Merlin/Arthur Where is the target?
“Where’s the target?” said Arthur.
It was early in the afternoon, and the sun was up high. The practice didn’t promise anything interesting, so Arthur had to improvise.
“There, sir?” his servant said.
Arthur lifted his chin. “It’s into the sun.”
The servant, whatever his name was again, said:
“But it’s not that bright.”
“A bit like you, then.” As expected, the knights behind Arthur laughed.
“I’ll put the target down on the other way, shall I Sire?”
“Teach him a lesson,” one of Arthur’s men said, and Arthur was happy to comply.
“This will teach him,” he said.
He threw the first knife into the target while the servant was still walking. It hit the target in full and the servant’s eyes went wide. “Hey! Hang on.” That was all he said in protest. Meek, always meek.
Arthur forced him to run across the training grounds with the target in his hands, and it was barely becoming fun, when the servant fell, and the target rolled away.
“Hey. Come on, that’s enough.”
“What?”
There was a boy, younger than Arthur, and apparently with even less wit than Arthur’s servant.
“You’ve had your fun, my friend,” the boy said, smiling. His clothes showed that he wasn’t from Camelot. Obviously, he wasn’t. He was some kind of peasant who had no idea he was addressing the prince of Camelot.
“Do I know you?” Arthur stepped closer.
“I’m Merlin.” Merlin offered his hand. A dumb peasant, obviously.
Arthur didn’t think of shaking hands. “So I don’t know you.”
“No.”
“Yet you called me friend.” Arthur made another step closer.
“That was my mistake.”
“Yes, I think so,” Arthur smiled, trying to guess when this Merlin would understand what a big mistake he was making.
Merlin shrugged his shoulders in defiance and moved away. There was still that smile glued to his mouth. “Yeah. I’d never have a friend who could be such an ass.”
“Or I one who could be so stupid. Tell me, Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?”
Maybe there would be something of this practice today. And his knights would surely enjoy it. Arthur closed the distance between him and Merlin again.
“No.”
“Would you like me to help you?”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” said Merlin. His voice carried a warning - “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” A completely absurd warning, as Arthur had been trained in combat since his early age, and had bested all the knights in the tournament as soon as he had been admitted to participate in it.
“Why? What are you going to do to me?” said Arthur.
“You have no idea.” Again, Merlin’s voice promised something Arthur hadn’t experienced before.
At the prospect, his body reacted on its own with a rush of expectation. “Be my guest,” he said. “Come on.” Arthur stretched his arms open. “Come on.” Merlin didn’t move, and Arthur felt his impatience culminate. “Come on.”
Merlin struck with an ill-aimed punch, and Arthur grabbed him by the hand, twisted it behind Merlin’s back, and pulled him closer. Was that it? No more resistance? Under the stinging sun, the nearness of Merlin’s body was searing Arthur’s hand, chest, and trousers alike. Merlin was squirming, trying to break free, but Arthur wouldn’t let him.
“I’ll throw you in jail for that,” he said, watching Merlin’s ear and neck peer from under the dark hair.
Merlin’s breaths were short and loud. “Who do you think you are? The king?” he said, still squirming.
Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin’s arm and leaned closer. “No, I’m his son.” His voice gained a strange edge. “Arthur,” he added, almost wishing to bite his name into Merlin’s ear. Bite hard, so Merlin would remember. He pushed Merlin down to his knees, relishing in this moment where Merlin was powerless, forced into submission.
Then the royal guards came and dragged Merlin away.
Arthur turned around and shot a ‘he got his lesson’ glance at his men, who were laughing.
His limbs were restless, and excitement was still coiling up his stomach, yet Arthur ignored it, just as he ignored the need for that heat against his clothes again.
Had he been expecting something? A good fight? That wasn’t even worth calling a fight, but he had known that the moment he had seen that peasant’s skinny arms. What, then?
“You have no idea” - Merlin’s words played in his head a few times before Arthur finally managed to chase them away.
“Let’s continue the training,” he called.
--Managed to pull a few strings--
“Come in,” said Arthur as he heard the knock.
The court physician, Gaius, entered Arthur’s chambers.
“Sire,” Gaius said, “there is a matter about which I would like to speak with you, if I may.”
What could Gaius possibly want?
Arthur waved his hand to make the man speak up.
