Touch Every Breath I Breathe

by kayura sanada

Sequel to Taste Me In Unequaled Thoughts. Unsurprisingly, Camelot's citizens did not take well to the news of Arthur's betrothed having magic.

1. Part I

Disclaimer: Merlin and his friends (and lover) belong to BBC, not to me. More's the pity.

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Touch Every Breath I Breathe I

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Unsurprisingly, Camelot's citizens did not take well to the news of Arthur's betrothed having magic.

Countless rallied around the guards and knights who stood against Arthur and for Uther's stance against magic. Many took up the cry for his death. While confusion still clamored through the city streets, many seemed to have chosen their path. Many others seemed to suddenly quieten, as usual, as those people spoke of killing Merlin, torturing him, and forcing him to let Arthur go of the enchantments Uther had sworn Merlin had put on him.

But Arthur did not give up hope. He spoke out. While he sent Gwen on to stay with Merlin, he stayed behind and fought against what his father said. He rallied the people wandering lost after the display on the dais, and then the people who watched quietly from the sidelines, likely afraid of the king's or their neighbors' ire. It took weeks. Weeks in which he lay lonely in his room, awake sweating in the night and staring at where Merlin had been, the feel of his still chest somehow no worse than the empty place beside him. But after those many, many weeks of struggle, his people finally seemed to be listening.

When before his proclamations that Merlin hadn't enchanted him had fallen on deaf ears, now his people nodded. Someone had reminded them of the words spoken on the dais – of how Merlin had followed Arthur's commands, and not the other way around. And this news spread through his people as quickly as any other gossip. But this time there was a question attached: why? If not to enchant Arthur and enslave him, why risk his life – why give his life – for Arthur's safety?

And if he saw a familiar figure in the gossiping crowd, hooded and slim and the barest hint of dark curls showering down from a hidden face, he couldn't say if it was real or a figment of his mind. The image came and went in a flash.

Of course wild accusations were thrown. Some said it was to incur Arthur's favor. Others that he'd merely pretended to fall in line with Arthur, that Arthur had been used like a puppet in a show. Still more went so far as to say it hadn't actually been Merlin on the dais, but a doppelganger, sent to die in Merlin's place.

But one thing was for sure: Merlin was gone, far away from Camelot, and there was no sign of him returning. And yet Arthur still stood for him, and for magic. Could enchantments work so far from the sorcerer? Could Arthur be so well-controlled from so far away? Was there no way to break the spell?

His people would not listen to him alone. But there were others. Gaius, carefully watched by the king, having been forced to endure questioning on Merlin's magic in public – forced to denounce the boy he thought of as his own son in order to live, by a king who used Gaius to ensure the silence of Merlin's friends – worked carefully on his patients. When someone came to him, he did not pretend to not be in mourning. "Not for a sorcerer," Gaius would say carefully, "but for a son."

Gwaine was not so careful. He went to the tavern every night, argued loudly and sometimes violently with any who dared impugn Merlin's honor. He started brawls, dragged men out into the street, cursed them until dawn. He shouted of Merlin's goodness, of how he'd helped the villagers, of how he'd saved Arthur's life. Everything that Arthur wished he could do, he did without thought. Arthur did not stop him. And though Uther's knights went to grab him every day, even though Uther called for his exile, he remained. Gwaine stayed ahead of the guards, ran free, fought. Arthur threw every ounce of his station behind the demand that they leave him alone. And when Gwaine was captured, he would break free, his benefactors unknown (Gaius, Kay, a sympathetic guard, and one time, even Leon), only to start again.

The people dithered. They listened, but did not speak. They did nothing for fear of angering one of their royalty. They had no decided victor. There was no easy answer of complacency.

And then it all came to a head. One day, when Arthur went out to speak with his people again, his father had him arrested and taken to the dungeons.

Arthur had been too stunned to speak out. His people had watched, but he hadn't been able to think enough to categorize the looks. Had they been horrified? Furious? Enraptured? Entertained? Curious? Arthur didn't know. All he knew was how he'd felt – betrayed. Enraged. And, beneath all that, panicked.

Trapped in the prison cell, there was nothing he could do for Merlin, or for Camelot. He couldn't speak with Gwaine. He couldn't speak with Leon or strategize with Kay. His limbs were cut off. And worse, it seemed his father knew of their allegiances with him and barred them from him, because not once were even Leon or Kay able to come down to speak with him.

Oddly enough, it was a man Arthur was beginning to recognize – Leopold, one of the men who had sided with Uther and had escorted Merlin from Camelot – who came to speak with him. During the day, as if to check and ensure Arthur had eaten his food and drunk his water, the man leaned in close and said, "we will get you out, sire."

The next few days had gone slowly, but the man had shown up twice more, once to ensure that it was only a bit longer, and then again, seemingly harried, to lean close as he took Arthur's empty food tray and say, "he is using this chance to send some men out to search for your consort. I and Sir Gwaine will ensure they do not reach their destination."

'Send men out to search.' Arthur knew exactly what that meant, and his chest froze up. His father had ordered an assassination. Because Merlin had been gone for long enough, and Arthur still remained loyal to him. This was Uther's last resort. Arthur felt sick. That night, the nightmares of Merlin's still chest brought him screaming toward consciousness.

But true to his word, Arthur was released two days later. Only a week or so had passed, yet Arthur felt like he had lost months. He stretched cramped muscles and moved to his rooms only long enough to bathe and change – he couldn't stand being in them now, knowing Merlin's touch had been swept and scrubbed and straightened away. Before he could do more than put on new clothes, someone was rapping on his door.

He turned, tamping down the ridiculous fury that the person wasn't Merlin and wouldn't come barging in. And then he stilled.

Morgana swept into the room, eyes bright, teeth blindingly white as she smiled. She wore a deep burgundy dress that swished around her as she rushed to Arthur's side. Through pure instinct, he held out his hands as she crushed herself to him. His mind went blank. He wondered if she was going to stab him.

How was she here? Why?

There could be no coincidence that she showed when Merlin was gone, when Morgause had only just recently failed. Could there?

He really had seen her below him. In the crowd. He hardly remembered how to breathe.

"Arthur! Oh, how I've missed you." Arthur didn't know what to do with his hands. His mind nipped around in little circles. What was she doing here? Why had she returned? Did she know about Merlin? Did she know about his magic? Had she come for revenge, or to finish what Merlin had said she'd started? Without Merlin to protect Camelot, whatever she or Morgause had planned would most likely succeed. And it was the very worst time for her to return – when revolution was just a heartbeat away. If she tipped the tenuous scales, Camelot might fall.

She seemed like his sister. She seemed like the same bold, brilliant woman he'd always loved. Was it really true, everything Merlin had said about her? With Merlin's magic and all the other secrets come to life, he'd believed everything Merlin had said. At that point, he'd thought anything possible. But with Morgana here, was he really willing to say she was willing to turn from Camelot? That she'd tried to kill his father, and agreed to help Morgause ruin their kingdom?

But Merlin had sworn it, and Arthur trusted him. Gods help him, he believed Merlin.

"Morgana," he rasped. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What are you – how are you here? What happened?"

"Oh, Arthur, it was horrible. I was taken by bandits. They kept me prisoner for – for so long." He heard her trying to control her tears, and his heart instinctively tore at the sound. Morgana was not a crier. It left him muddled when next she spoke. "I suppose keeping me prisoner for so long, they eventually let down their guard. I stole the keys from a guard when I was supposed to be sleeping and ran. I found a few of Uther's men traveling east. They brought me here."

East? Toward Ealdor? Could he have at least been that lucky, that Uther's wannabe assassins hadn't made it to their target?

But if that was the case, then had Leopold meant for this to happen? He needed to get with his men. He needed to find out just what all he'd missed this last week.

"But to think I return to find Uther having locked you in the dungeons!" And here she pulled back to look up into Arthur's face. Her brows were low, her lips pulled down. Confusion and anger warred on her face. It looked so familiar it hurt. "People are saying Merlin's a sorcerer? And that you've as good as married him?"

By the gods, if she was an enemy, anything she gleaned from returning would be knowledge she could use against Uther, or Arthur, or even the entire kingdom. And who would hide information from her? She was the king's ward. Anything she wanted, anywhere she wanted to go, anything she wanted to say or hear or see – it was all hers to have. And no one could stand against her, because all she had to do was go to Uther and cry foul, and Uther would kill her enemies for her. She always got away with more than most. Uther would hand her even more power, right up until the moment she killed him.

There could be no greater enemy, he thought, and feared what it might mean for his efforts for Camelot. Feared what it might mean for Merlin, if he ever had to choose between Arthur and another he loved again.

"They're both true," he said, only because it was too late to try to hide either of those facts. Morgana looked suitably stunned, even though he could swear he'd seen her in the crowd. Which meant she would have known long before she returned to Uther's side. He clenched her arms, just a bit. It burned to not be able to trust her. She had been one of the few people he'd believed would always give him wise council, who wouldn't pander to him or pretend he knew best. She and Merlin had been the two he regarded highest in such terms, matched only recently by Gwen, who would still cloak her words in niceties for his sake. He wished he could gain her council. He wished he could have her on his side.

Well. Even if he couldn't, he could still learn much from this conversation.

He pulled her to his table, set her down in a chair, and offered her some wine. Unsurprisingly, she refused. She would need a clear head to keep track of her lies.

"I know you've just returned, but Camelot is in upheaval." He hesitated, then said, "I'm in upheaval."

Morgana's brows drew even lower, as if she was really concerned for him. She leaned forward slightly in her seat. "What's going on, Arthur?"

Could he sway her from her path? No doubt Merlin had tried. Poison would not have been his first solution, would it have? But Merlin had said that, while Morgana had agreed to help Morguase, it didn't seem as if she'd known just what she'd agreed to. (A foolish oversight he couldn't believe Morgana capable of, but fear always made people desperate.)

And if he couldn't sway her, was he willing to deal with the consequences? Not just potentially having to kill her, but potentially handing her more information? More weapons she could use to hurt him and those he cared about? If he didn't tell her everything, then he would be keeping secrets that could mean the end of their relationship – the end of the last chance to put things right. But if he did tell her, and things didn't work out?

Suddenly, in a way he'd never quite reached before, he understood just what Merlin had been through. Just what he'd had to choose when he'd decided to keep his magic to himself. If he'd told Arthur of his magic, Arthur could have chosen to turn from him, to banish him. If he had, Arthur likely would have been vulnerable to the next attack. That had been shown to him rather clearly when he'd nearly been killed by Morgause's spell. Merlin had needed to stay by Arthur's side to ensure he stayed alive.

And in ensuring that he remained by Arthur's side, he'd chosen to keep his magic secret. Because what was their relationship if it meant keeping Arthur safe? Merlin would have preferred to be hated by Arthur than to face Arthur dying because he'd feared not being liked by someone he loved.

Arthur found himself making the exact same decision. And because of that, he could no longer hold any blame, any resentment, any bitterness for Merlin's choice. Merlin had spoken the truth. Everything he'd done – everything he hadn't done – had all been for Arthur.

Arthur sighed. "You know Merlin, Morgana. He's an idiot and a useless manservant, but he's a good man." He saw it: the first chink in her armor. For one short instant, her lips pulled back in a snarl. "He may not always be perfect – hardly," he said, letting his old resigned tone slip through. "But he's loyal to Camelot, and to me." He kept from saying he was loyal, too, and more, because speaking of love might make things even worse than admitting he had named Merlin his consort. If that was even possible.

"He drank poison for you," she said, as if pulling the words from some deep, ugly place inside of her.

"Yes," Arthur said, latching on to the words no matter how grudgingly they were given. "And I have no doubt he would do so again, despite Camelot's stance on magic." He took a deep breath. "A stance that is wrong."

Her eyes widened. And here, this – this was the only chance he had. The only thing he could give her. He'd made it clear that he still considered Merlin a friend. No lies on that front, at least. No matter what he'd done to her, Arthur would not turn away from him again. But here, on this one point, he could try to sway her. If she had magic, and had it in a land where having it was an unpardonable sin, then that could easily have tipped her into what she was now. There was still time. The disease was in her, too. There was a chance to save her still. But this was all he could do for her. Anything else would be like simply transferring the disease to another. From her to Merlin. And that couldn't be done, either. "We both know it, Morgana. You're the one who spoke up against Father when I didn't. I should have, but I didn't. And now it might be too late." His lips thinned. "It's cruel of me to only realize it now, when it's someone close to me in danger." Close to me. Words almost too dangerous. But Morgana already knew of his regard – he'd disobeyed Uther's orders to bring the cure back for Merlin when he'd drunk the poison, after all. He'd gone to Ealdor, risking an international incident. She already knew he and Merlin were close. "I should have realized it sooner. Like you did."

Morgana's face twisted through a thousand expressions. She didn't seem to know which to pick. He didn't give her the chance. "I want to do what I can for them. For everyone. This land is unequal." Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. Ran his hand over his face. "Merlin used his magic to save my life. More than jumping out the window. I've been attacked several times now. On the streets. In my very chambers." And Arthur waved his hand out to encompass his room. Morgana's face, still shifting between looks, did not pass into surprise quickly enough to be real. She had to think about the response. His lips thinned. "Merlin's magic is not evil."

She blinked twice in quick succession. "You have that much faith in him?"

"It's not a question of faith, Morgana." He looked to her. "Merlin faced execution every single time he performed magic to save me. He even returned from exile simply to save my life, even knowing the consequences. He's stupidly, blindly loyal to me." And it was too much of a weight to keep his shoulders from slumping at the fact. "He would do anything. Has done anything. He tells me he has committed great sins in order to keep me alive. He says I would never forgive them all." It was all true, and his face contorted with it. Not just because he had to lie by omission to someone he loved, but because the words were the truth. He still remembered Merlin's face, the fear as he'd waited for Arthur to turn from him. The legitimate shock when he hadn't. "But how couldn't I? When I know he put away everything he wanted, everything he loved, for my sake?"

Morgana shifted where she sat. "Perhaps it was just a ploy. A trap."

Arthur shook his head. "And what? He relied on me jumping through the window in order to save him?"

Her lips thinned. "I... don't know." Then, a moment later, as if remembering, "wait – you jumped out a window?"

"The one here in my room," he said, waving it away as if it was nothing. Morgana didn't seem ready to respond to his flippancy. "And why did he bother saving my father, then? That's how this all started – how Merlin's secret came out. He saved Uther."

This time she didn't hide her scowl very well at all. "Really? And yet he says he's committed sins?"

"He says he's let loose monsters and harmed those he loves." Arthur kept everything else to himself. He kept the way Merlin had held Arthur's gaze, even as his eyes filled with girlish tears, and how he'd refused to let them fall – all that, and more, he kept to himself. He feared already what his information might be doing for Morgana. But if he tried anything less, then he wouldn't have tried at all. "All to protect me." Arthur just barely kept himself from shivering. "How many knights can boast the same, Morgana? How many knights would always and deliberately put their prince first? Even at the cost of their own happiness. More than their lives, Morgana. Their happiness." Arthur covered his mouth for a moment. He needed a shave; the bristles of his beard were getting long. "He said he put his own mother in harm's way for me."

