Thanks to wryter501 and AJs Random for beta help.

The earliest rays of morning sun touched the ceiling of the council chamber and coloured window panes turned the smoke of dozens of candles red and yellow. King Arthur blinked and rubbed his eyes. The last of the Southron fighters had been defeated only a few hours ago though Arthur's few hundred warriors had begun the battle for Camelot not long after daybreak. He had gotten little sleep the night before the battle and now an entire day of fighting merged into an endless night. He had received reports, sent knights to put down the last Southron barbarians, directed guards to rescue civilians still hiding in the woods of Ascetir, and generally ensured the safety of everyone in Camelot. The defeated Southrons had set fire to fields and buildings as they fled and Arthur sent more of his men to deal with the chaos in their wake.

The citadel had long since been secured allowing Arthur to shed his armour hours ago though he had had no opportunity to clean up. The king was seated before the mess of reports on the council table wearing a red under-tunic and gore-stained trousers. His tunic was damp and stuck to his back between his shoulder blades and Arthur knew his hair was as sweat-soaked as his shirt, but battle adrenaline continued to course through his bloodstream and he did not yet feel tired.

It was there Merlin found the king rattling off a fresh list of orders to Leon in response to the latest damage reports. At least the fighting was finally done. Arthur and his knight both looked up as Merlin rushed in without ceremony, shouting for Arthur's attention.

Leon acknowledged the king's most recent orders with a simple, "Yes, Sire," and gave Merlin a gentle punch in the arm as he left.

The dark-haired young man winced and rubbed his arm before turning back to the king. "Tristan's leaving."

The news was expected but Arthur felt disappointed even so. The outlaw had proved to be a capable fighter and an intelligent strategist; he would be a welcome addition to Camelot's forces if he chose to stay. Besides, honest work would keep the smuggler out of trouble. But Arthur had promised Tristan he was free to do as he saw fit.

"If he wants to leave, that is his choice." The king bent over the next report.

"I mean, he's leaving right now." Merlin was slightly out of breath.

Arthur's head snapped up. "Now?"

"He's harnessing a horse to a cart in the courtyard."

The king had no intention of allowing Tristan to leave without a farewell. With a quick order to the guards to make sure Leon could find him, Arthur darted through the corridors to the palace steps.

At the bottom was a small wooden cart harnessed to a single horse. The cart was empty except for a blanket-wrapped bundle lying lengthwise in its bed, approximately the size of a man. Or a woman. Tristan had not mounted the driver's seat. He stood beside the cart with one hand on the bundle, head bowed and shoulders heaving.

Arthur laid his right hand on one shaking shoulder. Immediately, Tristan looked up and Arthur saw with surprise that his eyes were dry although they were red and sunken.

"There is still a place here for you if you choose to stay." Arthur looked toward the blanket-covered roll. "She will be buried with honour."

There was a flash of gratitude in the bruised depths of Tristan's eyes but he shook his head. "I must return Isolde to her husband."

Arthur felt his breath catch; he had assumed the two of them were a couple but there had been little time to exchange histories. So Tristan had stolen another man's wife. Arthur was uncomfortably reminded of what had transpired between Lancelot and Guinevere before he forced the memory away. "If you want to return to Camelot, then you may do so after your errand."

A wry chuckle escaped Tristan's throat. "I don't expect to return. I expect there is still a death sentence on my head and Isolde's husband will quickly send me to join my beloved." His eyes fixed on the bundle and his hand clenched the blanket so tightly his knuckles whitened. "And it cannot be soon enough."

Though Arthur wanted to protest the foolishness of Tristan deliberately sending himself to his own death, the king had no words of comfort to offer. If Guinevere was dead, his life would be worth nothing. The past few months had been hellish enough not knowing where she was, looking around every room without seeing her face, turning at every woman's voice and never hearing hers. If she had not betrayed him … But Guinevere was home now. Seeing his sweetheart's smile and hearing her laugh was a joy Tristan would not know again.

Gently, Arthur squeezed Tristan's shoulder and then stepped back to allow Merlin to say his own farewell.

When they had bid their goodbyes, Tristan straightened his shoulders, gave them both a nod, and climbed on the driver's seat. The bundle rocked slightly as the cart's wheels rattled and bounced across the stone courtyard. Then horse, driver, and cart disappeared through the arched gateway and the creaking of the wooden cart faded into the noise of a hundred other people going about their business.

