered, but present.

And the sorcerer, before his king was even done speaking, interrupted to ask, "What happened?"

Sir Percival dropped his head, mute before the accusation.

Sarra blurted, "It wasn't his fault!"

All the men's eyes on her at once was hugely intimidating. She lifted her chin – but had to cringe when her grandfather spat, "Silence!"

Which he broke himself, when the attention turned to him, with surprise that bordered on shock. Her grandfather rearranged his expression, like she'd seen him do lots of times, to smile at her like he hadn't meant the tone or order the way it sounded.

"I mean to say, what an awful ordeal this night must have been for you, my dear." King Alined stepped to her side, gripping her shoulders and kissing the hair at the center of her forehead. "Surely you wish to retire to your chamber til you recover as much as is possible, under the circumstances. We can talk later, when you feel ready-"

"I'm fine," she told him. Her instinct was to obey, but there was this mistake, the wrong man had come, and surely her grandfather's words meant he'd been worried about her. "He didn't hurt me at all. He didn't touch me."

"Be quiet and go to your room," her grandfather ordered, glaring because his back was to the rest of the men in the room; she fell back half a step. "You there, escort my granddaughter–"

"Wait one moment!" the golden-haired king interrupted, striding forward with one hand outstretched. "She said he didn't touch her."

"She's in shock!" her grandfather snarled, rounding on him.

Arthur, wasn't it, of Camelot. He didn't so much as flinch, turning to Bayard. "I'll not have my knight condemned on conjecture and coincidence, if there's a witness who can tell the truth of the matter."

"He was in my granddaughter's bedchamber all night – that is neither conjecture nor coincidence!" Alined protested to the king of Mercia, letting go of Sarra's shoulders. "I want him executed immediately!"

"No!" Sarra exclaimed, horrified. Her big knight darted her a curious glance, past the two who still held him in place.

"This is completely unlike Sir Percival," King Arthur argued. "I'm sure there must be some explanation."

"You mayn't speak to her – I won't allow it!" Alined declared.

King Arthur looked furious, and Sarra was glad he was not glaring at her. "I won't allow my knight to face unearned punishment – and he will absolutely not be executed!"

She exhaled in relief – and couldn't deny a flare of admiration for this king. Her grandfather would have rejected rather than championing a knight in disgrace.

"Peace, Your Majesties," Bayard demanded, scowling. "Let us not forget the reasons that brought us together here."

He paused for them to remember their diplomacy, and Sir Percival spoke quietly into the silence, directly to his king as if they were alone in the room. "I'm sorry, sire, please believe I was trying to avoid this."

"What do you mean," King Arthur said, still somewhat impatient. "Percival, how did this happen?"

Her knight cast her another sideways glance, his head still down. "I… I wish I could say, my lords."

Something wordless but significant passed between the young king and his sorcerer as they looked at each other, then the black-haired young man stepped to Sir Percival, caught between her grandfather's knights. He raised his head, startled, as the sorcerer seized his face in his hands. Sarra swallowed a gasp as the sorcerer's eyes glinted gold for a moment – before he released the big knight to study him another moment blue-eyed.

"Merlin?" King Arthur said.

That, Sarra thought, was a very good name for the young sorcerer.

"He's been enchanted," Merlin said, turning back to the two kings. Percival exhaled softly, shoulders slumping a degree in the grasp of his keepers. "It's only residual now, either not strong enough or not meant to last."

"Alined," Arthur growled. She noticed his hands were fists at his sides.

"Why do you aim your accusations at me?" Her grandfather snapped. "Yours is the only magic-user present, if there's an enchantment, it's his doing."

"That's preposterous," Arthur said coldly. "Why on earth would I have my sorcerer enchant my own knight to – to–" He gestured, as if at a loss to explain the purpose of the magic worked.

"Maybe he did it of his own accord," King Alined suggested.

"Merlin would never," Arthur retorted immediately.

Sarra noticed that both Sir Percival and the other knight – long dark hair, short beard – wore expressions of offense and protest, also.

"You cannot claim your knight is innocent of wrongdoing because magic was involved, and that your sorcerer is also innocent," Alined said. "It is either one or the other who is to blame."

