Where Legends Begin

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Merlin feels tears spring to her eyes at his words, but they are not of fear or pain, or of grief but rather they are in love and relief that she weeps quietly, only the moisture that soaks one small tear-trail at a time into Arthur's tunic giving evidence that she cries at all. That is the way the healer wants it to be, though, and she does not draw attention to the fact, smiling in a small way, gratefully against her King's shoulder as her arms come up under his arms and wrap around his shoulder blades, holding her close to him.

She doesn't want to let go anytime soon, needing this, having been in need of it for days.

"I know you will not, Arthur. I have no doubt of that, my Great Bear. I trust your strength and your promise. I will not be leaving your side, just as you say." She both assures that she has no intention to and assures that she believes him, and Merlin lets her heart overflow with the love she feels for the man that holds her so securely.

Only for him would she have forsaken her very memory of what she used to be, the power she used to hold, of that Merlin is certain and she knows she will never regret that choice. Not even if knowing who she'd been would help Camelot be rid of Mordred all the quicker. Losing Arthur was not worth that. Merlin had always know and accepted that she was far more selfish than Arthur. If it came to a choice between him or his Kingdom...she wouldn't hesitate to choose him, even if he hated her for it forever.

But Merlin knew that about herself, accepted it and she knew nothing would change her mind on the matter. She also knew better than to tell this to Arthur for he would argue until they were both red in the face and hoarse from yelling.

Now, they would not afford that. Not now. Right now, he needed her to focus and she needed to show him the safe path amid the chaos that would come. But that was why she was here, wasn't it?

"Another war is coming, Arthur." Merlin pulled back, but just enough to look up at his face, not out of his arms. "We can not avoid it, can not change it, can not hide from it. It is a future that is set in stone and few futures are. I can not change this one, I can not tell you how to avoid because there is no way to. I have tried to find one and the future stays the same. There will be war with the North, but how it ends, who wins...that is not yet determined."

Her hand found his cheek, warm golden light at her fingertips, soothing. "But that war does not have to start tomorrow. I can not tell you every word to say, nor every choice to make, but I will be by you all the time you are with him. Do not argue this with me, Arthur. I am his opposite. He wages a battle with you in the guise of a mortal, but he wages a war with me that will last far beyond the memories of men. Do not be alone with him. That is how you can keep your people, your home safe this time, Arthur. Do not be alone with him. Do not be without me."
 
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Merlin's words would stick with Arthur for the rest of the night. They dined together, talked, and planned. But nothing could prepare him for Mordred's arrival. He was a wild card and Arthur, already meeting him, knows how slippery he can be. War has brought itself upon his future again and like a good King, he must fight for what is his. The war might not start tomorrow but at least the King's planning can start. He sends letters to the scouts on the boarders, making sure to immediately send up smoke signals should anything arise. He started looking at supplies and the state of his army such as their strength, tactics, and morale. It isn't until Merlin practically drags the King from his chair that he finally gets some shut eye.

Morgana, still hardly talking to her brother unless surrounded by situations where her social practices were needed, would have hated the thought of Merlin and Arthur in the same bed. But the King insists that the night before Mordred was scheduled to arrive, he must have one last night of freedom with her. She calms him when he knows he would have spent hours getting to bed. After a barrage of kisses, they quickly fall asleep, arms tangled around each other. It's the way it should be. It is the way that it was going to turn out. But first they must deal with Mordred.

In the morning, Arthur trains, takes a bath, has his beard trimmed, and slips into a white shirt that had been embroidered with gold. Along with wearing the best clothes, Arthur keeps his sword snug at his waist and a dagger in his boot for emergencies. But he is well aware that Mordred must know what he is thinking before he even considers his thoughts as a viable option.

It isn't until a trumpet sounds that Arthur knows their party has been seen riding over the lip of the ridge. Now he stands on the ramparts, ready to greet his guests of honor. But he is well aware that his Camelot citizens will pull forced laughter and fake smiles. As it should be. But as Arthur stands and looks over the lip to the drawbridge, he holds a stone. This simple object, minimal in size but great in weight and velocity could be dropped from where he stands. Not even Mordred would stand a chance if the rock, about the size of Arthur's hand, is dropped from this height. There comes a rush of power through Arthur's fingertips as he lingers his closed hand around the stone over the lip.

But he cannot bring himself to let it fall from his fingers. Backstabbing tactics are hardly the way he wants to kill his father's murderer. So he moves his way down to the steps and arrives just in time to greet the first few knights riding through the inner gates. All eyes are trained on the men from the North. Arthur feels that his heart might make him leap down these steps and, with his sword raised high, try and run Mordred through right there and then. But smiles and bows of the head are what will win today's victory. Bloodshed will only cause more chaos than what is to come.
 
His presence makes Merlin ill.

She finds she can keep nothing down, that curse extending to water some of the time, but she knows she's not sick. Not truly. There is no fever, no ailment in her body. It is simply the overwhelming, cloying power she feels from Mordred that makes her react in such a way. Merlin doesn't let Arthur know, though. She does not even give him a hint to follow for he would worry and she must have him focused. Merlin knows the only reason that she feels this way is because the Dark King has gotten stronger, and in the end, the healer is forced to let her own power trickle out to wrap in a thin, unseen layer about her, giving her relief from the nausea. She knows she can't keep that up for long, probably not even the whole night, but right now it will keep her from looking like pale death when she looks upon Mordred again.

