He wore a black cloak, indicating his difference from the knights, from Arthur. Their cloaks are red for Camelot, and Albion.

Merlin's was black. I kept looking at it while we rode. It was light like silk, but seemed tough. It billowed and flowed behind him when we galloped.

"Have I got a twig stuck in the back of my hair?" he asked me as we dismounted to rest the horses, and ourselves.

I blushed. "Forgive me. I was intrigued by the fabric of your cloak."

He had cast it off and now it was on the ground with his small pack. "Oh." He didn't tell me what it was made of, though.

The knights escorting me to the safety of Camelot began to tend to their horses.

"I need to fill my water bottle," I said. I turned towards the stream, but Merlin tracked alongside me. "I can manage," I told him. "I'm not the kind of princess who is helpless without an entourage."

"I know that," he said with a quick smile. "But these woods are dangerous."

"Bandits?" I asked.

"Magic," he said.

"Then I suppose I need you," I said.

He smiled again, and cut his eyes at me while we walked: blue eyes flecked with gold, like ash leaves against a September sky.

"Where will you go?" he asked, holding aside a hawthorn's branches as we descended to the river. "After this."

A good question. "I don't know." The banks of the stream were slippery beneath my boots. Merlin thrust out his hand and it was natural for me to grasp it. His fingers were strong around my glove, his grip steady as he helped me to the water's edge. "I might exile myself. Travel to Hibernia, or Iberia."

It was he who stumbled as we reached the small stones beside the stream. I caught him with my free arm, and he laughed at his foolishness, righting his footing, freeing himself from my clasp. "It would be a shame to see you leave Camelot."

I crouched, and lay my water bottle against the gentle flow of the stream. "I am a princess without a throne, and my kingdom is now another's. My distant cousin. We hoped to marry... That is, I hoped to marry. But my cousin was not suitable."

"You didn't like him." Merlin was beside me, kneeling. He drank from his own newly filled bottle, and I from mine.

"He didn't like me." I fastened my bottle back on my belt.

Merlin's eyes showed a gratifying incredulity at this idea. But he had been a servant all his life. He blinked away impropriety and said, "But ... An alliance. Kings and queens don't get to choose."

I grimaced, and stood. "He had already chosen his queen, knowing he would inherit my kingdom. And although she is kind... I would rather not see her queen in my land while I am the dowager princess."

I offered him my hand, although he had no need of it to rise, and most men would have been offended by the idea. Merlin reached for it gladly, and I hauled him up. We paused by the bubbling stream, our hands still linked.

"Dowager princess," said Merlin. "Makes you sound ancient." His tone was light, but his gaze on me was like the warm sweet air which clings to a valley at the end of summer, forbidding the swallows to fly south just yet, tempting them to stay longer, to swoop and soar among the late blooms.

"Indeed. And a little hopeless." I found myself looking at his lips, and forced my gaze back to his eyes. But that was no better, and his hand was warm through my glove. I gave a smile, and felt its impact in his in-drawn breath. "I'm not, yet, without hope."

"What do you hope for?" he whispered. We were standing close together, both my hands now around his, and his free hand touching my elbow. The autumn gold gleamed in his eyes again and it seemed that swallows and butterflies thronged the air. I heard the liquid song of a wren, and tasted honey.

I felt my cheeks grow warm. I lifted my chin, and we might have been surrounded by bandits, or magic, for all I cared. His arm curled around my waist and he was waiting only for my word. "Happiness," I said, and he kissed me.