A/N: Warning: this story has very little plot. I titled it "Perfect World" when I started writing it, with no intention of publishing it, but now I am cuz I'm somewhat satisfied with it. And it really is one of the best possible futures for the story. Which means it does differ from the traditional King Arthur legend in that Morgana (for the most part) stays a good guy, and Gwen and Arthur never marry but all parties are (for the most part) satisfied with their lots.

Additionally, if anything in the story is unclear, feel free to ask me about it. There was a lot of backstory/motivation going on in my head that never actually made it onto paper. There were/are also a lot of scenes that haven't been written but could easily be.

Anyway, this style was inspired by a One Piece fanfic called "Goings On" by Clara, as well as other Merlin fanfics such as "from a lacerated sky" by vega-de-la-lyre, "Fleet of Foot" by enjambament, and "Fate, and the Oak Tree" by Snarkydame. I did not try to copy their styles; I was just inspired by them.

Finally, a game! See if you can spot the Merlin or Arthur lines inspired by (or, on occasion, directly taken from) the show and/or S&M.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. This was not written for profit.

Rain fell from a slate sky like needles of glass, wintry and sharp. It tapped the glass of the castle windows and obscured Morgana's view of Camelot.

Behind her, Merlin struggled with one arm to tie on Arthur's riding cloak over heavy, cold chainmail. The fire in the fireplace seemed small, incapable of fighting off the chill of the rain, and it glinted dimly on the armor and Arthur's eyes.

Morgana sucked a breath in through her teeth and closed her eyes against the vision reflected in the windowpane.

The boys—men, she corrected—were talking quietly, a few last words before the army left. I should go with you. You think I can't take care of myself, idiot? Are you kidding, you can't even dress yourself. Don't let Morgana hear you, damn it. I assure you, she doesn't need my help deflating your ego. Just stay safe. Yeah, you too. I mean it—you're King now.

She could almost hear Arthur's scowl. I'll see you in a week, right? Right, they confirmed to one another, and she listened to the clink of armor as Arthur left the room.

Neither she nor Merlin moved until Arthur was on his horse and riding away with his knights, off to fight Mercia, to avenge Uther. When the last tiny horse-and-rider figure disappeared into the misty horizon, she heard the man behind her sit down heavily with a sigh.

She turned to him, but his chair was facing away from her—toward the door, where his last sight of the King of Camelot had been. "How's your…?" she asked, waving her arm in a gesture he couldn't see.

"Fine."

"Let me see it."

"I said, it's fine."

She walked over to the chair and looked down at him imperiously. He grinned sheepishly up at her, sweat on his brow, his face pale. "You were dying an hour ago. Let me see it."

He shrugged, and then immediately regretted the movement as his knife wound reopened—if it had ever closed. He let her gently pull off his shirt. She tsked as her fingers skimmed the bandages. "You're still bleeding. Arthur's right. You are an idiot."

He stared defiantly at her. "He'd be dead," he explained. And he was right, of course. Thank God for Merlin, she thought bitterly, without him we'd have no king. She helped him back into his shirt, and afterward left her hand lingering on his shoulder. He glanced at it, and then at her, in confusion.

"Did…" she tried, and thought better of the question burning in her mind. "How long have you known about… me?" she asked him instead.

He furrowed his brow and frowned, tilting his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "About your magic? Or about your affection for Sir Leon?"

Her jaw dropped appreciably, and he let a small teasing smile grace his features. She slapped his shoulder indignantly—"Merlin!"—and his smile transformed into a grimace as his wound pulled. She swept back to the window. "I don't know how Arthur puts up with your impertinence."

"He puts up with me?" Merlin snorted. "It's definitely the other way around." And despite herself, she was smiling.

"So you've known about my magic for a while now." He nodded, watching her carefully. She sighed, and sat down in a chair nearer to the fire. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I couldn't take the chance that Arthur would find out, about either of us. I couldn't force him to make that choice."

"But he knew. About you. All this time."

Merlin frowned and stared through the doorway again. "Yes… I don't know how. But yes."

