Author's Note: I wrote this to go with a fabulous piece of fanart I saw on devART by *pAgebReaTher (it was called EMRYS) and I'll probably do a second part to it, cause it doesn't quite feel finished. but anyway, here ya go! I hope you like it!

'Merlin! On your left!'

Arthur's cries tore across the clearing, barely heard over the clashing of swords and shields, the yells of bandit and knight as they fought tooth and nail, one against the other.

Merlin span round, and saw the giant of a man swinging his sword downwards towards his skull. Ducking out of the way just in time Merlin stumbled as he reached forwards with the small knife Arthur insisted he carried 'for emergencies only', cutting the man's side. He hissed in annoyance, but it wasn't much more than a nick, and Merlin scrambled to get out of the man's way as Gwaine took over, killing the man with one blow.

There was no time for Merlin to thank Gwaine, there were too many bandits to take care of, and he was quickly involved in fighting off another. Meanwhile, Merlin scrambled out of the thick of the fighting. He wasn't armed, like the knights had been when they realised they'd been ambushed. Looking around him, he realised that somehow he'd gotten all turned around and had ended up in the centre, surrounded by the fighting on all sides.

The newly crowned King of Camelot fought ferociously, with the might of a true warrior, whilst managing to look out for his men at the same time. The harsh scrape of metal filled the air as he held off one attacker who was proving more stubborn than his fallen comrades. Merlin's eyes widened as he saw yet another enemy shadowing the king, fully intending on taking advantage of his unprotected neck.

In one perfect moment of clarity Merlin knew what would happen if he stood back and did nothing. Arthur would fall. The future of Albion would fall with him.

And he knew in his heart that this, this was the moment when Arthur discovered the truth.

He sucked in one shaky breath. This was the point of no return. There was no time to warn Arthur, no time to physically stop the attack, not time to do anything but react.

He flung out his hand, eyes burning with forbidden fire, throwing the man away from Arthur, crashing into a tree with impossible force.

Arthur froze, and turned his head. What he saw made his heart sicken.

Merlin's eyes glimmered with the last embers of his magic as they faded back into crystal blue and his arm fell down to his side. He met Arthur's horrified gaze.

The king's jaw set, hard and angry, as what he had seen sunk in. Acting on auto-pilot he finally overcame his enemy and continued with his fight. Just as if everything was normal.

Merlin stared at Arthur. He knew this was the calm before the storm. Arthur was getting the job done before dealing with anything else - after three years as his manservant, Merlin knew his master better than anyone. He sighed and focused on not getting killed before Arthur could do it himself. He wouldn't want to take the opportunity from him after all.

The knights were finishing their respective fights, the bandits finally being defeated once and for all. They began the clean-up job, tending to each other's wounds and collecting up the goods which had fallen off their wagon in the skirmish. Merlin stood awkwardly by the edge of the clearing, trying not to draw attention to himself, keeping out of everyone's way - especially Arthur's. He chewed on his lip, unsure of what was coming.

Arthur glanced over at the other knights. They were preoccupied (thank goodness for that) so he strode towards his manservant, his expression darkening as he went.

He didn't want to believe it. Merlin couldn't be a sorcerer. He just couldn't. There was no way his bumbling, clumsy, idiotic manservant could be a sorcerer. No, Arthur must have been mistaken. And yet he knew, in heart, filled with dread, that he wasn't mistaken. Merlin was using magic.

Stumbling backwards as Arthur approached Merlin found himself backed up against a tree, feeling trapped in a way he'd never experienced before. Arthur's face was blank, but his eyes. His blue eyes were clouded over with emotion he couldn't quite keep in check. It was a heady potion of anger, and fear, and disbelief and betrayal.

'Merlin. Your services are no longer required'

His voice was deep, low, threatening with the sheer intensity of the anger within it.

Despite knowing how useless it would be, Merlin protested, tripping over his words the way he usually tripped over the ground.

'No, sire, look, I - I can explain. Just let-'

His words were cut off by the cold press of metal against his throat. He hadn't realised the king was still armed.

'Leave. Don't ever come back. Be glad I'm allowing you your life, sorcerer.'

The last word was spat out at Merlin with such loathing it shocked him.

The warlock clenched his jaw, fighting back the tears, and nodded once. It was all he could trust himself with.

Arthur pushed him away, glaring at him, his eyes never once leaving the smaller man's body, as he ran away, anywhere, anywhere Arthur's anger wasn't.