For one moment, Arthur stared at the archway without speaking, his mind filled with the picture of Tristan on the floor of the throne room, Isolde's body clenched in his arms, his head buried in her blonde hair. It could have been himself crouched over Guinevere's body; she told him Morgana had held a sword to her former maidservant's throat and nearly struck a fatal blow. In all these months they had been apart, he had never imagined Guinevere dead; lost to him, yes, but with that faint possibility that he would lay eyes on her again.

"She's tidying up in your chamber," Merlin said.

"What?" Arthur frowned at his servant.

Merlin only smiled back. "Gwen is tidying up in your chambers."

Arthur glanced down at his sweat-soaked tunic and stained trousers. Hardly appropriate apparel for a king to be wearing when he made a proposal of marriage. But then, that was not nearly as important as what he needed to tell Guinevere right now, without changing clothes, without receiving one more report, without hesitating another instant.

He wanted to give Merlin a suitable retort to disguise how easily his servant had known exactly what he was thinking, but Merlin would not be fooled. How could Arthur have been blinded by his uncle's false allegiance when his truest friend, the man he should have trusted above all others, had been right beside him? Merlin would never lie to him, would never play him false. He would do well to remember that in future.

"Thank you, Merlin."

The younger man's wide-eyed stare at receiving an expression of gratitude instead of a snide comment felt nearly as satisfying as a delivering proper insult would have. Arthur gave him a wide grin along with a punch in the shoulder and went to find Guinevere.

Morgana felt her legs give way and sank to the leaf-covered forest floor. Her left hand clenched more tightly against the gash in her right side. Blood was warm on her fingers. She tried to brace herself with one hand pressed to the dirt, but her right arm shook and she collapsed. Her mouth sucked in dirt and bits of dried leaves with her panting breaths.

I'm sorry, Sister. I failed you.

She closed her eyes. Everything was lost; her throne, her revenge, her army, Agravaine, her sister. There was no one left in this world who wished to see her alive again. Emrys had won. When a shadow passed over her face and the air stirred faintly under a pair of wings, she could not find strength to scare the carrion bird away.

Then a wind picked up strands of her hair and pulled them gently from her warm face. The pain in her right side which had thudded in her ears a moment ago faded to a dull ache. Her lungs filled with air.

She opened her eyes to see the most amazing magical creature perched on a tree stump, its scaly white head cocked as it chirped at her. It gurgled but she could not understand what it was trying to say. Then it flapped its leathery wings and flew straight up. Her eyes followed the beautiful creature as it soared high above her.

The month following the battle was a busy one. Arthur's advisors had been mortified at the haste with which he insisted Camelot host a royal wedding and a coronation despite being in the midst of rebuilding. The great hall had been put to rights as quickly as possible and supplies gathered for a celebration feast. Every chamber and corridor throughout the citadel had been festooned with midsummer flowers in a multitude of colours, their scents beating back the lingering stink of char and smoke.

It was hardly the most sumptuous banquet ever hosted in Camelot given the haste, but there was enough for everyone. The city was crowded to bursting with refugees from the fields Morgana had ordered burned during her brief second stint as queen. A royal banquet had been an excuse to gather all the provisions they could and feed everyone in an atmosphere of joy rather than mourning.

Besides arranging two royal celebrations, Arthur's time had been consumed with fallout from Morgana's recent coup and driving the remaining Southrons from the area. Most of Helios' troops had been conscripted slaves and had quickly dispersed; hopefully those boys would find survivors from their home villages rather than band together in outlaw gangs.

Arthur had questioned every one of his privy councillors and others close to the throne in search of conspirators, but it seemed his uncle had been the only traitor. That had been a relief despite the pain that stabbed Arthur whenever he thought of how thoroughly he had been taken in by his last living relative. Relatives. His uncle and his half-sister. That was the other issue that had consumed much of the past month: Arthur's attempts to find where Morgana had gone.

He looked at Guinevere over their breakfast table. His heart lifted at the sight of her: dark ringlets hanging loose around her face, shoulders bare of jewellery under her dressing gown.

She caught him staring and gave him a tender smile. "What's on your mind, Arthur?"

