The Worst Way

Terror pounded through his veins.

He ran, legs burning, breath coming in harsh, searing gasps, bruised ribs screeching in protest. He was frantically trying to blink blood out of his eyes as he hurtled around corners and through unfamiliar corridors, knowing nothing but the desperate need to run, to escape.

He could hear them gaining on him, relentless in their hunt. The rapid thuds of their booted feet and the jangle of their armour echoed ten-fold, driving him ever onward.

Her words echoed in his ears; her deceptively beautiful, manipulative, smug face swam before his mind's eye.

Kill him, she'd said.

And they had tried. Oh god, they had tried.

They were still trying. If they caught him…

He redoubled his speed, ignoring the tears that blurred his vision. It wasn't their fault. They weren't in control; she was, and he knew that. He blamed himself for not being able to break the spell that held them in her grasp, bent them to her will. But it still hurt, to hear their sharp words, see the hatred burning in their eyes, feel their rough hands slamming him into the wall, pinning him by the throat, their booted feet slamming viciously into his back… to know his cries for them to stop would go unheeded.

It hurt to have to run from people he had considered his friends. To fear them.

"Mer-lin…"

It was a taunting, jeering call, telling him his efforts were in vain, that he couldn't out run them.

"Mer-lin…"

Closer this time, ever closer.

"Mer-lin…"

Oh god, they were going to kill him. He was going to die at the hands of the knights he had trusted more than anyone. Arthur's knights.

Arthur.

Merlin was supposed to protect him. He was supposed to keep him safe. Supposed to stay by his side as he became the greatest king the world had ever known, supposed to help him and guide him. It was his destiny.

Merlin didn't want to fail Arthur. He didn't want to die, not like this, not in some rundown castle miles from Camelot and Arthur and everything actually worth dying for.

He could almost consider it his responsibility to make sure that he did not die here, to make sure he lived to return to Arthur's service.

But he wondered if he could do what was necessary to defend himself, if he could wield dangerous magic against men he had laughed with, fought alongside… cared about.

He stumbled on an unseen rock and crashed to the ground, skinning hands and knees but scrambling forward despite the streaks of blood he left in his wake.

He tried to stand, to keep on running, but his strength failed him.

"Merlin!"

He spun to the threat, wide-eyed.

As they bore down on him, menace in every step, malice in every grin, his mind flooded with panic.

And his magic, realising that the time for flight was over, flooded his body with power. It roared to life, guided by instinct and desperation and the part of him that was wholly Emrys. It was furious, ready to do whatever it took to keep him alive no matter the destruction it would wreak.

Suddenly he realised that using his magic against the knights would not be the problem. Holding back would be.

"Don't do this," he warned tightly, in that moment both terrified of them and terrified of himself. He knew they would not listen. They were not going to back down, not if he tried to reason with them again and certainly not if he threatened them.

There were only two ways this could go.

"Percival," he tried, once more time, as the others dropped back and Lamia's most loyal stepped forward. He did not even draw his sword, flexing his considerable muscles with the clear intention of ripping Merlin to pieces with his bare hands. Never a man of many words, Percival growled: "Die," and seized him roughly by the shoulders.

He started shaking him. Harder, and harder, until his teeth rattled and his ribs screamed and his neck felt as though it would snap. At a particularly violent shake his head smacked into the solid stone wall behind him, and his vision flashed white.

Merlin cried out, in shock, in pain. The motion was only repeated, like a dagger being driven to the hilt through the back of his skull, again, and again.

It would kill him if he let it go on any longer.

His mouth opened in a roar of agony, of terrible power about to be unleashed.

"…Merlin… idiot… wake up…"

He slapped a hand against Percival's chest, feeling the concussive force building up inside him until he thought he would explode.

"…Merlin… get up, you no-good, lazy…"

Percival shook him one more time, and in the same moment that his head struck the wall Merlin let go of his restraint.

His eyes flashed gold. Magic ripped through him –

And seemed to tear the world asunder.

Because he was no longer in a castle, he was in the woods. And it was not Percival shaking him. It was not Percival who caught the full brunt of the enormously powerful blast of magic that Merlin had deliberately allowed to slip through his bonds. It was not Percival who grunted in pain and surprise, nor Percival who went flying thirty yards across the clearing to slam bodily into a tree with a sickening crunch.

