"Jeanne." Gawain landed a hand on her shoulder as if to help her cool her head. Jeanne, after her speech, had left the Round Table in anger and distaste, and of course, Gawain followed her close behind.

     Jeanne shook his hand off and grit her teeth. "You do not understand how...ridiculous I felt. It was unseemly of the Round Table to treat me in such...I cannot even think of a proper word. Sir Gawain, I am perplexed and disappointed in Camelot and all these knights. How? How could they simply treat me in..."

     "Tristan did not mean to offend you, Jeanne, he is simply concerned over Camelot's safety."

     Jeanne shot him an even look. "Tristan's sole intention was to offend me, I am certain of it."

     Gawain again reached for her, taking her hand in his and caressing the back of it with his thumb, gently. "Jeanne, I can feel your disappointment. Though, you must surely understand that Camelot's loss is important to Cornwall as well. Politically and strategically speaking, if Camelot is to support anyone, it should be Sussex. If Francia had an ally I believe they would rather ally Castilla or Navarre over Camelot."

     Jeanne nodded. "I understand that, yes, it is only logical. Though, I feel that his form of speech was meant to attack me and Francia personally."

     "Although Arthur consults his Round Table, he has the authority to choose what he feels is right, and this means that you should never loose hope. Arthur is a good king and he does not make ill-informed decisions, you must trust him."

     Jeanne nodded, "You are right..." She mumbled, "I am acting much too distressed."

     "Now," he kissed her hand before giving it back to her, "I will walk you to your chambers."

     Jeanne sighed and nodded. "You wish to make sure I do not make a fool of myself, right?"

     Gawain laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, no, nothing of the sort, my lady. My intentions are pure."

     Arthur was seated in his room, taking one last glance at a few letters that scattered his desk. The soft, flickering light of the candles cast moving shadows against the parchments. He thought of the show that was played at the Round Table and he frowned in dismay. Tristan had brought up important and vital points but the look on Jeanne's face...he could not simply shake it off.

     "I can see you are indecisive, brother dear." He didn't jump at the voice, in fact, he wasn't exactly surprised. Slowly, he stood from his seat and turned to meet his sister. He did not need to say anything for her to understand how he felt.

     She walked towards him, black dress following her trail. "Oh, Artie," she wrapped her arms around him. "How about that warm lavender bath, yes?"

     He shook his head. "I have nearly a million documents to sort, I have no time waste on baths and lavender."

     Morgana pulled away from the hug, pushing his hair from his eyes. She sighed, "I will always be your older sister."

     Arthur frowned. "I must apologize for worrying you, I know how much you hate worrying over me."

     The brunette shook her head and sighed once more. "I am your sister, I should worry over you; it is but my destiny," she laughed.

     He nodded.

     "How is the ring? Is it too tight?" She asked, taking his hand and looking at the House ring.

     Arthur shrugged. "It can get a little tight at night, but it is much safer this way."

     "I could conjure a spell for the pain, make it hurt less, if you would like that."

     Shaking his head, he took his hand back and turned towards the table. "What do you suggest I do?"

     She wiggled her brows—not that he could see. "Diarmuid."

     "Morgana," he groaned, "I loathe it when you are vulgar. That is nothing like what a lady should be."

     Morgana crossed her arms over her chest, huffing, "Why are men allowed to be vulgar but when a woman so much as speaks something suggestive, she is burned at the stake?"

     Arthur looked back at her, giving her an even look. "I am an advocate for equality, much more than you are. Though, I disagree with you. Equality does not mean that a woman should sink to the depths of distaste and make indecent comments and jests. A woman's beauty is her discreetness and purity."

     Morgana rolled her eyes. "Of course, you would think something so..."

     "Are you here to offend me, sister? Or will you give me an earnest answer to my question." He blinked.

     She sat down at his seat and stared up at him. "I am assuming that you want some superhuman knowledge."

     He leaned against the desk, arms crossing over his chest. "I need advice. It worries me so, the Round Table wishes one thing but my loyalty and friendship for Jeanne leaves me feeling guilty."

     "I cannot give you my thoughts as this is a decision you must make alone. The weight of the crown," she stood, "befalls on you as by birth right. Though, I know that it is much too heavy for you. Forgive me, Artie dear."

     "Why must a king have to decide everything? Why could you not be Queen? You were first born."

     "I am a bastard child; a bastard child can never be crowned king or queen; lord forbid it."

     Arthur looked down at the ring. "It is a wonder how much one bloody ring could change your life."

     Morgana stood from the seat, landing a hand on her brother's blond head. "Oh, Artie, how I wish things could have been different for you. We should...arrange a day. Yes. A day."

     "What for?" The king lifted a brow, fidgeting with a plume.

     She smiled. "A day, once a month, for you to leave the castle without the bloody ring...for you to be yourself."

