"So umm...I was wondering if I might have the night off...," Merlin avoided Arthur's eyes as he cleared away the dinner plate.

Arthur looked up from his desk, "What for?"

"I thought you said what a man does in his spare time is entirely up to him?"

Arthur eyes widened, his voice amused, "Merlin, are you telling me that we've been in Eirinn less than two nights and that you already have an...assignation?"

Merlin grinned, "I'm not telling you anything, sire. Now may I have the night off?"

"Very well. But don't expect leniency from me tomorrow if you spend the night swimming in a tankard of ale."
 "I think I'll leave the swimming in tankards to you," Merlin shot back, ducking out as Arthur glared.

***

"Morgana, are you sure you feel up to this? You're still tired..."

"Nonsense dear Gwen!" Morgana whispered, fastening her cloak at her neck with a plain gold clasp, "I haven't felt this alive in years. I'm so glad you told me about this."

Gwen smiled. It was good to see some colour in her friend's cheeks; when she had first arrived, almost two days ago, Guinevere had been struck by her paleness and sickly eyes, so very different from the brilliant young girl who had run with her through the meadows of Camelot. Her friend had grown into a beautiful woman, with a face as clear and luminous as painted glass; but the candleflame of her beauty flickered in a chill of despair that Gwen could neither pinpoint nor fully understand.

They both turned as Merlin slipped in, cloak-less but with a leather jerkin over his plain tunic. His grin was infectious, "Ready?"

Gwen glanced in the mirror one last time: she wore a light summer gown in soft green, plain except for the girdle sitting above her hips, the cloth light enough that she could dance without restraint. Her only adornment was a silver half-moon clasp holding her long hair in place. 
As the three of them scurried down the hallway, turning left and right at her lead to avoid the guards, she felt a sudden pang for the loss of her mother. If Andromedhe had been alive, Guinevere would not have to slip about like a thief just to attend the Summer Solstice celebrations. Her mother's people had celebrated the cycles of the moon and sun for thousands of years, giving thanks to the Earth and Sky through music, dance and laughter. In those days, people bowed before the coming storm-clouds, before the ocean waves, by the side of fields ripe for harvest. Now they prostrated themselves before the swollen pride of Kings glutted on war; the Elder Ones, the dragons were hunted and destroyed; and Uther's war on magic crept across the land and over the seas. 

"Are you sure they won't mind if we join them?" Merlin whispered as they crouched by the outer wall, waiting for the night patrol to pass.

Gwen smiled, "Not if you're with me. My family and I used to attend these celebrations all the time." She glanced about, "Quick! Let's go."

***

Unable to study maps for any longer, but too restless to sleep, Arthur had finally decided that he needed some fresh air. From the moment they had arrived in Eirinn, he had been cloistered with kings and councilmen over affairs of state, as territorial disputes and old allegiances were stirred anew by the arrival of Camelot. Arthur couldn't stand the pissing contests that such meetings quickly devolved into, and as Crown prince of Camelot he was subject to open enmity, sullen dislike or insincere sycophancy. What was perhaps most disgusting was how the various lords dangled their daughters and wards before Camelot like so much bait, fishing for an alliance that would buy them Camelot's substantial military protection. Worse, his father seemed to be seriously considering some of their propositions.
Finally having put enough distance between himself and the palace, Arthur looked out over the quiet sea lit by the round, opalescent moon. He remembered old folk tales about the light of the full-moon, how it could drive the spirits of men to passion, or madness. So at first when he caught the faint strains of music in the air, he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him. Curious and a little wary, Arthur followed the sounds until they were loud enough and unmistakeably real, consistent in the night air. They led him to the stone ruins of what looked like a manor, its fallen pillars already covered with moss. In the ruined courtyard a celebration seemed to be underway, men and women beat out a steady rhythm on drums, blended with the plaintive notes of flutes and the crisp pattern of tambourine bells. In the centre of the courtyard, people were dancing, some in pairs and some alone, their feet matching the drum-rhythm.
He had heard of such celebrations, even in Camelot. Uther turned a blind eye so long as they were small in scale and incorporated no actual magic. As the pounding, earthy beat vibrated in the air, a single laugh caught his ear, the pure aching joyfulness of it. In the centre of the crowd a woman was dancing, laughing as she danced.

And so upon the shores of Eirinn, by the light of the Midsummer Moon, Arthur Pendragon looked upon Guinevere for the first time.