It was Arthur.

ooOOoo

Arthur woke that morning of his own accord. As soon as he realised that his servant had once again failed to rouse him on time the irritation that had reluctantly lain dormant over night flared anew within him, building rapidly into a raging temper.

"Merlin!" he yelled, leaping to his feet. His eyes scanned the clearing where they had made camp, and he discovered that everyone else was awake already – everyone except for Merlin, who slumbered at the foot of a tree in an awkward, half-propped up position as though he hadn't intended to sleep at all.

For the moment, Arthur decided to ignore the fact that his knights were just as quiet and subdued this morning as they had been throughout the entire ride yesterday. They were moving about, preparing breakfast and packing up gear, readying the horses – all servant duties that Merlin should have seen to – and they were doing so in virtual silence. No words passed between them, no laugher, not even meaningful looks. They kept to themselves, and deliberately avoided making eye contact with anyone.

If he was honest with himself, he was more annoyed with them than he was with Merlin. They had refused to explain their behaviour, even under his direct questioning last night, instead staring at the ground and mumbling apologies before retiring – retreating, more like – to their bedrolls. He struggled to read them, when they would not explain outright; their expressions bore traces of an emotion he was not accustomed to seeing on the faces of his knights, and it had taken him long, sleepless hours to recognise it as shame. He could not fathom what could have happened to make them all feel that way, though he knew something must have.

Guinevere had been easier to decipher, despite the fact that she was no less reticent in her speech than the men were. She was upset, and furious with the knights for some reason. She glared at them with alarming regularity, and he had been surprised to note that not even her brother was spared from her unspoken wrath. She seemed to hold no anger for Merlin, however. When she glanced at him, her gentle eyes displayed only concern, worry, and sympathy for him.

Somehow, Merlin was at the centre of all of this. Although all the evidence pointed to the knights being at fault in this instance, Merlin had failed to wake him and so it was Merlin that Arthur currently wanted to throttle.

Never mind that Merlin had barely spoken a word since the company had set out from Longstead, or that he in his posture and demeanour resembled nothing so much as an abused puppy, or that those eyes that usually sparkled had become dulled by hurt and betrayal. Never mind that he looked more fragile now than ever, or that he appeared deeply troubled even in sleep, or that god knew he deserved the rest. Arthur was not known for his sensitivity or molly-coddling. Merlin should have been awake long before now, and Arthur was going to rectify the situation.

"Merlin!" Arthur snapped, striding determinedly towards his servant.

A soft hand caught his arm. Guinevere. "Arthur, don't."

"Why not?" he retorted irritably, shaking her off. "He has work to do. Merlin!"

"No, don't wake him." It was Gwaine this time, his expression still as sombre and guilt-ridden as it had been yesterday.

"At least give him a little while longer," Elyan suggested, glancing toward Merlin's sleeping form before looking hurriedly away again.

"Why?" he demanded, and still no explanations were forthcoming. "Right, as I thought. Merlin!"

The disobedient imbecile refused to wake at the call of his master, although he did stir slightly and mumble something incoherent. His features were twisted in distress.

Arthur refused to admit to anyone, including himself, that he was worried about his friend. He refused to admit that he had missed Merlin's cheerful prattle since the moment he had ridden out from Camelot without his King, or that he had been overjoyed and overwhelmed with relief to find Merlin safe, or that it bothered him deeply to think that he had come to the rescue too late. Something terrible had happened, and Merlin was the walking wounded because of it.

It occurred to Arthur that Merlin never hesitated to express his boundless enthusiasm or seemingly unquenchable joy for life and infect the people around him in doing so, but he closed up tighter than a clam when he was hurting. He always coaxed Arthur into sharing his hardships and his troubles and his grief with him, but Arthur had never really taken the time to return the favour. It wasn't as though he never noticed when Merlin was down, because honestly it was fairly difficult to miss, but inasmuch as he had sometimes tried, Arthur had never quite managed to be the friend that Merlin could open up to.

And this, right here, could be the reason why. But Arthur wasn't admitting it to himself, and so he was going ahead with his plan to disturb the sleep that his manservant all too obviously needed.

"Merlin!" he yelled a final time, and when the raven-haired man still obstinately refused to get up, Arthur bent over his form and roughly seized his shoulders. He started to shake him, but Merlin was so deeply unconscious that Arthur's gentle efforts had no effect. He shook him harder, and harder.

