Prologue: The King is Dead…

Stay… you belong here.

For several moments - there in Arthur's bedchamber, just the two of them again as it had been so often in the past and he hadn't realized how much he missed that – Merlin allowed himself to believe the words. Halfway through their shared breakfast, he believed Arthur's words.

But as food and drink began to revive his body, exhausted from the night spent in vigil with Arthur, his mind began to rove further than the four walls of the prince's bedchamber.

No, not the prince. The king. In all but name, maybe.

Merlin belonged at Arthur's side, that much was certain. But he wasn't just a manservant, anymore – nor were they on a dangerous quest, far from Camelot. His witnessed use of magic, trial and execution, had complicated things for him here. And it wasn't just, as a known sorcerer when magic was still punishable by death.

It wasn't even, everyone save a select few, believed him dead. It had been amusing to think of ghosting the corridors and shocking the handful of servants or guards who might see him, when he was living in hiding and didn't want anyone to believe him alive. If he was going to come back, like Arthur was thinking, that misconception would have to be corrected, at the very least…

Arthur, who hadn't said a word since they sat down, himself at the head of his table and Merlin at his right hand, hadn't taken a bite for some moments. Abruptly he ceased toying with his food to lay his fork down; Merlin said nothing as he shoved his chair back, and strode to the window to lean on the casement in an attitude Merlin knew well. Bothered by something he hadn't figured out yet.

A year ago, Merlin could have teased and insulted the matter out of him, and they could have had a discussion disguised as a verbal joust. He could have done it if Arthur had lost an argument with Morgana or a tournament match or even one of his own men on patrol.

But his father…

Merlin turned his own fork over in his fingers, remembering his own experience. Had Arthur felt that, utterly helpless as his father's lifeblood stained his hands and life ebbed palpably in his arms?

"What are you thinking?" Arthur said.

Merlin glanced up to see that he hadn't turned from his window, and the view of the training field – which would probably be deserted, today. Out of respect. "Why?"

"You are never this quiet."

Faintly goading. Which was familiar.

"I was thinking the dishes need doing," Merlin said lightly.

And Arthur would have to be dressed in more formal attire – he tried to remember if Arthur had much black in his wardrobe, and realized he hadn't any idea, any longer. Orryn would know. But then, Arthur would require attending at a council meeting, almost surely – he'd have to speak to Gaius about the practical arrangements, and Geoffrey about the correspondence that would go out to Camelot's allies.

If Arthur snorted, it was too quiet for Merlin to hear. "Help yourself."

But Merlin probably couldn't set foot outside the room without causing panic, and raising issues that would complicate this day unbearably for his friend and king.

"Arthur," he said. The young king didn't move, arms crossed and chin tucked down on one fist. "I think I should go, after all."

"Well, surely you remember where the kitchens are."

Was it Merlin's imagination that his teasing sounded desperate? "Arthur…"

A moment passed, before Arthur shifted to study him expressionlessly – and for once Merlin couldn't tell what he was thinking. "You would keep hiding?"

"Yes," Merlin answered. "I mean, no, not… just, I can keep waiting, I don't mind..." He wanted to make it a joke, and say, it won't always be like this, hot and noisy, like he'd teased Arthur once in the back room of Elyan's forge. But today was not a day for light-heartedness.

Into the silence came a quick light knock – Arthur recognized it as Merlin did, and raised his voice. "Come."

Merlin stood and turned as the door creaked open and Gwen in her favorite lavender dress, embroidered with flowers, slipped inside. Her glance took in Merlin at the table and the picked-over breakfast tray, before she wordlessly closed the door behind her, and crossed to Arthur. Rising on the toes of her slippers, she put her arms around his shoulders, cupping his neck in one hand. He deflated into her, holding her tightly with his face turned into her neck.

Merlin studied the toes of his boots and thought about the third reason he shouldn't stay.