Images and sensations from earlier that morning stole his breath. "You." Then he pushed the fond memories aside to concentrate on his fugitive sister.

Gwen raised a brow. "I hope those worry lines aren't due to thoughts of me."

Arthur shook his head. "I am still concerned about Morgana. Can you go over one more time what happened when you last saw her?"

A shudder went through Gwen. "She said she hated me, not for what I had done, but for what I was destined to do." Her brow furrowed. "Then she disarmed me with only a few blows. Her blade was pointed at my throat and there was a look of such loathing on her face."

Gwen's voice trembled and his heart clenched in sympathy. He recalled the look Morgana had given him in the throne room right before she said it would give her pleasure to kill him.

"She drew back her blade and I raised an arm to try to protect myself. Then there was this loud noise and Morgana was thrown backward as though by a strong wind and chunks of the ceiling rained down on her. It was like … powerful magic."

This was what was so puzzling; Morgana had seemed powerless in the throne room and the knights she encountered in the corridor said she had used a sword against them, not sorcery. It could not have been her own magic that brought the ceiling down and transported her away, yet no one else had been in the corridor.

"You are sure no one else was there, Guinevere?"

She shook her head. "Merlin and I had separated; it was only Morgana and I. Afterward, Merlin caught up with me and asked if I was all right."

Arthur had given his idiot manservant an upbraiding for leaving Gwen to face Morgana alone. The man was hopeless with a sword but at least between two of them Morgana would not have so easily overpowered Guinevere and nearly run her through. That had been much too close for comfort.

Merlin had not been able to offer any more details of what prevented Morgana from striking the fatal blow or where she had gone, and there had been no word of the witch in the month since. If only they knew for certain she was dead, or even if they knew for certain she was not and had some clue to her whereabouts.

Later, as he sat in the council room poring over the latest information, Arthur finally put aside his worry about Morgana's strange disappearance. The current reports confirmed no Southrons remained in the vicinity of Camelot, those citizens whose fields had been burned had been given provisions, and the city had been mostly cleared of debris. The buildings torched by Agravaine and his henchmen were slowly being rebuilt.

The next report Arthur picked up described in detail what had happened to the troop Agravaine led to Ealdor in pursuit of the king. Consistent with earlier verbal reports, the scouts which had slipped across the border into Essetir confirmed that the bodies of that troop were burned and not a single survivor had escaped. That made little sense, unless there truly had been a dragon as rumour said; although that made no sense, either, since dragons were extinct.

The scouts had located Agravaine's body and brought it back to Camelot. He and half a dozen men had been found dead inside the tunnels in which Arthur and his companions had fled. There were no marks on the bodies and no evidence they had wounded any of their attackers. That report was nearly as puzzling as Morgana's disappearance.

Arthur wondered if she was responsible for Agravaine's death. His sister had no patience for those who failed her and Arthur had no doubt she would have killed her associate without a second thought, but every bit of information confirmed she stayed in Camelot while Agravaine hunted Arthur. More likely it was another ally of hers, one with magic, who executed Agravaine. If so, he or she was yet another dangerous enemy they needed to find.

Three hours later, Arthur leaned his head back, tipping it from side to side to loosen his neck muscles, and rolled his shoulders. His back ached. His butt was sore. None of his pains were the bruises and tired arms of a day spent fighting or training, the welcome soreness of physical activity and the thrill of having defeated opponents in skill and strength. He was simply tired and aching.

The council room had an odd echoey feel when the king was alone and several candles had burned down to stubs which emitted more smoke than light. Arthur blinked to clear his eyes. His gaze went to the empty seat beside him where for the past year Agravaine had sat to assist him with these tiresome duties. Often, his uncle took it upon himself to assume many of the administrative tasks Arthur hated and allowed his nephew to concentrate on security and military matters.

The king looked up from his seat at the head of the table when the door opened. A head topped with messy black hair above a ridiculous red neckerchief stuck itself through the opening and took in the guttering candles and scattered papers.

Merlin shouldered the door fully open and backed through with a tray in his hands. Arthur's mouth watered at the smell of hot grease and the sight of a tall pitcher. Merlin put the tray down on top of the papers directly in front of the king.

"I was working," Arthur said, trying to hide the way his eyes fixed on a platter of sausages.

