A missive, scrawled on a small scrap of parchment, passes hands from servant to servant until it finds itself slipping in the worn woolen pocket of Miss Sybil. She reads it in private, a smile stretching across her face even as she reaches for the supplies to reply.

Dear Sybbie,

Have you no thought for your fellow servants? Have you no compassion for our masters' voracious appetites for gossip, nor any thought for our own interests? How cruel you are to keep information from us in this way.

You must tell us what conspired in the labyrinth. Yes, our Princess won, but how exactly was this managed? How did she end up with Queen Guinevere and Prince Caradoc and Prince Bedivere and Lord Merlin at heart of the labyrinth? Why did we hear thunder coming from the heart of the labyrinth on a clear and sunny day? Why did Lord Merlin and Prince Bedivere leave so quickly upon Sir Galahad's boat, and how in the world did they wrangle permission from the knight to use his beloved yacht? Why did the princess herself take her leave so quickly, leaving the rest of the fete to celebrate her victory in her absence?

Please hear our ardent cries for information, and see fit to answer them.

Most sincerely,

A friend

A letter is sent discreetly, during evening tea time, to the princess via a series of Nemethian servants.

Dear Princess Mithian,

My most sincere thanks for your kindness and quick thinking at the labyrinth in sending Lord Merlin and I back to shore when I took ill. As you may now imagine, my disposition is not one well-suited to the chaos of the sea.

If I may be able to repay this kindness somehow, some may, please simply avail yourself of me. You have my solemn word that I will be well and hardy the next time we speak, due in no small part to Lord Merlin's expert care.

Sincerely,

Prince Bedivere

A letter is sent in response, following a similarly discreet delivery method.

Dear Prince Bedivere,

It was my honor to arrange for your transport when you were taken ill. Please, think no more of such a kindly gesture. If you must proffer your thanks, I would accept it in the form of a luncheon with yourself and a lady of my court, Lady Lian. We both have an eye toward improving the education of our country's children, and I am led to understand you have intimate knowledge of such policies, having enacted your own in your home country.

Sincerely,

Princess Mithian

A letter is sent from an opulent room, one which smells richly of wine and glints with the sharp metal of many weapons, their blades twinkling in the candlelight. It departs for Essetir, the rider carrying it kicking up clouds of dust upon departure.

My lord, the high King Lot,

Things fare well here in Nemeth. Our hosts have arranged for a series of light-hearted competitions as we celebrate their country. I of course have entered in these competitions in the hopes of demonstrating to the princess and her ruling family the admirable qualities of our country, as they are reflected in myself: strength, nobility, adaptability, cleverness.

During the first competition, there came an opportunity to defer to the princess and allow her to secure the victory for herself. I was reminded of you, and your gracious nature and generous spirit, and so allowed the young lady to claim the prize. It seems to have been well-received by those gathered.

I will continue to update you on my efforts here, your grace, just as I keep those here abreast of your fantastic accomplishments back in our beautiful home country.

Yours in arms,

Duke Pellinor

A letter emerges from the same wine-dark room, this time sent on foot just a floor below. It is snatched from the hands of a head-bowed servant.

Sir Meleagant,

It would please me greatly were you to dine with me tomorrow. We must discuss the labyrinth.

There is talk among the servants that the little weasel man who insulted me our first day here escorted the princess to the labyrinth, and then quickly absconded with the minor prince of Mercia on a lord of Nemeth's boat. We must find out more about this. Perhaps he ambushed the princess, or tried to take her away to some dark corner of the labyrinth, and they both became surprised at finding the middle. There is of course the issue of the peal of thunder which we heard. I have caught wind of wild tales from the heart of Camelot, and cannot help the suspicions of their party which grow darker with every day.

Regardless, the first rose is gone, and my chances at proving myself to this court grow scarcer. As someone whose benefit hinges on my own, I trust you will appreciate the concerning nature of this development.

I will see you a candlemark after sundown tomorrow. Bring good wine.

-Duke Pellinor

One of three letters is tucked into the saddlebag of a messenger and sent to Camelot with the morning light.

King Arthur,

I appreciate you writing me of the newest knights' progress. I must advise, however, that you do not continue with Merlin's suggested training regiments of catching greased pigs and herding chickens. While you see an improvement in their agility, you may also find their egos becoming bruised. There is no possibility someone could beat Merlin's record time.

