CHAPTER 10

Arthur intends for this year's Samhain feast to be a bigger celebration than ever before. It has been a year since Morgana's invasion and he wants to give his people something to set their mind on, a way to think of those they lost in a positive light.

It has also been a year since Merlin told him of his magic and, when he realises this, it shocks him more than it should. He isn't surprised that the passage of time has snuck up on him; this year has been one of the busiest he can remember. However, he is surprised that Merlin hasn't pushed him for his judgement, given how long the servant has already had to wait. Arthur knows that he could never execute Merlin. Banishment or imprisonment are also undesirable outcomes, but even they will be impossible unless Arthur is to completely overthrow his father's ban on magic. A public decision as momentous as that one will have the potential to throw his kingdom into chaos and, no matter how much he may want to put Merlin's mind at ease, he is loath to upset Camelot's new, cautious sense of normality.

And perhaps, Arthur half-manages to convince himself, Merlin himself has been too busy to think on such things. These days the Prince's manservant is to be found at all ends of the Castle, carrying out his regular duties, assisting Gaius in his role of Physician's Apprentice, or otherwise assisting with preparations for Samhain. He even writes Arthur's speech for the celebration feast.

"Do you want help?"

"No," Arthur answers brusquely. The page in front of him is effectively blank, covered only in half-finished sentences and crossings out.

"You won't want this then?" Merlin presents a scroll, looking smug. "I spent all night writing it."

Arthur rolls his eyes - knowing Merlin, he probably has spent all night writing it - and gestures for his servant to pass the speech. He scans it with feigned skepticism.

"What do you think?"

What Arthur thinks is that it's practically perfect. But he also thinks that Merlin is often too clever for his own good, so all he says is,

"Needs a polish."

Merlin tuts, hoists a basket of washing onto his hip, and takes the speech back with a sarcastic, "I'll add it to the list."

"Merlin, there aren't many servants who get the chance to write a prince's speech." Arthur leans back in his chair with a patronising smile, turning his quill over between both hands. "Obviously it would be too much for you to say thank you?"

Merlin glares, but does not deign to respond, leaving the room with an exasperated huff. Arthur smiles to himself and promptly chucks his draft away. That's one less thing to worry about.

Uther is too unwell to attend the feast that evening, so Arthur means to spend the afternoon with him. He has only just sat at his father's bedside, and Guinevere not even left the room, when Gwaine appears to apologetically request his presence in the Throne Room.

"Leon and Eylan have returned." Uther is clearly not paying attention to Gwaine, but still the knight chooses his words carefully when he tells Arthur, "It's as we feared."

Morgana. Whatever wary balance the Kingdom has gained over the past year, it is about to be tipped again.

"Very well." He opens his eyes and stands. "Rest well, father. I will see you tomorrow."

The King's only response is a soft hum in the back of his throat as his son departs.

"The reports are true, Sire." Leon's back is straight and voice firm, but exhaustion glares out from the tense set to his shoulders and the smudges of dirt upon his armour. "We caught up with Morgana on the Plains of Denaria."

It was Kilgharrah who had spotted Morgana and led them to the Plains of Denaria, but judging by Merlin's concerned expression across the room, he too had been hoping it was a false alarm.

Arthur focusses back on the two knights in front of him. "Was she alone?"

Eylan shakes his head. As he does so Arthur spots a graze on his neck - not life-threatening, but painful. There had been a fight. "There was someone else."

"Morgause?"

"Couldn't be sure."

From a shadowy corner to Arthur's right, Agravaine interjects, "Where was Morgana heading?"

Arthur glances sharply to his uncle. Agravaine has developed an irritating habit of butting self-importantly into conversations, apparently of the belief that being the Prince's uncle raises his status above that of a regular member of the council. Arthur feels vindictively relieved when Leon directs his answer at him rather than Agravaine.

"To the Seas of Meredor."

"The Isle of the Blessed," Gaius says then, and beside him Merlin frowns at the name. Arthur makes a note to ask him about that later.

Agravaine steps from his shadowy corner with an air of determination. "I'll send out patrols at first light."

Arthur bites down a retort - ordering patrols does not fall into Agravaine's purview - and manages to instead force out, "Thank you, Agravaine."

"Sire, you should know her powers have grown." Leon's face darkens. "Sir Bertrand and Sir Montague are both dead."

Arthur's heart drops. Bertrand and Montague had been newly knighted, eager to please and full of potential. He will have to tell their families.

"Keep me informed of any developments."

The council members, knights, Merlin and Gaius all bow and depart - leaving Arthur and Agravaine alone.

"We knew she couldn't stay hidden forever," Agravaine states matter-of-factly. "But Camelot is strong. If Morgana were to act, we'd be ready for her."

Time has not much enamoured Arthur to Agravaine. Had his uncle arrived in the immediate aftermath of Morgana's attack, when Arthur was first getting to grips with his new rule, he likely would have welcomed the guiding hand of an older relative happily; Agravaine would have helped fill the sudden void which Uther had left. But now, Arthur feels he is becoming his own King. He has introduced new laws, despite opposition, that have proved successful. He has kept his people safe from King Lot's invasions. He may not be experienced, but so far his instincts have served him right - he does not need his hand held over every minute decision.

Still, there are more important issues to be dealt with.

"You're right, of course." Arthur makes for the door, tossing back over his shoulder, "Thank you, Uncle."

"I made a promise to your mother."

Arthur stops. He looks back, to where Agravaine beams at him with pride, and guilt tugs at his chest. "I'll always be there for you."

"Thank you, Uncle." This time Arthur means it. It's true he does not enjoy his uncle's presence at Council, but on a personal level it has been a joy to learn more about his mother's side of the family - and of course, about his mother herself. Arthur does not think he will ever grow tired of discovering more about her. "I will see you at the feast."

He whiles away the rest of the time until the feast in his chambers, mulling over what Morgana might be up to, and memorising the speech Merlin has left on his desk. Half an hour before Arthur is due to begin the feast, the servant himself skids into the room.

"Sorry I'm late!" He gasps. "There was a problem with the..." He trails off, because Arthur has just raised a sardonic eyebrow. "You don't care, do you?"

"Not even slightly."

Merlin pulls out the King's ceremonial armour and lays it on Arthur's bed as the Prince stretches. "Have you learnt it yet?"

"I hope so," Arthur answers. "Don't suppose you have a spell that would help?"

Merlin wipes a speck off of Arthur's crown absentmindedly as he considers this. "Well, maybe if-"

"I was joking." Arthur shakes his head and comes to stand in front of his servant. As Merlin helps him into his armour, he asks, "Has Kilgharrah said anything?"

"Not yet..." Arthur raises his arms so Merlin can slip the chainmail tunic over him. "I can go to him tonight after the feast, ask him to scout The Isle of the Blessed?"

"It can't hurt." Arthur ties his belt about his waist. "The Isle of the Blessed... do you know the place?"

Merlin hands Arthur his crown and goes to pick up his cloak. "It's a site of great magic. Whatever Morgana wants from there, it can't be good."

Arthur pulls the cloak about his shoulders so that Merlin can join the clasp beneath his neck. There is no more to be said of Morgana now. He has a feast to attend.