The last time she saw him face to face, they were trying to kill each other.

If only she'd succeeded.

Merlin sighs as she looks in the mirror, grimacing at herself if only because she hates dresses. This one is a dark purple verging on blue - somewhere inbetween - simple in its design, but Merlin is rather simple herself. She is not a dazzling beauty, not one with looks to make a man turn his head, unable to focus on anyone else in the room. No, she possess her own beauty - far more so now that the scars are gone - but it is a strong attractiveness, not so much a rose as she is nightshade, for Merlin was not simply a pretty face and such shows in her eyes, in the way she carries herself.

The dress suites her because it is simple with sleeves that flare out at the elbows and a thin cord that criss-crosses over her ribs, coming around her back and then ties in front at her hips. There is nothing more to it and there doesn't need to be as far as Merlin is concerned. The neckline feels a bit too much for her, but she accepts it and has to smile slightly at Arthur's gift to her. Slender fingers touch the shield with the dragon engraving and the healer sighs, blowing a wayward curl from her face. Her hair has been left down this time, free as can be, but curled a bit, tweaked so that it does not simply lie against her back like it's wont to do when she's been working hard. No, she appears as a Lady and Merlin knows that is what she needs to be today.

Even as she will still be the Merlin that Arthur knows. Protecting him.

It is that thought that gets her moving and she comes into the courtyard already knowing Mordred is here, moving toward Arthur, staying a few steps behind him, letting the Knights around him be his show of force...even as she puts out a shield, unseen to others, but more than noticeable to Mordred, around Arthur.

Whether anyone else realizes it or not, SHE is his true protection.

Mordred certainly knows it as his horse stops and it is HER eyes he meets first. A smile curled at his lips, but he follows protocal - for now - and turns his attention to Arthur, green eyes glittering with a mirth that is unpleasant even as it is confusing for the only one who knows the reason for laughter is Mordred and it is a joke few would think was funny at all.

"Greetings, King of the South. Thank you for the gracious welcome into your Kingdom. I trust our presence has been expected for some time, though." It is a dig at how close Mordred had come to Camelot before being noticed and his smile tells Arthur as much, his intent hidden behind his honeyed words.
 
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As Arthur expected, his knights, councilmen, and commoners, all gather around the precession, making a crowed. The knights wish to protect their King and kingdom while the councilmen wish to negotiate treaties. But the commoners, those simple living folk, are there for the excitement and thrill of new faces to their city. Despite being enthused, even the peasants are on their guards. Its not the first time the North and South have been at peace with one another by contact but that doesn't mean they have to like every law of it. Underneath their simple clothes lie daggers. At least, that's what Arthur hopes should Mordred make any sudden moves. His knights can protect him but he worries about his people.

You little… "And what a day the gods have chosen for you to arrive." Arthur looks up at a seemingly cloudless sky, just waiting for the moment when it will turn black with thunder and strike down his foe's army right in front of him. Blinking, Arthur shakes the memory from his head and takes only one step forward, his arms outstretched in peace for a warm welcome. "You, out of everyone, should know how turbulent the weather may get." Leaving his words hanging there, Arthur continues his formalities. "There shall be a feast tonight upon you and your company's arrival in my Kingdom. I have trusted servants to do the heavy lifting for your people. Food, wine, music, and dancing are all to be expected this evening. I would think after your long journey, Northern King, you would like to sleep a while or perhaps…" he dreads the words, "tour the countryside and castle."

Damn these formalities. Arthur's mind hisses at him. The last thing he wishes is for Mordred to be able to find his way effortlessly around Camelot. Perhaps a quick, overview, could be done. He knows that if he were up North, that slimy sack of gunk would do the same for him. Breathing in, Arthur forces another smile to his lips, turning to glance to his left where his sister is not present. She could care less for tradition. Ever since Ceridron was put to death, she hardly left her room. Her meals were brought there, the joining bathroom serving its use. Arthur misses her presence but cannot let those thoughts hang on his mind.

"My sister, Lady Morgana, will not be in attendance I dare say. She has fallen rather ill and will keep to her chambers until well again."
 
"Blessings and prayers to her returned health." Mordred offers smoothly and then he dismounts, his body equally as graceful as his words, and twice as deadly. He offers no threat at the moment, though, simply approaching the steps with all the confidence of a King, as if there were his home and Arthur the visiting guest. There is no caution, no fear, no waiting for his guards or a cursory scan to see if there was a trap of any kind. Only a smug confidence that makes Merlin grit her teeth, but remain silent as the Dark King finally comes level with Arthur on the steps.

"A tour would be delightful. I have heard so much of your great Camelot. Seeing her with my own eyes would be a privilege indeed, though, I would make one request of you, Southern King, so soon into this visit." His acrid green eyes flicker to Merlin and there is a smile there before they come to rest on the blond King again.

