Chapter Two

In the midst of his mind-numbing horror and his jumbled emotions, Arthur proclaimed his incredulous thoughts aloud. He never meant to, really, but his tongue started moving before his brain caught up with it and, before he knew it, his voice, filled with shock and hurt and betrayal and sorrow and denial and incredulity, echoed throughout the whole large throne room for everyone to hear.

"You're a sorcerer," Arthur said, not a question but a statement, his face twisting even more than it already was with the emotional anguish stabbing his heart and his eyes clouded slightly with tears as it all fully began to sink in. He couldn't bloody believe it, his friend - his best friend was a sorcerer, practicing magic, which he had been taught was the most despicably evil and vicious thing that ever existed, right under his bloody nose.

His emotions were all over the place, and he desperately tried to hold himself together, gather up all his messed up thoughts. An internal tug of war pulled at his conscience, his heart, his mind, his feelings, his beliefs and everything he had ever known and learned from when he was young, nagging and screaming at him to be listened to. One part of him pleaded and begged to understand, the friend (older brother) in him, that Merlin was still Merlin, the bumbling servant whom he had begun to love and care for as a best friend (a younger brother), the clumsy idiot who never went through a whole day without tripping on his feet, the loyal friend who had always been there for him; listened to him without forming any judgement, but simply there to lend him an ear, carry some of his pain and troubles, and comfort him, say all the right words and tell him everything he had needed to hear. It didn't matter that he had magic, that it didn't change anything in the least. Didn't change him. He was still the same person, and he had never tried to hurt anyone, especially not Arthur. If anything, he had only done the opposite and protected him, saved his life countless times at the expense of his own, remained by his side even during times when death was certain.

But the other part, the part that was burning and brimming with white hot rage and hurting from the vicious betrayal that slashed at his heart and gut, and blocked all rationality and truth to seep into his thoughts, the son of his father in him, the prince in him whose ears had been hearing the same words over and over until they were driven into the very core of his being and mind, until they rang into his mind with only a simple mention of magic and sorcerers. That part of him screamed he was just the same as the rest, there to destroy and ruin and hurt.

He let himself be weak. Let the cruel agony of betrayal and lies and the dark fury coursing through his veins and burning in his entire trembling body shroud him like a cloak. Let that part take over him wholly for a moment as the same words rang into his head, spinning around like a tornado and repeating itself like a parrot.

All sorcerers are evil.

Merlin stared at him, erythraen blue eyes large and terrified, his small chest heaving as his breaths came out short and rapid, shaking his head frantically as tears filled his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, and more followed, his small shoulders shaking with restrained cries. "Arthur..."

A strangled whimper, caught between a sob and a breathless gasp. Arthur let the emptiness push out all compassion and sympathy and love for him out of his heart.

Uther's nose flared, his mouth snarling with repulsion as he glared somberly at the servant, gray eyes as sharp and crude as his sword pointing at the three sorcerers' throat. Morgana's scrunched features held an expression of shock and bewilderment and puzzlement, and also of slight hurt.

Guards were called, the sorcerers passing out and being taken away, their knees sliding against the cold, smooth ground.

Arthur stared down at the ground, impassive and hardened, as the guards roughly grasped Merlin's biceps, their grip brutally tight to the point of possibly dark bruises. But Merlin barely seemed to notice as he was harshly dragged away from the prince, his face crumpling as he stared at Arthur through wide, pleading eyes, blue irises hazing with tears.

"Arthur, I'm sorry..."

"I can't believe it," Arthur breathed out, laughing unamusedly as he shook his head in disbelief. "I just can't bloody well believe it."

Merlin swallowed, looking down at his lissome hands. Hands that have done so much magic throughout his entire life. For a moment, he let himself feel guilty. Let himself believe that he truly was a monster for being so different, despite what his mother, Gaius and Will had told him. "I'm sorry..." he said softly as his lips trembled, his contrite voice breaking.

Arthur said nothing to that.

The silent ambiance was thick and stifling with all the emotions it held, emotions so strong it was practically radiating off the two men.

"I should be hating you," Arthur said, suddenly invading the silence. His tone was unreadable, but his voice was quiet, almost a whisper, with a very slight bit of the carefully veiled sorrow seeping in. And the words were like an arrow shot through Merlin's heart, sharp and sudden and painful. His stomach dropped, clenching and sickening and hurting while he kept his head downcast, the back of his burning eyes pushing out tears at the words.

"I should be wanting to kill you where you stand, right here, right now, like my father always taught me to," he whispered the cruel, acidic words into the bars of the cage. "I should be wanting to see you burn at the stakes, see you hanged, beheaded, drowned. I should be wanting to run my sword through you. Should be satisfied, seeing you in these cells and chains, knowing that we've just caught a sorcerer and are about to rid Camelot of its evil.