"He was your servant while Uther was alive," Bayard said to Arthur. "Was he ever ill-treated? Perhaps he bears a long grudge."

"No," Arthur said adamantly. The dark-haired knight whose name she didn't know growled in the back of his throat like a wolf. Merlin was quiet, his eyes on his king.

"Can you be so certain," Prince Wolfrick said, with skepticism.

Sir Percival tipped his head, enough to meet Sarra's eyes, and there was a pleading look there. Sarra clasped her hands together over her heart; she didn't know what she could do to stop it, but kings arguing frightened her. Arthur did not turn on his sorcerer, either, did not place blame or threaten punishment for failings real or perceived. He trusted his men and was trying to protect them at his own expense, and it occurred to her, that they would do the same.

Holding her eyes, Percival said, slowly but clearly, "Because I drank from the wrong cup."
That silenced them all again. His king and his sorcerer looked at Percival.

Bayard said, "I beg your pardon?"

"There was a cup," Percival said softly. "Set at our table, and Merlin had nothing to do with it. I suspected that there might be something wrong…"

King Arthur swore, calmly and foully, that made her cheeks warm to hear; the sorcerer huffed a grim little chuckle. Bayard looked furious again.

"So I drank it," Percival went on. "It made me feel… ill, and wrong. I thought I'd reached my king's room – I didn't want to cause a scene…"

"So he was drunk, and mistook the room," Alined said loudly. "That still doesn't-"

"Enchanted, not drunk," Merlin interrupted. Sarra blinked at his temerity. Impressed, because – he was brave; he didn't cower or whimper but seized the attention of the kings. "How did you know, Percival? You said, the wrong cup. How did you know?"

Percival didn't answer, but flicked a glance to Sarra; it looked involuntary, but she found both golden-haired king and dark Merlin studying her.

And Bayard, with a thoughtful speculation. "My lady, perhaps you could–"

A thick hand squeezed her upper arm too hard, and she was swung around into King Alined's fiercest scowl.

"Grandfather!" she cried out, startled and pained.

He released her immediately, and maybe because he hadn't intended to hurt her, or realized he could, and he was sorry. But the way he flinched, aware of the other kings, made her afraid he was still putting on an act for them. "You don't say a word," he growled. "You don't tell them a thing."

The pain in her arm throbbed in time with a sudden pain in her heart, and she didn't understand it. Because wasn't her grandfather, her king, always wise and just? Weren't his orders always for the right thing?

"You told me I would have to sacrifice for the good of our kingdom!" she said to him, backing a step away – it felt like the tight, hot sensation in her chest would ease to be a little distant from him. "You never said I would have to lie!"

"Shut up!" he hissed.

It felt like he'd slapped her.

"She's a child, and she doesn't know what she's saying," her grandfather insisted to King Bayard. Rounding back to her, he ordered, "Go to your room!"

"You said I wasn't a child anymore," she accused, not caring in the moment if she was behaving like one after all, embarrassing herself and him in front of the foreign men, royalty and nobility. "You said I was old enough to prove my loyalty."

"And I was wrong!" he flashed back at her.

Hot tears blurred the room, and she dashed them away with the heel of her hand.

King Arthur leaned sideways to Bayard. "Might I have a private word with the Lady?"
"Remain in the room," Bayard responded.

"No!" her grandfather nearly shouted, reaching for her again.

The dark-haired knight of Camelot stepped right in front of him, hand on the hilt of the sword in his belt, glowering. Effectively; King Alined swallowed, shrinking back.

The golden-haired king came around the back of his knight to her, and the sorcerer Merlin was at his elbow. She caught her breath, though both of them looked in control of their tempers, as if they were making an effort not to seem threatening to her.

The king extended his hand to be offered Sarra's. "My name is Arthur, my lady."

She hesitantly allowed him her hand to kiss; his was big and hard, as most men's hands were, but his were gentle also. "Lady Sarra, Your Majesty."

"This is Merlin," Arthur continued, indicating his companion, and she nodded.