"You see, I have this terrible ache in my shoulder and my healers do their best, but I hear in Camelot you have a healer who can work magic from her very fingers. If I could make use of such a person, I would be eternally grateful." Mordred knows very well who's he's talking about and he is cunning enough to know that Arthur will want to refuse him, suspecting that the the Southern King is very much in love with Merlin, but diplomacy will dictate that Arthur do no such thing.

It is a cruel game Mordred plays, but Merlin knows it well and she steps forward before Arthur can speak, just briefly touching his arm with her fingertips, sending warmth into the blond-haired King, silently telling him to breathe and remain calm. The healer puts a smile on her face, but her dark blue eyes glitter when they meet green and she makes no effort to hide that from Mordred.

He smiles to see it.

"King Mordred, I am the healer you seek. If you will permit, I will see you in your chambers after the tour is over."

"Lady Emrysia." He reaches forward and Merlin's eyes harden even as her skin crawls as she is forced to place her hand in his and endure the chaste kiss he places to the back of it. She can feel the very touch of his power nearly scalding her skin, only kept away by her own shield and the tiniest sparks of gold and green flare off their skin in resistance to each other until their hands part. "I would welcome your skilled hands and talent."

Mordred looks to Arthur then, the smugness in his eyes clear, but none in his voice. "King Arthur, I have heard that your mother keeps exquisite gardens. Are the rumors true?"
 
"I appreciate your kind words," Arthur remarks when Mordred wishes Morgana health once more. Its true that Arthur has sent doctors to her after Merlin attempted to visit but no appointment would be made. Her illness is one of her own doing, Arthur supposes, because she will not seek the help of the more than capable Merlin. I wonder why my sister hates her so. Arthur thinks to himself innocently before continuing his words to the King before him. "Do not forget that your Kingdom has a reputation of its own down here, Northern King." Leaving his words as such, Arthur takes a step back and invites Mordred in with an outstretched arm towards the inner walls of the keep.

Then he asks for a favor. Disgraceful. Arthur can't help but think, his hate for this man causing his fingers to shake with anger. Luckily, his father taught him control in such diplomatic situations, something he did not keep when Merlin was to be offered to the man right in front of him. "You've met her once," twice, "before, don't you remember?" He has to bite his tongue to say anything else but those words. The battlefield is where such words could be exchanged through huffed grunts during swordplay, not in front of his entire Kingdom. Smiling, Arthur lowers his arm and turns his attention again to the King before him.

To Arthur's eyes, this so called King looks too young to know how to rule his Kingdom. Those green eyes that stare about the crowd, looking for one face in particular, curve into an almond shape. Its almost feminine to the Southern King and he has to forgo his laughter until later. But those eyes could do damage. One look too far and Arthur fears that he might find his scrawny northern neck between his hands. Hopefully, it would be sooner than later. Merlin did say something, didn't she? Oh if only the King could remember, his memory failing him all but the ones about his father. This man poisoned and killed his father.

"Of course you may see her," but Merlin has already spoken once Arthur does. His knights move out of the way for her as she walks, in a dress, to where the two Kings are. To any untrained eyes, they would see a dress being a disadvantage. But to Arthur, he knows that Merlin is not married to that fabric at all. She will happily rip it at the knees in order to be able to move quickly from place to place. "Ah, Merlin, you're already here. Will you take a look at him? I'm sure it won't take that long."

Forcing a chuckle, Arthur nods when Mordred asks about his mother's gardens. "Why don't you rank them yourself? I am sure the north cannot grow such variety as we down here. But then again, I have only been so far north and the paths I traveled were hardly fit for smelling the flowers along the way."
 
Mordred chuckles, the sound so easy for him as if he considers everything amusing in some way or another and Merlin knows that he does. It is just not the sort of amusement most would find amusing for his thoughts are cruel and dark, only fit for the likes of those similar in heart and in mind. He follows after Arthur, voice as polite and charming as a snake's.

"King Arthur, if you'd wanted to know about the foliage of the Northern Kingdom, I am sure you could have asked the Lady Emrysia. After all, the North used to be her home. I'm sure she's not forgotten it, have you, my Lady?"

His acrid green eyes find her and Merlin forced a smile that does not reach the hardness in her eyes as she stays near both men, her power crackling at her mind, within her body, ready to lash out at the slightly provocation. She cares not if it starts a war. War is coming anyway. No, the time for it does not have to be now, but if Arthur's life is threatened, then now would be better than having him dead. Of that she will always be sure.

"I remember the grounds of my home and the forest beyond very well, King Mordred. The rest, I'm afraid I've tried to block it out."

He knows of what she speaks and Mordred's eyes glitter, but he says nothing, merely dipping his head in acknowledgement as they finally come to the gardens. The next bit of time is spent in meaningless talk over the flowers before they are moving on again with the tour. Merlin blocks out the words, finding them muddling and monotone after a while, but she pays close attention to the atmosphere around her, namely to Mordred and his power.