"Time for a break." Merlin took up the pitcher and filled the empty goblet by Arthur's elbow.

Arthur gave up any pretense of not appreciating the meal and attacked the sausages.

Merlin took a step back, holding the pitcher, ready to refill the king's goblet when needed.

Arthur's eyes tracked to the empty seat beside him again. "Why don't you sit down, Merlin?"

"What?" The blue eyes were wide.

"Sit down. You must be hungry, too. And there's an extra goblet on the side table."

Merlin gawked at him. Then his eyes narrowed. "You're joking."

"No, I …" Arthur tried to think of a reason for his unusual invitation. "I'd like to ask you again about what happened to Morgana."

A guarded look flashed across his friend's face which Arthur had no time to decipher before Merlin sighed.

"I told you –"

"I know, just … have a seat and we'll talk."

With a lift of his brows, Merlin set the jug on the tray, fetched an empty goblet and sat down on Arthur's right.

The king went back to his meal and nodded at Merlin.

"Gwen and I split up in the Phoenix corridor hoping to cut off Morgana's escape. Then I heard a loud bang and when I stuck my head around the next corner, Gwen was alone but the air was thick with dust and debris drifting down from the ceiling. I made sure she was all right, then checked the hallway where the roof had collapsed. There was no sign of Morgana."

"How did you know Morgana had been there?" Arthur asked.

Merlin blinked. "I heard their voices, hers and Gwen's, before the loud bang."

"And there was nothing to indicate what happened to Morgana? She seemed powerless, could she have used a spell anyway, or did she crawl away, hide somewhere until she could escape in the confusion of the battle?"

Merlin frowned. "I really don't know. She shouldn't have been able to use magic at all, though."

"How do you know?"

His friend's gaze dropped to the pitcher on the table. "That's what Gaius says." Merlin filled his goblet with wine and took a drink.

Arthur took a deep drink himself before switching from sausage to bread. It was warm and the butter melted as soon as he spread it on a thick chunk. "Does Gaius have any theories on what may have caused that explosion? That was an incredible stroke of luck; it saved Guinevere, no thanks to you."

A muscle in Merlin's jaw twitched. "Gaius thinks that whatever prevented Morgana from using her magic caused a backlash of some kind."

That seemed plausible. "What do you think blocked her magic in the first place?"

"Emrys."

Arthur frowned. "Who? What?"

"In the throne room," Merlin said. "Morgana said, 'Not even Emrys can save you now.' And Agravaine had been asking Gaius about a sorcerer named Emrys. Gaius thinks Emrys is Morgana's enemy and the reason she was powerless when she faced you in the throne room."

Arthur remembered Gaius's defense of the old sorcerer who had killed Uther, or tried to save him, or even both. I'm not the only one seeking to protect you. There are many more who believe in the world you are trying to create. Perhaps Gaius truly believed the old man was Arthur's ally. But why would anyone with magic fight against Morgana? It was preposterous.

With a sigh, Arthur concentrated on the meal in front of him, eating more slowly now and thinking. "Do you believe Morgana has given up her quest for the throne?"

"No."

The emphatic response gave Arthur pause. "You knew about Morgana before I did, didn't you? Knew she was plotting against my – our – father before she so publically announced her heritage and stole the crown that first time."

"Yes."

"And you tried to warn me about Agravaine but I didn't listen. Everything that happened, all that destruction, was my fault."

"They betrayed you, Arthur. It isn't anything you did."

"I should learn not to trust so absolutely. I should know when someone is lying to me."

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. "Sometimes people have good reasons for lying."

"You mean when my father chose not to tell me about Morgana's true parentage?"

"Yes, that, and maybe other things."

"I would rather he told me the truth. I would rather he told both Morgana and I the truth. And I wish Morgana had been honest with me about her magic."

"What would you have done?" The intensity in Merlin's blue eyes was startling.

Arthur shook his head. "I don't know, Merlin. I really don't know, but surely it would have been better for everyone if she hadn't held such a dangerous secret until she hated and feared everyone. Perhaps we could have come to an understanding, something better than her wanting me dead." I'm going to enjoy killing you. How had it come to that? For a fleeting moment, when they confronted each other in the throne room, Arthur had seen regret in Morgana's eyes, a reflection of the longing inside him to repair their relationship. Then her face had closed against him. "Morgana was always kind and just. What happened to make her so twisted? I could have saved her."

