From Merlin's window, Arthur watched Leon lead a party of knights through the front gates of Camelot. The beat of the horses' hooves echoed against the cobbles and the stone walls of the citadel.

"It's time," Arthur whispered. He shuddered at hearing Merlin's voice so close. It reminded him of similar occasions, when Arthur would be staring through a window or into the night on the eve of a battle or challenge, and his manservant would approach his shoulder and speak those same words. 'It's time, Arthur'. A small shove, and the king would be pushed into action.

Merlin knew him too well. Almost better than Arthur knew himself.

As he watched the rescue mission depart, Arthur wondered about exactly what it was he was doing. Obviously, he was going to rescue Merlin. It was something he had done often enough in the past, whenever the manservant had been ill or injured to the point of death. Usually, Merlin was in that condition because he had been protecting Arthur – he had drunk poison, jumped in front of the Dorocha. Arthur's fingers brushed his chest, where he knew that horrible scar was.

It would be so easy to believe that Gaius was telling the truth about Merlin being this 'Emrys' who was supposed to guard Arthur for the great destiny they seemed to be involved in. He wanted to, he really wanted more than anything to believe that.

But, eight years. Eight years had Arthur known Merlin, and in all that time, not once had the other man told Arthur the truth. Arthur considered Merlin one of his closest friends, but the person Arthur knew was nothing but a front put up to guard this secret magic. In the worst case scenario, Merlin and Gaius had long ago thought up this elaborate cover story to tell Arthur should the king find out. He knew Gaius was Merlin's accomplice; if he could not trust Merlin, then he could not trust the physician either. The physician who had once been a sorcerer.

Gaius had not elaborated on "commitment" or "destiny" until after learning that he was speaking to the king. Nor had Gaius told him where these "prophecies" came from; for all Arthur knew, they really were made up. Maybe there was another reason those two had kept Arthur alive this long.

Doubt gnawed at Arthur's heart. It was nearly crippling.

Shaking his head to clear it, Arthur decided he would do whatever it took to get his body back. Then, and only then, would he deal with Merlin.

Arthur grabbed Merlin's knapsack from the bed. It was packed full and heavy with provisions, gathered from the kitchen earlier that afternoon. Safely buried at the bottom and bound up with a strip of leather was Merlin's book. Arthur hefted the bag onto his shoulder (marveling still at Merlin's incredible lack of muscle) and gave the room a long last look. Hopefully, this would be his last night in this closet.

Arthur quietly opened the door to Merlin's room and descended the steps into Gaius's chambers. It was quiet and shadowed, lit only by candles and a dwindling fire. The physician himself was absent; at Arthur request, he had taken a sleeping drought to the queen, for surely Guinevere would be laying awake plagued by night terrors and thoughts of her husband. She was so strong, but her incredible love and kindness would break her in the quiet times. She had no one's arms to run to tonight.

Gwaine was still asleep. The blankets hung half-way off of the knight, whose limbs were sprawled haphazardly across the bed and whose mouth hung open unabashedly. Even in the dim lighting, Arthur could see a stream of drool glinting on the man's beard.

Arthur tried to cross the chambers silently, but it was impossible on Merlin's clumsy feet that he was still not used to wearing. So of course he would elbow over the broom. He caught the thing before it could clatter against the floor. Still, the thup-shhhhhhhh sound it made as it ran along the edge of the bench was noisy enough. Arthur glanced over his shoulder at Gwaine, but all the knight did was smack his lips and roll onto his side. He then began to snore. Relieved, Arthur continued to the door and was soon outside of it.

He had one last stop to make before he could leave. His chambers – the king's chambers. He set off toward them at a cautious trot, hoping he would not trip over the idiot's ankles along the way.

He had no difficulties until he reached his quarters, where there was, of course, a guard posted at the doors. Usually there were two, but with Arthur 'absent', there was no risk to his life to guard against. This man merely protected the king's possessions. No matter the number of guards, though, it would look suspicious for the king's manservant to be snooping around there in the middle of the night. (He tried not to think about the number of times he had awoken to find Merlin hovering over him anyway.) He needed to distract the guard from his post just long enough to get in and out.

As Arthur surveyed the corridor and his options, it occurred to him – Maybe there's a spell that can do it. He hated to keep doing this, but he did need to train with the magic, to keep himself alive, his men alive, and his body alive long enough to get back into it. That much was clear. He backed into a tapestry-covered alcove and laid the book open on the floor. With the smallest of flames in his palm providing light, he began to search the pages.

He soon found a section that seemed devoted to sleeping spells, both casting them and breaking them. Merlin had made notes on these pages, too, but if Arthur was not mistaken, they seemed less haughty and more hesitant. Or frustrated. Merlin had crossed out his own words a number of times and left several '?'s hanging discouragingly on the page. On the very left hand side of the left page, Arthur could only just make out the words, "Nothing on sleeping curses" grinded into the vellum with a heavy hand that had splattered the ink.