I should be wanting to see you dead. Because, after all, it is what I've been taught to feel my whole life, isn't it? It's hard to lose old habits, like you once said."

Merlin sniffed quietly, closing his eyes and ducking his head to hide the burning tears as another bout of sharp pain jolted across his heart at the words. Maybe he had seen them coming. He just didn't realize how much it would hurt; how painful the consuming despair of losing all his friends would be, and all merely because of his magical powers that he never even chose or wanted to have. Sometimes, in a very deep part of his heart, he wished he never had them either, feared and hated them just as much as Uther did.

"I trusted you. I've always turned to you when I had confusions or problems out of all the many advisors in the court."

That was when the tears fell.

And a quiet and strangled, "I'm sorry," was all he could manage to say as he stared down at his hands, vision blurring as his face twisted slightly. There was no visible accusation in Arthur's voice, just weariness and sadness. But somehow, Merlin knew it was there.

"So tell me, Merlin," Arthur only whispered softly after a while, seemingly ignoring Merlin's apology. Merlin thought that maybe it was too quiet for him to hear. "Why does it hurt, seeing you like this? Seeing you in these cells, chained... why can't I hate you? Why is it that... that I can't even handle the thought of killing you? Why does the thought of watching you die seem so impossible to bear, so... so bloody painful?" he asked, his voice tight with hurt and so childlike and confused that Merlin wanted to break down right then and there. "Why does it hurt so much?" he heard him whisper, his voice cracking, and he knew that Arthur was clenching his jaw, trying to hold back his tears. And he knew he would have done anything to take away his prince's pain.

There was silence, giving Merlin a chance to take all of his words in. Though it ached for his friend, his racing heart still beamed with hope as he wondered, does this mean Arthur doesn't hate him? That he won't die with his best friend hating him? Does this mean that there's hope for absolution after all? For their friendship?

"I don't think... I-I can't," he said quietly, his hands tightening on the bars as his features crumpled slightly. "I can't let you die."

Merlin smiled softly, fondly, at his friend. Because he knew that he wasn't as afraid of dying as he was of dying with Arthur hating him. And he knew that, right then and there, that was all he needed to hear before he burned into ashes in the flames of his execution.

"And that's why..." Arthur whispered, so sad and scared and so soft and quiet, that Merlin almost didn't hear him. He heard him heave in a large, shuddering breath that almost resembled a harsh and broken sob.

His jaw clenched as he held back tears, his face crumpling slightly. "That's why I'm going to have to let you go."

A light click echoed, and the door of the cell slowly creaked open.

Merlin's eyes knit together in shock and confusion as his body tensed upright. "Arthur..." he whispered.

Arthur's head remained ducked dejectedly and his body slumped in defeat and sorrow, a posture that was so unlike him, because Merlin couldn't remember a single time seeing him like that in all his years with him. Because he had always seen his chin lifted high and his back straightened like the strong and confident prince that he was, sure and brave and royal.

Now he looked so uncertain, so vulnerable and so bloody human that every fibre in Merlin's body wanted to take him in his arms and hide him somewhere from the rest of the world, somewhere no anguish could ever find him.

Arthur slowly walked in, head bowed, and moved towards the young warlock. He knelt in front of him just as he reached him, taking his slightly raw and red and small wrists into his hand, almost tenderly, and he entered the key into the shackles' lock, twisting it open. And for a moment, Merlin could only stare at him through big, puzzled and wet eyes, unable to recover from the shock of the sudden turn of events.

The metal handcuffs fell away, and Arthur sat back.

"Arthur..." Merlin could only whisper, awed and stupefied into speechlessness.

"There's not much time. You need to leave now," Arthur told him, his voice quiet. "They could be here any minute."

"Arthur, I..."

"Now," Arthur repeated, and Merlin was just so grateful for the short return of his usual demanding and authoritative tone that he could almost cry.

Merlin swallowed and nodded briefly, standing up and almost falling back down as his numb legs tried to drag him down if it weren't for the swift hands that shot up to catch his biceps from below, and when he looked down, he saw his blue eyes staring at him. That was the first time Merlin got to see Arthur's face properly, worn and sad and ten years older and yet, still so childlike and scared.

He exited the door of the cells, swallowing down the painful heaviness in his throat and blinking away the tears when he glanced back at the prince's hunched back, still sitting there silently and looking down at his hands sadly.

"I won't ever forget you, Arthur," he began, his fond voice gentle and small, but audible enough to reach across the room. And though he received no reaction from him, he knew he was listening. "Thank you."

And he paused, and then swallowed before he added a soft, "Forgive me."

He heard footsteps nearing, and with one last look at his best friend...

He fled.

.

.

.

He looked back at the majestic tower of Camelot looming over the forests just as the loud warning bells of his escape rang out.

"Goodbye Arthur."