"No, it's not you, Arthur. There were others better placed to help Morgana."

There was a bruised look in Merlin's eyes as if he blamed himself for not doing more to assist Gaius in caring for Morgana. Sometimes he was too kind-hearted for his own good, taking responsibility for events beyond his control.

But Arthur had known Morgana since childhood. They had treated each other like siblings long before either learned the truth of her parentage, yet she had not come to him in her fear and anger and he had not even noticed the change in her. "I wish she had trusted me."

Merlin's breath caught. He felt as if he had been struck in the chest with a mace again. Morgana was not the only one who had lied to Arthur, who hid secrets. His failure to be honest with her while she desperately groped for an ally in her growing terror and hatred had made it easy for Morgause to corrupt her. Would his failure to tell Arthur the truth lead to more tragedy? No matter how good his reasons for hiding his magic, it was becoming more of a burden with every passing day.

Arthur looked at him and frowned. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm just … worried about Gaius." Which was true. Only not the whole truth.

"How is he doing?"

"He's mostly regained the weight he lost during the week that Morgana starved him in that cell, but I'm not sure he'll ever be the same. He moves slower, his eyesight is weaker, and he tires easily."

"I'll make certain his duties are kept to a minimum and we can arrange for patients to come to him more often than he goes to them."

"Thank you, Arthur."

Merlin watched his friend sop up the last of the sausage grease with a hunk of bread. Gaius was not the only one who had been changed by recent events. The blond king was eating less often these days, his tanned skin losing colour due to long hours indoors, and Merlin could not bring himself to add to those worries right now by confessing his secret. It had been risky, bringing up Emrys, but he had not been able to resist taking a bit of credit in a roundabout way.

He turned the goblet in his fingers and stared into the red liquid. Excuses came as readily to his tongue as they ever had, yet it was getting harder and harder to silence his conscience when he lied to Arthur. Agravaine's gleeful accusation echoed between his ears again: How you've managed to deceive him! Perhaps we're more alike than you think. No! They were not alike, not at all.

When Uther was alive it had been best for everyone the secret was kept. Then when magic was involved in Uther's death and Arthur was grieving, he would not have understood that sorcery was anything but evil. Now, with Agravaine's betrayal so fresh, it would be terrible to reveal how Merlin had lied to his best friend for as long as they had known each other.

Would there always be one excuse or another? How was Merlin to know when Arthur was ready for the truth? Would he ever be ready? How were they going to bring about the promised future if the king was ignorant of their shared destiny?

Merlin thought of the sword mounted in a special place in the armory, waiting for the king to need it again; that beautiful sword whose power Merlin could feel even from this room. Arthur had carried that sword into battle never knowing he held powerful magic in his hand, like he faced every danger not knowing the powerful magic that kept him safe. He would never appreciate its value unless Merlin told him the truth.

Merlin looked up from the goblet in his hands and drew in a breath.

Arthur met his gaze.

"I should get back to my duties," Merlin said.

The king looked slightly disappointed but nodded. "Yes. Thank you for keeping me company, Merlin."

Arthur sighed as he pushed open the door to the Council chamber the next day, dreading the piles of paper waiting for him like an enemy that multiplied every time he struck one down. For every dispute settled, every damage claim compensated, every trade offer dealt with, three more missives showed up and the lines of supplicants waiting for a chance to air grievances and make petitions in open court grew longer instead of shorter. In the past, they would have stated their business to Agravaine, who would have decided which requests were worthy of the king's time. Now, every message and every petitioner came directly to him.

Arthur's shoulders slumped as he entered the chamber. He had spent morning and afternoon hearing petitioners and now he would spend the rest of the day in this closed chamber reading and writing tedious letters, alone.

His eyes widened to see neat piles had replaced the scattered mess he left there when he went to hold court this morning. His eyes opened wider at the sight of his manservant seated in one of the side chairs, reading through a missive that must have arrived today.

"Merlin?"