Morgana seemed genuinely surprised at that one. And she should be. She'd likely thought Merlin heartless; that he would attack her because he didn't consider her important. He was counting on her – or Morgause, whoever – vilifying Merlin. Vilifying him the same way Merlin vilified himself. "His mother?" she asked. He could hear the skepticism. The need to think of Merlin as the villain.

"Yes. He'd hurt her to keep me safe. I'm sure he's done more. Worse. Because he can't act in the open. He can't simply help. Why? All those times we sentenced farmers to death for healing their livestock or helping their crops. How much of their magic could have helped the land? We assumed it would only take from their neighbors' crops. But do we have any evidence of this?"

"No," Morgana said, her face still scrunched in a contortion so muddled no expression stood out from the chaos. Still, her voice was quiet. "We don't. But Arthur, are you certain about this? You – Uther is very strict on this."

"Yes. He is. And I have no doubt that if I kept my silence as I have every other time, Merlin would be added to the bodies of the damned. Not to mention all others who have magic."

Morgana's lips pressed so tight they paled even beneath her lipstick. "Arthur."

But she still didn't seem to know how to respond. He quirked her a small smile. "I know it's a lot to return to. I'm sorry if you hoped to return to peace. But this isn't something that can be put off. Not for Merlin's sake, and not for the sake of all other magic-users in Camelot."

She shook her head. "No. That's not... I mean, of course. You know this is what I've always wanted." Morgana shuffled in her seat. "It's just... I suppose I'm surprised. That's all."

Surprise certainly was there, but her brows were pulled too low for just that. "I don't want you risking your neck again, Morgana," he said, his words once more calling her from her attempt to compose her features. "You've done that enough times, and you've been gone for so long..." So long. Arthur wondered, as Merlin did, if Morgana had been gone too long. If Morgause had used what Merlin had done to twist her even further from the right path. "So leave the rest to me."

Please. Please leave this alone. Don't help Morgause tear Camelot apart. Just... don't.

Morgana's face still twisted back and forth – wide eyes, a slight grimace, brows pulled so low they hooded her face. When she stood, she did so on slightly shaky knees. "You trust Merlin?"

And this might be the one thing that destroyed any chance of reconciliation. "I do, Morgana. You did too, once." He pulled his brows low, though he was not surprised by her reaction. He hated the lies. He wondered how Merlin had felt, if the weight had been just as much. No. It had likely been more. "Do you have a problem with him having magic?"

"No," she said, but she glared down at the floor for a second before turning her gaze up to him. "But he said he's hurt others. Friends? His own mother? What kind of person does that?"

Arthur shook his head. "People who are scared. Desperate. Imagine you had magic, Morgana." He nearly winced. Morgana almost did, too. "Even as the king's ward, you wouldn't be safe. You would have to look over your shoulder in fear all the time. Merlin was nearly as close to the king as you. Yet he stayed. Willingly. In order to protect me. But how can someone protect another without being caught doing so? And lately, the things he's needed to protect me from..." He snorted. "Dragons, gryphons, the walking dead. I can't say what he needed to do these things for. I haven't been able to get all the stories from him. Not before..." He waved his hand, this time to encompass the whole of Camelot. Or perhaps merely his father. "But I know who he is. You do, too. He did what he could."

"What he could?" she asked, and this time, her mask faltered. She started picking it back up, then let it drop. "And if he attacked me?"

Arthur frowned. "Why would he have to?"

Her mouth opened. Closed. "Why would he have to harm his mother?" she asked. Her chin lifted.

"Morgana. What aren't you telling me?"

She shook her head. Scowled. Waved her hand. "I just... so many secrets."

Yes. Well, that was one that Arthur couldn't immediately dismiss. It had been, after all, his own largest problem. He cleared his throat. "Yes. But after this year away – no, even before that, with such tensions between you and Father – can you tell me you have no secrets?"

Her eyes widened still more. For a moment, he saw it: suspicion. And where there was suspicion, there was treachery. Merlin was right. She likely had already turned from Camelot entirely. To Morgause, and to whatever Morgause had planned. Merlin had said Morgause had sent out the Knights of Medir. Those knights hadn't been concerned with only taking down Uther, or even in causing random pandemonium and chaos that would have meant the potential fall of Camelot. Morgause had planned on Arthur's death. Those knights had singled him out for combat time and again. Morgause had not differentiated. Did Morgana, anymore? Or was Arthur as much her enemy now as Merlin and Uther? Was there no level at which she would stop?

How had Merlin handled so many lies and secrets?

She lifted her chin a bit further, but her eyes had clouded over. "You..." She seemed to catch herself; she should have been afraid, perhaps, or maybe confused. Stunned. But instead she was showing her anger. She visibly quailed. "This... is a bit much to take in. I'm afraid I'll have to leave you for a bit." She smiled brittlely at him. "Do get some rest. This is a large enough task without having been thrown in jail by our dear king."

A fool wouldn't have missed the bitterness in her tone. But perhaps that was the point. Arthur nodded. "Of course. You must be tired, as well. Welcome back, Morgana. For what it's worth."

She tried on a smile. It failed. But then again, there was no reason for it to succeed. Even without any secrets of her own, she'd been thrown into a situation none would envy.

She turned a bit unsteadily and left, carefully closing his door behind her. He hoped she turned away from Morgause's path. There were better ways to change the world than through force.

---

Arthur hardly made it down the hallway before Leon and Kay caught up with him. Gwaine was out on the town at the moment, arguing with a few farmers who had come into the city and chosen to air out their thoughts on the matter of magic. It was Leon who told him of how his father had found favor turning from him due to rumors circling around the city, and Kay who told him that the rumors had come from an unknown source. A soldier. One who, the people said, "was more Uther's than Arthur's." Arthur nodded. It had to be Leopold.

"But it's perfect," Leon said, even as he glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one lingered nearby. "He talked about what happened when the carriage Merlin was exiled in was attacked. Said Merlin told him to tie him up, stab him, whatever he had to do to leave to get to you. Said how he came back even though he could have run off to safety. But instead he came back. For you, Arthur. No one could come up with an excuse for him to return, except to save your life."

Tie him up? Stab him? If only Merlin were there; Arthur could have wrung his scrawny neck.

But why? Was that all that was needed for Leopold to change his tune so thoroughly? He'd been one of the men hand-picked by Uther to take Merlin into exile. He'd been knocked unconscious by Merlin when he'd gone to heal Arthur from Morgause's spell. Would the man truly turn right around and defend Merlin simply for that? Turn away from Uther?

Arthur needed to find him. And he needed to speak with his people. He ran a hand through his hair. It was still slightly wet, but that was fine. His people needed to see that Arthur wasn't in a perfect state. He'd just gotten out of jail. He already looked better than he probably should.

Of course only a few people were actually ready to look when he stepped outside the castle. Though they may have all heard about his release, they were still workers, and it was still the middle of the day. That said, every person on the street, whether clearly on their way to somewhere else or in the middle of some work, stopped what they were doing to turn and stare. Arthur held his head high.

Someone cheered. Someone else shushed her. No one spoke.

Arthur could give a speech. He could rage about his ordeal, or speak on his convictions. He could remind people that those with magic had suffered worse, or that they themselves had lost loved ones to Uther's ire. But none of it would matter. If he spoke, it would only take attention away from the deed. Uther's actions had to stand for themselves. They needed to fall under their own weight.

So he merely walked amongst the people, searching for Gwaine. It didn't take long; all he had to do was listen for the loudest voices and any accompanying crash of broken ceramics. Gwaine happened to be standing just outside the merchant district, in an alleyway heading toward the residential housing of the lower town. He stood with his back to the main road, hemming three farmers in. Arthur sighed at the sight. "Gwaine. What are you doing?"

The tall man turned at the sound of Arthur's voice, and his scowling face split into a sudden grin. "Princess!" Arthur frowned at that one. The farmers froze where they stood. And Gwaine, incorrigible at even the best of times, actually moved as if to throw a hand over his shoulder. He glared a dark warning. Surprisingly, Gwaine actually submitted. Arthur was certain he would be made to pay up for Gwaine's attempt at discretion. "These chumps were sayin' shit 'bout your consort," Gwaine said then, playing up his country bumpkin accent.

Arthur looked to them. They were all older men, likely old enough to remember the residual fear of magic brought on by the chaotic times preceding his father's usurpation of the crown. They all seemed to quail under a single glance. Arthur thinned his lips and turned away. "They blame him for the actions of others, I suppose. Not everyone can judge a man on his own individual merits."

Each man's face pulled into a grimace. One, more grizzled than the rest and chewing tobacco likely grown on his own farm, growled. "And you're not blinded by your..." And then the man realized who he was speaking to, and he paled slightly.

Arthur lifted his chin. "I'm not the one ready to pick a fight for Merlin's honor with perfect strangers."

Gwaine seemed confused as to whether Arthur was complimenting or insulting him. Good. Arthur thought it was a bit of both. Honestly, what did the man expect to gain by breaking pots off of windowsills?

Of course, Arthur's intervention meant not only more surviving plants, but also a swift defeat. The men, unable to argue with Arthur, scowled and swept away. Gwaine had to cover his mouth to keep his barking laughs from carrying all the way down the castle street. "That was brilliant," he said, and finally guffawed.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You'll make more enemies than friends, the way you're acting."

"The hell I will," Gwaine said, as loose-tongued as ever. "These people need a hard kick in the pants. Nothing instigates change faster than anger." He stopped. "Well, and hope. Anger and hope."

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. Because those were the exact emotions fueling him. He sighed. "Carry on, then. But do try to not start any more fistfights, hm?"

Gwaine waved away Arthur's patronizing tone. He really had spent too much time with Merlin. "It didn't come to that," he said.

"Throwing one another around only leads down one path," Arthur said, feeling the first stir of a rather extravagant headache. "We're trying to win these people's hearts, not their fear. I will not make the same mistake..." His voice drifted off before he could finish the sentence. Still, it took hold. For all the things his father managed to do, all his achievements and advancements, all the prosperity he'd brought to a kingdom facing nothing but destruction – despite all that, his father was still a man, and he had made a grievous mistake. Through anger, and fear, he had sentenced magic, in all its forms, to death.

And how did that leave the country? Its people frozen silent, watching each other with wide eyes. Its land destitute of magical creatures. Famine and drought when one magical creature is killed by its unknowing prince's hands. (And Merlin had warned him, hadn't he? And when Arthur had failed, Merlin had disappeared, and the guardian of the unicorns had come to give him another chance, and Merlin...) His chest actually constricted for a moment as he realized this again had to be another of Merlin's interventions; Merlin had known Arthur had messed up, but he'd been willing to take the fall for Arthur, had been willing to give his life... he needed to speak to Merlin about that. Needed to make it known that Merlin's life wasn't simply a card in Arthur's hand, but an integral piece of Camelot, of... of him.

He didn't know how long he stood foolishly by the alleyway, listing the losses of their kingdom – people who'd used their magic to heal, entire races of creatures, a dragon that had been locked up beneath Camelot for twenty years... but finally Gwaine shuffled his feet and said, "uh, may I go now? There's a pretty brunette waiting for me at the tavern."

Arthur threw the man a sour look, but he stepped out of his way. "It's the middle of the day."

"She has to work at night," Gwaine said as explanation, and Arthur's look soured still more. Gwaine just laughed.

Well. That mental image needed to be shooed away. Arthur left Gwaine to his... devices... and went out in search of anything else. Maybe he needed a good fight, too. Since he didn't have Merlin to turn a long-suffering look toward.

---

The next few days were... awful. Arthur couldn't dare speak out, lest he take attention away from Uther's actions. And while the treatment of his father granted him sympathy, it only granted him a modicum of support. Many accepted Uther's words, that it had merely been a test. A test of what – well, none could answer. Gwaine had actually managed to start an all-out brawl between himself and several men later found to be friends of the farmers he'd nearly assaulted. The only surprising part of the event was how many people came to his defense – his and Merlin's. The farmer's friends had actually been cowed rather thoroughly before Uther's knights arrived. Kay managed to rally a fair amount of allies himself, through seemingly little more than a silent rebuff of any man or woman who spoke ill of Merlin. Even Leon started circling the outer edges of the nobility, learning who Arthur could speak privately to before the evening meal or before they retired to their chambers or private homes at dusk.

But the absolute best was Leopold. His first-hand account of Merlin's blind loyalty was what finally inspired the first act against Uther by the people – a boycott. A wonderful, brilliant boycott, in which farmers stopped farming and shepherds refused to sell their livestock or wool and merchants and traders refused to trade. The tailor stopped tailoring. The shoemaker stopped mending shoes. The smith stopped his metalworking. And then – oh, and then – Merlin's friends, the servants, the guards, the knights – merely two days after the start of the boycott, they stopped working, too.

---

The castle was deathly quiet when Arthur walked through its halls the first day of the fourth week in the battle for sorcerers' rights. The servant staff had been cut nearly to the quick, and while Uther had been quick to hire new faces to the castle's staff, he also found himself in the difficult position of having too few people for too much work and the dangerous and vulnerable position of letting unknown, potentially untrustworthy people roam the castle's halls. Its military might, as well, was cut, as knights went to protect the merchants from their own desperate push for either power or items or opportunity, and to ensure those who stood down didn't get mobbed by those they inconvenienced. And then, of course, were the knights and guards who refused to remain on retainer. Kay, Leopold, Moll, Borom, Garrett. Countless men who had listened to Arthur's warning on the practice field and nodded, or looked abashed, now stood either by the merchants or by Arthur. Those who remained clustered around Uther, desperate to protect him from any unsavories who might get too close.

Morgana chuckled a lot.

Arthur ran a hand along the tapestries. Merlin had left over three weeks ago, and he still didn't know if he was even still alive. He wasn't in conference with Uther – indeed, his father was rarely in conference at all anymore, even with his council – and Leon had been kicked out from them, as well. Merlin could very well have been executed by now, and Arthur may be fighting this for nothing.

No. Not for nothing. He wasn't selfish enough to destroy this entire country simply for love. But he couldn't argue with the fact that it would feel horribly empty to have the one person who had opened his eyes to magic and its existence as merely potential killed before he could see the days Arthur would bring.

And he would bring them. Even if Merlin was killed, murdered by his own father (please let him still be alive, please, please, please), he would bring Camelot forward. Hopefully before Morgause or one of the other kingdoms collapsed it around his ears.

The throne room sat empty, scarce of anyone since the boycott started. This part he knew, because Leon had heard it as he'd been thrown out of the council room – "If they don't want to give to the country," Uther had spat, "then the country will not give to them."

Fighting fury with fury. Uther was only fanning the flames. And while that might help Arthur in the long run, it wouldn't help the country now. The people weren't demanding equal rights for sorcerers. They merely wanted Merlin to have a fair trial; they wanted him to be judged based on merit. Many spoke of amnesty.

It seemed like such a small thing. It likely was to the people. But Arthur – and his father, certainly – knew what it really meant. If Uther gave special treatment to one, he could easily be called a king of special pleas. He would have to follow up with similar judgments. If, say, another sorcerer stepped forward and offered medical treatment to the royal family, that sorcerer would have to be pardoned – his use of magic was to save the royalty, after all. And that, of course, would have to spread to the people – if another sorcerer, say, came to use magic to help the people, well, why shouldn't the people be healed? Like when Gwen's father had been healed (and here Arthur's mind stuttered, and he once again had to rearrange his memories as he realized Merlin really had healed Gwen's father), magic would be used to help another. And if Merlin could use magic to help Arthur, then why couldn't another use their magic to help others? And that, finally, would lead to where Arthur needed it to lead – people not being judged on whether they had magic or not, but on how they used it.