It is tame for now, doing nothing at all and she doesn't like it, suspicious. But Merlin doesn't act, having no cause and it's not long before the tour is over and everyone wishes to find their rooms before the feast starts in a few hours. The healer grows tense as Mordred looks toward her with that charming yet slightly predatory smile, something those with skilled eyes will see, but will pass blindly by the eyes of others who do not care to see if for what it is.

"Shall we, Lady Emrysia? I do hope you can cure what ails my shoulder."

The healer dips her head just a little, but there is steel in Merlin's eyes, in her voice that only those who know her well will pick up on. "Of course, King Mordred. I will do my best."
 
"The wild foliage is always different from that contained within castle walls," Arthur offers gently, smiling before turning around and heading in the direction of his mothers flowers. Igraine, beautiful despite age catching up with her, joins Arthur, Mordred, and Merlin when they start to walk around her gardens. She greets the King with all the proper gestures, curtsying and bowing her head before addressing him. Looking at him with a smile in her eyes, she too places a persona, another face, on for the visiting prince. She does not trust this one for she believes that she is a good judge of character and Mordred is, quickly, losing in her favor.

His mother is quick with her wit though, answering all of Modred's questions in a timely and accurate manner. There is nothing that this woman doesn't seem to know. And Arthur is happy to have her there, distracting Mordred for the time being so that Arthur can look over his shoulder at her to see if she is at peace with their arrangements. If it were up to me, his eyes practically tell her, then Mordred would never have stepped foot in these walls. I would have never agreed to anything. But they both know that the laws of this land binds them to their positions. Arthur might be King but to do so, he has to be in the favor of his people. And they adore stability, not change, to tradition.

"That concludes my portion of the tour, King Mordred, I shall reconvene with you when dinner is served. I would love to hear about the north if you have stories to tell us. Until then," her head bows along with her body, "be well and enjoy Camelot's fine offerings." Then turning to her son, she only has to place a hand on his cheek, a signal of her affection, before doing the same to Merlin and leaving them in silence. Mordred then speaks and Arthur has to hold his tongue from his true thoughts.

"And now its with a heavy heart that I have to leave you. I have some business that I wish to attend before the festivities of the night are among us. I find that Merlin can take you to where you need to be and hopefully help you with your problem." Knowing that Merlin can take care of herself, he bows his head and turns to leave. He can't help but worry about leaving Merlin and him alone but he trusts her to take care of matters herself.
 
Mordred waits, to his credit - though Merlin gives him very little - until they have entered his chambers before he drops his facade and speaks to her, dark amusement in his voice. "You're weaker." There is satisfaction in his voice, but Merlin does not answer, her dark blue eyes following him, gold tinged flecks making an appearance in her gaze, ready for the inevitable attack. Mordred can sense it, turns and observes her with laughter, approaching her slowly, as a cat might a mouse.

But Merlin was no mouse and she watched him with the same intensity that he observed her, a bird of prey observing the cat, just daring it to try its claws against beak and talons.

"You're still hiding, aren't you? Denying what you are. Why? For him?" The Dark King sneered. "He wouldn't come near you if he knew what you really were, Merlin."

"He does know." the healer spat back at him and Mordred moved in closer. "No, he doesn't. He is an ignorant, insignificant human. He could not possibly understand, nor appreciate, just what you are. He is nothing."

"He is everything!"

Merlin found herself slammed against the wall so suddenly that her breath left her in a rush and then her power was surging through her, breaking against Mordred's hold as she nearly snarled at him. His green power lashed back at her and the healer stifled a cry as the gold of her shield shattered under the onslaught. Mordred was there then, hand around her throat, but this time it didn't burn, not yet as even he'd taken note of the lack of scars and marks on her. If she was to show up with one after being alone with him...well, he had a purpose here and it didn't involve being forced to kill all the pathetic mortals who'd want his head for harming their precious Merlin.

"He is nothing! He weakens you!" His grip tightened, cutting off her oxygen and Merlin struggled as the Dark King snickered. "Go on, Merlin. Prove me wrong. We had such a fun time last we met in mortal form. I would have thought you'd be more prepared than this after that." he taunted and the healer felt her vision going darker.

And then Mordred leaned in and whispered in her ear.

"I'm going to destroy him. You're too weak to stop me now."

It was like something broke within Merlin once more, the same kind of feeling she now realized she'd had when the bear had attacked Arthur. The same feeling she'd had seeing him during the war with the North. It was a protective, feral, instinctive rage and it swept through her with an incredible heat, cracking the shields put in place by her last regeneration. All warnings from the dragon faded from her mind, all reason and Merlin's eyes blazed gold as she gave a harsh scream and hurled Mordred away from her and across the room. He crashed into the wall and was laughing when he finally regained his breath, rising from the floor to face the seething Merlin, gold running like rivets of lightning down her body.

Arthur had seen her like that one, walking into her room without knocking first, but she'd been calm then, peaceful. This was a far more dangerous version of the same thing and Mordred smiled, green eyes glittering in triumph. "Ah, there you are Ynni Anfarwol."
 