“My nephew arrived to Camelot recently, and I’m afraid he doesn’t know much of the worldly manners. He lived in a small village until now.” The physician raised his brow in a significant way, and Arthur was hoping this wasn’t going to be a request for a position at court.
“I apologize if Merlin offended you yesterday; he is young and inexperienced,” Gaius continued.
Arthur’s eyes widened in realisation. Merlin was Gaius’ nephew, and he was probably living with Gaius as well.
His hands reached for the goblet on the table to hide his agitation.
Gaius didn’t seem to notice. “I was hoping you’d be willing to let it go just this once. I need him to help me with my work. I’ll pay more attention to him and make sure he keeps to his duty.”
“He offended the Crown with his insubordination. The punishment for that is jail.” It seemed ridiculous the same moment Arthur said it. Insubordination, it sounded like something his father would say.
Gaius lowered his head in submission, but Arthur didn’t miss the way his lips squeezed. “I’m sure he didn’t mean such offence.”
An idea formed in Arthur’s mind, and he was already smiling. “He had to be punished, but maybe there’s something I could do.”
Gaius’ eyebrow quirked up again.
“Yes, he could spend a few hours in the stocks, and I would consider it punishment enough.”
“Thank you, Sire.”
“Do not mention that it was me who let him out,” Arthur said.
“I’ll say I managed to pull a few strings.” Gaius bowed and left the chambers.
Arthur sent out the order to release Merlin, and he put on the coat. Why not, it would be amusing to see that peasant in the stocks. He walked out, trying to imagine Merlin’s face smudged from rotten tomatoes, tried to imagine his expression.
The laugh that was just waiting to come out died on his lips when he saw Merlin was in the stocks already, and he seemed not to care at all.
He was chatting with Morgana’s servant, Gwen, smiling as if there were no chains around his hands. He laughed and smiled at her, trying to tilt his head toward her as much as he could, and she smiled back, casting her eyes now to him and now to her feet. How could he flirt while he was in the stocks? That was no punishment at all.
Arthur thought that dumb peasants sure had it easy. He spun around, knowing that he hadn’t been noticed and that he wouldn’t be, because Merlin was too busy ogling with Morgana’s servant. He should have left him in the dungeons.
--Something about you--
When he was returning from training with two of his men, Arthur took the longer way trough the city. There was nothing he had to do there, but his legs were leading him by themselves. He felt as if he were searching for something among the stalls at the market, something among those people, without quite knowing what.
Only when he noticed a lean figure, that slightly stooping back, and that tuft of black hair, Arthur knew he had found it. There was a knot forming in his guts, a surge of exhilaration going trough his fingers. Merlin walked right past him, without even turning his head, without noticing.
He must have been pretending.
“How’s your knee walking coming along?” Arthur called after him.
Merlin kept on walking as if he hadn’t heard, and the knot in Arthur’s stomach became tighter.
He lifted his hands in the air and intoned mockingly:
“Ah, don’t run away!”
“From you?” The figure stopped. It finally stopped.
The knot inside Arthur dissolved, and an itching sensation replaced it. “Thank God! I thought you were deaf as well as dumb.”
“Look, I’ve told you you’re an ass.” Merlin turned around. “I just didn’t realize you were a royal one.”
Such boldness took the words from Arthur’s mouth.
“Oh, what are you going to do?” continued Merlin as if taunting him. The night in the dungeons apparently hadn’t affected his impudence much. “You’ve got your daddy’s men to protect you?” Merlin said.
Arthur was forced by a laugh. That puny peasant, what could he possibly do? “I could take you apart with one blow.”
“I could take you apart with less than that,” said Merlin in a tone that Arthur wasn’t sure how to interpret; there was that promise again. The same warning.
Wondering what could make Merlin so confident, Arthur said:
“You sure?”
Merlin removed his jacket in answer, and his meagre constitution became even more evident now that he was only in a shirt. He really was intent to fight. That bag of bones was intent to fight the prince of Camelot. Wasn’t once enough? The thought sent Arthur into laughter again, and his two knights laughed with him.
One knight passed the mace to Arthur, who in turn threw it to Merlin. “Here you go, big man.”
The peasant, as clumsy as he was, let the mace drop, and Arthur could swear that this boy had never had a weapon in his hands. Even less he’d know how to use it. Nevertheless, Merlin picked it up.