If Percival and Elyan insist on arm wrestling, you must at least convince them to do it on a stone surface. They did not tell the whole truth: they have so far broken five other tables in this pursuit and I've already refused to use the crown's coin to cover damages four times.

Things seem to be going well here in Nemeth. Princess Mithian won the first competition. Prince Bedivere took ill during the competition and had to be looked after by Merlin. Your former manservant would have made you proud, the way he took control of the situation. He managed to boss Sir Gwaine around when he found us.

If you have any words of wisdom to keep those two in line, please share it. I fear they will be the end of me before this is over. Our queen, as ever, keeps me sane and persists in embodying the voice of reason. Though the voice of reason in the face of Merlin and Gwaine sometimes seems more a whisper than anything.

I jest, of course. Your delegation acts with honor, if more spontaneity than you led me to believe they would.

I hope things are keeping well at home.

Sincerely,

Sir Leon

A note is sent by messenger from one opulent room to another just down the hall.

Dearest Eloise,

You must share what you know of this Lord Merlin, and endeavor to make your dear cousin more well acquainted with him. I have heard that he is classically educated, and so must be from better stock than mere peasant fare. And he seems dashing and almost roguish in the right light, does he not? Skinny though he may be, he looks every bit the adventurer.

Know you how large his holdings are, or how prominent his family is in Camelot? Does he play an instrument? Is he a fan of poetry? Are his days spent in a cramped physician's room slaving over potions, or is he inclined more toward gentlemanly pastimes than rumors lead me to believe?

And what do you know of the rumors that Lord Merlin escorted the princess through the maze? Is this true?

Tell me, dear cousin, what you know of this man that I may find a charitable suitor.

Your dearest cousin,

Lady Fara

A sheaf of parchment is rolled tightly, wrapped with a shining pink ribbon, and sealed in decorative wax. It is paraded through the halls on a silver platter and delivered directly to a well-guarded room. The letter is opened by the guards and closely inspected, all while the soldiers studiously avoid actually reading anything. The letter is eventually accepted by a handmaiden–platter refused–and delivered to her mistress.

Dear Princess Mithian of Nemeth,

It is my most sincere and ardent wish that my letter finds you hale and happy. I hope you find my letter not an unwelcome intrusion, but perhaps–and this, of course, may simply be my empty fantasy and likely well is as one could not believe that one such as me could comfortable occupy your intelligent thoughts at all, much less for the length of a letter–perhaps a mild curiosity, amusement, or diversion from your day.

Princess Mithian, I write of course for a purpose, but find myself bound by honor and etiquette to impart my most earnest and unfeigned gratitude at the invitation to such an entertaining fete. Here, I have had the honor of meeting many of the people I once considered my heroes, yet can now almost call acquaintances and hopefully–if I may be so bold–one day even a friend. The opportunity presented to me to become more knowledgeable of heroes of the realm and mighty rulers of proud countries is not lost on me, and I must assure you that my gratitude is entirely heartfelt and likely too large to put into words. Though I will of course try to express my sentiment to you, I must reiterate that I could never fully articulate what this opportunity means to me as the scion of a more minor country, and one so recently plagued with unrest. This fete has truly been a relief for myself and, of course, my aunt, the queen of Caerleon…

The letter continues much in the same vein until finally, several pages in, the recipient skimming the letter finally comes across a formal invitation to a breakfast with himself and his aunt. It is signed, "Sir Kay, Earl of Tarling and Heir to the Throne of Caerleon, and Most Enthusiastic Admirer of Her Royal Highness Princess Mithian of Nemeth."

A letter is sent in response, this one carried by a single servant and discreetly passed through a door.

Dear Sir Kay,

Earling of Tarling,

Heir to the the Throne of Caerleon,

Thank you for your kind letter. It would please me very much to join you and your queen to break our fasts together. I am most interested in getting her and your expert input on a few matters of state.

Most cordially,

Princess Mithian

A letter arrives in Nemeth. The messenger stops first at the rooms of a Queen, and then is summarily sent to her advisor's chambers nearby to address the messenger's calloused feet.

