THE LAST THING Merlin wanted to do was spend more time 'healing' and 'recovering'. First the injury Morgana had given him, then walking pneumonia, and now this. Freya had, of course, healed the worst of it (though he himself had no idea, little real memory of the event, because of the blow to the head the fall had given him), but there was still enough harm done to put him off his usual tasks for nearly a week's time.

More bruises than breaks, luckily, but bad enough that Gaius deemed running about after Arthur's orders temporarily medically inadvisable.

This should have pleased Merlin, to get an extended rest, but overall it just made him a touch cranky, knowing Arthur was not going to be in the best of moods after spending a week being looked after mainly by George. Thankfully, Gwen had, in her subtle way, taken over some of the duties George might have otherwise have had to stand in for (lighting the fire, opening the curtains, and helping Arthur dress in the morning -little things like that) making it all seem like an idle choice rather than even the slightest affront to her position as Queen of Camelot, like she wasn't really doing any work at all, to lighten the load a bit, so that helped.

All the same, Merlin knew perfectly well that, in spite of his relief that his friend was all right, Arthur was bound to make endless snide remarks about his clumsy oaf of a servant tripping over his own two feet then barreling over the side of a cliff (and it would be a ginormous, painfully obvious cliff, the way Arthur told the story, no doubt, which Merlin wouldn't have seen till the last second, as opposed to a gorge he'd simply stood on the wrong part of) and bloody nearly getting himself killed.

To Merlin's great surprise, his chief visitor and comforter during his latest recovery period turned out to be none other than Princess Mithian. She took it upon herself to make time each day to come to the physician's living quarters and sit with him for a bit.

She talked gaily, telling stories of Nemeth, and of whatever mischief Arthur and the knights were mixed up in during Merlin's brief absence; including one story in which Arthur more or less plotted to have George captured by 'rogue' guards and dropped off in the middle of the forest near the borders of Lot's kingdom, in hopes that he wouldn't be able to find his way back home to Camelot again, except Gwen found out and nipped the whole scheme in the bud, making the guards let a shockingly still completely calm and collected George go free long before they even made it out of the main square with him.

Merlin laughed so hard at Mithian's retelling of the event that Gaius thought he was going to break one of his already bruised-up ribs.

Yet, somehow, Mithian, in the way of a proper princess, never neglected any of the other duties a royal visitor in Camelot had in order to keep up going to see Merlin each day. No, she still found time to meet with Arthur's knights, converse politely with Gwen and other ladies of the court, go on another (albeit, much shorter) hunting trip, and even to attend a small but elegant banquet Gwen insisted on holding for their guest when she found out Arthur had planned nothing more special for the entire duration of the princess of Nemeth's stay with them than that extra hunting trip, shrugging and saying, "What? Mithian likes hunting," when she clucked her tongue at his cluelessness. And perhaps all that was part of the reason no one thought it improper for a princess to be so concerned over the well-being of a servant; her royal upbringing had made her so impeccable that those who bothered to care didn't see how she could be possibly doing anything wrong.

It was good, they probably thought, that the princess was so kind. Especially to a servant who King Arthur himself happened to be rather fond of, much as he picked on him.

Not having been expecting her on one day in particular when he was still resting and had heard -by way of Gaius, who heard it from Gwaine when he was binding up a deep bloody scrape on the knight's arm he'd acquired by accidentally getting grazed by Elyan's sword at practice that morning- that Mithian had a full schedule, Merlin looked about for a way to entertain himself.

He was well enough to sit up outside of his own room, even to wander the corridors a bit, but not well enough to do so for any extended amount of time, making him rather restless.

The fact that he'd had the nightmare, about Freya turning into a tree, yet again, the night before, definitely didn't help his feelings of being frustrated and trapped.

Perhaps still thinking of Freya, he decided to use magic to try and make a strawberry appear in his hands out of thin air. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do, and nobody was around. Gaius had gone out; Mithian, he believed, was not coming. So what of it?

Murmuring a spell under his breath, the warlock concentrated. His eyes glowed gold and he slowly opened his clenched hands. There it was, a strawberry. He'd actually succeeded this time.

Suddenly, Merlin heard light, one-person applauding at his back and, nearly jumping straight out of his skin, turned to see Mithian, ridding gloves in her clasped hands as if she'd just come in from the stables before deciding to visit him, standing there.

"You have magic," she said.