"Maybe you aren't as sneaky as you think you are," she teased.

He raised his eyebrows. "Maybe," he agreed.

Merlin rode out to join the army fighting at the border with Mercia at dawn two days later. There was a lull in the battle; Camelot's warriors, fueled by their anger for the death of their king, were easily winning the war, and Mercia had already sent ambassadors to Arthur's tent to negotiate a truce. The ride was easy despite his wound, though when he slid from his steed's back he could see Arthur glaring at him in frustration. He finished speaking with Sir Leon and strode purposefully over to where his manservant stood.

"I thought I told you to wait a week."

"What, and miss all the fun? Look, you're already signing the truce—"

"—you didn't know that when you left Camelot—"

"—and Gaius said I was doing well enough to ride—"

"—liar—"

Merlin breath hissed as his horse tugged on the reins, and Arthur snatched them out of his hand. "Idiot," he added, "I knew you weren't better," and he poked Merlin's shoulder. The other carefully controlled his face to stillness. Arthur poked again, however, harder, and he could not keep from grunting. Arthur looked somewhat smug before pointing. "Medic's tent. Now."

An hour later, Arthur joined him in the tent. "Merlin."

"Arthur."

The golden-haired king rolled his eyes in exasperation. He turned to the woman tending to Merlin's wound. "Madame, would you be so kind as to fetch me a cup of fresh water?"

Her eyes widened. "Absolutely, my lord." She rose, and Arthur put a hand out to stop her.

"Actually, there's no need for that. I was simply teaching my manservant a lesson." He walked around the cot and leaned down to put the full force of his glare in Merlin's face. "Did you get the lesson, Merlin?"

Confused, the warlock shifted his gaze between Arthur and the nurse and back again. "No…?"

Arthur sighed. "You really are an idiot. I'm bloody king, now. You can't address me like that."

Merlin's eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh, so sorry, my lord."

"—and as king, I expect my orders, whether it's to fetch a cup of water or to stay bloody put for a few days, to be followed promptly and to the letter. Is that clear?"

Merlin grinned sheepishly. "I did stay put for a few days."

Arthur glared. "Two. I asked for seven."

"Which is hardly a few when you consider—"

"Leave us," Arthur ordered, and the tiny tent cleared in a matter of seconds. The king sat down heavily to Merlin's right.

There was silence for what felt like hours, as Arthur sat and stared, either at the far canvas wall or his gloved hands. Occasionally his gaze would rest on Merlin's bandaged shoulder for a moment before sliding away again. Merlin's throat grew dry, but he resisted coughing or asking for water, unwilling to break the silence—or wanting Arthur to break it first.

And he did.

"I'm lifting the ban on magic in Camelot."

The war was officially over in two weeks. When they returned to Camelot, they found a fantastic coronation feast prepared for Arthur, and Morgana gone. She left only a small note for Merlin, saying that she was going to find someone to teach her how to control her Seeing and her magic, and he pretended he wasn't hurt that she hadn't asked him for magic lessons until he remembered she didn't know that Arthur was lifting the ban.

Which was announced at the coronation feast along with a surprise Merlin hadn't been expecting—an appointment of a new member of the royal council: the Court Sorcerer. And while he wasn't surprised to find out that he was the one Arthur had chosen, in his speech he did vainly try to explain that Sorcerer was a bit of a misnomer, because he was a warlock, technically. And Arthur pulled him aside in the middle and told him he was an idiot and to shut up and that it wasn't that big a deal and that he probably shouldn't drink any more wine tonight. Merlin, of course, didn't listen to the part about the wine, but he did shut up, and that was enough for Arthur.

The next day was devoted to celebration, and the day after, and the day after that. And when Merlin perceived that things had gone somewhat back to normal in the castle, he asked for an official audience with the king. Needless to say, Arthur was baffled when he found out.

"You can say whatever you'd like to me now, Merlin. You don't need an official audience." And then, when cajoling didn't work, he grew worried. "What is it? Has something happened?"