"Do you think you could step aside with us – just over here, not very far – and answer some questions?" The young sorcerer handed her a folded square of white cloth – fine, soft linen with lace around the edges that never came from one of his pockets.

She let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob – magic that was quick and practical and caring. Imagine that. She dabbed at her eyes.

"Yes, my lords," she managed, following Merlin as King Arthur followed her - and wishing to be taller.

"Oh, I'm not a lord," Merlin told her with a funny little smile that made his eyes twinkle. "I'm not anything, really."

His king made a rude noise, but said nothing, so Sarra felt she should contradict, "But you are, you're a sorcerer. And from Camelot. That's important."

"To your grandfather?" the king guessed.

Sarra ducked her head, not wishing to betray her loyalty.

Merlin said, "What about you? Do you have magic, too? That was your enchantment, in Percival's drink?"

She shook her head. "It wasn't meant to be Percival's. And I don't have magic. I guess it was maybe, something Trickler gave my grandfather to bring here."

"Hm." Arthur's mouth twisted bitterly, but his eyes were thoughtful. "Who was it meant for? And what was it meant to do?"

"It was meant for your sorcerer, my lord," she told him, with a shy glance for the younger man, his dark brows lifted in surprise. She felt her cheeks warm. "I don't know what it was meant to do. I was only told–"

She hesitated. No, she didn't want to betray her loyalty, but… her grandfather never protected Trickler or any of his knights the way this king did, when things went wrong. It did not feel like King Alined was going to protect her, either. So maybe she should act and speak in a way that did not betray herself.

"It's all right," Merlin told her kindly, brushing his fingertips down her sleeve in a friendly, supportive way that somehow seemed to give her courage.

"I was told, neither to scream nor to fight. But only, when you came to my room in the night after the feast, to allow you to do what you pleased."

Merlin gave her a puzzled frown. King Arthur, however, repeated his earlier oath with distinct revulsion and swung round to face the other men. Something about his realization seemed to trigger comprehension in his sorcerer; Merlin's expression shifted into one of abject horror.

But only briefly, til he smiled at her deliberately – though with dismay still lurking in his eyes. "And did you have – any idea… what it was that I might've done?"

Vaguely. Something that she might have screamed at, or fought against. "Something magic?" she guessed. "Dangerous, or scary? And then you'd be in trouble…"

"And then he could demand your head," King Arthur said, with a cold sort of wrath that she was glad was not directed at her. "Or… any other part of you."

Merlin paled, and swallowed.

Arthur lifted his voice and said, "Alined, you utter swine. You absolute bastard. You'd use your own granddaughter so, to attempt to steal magic away from Camelot?"

He strode to rejoin the other kings. Sarra took one step to follow, but Merlin's hand – soft and light on her shoulder – stopped her.

"Let's just stand here," he suggested. "While they talk. Are you all right? You must have been so frightened, last night."

"I still am," she admitted, watching Arthur shove her grandfather's knights away from Sir Percival – then grab his forearm to speak to him seriously and low. "I thought I was old enough to be brave, and loyal, but–"

"You have been," Merlin said, and something unexpectedly earnest in his voice and manner soothed her – and made her want to cry, all at once. He wasn't – none of them were – what she'd expected. "You've been so brave. And loyalty to what is right and true is the most important loyalty of all."

She wasn't convinced, but watching the golden-haired king sling an arm around Sir Percival's broad shoulders to clasp him in a quick hard embrace, she was glad after all that he wasn't going to get in trouble.

King Arthur turned to speak to Bayard and Wolfrick – and it was only a moment before the Mercian king, with similar obvious disgust, was signaling his two knights to flank her grandfather as if he was to be placed under arrest – shock and concern were forgotten in the expression Sir Percival turned on her.

He looked like he'd been told he'd almost killed her in her sleep. Ten times worse than when he'd realized he was seated half-naked on her bed in her chamber.

Tears filled her eyes to have been part of doing this to him, and she shook her head. "It's all right," she whispered, though he was too far to hear her; she wouldn't raise her voice to interrupt the kings. "I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Neither did you, my lady," Merlin responded – not as though he thought she had been speaking to him. "But far too often, the consequences of evil deeds fall on the innocent."