My heart,

It balms my soul to know you have arrived safely, though I doubted there would be any trouble. I knew that Gwaine and Leon would keep you safe at any cost. And, failing that, Merlin knows the amount of trouble he would be in if anything were to happen to you, and–if he is truly half as wise as he sometimes manages to be–he would move the heavens and the earth to avoid my wrath.

That we have been apart for so long grieves me, but I know how important this is to you, and to our country. I appreciate your volunteering to attend on both of our behalves and have the greatest faith in your ability to treat with Nemeth in my absence.

Camelot fares well, as does your husband. There is a question regarding a tax that I would like to have your ear on, but such paltry matters can await until your return. In any event, pleading needing your advice–true though it is–serves to get me more time before I must adjudicate.

I cannot believe this that you tell me. Merlin got into a brawl for his manservant? Have you accidentally traipsed into the realm of the fey? Has he truly lost his mind? Do I need to come there and put my advisor in the stocks for bad behavior?

Perhaps not. But I fear that if you write me of more nonsense that he pulls, I must be forced to come and corrall the idiot. And you must know how put out I would be to be pulled away from council meetings and audiences and reports.

Don't be afraid to cuff him on the ear, my dear. It works a treat for me, and I anticipate it would be more formidable and more effective coming from you. I am writing him a letter next to express how ridiculous an idiot he's being.

Same goes for Gwaine.

And honestly, my heart, you must know by now that I do not keep them in line. Those two are the bane of my existence, the exception to every rule, and a direct insult to my crown. I only keep them around because they're funny from time to time.

Do keep me informed. I would like to know if my advisor is embarrassing me and his new title, or if my knight cannot keep himself operating in a dignified manner.

Please write soon. I find myself rereading your last letter just to imagine your sweet words in my ear.

Yours,

Arthur

(Postscript: I beg of you, dear wife, do not let this letter fall into the hands of Merlin, Gwaine, or Leon. Love you unashamedly as I do, I do not think I could abide by their teasing. Someone would need to be banished.)

A second letter departs for Camelot, tucked next to the first.

My love,

Of course, I was kept safe on the roads. But your listing of the reasons why are entirely wrong. Leon would protect me with his life because I am his queen; Gwaine would protect me because I am a lady and he's always looking for a good fight anyway; and Merlin would because I am Guinevere. Love these men I might, but I know which I put more trust in.

Your kind words soothe my worried mind. This is a larger gathering of nobles and monarchs than perhaps there have ever been, and rumors run rampant. I have heard a few about you, and about myself, and about Merlin. Some are ridiculous and entertaining, and others are worrisome.

But never fear. Your wife, trusted advisor, and knights have this well in hand, as do our conspirators.

It cheers me to know that you and our home are faring well in our absence. You must write me of Celeste the butcher's cat and tell me if she has had her kittens yet. I promised Ygritte in the kitchens that she could have one.

And yes, husband, you read correctly: Merlin almost brawled over the honor of his manservant. A brute threatened his manservant with a beating–or worse–for spilling wine, and your advisor told the man that since the manservant was working for him when it happened, that Merlin should take the blame. He offered the man his own cheek.

I still do not know whether it was a bluff. Probably not, knowing Merlin. But the man backed down, and was thoroughly humiliated. Worried though it made me, I could not suppress my price. I think you would have felt much the same.

And your advisor furthers his reputation. He was with Princess Mithian when she won the first competition. Rumors run rampant about how and why they were together, and even your wife does not have the full story.

Tell me more of home, my love, so I may see it when I close my eyes. I think only of the time that exists between now and our reunion, and my heart grows fond thinking of your arms around me once more.

Yours forever,

Guinevere

A second letter arrives in Nemeth, and is handed off while the messenger rests his feet and half-listens to rapid instructions on the application of a salve for his callouses.

Merlin,

Are you serious? A brawl the first night there? I cannot believe this. I hope you at least remembered our lessons on follow-through and didn't stuff your thumb beneath your fingers like a schoolboy.

Stay out of trouble. I do not want to hear any more from my wife about your misadventures. I do not even want to hear about adventures. Do your best to make this fete as uneventful as possible, and make sure to return home with yourself, my knights, and my queen in one piece. I shall be thoroughly disappointed otherwise.

Stay safe, idiot. And try to be smart, though I know that asks a lot of you. I need not remind you how precarious your position still is. This event must be successful.