The blue eyes met his calmly as Merlin got to his feet holding the message he was reading and picked up two other pieces of parchment. "These three have to be dealt with today, no matter how tired you are after spending all day in court." Merlin gave him a sympathetic smile. "But everything else can wait. The piles by your chair are the ones you should look at first when you're ready tomorrow morning. Most of these," Merlin indicated the piles further down the table, "you can delegate to one of your council members. And Gwen can deal with the household stuff, she's perfectly capable of tracking our inventory of stores on hand and arranging deliveries when needed and she can certainly handle your staff. You don't have to do everything by yourself, you know, Arthur."

The king's gaze tracked from his friend's earnest blue eyes to the organized table. He had been so quick to allow his uncle to assume many of the duties that Arthur felt were crushing him during his father's illness. Then, after Uther's death, it made sense to make Agravaine's appointment official. His uncle was family, raised in a noble household, a trained and capable administrator and, Arthur had thought, loyal.

Yet this man standing here now in his coarse red tunic, worn brown jacket, and absurd blue neckerchief was the one who had truly been loyal. Incredibly loyal, and perfectly capable of taking on far more responsibility than Arthur had yet given him. Merlin had always been honest with him, always given him the truth whether he wanted to hear it or not. What better advisor and administrator could Arthur hope to find?

The king cleared his throat. "It has come to my attention that I'm not keeping you busy enough, Merlin. I will have to assign you additional daily tasks."

The dark-haired man raised a brow.

"A true statesman needs to delegate responsibility. Beginning tomorrow, you'll read my correspondence, handle whatever you feel you can, distribute to Guinevere any of the items that fall under her sphere of duties, and discuss the rest with me. If you find yourself able to manage that regularly, we can set up a schedule where supplicants state their business to you and you can decide whether the matter is worth my court's time."

"That sounds like a lot of extra work. What if your armour gets dull or your socks need washing?"

Arthur felt his lips twitch but refused to allow the smile to show. "We can probably reassign a few of those duties to someone better suited to the tasks, who will attend to those duties with care and enthusiasm."

Merlin grinned. "Well, Sire, if you're certain that all your personal comforts can be seen to without compromising the high standard of care you have grown accustomed to, I can probably assist you with these other duties."

"And find someone who will deliver my meals on time."

"Yes, Sire."

"And Merlin." Arthur paused until he had his servant's full attention. "Try not to look so pleased with yourself."

"Yes, Sire."

Three months later, Arthur eased himself out of bed, careful to keep the covers tucked around Guinevere. The sun spent fewer hours warming the stone of the outer walls, the breezes that crept through crevices were getting colder, and the fire in the hearth had burned low. With a shiver, Arthur flung a robe over his sleeping clothes.

He paused to admire the sight of his queen's face: smooth and relaxed in sleep, one errant black curl fallen across her cheek. Tenderly, he tucked the loose strand behind her ear. She murmured and he stepped back, hoping he had not disturbed her sleep.

Guinevere had been an immense help to him, assuming many of the duties Agravaine had overseen despite the resentment she faced from those who despised her for her lowly beginnings. She and Merlin both. The two who were valued least by those of higher birth had proved to be his greatest assets and they did so not for any reward a king could give, but out of love and loyalty. Guinevere and Merlin offered honesty and faithfulness while his uncle and his sister had betrayed him and plotted his death.

But for all their support as the kingdom recovered from its recent troubles, Arthur could not rest entirely easy. His sources had not collected a single scrap of information on Morgana's whereabouts or on whoever was responsible for the deaths of Agravaine and his troop.

Nor had there been any clue to the location of a living dragon other than a cottager dwelling near the city walls who swore to any and all that she had seen a small, white dragon sitting on a tree stump shortly after the battle. Arthur would have found the woman's story more believable if she had not been stumbling drunk when he questioned her.

Unable to sleep, Arthur made his way through quiet, darkened halls to the armory, tucked his torch into a wall sconce, and stood staring at the shining sword in its special place on the wall. The air was cool and he rubbed his arms, feeling goosebumps under the sleeves of his robe.

Torchlight reflected off metal weapons and chain mail, shadows twisted between the racks of spears, swords, and axes, but the sword on the wall gave off its own faint glow. Arthur's eyes were drawn to its golden hilt. The sword had called to him the moment he saw it buried in that stone in the woods. He had barely been able to tear his gaze from it to meet the eyes of the people gathered in the clearing to watch him pull a sword from a rock, Merlin's steady voice giving him strength.