(7 years later)

Arthur sat on the throne, only the muscle jumping in his jaw revealing the anger which coursed through his veins.

'And where was the camp found?'

His tone was as cold and demanding as it ever had been; extracting the specific knowledge he would need for his next campaign.

'Near to the Feorre mountain of Engred, sire'

Arthur nodded and pronounced the nondescript knight as dismissed. He was left alone in the huge expanse of the room once more. He no longer had advisors to guide his policy. He no longer even had personal servants, and they were fired after a few months. Nobody was allowed close to the king.

Sitting alone, as he so often did, he thought over the path his life had taken over the past decade. There had once been a time, when he loved a woman, the beautiful Guinevere. He had found a friend in a lowly manservant. He had been so full of hope.

But he had learnt his lesson. Magic took away everything he had ever cared about in his life, and the rest had been ripped away anyway. First, his father's death, obviously an assassination by that old sorcerer, who Merlin had idiotically persuaded him to hire. He should never have listened to Merlin. He had lied to him the whole time, and the betrayal was too much to bear. There was no way Arthur could possibly keep a sorcerer near him, not after Uther's death, which had taught him, finally, once and for all, that magic was evil. Then he had caught Guinevere betraying him with the most dishonourable of men, the 'noble' Lancelot. He'd wasted no time in disgracing them both and exiling them from Camelot.

So now he was alone. And that was the way he wanted it. Alone was safe, alone was strong.

It hadn't been long after he had banished Merlin that he had ramped up the anti-magic campaign. His father had seemingly become soft in his later years - a mistake his son would not make. He had no qualms about using torture to find the whereabouts of other sorcerers before the executions which took place almost daily as he cleansed his lands of sorcery. He also had no qualms about persecuting the druids.

True, the druids had never caused Uther or Arthur any trouble. But they were still magic-users, and as long as they were suffered to exist in Camelot, they would give the impression that magic was acceptable. Magic was not acceptable under any circumstances. The people had to learn that.

He sighed, and strode out of the throne room. He had to prepare for the latest campaign.

Merlin awoke with a start. What was that? There was someone outside. There shouldn't be someone outside. Nobody ever came to this part of Engred.

He slipped out of his bed, barefoot on chill stone floor, and crept towards the entrance of the cave, staying hidden in the shadows. He'd had enough practice at it after seven years of living in hiding, always fearing that Arthur's men would search him out and slaughter him for saving the king's life.

He held his breath, listening to check if there was anyone outside, or if it had just been an animal.

There!

In the trees, barely noticeable, was the flap of a travelling cloak. It was mottled green and brown, and it would have been missed by anyone else. But it wasn't red. And that was all that mattered. Merlin stepped out of the shadows and slowly approached the camouflaged figure.

'Hello? Are you hurt? Or lost?'

The figure moved into full sight, lowering the hood from his face. He studied Merlin carefully, his eyes dark and serious, before kneeling and bowing his head to the young man.

The stranger spoke quietly, softly, with an accent Merlin couldn't quite place.

'Emrys. It is an honour to be in your presence'

Merlin started, not used to being called by his Druid name, let alone by a man he'd never seen before. Shocked into a reaction, he invited the man inside.

Merlin was living in Ballinor's cave. He'd wandered for days after the 'incident' with Arthur, and eventually found himself drawn to his father's old dwelling. He'd lived there ever since, liking how close he felt to the Dragonlord's memory there. In the long seven years he'd called it 'home' he'd let his magic run free, glad to no longer live in fear of being caught. He was at one with his magic, and with the earth, and he could feel the power flowing all around him. Even so, living off the land of Engred was a tough existence, and he'd become hardened by the dry summers and bitter winters, toiling through it all just to keep himself fed off the frustratingly infertile land. He didn't have much to call his own, but it was enough to get by on. He'd learnt how to lay traps, better than Arthur could have ever shown him, and he'd even created his own miniature armoury of weapons much more suited to him than the broadsword he'd used in Camelot. His favourite was his bow and arrow, hand carved from a tree not too far from the cave. It was pliable and strong, and the bowstring was always pulled taut and ready. His collection of arrows had taken some time to build, but after many hours spent carving by his fire at night he'd made over a hundred at least. He'd even made himself a leather cuff to protect his arm when he was hunting, after getting tired of the endless bruises that inevitably formed on his pale skin every time the bowstring 'thwacked' back. Seven years had given him plenty of time to perfect his skills - hunting, leatherwork, carving, cooking, everything - especially his magic.