He didn't mean for Merlin to knock his head against the tree trunk behind him, but even that failed to rouse him as his eyes rolled madly under their lids and whimpers of terror escaped his lips.

Maybe he was trapped in a nightmare.

"Merlin, you idiot, wake up!"

To his surprise, and initial elation, he felt Merlin's hand slap against his chest, as though to push him away. He thought it meant that his servant was finally awake, but his eyes were still closed.

Arthur was getting sick and tired of this.

"Merlin, get up, you lazy, no good, layabout, incompetent, idiotic, clumsy-"

Arthur was building up for a nice long rant, when the impossible – the unthinkable – happened.

At long last, Merlin's eyes flashed open.

Flashed gold.

And a blast of magic – magic – slammed into Arthur's chest, flinging him violently across the clearing.

He barely even felt the shock of the impact as his powerful momentum was brought to an abrupt stop by a tree in his path. He didn't feel the pain that shot through his back, or the hard earth beneath him when gravity reclaimed him and he collapsed to his knees.

The shock of what had just happened swamped everything else.

ooOOoo

Consciousness returned to Merlin like a slap to the face.

In an instant he remembered everything about what had happened with Lamia, how Guinevere had defended him and Arthur had rescued them both, the return to Longstead, the recovery of all the men who had been affected, the half company containing Gaius and Lord Agravaine that had set out for Camelot before them, the uncomfortable ride with the knights who remembered everything but would say nothing, and his inability to fall asleep for hours into the night. Fear, irrational as it had been with the creature gone, had plagued him, forcing him to maintain a state of hyper alertness that his terribly fatigued body could not possibly sustain.

He had not thought he would be able to fall asleep, but fallen asleep he apparently had, because a nightmarish combination of actual memory and what could easily have been had assaulted his mind as he dreamed. The powerful instinct for self-preservation had torn down the walls of his iron control over his magic, initiating a reaction that he would never have permitted of himself if he had been conscious.

He had attacked Percival, aggressively, with his magic.

But it hadn't been Percival.

The shock in Arthur's eyes had been what truly woke him, though he had seen it only for a split second before Arthur's body had shot off across the clearing.

It was too late to recall the magic.

Too late to change what had happened.

Too late to stop himself from hurting Arthur.

There was a circle of shocked faces surrounding him that he saw out of the periphery of his vision, but he only had eyes for Arthur, only cared about Arthur.

Arthur was crumpled at the base of a tree, and for a heart-stopping moment of absolute terror, Merlin thought that he had killed his King.

Merlin stopped breathing, and he could have dropped dead on the spot from the horror and guilt and grief and eradication of destiny, if in that moment Arthur hadn't stirred, and then slowly begun to climb to his feet.

Merlin's breath exploded out of him, and he very nearly laughed in relief. Arthur was alive!

But then he caught sight of Arthur's expression, and he realised that Arthur knew. He knew.

This was not how it was supposed to happen.

Merlin had imagined the day that Arthur finally found out the truth about him. He had considered so many different scenarios, ranging from a heroic rescue of his King that required an unavoidable and undeniable display of powerful, miraculous magic, to a quiet evening when Merlin finally felt that Arthur was ready and he told him at long last. He had tried to picture Arthur's reaction in his head, and he had always known that his friend would be shocked by the revelation.

He had hoped for amazement, awe, and eventual acceptance. He had dreamed of a continued friendship that only grew stronger for the lies that were no longer between them.

But this…

This was the worst possible way for Arthur to find out.

Merlin had attacked him. With magic.

It didn't matter that he hadn't meant to, or that if he had known who it was he would never, ever, have even considered using magic against him like that, hurting him like that. He had sworn to himself that his magic would only ever be used to protect people, to protect Arthur most of all. Merlin would die before bringing Arthur harm.

"I'm sorry," he gasped out. Tears sprung to his eyes. "Arthur, I'm sorry." He scrambled to his feet clumsily, and stepped toward his friend in heart-felt supplication.

The cold ring of steel rent the air as Arthur's sword was drawn from its scabbard. Arthur levelled it at him, the sharp point aimed directly at his chest, and Merlin stopped short.

Arthur's face twisted with disgust and loathing.

