The present is the ever moving shadow that divides yesterday from tomorrow. In that lies hope.
- Frank Lloyd Wright

Even though the sun was doing little for warmth, it made a lovely sight as it shone brightly down on Camelot. As Arthur stepped out of the castle and spotted Guinevere in the courtyard, he decided that the sunlight paled in comparison to the picture she made. Small white flowers dotted her hair, going nicely with the pink dress she had worn to their picnic those months ago. Even a thick shawl wrapped around her shoulders to protect against the seasonal chill in the air could not detract from her beauty. He took the steps quickly, meaning to catch her up, when someone else got there first.

"Gwen!" An earnest-looking man jogged over from near the gates, beaming at her. He was quite tall, nearly Percival's height, although not as broad as the knight, and similar to Lancelot in hair and complexion. His clothes suggested someone of the working class; not a peasant, but perhaps a moderately successful merchant. Whatever and whomever he was, he was clearly happy to see Guinevere.

She stopped and looked around at the call. After a moment in which the man reached her, Arthur drew close enough to hear her exclaim, "Dorin? What are you doing here?" Then, this Dorin was hugging her and she was returning the embrace.

Arthur felt a twinge of jealousy. He had experienced that a few times before, notably with men who were now his friends, yet for some reason he felt disinclined to befriend this one. "I was passing through, and thought I'd see if you were still about," Dorin replied. With a laugh, he added, "I'm glad to find that you are."

"Good morning, Guinevere," Arthur greeted her as he joined them, giving her an innocent grin which took on a vaguely feral tone as he turned it on her companion. "Who's this?"

Looking startled, it took her a beat to respond; and when she smiled, it seemed rather forced. "Arthur! This… is Dorin. He's my— he is an old friend, who used to live across the way from my family. Dorin, allow me introduce you to Prince Arthur."

"Prince Regent of Camelot," Arthur added his new title helpfully, avoiding Guinevere's eyes.

Dorin had begun to hold out a hand, but it dropped along with his jaw at the introduction. "My lord!" he exclaimed, swooping into a low bow.

It was possible that Arthur waited a second longer than usual to indicate that Dorin should rise. Still, Guinevere did not have to nudge him so hard to get him to do so.

As he straightened, Dorin continued, "It's a great pleasure to meet you." Glancing between them, he said, "I did not realize you knew Gwen."

"He didn't," she replied, a little too quickly. "Not when you still lived here. I have been working as Lady Morgana's maid. Until recently, of course." She frowned and looked down as she said that.

Arthur added more calmly, "And through Guinevere's work here, I am very fortunate to have gotten to know her better over the last few years."

Dorin seemed rather confused, but wisely did not comment. "Well. That's actually quite fortuitous." Lowering his voice so they could not be overheard, he said to Arthur, "I'm aware of what has happened, and have news which may be of interest to you. It is about the Lady Morgana."

Arthur had not expected that and knew Guinevere was equally unprepared to hear it. He did not like her expression; while she had done her best to help with any task she could in the recovery efforts, whenever discussion about the situation arose, she became quiet. It was a feeling he understood well. While he did not want her hearing anything which might upset her further, he did not have the option of ignoring any potential word of his missing half-sister. "Come with me; we can speak in private once we are inside, and allow Guinevere to get back to what she was doing." He placed a hand briefly on her arm in support as he turned to go back to the castle.

With a nod, Dorin started to follow, when Guinevere asked, "Where are you staying?"

"I'm not sure yet," he said. "I had naively assumed that the town would be largely unchanged since I left, but the houses I visited all have new residents now. And I hesitate to stay at the inn, due to my assistant." He gestured toward the gates, and all three of them looked over to where a very young woman was sitting on an oversized pack, working on a small loom which fit over her lap. "Cerys has run into problems at a few of the inns we've patronized along the way, and I had not meant to make her deal with that here."

While in fairness, Arthur had to acknowledge that it was unlikely the man had planned it in such a way, he still grimaced inwardly when Guinevere turned toward him and said, "There must be a place round the castle…?"

"Of course," Arthur replied, trying to make it not so obviously through his teeth. "I'll have Merlin see to it. Dorin, we will talk after you have settled in."

Guinevere's grateful smile appeased him somewhat, but Arthur was still put out about he stalked back toward the castle in search of Merlin.

By the time the visitors were situated in a pair of chambers, supper was approaching. At Guinevere's prompting, Arthur invited them both to dine in the Council chamber, even though he had been anticipating an evening spent solely in her company. It seemed like there was always something preventing that from happening these days; an emergency would crop up in relation to the recovery efforts, or some person of import had to join them. Arthur was beginning to sympathize with his father's authoritarian tendencies, which would enable him to put off nearly anyone he wished. For better or worse, that was a trait that seemed not to have gone to Uther's son.

