"Merlin?" Arthur's voice was strangely uncertain.

"Yes sire?" I couldn't call him Arthur. Not so soon after-

"Something's being upsetting you," he said tentatively.

Not quite sure how to respond, I shrugged, and methodically continued to rub black polish on to the boot in front of me. My hair had grown a lot since I'd sold the long locks to the wig-maker to make ends meet on the road before I settled in Camelot. Now it was long enough to hide the water tracking down my cheeks from Arthur's view. I didn't try to wipe them dry; more tears would wet the skin again instantly, though I'd tried countless times to stop crying since the long trek back from the lake of Avalon.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently, and I could feel his eyes boring into my side even with my face obscured.

"I…" Closing my eyes and stilling my hands, I took a deep breath that hitched even as I tried to calm myself.

"It doesn't matter," because it wouldn't, not to Arthur. Maybe he'd feel some guilt at harming one so close to me, but in the end Frey was just a druid – a sorcerer. He was gone, but surely to Arthur, Uthur's son, he deserved death. The mad old witch who cursed him certainly did, I ruminated bitterly.

A broad hand tugged the rag and boot from mine carefully. Startled, I realised Arthur had moved to the side my hair wasn't blocking. Damn.

Still hesitant, he placed his large hands over my smaller ones.

"What is it? Can I help?" His brow wrinkled in concern, his tone earnest. One corner of my mouth twisted upwards: He'd come a long way from the arrogant prince he had once being. That made this harder. I knew he didn't kill Frey out of spite because he had magic. No, the mad witch's curse made Frey attack his people – Arthur just defended them.

So I couldn't blame him, really.

I dropped my gaze and shook my head. No, he couldn't help. But I wouldn't accuse him either, because that wouldn't bring Albion any closer, and, at this moment, the hope of what Albion could one day become was the only thing I had left. I had to trust that, one day, Arthur would give it to me, and that would make all of this seem worth it.

With that in mind, I closed my still-streaming eyes and squeezed Arthur's hand for a moment. Then I made myself look him in the face.

"I need to tell you something," I murmured. After all, I'd in a world of trouble if one of Uthur's guards overheard me. I recognised the irony of telling his son, but that was different; I could trust Arthur. I hoped.

Arthur's expression flickered with worry that he quickly schooled into patience. He glanced at the doors, and then nodded at me to continue after he saw they were locked.

"The druid…" I trailed off, uncertain of how to explain. Blunt would have to do.

"He was Frey," my voice was soft, but Arthur heard.

"The druid was your husband!"

I flinched at his shock, and hastened to explain.

"Not before we were separated, he thought I died in the attack on Ealdor, I mean Frey only joined them a year ago, before that mad old bitch- I mean, witch, cursed him, and Frey didn't even have magic, it was just that curse, and he didn't mean to-"

"Merlin, stop," Arthur stopped my rambling firmly, and squeezed my hand reassuringly, before he asked, very quietly, "Did you free him from the dungeon?"

I nodded tearfully.

"With my key?"

I shook my head. "I picked the lock with a hair pin," I admitted, grateful I didn't have to lie.

Arthur's eyebrows rose, impressed despite of himself.

"I'll have to remember you can do that," he muttered, then turned more serious. "Did you know what would happen?"

Swallowing guiltily, I shook my head again. No one, except maybe my gentle husband, had being more horrified than I was than the injuries caused by Frey's transformed self's path of destruction. The only upside was that no one – no one but my Frey – had died. Arthur seemed to believe me, because his expression softened for an instant before he spoke again.

"I injured him." His tone was regretful. "Is he alright?"

I opened my mouth to frame a response, but all that escaped my lips was a sob. I caught a glimpse of Arthur's horrified expression before he swept me into his arms and crushed my head against my shoulder. One of his fingers weaved through the hair on the nape of my neck soothingly, but I barely registered it as I clutched my arms around his back and wept. I was on his lap, but I paid no mind to propriety as he rocked my shaking form gently.

"Merlin, shh…" he whispered, tightening his grip as my sobs increased.

It took a long while – probably a much longer while than Arthur was comfortable with – but eventually my sobs quietened, and even the silent steam of tears from earlier ceased.

"I missed him so much," I stated quietly, and although my head was still resting on Arthur's shoulder, my voice was finally steady.

"I know," Arthur answered, his hand stroking my hair.

"Why didn't he just come straight to Camelot? He'd always wanted to. And if he had he never would have met that bounty hunter, or being sentenced to death, or cursed, or anything," I moaned.

"He didn't know you were waiting for him here," Arthur repeated some of the little information I'd given him.

"I wish he had," I sighed, closing my eyes.

"So do I," Arthur whispered, his voice pained. I sat up to face him abruptly.

"I didn't mean-" I started, cursing myself.

"You were just protecting your people," I stated my earlier resolution firmly. "I don't blame you Arthur, not at all. Frey wouldn't hated himself if he'd accidentally killed someone while he wasn't in control. And… he said he preferred to die before that happened, if the curse couldn't be broken."

I held eye contact until he nodded, and acceptance showed in his eyes, then I stood. I was glad when he followed suit. It wouldn't do for the Once and Future King to maintain a dislike for magic because it made him feel guilty.

As much as I wanted to put myself back together, my shoulders slumped, and I exhaled heavily.

"I miss him," I admitted in small voice.

Arthur responded by pulling me back into his arms. I hugged him back, but it wasn't the same frantic, desperate clinging to all I had left that I'd enacted earlier. It was calmer, and just a soothing. I was forgiven for this secret, at least – and there was no way Arthur could get out of admitting he was my friend now, I realised with a brief smirk.

"Thank-you," I murmured against his shoulder; he was so much taller than I was.

"You're welcome, Merlin," his voice was just as soft.

Thanks for reading! This is my first fanfic so any comments/criticism is very welcome :)