So... here's the second chapter! Sorry I'm such a slow writer! It's been a little while since the first and all your reactions have been incredible! Thank you all so much and I really appreciate all votes and comments!

Oh and btw spamming the author doesn't make me favour your character... lol.

Best comment goes to russetfox12345 - your comment made my day - week - is it ok to say life? Anyway, thanks!

I'm quite tired so if there are a lot of typos don't hesitate to comment and correct them I won't be offended!

Sorry I can't stop talking... without further ado, here's the chapter:

By the time Thoryne had spoken to his last customer, the sun was setting. As he left the small building, he cursed quietly under his breath. It had been a long day and he had had to deal with far too many of those pig-headed nobles in one day. He was tired and hungry. I need a drink.

Quickly, he redirected his course from his home to the nearby tavern, pace quickening at the thought of some much-needed sustenance. The path beneath his feet was muddy and his boots slipped a few times but he easily kept his balance and avoided any collisions with fellow villagers.

By the time he reached the bar, he was knee-high in mud and cold. He hastened over to the bar and bought himself a drink before settling comfortably at his accustomed table.

He knew he attracted a few uneasy stares, mostly from those who called themselves the "middle" and "upper" classes, but in reality where as much trapped in this peasant's life as anybody else. It frustrated him how, well, snobby people could be sometimes. They were in this together and if people would just admit to that there would be no need to bow down to each other in this pathetic system. He took another sip. Arrogance. He thought in annoyance.

True, he had a fair share of it himself, but at least he didn't try to rule over all these others. He just accepted his status, unfair as it was, and got on with life. Life wasn't about "classes" after all, really, was it? It was about the experience. He hoped so, anyway.

One particular starer today was that Lord. Callahan, was it? Thoryne couldn't recall. What did it matter anyway, when he was most likely just like the rest of them.

No respect for the poorer folks, these men. None at all.

His thoughts were interrupted when he caught the barmaid, Emile, looking at him again. She often did this, just looked at people. With her big, soulful eyes it was as if she could see straight into you. Unnerving really.

He had never asked how old she was - it was rude to ask a woman's age, everyone knows that - but she was young still and beautiful. And, oh great, she was looking again. He quickly turned his attention back to his drink and cleared his throat quietly.

The amber liquid swirled and shimmered mysteriously inside its silver prison and he could see his own reflection, twisted and distorted, staring back at him from its depths.

He cursed again. No wonder he was attracting so many stares. His hair was dishevelled from a long day's work toiling away in that cramped workroom, his eyes were tired and slightly red-rimmed from lack of sleep, mainly down to the long work hours he had been pushing himself to in order to gain a few extra coins. His clothes were filthy. Frowning at his own reflection, he watched with the dazedness that can only come with exhaustion as it frowned back at him. He scrunched his eyes shut and ran a hand over his face and through his hair.

He should probably be getting home.

———

Emile watched as Thoryne turned to leave. She hadn't meant to stare, she didn't mean anything by it, but still... she sighed and shook her head. Maybe she could explain next time he came in. That is, if he ever showed up again after today.

Sighing she turned back to a new customer and poured him a drink. To be honest, sometimes she felt trapped in this life.

And what life was that? This. Serving drunken peasants, nobles and knights all day, and for what? A tiny room in the attic of this house. For four years she had stayed here. This wretched place, the death-place of her parents, was all she'd ever known. Maybe it was time to try something different.

No, I can't. There was something left for her here, she knew. She had a purpose in life. Maybe not significant to many, but to her...

She was (rather rudely, she thought) jerked from her thoughts by a loud clang from outside, startling her so much that the mug in her hands nearly slipped from her slackened fingers, but she caught it just in time.

Gathering the skirt of her cotton dress in her hands to lift it slightly and allow her to move faster, she hurried outside. Curiously, she stood in the doorway of her little inn, 'YE OLDE PHEASANT" (she didn't name it) and watched the scene in front of her unfold.

