Hello. This is my second attempt at fan fic – my first attempt at some slash. Again, any and all criticism is welcomed. Please note: the first chapter is designed so that it can stand alone as a Frienship/Angst oneshot (2291 words – no overt slash – rated T because of bad language) in which Merlin's magic is revealed to Arthur. If you don't like slash or mature content then stop reading there. When read as a whole it's a Romance/Angst story (rated M because of content). If you do like slash the second chapter is (hopefully) heated; the third full-on lemon. I make no claims to owning Merlin.

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Chapter 1 - Back Against the Tree

Merlin watched his attacker's face crumple as Arthur plunged the sword into his back. He gasped out a, "Thanks," as Arthur spun and charged once more unto the fray. Merlin couldn't move – sprawled on the floor, winded.

There was just one man left to fight off. He watched as Arthur gracefully parried each blow – it was almost hypnotic to watch him fight – mesmerising. Honed and powerful, each thrust of his weapon was so purposeful that it became beautiful. A blow to the head caused his foe to fall to the ground, and the prince turned to his friend with a triumphant smile.

"Well don't just lie there Merlin, go and find the horses! It's about time you made yourself useful!" He was, of course, only half-serious, and his command was followed with a warm smile – Merlin had fought as well as a manservant could, and had once again managed to hold his own better than Arthur could have expected.

Merlin grinned back – then started – raised his arm.

His eyes glowed gold. And Arthur heard a grunt and a guttural gasp behind him. He turned to see his last opponent – sword in the air – spear in the stomach – falling to the ground.

At first it was impossible to comprehend what had happened. It was only when Arthur turned back to look at Merlin, stunned and seeking something known and intelligible, that he was met with the look of horror that had dawned on his companion's face, so that it was rendered suddenly strange. It aroused his own horror and he managed to spit out an appalled, "Magic!"

Merlin was still sprawled on the ground. Exposed. Aghast at what he'd revealed. "I'm sorry," he said, but Arthur barely heard him. Numb – whilst Merlin's words were almost a whisper as the dread that filled him stole the command of his voice. "I'm sorry," he managed again. He sounded hollow - broken.

Arthur couldn't stay there. He turned and ran. He couldn't bear to see Merlin – the one constant in his life – stupid, bumbling, idiotic, hilarious, loyal Merlin whose flashes of wisdom had always been shown to Arthur in his darkest moments when he most needed the advice of someone he could trust. He could trust Merlin – he did trust Merlin – he had trusted Merlin so many times. They had both proven they were willing to give their life to save the other. He had told him things in confidence that he had never told anyone. He couldn't bear to see Merlin – his one constant – now irredeemably changed – now hopelessly altered.

Arthur, overcome with grief, sank to his knees. He put his head to the earth as if it would absorb him and fill his mind with nothing – take away his thoughts – stay the comprehension.

Merlin was paralysed where he lay on the cold ground. He couldn't think of following. He couldn't think of anything. It was as if his mind had completely shut down. He was as still as the bodies Arthur had felled around him – struck down by the look of horror on Arthur's face.

Time passed. He couldn't be sure how much. He didn't care. He couldn't imagine ever moving from this place – couldn't think of any reason to move again, until he heard someone approaching.

"I thought I told you to find the horses," he heard someone who sounded like Arthur say, "or do you expect me to walk back to Camelot?" The voice was leaden. The shadow of his friend appeared between the trees wiping his sword clean.

Merlin scrambled up, his pale cheeks flushed red as he stared resolutely at the floor and set off to find the animals.

He didn't know what to think. He had not expected to see Arthur again, he had not expected anything. No, nothing more than to lie there, in that clearing, fading away to less than a memory as far as Arthur was concerned. Instead he had come back to him, in a sense – but distant and cold. It was inexplicable. Why had he come back? Perhaps once Merlin had found the horses he would ride off and obliterate him then.

They were grazing by the river, chewing the grass peacefully, dappled by sunlight when it broke through the clouds – so serene it made his heart ache as his mind was in tumult. He felt sick as he led them back to Arthur. Tears pricked his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to force them away. He would not fail Arthur more than he had already done. How could he have let this happen? How could he have revealed himself before it was time? He couldn't expect Arthur to accept him. It disgusted him, to feel so viscerally that he had violated the friendship they had built when he laid bare what would otherwise be innate and natural. It was heinous to know that, in revealing a part of himself to the person closest to him, everything could be so devastated and sullied by simple truth. He had exposed himself and knew that he could only be spurned.

This time the prince said nothing, but began preparing his horse to ride. Merlin didn't know what to say or do – he wished he could just evaporate if that would make it easier for Arthur who was resolutely not looking at him. Then Arthur did look, and gave him such a look that it withered him where he stood. But he could read nothing in it – no sense of what he should do or say – or if he should act in any way at all. What could he do? It was unfathomable – because he knew it was impossible that he was to return to Camelot, and yet... And yet hope prickled under his thumb nails – enough that electrified uncertainty bore unbearable suspense. It was too tense – too much to bear. He had to ask.

"Do you think we should talk about what just happened?" he barely managed to utter – busying himself with saddlebags to avoid Arthur's gaze. So he was taken off guard when Arthur grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and half-dragged half-lifted him across the clearing until he was pinned against a tree unable to avoid the burning blue gaze of his master. As he was forced to face the anger there, and felt its throbbing force, it dawned on him that he hadn't just lost his life as he knew it, but Arthur had it in his power to end his life altogether.

"Why?" he bellowed. "Why did you have to do that!"

"I'm sorry."

Arthur's voice cracked as he asked, "Why?" again, his fists bunching the cloth of Merlin's shirt, his forehead pressed against Merlin's own as he breathed deeply.

