I have been so dead for so long. I wonder if anyone still even cares about this fic? I started it right around the time when Series 3 was due to start, so at first I wanted to wait and see what that would bring. Then I got a little discouraged by the events of 3. I didn't know how to make things work. Then there was school, and life, and screw all, this fic got lost in the back of my brain. Every time I would think about Merlin, I would think back to this, and feel guilty about it. But I told myself that I was too busy right now, and that no one really cared that much about it anyway.

Then, the other day, I watched an episode again, and felt like looking at this. That's when I realized that I had 34 reviews. For as little as I had written, 34 reviews were dedicated to telling me what you guys thought. And what's more? I had tons of e-mails telling me that people were following me for updates.

So I re-read everything I had written and decided, you know what? I'm going to finish this.

So that's that. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for the wait. I'm sorry that you'll probably have to wait some more soon. I love anyone who still cares, whether or not you feel angry at me.

It's on.

Day one: six days before execution.

It was amazing how much care was put into the misery of Camelot's prisoners.

Cold water. That was what the guards used to wake him up with. A bucket full of cold water. In the hot season. Where on earth did they even get cold water this time of year? The water from the wells was lukewarm at best, but this was actually cold. It felt like it had been specially stored in the cellars, just for this. In any other circumstances, Merlin might even have enjoyed the cool feeling on his skin. Right now though, it was just surprising, and genuinely unpleasant.

On the other hand, the coldness might be indicative of a fever. Bad sign. Better let Gaius know about that later. It had been decided that Gaius would tend (under watch, of course) to Merlin's health until the execution. Uther wanted him to be alive when he burned him.

But that was beside the point.

The point right now was that he was being dragged, quite roughly, down the halls of the castle towards some interrogation chamber. He had no less than five knights accompanying him, and Arthur was nowhere to be seen. As uncomfortable as his presence would have been, the crowned prince's watchful eye was probably the surest guarantee of his safety, whether he trusted his servant or not. He had kept him alive this long, right?

He looked at his escorts. He'd met most of them before. That wasn't to say he knew any of them well, but he had every reason to believe that they were uncomfortable with the situation. He looked down at his bandaging: Five guards was a presumptuous amount indeed. Even if he could fight his way past them (possible), get out of his bonds (bothersome) and escape the castle (not likely), the chances of him managing to limp his way out of Camelot covered up to his eyebrows in city guards before exhausting himself were just depressing. He had never learned any teleportation spells ("Not worth it," Gaius had once told him, "as you would probably end up dropping yourself off a tower somewhere. Eat your soup").

But even if it were possible, he wouldn't have taken the opportunity. It was nice to muse about saving his own pasty skin, but he had work to do first.

His secret was out. It had been out the moment Arthur Dolluphead Pendragon had stepped into another stupid trap. There was no way and no point to denying his magic. Arthur knew. Uther knew. All of Camelot knew. That was said, done, and wrapped up in a pretty little parcel with ribbons and bows. They knew about his magic. But they needed to know more.

Camelot had enemies she could not see. There were beast she had never heard of, and people, whom she had seen before, but whose blades and poisons had escaped her watchful eye. Every day, around the country, under the floor boards and in the kitchens, countless people were sharpening knives and skills in hopes of slitting her throat, and only Merlin could recognize them. Somebody needed to tell her about the monsters under the bed before the royal family of idiots invited them to dinner.

Beyond just practical knowledge, he needed to tell Arthur why he had made his choices as well. The prince hadn't abandoned him. Gaius had told him about the fate of his "secret stash", and, though he hadn't helped much in the end, that was something. Plus, his testimony towards Merlin's guilt would probably have had him killed on the spot, to hell with his criminal record. The fact that he had stayed neutral had given him hope. Not for forgiveness, but for reason. That was all he needed.