He wouldn’t put up much of a fight - this would be over soon, Arthur thought, but anticipation rose in him.
“Come on, then.” He spun the mace above his head and stepped forward. “I warn you; I’ve been trained to kill since birth.”
Merlin didn’t seem impressed by that. “Wow. And how long have you been training to be a prat?”
Arthur stopped, smiling out of sheer astonishment. Cheeky little peasant… Not even Morgana dared to be so blunt. “You can’t address me like that.”
At those words, Merlin lowered his gaze and spoke softly:
“Sorry. How long have you been training to be a prat, my Lord?” His eyes darted up and shone in a mischievous way.
Arthur didn’t know what to say. Merlin’s face was plastered with a joyous smile, which showed how little he cared for the fact that Arthur was a prince, or for the fact that they were about to duel. He was obviously an idiot, this Merlin. Still not knowing what to say, Arthur swung with the mace toward his idiotic opponent.
Merlin ducked, barely in time, and retreated. Arthur walked toward him slowly, taking his time. His blood was already rushing, and his senses were heightened, though he knew he was completely in control. With or without the mace in hands, Merlin hardly posed any threat. Still, Arthur was curious to see what Merlin would be able to come up with, how long he would last. It was precisely like hunting, and this peasant was his deer.
“Come on, then, Merlin.”
Merlin was still retreating, and the city folk were gathering to watch.
“Come on.” Arthur was twirling his mace, now above his head, now at his sides, measuring Merlin’s movements. The game was only beginning.
In a moment of inattention, Merlin managed to entangle his mace in a wooden birdcage, and while he was trying to free it, Arthur struck. He made only a few tentative strikes to see how his opponent, his prey, would react. Merlin darted away, losing the mace.
Now was the time to play. As Arthur swished his weapon trough the air, so close to Merlin’s body, close enough for Arthur to ravish the panic on Merlin’s face but never close enough to hit him, it felt as good as hunt indeed.
The vegetables on the stall crushed under Arthur’s blow, and Merlin rolled over the stand. The peasant jumped to his feet, and the lines of fear were so clearly drawn on his face that they only made Arthur want to push more. Push him across all the market, push him in the corner, and in that corner Merlin finally tumbled.
Arthur chuckled, still spinning his mace. “You’re in trouble now.”
“Oh, God,” said Merlin, looking for a way to save himself.
There was no way out, Arthur knew. That’s when his mace caught right into the sickles that were hanging nearby together with other utensils. Although Arthur was quick to retrieve it, Merlin escaped meanwhile.
To think Arthur had already had him. He wondered how he could ever be so mindless of the surrounding, and he plunged forward, accidentally hitting a box with his feet. A groan (it was a loud groan and certainly not a cry) of both pain and frustration escaped him. Merlin graced him with a ‘serves you well’ smile. Arthur struck again, but he was becoming unfocused - there went a whole basket of eggs instead of Merlin’s head. He tripped over a rope he hadn’t noticed there before, which only gave Merlin the time to find his weapon and attack.
The most sensible thing to do under attack was to leave the mace on the ground and shoot up in order to avoid the hit, and that’s exactly what Arthur did. He started retreating backwards and dodging the blows, since Merlin insisted in whirling that mace in the most unskilled way possible. Arthur thought that he was running a greater risk of being hurt accidentally, when Merlin least intended it, as opposed to being defeated by Merlin’s skill in fighting.
“Do you want to give up?” Merlin said, and he had the insolence to look serious. The idiot was completely unaware of how pitiful his mace-swinging was. Depressing, really. One would have to train to make it look any worse.
Arthur simply couldn’t take that as a threat. “Do you?” he said back.
“Do you?” Merlin yelled. “Do you want to give up?”
A few more steps backwards, and Arthur’s leg bumped against something. He fell on his back, his legs sprawled, his hands in the air. How could this have happened? How could he have been so unfocused? Had he underestimated this silly peasant?
He expected Merlin to come forward with a blow, but he noticed that Merlin was looking elsewhere. Daydreaming during a fight? And during a fight against the prince of Camelot of all things? Too bad. Arthur sprung up and grabbed the nearest thing that could be used as a weapon - a broom, and he thrust it into Merlin’s back. One, two, three hits, making sure to direct the last one across that brainless dark head, and Merlin was knocked down.