Merlin just rolled his eyes and smiled enigmatically. "There's something I need to do, that needs to be done. You'll see this afternoon."

So Arthur held audiences after lunch and sat anxiously through numerous demands from peasant and lord alike before he heard Merlin's official title and name announced, and the warlock walked in.

He almost didn't recognize him. Somewhere, Merlin had found robes of velvet midnight and gold brocade that amazingly fit his tall, gangly figure. He had left off the absurd neckerchief in favor of a short black cape that hung from his shoulders. He held himself with a demeanor that was almost kingly, and stood tall and straight and proud so that Arthur finally saw the warlock and not the servant. He had to remind himself to see the friend.

And to go through the motions. "What business do you lay before your king for judgment, Court Sorcerer?" he asked.

"It is not judgment I seek, my lord," and when he said it this time, there was no sarcastic bite. Arthur sat a little straighter—something important was happening. Merlin rarely looked at him with so serious an eye.

"Then what is it?"

Merlin stepped closer to the throne, holding Arthur's eyes with his own. The intensity of the gaze was startling, so much so that he didn't realize what was happening until Merlin was already kneeling. When he did realize, he stood suddenly in shock.

"You know the recent past of this kingdom, and of this court. I have come, on behalf of all those beings with magic, to thank you, King Arthur, for the lifting of the ban. Balance shall return to Camelot."

Arthur wanted to interrupt him, stop him somehow, because this was Merlin and wasn't this a little ridiculous because he knew, of course he knew, that what he'd done was great and good and balance-restoring? But he felt also that that would be an insult, so he held his tongue.

"I also come on my own behalf," and Arthur felt his stomach drop to his feet in amazement. "As I was indisposed at the time of your coronation, sire, I have not yet had the chance to—"

And that really was enough. "Merlin," Arthur said vexedly.

"Please, sire, let me finish," said Merlin quietly, seriously, and still the sarcasm wasn't there so what choice did he have? Merlin bowed his head.

"I swear allegiance and fealty to Arthur, King of Camelot, and to him alone. I swear never to use my power for any force other than good, and never to harm the citizens of Camelot. I swear always to protect my king; my life and my gift are his to command, and are forfeit should he desire they be." He looked up then, and his eyes seemed to have a gold sheen, and he was smiling faintly. Their gazes locked. "I pledge myself to you, King Arthur," he finished, and waited.

And he, too, was smiling, a happiness—a completeness—filling him with a strange elation that could not be tamped down. And they smiled and smiled, and he must have said the right words because the members of the Court who had trickled in during Merlin's speech were clapping and some were cheering. And he stepped down from his throne to lift Merlin to his feet and there they stood for all to see, and magic was indeed restored to Camelot.

Morgana found Nimueh living in a cave in the side of a mountain overlooking small green farms. She was not the woman she expected. The magic had fled her body when Merlin killed her on the Isle of the Blessed; the old hatred had died with Uther. This sorceress returned to the farmers the lost sheep that managed to climb to her cave; she wore ragged, but warm, clothes; she could barely light a single candle with magic; she looked old. But she had not lost her Sight, or her knowledge, and that was all that mattered to Morgana.

"Teach me." And Vivian—for that was what she was called now—shook her head, smiling at a secret. Morgana understood these things, however, and patiently nodded and offered to gather more water from the stream below, for she would be staying a while.

It took months, until the winter turned into spring, for Vivian to give her a proper lesson. It was worth the wait.

"What?"

Arthur's eyes laughed at him from his throne behind the petitioners. He shook his head, trying to look stern. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you're asking."

"We're asking you to teach us," said the short girl impatiently. At least, he thought she was a girl—it was hard to tell with the hair cut short and the leggings, and she was still too young for any definite tests. She had her hands on her hips, and her blue eyes flashed in anger—and with magic, he could see that too. He tried to smile apologetically and to ignore how amused Arthur was at his discomfort.