Arthur hated the fact that Merlin and Mordred moved away from him. Of course he knew that Merlin was and will always be capable of handling herself, especially against one who also possesses the magic touch. Still, he hates that he cannot protect her. He knows that Mordred would find out if he spied on them, pressed his ear to the door to hear their conversation. Its Merlin who he trusts. She will tell him, hopefully, what went on in that room later and he has to stand by until then and simply wait until the time is right for the blue eyed girl to find him. It would be an evening of pacing around the gardens, towers, and anywhere else his feet would take him. But he stays away, close to but not in, the tower that he knew Merlin and Mordred are. A part of him wishes to go to his sister and tell her all his problems so that she may listen, mock him, and then offer her suggestions in helping. But that would never happen. Not now. Arthur fears that it will never happen again.

Ever since Ceridron's death, Arthur has felt lonely, even if he wouldn't admit it to anyone. Of course the man would have torn his kingdom from the ground and burnt it until his new kingdom rose from the ashes. But that doesn't mean that Arthur still loved him in the way the king does with all his subjects. They gain his trust and that bond is sharper and bolder than any weapon or fine linen found in his kingdom. Merlin told him over and over that he had made the right decision and internally, at first, he knew that he had. He had to show no weakness, no slight of hand when it concerned those closest to him. The King shutters at the thought of anyone else inside his walls plotting to betray him. Again and again the magician has proved herself but a part of Arthur, he fears, will never be able to fully give every inch of himself to anyone. Even Merlin. His mind plays ping-pong with those thoughts, going back and forth between viable possibilities of the future and pure imagination.

And now that a part of his past has come to visit again in the shape of an evil smile across a young northern king's face, Arthur can't help but feel as though he should act. Mordred couldn't be put on trial, no matter how hard it is for Arthur to come to that realization. He could even have that mad king poisoned but that would only cause more war between their kingdoms. Camelot cannot afford it right now and Arthur knows they cannot. So he will have to play his part and be moved by decorum instead of instinct. There will be no war. No immediate war. Arthur will have to prepare for a future one though, and he is certain of it. Merlin confirmed such thoughts in the past and the King knows that her word would always be true. She has been put on this earth by the gods to protect him and she has proven herself time after time.

If only the evening would come quicker so that he may touch the skin of the woman he loves. All the King wishes right now is to hold her hand or brush his fingers along her shoulders or arm. It would comfort him with that golden energy. Its something he needs, something he desires above all. But the sun is cruel, slowly making his way down the horizon. Arthur moves back to his chambers and has a bath, a long one until his fingers are pruned and the water has long lost its heat.
 
Merlin and Mordred left the room in ruins.

There was no other word for the destruction they'd caused. Their power had fought a battle that neither could yet win, but served as a prelude to a far greater war to come. Unleashed, violent and angrier than a summer lightning storm, the green and gold had clashed with barely restrained force, their owners only just remembering where they were and that they couldn't leave evidence on each other. It was a lethal, precarious edge of the line that they walked and Merlin knew how to balance it just as well as Mordred did.

Arthur knew her as Merlin. He truly did. Every aspect of her, whether he thought he did or not. But he didn't know this. Not truly. He knew OF it, but whether he understood it or not remained to be seen. Whether he could actually comprehend just what kind of creature she was, the power she could wield, the knowledge she held was another question entirely. And much as she hated it, Mordred DID know this side of her. Oh, he knew nothing else, but he knew this. He was the other half of what she was. She was Light, he was Dark. They could not truly be one without the other and yet, every so often, one of them had to win this dance of powers that they were locked in until everything came to an end.

Mordred was sure he'd win this time.

Merlin was determined he not. Arthur's life was on the line if he did, Camelot was doomed if he did and she wouldn't allow it. She couldn't. But acknowledging that responsibility even as she threw Mordred into another wall had made Merlin understand an unchangeable truth; she was not going to be able to accomplish what she needed to do....and get what she wanted. Mordred had seen it in her eyes and had laughed, his words still echoing inside her skull.

"You can't stay with him. You won't grow old together. You can't stay, Ynni. That form won't hold you, not if you fight me."

Merlin had wanted to scream, to rage and cry at the injustice, at the fact that such truths came from such a foul source, but she'd done none of that. No, she'd picked herself up from the rubble of a broken bed and she'd straightened, the gold fading from her eyes and the stormy dark blue coming back, hard and bleak.

"You're right, but I will spend every moment protecting him, loving him and ridding him of you before I go."

She had gone from the room then, out into the halls where Mordred's guards had given her a double-take, noting immediately the torn state of her clothes, the wild look of her hair, the....dust that covered her skin? They flooded the room and Merlin left them as they did, moving quickly down the halls and then starting to run, the goal in her mind clear.

Arthur.

She wanted Arthur and she didn't care if she wasn't supposed to see him until the feast.
 
((From my phone))

The bathwater around Arthur soon turns cold. The King still sits in the tub though, his arms laying over the sides. His servants come in and out, asking him questions and wondering with their gazes whether or not he will ask to be dried off soon or not. Time ticks by though, Arthur not stirring for a long time until one of his servants enters. "Arthur," he questions quietly and the king opens his eyes to cast a brown gaze upon the man, "I thought I would inform you that the cooks have started dinner and the other servants are setting up the tables for the festivities in the main hall. Is there anything you wish for me to tell them? Any last minute tweaks?"