The cave was mostly bare, even after having so long to add a few home comforts. There were a couple of carved chairs, a makeshift bed, a fire-pit and a few alcoves Merlin used to store what food he could keep longer than a couple days. It was the bare essentials, but Merlin had never bothered to make it anything more permanent, always expecting to be found by Arthur's men and forced to run for his life.

Merlin gestured for the Druid to sit down, pouring out two small glasses of water from his limited supply.

'How do you know my name?'

Merlin's brow was furrowed as he asked, curious but wary of his guest at the same time.

'All the Druids know your name. It is written in your magic. We followed your magic here actually, we were drawn to it.'

'Drawn to it?'

'Yes. Druids can sense when they're close to a place of power, and we'd been travelling this way when we felt it, so I offered to investigate. And found you right at home.'

'But - but this isn't a place of power. Not like the Isle of the Blessed. I'm just living in my father's old cave'

'Then your father must have felt the power of this place too.'

'Wait, you said 'we'. Who else is there?'

'You don't think I travelled alone, did you? The rest of my camp of Druids of course!'

'Th-there's more of you?'

Merlin's mind was racing, Not only had one man risked his life pilgrimaging so close to Camelot's lands, but many more had done so as well. Surely they had to know it wasn't safe for them to be close. Hell, it wasn't safe for Merlin, the mighty Emrys, to be anywhere near Camelot, but at least he might be able to defend himself. The Druids were notoriously against violence of any kind.

'Yes, of course there's more than just me. It isn't in the nature of Druids to travel alone.'

'You – you have to leave! Right away! It's not safe here, please, I'm begging you, just go, you can't –'

'Emrys. We came here out of choice. We knew the risks. Do not worry on our behalf.'

'But, no, pleas-'

'Emrys, do not worry.'

Merlin fell silent, chewing on his lip. He realised arguing with the peaceful man was going to have no effect whatsoever. He nodded once, reluctantly consenting to the druid's wishes.

'So, what's your name? You obviously know mine.'

The Druid smiled, as if he'd just been waiting for Merlin to ask him.

'My name is Urias.'

There was a short lull in the conversation, and they fell into silence, not really having anything to say to each other. Urias finished his water, and sat back in his chair.

'Emrys, we would be honoured if you would come to our camp. We would like to perform a ritual honouring you and your place of power.'

Merlin blinked in shock. Honouring him? But he was nothing, he wasn't even truly Emrys. After all, he'd failed in his destiny – he was no longer the warlock at the side of the Once and Future King. Why should any Druids wish to honour him? Feeling like a fraud, he nodded slowly, consenting to Urias' wishes.

Urias smiled and stood, making to leave the cave and waiting for Merlin expectantly. Not wanting to keep the Druid waiting Merlin cleared away their cups with a wave of his hand and joined him.

Arthur was riding fast and hard, his legs were aching, his shoulders were aching, his whole body was aching, crying out for a rest, but he didn't stop. He was stronger than the pains his body insisted on inflicting on him. Hengroen was a mighty stallion, and he could run for far longer than his rider was comfortable with. The sweat beaded on his forehead reminded him of the intensity of the sun beating down on him. Behind him three knights were desperately trying to keep up with their King and his ridiculous pace.

They were travelling to Feorre, intent on eliminating the Druids there. And yes, technically Engred was outside of Camelot's borders, but only just, and frankly, Arthur was now so feared that the other kings wouldn't dare to start a war over something so small.

They didn't have far to go now. They should be able to reach Feorre before day was over, and with any luck, begin the ride back before the sun rose.

Merlin was kneeling at the front of the altar the Druids had set up. His head was bowed and he shivered slightly at the gentle breeze which passed by in the spring air. The cloak which pooled around his feet rippled slightly, tickling his shoulders with the soft fabric.

He was clothed in the red cloak the Druids had given him for the ceremony. The hood fell over his face, shadowing his face, the small clasp fastened on his collarbone. The clasp was as intricately detailed as the symbols the Druids had painted onto his chest in preparation for the ceremony. His trousers were slung low around his hips, snug along his legs, but his feet were bare again, the Druids having requested he remove his well-worn soft leather boots. They said it helped him to be closer to the earth when they performed the ritual.