"Sorcerer," he spat.

Merlin's heart splintered at hearing such hatred in the voice of his friend.

"Arthur, I'm sorry," he tried. "I didn't mean to-"

"To use magic when you know it is expressly forbidden in my kingdom?"

Merlin hesitated, and Arthur barked a harsh laugh that was anything but humorous.

"Don't bother lying to me, sorcerer. You cannot deny what you just did. There are witnesses."

Merlin didn't dare to look at the others in the clearing. He couldn't bear to see the expression that Arthur wore mirrored in all of their faces.

"I don't – I don't deny it," Merlin stammered. "But I swear to you, Arthur-"

"How dare you!" Arthur thundered, taking an aggressive step toward him. "How dare you call me by my name? You will address me as King, Sire, or Your Majesty. You are no friend of mine, you filthy traitor!"

"I am your friend. Please, sire, please believe me. I didn't mean to hurt you. I would never – I could never-"

"You threw me across the clearing!"

"I didn't know it was you – I was asleep, having a nightmare, and you just – you just-"

"You are trying to blame me for your treachery, sorcerer?"

"No, I'm just trying to explain – I thought I was being attacked, and I reacted, instinctively, but if I had been properly awake I promise I wouldn't have-"

"Now you claim it as an accident! The use of magic is no accident, sorcerer; it requires spells and potions and other such despicable things. It is a deliberate, seditious act of pure evil."

Merlin's emotions flared with annoyance at hearing Arthur parrot the foolish, ignorant beliefs of his father, and the retort snapped from his mouth before he could consider the wisdom of his words. "Magic isn't evil. People who have magic are not evil!"

"Do you think I have forgotten all of the witches and sorcerers that have tried to kill me and destroy my kingdom? Do you think I am unaware of their pestilent filth staining my land, harming my people?"

"The actions of a few cannot be used to judge-"

"A few? Every being I have come across that uses magic has used it for evil."

"I know you have had bad experiences with magic, but so have you been injured countless times by mortal blades and spears and arrows. In and of themselves, those weapons are not inherently evil. In the hands of the wrong people, they can be used to murder and destroy, but in the hands of a great king, or a noble knight, they can be used to defend innocent people; they can be used for good. And magic is the same! It can be used to help people. I have used magic to help people."

"So you confess to using magic more than this once!"

"Well – yes – but-"

"You have been practicing sorcery and witchcraft, all the while living inside my palace and pretending – pretending! – to be my loyal servant. My friend!"

And Arthur's voice broke the slightest bit. In his eyes, Merlin caught a glimpse of the raw pain and deep hurt that Arthur's anger had been masking.

Merlin had wounded him more than just physically.

Arthur thought he had betrayed him, just like Morgana had. When her duplicitous nature had been revealed it had broken Arthur's heart, but he had managed to carry on, leaning on Merlin for support more than ever. And now he thought that everything between them had been a lie.

"Arthur," Merlin said gently, aching for his friend, reaching out to him.

The shields snapped back into place. Arthur snarled and strode forward.

"Kneel," he growled darkly. His face was set in a hard expression, and his eyes were as cold as ice.

Merlin felt a tear slip down his cheek, and made no attempt to dash it away. "Sire, please… I have never been anything but loyal to you. Everything… everything I have ever done since coming to Camelot has been for you. To protect you. To help you. I am your friend. Please… please trust me. I have never given you reason to doubt me before now. Please, give me a chance…"

"Kneel."

Merlin closed his eyes, and the tears spilled over freely.

He dropped to his knees.

"Anything for you, Arthur. Anything."

Arthur brought his sword up, and Merlin heard the whistle of steel through the air.

For a split second, he wondered if it would hurt to die. But he realised nothing could hurt so much as Arthur's rejection. Dying could bring only relief.

He braced himself.

ooOOoo

Arthur's blade was bearing down on the traitor's neck, the strength of his arm fuelled by anger and hurt and betrayal. He had trusted Merlin more than he had trusted anyone in his entire life, and once again his trust had proven to be horrifically misplaced. He had trusted a sorcerer. He had been friends with a sorcerer. He had cared about a sorcerer! He had defended, confided in, fought alongside, engaged in playful banter with and sought advice from a sorcerer!

He was the world's biggest fool.