And so, when he had been so graciously flung in front of the king, and told outright that yes, he was going to die horribly either way, he had taken the news with a stony face and, nearly wetting himself, had gagged the reasonable part of his brain and fessed up. Then he'd gone on to act like the most pretentious and dignified little git he could imagine (drawing inspiration from the Crowned Prat himself, naturally) and given as much truth as he could babble out without squeaking like thirteen year-old girl and going giggling mad. He had to make an impression. He had to make Arthur think that he was reasonable and honest so that when he- oh HELL. He was going to die.

On the plus side, he thought, the secret was out. No more worrying about that. He would have plenty of time off, too. No more polishing Arthur's armor or hunting rats, and no more cleaning Gaius' leech tank. He wouldn't even have to scrub any floors! Plenty of sitting down and resting his wound, too. Really, this was like a vacation, if he really stopped to think about it. A full week of vacation. Then the chop. Or the stake. Lovely. Relaxing. Pleasant. This was going to be just… horrifying.

At that moment, Merlin had to remind himself to shut his mental trap before he made himself violently ill. Again.

The crowned prince of Camelot was tired. Very tired. It was early in the morning, and he had not slept very well at all the night before. Not to mention how off-putting it was to deal with a new, trembling servant to prepare him for the interrogation of his previous one. This whole event was becoming quite a mess.

He looked up as, lo and behold, the damaged-looking nightmare himself was thrust into the room.

Both men sat in silence and watched as Merlin's ankle was shackled to his chair, and the restraints on his wrists were tested. Then, with one last wary look at their captain, the five escorts left the room, bolting the door behind them.

The prisoner blinked in surprise. He was now quite alone with Arthur, sitting in a rather small room with only a desk and two chairs, and plenty of material for recording anything that might be learned in their coming "discussions". He looked back to the prince, who was at that moment engaged in running a hand over his face.

"So…" he began, hoping to ease the tension, "You're my interrogator?"

"Yes, Merlin, I am" He replied, not looking up.

"Just you?"

"Just me."

"Isn't that…" Arthur opened one eye at him through his fingers, "well… couldn't that be… dangerous?"

"Dangerous?" he sounded skeptical, almost surprised at the thought.

"Well, I mean," Merlin knew that he shouldn't point this out, but really, it wasn't very clever,"what if I were to attack you?" Arthur raised an eyebrow at him.

"I wouldn't!" he added hastily, "but you really ought to consider that."

"Father is not well enough to do this himself," which, of course, they both knew, "and I'm the one who has had the most… perspective… on your activities since your arrival. Apart from Gaius, of course."

"But really now, should we be alone in here? You're the prince."

"There are five guards right outside. We're bolted in."

"What if I were to try and kill you? Or take you hostage and use that to escape? Did you even consider that?"

At this Arthur guffawed. As if the thought of it was hilarious. As if Merlin had just told him that Sir Leon had taken up dressing in drag. As if they were friends again. Even he chuckled a little, albeit nervously.

"Wwhhhaaaat is so funny?" he asked slowly, trying not to push his luck.

"As if," Arthur struggled between laughs, "as if you could hurt me."

"I have magic."

"Be that as it may, Merlin, I've spent enough time around you to feel very secure on my own. You could never beat me."

"You don't know that."

"Merlin," he stepped up from his chair and drew his sword to place it lightly at Merlin's throat. A skeptical little smile stayed on his face. It wasn't a threat. It was a statement.

"I could take you apart with one blow."

Merlin sat quietly in his chair, looking very seriously at his friend. He was taking this far too lightly.

"So," Began the prince, after he had sat himself back down behind the heavy wooden desk between them, "Let's start at the beginning. When and why did you begin to practice the forbidden art of sorcery?" He kept his tone light, but his eyes stayed very keenly on Merlin. He wasn't just interrogating by order: he wanted to know.

"I was born with magic. I've been using it for as long as I can remember." There was no point in lying. This was exactly what he wanted.

"I don't believe that for a second, Merlin," he frowned, "Nobody is born with magic. I had hoped for a degree of honesty from you."

