There has always been a place for magic in Camelot.
Merlin fought with himself. Why did it rest on him to decide? Why did Arthur decide that he now wanted his opinion? It's not like it mattered before when he had gone in swords at the ready trampling the sacred grounds like it was nothing. How was he supposed to choose between himself and Arthur? Mordred or Albion? His duty or his dream? Tears threatened to fall down his face. He knew that he had Arthur worried; the king had half-made a move to comfort him. Merlin looked at his expectant face flicking in and out in the campfire light.
"Merlin?" Arthur asked concerned.
Merlin closed his eyes. A single tear clearing the way through the grime that had accumulated on the days ride. Surely he was allowed this moment of selfishness, after all that he had done for Camelot all that he had yet to do. Mordred may have saved Arthur's life twice, but hadn't Merlin saved him over and over and over again? This small chance, this moment, this choice, it was his to make.
For a moment he forgot all the responsibility that weighted down on his shoulders, he erased the words of the Great Dragon, or Gaius and all of his doubts. He concentrated on Arthur's words and answered.
"There has always been a place for magic in Camelot." Merlin stated tears flowing down his face unchecked, his fist uncurling, eyes glowing gold as a miniature fire lay in his palm. "There will always be a place for magic in Camelot."