As much I loved the final episode of Merlin, like others, I felt that it was too rushed. I loved all the scenes between our boys, but let's face it, they were few and far between. I've pretty much overdosed on Merlin fanfic in the last few weeks (I only discovered the series last month, so I was a bit behind), so my brain is probably fried, or at the very least overly stimulated. I've got loads of stories going through my head, but this first one is pulling at me the most. It's something you've probably read before, but this is my spin on things. More particularly, my spin on what happened on those two days that Merlin and Arthur made their painful journey toward Avalon. Because no way were they silent the whole time, and no way were those pitifully few scenes of conversations the only interaction our boys had.

I don't own Merlin. Which is a crying shame, if you ask me...

Said and Unsaid

Arthur was pretty sure they'd only been riding for a few hours, but every thud of the horse's hooves seemed to echo with the painful throbbing in his chest, so every minute felt like an eternally long time. Far too long. He'd heard snippets of softly spoken words between Merlin and Gaius as they were preparing to leave, and he seemed to recall a mention of 'two days' being made. He still wasn't sure if Gaius had been referring to the length of the proposed journey, or the prognosis of Arthur's injury, but either way Arthur was fighting against the panic that was currently causing almost as much pain as the shard from Mordred's sword.

He wasn't exactly sure what it was that was causing his panic; in fact, he wasn't even sure that it was panic, seeing as he'd never really experienced true panic in his entire life. He'd had his fair share of concerns, along with a healthy dose of fear every once in a while, but panic – true panic – had never managed to get a firm hold on him. Leon, Gwen or Merlin had always turned his mood in the past.

But Leon and Gwen were back in Camelot. And Merlin was not... Merlin. Merlin was, according to Gaius, probably the most powerful sorcerer in the world.

Which didn't make any sense at all.

Maybe he knew what was causing his panic after all. His manservant's tearful confession had been enough to stop the immense pressure he was feeling in his chest for several moments, long enough for him to suck in a much needed lungful of air. Which had been just as well, all things considered, because surely he'd stopped breathing when he'd seen that strangely beautiful dragon emerging from the embers of the campfire.

But no, he couldn't think about that right now. Not while they were dangerously out in the open, having left the relative safety of the forest behind them a few miles back. Although maybe he should be thinking about that dragon, because it proved without a doubt that Merlin had magic, and according to Gaius, it was Merlin's skills as a sorcerer that were possibly the only thing that could save Arthur's life. It was a lot to take in, and frankly, more than he could cope with on top of the injury that was draining him to the point of collapsing.

Arthur was rudely pulled from his thoughts by the person who was so wholly occupying them. Merlin was muttering something about Saxons, and was in the process of covering him with a blanket. Arthur watched as his manservant moved quickly from his side and scanned the landscape before them. He gave a funny little jerk, which was vaguely familiar to Arthur for some reason, then turned to face the two riders who were within hailing distance. Then he raised his arms and started calling for help. Arthur watched with a detached sort of fascination as Merlin proceeded to be... Merlin. The Merlin that was full of stupid ideas, the Merlin that was impulsive, who didn't consider what he was doing or the consequences that would come from his actions. Only an idiot would draw an enemy closer.

Well, at least there was one thing about his manservant that was still true.

The voices were muffled, but Arthur caught the thread of conversation and realised, with some shock, that the funny little jerk of the head from moments before that was so strangely Merlin, had been a spell of some sort, and was now providing evidence to the ridiculous tale that was being fed to the Saxons. As the enemy turned away, Merlin swiftly and silently spun around and quickly covered the hilt of Excalibur, which had been resting proudly next to Arthur's leg. Arthur was immediately visited with the notion that Merlin possessed more than his fair share of intelligence, and this seemed almost as disturbing as the fact that his manservant was a sorcerer.