Two men were standing facing each other, no more than a few metres apart. The first was tall and muscled, with iron armguards on over his otherwise simple clothing. She recognised him from somewhere. Wulfur, was that his name? Yes, the baker's son. Couldn't be older than 20, and apologising profusely to his attacker.

The other man was shorter and of slimmer build, with a thin face and a wiry chin, wearing a long robe, boots and a deep frown. He was shouting at the boy about something, Emile couldn't quite make out the words, but a few more steps into the torrential rain and...

"You idiot! Look what you've done now!"

"I - I didn't mean to! I'm sorry, it was an accident, I'll repair it for you!"

"Not good enough!" The other snapped, gesturing a pile of wood where his stall had been. Emile sighed and shook her head. The thing was in pieces, but should be easy enough to repair. The older man was seriously overreacting and it was beginning to get out of hand as his hot temper flared. "You want me to let you near my possessions alone and have you steal something? Not a chance!"

"But I -"

Wulfur was cut off mid-sentence by a young man, well-built, tall, with short blonde hair and chainmail: a knight. So pointlessly brave. She thought. It was common knowledge how Thoryne felt on the matter of nobility and right now, she was inclined to agree.

"Everybody. Calm down."

———

He gestured with his hands for both sides to calm themselves; people were staring and after all, it was only a stall.

When neither moved nor spoke, he nodded in satisfaction. "Now, will one of you gentlemen please explain to me what is going on here?"

The man with the wiry chin replied. "I'll tell you what: none of your business, that's what!"

Callahan sighed. He wasn't afraid to fight or to argue but that didn't mean that he enjoyed doing either. Peace led to prosperity, which in turn led to power and prestige. Peace benefitted everyone.

"I am Lord Callahan Blackbourne. You will show me some respect." His voice, though quiet, had a hard edge to it, just a hint of warning.

For a second the other opened his mouth as though considering a retort, but promptly shut it again and instead spoke in a polite voice. "Of course, my Lord."

"So I ask you again - what is going on?"

The old man's temper flared again and he pointed an a accusing finger at the younger boy opposite him.

"This bumpkin has... destroyed my stall, my property, that's what!" He was practically shouting again, little drops of saliva flying from his mouth like shards of broken glass. "He's ruined me!"

And so the noble spent the next half hour reasoning with the two, trying to explain that the stall could be easily fixed. I'm the end he gave a large sum of money to the shop owner to pay for the damage and the three parted their own separate ways.

Callahan headed back to the castle immediately, for he hadn't been there for a few hours and his presence would be missed soon. Sliding purposely along the corridors, he let his mind wander to other topics.

There was a new Lady in the castle. Nothing much to be said there.

Then there were the rumours of course, that a sorcerer had breached the castle. That a traitor lived among them.

It had started about a week ago. Servants began to whisper to their masters and mistresses, who whispered to each other and back to the servants. His own servant, Amelia, had informed him of it.

Not one to trust rumours, Lord Blackbourne had shrugged and told her it was a lie. But now even king Uther had heard it, although he pointedly refused to accept it.

We all need to be careful, or it will be us on that pyre.

———

Amelia waited dutifully for her master to return to his chambers. He had been gone for hours now, and although her loyalty belonged to him, even she had to admit it was suspicious, this long absence.

Carefully, she looked over the room one last time, running a hand over the bedsheets in an anxious attempt to smooth out any creases. Having been trained for this position since she could remember, she knew how to make a room look perfect, and after this long as Lord Callahan's servant, she knew he expected it to be so. His ambition and perfectionism was carried on even into his private life, after all.

Tired of waiting, she fiddled with the hem of her dress. Mentally, she checked over the list of jobs for her master; cleaning, washing, tidying, and the like. Everything was done, everything was as it should be. So why was she so nervous?

Unable to stand still, she moved over to the long table, currently laid with food and drink for Callahan's return. She rearranged the cutlery just to have something to do with her hands, often simply replacing it exactly where it had been before. She circled the table like a vulture, scanning it for any sign of imperfection. She straightened knives and forks, span plates round, shifted the jug and goblet, but to no avail. She still had the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

And deep down she knew it wasn't the room around her. It wasn't the cutlery or the bed or the exquisite decorations. It wasn't a physical problem at all, she realised, though she fought hard to convince both herself and the world that it was.

