Hello everyone! Thanks for deciding to check this two-shots out. I hope you'll enjoy this story and not wince (too much) at the bad characterisation - to all multi-fandom writers out there, aren't Merlin and Arthur some of the hardest persons to get right, like, ever?

Like many authors, I live for reviews, whether positive or negative, and will of course reply to each one. Also, please tell me if you see any mistake, major or minor, this is really important to me.

All you can recognize in the story isn't mine - or else the show would be way slashier ;)

As he stepped into the room, Merlin took a fortifying breath. No matter how many times he had seen it in the past hours, the sight of his master's pale and almost lifeless face always felt like a blow to his stomach, making him want to scream at the unfairness of it all. Arthur was a hot-blooded prat who never thought before jumping into danger, was far too proud of his warrior skills and was always eager to show them up – case in point, the fact that he was lying there after deciding to take on an unknown beast twenty times his size by himself.

Yes, a careless prat, that's who he was, not this pale copy of his body laying on his back, propelled by a few pillows, slightly greasy locks of hair stumbling on a pale brow and on cheeks whose only colour was brought by a harsh fever. Actually, even the fact that he was on his back was wrong. Arthur slept restlessly, never staying in one position, tossing from side to side – or at least he did when he was deeply asleep, since he had taught himself to doze in perfect stillness. Merlin didn't know if it came from bad dreams, or just from the fact that the man's body wanted to stay active even when his mind was complaining of tiredness, but he did know that this right now. Was. Wrong.

Had he needed to reinforce his resolve, just seeing Arthur this way would have been enough – but really, that's not why he had come here. He was already fully determined to give his all (literally in this case) to see the Prince recovered. No, the reason he had come here was to say goodbye.

And yet, as he stood there, the words seemed stuck in his throat. What was there left to say to this simulacrum of his master? He almost turned on his heels then, and only the thought of Gaius' raised eyebrow at his fast return when Merlin had been the one insisting on delaying his departure in the first place kept him rooted in place.

In the end, he began with simple words; ones he knew weren't going to get twisted by whatever this strange weight on his stomach that was making it impossible for him to inhale normally, never mind express himself, meant.

"You're a real prat, you know?"

That truth being clearly enunciated, both breathing and talking suddenly became easier, and words came rushing out of him, bringing with them the relief and liberation he had previously only ever associated with long-awaited tears.

"I mean, if you weren't such a prat, we wouldn't be in this situation. Which kind of idiot does one have to be to rush in such a fight with only his sword and the conviction that everything will be alright anyway? A royal one, obviously. Would it kill you to ask for an hour-long discussion with Gaius about what kind of beast it is and what can be done to beat it? You have to learn to listen as well as you act, Arthur. Perhaps when you wake up, you'll have learnt to be cautious…and perhaps Uther will smile and proclaim magic is once again welcomed in the castle, that's about as likely.

"But of course, I knew what the beast was and it didn't do us much good, right? I wasn't able to do anything."

Here his voice quieted, as he got to the part that really bothered him. It had taken him so little to kill the beast, a few words, a spell that haven't left him the slightest bit winded – if only he had reacted earlier! There he was, haughtily proclaiming that Arthur's life meant more than his own to him; and yet his secret had then seemed more precious than making sure the Prince came to no harm.

"I know you'd laugh at my words i-if you could hear them – what could a clumsy manservant have done against such a beast, after all? This is the hardest part of my secret, actually. Not hiding my abilities and accepting that my choices are to be seen as a total cretin or die, although that still rankles at times, believe me. No, it's knowing how much we can accomplish together if you knew and accepted what I am that's getting more and more difficult to accept. Now I sound conceited, right? Well, I probably learnt it from you anyway.

"I mainly wanted to tell you not to worry, Arthur. You're going to be just fine, trust me on that. I have a map, I know the way, and I'm bringing my life-force with me so I can strike a nice little bargain. I know you won't be very happy with the last part, considering how adamant you were to be the one drinking the poison in the labyrinth, but I've left a letter to Gaius telling him to explain all about my sorcery, so I guess that you won't stay mad too long…"

A sudden wracking cough interrupted him, but as he brutally turned his head to look at Arthur, he didn't see what he had been half-fearing and half-hoping for, meaning a furious and incredulous Prince ready to tear into him for all his lies; rather, he saw exhausted lines around a mouth from which a drop of blood was slowly dripping.

Biting his tongue until the copper taste of his own blood invaded his mouth as well, making him feel weirdly linked to the blonde man resting near him, he muttered a "right" as he hurriedly gathered his things, stood up and left without another glance, feeling he had said all he needed to.