A smirk crept across Arthur’s face. He had won. Of course he had won. Had Merlin truly thought he could win against Arthur?
To ridicule Merlin further, Arthur spun the broom and used it as if he were sweeping the litter on the market ground. The mild fatigue was pleasant to his limbs, his heartbeats still fast and inebriating.
The royal guards, which didn’t dare interrupt the fight before, now pulled Merlin up to his feet, prepared to take him away.
It annoyed Arthur. The way they were touching him, as if Merlin were a mere criminal to be thrown into the dungeons and not someone who had dared stand up to Arthur and had somehow been able to fight nearly as an equal, even if he was far from being equal to Arthur in skill. As if Merlin just now hadn’t shown more courage than they would in their entire lives.
It annoyed him that they were touching him at all. He felt as though he had finally found something to play with, and they were already about to snatch it away.
“Wait. Let him go,” he said and waved his hand. “He may be an idiot, but he’s a brave one.” The guards released the idiot, and Arthur stepped closer, studying his face. It was nothing like a warrior’s face, for it was still startled and deer-like, and weary from the fight, of course, yet beneath that, there was something that clearly spoke of defiance.
Arthur half-shook his head. “There’s something about you, Merlin, though I can’t quite put my finger on it.” It was true, because Arthur could not understand, not why Merlin had acted the way he had, not how he had managed to fight so well, and neither he could understand the gleam of Merlin’s eyes against the setting sun.
With those words Arthur left, but he thought of it again when he was alone in his room that evening, and he thought it while he was training his men the next day.
--God have mercy--
At the banquet in honour of lady Helen, he laughed and joked with his knights as usual. As he turned around, he saw that this peasant... Merlin, was there as well. This time Arthur decided to ignore him.
Morgana was already making her entrance, and that was much more interesting, wasn’t it? Arthur had even planned to offer himself for the dreadful task of accompanying her to the banquet, but then he had forgotten about it. As he tried to remember why he had forgotten, Merlin’s cheeky face appeared in his mind, and Arthur decided that reasons didn’t matter after all.
There she was, her dress sparkling with every step she made, her shoulders bare, and her hair combed up. That should be more interesting, Arthur told himself. He stared at Morgana, tried to stare as much as he could.
“God have mercy!” he said aloud. He said it more loudly than he needed, loudly enough for even Merlin to hear. And Merlin might have heard, if he hadn’t been staring at Morgana himself. For a moment, Arthur felt as though he had been beaten at his own game, and for Arthur losing had always been an itch that needed to be scratched immediately.
He decided to leave his knights and walk to Morgana. If Merlin wanted to watch, he should watch and see the difference between a prince and a peasant. Of course, the peasant was no concern of his. He would talk with Morgana because that’s what he usually did.
Thus, he approached Morgana and started to exchange various impolite remarks, as it was customary for their greeting. Something was not quite customary, though. Her exposed shoulders, the curves of her chest - Arthur wondered why they held none of their usual allure. Something was lacking. This evening, despite of all her clothes and charms, she was nothing but the ordinary Morgana. Arthur ended the conversation quickly - it would soon turn into bickering anyway - and glanced at the others courtiers.
The hall was blustering with people and voices, and among them, Merlin was chatting with Gwen again, smiling at her in that way again. Arthur looked away. All those faces in front of him - it was the first time that he felt… lost at his father’s court. He did not know what he wanted, and he did not know what bothered him.
The sound of the horn broke his thoughts. The king was entering the hall, and that was enough for Arthur to shake himself from those useless and childish musings. Arthur was the king’s son, so why should he feel lost?
The courtiers took their places. As usual, Arthur stepped to the seat at his father’s right side, behind the
royal table, and Morgana seated herself at father’s left side.
It was only then that Arthur noticed. He saw it with a corner of an eye, without really trying to; that tuft of dark hair seemed to call for his attention wherever it was. Merlin, standing only a few steps away. Why was he there among the servants? Gaius probably found him an employment here.