"Look, there's not much I can show you, to be honest. I'm still learning, myself—" Arthur snorted, quite audibly, and the girl grinned triumphantly. His shoulders sagged. He tried again. "I really don't know what I'm doing, half the time—"

"Didn't you defeat Nimueh?" she shot at him. "Didn't you stop Sigan? Didn't you save the King's life last year, when the old King died?"

"Aren't you the one who put up the barrier around the city?" said the boy, her brother. He ignored Arthur's "Merlin?" and peered curiously at the young boy.

He studied him for a long moment, poking and prodding the budding magic. "Yes," he said finally, and smiled, genuinely pleased. "How can you tell?"

The boy glanced to his older sister, who nudged him encouragingly with her elbow. "It tickles when I walk through it to get to the forest."

"Does it tickle you too?" he asked the girl. She frowned and shook her head. "No, but I can see it at dawn and dusk." Her face softened. "It's beautiful."

Merlin sighed. "Alright then," he said, throwing up his hands. "I guess… unless my lord has objections, you two can stay on as my apprentices." He lifted an eyebrow and quirked half a grin at His Royal Highness, who was looking at him—well, the way he looked at him whenever Merlin surprised him. Arthur realized something was expected of him, and he waved his hand. "Of course, of course. Charlotte, would you see to it that Merlin's… uh, apprentices get proper chambers near his?"

The children left with the maidservant, smiling happily and chattering with each other. Even after they were gone, a smile lingered on Merlin's face. He lost himself in thought—he had no idea how to teach anything to anyone, much less magic, but the two were powerful enough that not trying would be foolish. He supposed he'd start with the magic book Gaius had given him—though first he'd have to see what they could do on their own, of course—and then maybe they'd get into the heavier stuff, though they were awfully young—

"Merlin. Merlin!"

He looked at Arthur. "What?"

"What's this about a barrier around the city?" Arthur folded his arms across his chest and managed to look formidable despite his earlier levity.

"Oh, that. It's no big deal."

"Really."

"Yeah, really." He nodded vigorously as though that would help his cause. It never did. He tried to keep his eyes blank and innocent.

"So…" Arthur's expression shifted, and Merlin had the sinking feeling that he already knew exactly what was going on. "…So this would have nothing to do with the fact that you've been seeing our Court Physician about headaches, or that you've been constantly tired and therefore late to everything, or that we've had zero magical attacks for the past two months—which, by the way, is an unheard-of record. For us."

Merlin pressed his lips together. "That's right. Absolutely nothing to do with me. With it." He grinned innocently, and drew back a bit when Arthur strode over to him, keeping the somewhat-apprehensive smile plastered on his face. The king didn't smile as he searched Merlin's eyes, his own flicking back and forth between them. Then he frowned.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"About what?"

"Merlin." That was a dangerous tone, and the charade was promptly dropped.

"It's not doing any harm, sire," he said honestly. "It's just keeping the worse things at bay, until I can figure out how to deal with them. Like the boy said, no one except those with magic will notice it. I swear."

Arthur pursed his lips. "I thought I told you to tell me if anything was happening."

"Nothing's happening."

"Then why is it such a strain?"

Merlin grimaced at his king's perceptiveness. "I am working on that. It was worst when it first went up. It sort of attracted the attention of various… entities. It's getting better."

Arthur put a friendly hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, and then whispered, "Did you… Has Morgana…?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "I've felt nothing." He met Arthur's eyes determinedly. "But I'm looking. We'll find her."

Arthur smiled grimly. "Or she'll find us."

Morgana did find them. She swept into the council room one day as though she'd never left, her chainmail and her eyes shining. She saw Arthur on his throne—without chainmail—and Merlin behind him, in his robes of midnight and gold. A kind of peace must have descended on Camelot, for Arthur to be so relaxed in his throne room without armor. (Uther always wore armor.) And with a warlock, too. She tried not to let the surprise show, but both Merlin and Arthur saw it anyway and smirked.

She had come to demand the acceptance of magic back into the Kingdom—Vivian lived in Lothian, and news didn't travel so far north as quickly as she would have liked—but as this was obviously a moot point, she switched instead to demand her place in the royal household.