They might've whispered, they might have kissed each other, but when Arthur cleared his throat, Merlin looked up to see that they'd drawn back a bit, though each still had an arm around the other – Gwen's at Arthur's waist, his over her shoulder. And Merlin was certain it hadn't even occurred to her, that Arthur's choice of wife was now subject to no one else but him.

"So, Guinevere," Arthur said – and there he was again, trying for a normal tone. "Help me convince Merlin that he should stay."

"I just think," Merlin said, attempting to explain, "not today. People don't know I'm even alive, it would cause panic –"

"Orryn knows, doesn't he?" Arthur interrupted.

Merlin met Gwen's eyes for confirmation, and nodded. Orryn was pragmatic and level-headed and unimaginative; he'd been surprised but not hysterical to see Merlin evidently alive and well. He accepted the truth of his own five senses without fearing more.

"Have him go with you, and he can explain how you're not a ghost, to everyone you see." Arthur seemed perfectly satisfied with that suggestion, though Gwen's jaw was set in her characteristically-gentle skepticism.

Merlin could just imagine. Over and over again, the curly-haired servant having to call after someone and convince them. Over and over the reactions of people he was once acquainted with. Maybe some relief – there had been many more sympathetic than gloating faces, at his execution – but probably, far more suspicion. He wasn't just a boy who'd learned a spell to defend his prince, and used it clumsily but effectively, anymore. He'd be seen as a sorcerer capable of strong magic. And deception.

The servants were a superstitious lot, anyway, as were most of the common people of Camelot. He couldn't imagine the reactions of the knights, nor the nobles…

"But Arthur," he tried to reason with his friend without hurting him even more, today, "there's still the problem of magic being illegal, you know the guards or the knights will expect to arrest me, and right now… I mean, after – um, last night… and before you're actually…"

"I think he's right," Gwen said.

Arthur twisted away from her incredulously. "What?"

"Listen, you want him here, so do I. So does Gaius – and you know Merlin wants to stay." Arthur glanced at him, and Merlin wasn't sure what the king saw on his face. "But think. If he's seen here today, folks may think about and talk about a ghost or a sorcerer – but someone will say murderer. And that's a rumor that will follow you both."

Arthur took another step back from her, before turning to stare at Merlin. "I see," he said. "And you already thought of that, didn't you."

"The timing isn't good," Merlin said, pleading with him to understand. "Last night was too late for many people to be aware of what was going on, and this morning – if someone that everyone thought your father executed for sorcery is just here, and to stay…" And under the new king's protection and favor.

Arthur dropped his head. Moments passed, and Merlin sent Gwen a wordless plea. She stepped to take Arthur's hand again. "Just not today, Arthur," she emphasized softly.

"Today should be for you. And your father," Merlin said.

The king gave a single nod, without lifting his eyes. And Merlin knew, as if he'd already seen it, already lived it, that Arthur would hold a second night's vigil in the grand receiving hall, alone with the dying candles til the morning dawned a new day. And everyone else would arrive for the procession, down to the vaults where Uther's body would be laid to rest in the crypts with his ancestors. Then – barring complications of the sort Merlin himself would present, involuntarily – Arthur's coronation would be held tomorrow afternoon.

"I will send Leon," Arthur added, "out to the ruins. With him escorting you, there should be no… difficulties."

"Thank you, sire," Merlin said sincerely.

Arthur's face twisted just slightly; to cover it, he looked away toward the window so swiftly Merlin doubted what he'd seen. And to pretend he hadn't, he tucked his cloak over the crook of his arm; it was far too late in the morning for sneaking out, he'd have to use magic.

"I should… be going, then. The others will be wondering…" Arthur gave another nod of understanding, and Merlin crossed to him, reaching to grip his king's arm. "I believe in you," he said. "I can't imagine you feel ready for this – that you can see yourself as ever being ready for this, right now –" He remembered this feeling, himself; he still felt this feeling. "But you are capable, Arthur. All anyone can ask is your best – and you already do that."

