The trotting of the horses' hooves echoed throughout the forest as Arthur's expedition continued to make their way through the foliage.

Mordred came to him earlier that day, claiming reports of several incidents along the outskirts of Camelot's borders. Bandits had apparently been causing trouble around these parts, harassing any innocents they could get their slimy hands on. Arthur decided he'd have to put a stop to it.

All of the reports claimed the bandits' numbers were few, so Arthur hadn't worried about bringing too large a group. He had with him a few of the knights, including Mordred, as well as Merlin—because really, when was the last time he had left the clumsy idiot behind? He had decided to bring Mordred along, as it seemed a perfect situation to test his training. He'd been improving steadily since his arrival in Camelot, and Arthur could now say without a doubt that the young knight could possibly be one of his best. He had to admit, he was becoming rather fond of the boy.

Arthur's thoughts trailed back—as they often did, as of late—to his secret protector. It had been a few months since Morgana's assault, and in all of that time, he hadn't heard a single word from Emrys. Despite Arthur's attempts, the sorcerer had turned and run, and had not looked back since. Arthur was beginning to wonder if he should give up on him.

Sighing, Arthur glanced up at the sky. The clouds were grey—it would probably rain soon.

Arthur was pulled from his musings when, suddenly, an entire horde of men catapulted themselves out from behind the trees. They had on far too much armor and leather than any bandits should, but the weapons they held were just as brutal as Arthur had ever seen. The men were fierce, and there were far more than they'd anticipated. But this was no coincidence; it was too calculated. No, this was an ambush. As he and the knights defended themselves, Arthur thought there were almost too many of them to handle.

Almost.

Arthur—being the master of swordsmanship that he was—twisted his way out of one of his assailant's arms, slashing him from behind. He turned then towards what Arthur had assumed was the leader, and quickly advanced on him. In a matter of seconds, the burly man was on the ground. Arthur lifted his sword to finish the job, when a pain shot through his arm, forcing him to drop his sword. He'd been cut, he realized. Spinning around quickly, he faced his attacker—

No. Not again. Please, not again.

And there was Mordred—sword in hand, pointed straight at the king's throat. His eyes, wide in a sort of mad fury, were pinned on Arthur.

"Yield."

Arthur did nothing at the command. He did not move, did not breathe, did not anything except stare.

"Yield!"

Arthur focused on steadying his breathing and ignoring the stinging sensation at the back of his eyes. Slowly, painfully, he sunk to the ground.

As he kneeled in front of Mordred, Arthur twisted his head around to get a look at his knights. They, too, had been captured. They were probably as stunned by the new revelation as he was. Arthur noticed a few of their faces. Leon looked on in disappointment. Gwaine tried to lunge at him, only to be pulled back violently by one of the armed men. Merlin—

Merlin wasn't looking at Mordred at all. He was looking at Arthur. For a moment, Arthur forgot about the current situation, all because of the somber look on his servant's face, which was directed straight at him. His eyes were glazed over, and the expression he wore was undoubtedly one full of pity. It was a look so intensely apologetic, Arthur had to blink several times to focus on the problem at hand, instead of the puzzle that was Merlin.

Turning back towards Mordred, Arthur finally spoke.

"So it's you. You're Morgana's mole."

Mordred smirked then, though his eyes still held the wild hatred they did earlier. "Well done, Arthur. Your observational skills are astounding."

Again, Arthur stayed silent. He was too preoccupied with his attempts at pushing down the feelings of hurt and betrayal at this new revelation. What stung perhaps the most of all, however, was the realization that these feelings were becoming more and more common as the days went by.

"What?" Mordred said, almost playfully, as he quirked his head to the side. "You aren't going to ask me why I'm doing this?"

"I'm fairly used to this situation by now, thanks." Arthur replied, toneless. He still was looking straight ahead at Mordred, but refused to meet his eyes.

"Ah, yes," the playfulness in his voice was darker now, full of hurtful intentions. "I've heard all about the loved-ones-turned-traitors you've somehow managed to collect. Tell me, how many have there been? It's quite the list, if I can remember them all."

When Arthur said nothing, Mordred took a step towards him, crouching down in front of him in an—unsuccessful—attempt to catch his gaze.

"Have you ever considered, my lord," he used the formality as more of an insult than anything else, "that there is not something wrong with the people around you, but rather with you, yourself?"

Arthur winced. He had considered it, actually. Many times, in fact.

In the distance, thunder boomed. Dark clouds began to creep into sight.

"Why are you doing this, Mordred?" Arthur had told the boy he didn't care about the answer to that question, which was true. He was too tired to care. Arthur just figured things would go faster if he did.

"Why?" Mordred repeated. As expected, the boy's voice got very dark. He took a few deep breaths before continuing.

"We've met before, you know." Finally, Arthur met Mordred's gaze. "Several times, in fact. You were just too preoccupied at the time to recognize me. Too busy slaughtering my family, and whatnot."