When Dorin appeared alone at the given time, he apologized for Cerys's absence. "She respectfully declines your invitation, with sincere thanks. If she's not used to rougher inn folk, she's certainly not used to being in the presence of royalty."

Seating Guinevere, Arthur remarked, "You are used to royalty, then?" He managed to make it sound like a jest, but was interested to hear how the man might respond. It was not yet widely known that Arthur paid less attention to rank than most of his peers, and he wondered if Gwen's old friend would attempt to ingratiate himself to Camelot's ruler. While Guinevere shot him a disapproving look, he could not help it; something about Dorin rankled.

And whatever that was, it rankled even more when Dorin chuckled at the question. "I would not presume so much as to claim being used to it. I've had the opportunity on a few occasions to meet with a lord or a minor king. Although," he continued, taking his seat after Arthur had, "I have never dined privately with a regent before; thank you for this invitation, sire."

"Thank Guinevere," Arthur acknowledged, not unkindly. "She's the one who thought of it."

That apparently surprised Dorin, who gave her a warm look. "Thank you, my lady."

"Oh! No." Guinevere waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not a 'my lady,' just Gwen."

"Ah." Awkwardly, he looked between her and Arthur. "I thought…"

Smiling tightly at Dorin, Arthur wished some magical creature would suddenly appear and eat him. "She said it's just Gwen." Then he beckoned to Merlin, waiting nearby. "See to it that our other guest gets a good meal and is well-situated."

As Merlin left, Dorin dipped his chin. "You have my thanks for that, as well."

"Do not mention it." Arthur would have given the order normally, but he was pleased to have diverted Dorin's attention from Guinevere. There was something in Dorin's expression that reminded him of an aging hound, and she seemed oddly tense… Oh. If he was reading the situation correctly, his dislike of the other man was entirely founded. Gwen and Dorin were behaving as though they had a history.

Feeling more tense, himself, Arthur watched as supper was laid out and then dismissed the servants. While he intended to hold off on talk of Morgana until after they had eaten, so that Guinevere could be spared that discussion, he could not guarantee that the subject would not arise sooner. And if that came to pass, he would prefer the conversation to be a private one. Slicing into the cut of beef on his plate, he said, "So, Dorin. What is it that you do?" In truth, he could not care less, but it was a simple enough question.

"I deal in fabrics. I am not a cloth merchant, myself, but I supply merchants both by arranging imports and by trading material between various regions."

"What of the shop in Mercia?" Gwen inquired.

He gave her a rueful smile. "The house that came with it was too big for one man. I figured that, since there was no family tying me down, I might as well take the opportunity to do some traveling, see the world."

Her eyes dropped back to her plate at the first part of the answer. Arthur would have appreciated context to the exchange, but was not about to beg for it it like some jealous suitor, no matter that it was feeling suspiciously like he was exactly that. Instead, he asked, "And, your assistant?"

"Cerys has only been with me a few months, but she's already proved invaluable." Dorin dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "She is a gifted weaver, and I carry her wares as well as those I collect. Also, there are weavers and cloth dyers along my route, especially women, who will deal more readily with her. I've been able to increase the quality of my regional products with her help."

That was a businesslike reply. Nothing suggested to Arthur that there might be more between the trader and his employee than only work, which came as a disappointment. It would have been too much to hope that Dorin's affections were engaged in a direction that did not encompass Guinevere, as was becoming more evident by the moment. And while he did not doubt her in the slightest, he would have preferred for her not to be quite so nice to her old friendas she said, "You've been well, then?"

"Well enough. What of your family? Is Elyan still driving your father to distraction?" he asked with a fond laugh.

Guinevere paused in the act of picking out a radish; the pain that flashed through her eyes was so quick that Arthur wondered if he caught it only because he was looking for it. "My father died about three years ago," she replied quietly.

Dorin looked instantly chagrined, and while Arthur knew it was unfair, the exchange made him like Dorin even less than before. "Gwen— I'm so sorry." A heavy pause descended on the room. Guinevere was trying to remain composed, Dorin was visibly kicking himself, and Arthur was considering doing the kicking for him. Finally, Dorin said gently, "He was a great man."

She gave him a small smile. "Yes, he was." Taking a sip of her wine, she then said, "Elyan is doing well. He's one of Arthur's knights."

Again, she had obviously surprised Dorin. "Knights of Camelot are all noble-born, as I recall," he commented neutrally.

"They were," Arthur replied. "That policy has recently changed— fortunately for Sir Elyan, as a remark like that would have made me suspicious had I thought he wasa noble," he noted with a casualness that fooled none of them.

Guinevere face became a study in exasperation at that. Turning to Dorin, she said, "You have news of Morgana?"

He paused at the abrupt change in topic, and Arthur regretted derailing the conversation. "We can speak of that later."

"No, Arthur. I want to hear this." That it was so firmly stated convinced him, and he nodded for Dorin to go ahead.