"I'm sorry," Merlin whispered.

It wasn't enough. Arthur shoved him harder against the tree, channelling his pain into causing it.

And suddenly Merlin didn't know what was wrong with him because he was angry too, and shoved Arthur back – hard – so that he was released in surprise, and Merlin had to scramble to find his feet. "Oh! So you'd rather I'd have let him slice your head open would you?"

"Don't be stupid," he growled through gritted teeth. "Despite how you generally appear you're not an idiot. You're clearly more cunning than I've ever given you credit for so, go on, explain yourself. What lie have you got prepared?"

"Well, it was reveal my magic or let you die. I can't pretend I thought about it much," he shouted. Getting right up in Arthur's face, he challenged him, "So you'd rather be dead? Well? Would you?"

"Yes!"

Merlin cuffed him round the head, and gave him a shove.

Arthur caught his wrist. "Don't," his voice dropped to a menacing whisper, "EVER do that again!"

"You deserved it!"

"How dare you! You use magic in front of me and then you have the audacity to hit me" His words were almost a snarl.

"You're a prat! You're the crown prince – and you say you'd rather die than witness your friend use magic. There's something wrong with you. You are perverse!"

"Wrong with me? You're a fucking sorcerer!"

"So? What of it! There's nothing wrong with it – nothing evil – it's natural. If your father hadn't poisoned your mind you'd see that." Merlin was rammed into the tree again. "It's me Arthur. Arthur... it's me!"

"Bastard! Who the fuck are you? Because you're not my friend," he menaced. "You've betrayed me. You lied to me. I trusted you, and you betrayed me!" He had let go, sagging with emotion, staring with raw wounds instead of eyes. He shoved at Merlin in anger.

Frustrated Merlin shoved back. Desperate, "I saved your life!"

And they tussled and wrestled to the ground, swiping at each other, rolling around in the fallen leaves, each trying to gain the upper-hand, dealing blows. Arthur was obviously the stronger, although Merlin was agile and held his own for a while.

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

A chill ran down his spine. Arthur found himself straddling a lifeless Merlin – staring at the man he had knocked out, at the bleeding lip, at the boy who felt cold to the touch. Merlin, pale at the best of times, was now sallow and grey. Concern flooded all other feelings. He slapped his cheek and called his name to no avail. "Merlin! Merlin God dammit! Wake up Merlin! Merlin can you hear me?"

Now they were still, he felt that it was raining. They hadn't noticed the gathering clouds, or the first drops. Their clothes were already damp and so he picked Merlin up and carried him in his arms to a hollow to prevent him from becoming completely soaked. Arthur was surprised at how light he was – he was as tall as he, taller in fact, and yet slight. But not fragile. Though Arthur had called him a girl countless times, this was a man in his arms, with muscles and a strength that was belied by the appearance of his frame. Feelings of guilt began to join those of concern as Merlin continued to remain lifeless.

Lying by his side, he tried once more to rouse him, shaking him gently and tapping his cheek. He was anxious to see that the colour did not rise and his cheek remained as white and as cold as marble. "Merlin. Come on Merlin," he called again plaintively, before feeling suddenly drained, and lying exhausted and shattered next to his friend. Stupid, bumbling, idiotic, hilarious, loyal, wise, dear Merlin – his daily companion – his best-friend. He had had moments like this before – when Merlin had been away or withdrawn – when it had occurred to him that Merlin had filled a gap in his life that he had never realised existed before his arrival. He could never have imagined a manservant being important to him, beyond fulfilling the various little daily tasks that Merlin had initially been so poor at performing. Had someone told him that he would befriend a servant more closely than he had befriended any of his knights – that he would grow to love a commoner-boy such as the one that lay next to him now, beaten by his treacherous hands, he would have laughed in their face. And yet, it was true. Merlin had worked his way into Arthur's heart so that it was impossible now to imagine life without him.

"Why did you have to do that Merlin? Huh?" he asked, all of the animosity drained from his voice. "Why did you have to save me? I wouldn't have had to face this!" It was a few more minutes of silence, save for the sound of the rain dripping through the leaves, before he added. "I wouldn't have had to lose you." He stroked the hair from his manservant's brow and found the action oddly comforting. He continued, combing through the dark hair, focusing on the sensation of the soft strands running between his splayed fingers. Losing himself in the sensation of contact rather than the consternation of thought.

He took off his cloak and laid it over the lifeless body, and placed his gloves beneath the boy's head to lift if from the cold ground. Then he lay next to him again and waited – praying for some change in the man.

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

The sun had set long before, and the men were now bathed in the light of the fire. The fire crackled merrily, so Arthur hated it.

Eventually Merlin's steady but shallow breathing became more uneven, and his eyelids began to flutter. "Arthur," he moaned.

The overwhelming relief! It was only as his taught muscles uncoiled, as he was liberated from his state on anxiety, that Arthur recognised the alteration his emotions and fears had affected upon his frame of mind.

"It's alright Merlin," he said gently, stroking the hair from his forehead once more, "I'm here."

Merlin smiled and sighed comfortably, still groggy and responding to sensations, the warmth of the fire, the caress of the fingertips, the warmth of his friend's body so close at hand; but then his brow furrowed as he remembered. "Arthur?"

"Merlin, try not to move too much just yet," he said pushing Merlin back down gently as he had tried to sit up.

"But…" he trailed off unable to vocalise what he was thinking.

"It's alright. I'm not angry anymore. We can talk about it tomorrow. Just lay still for a while."

A little later, as dawn was breaking, Arthur turned to him and asked him if he thought he could manage to ride. And so they returned to Camelot. They did not speak. As they left the stables Arthur said, "Get some rest, we have a great deal to talk about tomorrow."