How Merlin had found the blade and set up that display remained a mystery to Arthur; he had tugged on the sword and it had truly been stuck fast in the stone. Somehow Merlin had known it would come loose in Arthur's hand even though that ridiculous story about Bruta was clearly made up on the spot.

The golden hilt seemed to vibrate. Arthur moved closer and stretched a hand toward the blade.

"Arthur?"

The king jumped and spun around to see Guinevere watching him, her brows raised.

She stifled a yawn. "What are you doing down here in the middle of the night?"

"I …" He nearly came up with an excuse about studying poetry when it occurred to him how absurd that would sound. "I was thinking."

A smile played around her mouth. "You needed a sword for that?"

He was trying to come up with a suitable response when Guinevere's brow furrowed and she came to stand beside him. She tipped her head to the side, studying the golden-hilted sword mounted on the wall.

"That's odd," she said.

"What is?"

"That sword, it's one my father made."

"What?"

Guinevere reached out to touch the blade. "My father made this sword. Said it was the finest he'd ever forged. But," her fingers ran along the words etched into the hilt, "there was no writing on it."

"Perhaps it only resembles one your father made." Tom died a few years ago, so any weapon he forged would have been made at least that long ago. Her memory must have dimmed.

"No." She took her hand away. "This is definitely the sword he made. I wonder how it got in that stone and who engraved it with these words."

Arthur was curious about that himself. One side said "Take me up" and the other "Cast me away," which probably referred to a choice between war and peace, a time to fight and a time to reconcile. The blade was beautifully balanced, a fine sword, worthy of a king. He wanted to know more about this sword that fit his hand so perfectly. "Who did your father sell it to?"

"He never sold it. I gave it to Merlin when he asked."

For no reason that Arthur could explain his heart skipped a beat, then began to beat double time. "What?"

"Merlin came to me years ago, shortly after he arrived in Camelot, I think it was." Guinevere's forehead creased. "He said he needed a sword to save you so I gave him my father's prized blade. I was worried at first that I would be in trouble with Father, but when he died I put it entirely out of my mind."

Arthur found his palms were sweating and he furtively wiped them on his tunic. He tried to slow down the thoughts buzzing through his head so fast he could not fully grasp one before another chased it out. Agravaine and his men, dead in the tunnels after Merlin went to distract them. The rest of Agravaine's troops killed by dragonfire when Merlin went back to cover their trail. Merlin asking Gwen if she was all right after powerful magic had defeated Morgana. Merlin, the only one standing after the Great Dragon had been defeated, telling Arthur he had struck it a mortal blow. Merlin making up a story about a sword in a stone and that sword coming loose as if by magic. Guinevere telling him the Lamia had been frightened of Merlin who was the only man not to have fallen under her spell. Merlin struck down by the Dorocha and then walking into their little camp, alive and well.

The king gave himself a mental shake; what was he thinking? There was no way that Merlin was a sorcerer or could possibly have had any involvement with a dragon, if there were any dragons left alive. The idea was absurd.

Arthur chuckled and Guinevere gave him a curious look. "Well, we'll have to ask Merlin what he did with your father's sword. Maybe he'll tell us how it came to be stuck in that stone."

"Yes," she said. "But now you should come back to bed."

Her head was tilted so a few tight dark curls brushed her shoulder. When his gaze fastened on her face, Guinevere's brown eyes brightened. She took his hand and backed slowly toward the armory door, pulling him with her. Thoughts of the sword and its strange history faded as Arthur followed.

It was nearly a year since his father's death. Arthur stood in front of the stone tomb with his father's likeness carved into its lid, four tall candelabra standing sentinel. Dozens of candles were lit on each but the light did little to dispel the damp and coolness of the crypt. Even in summer the stone was cold, and this late in the year autumn's chill oozed from the walls and floor.

So much had happened since the day his father saved him and then collapsed to the assassin's blade. His father had been taken away too soon; so many times in the past year Arthur wished he could have asked his father's counsel. He was certain Uther would not have fallen so completely under Agravaine's spell. On the other hand, Uther had been as deceived by Morgana's treachery as Arthur had; he had not been perfect, though he had been a strong ruler. His father rarely asked anyone's counsel and he never shrank from making a tough decision. He had had confidence and years of experience that Arthur would not match for a long time.