She looked up at him wonderingly. His jaw was set, brows down and eyes dark as he watched the men.

"You have every right to seek reparations, Arthur," Bayard was saying. "I myself am inclined to consider alliances void if they were based on deceit and treachery and manipulation, and reject any attempts he makes in the future…"

Beside her, Merlin made a noise of protest and regret.

"But he is correct in claiming what is owed to the young lady in question, also. Female reputations so damaged cannot be restored, and she is of noble birth."

Sarra let her head drop, and stared at the toes of her silk bedroom slippers, willing any more tears to stay right where they were, and not to fall. Sacrifice and nobility, she thought. And now she'd have the reputation of a traitor for speaking the truth. It was her fault that her kingdom would not have Mercia or Camelot for allies – and Merlin the sorcerer would remain with King Arthur to strengthen his kingdom, while her own… crumbled, maybe? She wasn't sure what the consequences would be, but all those people in her castle and on the lands around, those were the innocents who would suffer.

She swayed, feeling a bit faint, a bit sick because her stomach was so empty; she'd been too worried to eat much yesterday.

But in the single blink of an eye, Sir Percival was kneeling before her, his sleeveless under-jacket still gaping where he hadn't buttoned it properly, her hand swallowed up in both of his. Also hard and callused, and also gentle.

"My lady Sarra," he said. "I am twenty-three years old, and I have never loved a woman. My father was a stonemason in the village of Wealworc. He and my mother and my two younger brothers were killed when our village was destroyed by raiders. I have been a knight of Camelot less than a year, and I cannot offer you more than this. But if I am acceptable to you, I am willing and happy to enter a betrothal. With you, that is."

She stared at him, astonished. Beside her, Merlin sighed – a sound of both regret and pride.

"I… I don't," she stammered, looking up at the kings.

Bayard, Wolfrick, and Arthur approached her; the other knight of Camelot and the two in Mercian blue prevented her grandfather from moving from his place, though his disgust and fury was so plain, she wanted neither to look at him nor to be closer.

"It is the best solution, my lady, if it is agreeable to you," Bayard said, and she had the feeling that he was trying to be gentle through his unfamiliarity with her, and stiff sense of ceremony.

"You will not find a better man or a truer friend," Arthur told her, placing his hand on Percival's shoulder; his kindness was natural and comforting. "You need not be wed for many years – not til you're ready – and if at any time you change your mind, it shall be completely without consequences, as far as we can ensure that."

Truer friend. She'd waited all her life for such a person. She could wait a few more years.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, this betrothal is acceptable to me."

Sir Percival looked at her a moment longer – not ecstatically pleased, because he was not in love with her like she'd seen knights in love with ladies – but content. And she was satisfied with that.

Gently he bent his head and raised her hand to kiss the back of it, and she wasn't intimidated by him anymore. She smiled up at him as he stood – and he kept her hand.

"I think," Arthur said deliberately, turning to Bayard, "we require our knight's betrothed to be guarded by one we trust – and that is, no one now in Alined's court."

Sarra opened her mouth to protest, her grandfather's knights were all noble, and perfectly trustworthy, but the look of thoughtfulness on Bayard's face made her suspect there was more being said than she understood, and she snapped her mouth closed again.

"I would agree with you," Bayard said. "Who would you send?"

"Percival, obviously." Wolfrick raised his eyebrows, and Sarra raised her hopes. Arthur added, "The situation is unusual enough as it is, it serves nobody if they each marry a stranger in five years' time."

"And none will guard her better," Merlin said softly, smiling at Sarra in a way that made her aware of how very big Percival's fingers were around hers.

"Sir Bors," King Arthur continued, "one of my senior knights. His home is very near the border, and his wife and family will appreciate a nearer station. And… Sir Kay."

"Oh, good," Merlin said immediately, though the significance of the name and title escaped Sarra.

"He will be your protection," King Arthur told Sir Percival, who gave a deep nod that was almost a bow, and looked pleased. Which pleased Sarra; at least he was not reluctant or disappointed to be re-assigned so swiftly without warning. Which said quite a lot about him, too.