He expected a smile, at least. Maybe half-incredulous, half-mocking, but a smile. A sarcastic inquiry as to where Merlin had picked up his bits of wisdom. But Arthur simply breathed, in and out, and acknowledged the words with another slight inclination of his head.

"Thank you for your willingness to help," he said. Neutrally. Almost… officially. A wrinkle appeared between Gwen's dark brows as she looked at him.

Merlin didn't let go. "I am sorry I wasn't here when you needed me."

"I am too," Arthur said softly.

He stepped back, called the words to mind – then hesitated. Somehow it was different, breaking the law with magic, now that it was Arthur's law. "With your permission, my lord?"

Arthur looked startled as well, as if he felt it, too. Looking the other way while he was a prince who disagreed with his father the king, might feel different to his sense of honor than condoning what the rest of the kingdom still considered evil. Finally he said, with another attempt at a more characteristic tone, "Go on, Merlin."

Gwen gave Merlin an encouraging nod, then looked up at their well-beloved friend. He felt better, knowing that she would be there for Arthur, and spoke the spell. "Bedyrne me – Astyre me thanonweard!"

Wind plucked at his clothing, and he closed his eyes against Arthur's expression – moments later feeling the dim and damp and draft of the ruins.

"Merlin!" Gwaine exclaimed, and he opened his eyes.

His two outlaw friends were crouched together at the hearth; Lancelot stood as a noise near the door behind Merlin drew his attention to Percival, just entering, with a slight pause to recognize that Merlin was back.

"So what happened?" Gwaine continued.

Merlin stepped to the round stone table that filled half their crumbling hall, draping his cloak over the back of one of the chair, as Percival joined them. "Uther was killed last night. Assassinated."

Gwaine stood. "He's dead?"

Merlin nodded; for a moment they were all silent, trying to adjust to a startling truth, the momentous change.

"How's Arthur?" Lancelot ventured.

"He's handling it." Merlin looked down at his cloak, adjusting the fold and fall of the rough material. "About as well as can be expected."

"What is it, then?" Percival said quietly to him. "We don't have to worry about execution anymore, if we're caught, right?"

Without answering the question, which was rather rhetorical anyway, Merlin said, "He's going to change."

Lancelot began to protest, but Gwaine's humor was gone, as he mouthed a silent but eloquent, Ah. And Merlin, who alone knew the truth of why Gwaine particularly might understand, held his gaze.

"You really think King Arthur will be different from Prince Arthur?" Percival asked seriously.

"He'll have to be," Gwaine said on a sigh. "He'll be the one giving orders, instead of choosing whether or not to obey. Giving instead of receiving reprimands…"

How much would Arthur change, though, was the question that concerned Merlin. And how much would Merlin himself have to change, in the days and weeks and months – years? – to come…

Chapter 1: …Long Live the King

Arthur strode down the corridor of the citadel that was now only his, and never felt more alone.

King. He was to be king. Not a new idea, of course, but now it was tomorrow.

Guinevere was very good for him; he loved her and just sitting quietly with her was soothing to his heart, this morning. But every time he opened his mouth to unburden himself in expressing the feelings of loss and trepidation, he remembered. She was one of those that now looked to him. For protection, for leadership… and how could the people have confidence in their king if he hadn't much in himself? Finally, she had taken his silence for a desire to be alone, and had excused herself to help Gaius. He hadn't called her back.

A king must control his emotions, his father had told him, more than once, or how can he control anything else?

He wished, suddenly, that Merlin walked at his heels instead of Orryn. Merlin would know what to do or say – Orryn still didn't believe it was his place to speak without prompting, to question or criticize or debate.

But as they rounded the last corner and he saw the two knights posted at the council-chamber door, he realized. Merlin had been right. If the black-haired sorcerer walked behind him, those men would immediately level their spears, exclaim and protest over the magic, an escaped criminal's freedom.