Uther knew how it would all end, and so he fought it. Fought against his people, even as they halted Camelot in its tracks in order to get what they wanted.

Arthur didn't need to go out on the streets anymore. If anything, his presence actually pulled people away now. He'd gotten it all started, but it could no longer be about him. At this point, the struggle had altered to between Uther and the people more than it was a power struggle between king and prince. And so Arthur was trapped in his own castle, trapped in empty chambers. He wished he could hear what Merlin had to say about it all. Doubtless he would say something stupid, something that might get his head on the chopping block even without the whole 'sorcerer consort' bit. He would entertain Arthur with something ridiculous, or – and here Arthur could tell he had gone without for too long – they could simply stay in his room and wile away the time there. Yes. He wouldn't have had a single problem with that.

Ugh. This was ridiculous. He had just wanked himself off an hour ago.

He entered the throne room, and sure enough, no one was inside. The room looked ten times larger than usual. His every step echoed like a thousand footfalls. For a moment his mind even waxed poetic, mixing ideas of roads not taken and paths already laid out ahead of him, of destiny and choice and which step was real, and his, and true. He let it all go before his mind could form full shapes and sentences out of the ideas and just... looked.

The floor was alabaster, rising in pillars to the vaulted ceiling. White swirls in ivory stone, balustrades so intricately carved, with dragons in the corners, as to make a man weep for the beauty. A line of red inked the path to the throne, the velvet soft through repeated replacement. And the throne itself, gilded on its edges in pure gold, the plating welded into shapes that formed into claw and fang, rubies that sat as eyes and lines of silver for the swords in the knights' vanquishing hands. A reminder, his father had said, of the battles fought to win this seat, and the vanquishing of the beasts that once roamed the lands freely. Beasts that he and his father had brought to extinction.

It all made Arthur think no longer of the weight of responsibility, but the weight he himself placed on those below him. His riches, his power, his history. All of it weighed him down, chained him, and suffocated those he wielded it all over. He wondered if his father understood this second message; if he knew his throne acted as salvation and desertion both.

He took a deep breath. He was not there to ruminate on the path of his future, or the corpses of his past. He couldn't take away all that had been done. He could only move forward.

But when he was king, he knew he would always sit very carefully in that chair.

He heard footsteps behind him, and turned. Leopold entered the room first, with Leon just behind him. Percival searched outside the room for a moment before closing the door behind them, just in case. Percival stayed at the door while Leon led Leopold closer. The man stood tall, his scruffy hair so wild it was clear he'd run his hand through it several times already in the course of the day. Arthur lifted his chin. Leon bit back a smile and backed away.

"Sir Leopold de Grance." The man didn't so much as flinch. He hadn't even during training, Arthur remembered. Though the man had been older than Arthur, and had been a knight longer than he, he had given due respect to Arthur's title, and had never once complained about being beneath a child. If he flinched now, Arthur would think there was something wrong with him. "You've been helping us."

Leopold looked him straight in the eye and said, "I still follow the vows of Knighthood, my lord. I am loyal still to my liege. I merely fight still for the well being of all, and eschew unfairness." And he bowed.

Here. Here was a knight.

Arthur clapped the man on his shoulder and nodded. "That is the most any knight can offer, and I thank you for it."

Arthur bade Leopold stand. When he did, he looked around the room, eyes furrowed. "If I may inquire, my lord... the reason you had us meet here is...?"

"Because it would be empty," Arthur said, knowing where he was going and wanting to cut off that line of thinking before it went any further. "And because it is still a room of influence, though it has remained unused these past few days. I wish to convey my thanks, and to let you know your work has not gone unnoticed. There is little I can grant you, as my father still remains king, something I hope continues for yet some time." Though the chances were looking slimmer and slimmer with each passing day; Arthur had had no idea just how deeply the hatred of magic was rooted in his father's heart. "But here, I can at least promise you my support, and my word to do what I can to honor your efforts."

Leopold looked quite more relaxed by Arthur's words, but still he kept his eyes cast down, in deference to Arthur's position, as if nothing in him had changed. "I merely hold to my vows," he said again. "I swore to speak the truth, and let nothing but pass my lips. I have only spoken on my own experiences. The people have merely listened."

It was more than that, even though it was as simple as that. "Still," Arthur said, his voice grave, "I thank you."

The man bowed his head still more.

They all dispersed slowly, Leopold first, then Leon and Kay, and finally Arthur, Percival taking his place behind Arthur the moment he left the throne room. They made it perhaps three steps before Morgana intercepted him.

Arthur didn't know how to feel about her appearance. It almost seemed too perfect; he wondered if she was measuring his support, or trying to find a weakness in his group. He was the only one who knew to be wary; even as he stopped to turn to her, Percival fell back slightly, giving them the illusion of privacy. If Morgana wanted to attack, Percival would now be too far to stop it in time.

Then again, was he himself ready to see her as an enemy? Merlin had said she had been waffling back and forth on her stance. And she had magic. His all-but-sister, a woman trapped by Uther's side, had that which merely possessing constituted treason. Merlin had said he was magic, that he'd been born with it. Was that the same for Morgana? How many sorcerers had merely been born with the ability of magic, and only refined it, as one might a knowledge in writing or astronomy? If that was the case, then how terrified had Morgana been? How desperate?

And what, Arthur wondered, because he could never go a whole morning without thinking of him, had Merlin felt, coming to Camelot and finding himself in the same position? What had it been like to be assigned Arthur's manservant, faced with Uther's presence so close to him?

"Arthur," Morgana said, stepping into his space, and he pulled his gaze down to her hands. Open, both of them, and clearly without weapons. Though, if she had magic, that meant very little. "There's..." She looked over to Percival and frowned. "There's something I need to speak with you about." Her lips twitched. "Also, you might be happy to hear the people are finally listening."

Arthur tilted his head, not certain which piece should be followed first. Should he ask about the people? See for himself? But anything she needed to say could alter the relationship between them irrevocably. Was it a trap, or was she about to speak on what they'd discussed earlier? He dithered for a few seconds more before finally asking, "which is more pertinent?" and letting her choose for herself.

Thankfully, her smile widened. She said nothing.

Well. Arthur huffed a breath. "What are the people doing, then?" he asked, and motioned for her to precede him to wherever she would consider a good enough place to speak privately. Percival followed for a few steps, until Arthur held a hand to stop him. He motioned vaguely toward the castle gates. Percival barely nodded before heading out, hopefully to get his own answer to the question Arthur asked Morgana.

She didn't seem oblivious to his move, but Morgana held her tongue on it. Instead she led him down the wide halls from the throne room to the thinner halls leading to the private quarters. They passed the guards standing outside the first halls, but even then, she said nothing. The halls were always filled, even when they seemed empty. Arthur looked around and found two servants, both looking askance at them as they passed. He maintained his silence until he found Morgana leading him, not to her own quarters, which he'd expected, but to his own. She turned at his surprised grunt and smiled. "You would be more comfortable there, correct?"

"Since when was this conversation – or any conversation with you – about my comfort?"

She actually chuckled. But Arthur – the warrior in him – recognized a sound strategy when he saw one. If he died in his room, there would be little to point his death on Morgana. They may have walked together, but who would think they would head to Arthur's room? Or that Morgana would be to blame for his death? Especially after the attack he'd just suffered. Morgana could kill him and walk away clean. He wondered if Merlin would figure it out.

But that wasn't a path he could allow himself to follow. Because if Merlin ever learned Arthur had died when he'd been safely ensconced in Ealdor, he would blame himself. He would hate himself for allowing Arthur to fight for his freedom. He would break.

It was ridiculous. He shouldn't have known that. He shouldn't have had such faith in Merlin's affections. Yet he had no doubt that Merlin would exist as a shell, would go after Arthur's killers with everything in him and then just... drift. Or worse. What would Merlin be willing to risk to try to bring him back?

So he couldn't afford to be killed. Not just because he didn't want to die, or even because he was the only heir to the throne, and the man who was to lead Camelot forward. Though it shouldn't have been as important, he found it vital to live because his consort would grieve. So he stopped and nodded over to the hall they were about to pass. "Your room is best, I believe," he said. Before she could do more than turn around, he continued. "Whatever this is about, it's clear you would prefer a haven. I would have you comfortable. And, truth be told, I don't find much comfort myself in my chambers anymore."

There wasn't much Morgana could say to that, and she just nodded and led him left. Her room was empty, though it was clear whoever had replaced Gwen was in the middle of cleaning Morgana's sheets; the bed was empty of cloths, the blankets folded neatly atop the hope chest at the foot of Morgana's bed. Morgana took care to lock the door. The servant would take the hint and stay clear for the time being.

Arthur sat at the small table in Morgana's room, though he wanted to remain standing. It wouldn't help, however, to foster feelings of camaraderie. So he sat, and he steepled his fingers before him on the table, and Morgana stood across from him and leaned her arms on the chair. She did not sit down.

"You say you trust Merlin."

Arthur nodded. He felt the frown on his face deepen, and let it. "Yes. And you kept something from me – something about Merlin having harmed you."

She jolted, just a bit. He supposed it would be surprising, having someone so plainly oblivious to the world around him suddenly see things so much more clearly. But he supposed he had to grow up at some point. Before Merlin did all the growing up for him. "Yes," she said slowly.

This was good. She was opening up to him. But if she was trying to get him to pull away from Merlin... he hoped that wasn't her plan. He took a deep breath. If nothing else, he wanted to hear more about what had happened. He couldn't just hear Merlin's side of the story, no matter how much he trusted the idiot to tell him the worst of his deeds.

She waited a few moments longer, then when Arthur provided nothing, finally said, "he did. Hurt me."

Arthur leaned forward. "Tell me what happened, Morgana."

"That day. When the Knights of Medir came?" Arthur nodded. He didn't hold out hope. And he was right not to. "When they were attacking, and we were almost out of time. Merlin poisoned me."

He grimaced. The sting of betrayal shouldn't have been so sharp. He had been ready to hear accusations, insults. Lies. He'd expected a continuation of secrets. He'd thought himself ready for the worst. Yet he still couldn't believe Morgana could be so bold as to accuse Merlin so readily and take none of the blame for herself.

He shook his head. "That... Merlin had told me," and here he skimmed through the full truth for the part-truth he could give, "that he'd been forced to sever a bond. That one had been formed between the knights and someone he cared about." He shook his head again. "You? A bond with the knights?"

He watched carefully, even as he appeared addled. He wasn't brilliant at manipulating – that was Morgana; she could twist Uther around her little finger – but even he saw the clench of her fingers around the back of the chair and the soft gritting of her teeth. "Absolutely not!" she said. "Arthur, how could you think that? You saw how scared I was! And then after! I was taken away!"

Arthur could only hope that, even without Merlin's confession echoing in his mind, he still would have caught that blatant hole in Morgana's story. He held up one hand. "If that's the case – I'm not saying it isn't, Morgana – but if it is, then how are you here? Don't misunderstand, I'm glad you are – but how? Shouldn't you be dead?"

Morgana's mouth opened. Closed. She worked her jaw for a short moment before finally saying, "I don't know." Arthur couldn't hide his frown then; he only hoped his skepticism was better maintained. "Luck, I suppose. Or perhaps Merlin doesn't know enough about poisons to do it right." Highly unlikely; Merlin was Gaius' apprentice. And he likely wouldn't have left it to chance if he hadn't been certain. "But it still stands, Arthur. I saw him. He offered me a flask of water. I should have known he was being too pushy, but I'd trusted him. Just as you're trusting him now, Arthur. I don't want to turn you from your cause – I think it's just. I think you're right; magic is not evil. Innocent people are being killed simply for having an ability others do not. But Merlin – Merlin isn't who you think he is."

Arthur closed his eyes. He'd expected this, really. He'd expected her to try to turn him from Merlin. And if Merlin hadn't told him about his own position when the knights of Medir had attacked? How simple it would have been to return to his old anger, his old feelings of betrayal. He was glad Merlin had told him. Glad that he was seeing both sides of the story. It made it so much easier to make a decision.

After all, Merlin had admitted to his guilt. He'd admitted to poisoning Morgana, even though she hadn't known her part in the wickedness she'd helped unleash. He'd branded himself a criminal. He'd awaited Arthur's judgment. And here Morgana was, branding Merlin the sole manipulator, the only villain. How better to judge than watch how the guilty judge themselves? The ridiculous excuse of 'luck' that Morgana threw at him only made it clearer: she was wrong. There had been no luck to it. Merlin had bargained for her life, despite of what she'd unwittingly been part. And she either did not know – or she did not care.

He honestly didn't know how to go about saying what he thought without ostracizing Morgana. Which wasn't what he wanted to do. If Morgana left, it would be on her. Her own choice. And Arthur would... he would just have to deal with the outcome. "I won't pretend to have all the answers," Arthur said. Morgana wasn't stupid. She tensed. "I won't pretend Merlin is faultless, either. But he's also not the type to poison you randomly, Morgana!" He raised his voice as she made a disgusted noise and turned from him. "You can't tell me you think him the type to do such a thing for fun or sport."

"Then why? He tried to kill me, Arthur!" She rounded on him.

There was no way he could argue properly. Not without giving up Merlin's own admissions, and admitting he'd been lying to her this whole time. Merlin must have faced this problem every day. How many times had Merlin's warnings actually been more, and he'd had to remain vague or else give up his own secrets? Arthur wished Merlin was there with him. He wanted so much to understand just what it was he'd missed.

But it was for the best that he wasn't there. This would be hard enough without Arthur and Merlin looking like a united front. "Morgana." His very tone sent her nearly flinging furniture. "If he'd wanted you dead, why are you still alive?"

Her mouth flapped open.

Arthur shook his head once again and sat back. "I've seen his power, Morgana. I've felt it. He froze me in place, and when he did, I could not even feel my heart beat. I was... suspended. I have seen him turn knives back on attackers and spout fire from his hand. If he'd wanted you dead, there would have been nothing in the world to stop him."

Morgana couldn't protest, not without giving away the fact that she had magic, as well. And even if she did, who was to say it would have stopped Merlin? She scowled. "You're taking his side. I should have known."

"Morgana," he said, "I'm not saying I don't believe you. Or even that Merlin was right in what he did. But when I remember that day, I remember panic, and desperation, and the knowledge that we were all going to die." His fingers clenched against one another. "I remember feeling helpless. Is it so impossible to think Merlin had felt the same?"

She shook her head, but she didn't answer him. He didn't know what the look on her face meant. He didn't know if even she knew.

He could say no more. This was Morgana's choice to make. Would she see Merlin as human, like her? Would she see Camelot as full of people, actual people afraid of change, scared of what they might lose? Would she see Arthur as a man made more than merely the son of his father or the lover of his servant? He couldn't say.

He stood, slowly enough to give Morgana more than enough time to stop him. She didn't. She merely turned half away from him and glared at the floor. Her hands were fists at her side.