Arthur shakes his head from left to right, finally gathering the strength to push himself up from the water. But he doesn't exit, only rearranging his back upon the backing. "No," he states clearly. Last minute plans or ideas always came to the King when entertaining. Whether it be a change in entertainment or a tweak in the meal for that night, Arthur always was a wild card. At first the servants of Camelot hated him for it, finding it childlike and selfish. But they soon learned that he makes the changes for others, not for his own comfort. If there are children present at the events, he finds games and entertainers that will humor them as much as the folk around him.

With a bow of he servant's head, he exits the bathing room, leaving Arthur once again to his private thoughts. But such a thing is dangerous for Arthur soon is worrying. Merlin crosses his mind too many times to count and the King is soon up and out of the tub. He nearly slips on the floor twice but regains his footing by holding the wall or the tub lip. Instead of asking his servants to dry him, he picks up the cloth himself and even dresses himself, not wanting to waste any time with needless buttons or clasps. Not yet, anyway. He wears a simple jerkin that comes down past his waist with tight black pants. But as soon as he exits the room, he finds Merlin rushing down the hallway at him.

"W--" is the first thing to roll off his tongue, anger not hidden, "What happened?" Her state is hardly unnoticeable. "Did he do this to you? I'll kill him, Merlin. I really will. One of these days…" his anger simmers a tiny bit once he holds Merlin in his arms, his lips finding her temple as he ushers her to his quarters so that they may speak. "You didn't fall from your horse again, did you?" He asks when they pass a few of Mordred's men and women moving down the hallway. "Well, lets get you cleaned up."
 
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Merlin hardly hears his words.

They don't matter, don't register like they should and she only holds it together, walks calmly beside him until they reach his quarters. She only gives Arthur time to shut the door, only looks around briefly - not with her eyes but with her power - to check that they are alone before her lips are crashing against Arthur's own in a fiery dance filled with hunger, desperation, love and anger all in equal measures - though the latter is not directed at him, merely there.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, gripping the blond mane for a moment as she pressed her body against his before her fingers released again and Merlin brought her arms around his neck instead. The healer kissed the King with an intensity she rarely displayed, but there was something new in the gesture, a wild energy that swept into Arthur, unrestrained from the woman before him.

When Merlin was forced to pull away for air, her eyes were ablaze like the sun, completely gold, as bright as the hue of Arthur's hair. The tendrils of power crawled through her hair and ran in delicate rivets down her arms. Merlin seemed to take no note of it at all as she sucked in oxygen harshly before she returned to Arthur's lips, drawing out another long kiss from him before she forced herself to pull back and then shook her head, eyes closing as if she sought control of her actions.

Her body trembled against his, a soft shaking that would have been unnoticeable if there had been distance between them, but there was not and the healer took another breath and swallowed, speaking as her eyes opened again, the gold fading slowly, replaced by the dark blue Arthur knew so well.

"He looks worse." The words came with a small smile as Merlin started to calm.
 
They pass doors and people in the hallway, each glance only adding to Arthur's concern for the woman who is practically flying with haste next to him. He can't remember if he grabbed her hand or if she grabbed his. His head is spinning and his heart hurts to see Merlin in such a frazzled state. Perhaps its just the King's perceptions that are wrongly askew but he swears that he sees something strange in the healer that he can't quite pinpoint. "Merlin," he asks quite sternly when they reach his door, "What the--" Nope. He didn't have time to speak because Merlin is already pulling him into his own room.

She might have been able to look around the room with her powers but Arthur hardly sees anything but a blur of color before he is spun around again and used to push the door closed. Then her lips catch his but not in a calm way. Its more like she is trying to kiss his words from his mouth with the persistence her lips have against his. He doesn't stop it - no. Arthur would be a fool to try and stop Merlin once she has her mind set on something - especially when it involves kissing her. Usually their kisses are gentle and grow into a fury but, just like the first time Arthur had tasted her, he finds himself unable to stop. The universe could not pull them apart, Arthurs arms immediately finding their way around Merlin's waist so that he can pull her up and against his chest.

His hair is wet but Merlin rakes her hands through it, causing a grumble from Arthur's throat of an unsaid word. Before long, he feels himself almost suffocating from the warmth radiating out from his chest. Perhaps it was Merlin's power soaking into him, a feeling that he has long gotten used to, or just chemical love. No matter what it is, Arthur pulls back when she does, his chest heaving and breath falling rapidly from his lips. But he doesn't speak yet, his eyes captured by hers. He wants to know what lies behind them, the story that he is obviously missing for such an intense but not surprising action laid out by Merlin. Its been too long since they could hold one another, let alone kiss in the privacy of their own rooms.

He is shocked when she speaks, his mouth moving as if he wants to speak but nothing comes out from his mouth. Its one of those moments where he simply needs to collect himself, hear the story, and then start asking questions. "But are… are you okay?" is all he can ask, his worry for Merlin stronger than his hate for Mordred.
 
Was she all right?