Still reeling from this latest shock to his system, Arthur could only watch, slack-jawed, as the Saxons turned back towards them and began questioning Merlin further. Then one of the men strode forward, pushed his idiot manservant out of the way, and unerringly uncovered Excalibur. Arthur tried not to groan, though he was sure a fearful hiss may have escaped his lips. The game was up. Arthur knew it, and the Saxons knew it. Arthur shifted his gaze to Merlin, and saw something that would surely have caused him to gasp aloud, if only he'd had enough breath to do so.

It lasted only a second or two, but the scene that unfolded before him seemed to perversely move in slow motion, as if wanting to torture Arthur with the irreversible proof that the man who had served him for ten years was nothing but a liar. As the Saxons drew their swords in perfect unison, Merlin gave that annoyingly familiar little nod of his head again and raised his arms, his palms facing out as if warding off the blows that were surely coming his way. Only instead of a pair of swords arching gracefully through the air, it was their owners, who both gave startled cries as their bodies were hurled powerfully backwards, landing with sickening thuds long before Merlin returned his arms to his sides.

That his manservant had saved their lives went unnoticed. That Merlin – Merlin – had behaved with utmost calm and precision was almost unnatural. It went against everything that Arthur had formerly believed about his bumbling and clumsy servant. The immediate threat had been removed, but instead of feeling relief, all Arthur could think of was how much betrayal he felt towards the man who was stood before him, and of all the things he could have said, of all the things he should have said, he said the one thing that had been crawling through his thoughts like a poisonous snake since the moment he'd seen a beautiful dragon emerge from the flames of a dying fire.

"You've lied to me all this time."

Merlin stiffened and turned away, unable to pull himself back from the anguish that those few little words caused him. Keeping his eyes averted, he quickly rolled up the blanket that had tumbled to the floor and replaced it in the saddle bag. Mounting his horse, he clicked his tongue to urge the beast into motion, moving his head slightly to make sure that Arthur was following him, but avoiding any eye contact with his friend.

Having Arthur see him perform magic in one of its more sinister forms didn't sit well with him. It didn't matter that Arthur had seen him call down lightening and defeat the Saxons; it didn't matter that Arthur had witnessed him commanding Aithusa to retreat. That was different. That was Emrys. Arthur had only seen a powerful sorcerer turn the battle into Camelot's favour. This time, he had seen Merlin. The magic was far less powerful than the magic that he'd used to win the battle at Camlann, but it was infinitely more damaging to the friendship that Merlin had always clung to so strongly.

Depression was sitting heavily upon him, and it wasn't only because of the almost crippling fear that he wouldn't be able to save Arthur as he'd so often done in the past. He'd never been comfortable with killing people, and knew that he never would. He'd been running purely on magic and adrenaline ever since he'd left the Crystal Cave, but now the past twenty four hours were catching up with him, and he felt the weight of the heavy loss of life from the previous day's events. The nervous energy that had enabled him to carry Arthur to safety, and to confess his double life to his king, was finally gone. Shock and grief were warring within him, tying his stomach into knots and making him feel nauseous. Then there was the regret, whipping at him mercilessly as he wished that he'd confessed at the start, all those years ago, when Arthur wouldn't have felt so betrayed. Or wished that he hadn't confessed at all, so at least Arthur would have a friend he felt he could trust in what would possibly be his last few hours of life.

"Who else knew you were a sorcerer?"

Merlin jumped at the softly spoken question, and pulled his horse to a stop. Were they talking now? Good. Talking was good. He chanced a quick look at the king as he became level with him, and swallowed a few times to moisten his mouth.

"Gaius."

An ill-disguised snort of contempt.

"Apart from Gaius."

"Not many, and most of those were magically inclined."

"Nobody I knew, then," Arthur said quietly, almost to himself.

Merlin was tempted – horribly tempted – to say nothing, but having finally confessed the truth about himself, he knew that he could hold nothing more back from his friend.

"Lancelot knew," he whispered.

"Lancelot." Disbelief echoed in the word. And more betrayal.

"Yes. He knew," he said firmly, bringing his gaze fully to Arthur's face, the memory of Lancelot's faith and acceptance giving him the courage to finally look at his king. "He knew, and he accepted me without question."