"You're still the Morgana I know," he said, trying for something a bit lighter. She raised her head, but he saw something defiant in her eye. She disagreed with his words. "You still see a cause before you. And you're still slow to forgive." He gave her a small grin. He wasn't certain it reached his eyes. "Though I think you and I have that in common."

She didn't say anything. He left.

The hall was still practically empty, but he could hear a fair amount of noise. He turned his head to the windows. They were thin, and thick; made for sieges more than for a view. But still, if he stepped to the wall and peered down, he thought he could see a crowd of people. He could certainly hear them. Their shouts echoed up the stone walls.

His brows furrowed. He headed down the stairs and through the halls. He was near the castle gates when Percival nearly bumped into him. "Sire," he said, his quiet voice resonating with something.

"What is it?"

But Percival just motioned to the front doors of the castle. Arthur hurried forward.

The voices were louder now, swinging through the open doors and windows and crashing through the castle. Guards stood sentry before the door, more than usual. Arthur quickly saw why. People nearly plastered themselves against the poor guards, pushing slightly against those in front of them, a small wave-like surge from the back – which seemed to be near the water pump far behind the closest noble estates – to the front, where the people stood in a long line, each demanding the king set a fair trial for Arthur's consort. For Merlin. Each one of them demanding the sanction of amnesty.

Arthur looked back and forth, up and down, his eyes widening at the sheer number of people. How had all of this happened? Who had been the one to instigate it? An assembly of so many of Camelot's people didn't just happen.

Percival leaned down. "It's said the lady Morgana opined the lack of acceptance of magic in extreme situations. She was apparently overheard speaking to someone about how close she'd come to never seeing you again."

Arthur's gut clenched and twisted. Morgana had begun this? The woman he'd just spoken down to, the one he'd just played with and manipulated? He felt equally hot flashes of shame and pride, and didn't know which was less acceptable. He covered his mouth until his face conformed to his will once again. "Thank you, Percival," he said, the words slightly muffled until he lowered his hand once more. Several of his people made eye contact with him, and they started calling to him, as well. The guards sent him a short look, carefully impassive. He stepped slowly out of the castle. Oddly enough – surprisingly enough – the people gave way to him. So not a mob yet. A riot? He looked out amongst the crowd. There were men and women he himself had spoken to, people who had come to him with questions, fears. He remembered a woman in the third row who had come to him and spoken of how Merlin had stayed with her one time when she'd been very sick, and that she'd gotten better under his care. He remembered her fear that he'd used magic to save her – he remembered asking her why that scared her. And there, a young man, no older than fourteen summers, who had once played with Merlin, and his steadfast belief that Merlin was evil now. And he thought of how he'd sat down and spoken with the boy, asking him if he'd ever seen Merlin do something evil. He'd hurt that entire conversation, hearing the young man recite nearly verbatim Uther's proclamations. He'd thought of how he'd stood beside his father all those times he'd spouted such hatred, and he'd doubted his ability, even right, to fight against what the boy said. He remembered losing an entire afternoon to the conversation and feeling like he'd gotten nowhere. Yet there he was, in the fourth row, shouting as loudly as the rest, demanding Merlin get a fair trial.

What could he say to all these people that could begin to express what their actions meant? How could he say that they were the hope of Camelot, that this was more than he'd dared dream? His throat actually closed up at the sight of still more people abandoning their jobs to join the group, creating more a jumbled mass at the end than any actual lines. If there were others left going about their business, they were a horrible minority.

This was not something his father could ignore anymore.

And just as he thought that – just as he opened his mouth to speak – a revenue of clanking, shuffling noises came from behind him. He turned to find a contingency of knights – all the ones still loyal to Uther alone – marching out of the castle in formation. Behind them all strode his father.

No. His eyes widened. His head shook mutely. He couldn't. He couldn't do this.

As soon as Uther stood prominent before his men, smoothly moving around Arthur to stand in front of him, blocking him from his people, Uther held out his hand. "Arrest these dissenters."

The knights moved. Arthur rushed forward, shoving through the knights surrounding him to stand before his father. He held one hand in front of him as if to hold his father off. His other itched to reach for his blade. "Father, you can't. These people have gathered in peaceful protest."

Uther glared down at him. He did not look human. "The protest is the problem."

Unbelievable. No, not unbelievable – unacceptable. His father may have been king, but no kingdom could exist without its people. To not only disregard them, but threaten them... it was... Arthur couldn't find the words, even in his own, panicked mind. This was his father. This was the man he'd wished to someday embody. "You can't," he said again, but his voice was weak. He already knew Uther would.

"Starting now, this country will exist under a military regime. You have shown that you cannot be trusted with your own lives."

The people started turning to one another, chattering. But when the knights finally moved again, it began: the screams. The shouts. The running. Now it as a mob; a panicked, desperate, fearful conglomerate of people, all of them pushing and shoving to escape. Arthur watched in horror as knights grabbed his people by their arms and dragged them back, toward the castle they'd just been entreating. A woman, hair loosened from its knot at the top of her head as she struggled against Sir Doffrey's hold. A man falling to the pommel of Sir Garner's sword. Sirs Pellinor and Tunney as they shoved through the crowd, lips pressed thin as they answered their king's call to arms against the very citizens they'd sworn an oath to defend. Then there was Leopold, who looked on it all with open disgust and did not move.

Uther gestured to the unmoving knight. "Arrest him, as well."

Arthur let out a wordless sound of protest. Staffordson and Trynt were the ones to grab Leopold and escort him out. He went with his chin high and did not fight. Arthur's heart nearly wrenched out of his chest. At the sight of a knight being taken with dignity, many of the people froze where they stood. Many were dragged unceremoniously back to the castle and wrenched down the far side to the dungeon keep. Uther watched it all with an almost impassive gaze; the only time it faltered was when someone shouted, "this is unjust!" And then his face hardened. His eyes flashed. Arthur feared what his father might order next. He stepped closer to the king, taking Uther's attention once more onto himself.

"You must stop this!" he said. "These are your people. What you're doing won't solve anything!"

"Silence yourself, or you'll be removed, as well." Uther's gaze was flint. It sparked something foolish and rebellious inside of him.

But before he could do anything, Percival placed a careful hand at his elbow. Arthur turned wide eyes on the man. He wanted to fight, to scream, to pull out his sword and demand his father fight in single combat. But would he? How could he trust his father to agree to honorable terms when he acted like this? He shook his head and let Percival lead him one step, two, three, away, until he no longer stood blocking his father. He had to remember what it was all for. He couldn't let himself be caught up in righteous fury. His people needed him now more than ever. Merlin – Merlin needed him. He needed to keep his wits. What would Merlin be doing if he were there, standing beside Arthur now? He would be whispering for Arthur to calm down, to keep his head. He would be outright tugging on Arthur's arm, carefully keeping his gaze from Uther (and now Arthur knew why he did so, oh, yes), mumbling so quickly Arthur would hardly be able to piecemeal the words – stay low, calm down, we'll figure this out, I promise you, Arthur, just don't be your usual reckless, stupid, honorable self – and the only reason he wasn't there to act was because Arthur had to take care of this on his own. He had to be seen as standing for himself, not as a puppet.

If there was even a reason to act such a way now. There was no longer a question over who was being controlled or who was right or wrong. He looked out over Camelot, over his people, over women screaming and children crying and men shouting, and everything turning into hell. His throat locked tight at the sight. His kingdom. His people. His precious Camelot – this was what it was being reduced to. By a man he loved. How... how could his father be so broken? How could Camelot not fall, when pieced together by one such as he?

This was not something he could heal. This was not something he could fix.

Tears burned in his eyes, and he turned away before they could fall. His father's knights surrounded him. Percival eyed them all, but did not go for his sword. There would be no point.

Merlin had given up his secret for this man. Given up his life for this country. And Arthur had put everything into the hope that it could be healed.

He was escorted from the castle gates, back into the building. The knights didn't stop when he was out of view of the people, however, and continued to escort him down the halls toward his room. Kay and Leon quickly joined him, ignoring the looks of the men leading Arthur. "What do we do?" Leon asked.

Arthur didn't know. He didn't know that there was anything they could do. "Do what you can for the people. But keep yourselves safe and free. If you're locked up, as well, there will be no one to give relief after this..." He didn't know what word to use to describe what was happening. Disaster wasn't strong enough. Chaos took away blame. Finally he settled with, "situation," and felt like he should have gone with disaster, after all.

Kay and Leon nodded and left. No doubt they would do what they could, but Arthur doubted there would be any progress. What could they do when inaction alone brought a knight to the dungeons? They couldn't possibly stop Uther, and they couldn't prevent the march of the other knights. While Percival at least remained by Arthur's side, he couldn't help but feel that Gwaine was already either in the thick of it or being escorted by several armed knights down to the deepest cells in the prison. Really, it depended on how many makeshift weapons the man could find on a busy city street.

He indeed was led all the way to his room, but at least he wasn't locked inside or guarded. Just left there. A warning, then. He started pacing the instant his door was closed. Percival stood just before the entrance, watching Arthur solemnly. They both said nothing. There was nothing to be said. The echoes of the screams and shrieks of his people burned through his room. Helpless, all he could do was move to his window.

But unfortunately, it was worse than he'd feared. Some of the knights – Pellinor, Tunney, Cador, Pierce, Erec, Maris, Sagramore – stood against the waves of knights, protecting the citizens as they fled. And Arthur could only watch as his father ordered these very men to the prisons – his own men – to await exile or execution for treason. Tunney, Pierce, and Maris pulled out their swords. It became a battlefield, in which those three stood their ground as the others rounded the people together and sent them away. Arthur had no doubt the knights were ordering them all to flee Camelot altogether, and he hoped they did. Pierce was the first cut down by their own comrades, and Tunney and Maris were hard pressed to fill his spot. One knight got around them, then two. Three. Tunney fell to Limman's blade. Maris was quickly surrounded, and more knights surged from around the fallen barrier. The knights around Maris spoke. Arthur couldn't hope to hear anything above the sounds of the panicked crowd, but he could see Maris shouting at the men. He recognized righteous fury when he saw it, especially now, as it burned within his own breast. But then Maris dropped his sword, and the men surrounded him. They surrounded the others, as well, and after more conversations, these men untied their swords from their belts and allowed themselves to be taken in, as well. Arthur thought, for a moment, he saw Leon in the ring of knights.

His father watched it all. He did not move. He did not speak. He watched the chaos he'd created and showed nothing more than impassiveness. Arthur's hands clenched around the frame of his window. His father could not, would not, be healed. And if that was to be the case, then Camelot would fall.

It already was.

---

Arthur supposed it was because his father was too busy terrorizing the people that it took until past sundown for the man to get around to coming to speak with him, waving Percival out of the room. And though Arthur thought it a dangerous act, still he was warmed when Percival turned to him first, and waited until Arthur nodded before actually leaving. Honestly Arthur was mostly relieved Uther had decided to come see him before the next morning. He had nearly worn grooves into the wooden flooring, had stalked back and forth from his fireplace to his window and back, over and over, for hours. His food had gone cold at the table where one knight had dropped it off. Save the crackle of the fire in the hearth, no light shone in his room when his father pushed open the door and strode in. Arthur turned on him in an instant. "Father–"

"Silence."

Arthur was stunned into doing as ordered. His father would use such authority over him? So much authority that he stood as if to guard the door behind him, barring Arthur from freedom. And Arthur had let it happen. He'd let it happen all his life. He'd allowed himself to be silenced, to be used, to be manipulated by the man before him. The man whose life Merlin, a sorcerer, had saved at least once. A man who had so little honor that he would return such kindness with death, would block Merlin in with bricks in a tomb and leave him to slowly suffocate. A man who, when Arthur released Merlin, hunted and haunted him down, until he was forced from Arthur's side, from the very kingdom, in order to keep his life. A man who, when faced with opposition from his country's people, would sooner kill and imprison than allow anyone to disagree.

This was the man he'd followed. Emulated. Loved. The man he'd done anything for. Had led armies of child murderers for. Why? What had it all been for? For this one moment, where everything Arthur had trusted was lost to him? When everything he'd tried to save had fallen?

Merlin. What would Merlin say?

He would ramble on about destiny. About Arthur being a great king. That's what he would say.

Arthur straightened his shoulders. "I will not. Not until you set aside your pride and listen to reason."

"My pride?" Uther hissed, charging up to Arthur, until he nearly stood on Arthur's feet. Arthur lifted his chin and held his ground. "You do this all for the sake of some – some sorcerous harlot! You don't even try to fight his control, do you?"

"It's about time you accepted that you're wrong, father. Not just about me, or about Merlin. You're wrong about magic. Look at you!" he said, cutting his father off for once. His face twisted into something Arthur had only seen before when Morgana had confronted him. And it was here that he realized it was being confronted that Uther hated, more than Morgana overstepping her bounds or someone questioning his authority. She had dared to confront him over his bigotry, and his father hated being reminded of his own hypocrisy. "Look at what you've done! This is about Camelot, not us! The people have spoken. They demand a fair trial. All you're doing, you're doing to salvage nothing but your foolish pride!"

"Magic is evil!" Uther said, his voice rising in that same tone Arthur recognized from every day of his entire life. But Arthur knew Uther was wrong. Merlin did not deserve to be branded in such a way. No. He was seeing evil, and it was not of Merlin's making. No. Merlin, the loyal, stupid sod, had saved it. "You've fallen for such a – a man! Is it any surprise the people fall, as well?" He sliced the air with his hand, nearly hitting Arthur in the face. The slap would have brought more of shame than pain, but Arthur avoided it, nonetheless. "This has nothing to do with my pride! This little boy has begun the destruction of the entire nation, and you attempt to defend him!"

Suddenly, Arthur could see the signs of wear he'd missed on Uther's face before. The slight bags under his eyes, the new lines around his mouth. It stopped him when he would have continued forward. His father wasn't saying these things out of pride or fury. He said them because he believed them to be true. Merlin, in Uther's eyes, had corrupted his son, and through his son, his country. Just a couple of months ago, Arthur might have agreed. He would have doubted. But now the very thought of doubting Merlin shamed him.

"I understand your concerns, father," Arthur said, his voice calmer now. His father feared just as much for this country as Arthur did. But though his heart was in the right place, his mind was not. "Do you think I didn't share your concerns? Merlin has saved my life, and oftentimes, even more than that." Arthur did not try to touch his father. There was no room in him for such comfort. Not while his people quailed beneath their monarch. "Not once has he spoken in magic's defense. Or even his own. Father. I know you hate magic. I would be lying if I said I had felt differently. I saw it as evil, same as you. But it's not. It simply is, no more and no less. It's the man wielding it who makes the difference." Uther glared at Arthur, the words bouncing harmlessly off his ears. "So many men use the sword. How many of them use it for good? How many men are knighted compared to the number of brigands?"

Still, Uther, did not falter. Instead he turned his back on Arthur, as if dismissing him. As if Arthur had shown himself a disappointment. Too sentimental. Too weak.