     He rolled his eyes and pushed from the desk. "Oh no, goodness no. That is out of the question."

     Morgana shrugged. "If that is what you wish...

     Arthur sat on the bench, looking at the trees in the courtyard as he tried to come up with the best solution. He had not spoken to anyone else about his concerns and it seemed he had forgotten about everything else that had plagued him days prior—and that meant Diarmuid's brand.

     "My king," he flinched at the voice of the knight, looking over at him. He smiled, standing from the bench.

     "Hello Diarmuid. How are you?"

     "I do not wish to bother you, my king—"

     "Arthur," he corrected.

     Diarmuid nodded. "But my brand...it, erm, it seems to burn as of late."

     Arthur had just remembered it all. "Oh! I am very sorry for having forgotten about it. I am really very sorry about it. We should probably go speak with Morgana and Merlin, maybe they have come up with something." He readied to walk towards the castle put he was stopped by Diarmuid's hand on his shoulder.

     "Arthur," his golden eyes were piercing, and Arthur felt oddly small under his gaze, "what is bothering you?"

     Arthur furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?" He asked.

     "I," he cleared his throat, "I feel as if you are being bothered by something. I would like to say that as your knight and friend, I am willing to listen to you."

     The king gave a smile. "Thank you, though this is of a king's concern and I should not riddle you with such silliness. Now, we should find Morgana and Merlin, I am certain they should have something up their sleeve for the pain."

     The two knights walked to the castle, entering the coolness of the stone walls and making their way to the wizard's office. Since it was sunny and bright out, the light of the sun leaked into the halls of the castle, casting golden light to shine against the beige stone walls.

     They did not converse much as they strode to the halls towards the office. They had talked about sparring and of some other things that had come to mind as they approached the room. They were not even so much as introduced when Arthur pushed the door open, not seemingly interrupting anything as Morgana sat by the window, staring out into space and Merlin sat at his desk, writing what seemed to be a book of sorts.

     "Hello, my king." He did not look up from his writing, as usually happened when he was engrossed in something. Arthur already knew that it was not meant to disrespect him in anyway and thus he took no offense. Although he was the court magician, he was also the court physician and that meant he was always busy with whatever it may be.

      Morgana drew from the window and walked to greet the men. She gave her brother's hand a kiss and then she stepped closer to Diarmuid, giving him a kiss on his shoulder for she could frankly not reach his cheek.

     Diarmuid blushed. He did not fully understand why she was so...forward with her kisses and flirting. He took a step back and he could see the smile on her lips, as well as the knitting brows on Merlin's face.

     "Morgana, please," Arthur chided.

     She shrugged. "Forgive me, he is much too handsome, I must admit."

     "You should not do anything against his wishes, it is wrong and unfair to Merlin."

     Merlin finally lifted his eyes up to see them all. He saw the burning cheeks of Diarmuid, the smile on Morgana's lips and the evident grumble that came from Arthur's mouth. "Oh Arthur," he stood from his desk, "Morgana's flirting does not faze me." He gave an apologetic smile and then he spoke. "Though, I do apologize for her behaviour, Diarmuid."

     Morgana crossed her arms over chest and rolled her green eyes. "I am not a little girl, stop wishing to control my life."

     Diarmuid gulped, finally stepping up to say something. "I—"

     Morgana pushed a lock of her wavy hair over her shoulder as if everything that was being told to her was below her and she was the queen of the world. She was very much like this, she had this essence of superiority and that she was barely in the wrong. "If my advances are not welcomed, my dear knight may just address his uneasiness and I shall comply."

     "Lady Morgana," Diarmuid bit the inside of his cheek, not knowing how to stand properly to face her. His arms were limp on either side of him and his eyes jumped around the room. It was odd to have a woman pay attention to him (although he received this attention often, probably even in more vulgar terms), though he believed that the Lady Morgana was different. His curse must be inevitable.

     "It is not." Morgana answered.

     Diarmuid flinched.

     "It is not inevitable. I do not fall for the curse; your looks and your charisma are what draw me. I must say, you are truly a man that has it all in one."

     Merlin cleared his throat and Morgana shot him a side glance before smiling at Diarmuid.

     "You need not worry, Diarmuid, although you are near perfection, I can never take the man of another." No one noticed that her eyes flickered to the king for a fraction of a second and then she landed a hand of Diarmuid's shoulder. "Now," she breathed, "I am sure you wish to get rid of that mark, but it will be much harder without Youth."

     "I have been working on some potions, I think I have been able to make one that allows you to over come the pain," Merlin spoke, his tone grave, "though we must seek out Youth, that should be our main priority."

     "And Camelot's issue with Francia?" Diarmuid asked, brows knitting and frown stretching his lips. "Should that not be our main priority?"

     "That," Morgana answered, "is the King's priority. Not ours."