Merlin didn't immediately answer that question. To say yes would have been a lie. To say no would have been....well, too dramatic in Merlin's opinion. She wasn't in acute distress and she wasn't injured...well, not greatly so. Some livid bruising wasn't going to hinder her. She wasn't in need of anything..except maybe Mordred's head on a plate... But she wasn't fine, either. She could not be fine knowing what she knew now. There would be no more denial, no more hopeful wishing, just the cold facts and she knew it was better that way, that she had to reach this point eventually, but Merlin was hardly happy about it.

She was not fine with it.

But should she tell that to Arthur? Well, yes. That was the logical, smartest, loving answer and Merlin knew she would. But should she tell him NOW? With Mordred here? With all the other stress he was dealing with? No, that didn't seem like a wise thing to do at all, but that left her with the dilemma, still, of how she should answer her King.

The healer closes her eyes again, hiding the swirling mess of thoughts and emotions in the dark blue storms as she inhales slowly and then exhales just as slowly before opening them again, and Merlin finally shakes her head and then smiles a bit, shrugging even as she is in Arthur's hold. She doesn't seek to leave it anytime soon. "I don't know. I...yes, in some ways, yes, I am fine. I don't require a healer and I now know Mordred's measure. I was not lying when I claimed he looked worse. He is powerful, but not stronger in Camelot. His power is rooted to darker places and this Kingdom is composed of light. It does not lend itself to him. I can keep him contained while he's here, but..." Merlin almost makes a growling kind of sound in her throat. "In other ways, no, I am not all right. I...there are things I know now that do not please me and I will speak of them with you, but it can't be now. Soon, but there is no time now and I wish there was."

Merlin refocuses her attention on Arthur, solely on him and not inwardly like she'd been before, her smile far more genuine as her fingers once again curl into his hair and she leans up, kissing him again, far more softly this time before pulling back. She brings his head down to her own, on her tiptoes to be able to keep their foreheads together, but Merlin thinks it more than worth the effort. "I'm sorry for worrying you. I am fine in all physical sense. I just...needed to see you, touch you. I find separation does not agree with me when it comes to you, my King."
 
If Merlin has helped this young King with someone, his patience and arrogance would be high on the top of the list. She has, after all, taught him many things and he is sure that he has passed on his knowledge to her as well. That's the only reason that Arthur's chest does not fill with anger when Merlin tells him, her words slow as her mind creates them. Instead, the King nods his head, only once. He understands her words but the more his eyes scan her, the damage that has been done quite noticed but left unsaid. His eyes only show a deepness that Merlin knows to be a love for her and beyond that, his ultimate trust to keep her as close to him as he can. Arthur's mother, he figures, is the only woman who had such a trust but Merlin, oh sweet darling Merlin, has more than Arthur could ever give his mother. They're two different kinds of loves but they both hold places in Arthur's heart.

So the King's head lowers when she tightens her grip in his hair once more, their lips slower in exchange of silent words. But the King is hardly any closer to letting Merlin go from his grasp. If it were up to him, no time restraining their minutes together, Arthur would already be making her lips chapped and puffy. But sadly, as they both find the usual of this day, there is no time for Arthur. He must dress and revise or run through speeches that he must make tonight. Merlin, however, has different plans. The thoughts Arthur had about his responsibility are quickly thrown from the King's mind, his lips and mind too focused on Merlin's taste, texture, and the shape of her lips. Then he feels her pull away and he doesn't take offense. She still wants him and she will always want him, the pressing of their foreheads telling Arthur such.

"There isn't a day that passes," he starts, opening his eyes for only a quick moment before pecking a kiss to her lips, "where I don't worry about you Merlin." Hunching his back so that Merlin doesn't have to strain her legs, Arthur chuckles. His arms move from her waist, the fabric there tempting to his fingers but not as much as her own flesh. They don't stop until they find both of Merlin's hands. Gently he tugs them from his hair, taking them to the front of his face. Taking time, he kisses each finger as he speaks. "I remember a time where I thought you hot headed and tough to deal with… especially at social gatherings where I had to keep you under control lest offend numerous people." Its obvious the King does not want to speak of Mordred nor the damage that has been done until a later, better, time.

"But I'm overjoyed to have seen the better things you can offer than anything my judgements of the north could conjure up for you."
 
Oh, how Merlin is tempted to act affronted at his words, but she refrains, knowing he only means them affectionately...and knowing the only reason she desires to give him a bad time being because she is still wound tight after confronting Mordred. But such is not the way to deal with her stress. No, instead Merlin allows Arthur's loving kisses and his soothing demeanor to ease the tension from her body and to temper the whirling storm in her mind, cautioning it to patience. Her power slowly burns to a simmer under her skin and the healer offers her lover a smile to his words.

"And I am blessed that you did see good in me for I can well imagine that my life would be very empty indeed without you in it, Arthur Pendragon."

She kisses him again then, one hand freed moving to wrap around his neck again...when there is a knock at the door and Merlin gives a growl into Arthur's mouth, but pulls away with a sigh so he can speak to the servant on the other side of the rich wooden door. As he does, the healer gives her King a promising look - they are not finished here - but she slips from him and toward the balcony. It will not be the first time she's escaped the gaze of he servants and the castle gossip this way and Merlin flashes Arthur a smile before she is gone.