Arthur clenched his fists. "You should have heard him, father. No," he said, taking it back. Remembering the day Merlin knelt on the dais brought back the rage, the feeling of betrayal. It made looking at his father's back difficult. He wanted to grab the man and force him to turn around, to make him face what his rage had brought him. "You did hear him. He stays for me. He could have killed you a thousand times over. How many opportunities has he had? How many times was he able to enter your rooms, or find you alone? Hell, if this was what he'd wanted, he could have simply let you die that day in the dining hall. The day you found out about him while he was saving your life." He didn't understand why his father couldn't see it. "He could have let you die, and all of this never would have happened. He could have me exactly where he wanted me. Why bother saving you?"

"To get exactly what he has right now!" Uther said, whirling on Arthur. He was as purple now as he'd been on the dais, and for a split second, Arthur feared for his health. "You, defending him!"

"He wouldn't need me to defend him if you were dead! I still wouldn't know about his magic, and he could have me on the throne, the both of us still lovers! I would have made him prince consort nonetheless, even without any magical enchantment! If he could have all that, why would he risk it all to save the man who wants him dead, who stands in the way of his supposed goals? You treat him like an enemy when he has been nothing but a friend to me!"

"And that!" Uther said, pointing imperiously at Arthur's nose. "He is a servant! Not a friend!"

"He is my fiancé!"

Perhaps it had been the exact wrong thing to say. Arthur couldn't tell. Uther certainly went silent at the pronouncement – a very bad sign. But all Arthur could think was that, though he'd hoped to try to reason with his father, the topic had once more degenerated to an argument about Merlin. Finally, Arthur stood back, scraping a hand through his hair. His people were even now tired, worn, hungry, cold, trapped in dungeons or in their own homes, terrified of their leader, and their country, and their futures. And Arthur was afraid, as well. Because he didn't know what to do anymore. Or if there was anything he could do. "I know this causes problems with the security of this nation's future. Not because of his skills, but because he is a man. I know this alone would be enough to keep him in shadow. I and he were both prepared for this." A small lie; Arthur had only kept it quiet only because he knew how his father would respond. In truth, he'd never considered being with anyone else. And every time he'd thought on his duties, he'd turned his mind from them, because to acknowledge them would mean to acknowledge that what he had with Merlin was, in the eyes of the country his father had founded, a sin. And even now, he had no intention of continuing that part of his father's regime, any more than he did the ideas on magic. When he turned king, Merlin would be by his side. Anything else, Arthur would not stand. He'd attempted to picture it, had attempted to think on a future where Merlin was his lover and Gwen his wife. He'd abused the name consort, acted as if it meant little more than concubine. He'd told himself it was necessary.

He'd nearly been sick.

"Merlin had prepared to hide his magic forever, as well. It was your actions that tore this charade into the light." Uther opened his mouth to protest. "Things were tense, but workable. You were the one who chose to tell the knights about his magic." Amazing, that he know longer tripped over the word. But he couldn't afford to trip on it here, in front of his father, who would take full advantage. And Merlin's abilities were not to be feared. "You were the one who sent him into danger, attempting to get him killed."

"How dare you blame me?!"

"Who else should I blame? Merlin? For loving me? For protecting you, and starting this whole mess in the act? Or myself, for growing into the kind of man who judges another's worth on their actions, and not on their circumstances? Or you again, for teaching me that a knight fights for honor?"

Uther's teeth ground together. "There is nothing honorable in what you're doing. You're destroying this city. This country. I hope you're happy."

Through habit alone, Arthur flinched. But still, he stood firm. "I stand by a man who has been nothing but loyal to me, and by the people who have chosen their path. They want Merlin's freedom. The people are what make this country, father, far more than you or I. You would ignore their wishes?"

"I have told you before. The people cannot always be trusted with their own lives. They do not know their best interests. They know only what they want. Not what they need."

This was the tone Uther used when he calmly gave orders. When he spoke slightly down to Arthur, as if Arthur was still a child. As if there was still so much Arthur needed to learn before he became king. The tone always made Arthur feel small, and foolish, and unlearned. His father had fought this land free from sorcerers and sorceresses, and the fields of battle he'd stood on had been so enormous compared to those Arthur had faced. What did he know of decisions that would affect the entire world?

He closed his eyes. Of course, as always, as every waking hour, even more so as he went days, weeks, without him there, his nights cold and lonely, only his hand to keep him company, the first image that came to him was one of Merlin. The constant ache at his right side grew more pronounced, as if the memory of him rented the rift of his loss a bit wider. The idiot would let himself be killed if he thought it best for Arthur. For Camelot. And if Arthur stopped, if he fell silent, that was exactly what would happen. Even if Merlin kept his promise to stay alive as best he could, even he had his limits. Arthur had seen just how defenseless a sorcerer – especially Merlin – could be. Even discounting who Merlin was, just how many sorcerers had been put to the pyre? How many sorcerer's heads had rolled from the dais? They were not immortal or all-powerful.

If Arthur hesitated, Merlin would die. His heart thundered in his chest at the very thought. How had his country become so torn with hate? Yes, sorcerers had once ruled this land, but there had been despots before. Not every man was to blame for the sins of the few, or even the many.

But this wasn't even about just Merlin. Not anymore. It wasn't even solely about those with magic. It was about all his people. His father had shown just what he'd been willing to do to keep the country as he desired. He cared for the people, but he thought of them all as toddlers, children, without minds of their own. He thought them incapable of making their own decisions. So he decided for them. And when they fought back, he treated it as a temper tantrum, and acted as if a beating would teach the child to fall in line.

They were not children. They were not mindless. And Uther was wrong.

Arthur straightened his shoulders and faced down his father. "Nonetheless, they have spoken. They recognize that the cycle of hate must end. And if you won't end it, father, I will." He took a deep breath. "The only one stopping this from coming to a swift, peaceful end is you."

"You." Uther jutted his finger in Arthur's face. "You will not leave this room. You will stay here until I can find some way to unchain you from this..." Uther looked him up and down and curled his lip. "Mess you've gotten yourself into."

Arthur didn't bother to respond. Not anymore. It was over. Everything he'd done, everything he'd tried to accomplish. It was all over. His father could not be saved.

He had to focus now on what he could save. He returned to the window.

---

Arthur did not go to sleep that night. He looked down on Camelot to see all lights were out. Even the knights were on a skeleton crew, with many of its members chained below. The lights by which the guards stood were low, and there was absolutely no movement within the city. No doubt by now the king had ordered proclamations, demands for the people to return to work or face... well, at the very least, imprisonment. When the dawn arrived, the people would come to the castle cowed, heads down, lips sealed. Uther would have won.

But no. Not for long. Or not for forever, at least. Though it would be quiet, the people would rise up. They would riot and rebel. But they would react violently next time. They would wait, and they would strike. Uther had shown himself not just an enemy to sorcerers, but an enemy to the people. While some might lie to themselves and think he'd done it to protect them – might choose to believe him rather than face the danger they lived in every minute of every day – many more would not forget.

But what would happen in the meantime? What would become of Camelot? How many other countries would see the weakness in the people and strike? How many would insert members of their armies, their spies, their own networks, into the fabric of the rebellion? Where would they lead the desperate, fearful, angry masses? For certain, Arthur would be killed along with his father. Camelot would be divided, or perhaps integrated into another country. Perhaps that wouldn't be so bad, but if it was Cenred's country – Cenred, who stole from his people and cared not at all for the welfare of his border towns? Or Lot, who was known to take and take until his people were destitute? Arthur could not let his people suffer from the hands of other leaders any more than he could allow them to continue suffering under the hands of his father.

But what could he do? He was one man, and he was trapped. He may have been in his room, but it was just a prettier cell than the others.

Somehow he was unsurprised to find someone talking outside his chambers in the middle of the night. He moved to his door and opened it before the building argument could cause enough of a commotion for Uther to find out. "Morgana."

She huffed at the guard standing watch outside Arthur's rooms and swung inside. Arthur closed the door behind her. "Arthur, just what is going on? Uther's gone mad, and you're up here – tell me you have a plan."

He just stared at her. Even then, he didn't know if she was his enemy or not. What had she come for? What did she want?

She took his silence for an answer to her question and gave a noisy gust of exasperation. "Really, Arthur! All this, taking everything this far, and you didn't make a single contingency plan? You must have suspected Uther wouldn't change his mind."

Arthur watched as she walked further into his room, glancing upon Arthur's table, his clothes – strewn about the room in a ridiculous attempt to get the feeling of Merlin back into the room – and his bed, the sheets untouched, unrumpled. Then she finally turned back to him. With her hair like a dark curtain around her face, her face fell into deep shadows, even with the fire flickering against her hair. He wondered if she was there to kill him, to manipulate him, to enchant him. Or had she come – and he couldn't help but hope for this, even after the revelations he'd received about Uther that day, or perhaps specifically because of them – to help?

"Arthur, listen to me." And Morgana came to stand before him, just as Uther had. And once more, Arthur stood his ground. "I know you think you can make everything better. You're an idealist, and most times, it's only slightly annoying." Arthur managed a short quirk of his lips at that. But Morgana's smile was a bit too wide, a bit too fake, and he knew where this was going. He didn't want to hear it. "But even you have to admit that this is how it's going to end. Uther is too full of hate. He won't back down. And look what's happened to Camelot because of it." She made a sweeping gesture toward his windows, past them. To the ground below, and the people huddled in their homes. "You have to understand."

"I do." Morgana's grin widened. "But I can't do as you hope, Morgana." It fell immediately into a scowl. "If I kill him, what then? It will only continue the cycle of fear." Another epiphany, and he wished he wasn't having it just then. He thought of when he'd been willing to kill his father, when he'd first seen the hypocrisy and hate and festering arrogance in his father, and had been willing to wipe it all out. And Merlin – Merlin alone – had stopped him. "Merlin had understood it then. Or, well, that may be giving him too much credit. But–"

"Merlin again!" And Morgana twisted away from him and stomped to the fireplace. Her heels clicked loudly on the floor as she did. "You keep blathering on about him – do you really care about Camelot, Arthur? Or are you really just interested in him?"

It should have been a fair question. Honestly, it was. He'd worried about that himself. But somehow her tone, her look, all spoke of how she'd already come to a decision, and she'd decided what his reasons were. And worse, she'd decided he was merely acting selfishly. He didn't know if he would have ever acted this way if he'd never found out about Merlin's magic. He couldn't say how he would have reacted to magic when he'd become king. He didn't know. All he knew was how he was acting now, how he thought now. And yes, it was Merlin who had instigated the change. But when did someone ever change in a vacuum? And yes, so he changed mostly for and because of Merlin. But didn't everyone always change when with someone they loved? It wasn't as if this was the first time Merlin had altered him so completely. From the moment they'd met, Arthur had been pulled into Merlin's orbit. Not because of magic, but because of who Merlin was. Who out there had met Merlin and not undergone some personal transformation?

But simply because Merlin had instigated this change in him, and simply because Merlin was the man he loved, didn't mean that he was throwing his entire country into chaos simply for him. Arthur loved Merlin. It was a heady, terrifying, nearly painful thing, but it was true. But just because he loved Merlin didn't mean he didn't love his country. And Arthur truly believed that, though Merlin loved Arthur, the idiot also loved Camelot, too.

It wasn't just Merlin Arthur was trying to save. As always, Merlin was just the start. Merlin was the one who saw the honor in Arthur, who saw his goodness. Arthur was merely acting on all those things Merlin had seen in him, the parts of him that existed beneath the cruelty his father had taught him. (And how horrible was it, how painful, to realize that who he'd been had been as spiteful and needlessly vindictive as his father was now – he remembered sharply how he and Merlin had met, and he saw within that old him something that could have given rise to the next Uther Pendragon.) It may have been started by Merlin, but this would end for everyone. Arthur was not a perfect man. But he could strive to get close.

"Camelot is more than me. It's more than Merlin, or father, or you. My people have been huddled up, waiting, starving, seething in place. They are dead while they live. They hate without cause, because it's easier to think there's something wrong with sorcery than it is to think they are being ruled by... by such hate. And now, as they try to break free..." Arthur covered his mouth. Morgana was not merely his friend, his near-sister. She was also his enemy, and he couldn't let himself forget it. "You know very well that, no matter how much I may love, I will put Camelot first."

"Then let Merlin go." Morgana turned and strode back to him. She grasped his hands. "He's not what you think. I told you, Arthur – he even admitted it to you. He's darkness. I know you want to think the best of him. So would I. But there's no best left in him. He lied to you. Poisoned me. It's for his sake that this has gone so fast. Too fast, maybe. It's his fault Uther even found out about him, isn't it? It's his fault Uther thinks you're a victim of enchantment, and that you're actually considering marrying him – it's his fault Uther's alive to cause all this chaos–"

"That's enough, Morgana." And despite himself, he pulled his hands away and clamped them on her shoulders. Her eyes went wide, but he thought he saw something flicker in them. Something golden. "Right there. Stop. He's king, Morgana. And killing him will only make things worse." She wrenched herself from his grip and moved to the door. "If you kill him, all you'll be doing is replacing one tyrant with another. The people will still be afraid. They'll only agree to keep themselves safe."

She grabbed the door and glared at him. "But they would agree, and the fighting would be over. I should have known, Arthur. You've never had a mind of your own."

She slammed the door on her way out, and Arthur collapsed into his chair. He'd done what he could. He knew that. And yet he still felt like a failure. He looked over all the conversations he'd had with her since she returned – looked over all the times he perhaps should have spoken with her, and hadn't. Was there anything he could have done differently? Would telling her the truth about what he knew, the extent of it, changed anything? Or would this ending have arrived even faster?

"Oh, Merlin," he sighed, letting his head fall into his hands, "how did you do it?"

---

While his meals were brought to him by a meek serving woman, she and he were both watched by the guard at his door, and not once did she try to speak to him. While he was guarded and watched by many of his father's men, not once was he allowed a visit from Leopold, or Leon, or Kay. Two days after the riot, word finally reached him – not through anyone trying, but through Arthur leaning against his door for hours and listening in to the muted voices beyond its thick frame – that the knights who had helped his people, along with the leaders of the "rebels," had all been exiled. Arthur took it as a small mercy that none had been killed.

He could do nothing but pace, and seethe, and rage. Neither Uther nor Morgana sought him out, and all he could do was wonder what they both planned. His father would be attempting to get the country reasserted under his control. He would send more men, if the first hadn't taken care of Merlin already. He wondered if his father would demand merely an assassination or if he would want something more. Something worse. Torture? Arthur shuddered. A tiny part of him hoped that, if it all came to that, Merlin had already been killed. The larger – far, far larger – part of him hoped Merlin stayed safe.

And Morgana? What would she have planned, now that she'd chosen to turn away from him? What would she do? He couldn't think this all was happening through her alone. No. She'd nearly listened to him before. In the hours and hours he'd had to do nothing but pace and think, he'd come to realize Morgana had doubted. He'd gotten close. But she'd turned to someone else, and that someone else had pulled her doubt from her, had twisted things back until Arthur was just as much an enemy as Merlin. And who else would she be close to but the person Merlin had warned Arthur about? The person who had taken her away after Merlin had poisoned her, the one who had come after Merlin and himself just days before Morgana's fortuitous return. Morgause.

Morgana would have something planned, likely concocted either by Morgause or by the two of them together. It would not be something that aligned with Arthur's wants, nor with Merlin's sense of honor. It would not align with what was beneficial for Camelot. No. He already knew what one part of it would be – the destruction of Camelot. The murder of King Uther. She'd as much as admitted to it.

