The floor was actually quite comfortable. In a sober state, Merlin would probably not have let his face go anywhere near the old carpet, knowing all the odd things that he and Freya and a multitude of their friends had spilled on that floor and never properly cleaned out. But he was not sober right now, and he was literally rolling on the ground with laughter.

"You said what?"

"I told him to do it," Freya repeated, even though it was pretty clear from his reaction that he'd heard her perfectly the first time around. He sat up for a moment and looked at her, catching his breath, but then he cracked up again and rolled onto his back, cackling.

"And he believed you!"

"One hundred percent. Gave me a nice tip as well."

"You're evil," he asserted with a grin, arduously climbing back onto the sofa, still shaking with giggles.

It was not an impressive climb; the old thing was worn, like most things in the flat, and had collapsed quite thoroughly, making the massive amount of pillows the main difference between sitting in it and sitting on the floor. Merlin carelessly swung his wineglass from the table beside him and took another hearty sip.

"It's good, this," he said.

"Yes, it is, I told you," she said overbearingly, "And I'm not evil, I resent that." She didn't look particularly resentful, more proud to have caused such great amusement.

"When you know that sort of thing about people, it's damn hard not to try and punish them a little."

What had caused the massive laughing fit was a tale from Freya's day at work as a fortune teller. She worked both over the phone and face to face at fairs, but she was not your ordinary quack. Actual ability for magic was the very thing that had brought the two together. That was not to say that she gave true predictions all the time. She tended to reveal the sweet parts and carefully and vaguely warn against the sour, but she knew better than to let on all she knew. And some times, like today, she had people ask her for advice who did not realise that she could read their hearts like a book. Some filthy rich stock broker with a track record for abuse that no-one else was likely to discover, had today been urged to make a decision that would quite surely ruin his company.

"I know, I know, of course," said Merlin, his smile one of friendship rather than hilarity now, "I'm proud of you!"

She hadn't gone into details about what kind of abuse the man was guilty of, but Merlin suspected it had struck a cord with her past. She had never had the easiest of lives. Nor had he, for that matter, so it was nice to have each other to lean on.

"Oh! Oh, Merlin, let's do something fun," she said, her face lighting up as she clasped his hands in hers.

"Alright, like what?" he asked, putting his glass back down on the table.

"I found this spell," Freya said with a wicked grin, "And it's reeeeally childish. You'd love it."

"Would I?" he replied, "Because I am a child?"

"Yes," she nodded, "And because it's a looooove spell."

"Arh, no," he pleaded.

"Why not?"

"Because the last time you found a funny loooooove spell, we made a very good neighbour fall in love with a cat. And it wasn't funny." He only stumbled over his words a little, and he figured he might almost come off as sober, but then a decidedly tipsy giggle gave lie to that assumption. "Okay, it was hilarious. But it wasn't funny the morning after."

Freya nodded guiltily.

"No, it really wasn't. Oh, but this is different, though! It's a fortune-telling spell, and I know it's a good one, because that's my job, and it's supposed to give you a vision of your one true looooove."

"Oh, really?" Merlin said, leaning his head in his hands and smiling widely at her, "Go on. I could certainly use a bit of guidance in my love life."

She snickered.

"What love life?"

"Exactly."

She laid out some dried flowers from her bag on one of the beaded pillows from the sofa, which they had put between them where they sat, cross legged and facing each other. With unsteady hands, she lit incense and ripped a few pieces of paper from an old, leather bound notebook, one of which she rubbed against Merlin's forehead and then gave him to hold. They were both giggling all the way through. This was very unlike what they did professionally, it had much more in common with the spells they had tried when they were teenagers. Freya was right; it was really childish. But on an alcohol-soaked whim at 2 AM, it was also a great deal of fun.

"Now, repeat after me," Freya said gravely, and then proceeded to chant out a spell. It was in no language that Merlin knew, and was very different to the words he used in his own magic. He thought he recognised some of it as Latin, but he wasn't sure, that not being one of his languages. It was funny how, even working so close together, they had branched out into very different kinds of sorcery.

No sooner than the last syllable of Freya's enchantment had left his mouth, the lounge around him seemed to disappear entirely. The dark room was suddenly gone, replaced with a sunlit office. It was slightly dull, a lot of grey furnishing, but sleek, modern and clean. He was sitting at a desk, or rather, he was seeing through the eyes of someone who was. It was a bizarre feeling. He could still feel his legs crossed on the carpeted floor, feel the texture of the pillow he had his hands on, smell Freya's incense. Yet he also seemed to know, through some other means than sensual perception, that the room in his mind was a little bit colder, and that it smelled vaguely of coffee and paper. The person whose eyes he was looking through was typing, and he saw a pair of hands, distinctly male, with a slight suntan. On the right ring finger was a signet ring with a simple engraving of a dragon. The person was writing an email, something about accounts. Apparently, this company was a bank of some description, and the amounts of money the email detailed were quite frankly staggering. On the side of the computer screen were three post-it notes, scribbled on in a rushed, but elegant and readable handwriting: "Call Morgana about cancelling Cannes" "Set up new account for Mr. S." "Pick Gwen up for dinner 19:30 DON'T be late (flowers?)" The last thing Merlin had time to notice was the name on the email account the man was sending from - A. Pendragon.

"Whoa," he said, confused. It was a little much for his brain to take in, and at the moment it wasn't in any state to take things in in the first place.

"Are you alright?" Freya asked, concerned.

"Yeah, yeah. I just… I think it worked."

"Really?" Her face lit up with curiosity. "How was it? What did you see?"

"Disappointing, actually," Merlin had to admit, "Apparently, my one true love… Looooove…" he sniggered, mimicking the goofy way they'd said the word earlier, "Is a man who works in a bank. Also, he seems to have a girlfriend. So that's, well, not particularly promising."