Like the sections on fire and locking spells, Merlin had sequestered a section of the pages for a convenient list of spell-words, which he must have created in his spare-time as a quick "go-to" list for when he was in a hurry. It was especially handy for Arthur, because the king could at least trust that these worked, unlike the sections Merlin had practically scratched out in his frustration with them.

He picked a spell that seemed simple in its words, thinking it would do the least harm to his poor guard. Memorizing it, he snuffed the light, stowed the book again, and crept back to the corner of the corridor. He held out his right hand toward the guard, focused a fair amount of the magic into his hand, and pronounced, "Swefe nu."

He felt his eyes turn hot and the magic leave him. A second later, the guard's head lolled, and he slumped to the ground.

Arthur's heart pounded in his chest. He had not thought about it when choosing the spell, but this was the first time he had used Merlin's magic on another human. Magic – it could be used to manipulate the people around the caster. Horrified, Arthur wondered if, with a single word, a sorcerer could command another person to die.

He was trembling as he approached the door. Before anything else, he knelt to make sure the guard was okay. The young man was still breathing, calmly, and there was a light snore in his inhales. He was fine. It did not make Arthur feel any less guilty.

The door was locked. Obviously. And of course Arthur did not have the key on him.

The magic twitched inside of him, as if to say, Use me!, and the spell word from the night before welled in his memory. Arthur raised his hand again and said, "Onlucan." Easily, the lock turned, and Arthur was allowed inside.

It felt like it had been years, not days, since Arthur had been in his own bedchambers. He wanted to stay here, to sleep here in his bed, to relish in a moment of being Arthur. Alas, he did not have that sort of time. He needed to get what he came here for and hit the road.

Arthur used the same spell, 'onlucan', to unlock the armor chest. And there it was! Excalibur. After he had fainted that day at the ruins, he had not been entirely sure where his precious sword had gone, but he had reasoned that it would be returned to the absent king's quarters, the safest place for it. He grasped the sword in his right hand and pulled it from the chest.

It buzzed in his hand, the sensation trailing up into his arm. Arthur could feel its magic – powerful and foreign – and Merlin's magic greeting each other like old friends. He scowled. That Merlin should know more about this sword than its rightful owner –

Wait. That day. It had been Merlin who led Arthur to Excalibur where it was lodged in the stone. Merlin who told him the story about Bruta, Camelot's first king, hiding the sword there and how it could only be removed by a true leader of Camelot. Merlin claimed to have found the bloody thing, when no one else could! Arthur had thought the whole thing fishy until he saw the sword in the stone, surrounded by all of his subjects who were waiting to see him pull it out.

Back then, he had assumed the story was true after all, for the sword had not come out until Arthur believed in his heart that he was worthy of it. It must have been deep and ancient magic, from the days of Bruta and their ancestors. That Merlin had found it at just the right time had been nothing more than a blessing from the gods.

He stared now at Excalibur in its sheath. What sort of coincidence was it for Merlin the magician to stumble across an ancient sword no one had ever heard of that could prove Arthur was the rightful heir to the throne at a time when Arthur had lost all faith in himself to rule? Arthur could never have taken Camelot back if he had not found Excalibur. He knew that. Merlin had known that, too.

Was even Excalibur a lie?

Bile rose in his throat. He removed Excalibur from its sheath and continued to study it. The sword itself was beautifully crafted, wrought from steel and gold. It was perfectly balanced, and the blade never had to be polished or sharpened. There was no better sword in all of Albion, of that Arthur was sure. And the magic flowing through it did not feel like Merlin's. While Merlin's felt like sunlight and growing things, the impression this magic gave him was of that deep pit of energy far beneath their feet, or of mountains and rocks.

Arthur growled and sheathed his sword again. It was a great sword – the best sword – and it belonged to Arthur alone. Let it stand at that.

Mood foul, Arthur returned to the corridor. He stepped carefully around the snoozing guard, locked the door again behind him (after looking up the right spell in Merlin's book, for the life of him unable to remember it or any others he had studied last night), and made his way to the stables.

Halfway there, he wondered if the guard would be able to wake up. If he couldn't… well, Arthur was sure Gaius would think of something. He really did not have the time. He had wasted enough already.

The stables were empty, the hands already gone home for the night. Out of habit, Arthur went to his own mare, a beautiful creature named Llamrei he had had for ten years. He was confused when she did not greet him, until he saw that the hands he offered her were Merlin's. He lowered them again and sighed.

Arthur went to Merlin's horse then, a little black mare whose name he did not even know. When she saw Arthur, she thrust her snout into his chest and nuzzled there furiously. Arthur returned the affection and buried his face for a moment in the top of her head. He had always liked horses. Maybe from now on he would like them more than people. He was so tired of people… Arthur moved to begin tacking up the mare, before he realized that she was already wearing all of her equipment.

"There you are!" a voice called. "I was wondering when you would get here."