Merlin swallowed hard, unbelieving. Mithian knew his secret... What would happen? Would she tell Arthur? Or Gwen, maybe?

For some reason, the princess of Nemeth was smiling, her expression a great deal closer to amused and whimsical than it was stunned or frightened. Merlin hoped this was a good sign. "Your Highness, I-"

Mithian sat down on a stood beside him. "Don't worry," she said, her tone friendly, almost laughing. "Your secret's safe with me."

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. "You don't..." Mind? Hate me? Want to tell anyone? Perhaps warn Arthur that he's got a sorcerer living at the heart of his kingdom?

"So," said Mithian, carrying on as if it were nothing, "how did you really do it?"

Merlin's forehead crinkled, his brow automatically lowered. "What? I don't understand, I thought you..."

"My father has a jester who can do that," Mithian told him. "Make it look like things are appearing out of thin air. I never could figure out exactly how he did it." She wrung her hands pensively. "I used to try to copy him when I was a little girl, but the courtiers always figured out I just had a piece of fruit up my sleeve." She grimaced play-guiltily and shrugged. "I was never like him; he could roll up his tunic sleeves all the way to his elbows and make a loaf of bread appear in his hands. In the end, I think I got discouraged and simply gave it up."

Merlin half-gaped, uncomprehending. It took a moment to sink in. Mithian hadn't actually seen him using magic after all. His back had been to her, so she couldn't have seen his eyes glow, and she mightn't have heard the spell he'd whispered... She was only teasing him, when she said she would keep his 'secret' safe. The princess no more believed him to be a real sorcerer than she believed King Arthur a god or poor old Gaius a knight! She thought he was merely playing at an innocent child's game, like whistling or finger-snapping or ear-wiggling!

Mithian hadn't the foggiest notion Merlin had been born with magic and was hiding it in Camelot all these years.

"So," she pressed, nudging him lightly with her elbow in a friendly manner. "Tell me. How did you do that?"

Merlin looked from the princess to the strawberry in his hands and then back again, willing his mind to come up with an explanation for her.

Finally, reddening slightly at the cheeks and around the ears, Merlin said, "A good magician keeps the magic a secret."

Mithian sighed. "Because, then, it isn't magic anymore?"

Merlin shrugged.

"That's what my father's jester always told me," Mithian admitted. "He said most magic is only tricks and learning it makes them commonplace and not so special anymore. I suppose he was right."

"Strawberry?" Merlin offered, a touch sheepishly, holding it out to her.

Mithian took the strawberry from his hand. "Thank you, Merlin."

Their faces were temporarily closer together than they'd ever been before and Mithian, for a brief moment, found herself wanting to lean in even further and kiss him. Just once, very gently, on the lips. She held herself back, knowing they were not on those terms, years of ingrained decorum and courtly manners lessons keeping her emotions -whatever feelings she was beginning to develop for the manservant of the king she had once been betrothed to- in check.

Also, Gaius came in, and Mithian quickly sat up straight on the stool and put the strawberry in her mouth, pretending to be thinking of nothing in particular. Maybe there would come a time when there needn't be these boundaries between them, but it would appear that it was not yet arrived.

AFTER MITHIAN LEFT Camelot, things in the kingdom gradually seemed to be going downhill.

Even as Camelot was flowering, it seemed to know, at its core, that it would wilt or be swallowed up by weeds, the seeds of which were still being sewn, before its true fated hour.

Its golden age might be shorter lived. The good times, though only just beginning, already forming a path to their bitter conclusion.

Merlin, by this point naturally fully recovered and returned to all his daily tasks, worried constantly about Mordred, for a recent conversation with Kilgharrah had not gone well. The Great Dragon seemed so sure Mordred was a danger to Arthur, his future death, clinging to him like ivy around a tree, and Merlin was honestly beginning to think he was right.

Mordred had done nothing wrong at present, Arthur was quite taken with him and his progress as a young knight, no one having a real reason to hold a grudge against him save pure pettiness and jealousy, but Merlin couldn't get the vision he'd seen of Mordred killing Arthur out of his head. Kilgharrah had warned him before, when Mordred was only a little boy, and he had not heeded him. And now that the boy was older, in spite of his many evident good qualities, Merlin feared him, unable to trust or grow genuinely close to the newest knight, always held back by his secret knowledge of the future. It mattered not that Mordred had been nothing but courteous to him; the warlock could still see, somewhere in his eyes, behind his smiles -even his clear innocence in some matters- the boy who had once looked at him and said, coldly, in his mind, that he would never forgive nor forget. The boy who had been the first person to call him Emrys...