Arthur urged his eyes not to wander there openly, and instead he pretended to listen to his father’s speech. A strange awareness began to creep into him - Merlin was looking his way. Even without seeing it directly, Arthur knew. He felt the gaze as if warm fingers were trailing over his back; all the way from the bottom, those fingers crawled up, and finally they winded around his neck. He tried to keep his face indifferent, realising that Merlin might be watching his father and not him; it was more likely that he was watching the king. Yet was he? Pride did not let Arthur turn his head and check. The future king would not care whom a peasant was watching. It didn’t matter, he told himself. It did not matter.
When everyone began to clap, Arthur joined because clapping meant that the speech was over. He sat down at the same time his father did, and then he focused his attention on lady Helen.
She began to sing, and her voice, high and clear, filled the hall. It resonated from the walls, resonated inside Arthur’s head, calling to the turmoil inside his chest, and lulling it slowly. He thought no more of Merlin. He thought of nothing at all. Sleep, if he could only sleep now.
He leaned his head against the chair, letting the music take away all that was left of his mind. Sleep; to feel at peace again, away from this stirring inside him, away from Merlin’s gaze. Sleep.
A crashing sound awoke him from the stillness.
Upon opening his eyes, Arthur saw the hall was dark and cold, covered in cobwebs all over. He too was covered in cobwebs. What had happened? His father rose, and drowsy, Arthur rose as well. Everyone in the hall was waking.
There was an old hag in the middle of the hall, crushed under the chandelier. A witch. Before Arthur could blink, she took a knife and threw it at him, her body dropping down almost the same instant.
As if in a dream, Arthur saw the dagger coming toward him. He wanted to move but could not. Instead, he stood there as if still bewitched. He could already see the dagger tear his flesh, could already see the blood - his blood, the pain, the death, the end, when he felt a pair of hands grab him and pull him away. Only as he fell, the grip on him lessened.
Arthur looked sideways at the face close to him. Merlin’s face. An inch or two from his. His senses billowed around, from the closeness of Merlin’s body to the smell of death, and then they flew back to his seat. On the back of his chair, the dagger was piercing the wood exactly where Arthur’s heart should have been.
Unable to comprehend, Arthur scrambled to his feet. He was still alive. Had Merlin just saved his life? Saved his life, echoed in his mind.
He felt as though by snatching him from death, Merlin had snatched him out of his skin too, leaving him there in bare flesh, open and vulnerable. His heart remained pierced on the chair.
And Merlin… Merlin must have been confused as well, judging by how he was watching around and how he was hiding his hands on his back. Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes away; something compelled him to follow every Merlin’s move. He was staring at this peasant the same way he had been trying to stare at Morgana earlier.
“You saved my boy’s life. A debt must be repaid.” That was father’s voice.
Merlin muttered something, shrugging his shoulders.
“Now, don’t be so modest. You shall be rewarded,” the king insisted.
Merlin made an uncomfortable smile. “No, honestly, you don’t have to, Your Highness.”
He didn’t want a reward? Hadn’t Merlin done it for the reward?
“No, absolutely. This merits something quite special,” father said, louder this time.
“Well,” said Merlin.
“You should be awarded to the position of the royal household. You shall be prince Arthur’s manservant.” The king smiled and moved toward the witch’s dead body. People began to clap.
Arthur’s servant? This peasant? It prickled Arthur’s pride. His pride and more.
“Father!” he cried in protest, yet father paid no attention. Once his father had made his decision, it was impossible to make him change his mind, Arthur knew that.
He looked at that blasted peasant boy, and their eyes met for a moment before Arthur turned away in embarrassment. He noticed the awkward smile that went past Merlin’s lips, though.
“Come to my chambers early tomorrow,” said Arthur at last, trying to make it sound as annoyed as possible.
Then he hastened after his father. After all, there were many duties he, the prince, had to attend to. Finding out how this witch had arrived here, what had happened to the real lady Helen, removing the dead body, removing the webs,… Many things he had to supervise. He was the prince, and he had more pressing things to do than to pay attention to one peasant.
Yet the words he had exchanged with Merlin the day before came to his mind again.
“I could take you apart with one single blow.”
“I could take you apart with even less.”
Shivers went trough Arthur’s body, half from having escaped death and half from…. Half from…
“I could take you apart with even less than that,” Merlin’s voice whispered in his mind.
Arthur stepped back to his chair and grabbed the knife by the hilt. Forcefully, with several jerks of both hands, he pulled it out. A small fissure remained, however, staining the lacquered wood, and Arthur’s heart was still lying there transfixed.