Odin sent the assassin that killed Uther, there was no further doubt, yet the other king was beyond retribution. Arthur would not start a war merely to avenge his father, although if ever there was an opportunity to strike a blow against Odin he would not hesitate to act. And the old sorcerer who had ultimately killed Uther, or failed to save him, remained at large. Arthur's efforts to find him and bring him to trial had been unsuccessful. The old man never returned to that little hut in the Forest of Glaestig where he had met with Arthur. Of course, a sorcerer of his power would have no trouble disguising himself; he could be within Camelot itself and Arthur would not know.

Gaius knew more about that old sorcerer than he was willing to share, that was certain. I chose to protect him. I feared you would seek him out and execute him. That would've been a grave mistake. The sorcerer did not kill your father. Uther was dying. He tried everything in his power to save him. Contained within this great kingdom is a rich variety of people with a range of different beliefs. One day you will learn, Arthur. One day you will understand...just how much they've done for you.

Arthur sighed deeply. Soon, he would have a long talk with Gaius and find out exactly what the old physician knew about sorcery in Camelot. Meanwhile, Arthur had a meeting to attend. The council was waiting for its leader.

Just as the king reached the corridor outside the throne room, he saw Gaius and his apprentice turn the corner ahead and disappear into the chamber. Merlin had juggled his new duties for Arthur while continuing to assist his guardian who, as Merlin said, had not entirely regained his strength after his ordeal in the dungeon. Gaius was lucky to have the young man's help, just as Merlin had been lucky to find a father to replace the one he had not known. They helped and protected each other in ways that Arthur wished he and his father could have done.

Arthur felt the breath leave his lungs. I chose to protect him. I feared you would seek him out and execute him. Agravaine's troop scorched by dragonfire. Agravaine and his men dead without a mark on them. A sword that had been in Merlin's possession buried in a stone. Morgana's defeat. Morgana's lies. Agravaine's lies. Betrayal. The old sorcerer with familiar blue eyes.

"Sire?"

Arthur forced himself to focus on Leon's face, but it felt as if he was seeing the knight's short blond beard and untidy curls through water. It was difficult to breathe. Arthur wondered if he was drowning though he stood on dry land.

He glanced into the chamber beyond. "Is the Council assembled?"

"Yes, Sire," Leon answered, his face concerned.

Arthur nodded. "Good. Guards."

Two of the helmeted men standing outside the chamber door, spears held pointing at the roof, immediately stepped forward.

"Come with me." Arthur led the way into the throne room where his Council was gathered.

Guinevere sat in the tall chair to the left of Arthur's at the head of the long table. Gaius had taken his seat, Merlin stood off to the side. The unreal feeling of being under water intensified when Arthur's gaze met his servant's blue eyes. Eyes that hid secrets Arthur was only beginning to suspect.

Confusion crept into those eyes at what Merlin saw in the king's face. Everyone in the room turned to Arthur and the two guards behind him.

He stepped aside and pointed toward Merlin. "Arrest him."

"What?" Merlin's eyes were wide now.

Guinevere's mouth dropped open. Gaius put a hand on his heart. All the other council members stared between the king and his servant as two guards took hold of Merlin's arms and waited for further instruction.

"Arthur, what's going on?" Merlin asked.

Without answering, Arthur took his seat at the head of the table and seized Guinevere's left hand in his right. A sideways glance showed her watching him worriedly.

"When Agravaine's troop chased us into those tunnels and you went back to cover our trail, what did you do?" Arthur demanded of Merlin.

Merlin paled but his voice was cool and steady. "I grabbed a branch to erase our footprints but then I saw fire and heard screaming. It seemed the soldiers weren't chasing us any more so I darted into the tunnel after you."

That matched all the information they had. Arthur faltered for a moment, and the next question came out more quietly. "When you went back to distract the ones who followed us into the tunnel, did you see Agravaine?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"Agravaine and a few of his men were not far behind us. I shouted, then I led them on a chase through the tunnels. When I was certain I had lost them, I circled back to you."

Merlin's tone was so calm, so steady, that Arthur began to feel foolish. This was Merlin, the one person in the world he could trust, the one who had not betrayed him the way everyone else had, including Guinevere.

Arthur's breathing slowed and he looked directly into Merlin's eyes. "Are you telling me the truth?"

The colour drained from the younger man's face. "No," he whispered.