Merlin knew it wasn't entirely fair, his through judgement of Mordred's character, based sorely on a future that had not yet come to pass, which made him sullen and unreachable. Even Gaius failed at trying to coax him out of this dreary mood that had taken hold of him. The nightmares continued, and Gaius went on occasionally offering draughts that were never accepted. It seemed all of Camelot, most especially Merlin, was trapped so completely in its spinning, ever the same, rut, that it could not stop to save itself.

Seeing no way out and getting very little sleep had an unpleasant, embittering effect on Merlin's personality.

It helped not at all that Arthur was so busy fussing over his knights and kingly duties that he had nothing more to say about it than "Oh, cheer up, Merlin!" or "Why is it you always look as if you've seen a ghost these days?" or "You're half-asleep today! Didn't I tell you to polish my armour?" usually followed by his promptly forgetting all about his manservant and whatever it was he was struggling with. He might have thought he was showing a manly kind of sympathy towards him, doing all he could, when the notion that Merlin was genuinely unhappy about something did cross his mind for longer than a fleeting half-second, but, in reality, the king never even got round to flat-out asking what was wrong, nor did he honestly try to get to the root of it. Perhaps he figured it would just blow over soon enough and he'd have his old back-talking, chipper Merlin back and in the meantime he had too many other important things to worry over to bother about one servant -however fond he was of him- behaving sulkily.

Then came the horrible day when the Disir, three seers and soothsayers chosen to be the mouthpiece of the triple goddess at their birth, living their lives to no other purpose save interpreting her word and will, pronounced judgement on Arthur and sent their servant (who'd died in the attempt) out with a special coin, a runemark, to seal his fate, should he not change his ways.

At first, Arthur was all for ignoring it completely. It was Merlin who blanched and feared what it meant for all of Camelot, for the future rising of Albion. Gaius, however, expressed worry aloud when examining the coin, and Arthur, for once, listened.

Oh, he might have pretended not to, but he did. And it ate away at him until, no matter what his beloved Guinevere said to comfort him, that it was nothing to fret about, more than likely just a token given to him by a dying fanatic whose deranged mind could not be understood, he could ignore it no longer.

Rounding up the bravest and most experienced of his knights, Arthur prepared to travel to the dwelling place, a sacred cave in a sacred grove of trees, of the Disir.

Mordred begged to come along, and although Arthur initially turned him down, the young knight ended up getting his way, however reluctant the king was to put him, so young and still in earlier stages of training than most of the other knights, in danger.

The meeting with the Disir could not possibly have gone any worse. In spite of the fact that it was a sacred place, the knights of Camelot did not part with their weapons at the entrance. They felt uncomfortable, vulnerable, maybe even naked coming into a place of potential danger unarmed. The Disir took this as a grave insult to them and their triple goddess, looking out at Arthur and his men with scorn from under the hoods of their cloaks. Their mouths, one of the few parts of them that were clearly visible, were grim-set with coldness and outrage.

"Your knights come to us," they hissed, "with swords ready to be drawn. Worse still, they have trampled over our sacred charms and relics without so much as a second thought. This is a slap in the face to the triple goddess, Arthur Pendragon."

What happened next occurred so quickly that Merlin was never sure exactly who started it. One of the knights had drawn their sword, but it appeared to be in self-defense. Gwaine lunged forward. Before this, Arthur, Merlin was pretty sure, had dropped the runemark coin at the feet of the Disir and demanded an explanation. They had not been pleased then, either, but they had not attacked, as they appeared to at the sign of an unsheathed sword.

Now, Mordred was jumping forward as well, protecting Arthur...

A spear belonging to one of the Disir pierced him, filling him with an ancient magical poison that meant certain death for his 'crime' against them.

Arthur ordered everyone to retreat. No one save Merlin himself, not without a horrified shiver, looked back at the unmoved Disir, highest court of the triple goddess of the Old Religion, collectively watching them all go out from the mouth of the cave.

When it became apparent first that Merlin, and later Gaius, could not cure Mordred, Arthur began to grasp at straws for a miracle. He blamed himself for Mordred's impending death, knowing he should never have let him come along to begin with, leaving him safely behind at Camelot.

There seemed no answer, in the end, but to go back to the Disir. This time, however, he took only Merlin with him and entered unarmed.