"And why, exactly, should I welcome you back?" Arthur asked, pinning her with his gaze. She fingered the sword at her waist, suddenly aware of how long she had been absent; she had looked to Merlin for support, and he had watched her enigmatically, an almost-smile on his face, revealing nothing but perhaps the fact that he deferred to Arthur's judgment on this matter. His dark hair was trimmed neatly, his angular face clean (so different from the time he was a servant—he was worthy of the robes, now) and she surprised herself by thinking him handsome.

Her mouth worked, searching for words. "Because… because I am Uther's ward, was Uther's ward… I am a lady of Camelot—"

"No," said Merlin from behind the throne, and for some reason—as though they were reading each others' minds now—Arthur did not turn to look at him, or even let a hint of surprise leak onto his face. Could they have planned how they would receive her before she returned? She had never given any indication that she would ever return—that she would not be welcomed back with open arms never truly occurred to her—

"You are no longer Uther's ward," the warlock continued, and stepped around the throne to approach her. His voice was not accusatory, though a little cold, and quiet. His soft black boots were silent on the stone floor. "Uther is dead. You have not been a lady of Camelot for a good four years now." He stopped a pace away from her, his ethereal blue eyes laced with a familiar gold. She marveled at his power, and his control, and envied him for it was all natural, all self-taught. He kept it locked within him, and—ah, it had been his barrier she had penetrated with some effort. It was no wonder, then, that they had been expecting her. "Who are you now, Morgana? Who stands before the King of Camelot?"

She took a deep breath and looked past the caped shoulder to the blond man seated regally at the throne. He met her gaze without fear. Without Uther's fear of magic.

The trust between the men was palpable, and for a moment, she was jealous. Both knew what she had been doing all this time, and no doubt Merlin could sense her power as well as, or better than, she could sense his; but she knew, had she threatened either of them—Merlin with her sword, Arthur with her magic—the other would have stopped her before she finished the thought. She shook herself, and remembered the question.

And considered.

"I am Morgana, a Lady of Avalon, a Seer, and a sorceress." She spread her hands and lifted her chin proudly, eyes boring into Arthur's. She did not see Merlin's widening grin. She approached the throne, and curtsied as low as she could go. "I am also a lady of Camelot, and…" she drew her sword and displayed it before her, a hand under the hilt and another supporting the blade, "I swear fealty to thee, Arthur Pendragon."

"Rise, sister," Arthur bade her, and there was something like pride in his eyes, and she felt as though she had passed a very important test. She rose and sheathed her sword.

Arthur took her hand. "I wish to make you my Regent, Morgana. What do you say?"

She smiled, and knew that they had planned this for her return—that they had known she would return, one day. "I say yes."

A week after Morgana's return, Lancelot reappeared. He had last been seen fighting tyrannical giants in the highlands of Estrangore. No one knew if he had survived until the day he arrived in Camelot.

Gwen ran to him and took him to Gaius for tending, and she did not leave his side for an entire day. Merlin visited multiple times in that period; Morgana swept through once; Arthur screwed up his courage and swallowed his pride and managed a cordial welcome before brusquely not running back to his throne room.

Merlin followed him back, of course, and slipped in behind him without touching the door as it slid shut.

The king went immediately to a window and leaned heavily on the sill, supporting himself on his hands. He bowed his head, stared at the floor.

"I suppose you're here to tell me I'm an ungrateful prat." The voice was heavy with self-loathing and rejection. "That I don't know what he's done for me. That I think he's an enemy. That I think I deserve her." He did not expect an answer; Merlin gave none, and simply stepped closer in silent support. "Well, I don't. I wish them both eternal happiness and all that comes with it. I wish Lancelot success in all his adventures. I wish—I wish—"

No sound was made, but the head hung limply where it had simply bowed before, and the shoulders shook where before they were still. Merlin gazed at his king with compassion, and when all was done, he handed him his crown from where it had fallen on the floor, and Arthur grasped his shoulder.