It wouldn't solve anything. The people would still fear. They would see nothing more than a replacement for the old regime. Arthur wanted people to see sorcerers as equal to everyone, not as usurpers or favorites of the throne. He didn't want the people to see him as a tyrant, the kind who took over a kingdom just to change it to what he wanted. The people would see that as no better. They needed to think they were changing it themselves, that their choices affected the kingdom more so than even the king. They were the ones who decided what was right for Camelot. If Morgana killed Uther, no matter how she went about it, everything would have been for nothing.

He could, if he so desired, slip out of his room. He'd been left enough opportunities since he'd been locked away. The guards may watch him whenever a servant entered, but otherwise they left him alone within. But he knew why. Even if he managed to slip out of his window without Merlin's magic, what then? Where would he go? What would he do? He had to stay for his people, for them to know they weren't alone. Of course, his situation was only making them cower even more. If their very prince was being treated so poorly, what did that say for them?

He covered his face, even as he continued to pace. If Merlin was with him, he would be sitting in the corner, polishing Arthur's armor for the millionth time, watching Arthur go back and forth with a look that said he was getting dizzy but wouldn't tell Arthur to stop. The tension in Arthur would bleed into Merlin. They would be silent now, but soon, Arthur would start ranting and raving to Merlin, and in doing so could bounce ideas off a soundless, critique-less sounding board, and maybe, just maybe, he would be able to come up with something that didn't sound... treasonous.

He could go to his father. Talking did nothing anymore; all he would be able to do was... demand the right for the throne through combat. It would be far too much like what Morgana had planned, and would show Arthur violent in his dealings with those who disagreed with him.

He could go to Morgana. Throw his knowledge of her crimes and secrets into her face. She would turn fully from him, if she hadn't already. She would likely attack him, or have him escorted away. She would escape. If she didn't escape – did he have it in him to kill her? He shied away from the very thought. She was his sister, even without blood to link them together. She had been his closest confidante before Merlin; he'd relied on her to give him good advice, to be righteous and strong and just. How could he kill her, knowing she had felt even more trapped than he at this moment? Knowing that she had felt the terror Merlin had, waiting for the moment when Uther would find out? Knowing how Uther had reacted, was reacting, to Merlin's magic – there was little doubt in Arthur's mind that Uther would not have been more forgiving merely because Morgana was Uther's favorite. His ward.

He stopped in front of the fireplace and gripped the mantle until his knuckles turned white. At the very least, she would have faced exile. How terrifying to be sentenced to death merely for existing. And he hadn't even been aware of it. He'd let himself be blind. How many innocents had he himself...

He took a deep breath. Too often he'd let his mind slip down such paths. It wouldn't do him any good to fear what he'd done, or what he'd become. The only thing he could control from this moment forward was what he did now.

If he tried to leave, his people would think he was abandoning them. That wasn't an option. But he wished he could head toward the people, tell them to stay strong, that there was hope... but he couldn't give such false sentiments without a plan. But what could he do? Demanding his father step down wouldn't work. He already feared his father's responses. He no longer thought he was immune to the worst of his father's rage. And even if he didn't get worse than, say, another stay in the prisons below, what about Merlin?

The itch to act grew. Merlin was doubtless under attack, even as he stood uselessly in his room, trying to come up with a way to save his father and his kingdom both.

What if it wasn't possible? What if, like Merlin, he had to choose between two things he dearly loved? Could he do it? Could he take his father out of the picture? But how? Any mysterious death or disappearance would be looked on as his fault, and he would be even more feared by his people. A king who didn't do open battle, but instead slunk around poisoning people? Capturing them? Taking them away like spirits? He hung his head. The heat from the hearth's fire burned against his skin.

What, then? He couldn't abandon his people. Especially not now – not to this.

There had to be a way to get his father from the throne and not destroy his country at the same time. He just needed to think.

The problem was that the king's word was final. He was the ruler, the judge, the executioner. He was Law and Providence. Any attempt to take him from his throne – even the very thought of doing so – was considered treason. Arthur rubbed his face. He hadn't wanted to take the kingdom from his father. He'd wanted his father to acquiesce to the people, to do what was right.

He couldn't help but remember what he'd been shown by Morgause. Yes, the woman was an enemy, and had tried to kill him. That didn't mean that what she'd shown him had been a lie. Merlin had admitted to doing horrible things. Wasn't it possible that he'd lied about Arthur's mother, as well? Perhaps what he'd been shown – who he'd seen, and spoken with – had truly been his mother. If Merlin were there, he'd have words with him over it. But he wasn't, and all Arthur could do was wonder why. Why would Merlin lie about it, when Arthur killing Uther would have taken care of all his problems? But it was a stupid question. Look at him now. Even with his people in danger – even with Merlin in danger – he still couldn't bring himself to do it. His father was against magic, but he was still king. He was still his father. And he was still the man who had saved Camelot.

He didn't want to kill his father. Camelot would crumble to it. And so would he. And doubtless, Merlin had seen that, all of it, far before Arthur had.

Of course, there was the chance that Merlin had been telling the truth. (It wasn't much of a chance, however.) It likely was; what else could explain the level of hate Uther directed to those with magic? To magic of all kinds. Even when it was used to save Arthur, to save Uther himself, it could be nothing but evil. If Uther blamed magic for Igraine's death instead of taking responsibility for his own decisions, then of course he could never afford to allow doubt to spread. Not in others, and certainly not in himself. He would stamp out any hint of such ideas, because anything else would mean to face up to what he'd done – kill his wife. Arthur's mother.

He took a deep breath. Yes, he was going to have several words with Merlin over that one.

Merlin, of all people, had chosen to keep Uther alive. He'd chosen a dangerous life in order to save Arthur's heart. The stones of the mantle scraped slightly against his fingertips. The fire was too hot against his skin now, but he didn't yet move. What would Merlin say now?

"Don't, Arthur. He's your father."

But Merlin's first and, frighteningly, only concern was Arthur. Everything came second to him. And Arthur felt terrified of it, and guilty, because Camelot would always be his first love.

He couldn't listen to what Merlin would say. Not in this instance.

But he couldn't kill Uther. Not and have any chance of keeping Camelot cohesive and secure.

Someone knocked on the door, and he jumped as he realized he'd been pacing and brainstorming the entire day. He lifted his head as the door opened to admit the serving woman. He nearly jumped when Gwen walked in. "Sire," she said, curtseying before him. He quickly closed his mouth before the guards realized he was gaping and waved her in. The guards kept the door open as she made her way to the table and dropped the tray of food she carried.

How was this possible? She was supposed to be with Merlin. When had she come back? How? Why? He wanted desperately to ask after Merlin's well-being, but with the guards listening in, he didn't dare.

But how had she gotten access to his chambers? Surely his father would recognize her, after Arthur's... announcement about her. But of course, his father likely wasn't scanning all the returning servants. So long as the guards watching Arthur ensured that none of the servants were showing too much loyalty to Arthur, or attempting to rescue him, or plan with him, what had Uther to fear? And to the guards, just as they had once been to Arthur himself, the servants were all the same. Formless, nameless.

Arthur attempted aplomb, though he wasn't certain how well he succeeded in the act. He stared at Gwenivere as she tidied the table slightly, then as she moved to make the bed. One of the guards cleared his throat, and Gwen sent him a short half-frightened, half defiant look. Apparently the sound had only been a warning, because the guard let Gwen continue her work. Arthur moved only slightly as she pulled the sheets loose, then moved to stoke the fire. He leaned against the edge of the mantle, eying the food, then the guards, until finally he heard her murmur, "Merlin sends his regards."

He had to fight to keep himself from slumping in relief. However long it had been since she'd left Merlin's side, the last she'd known, he was still safe. Arthur doubted that would continue to be true, but for now, at least he knew the first men Uther had sent had failed.

Of course he still had a million questions, but Gwen stood and picked up the sheets as if to leave. Arthur was forced to move to the table or else risk raising the guards' suspicions.

Gwen stopped just in front of him and bowed her head slightly. "Is there anything else, sire?"

Arthur wanted to try to send her to Leon, or to Kay, to have her report to them; he could then find them all later. It would keep her out of danger, and he would obtain whatever information had driven her to return to Camelot and seek him out. But he didn't even know if Leon or Kay were still in Camelot, or if they'd been exiled with the rest. And he couldn't ask her any questions without getting Gwen in trouble, as well. His lips thinned. "No, thank you. That will be all."

A farce of a command, seeing as he had no control over who entered his room and who didn't, but Gwen still curtseyed as well as she could with the sheets in her hands and left. The only solace he had was knowing that someone would have to return to put new sheets on, and that Gwen would likely be the one to do it.

He was unsurprised when, shortly after he finished his meal, Gwen returned, fresh linens in hand, and proceeded to do up the bedding. He wondered how long it would take for them to be able to have a conversation, and if they had that kind of time.

Then Gwen came to the table, picked up the tray, moved to the door – and slammed it in the guards' faces.

Arthur shoved his chair back and stood. He hurried to the door, as well, and shoved back on it before the guards could open it. "Gwen?"

"He's coming back," Gwen said. She stared at him with wide eyes, as if surprised by her own actions. "He's coming back. We heard about the riot, and the martial regime. Merlin got furious. He's coming back. He said he was sure something would have happened to you, because you would have tried to stop all this–" he feared what 'all this' might entail "–and he's coming back. He wouldn't listen to us, no matter what we said. I came here early to try to warn you."

That idiot!

If Arthur hadn't been busy keeping the pounding knights from barging into his room, he would have grabbed Gwen up and yelled impotently. As it was, he had to settle with gritting his teeth and using his anger to keep the guards at bay. "What else?" he managed. Because there always had to be something more.

Gwen chewed on her bottom lip. The knights shouted for others to come help with the door. "I saw Morgana again, on my way in. It was late, and I was going to say hello, but she... she seemed off. And she headed into the forest. She's back?"

"Yes and no," Arthur said, his suspicions officially confirmed. And if she was heading off late at night, that meant she was planning something, if she hadn't already begun it. Camelot was going to crumble, and he would just be standing like a fool in his room as it crashed around him. "Get out of here, Gwen. Find Merlin. Tell him to stay out. If he got involved now – if he showed up now, of all times – whatever happens, whatever I must do, I must do it alone."

Gwen frowned. "Arthur, that's not even acceptable to me. I can tell you exactly how Merlin would respond to that."

Yes. He knew. "Then say whatever you have to. Things are going to – to get bad soon. Very bad. Very soon. He can't be here. The people know him as a sorcerer. If he..."

"Arthur." And despite the guards shoving against the door and shouting back and forth along the hall, despite Arthur pressed tight against their push, she strode forward and cupped his cheek. "You're going about this all wrong. You know that, right? You and Merlin are an entity together. You have always fought all your enemies with him by your side. Why should you separate yourself from him now, simply because he wears another label? The two of you need to show a united front. Now, of all times, Merlin needs to be seen standing by your side. And you know he will. Whatever your decision."

"That's what worries me," he said before he could stop himself. Gwen always managed to wriggle those little gems from his lips. At Gwen's little furrowed frown, he said, "Merlin always puts me first."

Understanding lit those dark chocolate eyes, and she smiled. She backed away and opened the window, though she made no move to commit suicide by trying to escape through it. "Then just make sure he's standing by a good man."

Arthur clenched his eyes shut. The door thrummed and shook beneath his hands and shoulder. "Hide!" he hissed, but Gwen was already squeezing herself into his cupboard.

Arthur let the door go after she'd managed to settle herself. It slammed open under the weight of several guards, who almost fell one on top of the other into his room. Those who managed to maintain their balance held their swords aloft.

Arthur turned his head just slightly to the window, as if wanting to check on something but not wanting the men to see. Of course three of them hurried to its edge and peered beyond. "Where is she?" another asked, daring to stand before Arthur as if to intimidate him.

Arthur raised his head and glared down at the man. He remembered when the bearded fool had been little more than a washed-up soldier warming up recruits. Arthur had been the one to hammer Corterie back into physical shape. Too bad he hadn't managed to hammer out those antiquated beliefs of unearned self-importance. Sometimes Arthur wondered where the nobility's nobility had gone. "You will stand down," he said, using all of his authority. The man at least looked cowed for a short instant; he recognized Arthur's position as his commander instinctively, even with things as they were. But his back hardened an instant later.

"We're not to take orders from you. Your words are not your own."

For the love of... Arthur turned, barely keeping his temper long enough to continue playing the game. He scowled at the men by the window. "Get away from that!"

It was enough. The rest of the guards, who had been inching slowly behind Corterie, turned almost as one to the window. Arthur pulled his lips back to conceal the grin. He moved to stop them, only to have Corterie grab his arm. "Stand down, highness. We are authorized to attack you if we feel it necessary."

Arthur restrained himself, barely, from punching the man in the face. Once again, he was thankful Merlin wasn't there. Corterie and his men would have already attacked him. But then Arthur remembered that Merlin was on his way, and the fury beat against his skin, shivering and sparking as he feared what Merlin's return would mean. Uther. The remaining knights. Morgana. Merlin would be surrounded by enemies on all sides. And while those same enemies at least hesitated at the thought of attacking Arthur, they all nearly chomped at the bit for a chance to hurt Merlin.

"The sorceress has escaped," one of the men by the window said. "We can't see her."

"Send out patrols," Corterie ordered. Arthur wondered if he was the one in charge now that the rest of Arthur's loyal knights had been chased out of Camelot. Or had he merely taken such a position because he'd been with Uther the longest, and was assuredly loyal? "Don't let her escape. You three," and he pointed to those by the window. "Guard the prince. Do not let him out of your sight."

Arthur frowned. With Gwen still in the room, that could cause several problems rather quickly.

He bristled as the guards stood beside him, obviously attempting to look him over for weapons without actually touching or getting close enough to cause the prince offense. He glared one of them away, but the other two stood their ground. Corterie and the rest left, leaving the door open behind them. Arthur strode to it and slammed it shut. He left one hand on the smooth wood and considered his options.

In making it look as if she'd jumped, Gwen had made herself seem to be a sorceress. As such, she would be hunted down, to the ends of the country, and brought in for execution. Her life was now just as much in the balance as Merlin's. And she was trapped in his cupboard, squeezed into such a tiny space in order to hide from the men who by all accounts should have been the country's protectors. And unlike Merlin, she did not actually have magic to protect her.

He glared at the men behind him. One – the one who had quailed under Arthur's stare – was making a pass around the room. He barely kept himself from tensing and giving Gwen away. The other two stood looking either at Arthur, their eyes narrowed as if expecting him to suddenly go mad and attack them (and while he intended to do one, he certainly didn't intend the other), or at the window, as if Gwen was about to leap over the edge and start throwing fireballs at the lot of them.

He flicked a quick, wide-eyed glace at the window, and both men turned on cue. He grabbed the sword from Corterie and smashed it on the back of his skull. The other – Caradoc – turned to Arthur with a gaping jaw. Arthur swung the blade, twisting it to its flat side before slamming it into Caradoc's side. With a grunt, Caradoc absorbed the attack. Arthur leaned forward and pushed the man to the ground.

