The knights remained with Mordred, but Gwaine grew concerned for his friend's wellbeing and decided to follow Merlin and Arthur. He arrived just in time to see the warlock fall.
"What have you done? You've killed him!" he screamed. In an agony of grief and rage, he drew his sword and rushed at the king. Arthur was ready for him, and their swords clashed.
"Appearances can be deceptive, Gwaine," he warned as they moved apart.
The knight ignored him. "Murderer! I will avenge him," he snarled in return. "You are not long for this world, Princess!" Tears stung his eyes. "Merlin, that sweet, kind boy. How could you?"
The king was too angry to reply, and no more was said. They fought in earnest, with sweat trickling down their brows from the exertion. Sir Leon and Sir Percival came running, alerted by the noise. They were aghast to see that Gwaine was aiming to kill. The swordplay was too quick for them to intervene, and Gwaine was deaf to their pleas to stop. He would not be deterred from his purpose, and in the end, it was only the appearance of Merlin himself, dripping wet and shivering, which brought the fight to a close.
"Merlin!" the knight exclaimed, dropping his guard. "But..."
Within seconds, his legs were kicked from under him, and he lay flat on his back, with Arthur's sword at his throat. "You have committed treason, an offence punishable by death," the king said menacingly. He addressed Sir Leon. "Bind him and get him out of my sight." As the other knights led Gwaine away, he turned his attention to his servant. "You look like a drowned rat, Merlin," he said with malicious amusement.
Merlin didn't reply, but stood with his head bowed, a picture of misery and dejection. The dying embers of the king's anger spluttered and burned themselves out. He knew that the man before him was unquestionably devoted to his interests and loyal even unto death. He had proved that beyond any doubt by submitting to the king's will and failing to offer any resistance. Arthur was well aware that the warlock could have stopped him at any time, had he chosen to do so. Merlin hadn't known that the drop wasn't steep, and that he would suffer nothing worse than a ducking. A twinge began to pull at Arthur's conscience, and he finally relented.
"Alright," he said, your punishment is over, although you can be thankful it wasn't a great deal worse. Go and make yourself warm and dry now."
Merlin looked around helplessly. "How?" he said.
Arthur raised his eyes. "I'm sure you'll think of something."
This echo of what Lancelot had once said brought a lump to Merlin's throat. "You mean?" he said, hardly daring to hope.
"Yes; that's what I mean. Use your magic. I can't have you dying of a chill, idiot!" Observing that the warlock was beginning to look more cheerful, he smiled and followed the others back to the camp.
Arthur was enjoying himself. Having dealt with one miscreant, he was looking forward to meting out justice to the other. "Bring Sir Gwaine to me," he commanded. The knight was brought before him and stood to attention, staring straight ahead.
"So, Sir Gwaine, do you concede my right to discipline my servants in any way I choose?" the king began.
"Yes, Sire," he replied, shamefaced at the enormity of his mistake and apprehensive about the consequences of his actions.
"That extends to my knights also," the king said softly.
"I'm sorry, Sire. I misjudged the situation. I thought..."
"I know what you thought, Gwaine, and I find that harder to forgive than the rest. Did you really imagine I could..."
"He's my friend," he offered by way of justification.
"Mine too, but after years of unbridled deceit, he needed to be taught a lesson. As do you."
The knight braced himself for the worst, and Arthur delivered his verdict, even though he was tempted to let him sweat it out a little longer. "You will have double guard duty for the next month. Afternoon and evening shifts every day."
Gwaine let out a deep sigh of relief that the sentence wasn't heavier, although he groaned inwardly. Arthur knew him too well. He found guard duty unspeakably dull. And also..."That means..."
"Yes, sadly the other denizens of the Rising Sun will have to do without your sparkling presence for a while. I am sure they will survive the loss," the king quipped. "And a little sobriety in that hot head of yours will do you the world of good. Perhaps it will make you think before you act."
"Yes, Sire. Thank you."
"Don't let it happen again," the king warned. "I will not be so merciful next time. You may go," he said with a nod of dismissal.
Merlin returned to the camp in a subdued mood. The knights were unsure how to behave towards him, looking to the king for their lead. Arthur seemed content to postpone his investigations into Merlin's conduct and history, choosing instead to keep him busy, first by sending him to tend to the horses and then to gather firewood.