"You could always order her to marry you."

Arthur had the decency to look properly insulted. "I could never."

Merlin smiled. "I know."

Arthur wedded Gwen and Lancelot just after Beltane, and Merlin got drunk with him late into the night.

One night on the battlefront, Arthur came to see him alone, without an entourage of knights, or even his temporary manservant. He still wore his armor, and Merlin could smell the blood on the sword. Arthur sat down beside his cot and Merlin let him think he was still asleep. He needed the rest anyway—two nights ago he thought he could speed the healing process along with a bit of magic, but something had gone awry and he'd simply helped spread an infection. He was letting the nurses cure him from now on. Healing spells were difficult.

"What am I going to do with you, Merlin," Arthur muttered under his breath before reaching up to unclasp his hauberk. He struggled with it for five minutes, when he stopped because he'd heard Merlin laughing at him, and he'd be damned if he was going to let the idiot get away with pretending to sleep while he struggled with a task that was supposed to be Merlin's anyway… "I'll put my foot in your face. Again. Damn it, stop laughing and bloody help me out of the bloody thing!"

Merlin kept his eyes closed and continued to snicker. "Can't," he protested weakly. "'M sick."

"Yes yes, poor, pathetic Merlin, got an infection because he thought he could do better than the common mortals he's forced to put up with—"

A blue eye cracked open and took in the sorry state of affairs that was Arthur's hauberk and right arm. Then the snickering continued.

"Help me!" whined Arthur, cuffing him over the head. Merlin stopped laughing and forced some composure onto his face before opening his eyes. He sat up and surveyed the damage, and just as he began to untangle some of the ties, Arthur asked abruptly, "Couldn't you do it with magic?"

Merlin paused, and then nodded slowly. They hadn't spoken of this since the night of Uther's death. Though he had been wondering when Arthur would get around to it. "Do you want me to?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "No, Merlin, I'd rather you do it the more difficult, strenuous, and lengthy way. Because I love being tied up in my own armor, and I'm actually trying to make your life a living hell. Idiot."

"Well, that's not surprising. You've done a great job so far."

"Just do it," Arthur snapped, and Merlin pulled his hands away. He blinked for a moment, said a small command, and let his eyes flash gold.

Arthur rotated his arm in a large circle when it was over, the offensive hauberk lying neatly on a nearby table. Tired again, Merlin fell back onto the pillows and threw an arm across his eyes.

"How did you find out?" he mumbled from behind his arm.

He didn't see the look Arthur gave him.

Arthur sighed. "D'you know how hard it is to find a good manservant around here?"

"You're avoiding the question."

Arthur sighed again and pulled off a boot. "Gaius told me."

"Gaius told you?" Merlin spluttered incoherently. "Gaius? Court Physician Gaius? The same Gaius I've been living with for the past three years? That Gaius?"

"Yes, Merlin, that Gaius."

"But… why?"

Arthur suddenly understood: Merlin felt betrayed. He had trusted Gaius with his most precious secret and the man had given it away to—if Arthur were honest with himself—one of the few people who could kill him for it. "He didn't do it to hurt you, Merlin," he said reassuringly.

Merlin's face was closed off. "When?"

Arthur frowned, trying to remember. "You know when the Great Dragon was freed and went off terrorizing the countryside?"

He pretended he didn't see Merlin wince; he knew about that too. "Yeah."

"And you remember how my idiotic manservant ran off and got himself killed?"

Merlin's brow furrowed indignantly. "I didn't get myself killed. Obviously."

"Yes, well, that's not what we thought at the time." Arthur pulled off the other boot and threw it with the first, and stood to take off his sword. "You disappeared for a day, and I had my men scouring the countryside for you. All we found was your bloody jacket. And some scorched corpses that were unrecognizable." The frown deepened at the painful memory. "So we came back to Camelot empty-handed, and waited for the Dragon to return."

"But he didn't," Merlin protested.

"Exactly."

Merlin squinted at him. "What?"