Paol gaped at Arthur as if he'd... well, as if he'd gone mad. Arthur drew himself to his full stature.. Paol was young, only a year or so older than Arthur, and had needed his hero worship beaten out of him at the start of training. Arthur still remembered the look of adoration on the young man's face. He bent down and punched Caradoc once, hard, in the face. Once he was certain the man was unconscious, he turned to Paol.

The blond lifted his sword. "Stop," he said, but there was no heat in his voice. When Arthur stepped forward, Paol stiffened. "Stop. I'm authorized to attack you. Sir! Stop! Don't you understand what that means?"

"It means you have a very difficult decision to make now, Paol," Arthur said. He saw, from the corner of his eye, the cupboard door slip slightly open. What in the world was Gwenivere doing? "You have to decide what you do. Attack me? Fight?" He didn't list 'call for help,' afraid the man might actually take his advice. "Perhaps you'll get lucky and take me down. And then what? Tell Uther how you've vanquished his son? Tell the country how you saved it from its prince?" The cupboard door opened completely, and one thin leg stretched out.

Paol opened his mouth to respond, but Arthur just got into his space. With barely a flick, he batted Paol's sword away. It clattered to the floor.

Somehow, the noise seemed to mobilize Paol. He jerked back as if stabbed, then reared his fist back for a punch. Arthur dodged it, then its cousin. He carefully kept his sword arm to his side; his instinct in battle was to use his weapon. But he had no intention of doing permanent harm to these men. Not if he could help it.

He grimaced at the knowledge that he likely wouldn't be able to prevent it. Not for long.

Paol's face contorted. "Just stop fighting, sire. I don't want to hurt you!"

Damn his father for this! Arthur clenched his free hand and jammed it into Paol's solar plexus. The man bowled over with a wheezed huff, clutching his stomach. Before Arthur could do more, the tray Gwen had brought in banged against the back of Paol's head. He crumpled to the floor, perpendicular to Caradoc and Corterie. Her eyes were, if possible, even wider than before. She stared at Arthur wordlessly.

"Come on," he said, hardly thinking it all through, but knowing Gwen needed to be taken to safety. The door was already opening when he led Gwen back to it, and he once more slammed the pommel of his stolen sword into a knight's face. One unfortunate knight toppled back beneath the man. The remaining three knights guarding his door shouted in surprise.

He bared his teeth at them all. Yes, he could perchance take them all, but with Gwen to protect and reinforcements only a shout away, it would be foolish to try. "Run!" he said, and Gwen raced through the door, shoving past the knight struggling beneath his unconscious friend. Arthur brandished his sword at the knights. They hesitated, and it was enough to get Arthur past his room and into the corridor. He ran, and this time the men shouted in anger. He heard their footsteps pound up behind them.

He managed to lead Gwen about ten steps before they ran into Uther.

He halted in his tracks, Gwen right behind him. He heard her gasp in a breath at the sight of the king. Uther didn't so much as glare down at him as if he were a misbehaving child, nor did he stare at him in any sort of surprise. His eyes were those of a beast's, wild and untamed, his lips pulled back in a snarl. In his hands was his own sword, but while Arthur's still sat dormant at his side, Uther's was raised to strike.

"I knew it," Uther said. His voice was even more guttural than usual, almost hoarse. His irises were milky. The sight of them gave Arthur pause. "I knew you would fall. Weak, trusting, foolish, stupid son of mine, taken in by that... that..." Uther's voice wobbled, then rose. "Letting him take you!"

The clearly dirty meaning made Arthur blanch. In fact, he never had let Merlin take him, because it would look bad – a million times worse even than being caught with one's male servant in the bed. But it was true that he'd imagined it, that he would likely love it, and it was Merlin, and his private sex life, and his father, and they were in public. The knights' running stopped nearly in a collision behind Arthur, and he grabbed Gwen's wrist and pulled her slightly closer.

His father watched, eyes narrowed, the pupils stark against the unnatural lightness of his irises.

"Another." Lower, an even deeper pitch than before. His voice cracked on it. "You cannot be saved. You're lost to me." That gaze pulled down at the edges, as if weighted by something heavier than the world. Those thin lips firmed. "I will not let magic have you, too." He brandished his sword. Arthur took a short step back.

"Father, don't." But he brought his own sword up, because it was clear Uther would not back down. He wondered if this was how Uther had felt when Arthur had attacked him in a rage. The very rage he'd been questioning recently. The rage that might have been justified. But this rage – his father's – didn't feel justified at all. It felt wrong. Both because his father seemed ready to attack him for something he was not, in a rage toward something intangible – magic – and not for anything Arthur may or may not have done, and because his eyes were off. Uther swung, hard and from the right, and Arthur was forced to block the strike. The power of it rang up his arm. His father was not holding back.

"You trail after that man's flesh like you're called to a siren!" Another hard swing, and Arthur had to back up a half-step. Gwen hustled out from behind him, even though it left her vulnerable to the knights. Surprisingly, they did not move to her. They did not move at all. "He speaks to you, and you lay your kingdom to waste!"

Arthur blocked another strike, more prepared this time. He saw an opening in Uther's right flank, but didn't strike. "You're the one silencing your own people! Putting them under a tyrannical rule! And for what? For the fear that Merlin might once more save your life with his magic?"

"Listen to you!" And now Uther fought in earnest, sweeping the length of his sword along Arthur's until the sound of the metal resembled hissing. When he suddenly pushed, Arthur was ready for it. Uther snarled. "A demon has taken you from me." And actual tears burned Uther's eyes. Arthur had never seen him so weak, especially in the middle of a battle. It made him hesitate when Uther once more thrust his sword. He barely managed to dodge the strike, and Uther pressed the advantage, shoving Arthur back with one shoulder and swiping across as if to eviscerate his own son with his sword. Arthur had to twist his arm, elbow nearly to the ceiling, to block the strike in time. "Your blood is just as tainted now, isn't it? Filled with his seed as you are."

Arthur blushed, horrified that his father would actually say such a thing. He had to back away completely in order to get himself under control. Uther watched his retreat with glittering eyes. A fury he hadn't thought he could possess rose up within him. Not only did his father speak such things in public, not only did he imply his own son incapable, monstrous, whorish, but he did it all while treating Merlin like an incubus. A demon of lust, tempting Arthur away from his duty. The very idea filled him with a deep, warm anger. The instant after his cheeks flushed from shame, they filled again with outrage.

"How dare you." He stepped forward, sword out, prepared to parry. To counterstrike. "How dare you speak of me, of my consort, of your kingdom this way. The only one unable to see the truth, to bend to reason, is you." He swung hard. He barely heard Gwen's gasp before his sword clanged against his father's. From the downward arc he swung quickly once more, this time aiming at Uther's shoulder. Uther blocked again, but he had to give ground to Arthur's strength. "Your people want a fair trial. They want a man to be judged by his own actions, not the actions of others. You're the one finding fault with a man for no other reason but that he exists!"

"Exists?!" The roar nearly sounded inhuman; the irises of Uther's gaze could hardly be discerned from the sclera. "He is a monster, a beast who chose a human form. And he devoured you. I blame myself," Uther said, even as he beat against Arthur's sword, forcing him to give ground or else fall to the hammer blows that ricocheted up his arm, "for putting you in his path. I gave him access to you. I let what I thought was your frivolity continue. And for that, I am sorry." Arthur barely managed to block the next attack; it was so rare for Uther to offer apologies; even rarer for him to give them to his son, or in public. He believed a king had to be seen as strong, as perfect, at all times. Arthur winced as he blocked the next strike. He has to end this soon, or else he wouldn't be able to keep his father from harming him. But to strike the man – his father, his king – something shivered inside him at the thought. A foreshadowing of the weight his sword would take if he carried his father's corpse on it.

Yes, he decided in that instant before his father swung once more. Everything his mother had said that day had been true, and Merlin, in order to save Arthur from this weight, had lied.

So many lies. And yet, in this instant, he could not hate them. Because in lying, Merlin had been right.

"Don't be sorry," Arthur gritted. "If not for Merlin, you and I would both be dead. And I would never have seen this infection in Camelot." And they might never have made it past their initial disharmony. They might never have become what they were. Arthur deliberately struck so that Uther could block, then shoved with all his strength. While his father had managed little in his own attempt, Arthur forced Uther back. His father barely kept his feet, and Arthur pressed the advantage; he rushed forward and swung again, slowing slightly when his father nearly didn't block in time. Still, the blow was enough to make Uther's balance fail. He fell to the ground.

The anger in Arthur did not abate, but he held his sword back. Merlin had told Arthur that the vision of his mother had been a trick, used by Morgause to force Arthur to kill. The shame, the horror, was still a visceral memory, even now that he knew his mother had said nothing but the truth. And Arthur remembered, in the privacy of his rooms, telling Merlin that he'd learned magic to be nothing but evil. He remembered the tears he'd thought Merlin had nearly shed were for relief or fear of what he'd nearly done. He remembered hating Merlin for not telling him of his magic. All of it brought shame, and guilt, and an impotent fury that had nowhere to go inside him. His mind was blank of thoughts, save the desire to know the truth, all of it, and to find within himself the selflessness Merlin had, and to set things right. "You know nothing of honor," Arthur said, watching his father scramble to his feet. "You act for yourself. You demand the world conform to you. Those who save you, you toss aside. Those who are loyal to you, you test until they break. You demand Camelot be like a map to be drawn, and ignore the people who live within its borders. You kill. You control. You destroy." His father stood straight again, and pulled up his sword. His arm trembled slightly under the strain. "And now you try to kill me? Your own son? Just how far into this mire of hate will you fall?"

But this time Uther did not respond at all. There was nothing to his eyes but the deep pinpoints of black amongst the white. A monochrome, nearly monstrous in its lack. When Uther pulled back his lips, something inhuman growled out behind his teeth.

Morgana, Arthur thought, and sucked in a breath. Hadn't Gwenivere told him she'd gone out in the middle of the night? She might have had plenty of time to get to Uther. And if she had, and this was her doing? Was there any way to prove his father not of sound mind, or to stop him? Was there a way to fix it?

If only, Arthur thought with a furious pounding in his chest, Merlin were with him. Merlin would know. And he would stop at nothing to save Uther. Arthur knew it better than he knew his own name. But Merlin was not there, had not returned, and even if he did, what would it solve? Using magic to save the king again – for what? If done in secret, no one would know of Merlin's deed, and it would be the same as it had been before. As it was now. And if Merlin did it in public, to show what he was capable of, then the entire kingdom would find Uther unfit for leadership, and it would bring on the rebellion Arthur wanted – needed – so much to avoid.

Had Morgana – or someone else; he didn't have definitive proof, after all – done this merely to get them to kill one another, or had she known the corner this would paint the two of them in? Arthur now had the choice to kill his father, let his father kill him, or allow this endless battle to continue. Any – all – could be catastrophic for the country.

If Merlin was with him, he could do something – make Uther fall asleep, or freeze him like he had Arthur when he'd jumped out of the window, or something.

Gwenivere was right, of course, as she always was. He shouldn't have sent Merlin away. At least not for this long.

When Uther charged this time, Arthur dodged to the left and tripped the man up. He sprawled disgracefully on the floor. The knights, whom Arthur had nearly forgotten about in the heat of his temper, watched with wide eyes, their gazes following their king as he rose once more to his feet. His hair was mussed, his crown crooked, his eyes unnaturally wide. Spittle bubbled in his mouth.

He looked like a rabid dog.

"You!" Arthur said, glaring up at the knights. "What are you doing? Your king is sick!"

Surprisingly, none of the knights argued against his word. Uther once more ran toward him, his sword only half ready for a thrust. Arthur didn't bother to parry, he just crashed his sword against the base of his father's. It flipped out of Uther's grasp and clanged to the floor. Two of the knights came and grabbed Uther up, ready to escort him to Gaius', perhaps, or to his quarters. But Uther twisted and yanked in their grip until one of them lost their hold, and then he turned on them like an animal. The one who still held him Uther grabbed by his neck, dragging him down to the floor. The other knight went after Uther, instinctively trying to save his fellow knight, but hesitated at the sight of Uther's crown. Arthur ran forward.

Uther looked half-mad as Arthur grabbed his arm and wrenched it from the knight's neck. Uther turned on him as if the knight wasn't even there. This time, however, an entire contingency of knights came forward and grabbed Uther up, holding his arms back and yanking him away with tight hands on his shoulders. Uther actually screamed. There was nothing human in the sound.

"Magic," one of the knights hissed, and they finally turned to Gwen.

"Don't be stupid!" Arthur said. "She came to me, not to him. She was never near him." But none of the knights would know for certain, because none of them bothered to look at the servants. They were nothing more than moving furniture to them, just as they'd once been to Arthur. Before Merlin. He sucked in a breath. "The very fact that she stands before you shows that she never left through the window. She has no magic. Now take your king to his quarters before more see what has become of him." The knights still looked ready to attack. Gwen huddled against the wall, eyes round as dinner plates. "Go!"

One of the knights jerked at the sound of Arthur's ire, and as he pulled (dragged) Uther a short inch across the floor, the other knights moved. Those with hands on Uther did as Arthur bade, at least recognizing the truth in Arthur's statement. If anyone saw their king like this... but the rest moved to intercept Gwenivere, and that Arthur would not have. He thrust his sword in between Gwen and his knights. She sent a startled glance his way. "Sire," one man said, but Arthur had had enough.

"I will not allow any of you to harm an innocent. If you have forgotten the knight's code, then I shall beat it back into you." And he moved to stand before Gwenivere, his sword out at his own men. The dishonor he found in the heart of Camelot made him realize the infection had been deeper than he'd ever dreamed. There had been little hope from the start. Gangrene had set in long ago, and though he'd done everything he could, he'd left himself blind to the clear knowledge that nothing would be enough.

Had Merlin known? Had Merlin guessed? Or had Merlin never spared a thought for it all, and had only assumed this to be inevitable? For magic to be hated – for him to be hated. If Uther hadn't seen, would Merlin ever have told Arthur? Would Arthur ever have changed his mind concerning magic? When his father had died, either of natural causes or to another's machinations, and Arthur had taken the throne, would Arthur have eventually come to his senses? Or would he, too, have been infected by then? Would Merlin ever have had a chance to be free with him?

He gripped his sword so tightly his skin stretched white over his knuckles. The small ridges of the hilt dug into his palm. "Sire..." One of the guards had at least moved to help Caradoc, but the rest stood against Arthur. His lips thinned as one dared speak to him.

"Enough. Cowards." He steadied his thoughts. Queltin, the closest to him, was strong in frontline battle, and had the muscles to show for it. If Arthur let him charge first, he might find himself surrounded in the front before he could find a way to take the man down. If Roderick or Tracey, two men further to the back, took one of those positions, he would be taken down. They were quick, lithe, strong, and known for their cutting blows and skills with the dagger. So Queltin would have to be knocked out first, and Roderick and Tracey held back long enough to get a small hole through the front, which would necessitate at least one of them to fill the position.

But before he could go any further in mental tactics than that, Zarek, one of the youngest in Arthur's old squad, stepped forward. If he came from the front, then Queltin would be forced to take Arthur's side. It would be a much easier battle. Arthur let Zarek get much closer than he would have Quentin for that very reason.