There is a feast to get to after all and she looks like she got into a fight with a mountain cat.

--

Merlin decided long ago that she hated dresses....but even she had to admit she looked good in this. Elwyn had helped design it and the seamstresses had been working on it for some time. The things is black, reaching the floor, but with four slits that reach to just above her knee, revealing a cream-colored secondary dress beneath. The dress comes off her shoulders, leaving them bare to the golden light that is cast about the great hall and the rest of Merlin's arm shows hints of skin as the sleeves are laced together along her arm. Celtic designs of cream embroidery start at her collarbones and then trail to the side, around the curve of her breast and flare at her hips, connecting at her naval. A great deal of effort has gone into the design and the healer secretly likes the dress....just a little, though.

Her hair is swept up, leaving no distraction from the dress itself and how it hugs her body in just the right way, but Merlin is aware of only two gazes upon her in the entirety of the great hall. One she welcomes, Arthur's, and the other she despises as it makes her metaphorical hackles rise; Mordred.

He is seated with Arthur, as is tradition, but Merlin is not permitted to join them, though, she sits as close as she can. Arthur has not changed her status, publicly acknowledged her noble blood and so she is limited to a place at his table, but not anywhere as close as she'd like to be. The only thing Merlin can be happy about right now, though, is that Guinevere has already gone home. If Mordred had known of her eligibility, he would have suggested marriage just to stir things up. As it is, Merlin doesn't trust him not to do that in any way he can anyway.

For now, though, he seems to be behaving and she keep close watch on him and Arthur, hardly noting anything else.
 
Arthur had something to say to her notion about her being lonely without him. But her lips move against his, swallowing his words whole before he can even try to speak them. It isn't important anyway, or at least that's what Arthur tries to convince himself so that he will keep quiet. It doesn't take him any effort, his thoughts immediately focusing on the kiss, or rather nothing, so that he may feel that familiar warmth that Merlin gives his body. He accepts it fully and completely, pulling her flush against him until the knock sounds on the door. It feels as though his spine, his hope for having five more minutes with this beautiful woman in front of him, shatters before him. But she is quick to release herself from his arms, practically floating towards the balcony as she hides safely away from sight. And now to business.

There are more of those fake smiles thrown around as if they were feathers. Arthur has to listen to the lords and ladies come up to him, bow in greeting and then tell him something positive about his ruling. Its all a formula, he considers, his body leaning towards one side of his chair, arm propped up against the side to hold his chin. It doesn't look, outwardly, like he is bored. Rather, his expression gives that of contemplation and his smile, when he gives it, assures his people that he is with them. His mother, since he has no queen of his own yet, sits beside him, her hands folded in her lap regally while her chin faces upwards, eyes calculating as they move around the room. Sometimes she will lean close to her son, whisper something or touch his arm with a smile.

Then fate throws him into the pits again when Mordred sits down on his other side. Arthur's hand immediately clenches at his side, a small involuntary movement that he hopes no one else sees. He plays it off as him stretching his fingers, the many rings covering the majority of his hands. But nothing seems to match the look he gives Merlin when she first walks in. He has to cover his mouth with his hand to hide the beaming smile. She may not like dresses, but her beauty in them cannot be topped. She is a marvelous woman and the dress, even Arthur can see, was not made by any skilled hands but the best. But he is quick to look away, only giving the lords and ladies the satisfaction of a quick noticing glance and nothing more. Now all Arthur has to do is make it through dinner without wanting to jump on and successfully kill the man sitting next to him.

"Tell me Mordred, how does the North fair?"
 
The Northern King swirls the wine in his glass slowly, a feline-like patience about him. It is not relaxed by any stretch of the imagination, but rather only gives the appearance of being so as his predatory, calculating eyes sweeping over the entire hall. What he is looking for, waiting for, only Mordred could say, but it is clear that even with all the Knights in the room, even being in the heart of Camelot itself does not phase him. In fact, he is rather amused and such an emotions shows up in the smile he directs at Arthur.

"Better now that my father is dead." There are a few startled glances from those who pick up his words and Mordred laughs. "I can assure you, there was no love lost there." He takes a drink of the wine, unperturbed by the fact that such blatant words were not common for people in Camelot and deemed very brutish by them indeed.

Setting his drink down, the Dark King fixes the blond one with sharp green eyes that clearly taunt Arthur, knowing just how much control the Camelot King is exerting right now, knowing exactly why and loving every moment of it. Your King looks nervous, Merlin. What does he fear I will do? Slaughter his entire castle?

The chuckle that rings in Merlin's head makes her grip the step of her glass hard between white-knuckled fingers, but she forces herself to look calm and takes a drink, answering back without one glancing at Mordred, smiling graciously at a Lord who is talking to her, not that she hears a word he says. No, Mordred, I would dare say he's keeping himself from splitting your skull open.

The Northern King grins, making no effort to hide the expression as he addresses Arthur again.

"The North has been quite prosperous in the wake of this fragile peace our two Kingdoms have established. I will venture a guess that the South has seen the same fruitfulness?"
 
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