Arthur's head snapped up. There, in a stall across the aisle from him, Gwaine was tying the last of his bags onto his horse's back.

"Gwaine…?" Arthur's eyes ran up and down the knight, registering his full armor. His dread mounted. "Tell me you're not doing what I think it is you're doing."

"Only if you're not thinking that I'm joining you on your perilous and daring quest to rescue our princess. Otherwise, I'm afraid you're out of luck." Gwaine patted his horse's rump and grinned, satisfied. "I see you got his sword. Good thinking there, mate."

"Gwaine, you're injured!"

"And you, my dear friend, are as skinny as a newborn colt and about as coordinated as one. You'll be needing some protection. Lucky for you, I can provide it."

"Yes, right up until you keel over."

"Merlin," said Gwaine, still grinning, "it will take more than some measly arrow to kill me."

"You seriously want to risk your life to save Arthur? You don't even like him that much!"

"I'm not doing this for Arthur."

Well, this was all very ironic.

Gwaine went on. "Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike the king. He's a good man and the only one I'd willingly be a knight for. But if something were to happen to him, I know how torn up you would be. I can't forgive anyone for hurting you. Besides, neither of us is supposed to be leaving the castle, and by that logic, I have as much right to do it as you."

Arthur could not say anything. It seemed to unnerve Gwaine, who started squirm.

"Please, mate. You're the first friend I ever had. If something were to happen to you, and I knew I'd been sitting here doing nothing, I could never forgive myself."

Arthur sighed. "Gwaine, look." How was he supposed to learn magic and use it with a knight on his trail? If Gwaine thought 'Merlin' needed protection, he obviously did not know about the magic (a fact that Arthur accepted with smug satisfaction – at least he wasn't the only 'friend' Merlin had kept in the dark). Besides that, Arthur had seen the arrow wound. It was deep, and it was not something a person could recover from after an afternoon nap. "You'll only slow me down."

Gwaine looked like he had been slapped. "Merlin, last time you ran off to save Arthur you sought me out. Said you needed my help. How is this any different? In fact, I'd say this is a hundred times worse than the Perilous Lands! This is what we do. Aren't we a team?"

What would Merlin say? What would that idiot say to resolve this? "Gwaine, I just… don't want to lose you, too...?" Yes, that sounded sentimental enough.

Gwaine strode over to Arthur and gripped his shoulder before patting him hard on the back. He smiled, determination flooding his features. "You won't. I promise you that. Now, fasten your bags and saddle up. We have a long journey ahead of us."

As Gwaine returned to his own horse, Arthur stared at the other man's back in shock. He, the king of Camelot, had just been told 'no' by one of his own knights. And a commoner at that!

No, he told himself, shaking his head. This was no time to be regressing into the mindset of caring about birthrights, of all things. He bit his tongue and put his knapsack into one of the saddlebags. Everything else was in place – the bed rolls, the camping supplies. It was time.

Merlin, thought Arthur as he and Gwaine led their horses out of the city. Don't you dare die before I get there. This time your life is in my hands, not the other way around, and you don't get to die unless I say so.

When they reached the edge of the Darkling Woods, the two men mounted their steeds. Arthur tried to ignore the grimace on Gwaine's face and the way he swallowed a groan as he swung his bad leg over the horse's back.

"I'm fine," Gwaine assured him when he caught Arthur looking.

Arthur dug his heels into his mare's flank and directed her forward. Under the clop of hooves, he muttered, "You had better be."

A/N: Woah! Look at that! I updated! I hope you are as excited as I am.

First, thank you everyone for reading and reviewing, especially during the months I was inactive. Your reviews and story alerts/favs were what motivated me to get off of my lazy rear end and start writing again. Really, thank you. I had forgotten how much fun this was, too caught up in being stressed out about life.

Sorry it's a little shorter than usual (I try to aim for 3,500-4,000 words per chapter). But, when I reached the "It was time" line up there and saw how it mirrored the beginning of the chapter, I realized this was the best place to break.

So, yeah. Arthur experiments with magic a bit more and is still doubtful of Merlin and overall pretty pissed at him. If you thought Gaius explaining the whole Emrys prophecy would be enough to earn Arthur's forgiveness... well, I just couldn't see it being that easy. Arthur's really tired of being betrayed at this point. Poor Merlin, meanwhile, is being held hostage somewhere and can't even defend himself. He's got to know Arthur's figured out he has magic by now, don't you think? I'll let you in on a secret - I'm planning to have at least one Merlin PoV chapter in this story, even though I set out to write it entirely from Arthur's perspective. That's all I will say about that.

Next time: The Adventures of Arthur and Gwaine!

(P.S. - I'm thinking about starting up another story on here while I've still got time to write this summer. Its code name is "Noble", and I may post its first chapter before I return to NMR. If you like the Arthur/Gwaine combination, it's probably a story for you! See my profile for more details.)