She didn't belong here. She had been born and raised as a servant, but she still couldn't help but feel trapped here. She had no freedom or time to herself, just work and orders, submission and respect.

Maybe it's time something changed.

After all, the only way up was up from here, wasn't it?

Just as she was about to resume her ceaseless fussing, the door swung open and Callahan himself walked in. She rushed over him, checking for any injury or signs of harm.

"My Lord! Are you alright? I feared you would not return, I feared that something had happened..."

She trailed off when he brushed her aside with a hand, obviously distracted.

It was only then that she looked closer.

His face was happy and carefree, the frown lines smoothed from his forehead by some unknown joy, as her own hands had just smoothed the creases from his bed.

He smiled distantly, at her and yet not at her. It was as if the man in front of her was not Lord Callahan, but a ghost in his likeness. Amelia frowned. "My Lord?"

Her voice seemed to snap him out of whatever it was, and he sort of shook himself. "Amelia? What are you standing there gaping for?" He seemed a little flustered, though his stern words hid it well.

Amelia could se it, though, but she pretended she couldn't for the sake of his pride. "I'm sorry my Lord. I believe everything is prepared." She gestured proudly to the immaculate room.

He nodded, striding behind the changing screen and slinging his dirty clothes over the edge. Of course, she was expected to collect them and she did, replacing them with clean garments. "You may go once I have dressed then."

"Yes my Lord."

Soon she was treading down the corridors, washing in hand. She looked down at her simple clothes: her red cotton dress and short boots. She signed. Not much to see really, just a serving girl. One day-

But her plans for the future were interrupted when she walked smack into something hard that stumbled backwards when she hit it. Her washing fell from her hands and she caught herself on hands and knees before she fell over completely.

Not looking up she began to gather the clothes. "Sorry." She muttered.

And then there was a familiar face opposite her, hands other than her own picking up the laundry.

"That's alright." Aestivus Clares grinned back at her.

———

Tiv couldn't help but grin when he saw the shocked look on Amelia's face. It was almost animalistic, like a startled deer.

Quickly, he helped her to bundle up the spilt clothes before continuing on his way, back to his mistress's chambers.

Lady Amber Godwin. She was an interesting character, that was for sure. He had been a trusted servant of her father, Lord Godwin,'s house, and had continued to be so even after his death.

Though she could be distant and harsh at times, he believed that their relationship was fairly pleasant and he could only hope that she felt the same way. Perhaps she would open herself up to him someday, but for now, she remained a very tightly wrapped parcel of mystery and unknown surprises.

It had hit her hard when Lord Godwin passed away a year back. For her to handle all that pressure, the responsibility she had unexpected been forced to shoulder on her own... his heart reached out to her.

Tiv had always been told he had a big heart, he was sympathetic toward others and when poor Amber's father had died she had lost everything. He had so desperately wanted to help her, to comfort her, but he didn't know what to say. And besides, even if he had thought of something remotely close to reasonable to tell her, it wouldn't have mattered. She had shut everyone out, even her own servant. But then again, she had technically never welcomed him in with open arms, had she?

Sometimes, in situations like that, it was all Tiv wanted to be able to help, to ease another's pain or misery and bring them back to the light. He saw them suffering and he so desperately wanted to end it but he couldn't and that made him feel so helpless, like an insignificant ant in the middle of a wide forest. Nobody. Nothing.

She was recovering now, but Tiv could tell that she was still grieving inside. She hid it well, but he had known her for nearly 7 years now and he could tell.

Something in the way she walked slightly slower, stood slightly less straight, smiled a little less often. It was sad, really. Wanted to help.

If only there was a way. If only magic wasn't banned.

Then he could help. But it was and it wasn't likely to change any time soon, and so he was condemned to sit at the sidelines and watch his mistress struggle through everyday life.