The traitor needed to die, right now. There could be no trial, and no carefully constructed pyre for a public dawn execution. If Arthur didn't kill him right now, then… then he might lose his nerve. He might succumb to the weakness that stirred within him even now, crying out at his intention to kill this man who had been his first and only true friend.

His blade arced toward the stupid, ever-present neckerchief and he felt an irrational moment when he suddenly, desperately didn't want to damage the most precious article of clothing that his servant owned. He hardened his resolve –

And his arm jarred painfully as his sword clashed against another that had appeared as though out of nowhere, blocking the blow that should have taken Merlin's head off.

He felt a rush of relief but ruthlessly crushed it, dragging fury back to the forefront. His eyes flashed up, looking for the source of the interference.

It was Gwaine, and he looked as determined as Arthur had felt when his blade first began its descent an eternity ago.

"No, Arthur," Gwaine said, his voice calm and for once completely serious. "You don't want to kill Merlin."

Arthur flinched ever so slightly at the name. "Sorcerers must die. It is the law."

"To hell with the law!" Gwaine snapped, flicking his hair back unconsciously so the steel in his eyes could not be hidden. "This is Merlin we are talking about."

"The person we thought we knew is a lie. An insidious fabrication designed and maintained so he could slip through our defences and infiltrate my inner court to take Camelot down from the inside. You saw it with your own eyes, and you heard him admit it – he has used magic."

"So? Does that change who he is?"

"Of course it does! Magic is evil."

"Well, if someone like Merlin can have magic, then I would say that magic cannot be evil after all."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the man. "That is treason."

"No," Gwaine argued stubbornly. "Treason, princess, is plotting against the crown. I have no intention of harming you. But if you want to kill Merlin you will have to kill me first, because I will die before I let any harm come to him."

"Conspiring and consorting with a known sorcerer," Arthur hissed, "is also punishable by death. By defending him, you share in his guilt."

Gwaine gazed at him levelly. "So be it."

Arthur gritted his teeth, and prepared to strike down one of his most loyal knights.

But another blade inserted itself in his path, blocking the blow.

Percival.

"Don't do this, Arthur," he said. "The pain it will bring you will tear you apart."

"It is my duty to defend Camelot from those who would bring it to ruin!"

"As it is mine," Percival countered. "But you have no evidence of that here. You have a man, defending his friend. And you have-"

"A sorcerer," Arthur interrupted sharply, but Percival continued on over the top of him.

"-you have Merlin, who as far as I have seen has only ever striven to protect you and your kingdom at great personal risk. He has used magic to save your life in the full knowledge that you might well kill him for it if you found out. He has stood by you, as your steadfast and loyal servant and defender, despite the laws and despite your father and despite your attitude toward people like him."

"Loyal," Arthur echoed, disbelievingly.

"Sire…" Leon ventured, stepping forward cautiously. "While I understand why you feel you must do this, I have to admit that it doesn't make any sense. If Merlin was a traitor, surely you would already be dead by now."

"Maybe he is as an incompetent assassin as he is a servant."

Leon's eyebrows rose. "Sire, he threw you thirty yards across the clearing while he was half asleep. If he can wield that kind of power without effort, do you really think you would still be alive and Camelot would still be standing if he truly intended you harm?"

Arthur's conviction wavered.

Leon's attention drifted into deep thought for a moment, and realisation slowly dawned on his face. His eyes widened. "He could have killed us," he breathed, and some sort of shared epiphany seemed to run through the knights that made them stare down at the sorcerer in fear, amazement… and respect?

"Yes," Arthur said, wondering why Leon was not now trying to help him kill the sorcerer. "He's dangerous. He's a danger to all of us."

Leon shook his head. "But that's just it, sire. He could have killed us, but he didn't. Even though he would have only been acting in reasonable self-defence." He looked away, suddenly ashamed.

"Even though we deserved it," Percival continued quietly, and his voice was laden with a similar guilt.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked, intrigued almost despite himself.

For a long moment, no one answered him, so he flicked his sword point to Gwaine's neck. "You had better start to talk, or I will end your ability to – permanently."

To his surprise, Gwaine's eyes filled with tears. Unable to turn his head away for fear of the blade, he turned his gaze skywards so he wouldn't be looking down at the sorcerer as he spoke. "We were hurting him. We tried to kill him."