"You will sign our alliances," Bayard said to Alined; it sounded very like an order, to Sarra. "And you will obey them perfectly, or so help me I will annex your kingdom. Arthur's three knights will be part of your court, to see that our terms are kept –"

"And so help me, if anything untoward happens to any of them, I will annex your kingdom," Arthur said evenly.

17. Part 2: Dirty Secret/Wrongfully Accused

("The Sorcerer's Shadows" from A Once and Future Destiny)

"My hope, sire, is that good friends who already know and accept who he is and what he is, will make the difference." The old man took his coffee mug in one hand, beckoned to the former king with the other. "Bearing that in mind, there is something I must show you, Arthur."

Arthur followed to the old man's living-room, where Gaius indicated the blue folder on the coffee table, lowering himself into the armchair.

"Do you recall the police report for the night Merlin's family was murdered, year ago?" Gaius said, and Arthur nodded, remembering that the victims were Gaius' daughter and older grandson. "The emergency call center received twenty-two calls from the apartment in the space of five minutes, and fifteen more in as many minutes following, even to the point of multiple lines in use at once – though no words were spoken," Gaius said. "They found Merlin unconscious but unharmed in his bedroom – he didn't wake for another two days."

"You think that was him, calling for help?" Arthur said. "His magic?"

Gaius nodded towards the folder. "I've correlated the hospital records to the dates of his transferring from one foster home to the next. Occasionally – though not always – an injury would result in the transfer."

Arthur picked up the file, began to page through. "You mean he was abused?" he said, horrified.

"At least once," Gaius said carefully, "though none of the accidents were simply – accidents. The interesting thing is, I could find no reports that Merlin ever was blamed for any injuries to others."

"And the once?" A page fell open, and Arthur gasped. The photo showed a smaller, skinnier Merlin, recognizable by his jutting bones and mop of black hair, welts and contusions marring the white skin of his back and legs – one mark even requiring stitches. The picture was from behind, Merlin's face unseen. Arthur wondered wrathfully what expression the boy had worn, that day.

Gaius said, in the clinically detached way he sometimes spoke of Merlin's hurt, "A belt, my lord."

The next page showed the bottom outside of a boy's leg, patches of blisters and raw open flesh crawling upwards from ankle to knee. Gaius leaned forward. "The family claimed Merlin had set the fire on purpose," he said only. "Another transfer."

"What else?" Arthur said, dropping the file on the coffee table and settling back on the couch, leaning his head against the back.

"Toes broken in a runaway lawn tractor accident," Gaius said. "Wrist broken in an altercation at school – he said he fell, but at least one anonymous call made to the school office claimed he was pushed. Each time he was moved on to another family. I think – I am afraid – well, let me put it this way. An ordinary family taking in a boy like Merlin, extraordinary in a way only we can begin to comprehend, but troubled with nightmares and random – occurrences, for want of a better term – even the shoplifting and vandalism charges, well, it's not quite fair to expect them to cope, do you see what I mean? Ordinary foster parents wouldn't understand what was happening, wouldn't be able to help and guide him, wouldn't even believe him when he claimed innocence."

Maybe, but – a belt?

"He was moved, and moved again," Gaius said sadly. "Shunned and ridiculed, I imagine, though that must be the least of it…is it any wonder, really, that he has done his best to rid himself of the magic, to deny the dreams?" He pushed himself up abruptly, and returned to the kitchen.

Over the noise of Gaius shuffling and opening cupboards, Arthur didn't notice any other noises, until the bottom step of the stairway creaked, and Merlin's voice sounded, sleepy and confused.

"In here, my boy," Gaius called from the kitchen. Arthur watched as Merlin – still in a black winged-skull t-shirt, and green plaid pajama pants – rubbed his eyes with his fists like a child, and shuffled into the kitchen. "How do you feel?"

"Tired." If Arthur closed his eyes, subtracted the coffee smell and added a warm-tea scent of dried herbs, he could almost imagine it was 1500 years ago, in Gaius' familiar chambers. "Have you eaten?" Merlin added.

"No, but – you don't have to–"

A pots-and-pans clatter interrupted the old man. "I don't mind," Merlin said.