Mordred woke up and was confused to find himself completely recovered. "I thought I was injured," he said, "but it must have been a dream."
"No, it wasn't a dream. Merlin healed you," the king replied shortly, still having difficulty coming to terms with the changed circumstances.
"But I thought that the wound..."
"...was magical?" the king finished for him. "Yes, it was. Turns out Merlin's a sorcerer. Quite a powerful one, it seems."
"Oh," Mordred replied, letting out a deep breath. He tried to keep his face and voice neutral, but inwardly his spirits were soaring. The secret was out at last, and it seemed that Arthur had accepted it. Also, if Merlin had healed him, taking such a risk in the process, surely it meant that he had earned the trust of the warlock, after all? Mordred's heart swelled with hope and gratitude, and he felt more optimistic about the future than he had in a very long time.
"You don't seem surprised," the king remarked, a slight challenge in his voice.
Mordred lifted his chin and looked the king directly in the eye. "I'm not. I've always known." Then, realizing there would never be a better opportunity, he plucked up courage, and added, "He's not the only one. I have magic too."
There was a moment's astonished silence, and the air seemed to crackle with tension. Then Arthur threw back his head and laughed. He laughed so long and hard that it seemed he would never stop. The knights looked at each other uncertainly, but the king's mirth was so infectious that they were unable to prevent themselves from joining in.
Two sorcerers! He now had double proof that magic was not intrinsically evil. He had two men serving him whose loyalty and virtue were beyond doubt, and he knew that he must take urgent action to remedy their plight.
Once the tension had dissipated, Gwaine's natural curiosity began to rise to the surface. "So, are you and Merlin the same, then?" he asked the young knight.
" Oh no," Mordred replied humbly. "I have magic, but he is magic."
"What do you mean?" the king asked curiously.
"Well, he's the greatest," Mordred said in a hushed tone. "He has the power of a god, and he's a hero to my people. We call him...Emrys."
There was silence while they all tried to reconcile the unassuming young man they knew with the all-powerful warlock that Mordred had described.
" So why would he be content to scrub my floors and muck out my stables for years on end?" the king mused.
Mordred smiled. "You'd have to ask him, Sire, but I'd say it's because of his destiny."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, but Mordred had already anticipated his next question.
"It is said that you and he will unite the lands of Albion. The Once and Future King, and The Greatest Sorcerer that ever Lived. Together, you will institute a Golden Age, with magic liberated once more...the time the poets speak of."
"How many people are aware of this prophecy?" the king asked.
"Among the druids, it is common knowledge, My Lord," Mordred replied.
"He might have thought to tell me," the king said sadly. "If only I'd known, we could have started the project much sooner."
Merlin returned with an armful of firewood. The sudden silence that fell alerted him that he had been the subject of the conversation. Mordred stood up and approached him. "Thank you for saving my life, Merlin," he said.
"You're welcome," Merlin replied, with a warm handshake. Gwaine interrupted them.
"Merlin, my friend, young Mordred here has just been telling us all about your magic. I want to see it. Will you show us?"
"What? No!" Merlin replied, afraid of the king's reaction. "You've already seen me heal Mordred. Let that suffice. I'm not a performer, Gwaine."
Mordred spoke to him quietly. "They all know of the destructive capabilities of sorcery. You should show them that magic can be beautiful and harmless as well."
"I agree," the king said. "Your magic could never be evil, Merlin, and I would like to see more of it."
This brought tears to Merlin's eyes. "Do you really mean it?" he whispered.
Arthur sighed. "Why do you always doubt that I mean what I say? Of course I mean it."
This decided the matter, and Merlin smiled through his tears , seeing an opportunity to reach out to the druid boy. "Alright," he agreed. "But what about you, Mordred? Won't you join me?"
"You want me to..." Mordred stammered. "But I don't have your power," he demurred, blushing slightly.
"You have power enough for this," Merlin reassured him. "And the practice will do you good."
"Well, yes, I am a little out of practice," Mordred admitted.
"Why is that?" Sir Percival asked.
"I have tried hard to stay within the law."
"I take it you are not out of practice, Merlin?" If the king had hoped to discompose the warlock, he was disappointed.
"Not at all, Sire. How do you think I've been saving your royal backside all these years?" he responded with a cheeky grin. Even Arthur chuckled at this, and the knights felt relieved that with the return of the insults and banter, normal service had been resumed.