Arthur sighed. "When I came back… I told Gaius the news, that you were dead, burned by the Dragon, and he seemed to … well, I'm not saying he wasn't upset, but he just wasn't very… surprised. He said that you'd done what you had to do. And then he told me that the Dragon wouldn't be coming back, because you'd made it swear a magical oath and sealed it with your life." He glared pointedly at Merlin, who suddenly understood.

"Ah, and you would have some questions after something like that."

"Yes, I did." Arthur tossed the sword next to the hauberk with a clanging thud and sat down again. "And since Gaius and I both thought you were dead, he saw no harm in telling me all your little magical secrets."

Merlin's eyes widened. "All of them?" Arthur rolled his eyes and responded, sounding resigned, "Somehow, I doubt it."

They sat in silence for a while. Merlin wondered anxiously if the frown still on Arthur's face meant he was reconsidering his decision to let magic return to Camelot. The Dragon had done a lot of damage. He picked at the bandages across his torso.

"But that was a year ago…" he said quietly, daring a few quick glances at his king. "You knew all this time and didn't say anything?"

"Why should I have?"

"I thought I had to keep it a secret from you!"

"And why did you think that?"

"Because you… because your father…"

"Really, Merlin? You are an idiot." He glared at Merlin's hesitantly hopeful face. "Don't look at me like that," he said, rolling his eyes again. "Of course I wasn't going to have you executed. What kind of friend do you think I am?"

Merlin didn't have much to say to that, and though he ducked his head he couldn't keep the smile from growing on his face. Arthur cuffed him lightly over the head again. "Things'll be different from now on," he said quietly. "I'd rather have you here than banished or executed. You don't look it, but you've got a good head on your shoulders."

"That's not much of a compliment, coming from you." Whack. "Ouch!"

"You cannot talk to me like that! I'm the bloody king!"

"Royal prat. It's only going to get worse, isn't it?"

"Of course. Idiot."

The first night, they slept on the ground, under the same blanket for warmth. Arthur had missed the freedom of a good quest, and though Merlin was nearly handicapped with worry for his foolish apprentice, he felt Arthur's high spirits begin to rub off on him.

"If you're not careful, you're going to wake up as a toad tomorrow," he warned as Arthur pushed a bare foot into his face. Again. He laughed in spite of himself and batted it away. "Oy, I'm serious, you know!"

"You can't turn your king into a toad, Merlin."

"Watch me."

They glared at each other for a moment across the blanket until Merlin gave up and chuckled. Arthur smiled up at the stars. "That's better. You were getting too 'mysterious' again."

"Mysterious? Is that what you call it? I'm just… greatly concerned that Haleigh has done something …" he let the thought trail off and die.

"See? That's mysterious." Arthur shifted, pulling some of the blanket; Merlin tugged it back. "We'll find her, Merlin. Now go to sleep. That's an order from your king."

But Merlin did not go to sleep. A sense of foreboding pervaded his mind to an extent where he no longer knew where the dangers to Haleigh ended and those to Arthur began. He felt slightly sick with the thought that he'd let Arthur come along with him when the risks were so high, and he sent his magic desperately up against the barrier he'd thrown around their camp, carefully feeling for cracks or intrusions. He went over it again and again, and awoke the next morning with his mind still going through the routine. He felt as though he hadn't slept at all, and must have looked it too, for Arthur said as much.

"You look like death warmed over. Did something happen?"

Merlin shook his head and instantly regretted it as the headache he'd been trying to avoid slammed into him. "Nothing… yet," he managed, before jogging to the stream to empty his stomach.

Arthur followed him and now gazed at him with concern. "Merlin? Are you sure? Something could've… happened while we slept. Like Morgana."

Merlin shook his head, palms pressed to his temples and his eyes tightly closed. "Not like Morgana. Didn't sleep."

He could hear Arthur roll his eyes. "I thought I gave you an order."