Arthur frowned. "Because he attacked you?"

"No, Arthur, Merlin didn't do anything," Guinevere insisted. "He disagreed with their decisions, and tried to reason with them, but he never did anything to deserve-" She cut herself off, falling silent.

"What?"

"A brutal beating," Percival confessed.

"The likes of which we, in our right minds, would not inflict even on the worst enemy of Camelot," Leon added.

Arthur had no idea what event they were referring to. He had no knowledge of his knights beating up his servant, and without this disturbing revelation of his true nature Arthur couldn't fathom what would have incited it. "What are you all going on about?"

"We were terrible to him," Gwaine whispered. "My best friend… And the things I said to him… the things I did… Oh, god…"

Guinevere seemed to be fighting within herself, glancing repeatedly at the sorcerer as though expecting him to say something, but he remained still and quiet, kneeling at Arthur's feet. So she spoke in his stead. "It wasn't your fault, Gwaine. Any of you. It was Lamia."

The scraps of information he had been getting clicked into place alongside the odd behaviour of his company ever since Longstead – or, more accurately, ever since the incident with the Lamia creature – and he realised what they were getting at.

"The creature was controlling you," he said to them, and they nodded in confirmation. "It ordered you to hurt my servant."

"To kill him," Gwaine corrected hoarsely.

"And you obeyed?"

A few moments of silence.

"We tried," Percival whispered.

"It is no wonder that he reacted so strongly when you tried to wake him, sire, after what we put him through," Leon said. "I have seen stronger men than he suffer less and be affected far worse."

Arthur's anger was simmering. "Show me."

They seemed puzzled, so he stated more firmly, "Show me what you did to him."

Slowly, reluctantly, Gwaine crouched down beside the sorcerer. "Merlin?" he asked, his voice as gentle as one that would be used on a scared child. He received no response.

Gwaine reached out, hesitation evident in his every movement. When his fingers touched the sorcerer's back, the frail body flinched and Gwaine winced with empathy and guilt. "I'm sorry, Merlin. I'm sorry. Forgive me. I promise, I won't hurt you anymore."

The body tensed, but no efforts at resistance were made as Gwaine carefully lifted the shirt and pulled it up, over his head.

Arthur gave a sharp intake of breath at the sight.

Dark, mottled bruising showed up in stark relief against what little pale skin remained unscathed. Arthur could see that the contusions slipped around the curve of his torso, and expected that his chest would look far worse.

Fury and protectiveness flared up within him in equal measure, pounding in his veins, roaring in his ears.

"You did this?" he demanded of them. "You tried to kill my servant? You. Hurt. Merlin?"

"I'm sorry, sire," the knights murmured in unison.

"You're saying sorry to me? I am not the one you have brutally abused! I am not the one half crippled by deep bruises that you inflicted! You owe your apologies to Merlin!"

"Yes, sire," Leon agreed. "Merlin-" he began to address the figure that knelt at Arthur's feet.

Cruel reality rushed back to him. The memory returned, of eyes turned golden, of being hit by a blast of magic, of hurtling back through the air and slamming against a tree. Of betrayal.

"No!" Arthur interrupted. "No. You were right to do what you did. You were right to treat him that way. He is a sorcerer, after all. In this case, I would consider it premature punishment."

A gasping sob came from Merlin – the first sound he had made since declaring that he would do anything for Arthur.

Blue eyes, awash with tears, looked up at him. "You really feel that way?"

"I do," Arthur said firmly, refusing to feel pinned by those blue eyes that always seemed to gaze straight into his soul.

"You hate me that much?"

"Yes."

"And you could never find it within yourself to forgive me. Even though this was not something I chose, it was something I was born with."

His resolve faltered at this new piece of information. It was something he had never heard of before. Was it possible? Could someone be born with magic?

The memory flashed by his mind's eye again, and he could not remember seeing any potions or hearing any spells. It had been a defensive reaction, pure instinct. Impossible if the talent for sorcery had merely been learned. If it was ingrained from birth, though… as natural as breathing or blinking…

But magic was magic. And magic was evil.

"No," he said. "You will not be forgiven. You broke the law, and you deceived your king. I cannot let that go."

Merlin nodded, visibly trying to hold back his grief. Arthur could see the pain in his eyes, though, as clear as day and as piercing as an arrow to the heart.