Arthur pleaded for them to spare Mordred's life, repenting of any offense his knights might have caused, assuring them it was not his intention.

Merlin stood at his side, listening, silent, thinking only that it would not be such a bad thing if Mordred were to die this way.

If Morgana had died from his poisoning her, all those years ago, she would have been remembered fondly by all who had known her. No one would believe her capable of such evil as she now preformed as a High Priestess in opposition to Arthur's rein as king of Camelot. If the dragon was right and Mordred became anything like she was, not as he was now, before killing Arthur as Merlin had seen him do in the vision... Then again, Merlin would have forever carried the guilt, had Morgana died that way; the guilt for killing her, even though it was only to save Camelot and Arthur... But he wasn't quite that same person now. He grew up and learned the meaning of duty. And his duty was to save Arthur, not Mordred.

Arthur and the Disir argued back and forth. The Disir said he was unfair to those of the Old Religion; Arthur's rebuttal was that they had been unfair to him, judging him, harming his dutiful young knight who'd meant no ill-will, only to protect his king...

Finally, the Disir offered a bargain. "If you mean to make amends, Arthur Pendragon, then give over, for a fortnight, one of your own men at the heart of Camelot, to be re-educated in the ways of the Old Religion. And you must not ostracize this one, for he is one of your own, your sacrifice to the goddess. If you agree to do this thing, you will return to Camelot to find Sir Mordred well again."

Arthur paled. "I can't do that..."

"Then you make no atonement with us and your fate is sealed. You have until the dawn to give us your answer."

THAT NIGHT, ROUND the campfire, Arthur seemed to be regarding his manservant almost mournfully, out of the corner of his eye.

"What should I do, Merlin?" he sighed. "If I agree, I've put an innocent subject of Camelot into their hands. If I refuse, Mordred will die."

Yes, Mordred must die now, there would be time to bring magic back later and perhaps make peace that way with the Disir, when Arthur was safe. Moreover, Merlin didn't feel he trusted the Disir the same way he would have trusted a group of peaceful Druids. The Disir might be of the old ways, of magic, but they seemed very unlike him. Their judgement mattered, but Merlin wished more than anything that Arthur had no part of it. Why couldn't they have been more patient? With time, Merlin was sure Arthur would return magic to the land. He had waited, suffered unspeakably, keeping who he really was a secret for years on end, and the Disir could make demands on him under a time-frame, hardening his heart against them and magic? It was monstrous. And all for the sake, on their end, of their goddess, and, on Arthur's end, Mordred, of all people!

"You have to do what you think is right," Merlin said at last.

"I think," said Arthur, gravely, wincing as if the words pained him, "I should give them what they ask, to save Mordred's life."

"Why?"

"Because, if it was one I trusted to remain loyal," Arthur explained, willing himself not to think of Morgana or his Uncle Agravaine and how they, persons so close and dear to him, had betrayed him, "both he and Mordred would live."

"If the Disir keep their word," Merlin pointed out. "You don't know..."

"If they keep their word about Mordred," Arthur decided, "they have no reason to betray me afterward and not allow the one I send to return to Camelot in a fortnight."

"But," said Merlin, "you're frightened of how they might be changed in that time?"

Arthur nodded. "If they become attached...to the old ways...want to bring back magic... What do you say, Merlin?"

Tears filled his eyes. It pained him more than Arthur could have ever fathomed to say these next nine words. "There can be no place for magic in Camelot."

"Merlin, you know me well," Arthur confessed, his face a mask of guilt all of a sudden. "Do you think I have made my decision?"

Merlin felt a shiver run up his spine, the firelight reflected in the moisture still filling his eyes. "Yes." You choose to save Mordred and chance the outcome of whoever you have to give up in his place.

"I was thinking," Arthur said heavily, "you, Merlin."

Merlin blinked and shook his head. "I'm only a lackey, a maker of beds..."

"Lackeys can be wise," replied Arthur. "I don't ask this lightly."

Merlin knew he could not refuse his king, though it would make things far simpler if only he could; Mordred, at least, would be out of the way. But, alas, he found he could not. He could not stand against the word of the king, and, more than that, he could not bear the helplessness in Arthur's eyes. It still hurt him that, after all these years, after doing everything for Arthur's sake, he was so quick to hand him over to the Disir to save Mordred, yet saying no never so much as crossed the warlock's mind. He must be resigned to what Arthur asked of him. They were older now, the stakes much higher than those of the hapless new servant who had been put in the stocks to cover for an absent Prince Arthur.