"Why Lancelot? Why not Gwaine, or Percival, or any of the other knights?"

"Or why not you?" asked Merlin softly, correctly deciphering Arthur's hidden question. "I didn't actually tell him, you know. It just sort of... happened. In fact, that's how it was with Gaius, too. I don't really go around announcing my magical abilities, Arthur. I can't, not if I want to keep my head."

Merlin gently kicked his horse into motion again, and Arthur followed him, his face concentrated into a frown as he watched his servant thoughtfully. If the conversation wasn't so serious, Merlin might have been tempted to grin at the look on Arthur's face as understanding suddenly flared into his features.

"The griffin," he said slowly. "It wasn't Lancelot who killed it, it was you."

"I think it was both of us, actually," said Merlin honestly. "I may have nudged things a little with my magic, but it was Lancelot's skill that drove the spear into the beast. Of course, Lancelot didn't see it that way, foolish man, and that was why he left." Fondness for his fallen friend was evident in his words, and he smiled regretfully to himself.

"You still miss him," said Arthur softly, thoughts of the noble knight momentarily overshadowing the current situation. Once again Merlin turned and gazed directly at his king, allowing his grief to shine clearly from his eyes.

"He was my friend, and he died for me," he said simply.

Arthur's head tipped back sharply.

"He died for Camelot."

"No, Arthur, he died for me. There was never a chance that you were going to walk through that veil, you know. It was always going to be me. I knew it as soon as you'd declared your intentions. And Lancelot knew it, too."

Arthur raised his eyes in disbelief, his face a picture of shock.

"How did... why would you... what happened?"

Merlin dropped his gaze and swallowed painfully.

"I'm ashamed to admit it, but I used my magic to knock you out. I-I really had no choice, Arthur, seeing as you were so determined to sacrifice yourself. And then... then..."

"Then what, Merlin? What?"

"I approached the Cailleach, and we spoke for a moment. I fully intended to walk through the veil, but as I turned, I saw Lancelot had beaten me to it. It was too late to stop him, and all I could do was watch as he did the very thing that I was trying to save you from."

Merlin blinked the moisture from his eyes before continuing.

"He smiled at me," he whispered softly, his own lips pulled into an unwilling copy of Lancelot's dying expression. "I don't think I'll ever get that image out of my mind. Lancelot, smiling as he faced death. And it was such a waste. It shouldn't have happened. It should have been me."

Merlin didn't know what he expected Arthur to say, but he certainly expected him to say something. What he definitely did not expect was the heavy silence that followed his revelation. As the minutes crept by, he again felt the weight of depression pushing him down. Then the minutes became slow, agonizing hours, and still Arthur hadn't said a word. That was when despair truly settled upon him. There was still so much he had to tell Arthur, but he didn't know if he had the strength to do so. It was taking too long for Arthur to absorb, and there just wasn't time. Sighing to himself, he did what he always did when everything became too much. He reverted to his stoic servant persona, and kept his eyes open for a place where they could camp for the night. Arthur would be exhausted, and they needed to rest. Avalon was still over a day's ride away, and he needed to make sure the king had the strength to make it. Sleep and food were the immediate concerns, so Merlin pushed aside his despair and addressed the current problem.

Spotting a likely place for an overnight camp, Merlin dismounted and led both horses into a small clearing, before tying them securely. He helped Arthur down from his mount, and half carried, half dragged him to a tree, propping him against the trunk as gently as he could. The king's face was grey with pain and fatigue, but he was still silent, and Merlin wished more than anything that his friend would speak. Sending Arthur one last troubled glance, he paused, before gently resting his hand on Arthur's shoulder and squeezing it slightly. The armour would negate any feeling of course, but the gesture was heartfelt if nothing else. Arthur stiffened slightly, but still kept his silence. Merlin closed his eyes briefly before walking away.

Well, that's the first bit. I'm not sure how long this will be, but the updates should be fairly quick in coming. It's been a long time since I posted anything so publicly, so I'm very nervous about publishing this – but here goes!