"Do you remember the druid camps?"

He paused, a little taken aback. "Yes… what about them?"

"Do you remember the children there?"

"I suppose. What has this got to do with-"

"Do you honestly think children would have had long enough to have learned magic if it weren't something they were born with? Even just a little?"

Arthur opened his mouth, and then shut it, confused. "I don't remember ever actually seeing them perform magic."

"What about that one boy, Mordred? Do you remember how powerful he was? That isn't something a child of his age could just pick up in a book." This was good. Arthur was listening.

"That…" his face scrunched up in discomfort. These were obviously questions he had never thought to ask himself.

"Alright," he finally conceded, "It's possible that you were born with it. I'll give you that. That doesn't make it right, though" he hurriedly added. "Let's just… move on."

"Fair enough." This was going very, very well.

"Why did you come to Camelot? What was your aim?" again, this was a serious question in Arthur's mind.

"I didn't have one."

"Sorry? Even you can't buy that."

"Really. I came here to live with Gaius. Get a job. Keep my head down. Mum sent me."

"Hunith? Why would she send you here of all places?"

Merlin stared at his hands, fidgeting with his restraints. "I've heard that Gaius used to do a little magic before the purge. Mum didn't know how to deal with me anymore, and she thought that he would. She didn't have anywhere else to turn. He is my uncle, you know."

"Surely something must have prompted her."

"She found out that…" he stopped, and stared off at the desk now, "she found out that… Will… he found out."

Arthur took a moment to remember his servant's dead friend.

"That he had magic?"

"That I have magic. Will never cast a spell in his life."

A subtle little realization clicked neatly into place in Arthur's mind.

"He covered for you. You brought the wind in Ealdor." His eyes widened a little, and he let out a whistle. "You were going to tell me. Right then and there. Weren't you?"

There was a moment of silence.

"I thought about telling you, you know," Merlin said quietly, "I thought about it so many times. Sometimes it was like we were friends, almost. I know I was just your servant, but sometimes…" he looked at him, searching his face, "sometimes I thought that maybe, just maybe, you might keep my secret if I told you."

Arthur said nothing.

"But every time things got desperate, or that magic would have fixed everything, or that I felt safe enough to tell you, I always remembered how you acted when we burned Will." He swallowed.

Arthur had to change the subject. "What happened when you first arrived in Camelot?"

Merlin's eyes shot up, and he laughed.

"After I met up with Gaius? I met you, of course! Don't you remember?"

Arthur had to snort now. "Ah, yes. Now I remember. Great job on keeping your head down."

"Yeah… really didn't think that through."

"And after that?"

"And after that…" he paused, considering how to phrase it, "I met someone very important. Someone who has played a very large role in my life since. A source of information for me. Someone of magic."

"In the city?" he asked, anxious of such a person so nearby. If there were others, he had to know.

"Not anymore" said Merlin dismissively, waving a shackled hand, "don't bother looking for him."

"Ah… I see." Blatant lie. "And what did this, err, source, tell you?"

Something changed in Merlin's face. Suddenly, he was the serious Merlin. The secretive Merlin. The absurdly devoted Merlin. The strangely… wise Merlin. The Merlin that Arthur now recognized as the magical Merlin.

"He told me that it was my destiny to become the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth," he paused to look directly into Arthur's now alarmed face, "and that it was also my destiny to protect you, and to keep you alive long enough to become the greatest king in all of mankind's history, and to bring magic back to Camelot."

There was a pause again.

"Me?" Arthur asked incredulously. "That's why you've stayed so close to me? That's the reason for all that we've been through? Everything you've ever done for me was because you believed what some stranger told you about me becoming some great king?" He could feel the edges of anger just starting to creep in behind the disbelief.

"Nah, I thought it was all rubbish."

The anger chocked on itself.

