Arthur turned away from the window. He had not meant for Merlin to see him; he thought he had been far enough away from the panes that his presence would go unnoticed, but that slow, sad smile on the sorcerer's face told him otherwise. He forced himself to stay there until Merlin disappeared around the corner and for a long time after. 'Never to return,' his thoughts lay heavily on his conscience, 'Exiled by my command. For practicing magic. For lying to me all these years.' His thoughts spun in endless circles, wrapping around themselves until he could not tell if it was the fact of the magic or the lies that had set him off.

He sat down heavily in the chair at his desk, his gaze roving over the work left over from before the hunt, arranged in the careless organization that Merlin had mastered over the years, with ink and quills and parchment set in just the way Arthur preferred, and the various treaties and decrees stacked neatly on the corner. An apple sat atop them, a makeshift paperweight that doubled as a snack for the times he worked late into the night.

With a sudden burst of anger, Arthur swiped the apple away, sending the parchments flying with it. 'If only he wasn't so good at all this . . .' He rubbed a hand over his aching eyes. If only Merlin were not so good at keeping Arthur's life in order, if only he were not such a good friend, then sending him away would not hurt so much, as though he had drawn a dagger and stabbed himself in the chest, barely missing his heart.

'No. He is a sorcerer, and sorcery for any reason is against the law in Camelot. By all rights, I should have sentenced him to death. Exile was the merciful choice. Sorcery is a crime.'

Maybe if he told himself that enough he would start to believe it. Until then, he had a desk full of paperwork to see about. Arthur pulled himself to his feet and bent to collect the scattered sheets. Whoever would serve as his next manservant, Arthur did not intend to let him see the results of a childish tantrum. 'Your actions speak louder than your words, Merlin had once said. And he was right. Damn him, Merlin was always right.

Arthur caught a glimpse of one particular decree. It stopped him cold when he realized what it was- Cador's request to return Camelot to the witchunting practices that had occurred during the Great Purge. He remembered the afternoon he and the Marcher Lords had spent arguing about it; they wanted to hire witchfinders and continue the pretense of trials that ended with burnings and beheadings. Arthur had tabled the notion to shut them up. He had not given the decree a second thought since then, but it all sprang up unbidden now. Along with another worm of guilt that started eating at his gut again.

Merlin had attended that day, refilling wine and fetching this item or that for the assembly. And keeping silent as some of the most powerful men in the kingdom of Camelot declared that he was an evil creature, that he was a cancer on the land that deserved to be hunted down and burned alive for the magic flowing through his veins. He had kept his eyes low and his tongue behind his teeth while Arthur failed to disagree with the lords, ending the discussion because he was tired of it, not because he opposed their views.

'What went through your head that day, Merlin? Did you hate me for it?' Arthur sank to his knees as he read and re-read the parchment. How many times had Merlin's heart been broken for Arthur's sake? He thought back to all the times Merlin had disappeared and returned days later with some flimsy excuse; the times he had gone about his duties like a ghost drifting about the castle; the times he had affirmed Arthur's distrust in magic. What had Merlin endured for Arthur's sake, while his prince strutted about in willful ignorance? 'I didn't know,' some childish part of him said. He quashed it. 'I didn't want to know. All the strange behavior, the disappearances . . . I could have asked for the reasons. I could have kept asking until I got the truth out of him, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to see. All those lies are as much my fault as his.'

The parchment trembled in his hand. Arthur let it fall back to the floor as he tightened his fingers into a fist to make them stop shaking. 'How many times can a heart break before it can't be put back together? How many times does a man have to hear that he's evil before he starts to believe it? Is that what happened to Morgana?' His gaze went to the fire before him. He nearly flinched away, remembering all the burnings he had witnessed, but forced himself to face it and the memories. 'Did I just make the worst mistake of my life?'

Arthur brushed at his eyes again, cursing the wetness he found there. It was too late to turn back now. He had given the order, and Merlin was gone. Now he would have to live with the consequences, whatever they might be. There was only one thing he could do now. 'Something I should have done days ago . . .'

With a flick of the wrist, Arthur took up the witch-hunting decree and cast it into the fire. It smoldered for a heartbeat before pale fingers of flame burst up and devoured the parchment. 'Do one last thing for me, Merlin,' he thought as he watched it dissolve into ash, 'Wherever you go, be safe.'