It was a battle he fully intended to fight, and begin today. But one he was less likely to win quickly and cleanly if he was put on an immediate defensive.

"Sire," said the nearest guard, as they both stiffened to attention.

He nodded, not slowing, and each moved to open one door, swinging them inward to announce his arrival. As he passed, and one made to follow him to stand attendance inside the room, he spoke to the other. "Send for Sir Leon, have him wait here for my signal."

Click of heels, bow of helmeted head, and Arthur faced the room and the meeting and the undertaking awaiting him.

Eight men on the lesser council, and he looked at each as he stepped to his place, all dressed in the formal and respectful black of mourning. Gaius and Geoffrey he was certain of, the other half dozen he'd wait to see. The familiarity was less – and that worked both ways. Or, didn't work, as the case may be… This room and these men had always been so dominated by his father, Arthur felt slightly unsure of himself – but it helped to think of the way he himself led the knights in patrol and in training.

"My lords," he said evenly. "Thank you for coming. Please be seated." He remained on his feet through the shuffle, resting one forearm along the back of the chair that was his as prince. "It seems you all have heard the news. The king is dead."

"Long live the king," Geoffrey said softly, but Arthur didn't pause to acknowledge him.

"Uther Pendragon… was killed by an assassin hidden among the performers at last night's… banquet," he continued. "The man drugged me and attempted to kill me. He succeeded in murdering both guards posted in the corridor, but my father arrived in time to save my life, and take the blade meant for me."

"May he rest in peace," Gaius said, gaze on the table in front of him; he looked as weary as Arthur felt.

"In the days to come, the other performers will be questioned, and we will attempt to discover who was behind the plot that claimed the king's life."

The men were nodding; they were of his father's generation, those with lands closest to Camelot which allowed for their residence in the citadel, or those with reliable stewards keeping track of their estates.

"Geoffrey," he added, "I believe this is where I turn things over to you."

"Indeed, my lord." The old man scraped his chair back from the table with an effort, and rose ponderously to address his peers. "My fellow lords. Gaius our very able court physician assures me that arrangements have been made regarding our late king. His body will lie in state in our grand receiving chamber as the people of Camelot mourn his passing this night. Tomorrow we lay him to rest – and crown our new king."

He felt eyes on him, measuring him differently than they ever had before, but he kept his gaze steadfastly on the court recorder.

"Arthur Pendragon has been King Uther's heir since the moment of his birth, uncontested and unrivaled. Tomorrow we all swear fealty to a new sovereign. Therefore, today is our chance to speak."

Silence. Arthur breathed, and held himself still, and did not meet anyone's eyes. He didn't anticipate any opposition – couldn't imagine anyone setting another candidate forward – a formality only, but.

Power was balanced, always. The relationship of king to people, noble or common, one of mutual give and take, based on trust and confidence. His authority extended so far as he could enforce it, as long as he commanded the loyalty of the knights. Any given lord would not wish to stand against him, withholding taxes in any form, but. Were he to levy impossible sums for frivolous reasons – or commit any other royal travesty – the lord offended would find support among his fellows, and there simply weren't enough troops to send to every estate and force the issue against whatever defense its lord could raise. And without the means to pay or support the knights and guards, their loyalty could be expected to slip. In such straits, who could blame an enemy king for attacking at Camelot's moment of weakening in-fighting.

So the king was sovereign insofar as he maintained the support of the majority of his council and his fighting force. In retrospect and after talking with Gaius at length, Arthur believed it was his father's canny management of foreign powers as well as the consistent domestic prosperity – not to mention swift and ruthless use of armed force – that had allowed Uther to institute the set of laws commonly referred to as the Purge.

Only time would tell if Arthur was able to dismantle them. For today, no one had anything to say against him.

"I for one," Gaius said suddenly into the stillness, "wish to express my appreciation and support for Prince Arthur. He has grown to be a fine young man, an able warrior with an open and intelligent mind and a noble spirit. Camelot will prosper under his reign, perhaps even more than under his father's."