At least the grief seemed to have faded a little. Or perhaps she just got better at hiding it.

He reached her chambers and smiled when he found her at the desk, sorting through paperwork on things such as food supplies, crop growth, etc. Tiv knew because when she was younger she had told him that that was what her father did. He presumed that when he died that responsibility had, inevitably, become hers.

She looked up when he entered and returned the smile. "Aestivus. How are you?" She was in a good mood today, but still, the use of his full name reminded him how distant they were from one another.

"I am well, thank you, My Lady. Is there anything you need?" He kept his tone and words polite and his head slightly bowed, although his eyes never left her face.

She proceeded to give him a rather long list of chores and he barely stifled a groan. That was her way of telling him that she wanted to be in her own, to give him chores so that he would be busy. It meant she wanted to hide something. Tiv guessed she was missing her father. He didn't blame her. He was a good man.

At the door, he paused. "My Lady?"

"Yes?"

"There have been some, um..." how to put it? "... rumours around the palace."

She didn't even look up from her paper. "And how does this concern me?" Her words were slightly mumbled, her concentration on the parchment in front of her.

"Some of them have, well... centred around you, my Lady. I thought you should know."

With that he fled the chambers, not wanting to see her reaction. He tried his best to ignore her bellowed "Aestivus!" echoing down the corridor after him.

———

Rumours? Lady Amber Godwin stared angrily at the door her servant had just escaped through. And escaped was the right word, considering her current mood.

What are these rumours, I wonder?

What if they knew? No, it was just rumours, nothing to worry about. But if it was just rumours, why had she overreacted like that? She was embarrassed of her shaking hands and the conclusions she had jumped to. She was embarrassed that she had shouted at Tiv like that.

What if she had ruined their relationship? Their building trust, and, if she was honest, their friendship. She valued his opinion and she could tell that he cared for her. Yelling like that... she knew it was wrong, it wasn't his fault, in fact she was actually grateful that he had told her. It must have taken nerve, knowing how she would react, and he had obviously known, because he had run.

But she was on edge at the moment, overreacting to every little thing. Ever since her father's death, she knew she was acting different. It was as if there were a veil over her thoughts, thin enough so that she was able to see through, but opaque enough that it darkened the world around her. Her father had been her light amid the darkness. Now that light was gone.

And the worst thing was, she had nobody to talk to. She drove everyone away with her short temper and self-isolation. There were only a few people she was close enough to properly interact with, and Aestivus had been one of them until today. She sighed.

I hope he can forgive me.

There were others, of course, although admittedly not many. Sir Leon, she knew, would listen to her, if only in a very formal and respectful manner, and his younger brother too. Lucan. He had been knighted a few days back, and often paused to talk to her in he passageways, or would approach her when she watched the knights train, asking how she was and making idle conversation.

She felt closer to him than to anyone else, even Aestivus. She could only dream that maybe he approached her out of the same want of friendship, rather than out of politeness and respect like his brother. Leon was a good man and an excellent knight, but Lucan was certainly easier to talk to.

Why was she thinking about this? She shook her head, frustrated, trying to bury herself in paperwork, but she found that she could not be absorbed by farming and statistics today.

She pushed back her chair, her thoughts whirring now. Her father, Leon, Lucan, Uther, Aestivus. All flashing through her mind. Her breathing was rapid and her heart was thudding in her chest.

Stumbling to the door by way of using the bed for support, she nearly ran, flustered and shaken by this sudden occurence, until she reached the physician's chambers. Bursting in through the door, she had time to take in a very surprised and confused Gaius taking off his reading glasses and pushing back his chair before the room span a final time and went black.

Thank you all for reading and voting!

This has been even longer than the first chapter at 3550 words! The next few chapters will be a little bit shorter so I can update more regularly! Sorry for the delay!

If you want more stories like this, check out me and PackWolfLegolas' joint account: WeAreMellyn! We are currently writing a collection of Merlin 'short' stories called Shadows and Sorcery, and the first one is out!