The young man didn't seem to have any words. He didn't seem to have much of anything. But he stood tall before Arthur, sword lowered to his side, and quoted, "act in loyalty, forbearance, hardihood, largesse, honor, and in the ethics of the church." He hesitated, and then, no longer quoting,"we follow our king, with a true love of our country, in deference to his will."

"You are never meant to follow," Arthur snapped. "You are to act. Your loyalty is in your ability, and in your discernment. What is your sword for?"

"To protect," Zarek answered immediately, by rote, and grimaced. "To protect my country and its king, my fellow knights, and..." He hesitated, looking at Gwen. And then he backed away. "To protect the weak, the widows and orphans, the women. To oppose the unjust and wicked."

"And," Arthur said, teeth gritted, "where are you standing?"

Zarek was not the only one to hesitate. The rest of the men stood as if to strike, but did not move. As if frozen. Arthur reached out behind him. Gwen grabbed his hand. "We fight for our king," Queltin said. "Our loyalty goes to him."

"Then you do not understand the code," Arthur snapped. "Your loyalty goes first to god and country, and then to the king."

"They are one..." But Arthur didn't give the man a chance to finish; he tugged Gwen forward and ran down the hall. Queltin's argument changed to a spluttered grunt as the knights clattered in their armor. A few managed to jerk out a, "wait!" or a "stop!" but most merely made inarticulate noises of frustration or surprise. Gwen's footsteps were a bit unpatterned behind him as they made their way to the first set of stairs, but she managed to get herself moving soon enough, and when they descended, her steps were right behind his.

This time they were left uninterrupted, and Arthur made for the gates of the castle. A few guards jolted at the sight of him and Gwen, but though they made to give chase, they quickly fell behind, one after another, forced to remain at their posts or leave the castle – and its king – vulnerable to attack.

Shouts, however, went up along the halls, and servants ducked wide-eyed into rooms or behind furniture. The men at the gates had turned inward, ready to fight. Arthur's lips thinned.

"Merlin," Gwen gasped, and Arthur looked out. As did the guards.

Arthur did not see Merlin. There was no crowd, just as there hadn't been outside Arthur's window for days. Ever since Uther had forced his kingdom into compliance. Arthur thought he would have picked Merlin out even if his people had all congregated on the steps of his castle (a ridiculously romantic notion that he immediately cast aside), but he needn't test the theory.

It was Gwen this time who took control; as the knights turned to stop a nonexistent Merlin, Gwen pulled Arthur forward. They were at the knights' sides before the men realized they'd been had, and through the gates before they'd turned themselves back to their escaping prince.

Out on the streets, a few more guards stood post, and a couple citizens, hurrying from one place to another as if trying to disappear, turned to watch Arthur and Gwen run from the shouts of the guards. The guards jerked as Arthur passed them; with a few nonsensical bellows, they made to follow. Arthur turned, more to ensure the men weren't near Gwen, who had fallen to his side and slightly behind as they'd continued on. But when he looked back, he saw one of the village women jumping out in front of the knights. They stumbled to a halt, at least aware enough of their duties to know not to harm an innocent. She screamed and pointed to her right, clutching at one of the knights' arms. And when they turned, the woman looked at Arthur. He remembered her; she was the one Merlin had gotten a job. Arthur nodded his thanks and hurried ahead.

His people had spoken. They'd decided. They'd chosen him.

The immensity of it might have bowled him over, were it not for the warmth of Gwen's hand in his. Finally the outer gates of Camelot stood before him. "Go!" he shouted, finally letting go of Gwen's hand so he could turn on the knights. Gwen did not pause. Arthur raised his sword on his men when he heard Gwen gasp.

"Merlin!"

Arthur grimaced as his knights hesitated in front of him. They pulled their swords out, as well, but they moved slowly, their hands hesitating over their hilts before they pulled their weapons from their sheaths. "Gwen," he hissed, "I don't think that's going to work any more."

"Arthur!"

Arthur sucked in a breath. And of course, the knights looked away. Toward the voice. And they were shoved back an instant later, as they moved to attack. Arthur winced. "Merlin!" He turned on the man, only to find his hand still outstretched, his eyes burning gold. He ran to Merlin's side. Thankfully, Gwen was not far behind him. Though, Arthur noted, her eyes caught on Merlin only for an instant, and lingered on Lancelot, only a step behind Merlin. It seemed they'd both gotten used to Merlin's magic – no. It seemed Gwen had gotten used to his magic. Lancelot had already known, of course.

"Merlin." He looked behind him. Neither man moved. "Are they...?"

But Merlin shook his head. His eyes changed back to blue, and Arthur felt a horrible urge to kiss him. To feel him. It had been so long. "No. They're just unconscious. Why were they chasing you? Is what we've been hearing true?"

Arthur's lips thinned. He didn't know how to answer that without making things seem... well, seem exactly as they were. "My father attacked me."

Merlin's eyes widened. Lancelot gasped. An instant later, Merlin's face morphed into grief, as if he was directly linked to Arthur's own emotions. "I'm so sorry, Arthur."

"We have to get out of here," Lancelot said. He was the one to scan the edges of the town, hand on hilt, prepared to strike. Arthur was so very glad to see him; Arthur had no one he could trust more.

And Lancelot may very well be correct. The idea of running away from his country, from his home, burned. He was supposed to defend Camelot with his life. "If I run, it will seem as if I am abandoning my people," he said.

Merlin grabbed his hand. Arthur turned to him. His hair was in disarray; there seemed almost to be something wrong with him. He noticed it only when Merlin started talking. He wasn't moving his left arm. "Arthur, it will all be for nothing if you die. Your people will never be free."

"Morgana's here," Arthur murmured. Merlin froze for an instant. Guilt, and fear, and something else burned in those eyes. That last one Arthur knew just as well as the first two, but could only fully call it what it was now that he recognized Merlin for who he was. Protectiveness. He'd seen it before, whenever they'd gotten themselves into another mess. But when he might have dismissed it before as Merlin being foolish, he knew it now as something much more. "I can't leave her in the castle. My father – his eyes were unnatural."

"Well, we need to go somewhere other than here," Lancelot said. He was right; footsteps were approaching.

"Merlin." Arthur put his hand over Merlin's, still linked with his own. "I understand if you don't want to, but – please. I need you – your magic. Help me save my kingdom."

Arthur had expected hurt, or perhaps anger. But he should have known better. Merlin's eyes shone with near tears – the girl – as his lips trembled into a beaming smile. Merlin acted not as if Arthur might be using him, but as if Arthur was honoring him. Or, no. Arthur could feel it creeping upon him as a sort of horror; Merlin looked happy to be used. He... he needed to speak with Merlin about this. "Arthur." And Merlin squeezed Arthur's hand. "I told you before. My magic is yours. Always." A little giggle escaped him, and the look finally pulled back enough for Arthur to breathe. "Of course I'll use it for you again."

Arthur's heart thundered in his chest. He turned to Lancelot and Gwen. "I do not know where my men are. Gwaine may have escaped, but if he didn't, he will be in the dungeon. I must go there first, in any case, to free my people. I need you to find the men who were loyal to me and to my people, and were exiled in the attempt. Do not go far; search the nearby villages. See if any remain. Take a horse. A new one," he said when Lancelot moved to point behind him. "Any horse you brought will be tired. Take no more than an hour or so. Less if you can. Spread the message that we fight and return. Even if none come, they must know that I did not abandon them."

Lancelot nodded. "Do we split up, then?"

Arthur looked around, then pointed left. They hurried back into Camelot, into the shadows by the first building – the butcher's. It smelled, now that Arthur let his senses work again, but the man was a cleanly sort, and always cleared away his carcasses at the end of the day. Within another hour or so, the smell of rot would dissipate, and only the enticing scent of meat would remain. He pointed Lancelot over further to the left. "Yes, I think we'll have to..." He silenced himself and cocked his head. Men ran toward the entrance, and Merlin hunkered down even lower. This time, Arthur saw him hold his arm closer to his body. He hurt at the thought of using Merlin when he was obviously injured. Had it happened because of Uther's assassins? What else could it have been? Would it have happened if Merlin had been with him? If he'd been by Merlin's side, protecting him? Or would it have been worse?

Arthur watched as a small contingent of guards raced past them, some branching away from the group and turning through the side streets, most hurrying through the gates as if to give chase to a fleeing prince. Arthur was glad he hadn't tried to run.

Merlin watched it all with wide eyes, his fingers clenched into his arm. Arthur nodded Lancelot forward. "Try not to kill them, but do what you must. Your safety comes first." Lancelot nodded. He put a hand to Gwenivere's shoulder. Oddly enough, a feeling of jealousy rose up in Arthur. Not for Gwenivere, bur for the camaraderie he and Gwenivere had once had. The relationship that seemed to have already cooled off a bit. But he could not hold it against them, even if Gwenivere smiled softly and easily followed Lancelot's lead.

Merlin watched, as well, but of course, his eyes were on Arthur as he turned back. "They'd had feelings before," Merlin admitted, as if speaking of some great sin. "But Lancelot saw how you felt, and he left."

Arthur grimaced. "Another bit of ignorance I must atone for, then." He turned again. "We must hurry."

But oddly enough, Merlin seemed prepared for all of this. He kept himself low, and looked out from behind the house. A quick look from the corner of his eye, keeping himself under cover. He slid back. "Two men, one heading around the other side of this building. Let's hope he misses Lancelot and Gwen."

He'd done this before. Arthur didn't know why he was surprised; Merlin must have sneaked around for months, ever since arriving in Camelot. He'd already learned of a scant few of Merlin's secrets. They'd all hinted at him coming and going without Arthur or any other the wiser; he'd admitted to never actually going to the tavern, after all. Yet somehow, Arthur had failed to think about the practical outcomes of such deceptions. It was Merlin who waved him forward, wincing as he let go of his arm to run, but moving silently nonetheless. They hurried to the other side of the street, then through the dark alleyways of Camelot's lower town. While Camelot was much safer than any other town in the kingdom, there were still the occasional ruffians. But of course they'd all been scared inside with the rest, terrified of the knights and the king. Arthur wondered if Merlin had ever met such men in the alleys as he had the sorcerous blacksmith. He wondered if such fighting had happened before, right under his nose, without him ever knowing it.

Otherwise, his thoughts were silent. He took in the scuffled slick of shoes on the lower town's dirt side roads, the shift of leather, the soft clink of armor. Each time Merlin pressed against the side of a building, or slid behind a barrel or bench or stack of firewood. There was no hesitation in his movements. He held his arm a bit longer, however, until, by the time they reached the upper town and had left most of the knights behind, he held his arm even when running. Arthur's lips pressed tight together. He was forcing Merlin to fight injured.

Something flickered in his peripheral vision; Arthur turned his head to find a curtain in a window twitch. Merlin, when Arthur turned to him, was watching it, too. "The people have been helping me," Arthur said, barely breathing loudly. Merlin heard him – of course he did, with those ears – and nodded. But still Merlin watched, ready for an attack.

There was still so much Arthur didn't know.

They reached the upper town, and they both silently decided to hurry their pace. It was still light enough for them to be seen, which was bad enough. But they were also working against time. Arthur had no idea how bad things were in the castle, in the city, in the kingdom. But they couldn't be good. Uther was sick, Morgana was planning something, the knights had turned against the people, and the rumors of Camelot's troubles had spread into other kingdoms.

Merlin hurried out once more, and Arthur watched as that little body curled around another building. The roads had turned to cobblestone. Not for the first time, Arthur thought to erase the differences in the upper and lower towns; half the city's people didn't deserve to be in lesser settings when they worked just as hard for Camelot's well-being. And then footsteps crunched softly behind them, and Merlin turned. Arthur, when he looked behind him, saw Zarek. The knight was frozen in place.

Zarek yanked his sword out. Merlin stood, hand out, eyes flaring. Arthur jumped up, as well, and grabbed Merlin's shoulders. Merlin's eyes broke out of their golden fire as he stared back. Minutely, Arthur shook his head. He turned to Zarek. "Do you wish to fight us?"

Zarek's gaze, however, was caught on Merlin. "You're here," he said. And he held out his sword. "You usurper." Zarek's lips curled back. Merlin's hand dropped like a rock.

Arthur pulled out his own stolen sword. "Stand down, knight," Arthur ordered. But of course he was ignored now. Arthur was standing to protect a sorcerer. He stood in front of Merlin, blocking Zarek's sight. "Stand down or face me. Merlin. Stay out of this."

"But," Merlin started. Of course.

"No! Stay back."

And Merlin did. If he hadn't been in the middle of a battle, Arthur might have turned and kissed the man.

"Sire." Zarek sounded as if he was being hurt. His sword wobbled in his hand.

The man was young, and foolish enough to believe in heroes. How badly he'd wanted to serve. How badly he'd loved his country, and his king, and his prince. "I know you want to think Merlin is controlling me. Because you don't understand why I do what I do."

Zarek's grip firmed on his sword. But he did not strike.

"It would be easier to believe I've simply lost myself to an enchantment. To believe there is some outside force, some enemy to strike out against. I'd wanted to believe the same." Merlin didn't so much as shift behind him, letting him keep Zarek's focus completely on him. On his words. "I wanted to believe magic was the enemy, that it should be destroyed, and those who used it cut down." Arthur didn't have to look back to know Merlin had flinched. "But I cannot. I cannot condemn a man for such a reason. Merlin is not our enemy. Is he the one who brought our kingdom to this? Is he the one who attacked me in the hall?" Zarek flinched. His sword lowered. "Is it wrong to do whatever you can to protect your prince? Your to-be-wed? Merlin outed himself to the kingdom by saving my life. He outed himself to my father when he saved his life. The king would have him cut down for such a heroic act. An act that would get you risen to captain, Merlin is to condemned for. Merely because he used magic and not a sword."

Zarek's sword arm fell to his side.

"We are not your enemy, Zarek. I'm returning to the castle to try to save this city, before it's too late. I want to reason with my father. But if I can't – no matter what, I cannot allow this to continue. Do you really think this worthy of Camelot?"

"Sire." Zarek looked back, toward the lower town. And Arthur realized he likely should have been down there, as well, and had already hesitated. "Sire, you mean to kill the king?"

Arthur shook his head instinctively, but he had to hesitate, as well. What else could be done? He wanted to save his father, and his kingdom, and Merlin. But he could not have it all. "My father is sick," he said finally. He felt Merlin's gaze on him. And he knew Merlin would not judge Arthur, no matter his decision. He'd already chosen Arthur over his own safety, had already saved Uther from what he deserved in order to protect Arthur's heart. If Arthur said he intended to kill Uther, Merlin would not allow him to do it. And Arthur couldn't let Merlin, the known sorcerer, do it, either.

Gwen had told him to make sure Merlin followed an honorable man. He would. He would, even if it meant killing his father.

"He is sick," he said again. "His eyes, when we fought, were odd. I hope it is merely an illness, or an enchantment." Zarek's gaze turned to Merlin. "There are more sorcerers than Merlin," Arthur said harshly. Zarek actually flinched. "He would have no reason to protect me if he'd ordered the king to have me killed."

Zarek looked down toward the lower towns again. He shifted on his feet. When he turned back to Arthur, his eyes were closed. "I cannot turn against the king," Zarek said.

It was enough. "Then we never met."

And he took Merlin's good hand and ran.