"I'm sorry, sire."

He bowed his head, pulling away his neckerchief to make it easier for the blow to kill him.

"Merlin-" Gwaine started to protest.

"No," Merlin said quietly. "Do not defend me. Do not interfere with what has to happen. Thank you for your words, all of you. Your support means more to me than you will ever know, especially since I am so wholly undeserving. I am sorry that I have been lying to you all this time. In a way, I guess I am like Lamia. I am a creature of magic, and there is nothing I can do to change that. I will accept the consequences."

His voice shook, though he made an effort to still the tremble in his battered body. "I am not afraid to die."

"Step back," Arthur ordered.

The knights and Guinevere obeyed, however reluctantly, leaving a wide berth around them until it was just Merlin and Arthur in the middle of the clearing.

Arthur raised his sword, and began the swing that would end the life of his friend.

But his blade stopped short. This time, of his own accord.

He frowned down at his servant.

"Defend yourself," he said.

Merlin made no move to do so.

"You have powerful magic, don't you? Defend yourself!"

"No, sire."

Arthur couldn't understand it. "Stand up!" he snapped, grabbing Merlin by the arm and hauling him roughly to his feet. He stumbled, but managed to regain his footing.

Arthur tried not to choke on the bile that rose in his throat at the state of Merlin's chest.

"You are a sorcerer, and I intend to execute you. Defend yourself!"

Merlin gazed levelly at him. "I won't."

Arthur lashed out with his sword, and although Merlin flinched he made no attempt to get out of the way. The blade sliced his cheek. Blood ran.

"Defend yourself!"

"No."

Even angrier, Arthur lashed out again, cutting a thin slice across Merlin's upper arm.

"Defend yourself! Use your magic against me!"

"I'm not going to."

His blade flashed through the air for the third time, inflicting a shallow slash across Merlin's ribs.

"Defend yourself!" he all but shrieked, infuriated by the stupidity of his servant who had tremendous power but wouldn't even lift a finger to save his own life.

"I will not."

"Why?!" Arthur yelled, throwing down his sword and punching Merlin in the jaw.

Merlin staggered back from the blow, but caught himself and gave his response with steady conviction.

"Because I will not risk your life for the sake of my own. It is my job to protect you. I have done so, to the best of my ability, since that very first banquet when I pulled you out of the way of that witch's dagger using the enhanced perception and speed my magic granted me. I have been there, behind the scenes, defending you against the many dangers you faced that could not be combated by mortal weapons alone. When my magic was not enough, I have been willing to lay down my life for you.

"I did not think that it would end this way between us. I hoped that, when the time came for you to discover that I had magic, you would be ready to accept me for who I am rather than for who your father, in his bitterness and his grief, had made me out to be. I hoped that I could remain by your side, and that together we would see Albion united and at peace. But perhaps that was not my destiny after all.

"I have brought you this far. I hope it is enough, and that you will stay safe when I am gone. I hope you will grow into the great king I always thought you would be. I regret that I will not be there to see it happen for myself.

"But if you want to strike me down, I will not defend myself against you. What happened earlier was truly an accident, and if I could take it back I would. I have never meant you harm, and I have never used my magic to hurt you or your kingdom. I would never. Despite my powers, Arthur, and despite the fact that you have always been a prat and a dollop head, you were never in any danger from me.

"Someday… maybe someday you will be able to recognise my words as the truth they are."

A tear escaped, slipping down his cheek and capturing a droplet of blood along the way to run along his jaw line and drip down to be lost on the forest floor.

"All I ever wanted was your acceptance. If I cannot have that… then there is no point in living anyway. Take care of yourself, Arthur Pendragon."

He knelt, and once again offered his neck to the executioner's blade.

Proving wrong all of Arthur's accusations against him. No evil sorcerer bent on murdering Arthur and destroying Camelot would willingly submit to death when he had the means of defending himself.

Arthur had no doubt that Merlin could kill him where he stood with a single word.

But he knew, finally knew, that he wouldn't.

Really, Arthur had known it all along.

He had never known someone more loyal, more brave, more honourable and more trustworthy than his idiotic manservant Merlin.

Merlin had been protecting him all along, just like he'd said.

Merlin was willing to die for him.

Merlin wasn't dangerous to Arthur, only to his enemies.