I trust you can make that happen.

-Arthur

A third letter departs to Camelot, a single sheaf folded in three parts and sealed with a simple dollop of wax.

Prat,

Thanks for writing. Knew you cared.

Don't let your head get too big, but I need to ask a question of you. What would your advice be to me were I to enter the tournament?

Most sincerely,

M

(Postscript: I'm staying out of trouble. What have you heard?)

A note is passed among the servants of Nemeth and read aloud for those not learned in their letters. From there, different iterations of the message bubble out amongst the servants of every country. Though the details change, the meaning remains clear throughout the gossip.

To the servants of Nemeth:

You should know better than to participate in this gossip. Princess Mithian secured the rose through her clever discovery of the secret passages as was reported on that day by the Gamesmaster. So, too, was her encounter with Lord Merlin of Camelot and Ealdor, who then asked of the princess to walk with her through the maze. Our princess, diplomat that she is, treated with a representative of a foreign country. Princess Mithian found the rose. Lord Merlin arrived shortly thereafter. Prince Bedivere finally arrived but a moment later with Queen Guinevere and Prince Caradoc. Prince Bedivere became overcome with seasickness from the journey to the isle. Merlin tended to him and escorted him back to Nemeth for recuperation. This is the truth, and each of you present at the labyrinth know it to be so.

Trust that if you deviate from the facts as they are, I shall be most disappointed.

Sincerely,

Agatha, servant to King Rodor and Queen Adelaine

A note is left on a friend's writing desk and is discovered three days later, and only upon being pointed out to the recipient by his manservant.

Dear Merlin,

Thank you again for ensuring my health and sanity at the close of the labyrinth. Though my condition is discussed by many, my gratitude is made inexpressible that the one lord present truly knowledgeable of my condition took pains to obscure me from the public and take me to a place for private rest, treatment and, hopefully, study.

I thank you, my friend, for endeavoring to find the cause of this ailment. For being mindful of my public image when I could not. For artfully fending off the questions of your friends when they asked after my welfare. For leaving your servant and your duck to create a diversion, allowing us to spirit away on Sir Galahad's boat.

I hope that someday, in some way, I may be able to repay your many kindnesses.

Your friend,

Bedivere

A note is hastily passed beneath the dining table.

Dear Prince Bedivere,

Apologies for the tardiness in my reply. There is no thanks needed. If any thanks is warranted, I would ask for your assistance in lending your scholarly aptitudes to a worthwhile endeavor of study. I think you would be most interested. Would you come to my chambers for tea tomorrow to discuss?

Sincerely,

Merlin

A letter is slipped to a servant, who passes it along to another, who passes it along to her mistress.

Dear Mithian,

I trust this note found its way to your hands. I have found that servants provide a handy network for discreet correspondence, should you know who to trust.

I will keep my note brief, if only to alleviate the competition upon your limited attention.

Congratulations again on your victory at the labyrinth. And though you do not need it: good luck at the tournament. My heart aches in sympathy for the poor, unfortunate souls who will be your opponents in the archery competition.

Thank you again for your interference at the labyrinth, and your fierceness in the face of Sir Galahad, so reluctant to leave his ship in the hands of his captain to spirit away an ill prince and his physician.

I hope you keep well.

Your humble servant and devoted friend,

Merlin

A significant look passes between servants as a note changes hands.

Dear Merlin,

You rotten cheater. You were the true champion of the labyrinth. Or, at least, you should have been.

No thanks are needed for my stunt with Sir Galahad. His poor captain needed an excursion without a madman at the wheel.

Thank you for your wishes. I have heard that you have enrolled yourself in the knife-throwing competition and the footrace. I have heard tale of your talent with knife-throwing from your own self, and your fleet-footedness from others. Tell me, Lord Merlin, what think you your odds of winning two roses at the end of this week?

I am exhausted. But overall, fine. Thank you for inquiring. You would be pleased to know that I am taking your advice, and making efforts to champion myself over my mother and father and Sybil and Greta and the council and all the others, and taking some control over my own schedule. I have made appointments with Queen Annis and Prince Bedivere to discuss policy. You would think it silly, perhaps, but I am excited for these conversations.