A murmur of agreement ran around the room. Arthur's throat was tight, but he managed a nod of gratitude for the old man's words. Seeing as how Gaius already knew exactly why Arthur would need that support, in the days to come.

Geoffrey turned to Arthur, with a little bow that anticipated Arthur's coronation on the morrow, a ceremony that the old records-keeper himself would perform. "It has long been a custom for a new monarch to celebrate the commencement of his reign with acts of mercy or generosity. Seeing as how this event was both sudden and… emotionally trying, perhaps you would like a few days to decide –"

Arthur had expected this. "No, that won't be necessary," he said. "I am prepared to inform the council of my intentions in the matter now."

And hope to high heaven that he wouldn't spend the rest of the day arguing.

"I see." Geoffrey was long used to covering reactions in this room – or anywhere, maybe, just as Gaius was. "By all means, proceed." He was the only one who'd brought parchment, quill and ink to the table; he settled himself and began to write a draft of the official proclamation.

Generally speaking, Arthur as the accepted heir ascendant, could enact whatever he liked, on this day of his coronation, insofar as it affected specific individuals. In reality, if his choices seriously offended too many of these men, made them doubt his capability of ruling for any reason, he would weaken his support among them and have to fight and compromise for years, maybe, to achieve the sort of autonomy his father had enjoyed.

At the same time, it was a unique opportunity, and he might as well start as he meant to go on. They had to deal with him as much as he had to deal with them.

"Two pardons," he said, glancing around the table. "I want banishments lifted."

Geoffrey said respectfully, "Names?"

"Lancelot," Arthur said. "And Gwaine."

The quill hesitated, poised in midair. "Both men in question were banished by the late king for crimes that included impersonation of nobility by deception, am I correct?"

"You are," Arthur said neutrally, not for the first time wondering exactly how Gwaine had managed to get himself into that melee. "And both men also saved my life, in so doing. I would like pardons allowing them free passage throughout our lands, out of gratitude."

Geoffrey nodded, the quill scratching as some of the others whispered to each other. Arthur ignored them; Gaius raised one eyebrow severely to keep from smiling.

"Also I wish to bestow three knighthoods," Arthur went on. He'd struggled with this decision, but concluded it would be counterproductive to ask for too much at this stage. If he granted two of the three, it would make other knighthoods possible – even probable, in the near future, and introduce one of the changes he wished to make.

"Names," Geoffrey said again.

"Young Carados has almost earned the test, and is more than capable of passing it," Arthur began. "I'd like to waive the trial-of-arms and knight him following the ceremony tomorrow afternoon."

A few nodded, no one protested. Geoffrey said absently, "He and his family would be pleased to have the honor of a coronation knighthood… The others?"

Arthur inhaled, and didn't smile. The first name had been deserving, but strategic… "Lancelot, and Gwaine."

Geoffrey straightened and stared at him; the murmurs increased. Someone said, "What?"

Someone else said, "Impossible – they're commoners, aren't they?"

"Yes," Arthur said, now meeting each lord's eyes in turn. "And both have publicly proven their skill equal to any knight. As well as lending their abilities and risking their lives in last year's invasion by the witch Morgause and her enchanted army."

"You have proof, of course," Geoffrey said, with a glance at the others. Spokesperson, often; Arthur had noticed that, before.

Arthur gestured at the guard, who nodded and turned to draw one of the great wooden doors open. He spoke inaudibly to someone outside, then stepped away to admit Leon.

It was good for Arthur to see the senior knight; Leon's concerned gaze found him immediately. Whatever he saw, his expression eased slightly, and he took in the rest of the men at the table, stepping forward deferentially. "My lords."

"Will you please relate to the council, your observations of the actions and attitudes of the two men named Lancelot and Gwaine, last year when the witch Morgause invaded Camelot?" Geoffrey said.