"Sorry…" but he was cut off by another wave of nausea. Arthur paused in putting on his armor and went down to the stream bank to stand beside the warlock. Merlin was hunched over the water with one hand on his knee and the other pressed to his face. He'd never felt this sick before. Except for that time with the poison. He tried to breathe deeply.

"Drink some water," Arthur said, lightly placing a hand on his back. He scooped some water into his hand and sipped at it before throwing the rest on his face. It was pleasantly cold. "Think you could stomach some breakfa—"

Merlin's eyes were gold before the arrow had finished embedding itself in the mud by Arthur's foot. The bandits were caught and frozen in time in less than a second. Merlin tried to slow his breathing, but the danger had been there, so fast, that he could barely believe he'd missed it—

"Bloody—" spat Arthur from the sludgy ground where he'd been magically thrown out of harm's way, "—bloody hell, Merlin!" Then he saw the arrow, and he glanced up when he heard the bandit who had been in the tree across the stream fall in with a splash. Merlin released him from the spell to let him swim to shore. "Oh," said Arthur.

"Yeah," breathed Merlin, still panting. He watched the swimming bandit climb onto the shore, and when he knew he was no longer in danger of drowning, he froze him again.

Arthur let out a long-suffering sigh. "Merlin. They're bandits. I could have handled it. What you need…" he said, pointing at him accusingly, "… is a vacation."

"Destiny doesn't get vacations," Merlin responded darkly.

It's my destiny to bring back the dragons! she had cried to him from across the chasm. Please, Merlin. Camelot needs me to do this. Please believe in me.

I do believe in you, he'd said, because he didn't know what to say. You're just not ready yet. Come back with us, and I'll make it right. And you can fulfill your destiny later.

They're calling to me now, Merlin, she had whispered, looking around her at the steam rising off the ground, at the holes in the earth where the ground turned to fire, at the river of magma that slithered between her and the warlock. The wind began to pick up, and she lifted her hands.

No!

I can do this, Merlin. Keep the King safe, as you always do. The last thing he saw was the flicker of fear in her eyes.

Then the magic tore her apart.

Watch over him, the remnants of her soul whispered to him as they dissipated, and he knew she didn't mean the King. I will, he told her, but she was already gone.

Arthur found him on all fours at the edge of the black river of cooling rock. Steam and smoke swirled in the air, and the wind beat incessantly against his jacket. He ran to his friend and squatted beside him.

Merlin's hands were curled in the sparse brown grass, fisting handfuls of it until his knuckles turned white. He didn't move. His breath came harsh and ragged as though he'd just run here from Camelot.

"Merlin," Arthur attempted, knowing that they had failed. "Merlin."

"I tried. I tried to stop her. I tried. And I couldn't… I couldn't say the right things. I couldn't be there for her. I couldn't…" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "This is my fault. If I could have reached her, she wouldn't have…"

Arthur looked across the expanse of black stone to the opposite bank. Something gleamed.

"It was her destiny," he murmured, and stood up suddenly. He surprised Merlin, who moved—finally—to look up at him. "Arthur?"

Arthur was already running across the hot rock, shouting for Merlin to follow. "My God, she did it! Bloody hell!" he bellowed.

He stopped before it and knelt in the grass—his kingdom would survive. Merlin arrived quickly beside him, and held out a hand, and said, rather unnecessarily, "Don't touch it. We don't know anything about it."

"Well, we better find out something, and quick," Arthur told him, and met his eyes, trying to send him some of the joy he felt, that all was not lost.

The dragon egg began to hatch.

A/N: Answers to the game (well, at least the ones I was thinking of consciously when I wrote it): Arthur's "I thought I told you to ___________", from Labyrinth of Gedref's "I thought I told you to stay at home." (that one happens like 3 times in the story... lol.)

Arthur's "You can't address me like that" and variations, from the first episode... The Dragon's Call, or whatever. I loved those first scenes of interaction between them!!!

Colin's "Watch me" during S&M stuff. "In a land of flags, castles and fire... Only one man can save the day. That man is... Merlin." "Watch me." I lol'd.

Mmhmm. Hope you enjoyed it!