This leaves little time, however, for more important matters. To wit: have you discovered anything further about Sir Quackenfell's latest iteration of fairy fever?

How are you keeping, my friend? Has Nemeth and our celebrations and your newfound occupancy as Lord similarly exhausting you?

I have heard that you played Abrytan in the library a few times. Perhaps you would indulge me with a game. I am sure you have your feet under you by now.

Most Sincerely,

Mithian

The next letter arrives later the next day, passed along by a servant with a dubious expression.

Dear Mithian,

Such harsh accusations, princess! What have I done to deserve such slander? It was you who won the labyrinth, who walked to the rose and picked it up. Rotten luck, certainly, that I was present. But what is one to do? Arthur always says I'm right where you don't need me when you need me least, and gone all of the important times.

I have indeed enrolled myself in the knife-throwing competition and footrace. I bet ten gold that I'd cut myself with a knife before hitting a target with a knife, and twenty that I would trip over my own feet within four paces of the footrace. I expect large winnings at the end of the week, but two roses are not among them.

It is no wonder you are exhausted, princess. Of course these celebrations and your own machinations–not to mention those of others'-would make anyone gasp for breath at the end of the day. While I did encourage you to make your own schedule, please do not interpret my words for discouragement from pleasure. Do be sure to enjoy yourself, too. One cannot do well for others if they do not first do well by themselves.

And of course, I do not think it silly that you are excited about these meetings. Banish the thought, my princess! Your excitement extends to me, for as your friend, I share in your delights. How proud I am to see you exercising your impeccable wit and formidable intelligence toward your own pursuits and goals. How happy I am that you are exercising your agency, and showing yourself to be the woman I know you to be. Please know, my friend, that I hold you in the highest regard. The loudest cheer you will hear at your every victory will be my own, for as long as I have the pleasure of watching your actions and hearing your accomplishments.

I have, indeed, found out more about Sir Quackenfell's fairy fever. I have found that thunder is very loud in enclosed spaces, enough that it can shatter glass and splinter wood. On an unrelated note, please have your steward send any requests for repayment of broken objects in borrowed chambers to King Arthur.

I am doing well, and I thank you for your inquiries. My throat is a little hoarse from all the small talk, and my legs ache for a good roam, and my head hurts from all of the politics, and my eyelids can scarce open further than slits from exhaustion, but I am hale and hearty and well. How do you and my queen and all the others do this without keeling over? I would do anything to take a nap in the warm laundry rooms again.

I have indeed played Abrytan, in the hopes that someday I will not embarrass myself playing against you, princess. But I suppose that is my only recourse. I will, of course, play a game with you, if you only promise to allow me to maintain a shred of pride at the end of it.

Your humble servant and devoted friend,

Merlin

A letter is once again passed between servants.

Dear Merlin,

Fine. Perhaps not a rotten cheater. But will you admit, at the least, that you are too terribly humble to be tolerated? I will not have you diminish your own actions any longer. Please know, my friend, that I hold you in the highest regard. The loudest cheer you will hear at your every victory will be my own, for as long as I have the pleasure of watching your actions and hearing your accomplishments.

Do not worry about damages. I have instructed the staff as to the nature of your object of study. They had already been warned by Dagonet, but I felt a further caution from myself would cement things. But you evaded my larger question: what have you learned? Are there other symptoms? Does the volume of the thunder differ any? How far does he lift himself off the ground each time?

I am happy you accepted my invitation to a game. Perhaps you could join me in the parlor to-morrow with Queen Annis, Princess Elena, Prince Caradoc, Sir Bors, Prince Bedivere, Queen Guinevere, and Lady Lian. We will be playing an assortment of games, and I would be most pleased with your presence. I make no promises, however, about the state of your pride afterward. That depends entirely on you.

Most Sincerely,

Mithian

Another note. Another Look.

Dear Mithian,

Thank you for the invitation to the games parlor earlier this week. I will learn to forgive you in time for your ruthlessness in the games.

I look forward to the beginning of the tournaments tomorrow. Though you do not have need of it, I am compelled once again to wish you the best of luck.

Your humble servant and devoted friend,

Merlin

A note. A look. A pair of sighs.

Dear Merlin,

Thank you. Good luck. I have the greatest confidence in you.

Most Sincerely,

Mithian