Still uncertain, Dorin nevertheless proceeded. "Whilst passing through Gawant, I heard tell that she's at the keep of King Urien of Din Rheged."

"Urien?" Arthur frowned. While he had never been an especial friend to Camelot, he had also not been an aggressor toward them. Why on earth Morgana would be there was yet another mystery in a long string of mysteries surrounding her of late.

"Yes. Moreover, she is apparently looking for a stone… the Stone of Thandrastyl, I believe it was called."

"Never heard of it," replied Arthur, looking to Guinevere for any guidance. She gave a slight shrug, reflecting his bafflement. "Do you know what it is?"

Dorin shook his head. "That's all I heard. Without knowing the situation, I did not want to ask more questions; the last I knew, she was King Uther's ward and situated here."

That was a topic Arthur was not willing to discuss, old friend of Guinevere's or otherwise. "Yes, well, as you noted earlier: things are largely changed."

Accepting the sharp tone for the warning it was, Dorin said, "Indeed," and brought up a story from when he and Gwen were younger. The rest of the meal passed with light reminiscing, making Arthur doubly glad when it was over. For one thing, he was eager to consult with Geoffrey in the archives to see if he knew about this stone.

For another thing, while he normally enjoyed hearing stories from Guinevere's life- such as when she and Elyan would discuss past events- his suspicion regarding Dorin's role in these memories leeched any enjoyment from it. While Arthur was glad for her sake that she had the chance to catch up, he was very much anticipating Dorin moving along to his next destination.

Hopefully, it would be on the next continent.

~x~x~

Carefully balancing the tray with one hand and a raised knee, Merlin knocked on Cerys's door, cringing when the platter nearly tipped over with the motion. He barely managed to catch it, asking himself for the millionth time why he did not just use magic to do things like this when nobody was about. No one would have seen him levitate the tray long enough to knock, and by the time Cerys answered the summons, he would be holding the thing again.

Even as he posed the question to himself, he knew the answer: it was far too risky. Seeing to a bunch of chores in the privacy of his own room was one thing. Using magic in the open corridor was another, even if that meant preventing a large dinner from being splattered over the flagstones.

Fortunately, the door was opened before disaster could occur. Merlin smiled a little nervously at the young woman who peered inquisitively at him as she said, "Hello, again."

At least he could not feel the tips of his ears going pink this time, as he was sure they had done when he first met her a couple of hours earlier. Cerys was really quite pretty, with wide, green eyes and light brown curls that hung down her back even further than Morgana's. And, despite the fact that she was tiny, possibly not even five feet tall, with a shy demeanor, she also radiated a self-possession that he had rarely encountered before. The contrast between that and her quiet manner was curious. "Hello. Prince Arthur had me bring you supper."

She seemed surprised, but stepped back so that Merlin could enter the room and set the tray on her table. "That was kind of him. I do not have much of an appetite." When Merlin uncovered the tray and she saw the array of food on it, she let out a small laugh. "I surely cannot eat all of that."

Merlin took another look at the spread he had assembled, and rubbed the back of his neck as he echoed her laugh. "That's my fault, I'm afraid. I was not sure what you might like, and he said to see to it that you had a good meal, so—"

"It's fine." She smiled. "And thank you for being so thoughtful. Better to have a selection than to make do with something which does not appeal."

"That was what I thought," he agreed, smiling back. An awkward moment descended as she glanced at the food, and Merlin wondered if he should go.

"Well, thank you again," she said, at the same time that he said, "I'll leave you to it." They both laughed, relaxing as they did.

"Enjoy," Merlin offered, more comfortably than he had felt around her yet. "I am especially fond of the pynade," he noted, indicating the sweets in a small bowl off to the side.

"I shall be sure to try it, then," she replied.

With a friendly nod, Merlin turned to exit. He was nearly to the door when a wave of magic suddenly hit him. It was not magic directed at him; it was radiating off of something… a small piece of tapestry which was laid on a table to the side of the chamber. After a pause, he remarked, "That's very pretty."

Moving over to it, Cerys glanced at him in a mixture of pleasure and shyness. "It's my latest piece. You truly like it?"

In fact, it was lovely, a calm scene depicting a pair of ladies sitting underneath a tree, a unicorn resting between them. "I do." Perhaps, it was not her work projecting the magic; the materials might be enchanted without her knowledge. "That is an unusual shade of green," he tried. "Where did you find it?"

She ran her fingertips over the section in question. "Oh, I make them all, myself. Even the sheep from which I get the wool are my own. It's the best way to ensure the highest quality in my pieces, although it does pose difficulties now that I am traveling with Dorin."

Merlin masked his concern, merely murmuring in agreement. "I should go, before your food gets cold."

"Of course," she agreed, clearly surprised by the abrupt end to the discussion.

As the door closed behind him, Merlin let out a sigh. Could there never be a guest at Camelot who was not secretly peddling magic?