Let loose the hounds of war.

Let the dread fire of the last priestess reign down from the angry skies.

For brother will slaughter brother.
For friend will murder friend.
As the great horn sounds, a cold dawn at Camlann.
The prophets do not lie.
There, Arthur will meet his end, upon that mighty plain.


For a day of a history of his own making, Arthur didn't quite remember half of it. Sure, he remembered the sound of his voice, hoarse even to his ears, as he urged his men onwards to war, the grate of metal against bone as Excalibur hit home, the lance of pain that shot through him as Mordred's sword dug into his side, and another kind of pain as Merlin made fire dance before his eyes…

Merlin

Arthur shot up from the bed, surprising the lanky lad, echoes of Kilgharrah's last words still pounding in his ears. His vision swam as Merlin deftly pushed him back onto the bed, tutting loudly as he laid a damp cloth to the king's forehead.

"You've just recovered from half-deadness, don't move about yet. How many fingers have I got?" Merlin waved his hand in the air, alternating between two and three fingers.

"Ten, if you haven't accidentally cut one off preparing my breakfast" Arthur groaned aloud, pressing his hand against his ribs. The glimpse he saw of his surroundings confirmed that he is safely back in his chambers in Camelot. He felt no bandages, and no wound. The queasiness before had dissipated so Arthur sat back up, waving Merlin away when he made a move to push him back down again. Arthur rolled his shirt up, releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding when he saw his unmarked torso. Merlin had probably healed it with magic.

"I guess your magic does have its uses" Arthur grudgingly admitted, letting his shirt fall back in place. He had come to terms with Merlin's sorcery on the way to the Isle of the Blessed, but that didn't mean that he was okay with his frien- I mean, manservant hiding something so important, and hiding it for so long at that.

Merlin averted his eyes, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head with a hand.

"Well, it usually gets me burned at a pyre, so…" He shifted position, moving from the footstool to sit on the side of the bed, lapsing into silence. It seemed like he wanted to say something more, but he held himself back.

It took a few heartbeats, but Arthur was the first to speak.

"So, about this... Power… When did you learn it?"

"I didn't, I was born with it." Merlin deadpanned, looking straight at Arthur, "just as I was born to serve you." As if wanting to get something off his chest, he started talking, hesitantly at first, but his voice grew in strength as he narrated his version of the happenings in Camelot, preferring to keep it brief, faltering as he reached the part where the Great Dragon had told of his death after the battle with Morgana.

Though no man, no matter how great, can know his destiny, some lives have been foretold.

Arthur heard Kilgharrah's words as if the dragon was there itself, felt the fragment of Modred's sword imbedded into his side before he succumbed to the wound and everything went black. But it didn't make sense, he was supposed to die that day, he had felt it in the malice that seeped from the sword fragment. He relayed his thoughts to the young warlock, earning him one of those trademark grins.

"I just changed fate, Greatest Magician Alive and all, you know me."

"Yes Merlin, unfortunately I do, and I just had the unfortunate luck of having him as my manservant.." Arthur paused as a thought struck him "You told me that the Old Priestess, Nimueh said that for a life to be given a life must be taken in return, so who died to save me?"

Before Merlin could reply, the doors to Arthur's bedchambers suddenly opened and Gaius stepped in, giving a curt nod of his head. Merlin ignored Arthur as if he didn't hear anything, got off the bed and headed for the double doors, giving a cheery 'good-to-be-back' to the court physician as he passed him.

"Oi, Merlin! Merlin you clod pole I haven't finished!" Arthur threw one of his denser pillows at the manservant who was halfway out the door.

A frazzled Gwen suddenly charged in, pitcher of water in hand. "Arthur thank god y-" she suddenly froze and dropped the pitcher. Merlin hastily muttered a verse and the pitcher halted its descent, half a second away from crashing to the floor.

"Merlin! It hasn't even been a day and you're already using magic everywhere!" Gaius hollered, weathered hand coming up to massage his temples. Granted, everyone in the room knew of his powers but that didn't mean that he could start using them so freely.

Merlin gathered up the pitcher, "what do you mean, all I did was stop the jug-" he blanched at the pillow that was in mid-air, hardly a foot from hitting Gwen.

"That wasn't me."


(A/N: Phew, that took longer than expected, I had to check my facts with the Merlin wiki for a few things. This fic starts deviating from the original series after Kilgharrah flew Merlin and Arthur to the Isle of the Blessed. Reviews would be much appreciated~ )