Leon drew himself into a posture of attention, taking a moment of thought. Arthur had discussed this with him before, but not recently, though he didn't seem to need the reminder to understand what was going on. "My lords, you all recall that she gained complete control very swiftly. I and my fellows – those of us still alive after the brief initial battle in the streets –"

Arthur swallowed, remembering the choice he'd made – while his men and his people were fighting and dying, he had not been with them. Seeking the one weapon that could save them all, yes, but still.

"-Were incarcerated in the dungeons, along with King Uther. We knew she kept us alive only until Prince Arthur was found – and that seemed inevitable. We were guarded by nine or ten of her enchanted soldiers and had little hope of freedom or life, when these men Lancelot and Gwaine – and another, their companion Percival – appeared to trap our jailors and unlock our cells. They aided us in holding the dungeon-level against more enemies from above, until Prince Arthur succeeded in breaking the witch's enchantment, elsewhere in the citadel. In my opinion, King Uther might have been killed that day, and most if not all of the knights, but for them. They are good, honorable men who risked their lives for us with no thought of reward, and I am proud to call them friends."

Arthur was proud to call Leon friend; that last bit was true feeling, unprompted.

"Deserving of knighthood?" Lord Urbert remarked snidely. He was a pale, limp man with pale limp white hair, but sharp eyes.

"Absolutely." Leon met his gaze unflinchingly. "We would be lucky to have them in our ranks."

"In spite of their disregard for Camelot's laws and the king's edict?" Geoffrey pressed.

Leon gave him a small smile. "To save the king's life, or his heir, I would do so myself, come what may."

"Do you plan to grant them lands, or a sum of gold also?" Lord Emund asked Arthur directly. He was one of the younger councilmen, though still at least fifty years of age – narrow-shouldered and paunch-bellied, with a bristle of black hair skirting a bald pate. He usually gave the impression of absent-minded boredom or even simplicity, mouth drooping open under the bristle on his upper lip. But that was only an impression, Arthur knew.

"No, I don't," he said. "Just the title, the duties, the pay."

"Will the other knights accept common-born men sharing the benefits of their status?" Lord Rowland inquired. He was the oldest member of the eight men, if Arthur wasn't mistaken. Slow of speech and step and bowed by age, still he kept the last long wisps of the fair brown hair of his youth adorning a shiny scalp. And it was hard to tell what he truly thought; he rarely looked up and spoke seldom, but occasionally argued both sides of an issue.

"It will take getting used to," Leon admitted, "but a truly noble man should admit and admire the skill of another, whoever he may be, and appreciate needed aid coming from any quarter."

"I believe," Geoffrey said, looking around at his companions, "if you are ready to deal with whatever consequences arise from your choices, Arthur, we have no serious protests to raise."

"Let the records show I am against it," Lord Urbert said suddenly.

"And I," sighed old Rowland.

"Then let the record also show I whole-heartedly endorse the knighthood of both men," Gaius said.

Leon stepped back, and Geoffrey nodded as he scrawled. "Now –"

"One more thing, my lords," Arthur said. And his heart-rate hammered fit to rival Elyan's best performance. Ye gods, what he wouldn't give for this to be a joust of swords, not words. "Another name. The man who accompanied me in my infiltration of the palace during last year's invasion, protected me and helped me end not only the enchantment, but also the witch's life."

"Another criminal?" Lord Urbert said, beady eyes snapping.

Arthur almost laughed. "As a matter of fact, yes. Tried and found guilty of law-breaking – may I add that it was not murder or theft, assault or fraud – he was sentenced to death and escaped. But remained in hiding nearby for such time as he was needed."

"You would like his sentence lifted also?" Geoffrey said. "Another pardon, another knighthood?"

"No, I don't believe a pardon is appropriate." Not the least because such a thing covered past misdeeds, not future ones – and Arthur was quite sure there was magic in Merlin's future, and probably before he was able to finish what he intended with Camelot's code of law. "And not a knighthood either, he has no skill to speak of with a sword."