Arthur heard the refrigerator open and shut, the cracking of eggshells, the sizzle of breakfast frying in a pan. The tv on the bookshelf behind him blinked into life, and he was distinctly aware of – and amused by – the cartoon that came on. Two lion cubs were singing and dancing, being chased by a grouchy, squawking bird. Oh, I just can't wait to be king…

Geez, Merlin, tell me how you really feel.

Merlin came in from the kitchen, plate extended to Arthur. "Your breakfast, my lord," he said caustically, shoving napkin-wrapped silverware into Arthur's other hand.

The fluffy yellow eggs were speckled with green flecks of parsley, striped with melting cheese. Everybody look left, everybody look right, everywhere you look I'm standing in the spotlight… Merlin had never served such an appetizing breakfast, with so sour a face – Arthur thought he rather preferred a dry crust of bread and a wizened apple, with a cheerful "rise and shine"!

"This looks great, Merlin, thanks," Arthur said, preparing to seat himself at the couch. No one says do this, no one says be there, no one says stop that, no one says see here! The Scottie jumped up on the arm of the furniture, and Merlin fondled its soft ears absently, the dog leaning into the caress as if it was expected.

"You know this is a Hamlet story, right?" Merlin murmured, loitering at the other end of the couch. Arthur looked up in surprise. "Evil uncle kills king, takes over – young prince must decide whether or not to stand up to evil uncle…" His blue eyes looked lost and far away.

Arthur thought of another murdered king, another treacherous uncle, another young prince, and shivered.

"What the hell is that," Merlin said.

Confused, Arthur glanced up, to see Merlin's eyes focused on the open file on the coffee table – printed photos of the belt marks, the burned leg. Merlin came around the couch, reached as if to take the file, then snatched his hand away. His eyes met Arthurs guilt-filled ones with a flash of fury and – betrayal.

"What the f-"

"I've poured orange juice for the both of you," Gaius interrupted unwittingly, coming from the kitchen. "Merlin–"

Merlin wasn't distracted long. His eyes returned to Arthur, blazing. "You think it's funny, do you?" he spat. "Both of you?" His grandfather was now included. "When did my life become your business?" The white Scottie jumped down from the arm of the couch and high-tailed it up the stairs and out of sight.

Gaius held up both hands to placate his grandson – holding juice glasses, the gesture was ineffective. "Merlin – it's not what you think."

"You can say Marvin," he hissed, crossing his arms over his chest and tucking his hands under his arms. The old man jerked back as though his grandson had slapped his face. Merlin turned his attention back to Arthur, for once struck silent.

How did this morning go to hell so fast?

"Bit of light reading, huh?" His former servant said sarcastically. "A coffee table folio? Go on, then – tell me your favorite part."

Arthur stood. 1500 years ago he'd have grabbed his friend and held on no matter what, and Merlin would have felt the comfort. But this young man still looked at him as a stranger. His hands dangled heavily at his sides. "Merlin, I'm just trying–"

"Was it the hours spent locked in the shed on the back of the Anderson's eight-acre property in all kinds of weather? – 'Oh, I want to watch Wife Swap.' " He mimicked a high lady's voice. "'We can't have that kid around the remote never works when he's in the room.' Or was it the one after that - 'Our electric bill has tripled since he moved in – make him tell you what he does! Make him stop it! Well, use your belt if he won't talk!' "

The radio static fuzzed even louder. The printer on the desk whirred to life, beeping and blinking, and began churning out blank sheets of paper.

"Marvin, please calm down," Gaius called, setting down the juice on the edge of the kitchen counter.

" 'No, officer, that fire was all his fault – we won't keep a kid who's a fire-starter!' " Merlin was pacing, two steps right and two steps left, his eyes downward but unfocused. "Or how about – 'Teacher's pet, aren't you – break all the computers in the lab just so you can fix them again – well, fix this!' " Merlin shoved his hands in front of him as though pushing someone – and the middle shelf of books tumbled from their place. He didn't appear to notice.

A little voice in Arthur's head said, it better be good for him to get this all out. A lot of hurt and anger, all bottled up – this release damn well better do some good.