--Doors in that place--
Arthur was loitering up and down in his chambers, then staring into the darkness outside his window. It was late.
He had told Merlin to come early the next day, but the more the time passed, the more he was thinking of that peasant’s reasons. He was still calling Merlin ‘that peasant’ in his mind, but he had to admit that whenever he had talked with him, he called him by name, mostly to make fun of him. Now the name remained stuck in his brain. Merlin.
Arthur went back to the table and sat down.
Why had Merlin saved him from that witch? Didn’t Merlin dislike him? What did he want?
He stood up again and paced around. He would ask him. Ask what he wanted. If Merlin had done it for some further motive, Arthur could fulfil whatever that was, if it fell within reasonable demands, and he wouldn’t have to keep Merlin as a servant anymore.
Arthur thought of it some more and at last decided that he was the prince, and he had all the rights to call his servant to his chambers whenever he wanted.
Thus, he sent for Merlin and waited.
Merlin’s arrival caught him by surprise still, because Merlin barged in without knocking. Arthur spent several seconds staring at him, and Merlin stared back, with the expression that was saying, “Well, what is it?”
“You sent for me,” said Merlin at last as if to help.
“I know I sent for you.” Arthur had almost forgotten how annoying this person was. “I don’t know if you have doors in that place you come from…”
“Ealdor,” Merlin interrupted.
“I don’t know if you have doors in that place you come from,” Arthur repeated somewhat louder, “but in Camelot it’s customary to knock before entering. Do you understand?”
Merlin nodded in a way that made Arthur think he didn’t understand entirely, or perhaps he didn’t even pay attention to it.
His face was still asking, “Well, what is it, then?” and his eyes were shining as earnestly as only a simpleton’s eyes could.
Arthur’s intention to ask why Merlin had saved his life was fading. He couldn’t ask. It would mean admitting he owed his life to this simpleton, and that he could not do. Something about this peasant, and Arthur was calling him ‘peasant’ only because everything about him betrayed he was a peasant, well, something about Merlin was irritating him.
He began to talk about Merlin’s duties instead. “You’ll be polishing my armour, make sure it’s done properly; I’ll notice if it’s not. Pay extra attention to my swords - I don’t want you to ruin them. You’ll be washing my clothes, cleaning my chambers, bringing me food or anything else I need.”
Merlin blinked in confusion, and Arthur felt the urge to list some more chores and add some perfectly ludicrous ones for the effect. “You’ll be mucking the stables and take care of my horse. I use more than one horse, so that means you’ll have to groom all the horses that I might use.”
“How many is that?” said Merlin.
“Well,” Arthur said, tasting the sweet exasperation in Merlin’s words, “I like to try them all from time to time. Oh, I need you to memorize this.” He handed Merlin a book.
“What is this?”
“Rules of the tournament,” said Arthur.
“Tournament?” repeated Merlin and leafed trough the book. Then he looked at Arthur with that angry and tortured deer-face again, and something inside Arthur began to hum with pleasure.
“Anything else you might need?” Merlin said. Then he added, “Sire?” and by the sound of it, that was the worst insulting expression he was allowed to utter at the moment.
“Yes,” said Arthur, “you’ll be pouring the wine at the banquets, making sure my cup is always full, and…”
“Is there anything at all that you do by yourself, or do I have to change your clothes and help you dress too?” Merlin said in derisive tone.
For a moment, Arthur thought of saying that except for the armour, he was completely capable of dressing himself without help, but then he thought better of it. “Yes, helping me don my armour, dress, and undress are parts of your duties too.”
It was worth it for the look on Merlin’s face alone.
“But you can leave for tonight,” said Arthur. “Don’t forget that you have to come to my chambers early tomorrow morning.”
“Yes.” Merlin’s voice sounded absent.
“And don’t forget what I told you about knocking,” Arthur cried after him as Merlin was at the door.
“Yes,” Merlin said again, and Arthur could swear he didn’t understand this time either.
It didn’t matter, though. It didn’t matter even that Arthur hadn’t asked Merlin what he had planned. This was obviously a country boy who hadn’t got a clue about anything, and Arthur thought that he might be able to sleep after all. Thinking of Merlin’s flustered face, Arthur thought that this night he might sleep soundly.
Episode 02