He thought he'd managed to speak without sarcasm, but Leon bit his lip and Gaius' eyebrow was up, though the rest of his expression remained unchanged.

"A condemned criminal, sire, but no pardon granted?" Geoffrey asked, mildly confused. "What is it you wish to give him?"

"Freedom," Arthur said. "For invaluable service to myself personally and the entire kingdom of Camelot."

"His name?" Geoffrey said, his eyes back on the parchment as his quill hovered; he anticipated no argument from the others.

Arthur was not so hopeful – and at least Lord Rowland had divined the difference between pardon and freedom. The old man tilted his entire upper body backward to lift his head, alarm twisting his wrinkled face. "His crime?"

There was nothing for it. Arthur said, "His name is Merlin."

A mild, elderly sort of pandemonium erupted – with the protests that Arthur had anticipated. A sorcerer. But he's dead.

Arthur let the noise rise as the men argued for a moment, then moved to the head of the table, where his father had presided – slowly and deliberately. Shifting the high-backed chair to give himself space to stand, he leaned on the table and stared the council down, member by member, wordlessly waiting – breathing evenly, hoping this was going to work, and not ruin all – until they realized where he was and who he was.

He couldn't force them to accept. Neither could they deny his wishes for the morrow. But he did not want to undermine himself with these men by assuming the sort of power his father had wielded, so soon.

"You all saw it," he said mildly into the silence. "His execution. I was unaware that he'd survived the ordeal for several weeks, myself. I asked him how, and he said, magic. Of course. Magic strong enough to escape the pyre of a public execution, and none the wiser – if he had intended harm to myself or my father, or any of us, he could have accomplished it easily. He could have accomplished it by doing nothing, the day of the bandit attack and his arrest. He is no danger to Camelot, you have my word on it."

"Sorcery is punishable by death," Lord Emund observed, on the edge of his seat, half-turned to face Arthur, one arm resting on the table as if to brace himself. "Simply because the execution was not complete –"

"It was presided over by the king who commanded it, and he was satisfied with the event," Gaius commented.

"Please." Arthur lifted his hands. "I did not wish to discuss the merits of the laws my father instituted and fought for decades to enforce, this day of all days."

Another day, though.

"Why is a simple pardon not enough, Arthur?" Geoffrey queried. "Convert the sentence to banishment, as you did for the sorceress Alice."

"No," Arthur said immediately, addressing the court recorder's second comment. "This is his home. He has fought to defend Camelot as well as any knight."

"With magic!" Urbert protested, incredulous. "I cannot believe that you intend a sorcerer to walk our streets freely – among our people, our children –"

"He's walked these streets freely for years, before he was found out," Arthur retorted, "and we are all the better for it, rather than otherwise."

Oh, that he hadn't seen that quirk of a smile on Gaius' face.

"There may be riots, Arthur," Lord Rowland said softly. "If your people dislike your benevolence, making him a favorite, an exception – what will you do?"

Not an exception, but an example. He hoped. "Protect him and them, to the best of my ability," Arthur responded. And those sorts of situations would be ten times worse, if rumor spread that Arthur had freed a sorcerer in spite of the opposition of the entire council.

And maybe they knew it, too. Without an alternative candidate for heir, they could not even threaten to delay his coronation, much less deny his choice of favors-of-the-day. But whether they would be willing to make the best of a bad situation…

"May I suggest," Geoffrey enunciated, "conditions. A parole of sorts, if and until such conditions are met."

"Conditions?" Arthur said.

"No more magic," Urbert said immediately.

"Perhaps a second trial," Emund said, frowning thoughtfully, arms crossed above his paunch. "I confess I found his first unsatisfactory, myself, as far as coherent information was concerned. And the reports of his confession – broken as disjointed as it was – mystifying. Perhaps if this council was to question him further, until we are as satisfied with the situation as Arthur is?"