There was a moment of silence as Urias lit the herbs he needed to continue, and they began smoking slightly, and that was when Merlin heard it.

The pounding of horse's hooves.

Arthur could feel it in his bones. He was close, very close. It wouldn't be long until he could exact the revenge he desired so deeply.

Merlin froze, every muscle in his body tensing in fear. His eyes widened in fear, and he leapt to his feet on pure impulse. The ritual was no longer important. He had to get these people out of danger. He whirled round, the cloak fanning out behind him, and his eyes flashed in the shadows of his hood as he raised his hand. He cast a shield around all of the gathered Druids, who had started to rise in protest at what he was doing. Couldn't he see he was interrupting a sacred rite?

'Everyone! Be quiet!'

His voice was magically magnified as he bellowed to the crowd, who silenced before Emrys, the legendary one.

'I don't know who that is on those horses, but it's not likely to be good. So stay here and stay quiet. I won't let you get harmed'

His jaw set as he strode away from the altar, his long strides turning into a run through the trees with the cloak flapping out like wings behind him.

Arthur pulled up in a small clearing, looking around him for any signs that the Druids were nearby. They couldn't be far away now, they were practically inside the Feorre mountain, never mind being at the foot of it. The air was still. Too still. His knights gathered around him in a circle and the all looked outwards, trying to find any miniscule hint which would allow them to complete this damned mission and get home to Camelot.

Hearing the horses in the clearing below Merlin paused, crouching down behind a small group of bushes. He was on a ridge which overlooked the clearing, surrounding it completely. It was a popular place for bandits to ambush unsuspecting travellers. Merlin had never had much trouble with them, not having anything worth stealing, but he knew just how vicious they could be from the times he'd travelled with Arthur.

Through the leaves Merlin could see the bright crimson of the cloaks the knights of Camelot always wore. He froze, not even wanting to breathe so he would stay hidden forever. But then he saw him.

Impossibly, there in the clearing, on his trusted stallion whom Merlin had cared for so many times when he was just a yearling, was King Arthur. The Once and Future King of all Albion.

The man who would likely love to have Merlin's head on a plate.

Merlin put it out of his mind. It wasn't important right now. He knew he had deserved what punishment Arthur had given him. He could deal with the shock of seeing him later, if he got out alive. Right now he had to focus on making sure the knights didn't discover and massacre the Druids.

Figuring the best plan would be to try and hear which direction they planned to take, Merlin crouched lower, paranoid he might be seen among the leaves. He had the advantage of knowing the territory; he would be able to get the Druids out safely if only he could hear where Arthur wanted to go!

But then, looking out once more he saw, through the leaves on the other side of the ridge, an eye. It blinked, staring him straight in the face. Merlin closed his eyes, not wanting it to be true, but he reached out with his magic, and counted ten, twenty, thirty bandits hiding in the trees. Merlin's breath caught in his throat as he realised Arthur and his men had unwittingly wandered into a trap. A deadly trap.

War cries filled the air and suddenly there were swords clashing and howls of pain as the knights sprang off their horses already whirling their weapons through the air, cutting down the bandits leaping down to ambush them. They seemed to have sprung from nowhere and suddenly there were more than could have been imagined.

Arthur had been in many ambushes in his time, but this far surpassed any he had witnessed before. How had they managed to hide without him noticing? Never mind, that wasn't important, not when his men were struggling to hold off the sheer number of men pouring in to attack Camelot's finest. Arthurs sword sparked as it struck an enemy's and he slew him brutally, moving on to the next one who dared to try and take the King's life.

Merlin's eyes snapped open to the sounds of battle in the clearing below. Without thinking he leapt out from his hiding place, surging forward to take his place by his king, where had always belonged, doing his duty to protect him. Staying hidden was no longer relevant. Arthur could not be allowed to die here.

His anger leapt to his fingertips, gathering in an orb of pure, furious power. It cast a blue light over his skin, sending the shadows of the dusk skittering away. He raised it above his head, staring at it briefly, recognising its strength, before he eyed up the opponents who had paused in their fights.

They were staring at him, disbelieving, as they saw the powerful warlock standing before him, his eyes consumed by fire, lithe and dangerous and ready for action. He smirked at their reactions, knowing they didn't stand a chance against him.

And then the moment of calm was over and they rushed at him, a group effort to eliminate their strongest enemy, surrounding him with futile weapons made of steel against the wrath of his magic.

Let the battle commence.