As he returned with the precious water clenched inside his fist, Merlin couldn't help but feel anxious. As Arthur hadn't been woken yet, he was still technically "not alive", and therefore Merlin knew that he himself wasn't in any danger of dropping dead at any moment; and yet there was a cold feeling in his stomach. Many people tougher than him had gone crazy in the jails of Camelot as they were waiting for their executions; knowing, really knowing, that his death would happen in a few days at most gave him a sense of extreme vertigo every time he thought about it, even though it was for the best cause he could imagine.

Once in Arthur's bedchamber, this sick feeling was temporarily replaced by the helpless one he knew well by now as he discovered anew just how bad a shape Arthur was in. And suddenly, even knowing he could die as soon as the last drop of water touched the Prince's lips wasn't enough to keep him from rushing forwards, Gaius at his heels.

He leaned against the wall to take Arthur's torso in his arms, making him rest on his chest. The idea that Arthur could wake up leaning on his dead manservant made him shudder in horror, and yet when Uther came and ordered them to leave, he shot a desperate glance at Gaius. He normally wouldn't have hesitated to go; but that one talk with an unconscious Arthur had awakened both his selfish desire to see the man understand what Merlin had been ready to do for him and the idea that perhaps this was the last form of protection he could offer his Prince; the sight of his corpse would hopefully stick in his mind and maybe keep him out of too dangerous fights.

Clearly perplex, Gaius still answered his cry for help, making up on the spot a reason why it would be better for them to be present, as he had an antidote should the mixture prove to be harmful. The King didn't protest and sat down near the bed, waiting with baited breath as they resumed pouring the water into Arthur's mouth.

In spite of his certainty that this would work, Merlin found himself holding the body in his arms tighter and tighter anyway – and this explained why Arthur's triumphant return to the waking world was done by a choking sound instead of the sarcastic sentence he would surely have preferred.

Blushing slightly, Merlin relinquished his hold a little, though not completely - just enough for the Prince to breathe. And as the King declared that this was a miracle and quite unexpectedly patted the blond hair, as Gaius' face took a half-relieved, half-tortured expression, Merlin couldn't help but squeeze Arthur briefly again, hiding his smile by looking down.

"What's happened? Are you alright, Father? And Merlin, just what do you think you're doing? Don't you think it would be quite ironic of me to succumb to suffocation by servant after surviving the attack of a huge magical beast?"

Yep, that was his pratly Master alright.

After a few days full of tension, of constant anxious glances from the physician, of strained discussions with Arthur and of hours spent just gazing in the distance, it took barely two minutes to make everything so very wrong again. Once more, he was staring at a sickbed where one of his most important persons laid dying; once more, it was happening because of him and once more, he would act: but this time, he wouldn't make any mistake.

After spending a few hours fake-studying with Gaius, stroking his mother's soft forehead, and taking advantage of a sleeping draught his mentor once more had to give Morgana to chat a little with both the King's ward and her servant, Merlin was currently repacking the few items he would need for the following day's journey for the fifth time and reluctantly admitting – to himself, not to Gaius' increasingly high eyebrow – that he was avoiding his last obvious destination.

Did he really need to talk to the royal ass anyway? He mused as he walked in the direction of Arthur's chambers. He had already told him everything once, wasn't it enough? Heart-to-hearts were girly, really. On the other hand, so was coming all the way up here only to leave immediately, he mused wryly as he stared at a wooden door that had never before seemed so frightening, not even on his first day of service.

Oddly enough, it was actually remembering those first few days, when he and Arthur had still cordially disliked each other and the only links between them were only of obligation, that gave him the courage to knock – it was his duty as a manservant to take a proper leave of his master, after all, even though he couldn't exactly tell him that he was leaving.

"I need to talk to you." He said softly, and barely heard Arthur's sarcastic answering jibe.

His heart hammering in his throat, Merlin repeated some of the advice of the previous night, hoping against hope that the Prince would pay heed to it. As he pronounced a painfully honest sentiment - "I would be glad to be your servant until the day I die", the irony behind it made him lower his eyes, and he kept them on the floor when he realised it made talking easier. That's why he didn't see Arthur progressively freeze as the familiar words – you have to learn to listen, don't be such a prat, called for answering ones in his still cloudy memory. He didn't see the Prince's eyes widen in realisation either. But he did perfectly hear his horrified whisper:

"Merlin. What have you done?"

The young warlock snapped his head upright, only for his eyes to confirm what he already knew. Arthur remembered.

Oh, shit. Merlin tried to remind himself that it could have been worse, really. The first words out of Arthur's mouth could have been…

"You're a sorcerer?"

Ah, those were the ones. It was official now – Merlin was totally screwed.