"The bit about me, I could have believed. I've always been more powerful than anyone I've known. But you? Not a chance. I'd met you by then. I told him he must have the wrong Arthur, and that you were an idiot. A complete prat." Arthur was dumbfounded, and let his mouth hang open and felt his eyebrows rise higher and higher on his brow. He could have given Gaius a run for his money.

"I told him, that I wouldn't care if anyone tried killing you on my watch." Arthur's jaw snapped shut. "I think I even told him that I'd lend them a hand."

Oh. Oh. So it was true. There had been a plot. As much as he had wanted to believe otherwise… Merlin was just like the rest. Just another assassin.

"And then Lady Helena arrived at the dinner, and cast her spell."

Arthur remembered that bit, and his thoughts stopped.

"You saved my life." He almost whispered it. It made no sense, but it was the one fact that could save everything. If Merlin said the right things next, then everything he had hoped for might not yet be lost.

"I didn't really plan it out," He muttered, "But everyone else was asleep, and she hadn't seen me. She was going to kill you while you couldn't fight back. I didn't even think it through before I sent that chandelier crashing on top of her."

"So you just… killed her? Just like that? Could have been a bit more subtle."

"I told you, I wasn't really thinking about what I was doing. She didn't even die right away," he complained, "she had to throw that stupid knife of hers just as you all woke up!"

"And you saved me again."

"For everyone to see! I risked my neck using that second bit of magic to get there on time." he groaned, "and what do I get for it? A twenty-four-seven job as the personal whipping boy of the crowned arse himself! I almost regretted saving you."

Arthur laughed again, feeling an intense amount of relief. This was his Merlin again.

"I'm glad you find it funny," Merlin snorted, failing to hold back his own laughter, "because I certainly didn't. I spent a full five minutes scoffing at this ancient magical being about his ridiculous prophecy, and the next thing I know I'm doing exactly what he told me to! One little mistake, and I've been saving your sorry rear ever since!"

"I doubt you did that much."

He groaned again. "You have no idea. I really wish you'd take more care of your own safety sometimes. It would save me a lot of trouble."

"Like how?"

"For one," he looked very seriously at the prince, "when I tell you that it could be dangerous to lock yourself in a room with a sorcerer, you really ought to take me seriously."

"A sorcerer? Maybe. Merlin with magic? Not worth the trouble."

"You really don't know that."

He stopped. "Is that a threat?"

"I won't be around to protect you soon, Arthur. You need to be careful."

"Merlin, I told you already," he drew his sword again and walked towards the chair, "I could take you apa-"

But before he could finish, he was off his feet, and on the ground, staring directly at his own blade, which hovered over his throat seemingly of its own accord. He looked over just in time to see the gold fade from Merlin's eyes.

"And I told you once before," he said quietly, earnestly, "that I could do it in less than one."

Arthur stared, wide-eyed with his pulse racing through his exposed neck. He breathed a sigh as the sword floated itself back into his open hand.

"But I never would. Not to you."

They both sat in silence as the five guarding knights returned to take Merlin away.

Couldn't help making the interrogation this way. Merlin isn't Merlin without humour. If you make a longer fic about this show too serious, then I feel like you lose some of the best of the show. Old habits die hard, and I'm sure that friends couldn't help but banter a little, even in this sort of situation. Plus, things are going well on both sides (I'm making Merlin very honest), so they're both a little relieved.

I have Merlin referring to the Great Dragon as his "source" because, in my mind, telling Arthur about his relationship with the dragon right off the bat would be honest, but not clever. He's using a bit of tact here.

For anyone curious, this happens in some weird AU ish verse after series 3, in which Gwaine, Lancelot and crew all were forced to leave again after the final episode. Don't worry, I'll pull them in later.

Also, I felt the need to explain why Merlin hasn't tried to escape, since so many of you pointed it out. Short story is that I need him to stick around for there to be a story. Long story is stated above. I'll expand on it later, too.

Next chapter, on the block. Booyeah.