Merlin was the most powerful ally that Arthur could possibly have.

More importantly, though, Merlin was the best friend that Arthur could possibly have.

And he had nearly thrown all of that away, out of fear and prejudice.

"I'm an idiot," Arthur said. The admission was one he had never thought he would utter out loud; usually he was the one decrying Merlin's stupidity.

Merlin risked a look up at him, confusion creasing his brow. The fact that he didn't leap on the opportunity to laugh at or insult his King showed how much their friendship had fractured. Arthur intended to make it right.

"I'm an idiot," Arthur repeated. To prove his humility, he dropped to his knees in front of Merlin; he would not stand over him as a king, but rather knelt as a servant would to show that they were equals. "Only a fool would see a loyal friend as a traitor. I brought this deception upon myself by giving you every reason to fear how I would respond if you told me the truth. That you remained true to me despite my attitude towards those with magic proves that you are a far better man than I."

Merlin stared at him.

"I know an apology cannot begin to make up for what I have done to you." Nearly executing him in a fit of blind rage was only the latest in a long list of crimes Arthur had committed against Merlin and his kind. Looking back, he could hardly believe that a powerful sorcerer would have borne such treatment. "I do not know what I can possibly say, except that I am sorry. After all that I have done, I cannot ask for your forgiveness. I do not deserve it, just as I have not deserved your steadfast loyalty, patience and friendship over all these years. If you wish to strike me down, you would be well within your rights."

"I would never harm you, Arthur," Merlin said quietly.

Arthur closed his eyes against the grief he felt. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I wanted to tell you. I have wanted to tell you for years. But you have shown that I was right to hold my tongue. You are not the king, or the friend, that I thought you were."

The words stung. Arthur had always aspired to be a fair and just King who truly cared for his people, but his true nature had been revealed in the appalling way he had treated his closest friend. What kind of man would lean on another for support without ever offering so much as an ear to listen in return? He had laid all of his burdens on his servant, but Merlin had never been able to confide in him in the same way. Merlin had never felt safe with him. Merlin had asked for nothing but acceptance and a place to belong, and Arthur had given him neither.

Arthur forced himself to meet Merlin's gaze. "I was wrong. I cannot change what has happened in the past, but I would like to build that future you spoke of… if you are still willing to stand by my side."

Merlin was guarded, hesitant. "Things cannot be as they were."

"No." Arthur knew he would have to make a significant gesture to restore the faith Merlin had in him. "It is time for a change. That is why…" Maybe it was crazy, and maybe his late father would never forgive him, but "-I intend to lift the ban on magic."

Merlin's eyes widened.

"You are a good man, Merlin. If a good man can have magic, magic cannot be inherently evil. I am willing to trust that there are others like you; people who would use their magic to protect, to serve and to heal. Henceforth, such people will be welcome in my kingdom. It is not enough, I know…"

Merlin placed a hand on his shoulder, the faintest hint of a smile appearing on his face. "It's a start. It's definitely a start."

"I hope someday that we can find our way back to being friends," Arthur ventured, not sure if he was pushing his luck. "I will do all I can to earn your forgiveness-"

Merlin shook his head. "Forgiveness isn't something you earn. It has to be given freely."

Arthur tried to hide his disappointment, but Merlin wasn't finished. "If you can forgive my deception… I think I can forgive your mistrust."

"It's forgiven," Arthur assured him.

"Then we'll be okay."

The heart of this man. Arthur had always known there was something special about Merlin, but he had never realised just how lucky he was to have this man in his life. He was stunned by all that Merlin had done for him and he could hardly believe that Merlin could forgive him so easily.

"Thank you." He meant it with every fibre of his being. "I promise that, this time, I won't let you down."

"I guess I'll take a chance on you, Arthur Pendragon." Merlin stood and offered him a hand. "Friends?"

A simple handshake would probably have sufficed, but instead Arthur pulled Merlin into a gentle, but very manly, embrace.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were going for a hug," he quipped, surprising a laugh out of Merlin.

"Group hug?" Gwaine called out hopefully, and Guinevere swatted him on the arm.

Arthur and Merlin broke apart, looked over at the knight who was exaggeratedly cradling his wounded appendage as Guinevere scowled at him, and laughed together.

It was a joyous sound, and it heralded a new age.