Arthur inhaled, thinking quickly. Any sentencing they requested for whatever they found offensive among Merlin's secrets would ultimately be up to him, anyway. "Private and confidential sessions," he said, and wondered if Merlin would consider it a steep price for freedom.

"Are you serious?" Urbert said to Emund. "How could we trust a word he said? All sorcerers are liars!"

"Would you lie to save your life?" Rowland said to him across the table, slow and gentle. "Would you lie to protect your family? Perhaps if it were not necessary for a user of magic to hide and conceal, we would say, sorcerers always tell the truth."

Arthur allowed for a moment of silence. "Do you trust me, my lords," he said.

Half a second, and the obligatory murmurs of assent followed. He held their gazes, one after another, trying to convey his desire for mutual confidence and will their minds open.

"I trust him," he said simply. "I will inform him of your conditions and hold him to the truth…"

Memory pricked him, with the last time he'd told Merlin, You have to cooperate, you have to answer him, you have to tell the truth…

"But he will be present at my coronation tomorrow," Arthur finished unequivocally. "If not for him, I would not have lived to see it."

Seven old men looked at each other with varying degrees of uncertainty. Gaius gave Arthur a brief but proud nod, and didn't look away as Geoffrey spoke the words to adjourn the meeting.

Arthur straightened and retreated a few steps, sensitive to the discussion that would inevitably continue – and spread as rumors. Which was fine by him, it would lessen the shock of the proclamation, and the actual presence of the young sorcerer.

Emund bowed last, holding Arthur's gaze; Rowland shuffled past him, pausing to grip Arthur's arm. "Your father, for all his flaws, was a good king," he said softly. "I see much of him in you."

"Thank you very much," Arthur said, turning slightly away from the room – as if to watch the old man's slow hobbling exit – and squeezing involuntary tears from his eyes with thumb and forefinger. A king controls his emotions, he told himself, squaring his shoulders and turning back – though he was quite sure Gaius was too close to him to be fooled.

"I wish he could have heard you, just now," the old physician said, and Arthur knew he wasn't speaking of the same person Rowland had. "There were times he despaired of you. Few and brief though they were."

"I could probably think of a couple," Arthur said ruefully. "He was right, though. This morning I wanted him to stay, and he said, not today. He was right."

To prevent the sort of general uproar that would have the council opposing him in hysterics, Merlin would have had to keep to Arthur's room anyway – and then caused a furor no matter when he stepped out. It wouldn't be much better to have rumors and conjecture meet him at the gates of the lower town, whisper and stare and follow all the way to the citadel, but at least it wouldn't be screams of terror or accusations of necromancy or murder or both.

"He often is, in the end," Gaius sighed. "I shall look forward to having him back, though it won't be easy."

"Tomorrow's the first step," Arthur said.

"Yes, it is. But how long will the journey take?" Gaius squeezed his upper arm compassionately, turning to take his leave. "Excuse me, sire, I have a few last preparations to see to."

"Of course."

Gaius was not the last one from the room, but the other pair swiftly followed – Geoffrey arguing with Urbert. Arthur jerked his head as an invitation to Leon, waiting respectfully by one of the columns.

"Tomorrow morning, after we've laid my father to rest –" Arthur swallowed, chin up and control – "I need you to ride to the ruins and bring them here. In time for the coronation. Take someone you trust with you."

Leon was not senior knight for nothing. His eyes widened briefly – turned thoughtful – understood. "Yes, my lord."

Outside the door, Leon headed one way; Arthur turned the other to find fuzzy-haired Orryn waiting. "I have your noon meal ready in your room, sire. I thought you might also appreciate a hot bath, and a chance to rest, before…"

Before tonight. "Yes, thank you, Orryn," Arthur sighed.

A/N: I have the feeling this story is going to have a pace similar to the first… Bear with me?