"No." Merlin stopped suddenly, pointed at Arthur as if making some great discovery. "I bet your favorite part was reading about this." He snapped his black leather wristband off, displaying three jagged scars on the inside of his wrist, one long enough to show below the band, two others crossed to follow the length of a vein, instead of slicing across the network of blood vessels. Arthur dimly recalled reading that the difference between the two directions showed the intention of the attempt – a cry for help or a serious no-turning-back vein opening.

Did each line represent a separate occasion when his friend had tried to end his life?

Merlin watched his reaction, and smiled, an empty, hollow, skeletal smile. Arthur could see that deep darkness that Gaius had mentioned before, and it was staggering to view.

"No? Still not the best part? Could it possibly be the eighteen months of psychiatric treatment, this drug, then this drug, then this drug – the freak of Adams Middle School. The zombie."

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, trying to salvage the situation. "I just want to help. I just want to be your–"

"Do not say 'friend' to me!" Merlin roared. Tears shone brightly in sea-blue eyes. "This is not what friends do!" The file on the table burst into flames, and Arthur stumbled back, not because of the proximity of danger, but from shock.

"Marvin!" Gaius cried, and Merlin rounded on him, as more than one smoke detector began to shriek a warning.

"And you – I trusted you!" His voice was hoarse. "Why did you tell him, why did you show him? I have had fourteen 'new starts' shot to hell, and guess what?" Tears spilled down Merlin's face. He took a deep breath, and the flames disappeared, leaving the air smoky and the file a charred mess. "There goes number fifteen."

He stalked toward the glass sliding door that led to the backyard, furiously scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of both hands – not looking where he was going, not slowing.

"Merlin – the glass!" Arthur shouted over the wail of the smoke alarm, reaching out a hand as if he could physically pull his friend back from across the room.

Merlin flicked one hand into the air as if tossing a small object lightly aside – and stepped right through a slider-sized gap of thin air. He picked up speed as he crossed the back lawn, and vaulted over the back fence.

Arthur persuaded his feet to move, and approached the sliding glass door – he put his hand on the full-size window, solid and cool.

"Did he–" the smoke alarms cut out with a choked squawk. "Did he just walk right through this?" Arthur demanded of Gaius, slapping his palm against the glass.

"Damn, damn, damn," Gaius said. "As if I haven't done enough to him already."

Arthur turned as Gaius eased himself down into the armchair. The room was silent but for the cartoon in the kitchen – no radio static, no printer chugging away living room television black and dead. Not knowing what else to do, Arthur began to pick up the books.

"I – don't know what to say," he finally broke the silence. "Was it true about the – medication? In middle school?"

Gaius propped his chin on one hand. "The Jones family," he said. "I believe that was their response to his dreams."

Arthur winced, imagining doctors – adults, psychiatrists, telling Merlin the child calmly and earnestly that he was not the Merlin of the legends. Over, and over, and over… with who knows what kind of drugs in his system. Probably attributing it to the trauma he'd experienced when his family died. Probably telling him with just as much certainty that there was no such thing as magic. "And after?" he said, replacing the last book and beginning to collect the scattered papers.

Gaius heaved a sigh. "People don't believe in magic anymore," he said. "Fifteen hundred years ago, people hated and feared it – but at least they didn't deny its existence. I should have been there for him, I should have taken him and taught him – but I didn't even know it was him!"

"Gaius," Arthur said, returning to the couch, "if we get started talking about what should have been done for Merlin, I'm sure my list would be much longer than yours."

They both stared in silence at the blackened pages of the file – charred fragments of paper, all the information destroyed. If only, Arthur thought, it were so easy to remove the effects of those events from Merlin's life.

"Will he be okay?" Arthur asked. "He wasn't even wearing shoes."

"He'll be back," Gaius said with weary confidence, and Arthur shot him a hopeful look. The old man grimaced in response. "His computer is here."

"Should I stay?" Arthur asked. "At least, if he comes back to get his things and leave for good, I could–"

"Could you stop him?" Gaius questioned with a rueful chuckle. "I daresay none of us could stop him leaving. If that's what he decides to do."