So, Merlin nodded and chewed on the inside of his mouth, willing himself to keep the tears back just a little longer, till Arthur went to sleep.

"You've always come back before," Arthur reminded him, thinking Merlin's twisted facial expression was merely filled with fear of the Disir and the fortnight he would spend under their control and guidance, nothing more, eager to cheer him up and comfort himself a bit in the process. "I haven't managed to be rid of you yet."

Merlin tried to smile. He couldn't; his lips stretched blandly, the corners of his mouth still turned stubbornly downwards.

At dawn, they rose up, put out their fire, and Arthur answered the Disir, agreeing to send his own personal manservant Merlin back to them for that fortnight, provided he returned to Camelot to find Mordred well again.

IN CAMELOT, GAIUS tried to help Merlin while he packed to leave. He wasn't none too happy Merlin was going (the education there would likely not be what Merlin needed, not lessons in using his magic for good, more trying to re-shape his thinking or force him to bow to the goddess and show acceptance of the old ways because he was Arthur's sacrifice and representation the whole time he was to be with them). Like Merlin, Gaius wished it was the Druids the young man was being sent to instead. They respected the Disir unquestioningly, as the mouthpiece of the triple goddess, but they were less forceful to those they took in, less fanatical. Being a peaceful people, their goal was not to spite Arthur. The Disir claimed to have no other purpose than to serve the goddess and do as she would want, but part of them would always still be human and thus perfectly capable of resentment.

"You keep yourself safe," Gaius warned him. "If you feel threatened, come back to Camelot early."

"I'm not going to run away, Gaius," Merlin told him. "Arthur's given his word that I'm to stay for the full fortnight and do whatever they ask of me."

"It is an unprecedented request," Gaius protested, unable to figure out what the Disir could possibly be thinking of in their asking for this. "Besides, Mordred is fine now. He's has a miraculous recovery."

"Yes, and I'm not going to return to have Arthur angry with me because my supposed cowardice and stupidity killed his favorite knight."

Gaius caught the flash of resentment in Merlin's eyes. "Merlin! You don't think Arthur is giving you up to the Disir just because he cares more for Mordred than he does for you?"

He sighed heavily. "I don't know." He closed his now fully-stocked pack. "All I know is, after all I've done for him, I was still Arthur's first choice to give up to what he believes is a lost cause."

"Merlin!" Gaius shook his head. "Arthur chose you because he trusts you. Don't you understand? Of all his men, he believes you would come out of this without meaning harm to him or Camelot. He trusts you, of everyone, to remain loyal, no matter what happens -whatever you see- during your stay with the Disir."

He wanted to believe that, but part of him remained unsure if he truly did.

"Merlin." Arthur and Gwen appeared in the doorway of the physician's chambers.

"It's time?" Merlin slung his pack over his shoulder.

"Not quite yet." Gwen walked across the room to him and hugged him goodbye. "We'll see you soon." If she had any reservations about her husband handing Merlin over to the Disir, she didn't say anything about it then. There were tears in eyes, though, and on her cheeks; Merlin could feel them landing on the side of his neck when she hugged him, dampening the inside of his scarf. "You're doing a very brave thing, Merlin. I'm so proud of you. Camelot is proud of you."

"You'll be all right," Arthur said, when Gwen finally pulled away. "Take this." He held out a golden chain. "That way, you can know you go there in the king's name."

Merlin took the chain from Arthur and fastened it around his neck, tucking it under his scarf where it was safely hid. "Thanks."

Sir Leon was in the doorway now. He looked first to Arthur, then, sadly, to Merlin, as if he thought he would never see him again. Then, his eyes flickering dutifully back to the king, he cleared his throat and announced, "The horses are ready, Sire."

Now, it was time.

A/N: Funny fact, Gaius stole Gwen's line/speech in this chapter while I was writing it! It was my intention, when I first started work on this chapter, for Gwen to be the one who says, "Arthur chose you because he trusts you. Don't you understand? Of all his men, he believes you would come out of this without meaning harm to him or Camelot. He trusts you, of everyone, to remain loyal, no matter what happens -whatever you see- during your stay with the Disir," to Merlin, but while I was writing for Gaius, somehow the old man just came out and said it, so I had Gwen come into the room with Arthur instead of before him, seeing as she no longer needed to be there earlier to deliver that line, LOL.