Arthur's eyelids flickered slightly, but he refused to let them blink, afraid that the wetness in them would spill over.

"Maybe you were jealous of loving families—ones that didn't constantly stab each other in the back—so you thought you had to compensate by killing them all."

The sky flashed, lightning shooting through the air above them.

Now it was Mordred's turn to fight away tears. Still, his gaze never left Arthur's. He leaned forward then, so that their faces were mere inches away. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

"Do you really have to wonder why your loved ones turn their backs on you?"

Just as Arthur decided he couldn't take any more, a flicker split through the sky, striking a branch of the tree that Mordred stood under. In an instant, it was hurtling towards them, causing the two men to jump in separate directions.

Arthur was on his feet in an instant, thankful for the opening. It took him a second to process what had happened.

Lightning. Lightning had happened.

Just as Arthur was thanking the heavens for the incredible stroke of luck, another crack shook the ground. This time, the white flash went straight for the armed men, effectively blasting them backwards and giving his knights the opportunity to escape their grasps.

"No!" Arthur spun around in time to see Mordred, furious and desperate, charge at him.

Before he could close the gap, the sky flashed once more, striking the ground between them.

Mordred knew when to quit. Grudgingly, he began his slow retreat backwards. As he did so, he sent a glare to someone standing behind Arthur—one of the knights, perhaps?

"Damn you."

Before Arthur could figure out the source of his anger, Mordred redirected his gaze at him. "Do you think there is anyone in that godforsaken castle that is loyal to you? There is no one you can trust, Arthur. Nor anyone who can give you theirs." Mordred's voice was resigned, but as hateful as ever. "Even as Emrys protects you, he does so from the shadows, afraid of what the truth will cost him."

And with that, Mordred's eyes flashed gold, and he disappeared in a gust of wind.

It wasn't until later that night that Merlin dared knock on Arthur's chamber doors.

As soon as the patrol returned to Camelot, Arthur had locked himself in his chambers, refusing to answer anyone, not even Gwen. The queen had taken things as expected. Her eyes, at first defiant with denial, quickly grew sad and gleamed with tears. Her sadness then morphed into worry, as it often did with Gwen, when she realized the state her husband must be in. She tried to hoax him out of his room with sweet words and a comforting voice, but to no avail. In the end, she decided to leave him be.

He'd been in there for hours, the sun having already set and the moon sitting bright in the night's sky. Several moments after Merlin knocked, he still heard no sign of the king. In an attempt to muster up some form of courage, Merlin took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

Arthur stood at his window with his back facing Merlin. He was clutching his right arm—the arm Mordred had injured during the fight. A few candles kept the room dimly lit.

"Your dinner, Sire." Merlin said, hesitantly. He set the tray down on the table, but Arthur made no move for it.

Merlin sighed. He couldn't leave things as they were. "You cannot take what Mordred said to heart, Arthur. There are so many people in this kingdom that care about you. You have to know that." When Arthur still said nothing, Merlin frowned.

Damn it, thought Merlin. Mordred really made a mess of things this time.

Just as Merlin turned to leave, Arthur spoke.

"Can I trust no one, Merlin?" The pain in his tone made Merlin cringe. "Or should I be asking a different question? Rather, can no one trust me?"

"Why would you say that?" Merlin couldn't hide the disapproval in his voice. "You cannot blame yourself for the misguidances of others."

Arthur finally turned to face him. "Then why is it that every time I choose to trust someone—every time I think I know their intentions, they stab me in the back?" His eyes were wide, full of vulnerability one did not normally find in Arthur. "Tell me something, Merlin. Am I not trustworthy? Is there something about me that encourages the people I care about to turn their backs on me?"

"Don't say that. You have me." Merlin said with a weak smile, in an attempt to pull one from Arthur as well. It didn't work. He tried another tactic.

"And you have Emrys." At Arthur's scoff, Merlin continued. "Why else would a known sorcerer help you?"

"At this point, I don't even know if the man exists."

Merlin fumed at that. Yes, you do, you bloody prat. You met me in the tunnels! But he knew he couldn't say that. As far as Merlin was aware, Arthur hadn't told anyone of that conversation.

"No. If Mordred was right about nothing else, he was right about that." Arthur was looking at the floor, so he missed the flash of anger that covered Merlin's face. "Even if he does exist, Emrys does not trust me. He would have revealed himself by now if he did."

"That's not true."

"It is."

"He trusts you with his life!" Merlin shouted in frustration before he could stop himself. Luckily, Arthur didn't notice the strangeness of his words.

"But not with the truth." Arthur said sadly.

Merlin, frustrated beyond belief, opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but nothing came out. The expression on his face slowly melted from irritation into desperation as he attempted to come up with something, some sort of contradiction to Arthur's statement.

But there was nothing.

Arthur watched Merlin's struggle in a pained silence. After a few seconds, he turned back towards the window, his head hunched down.

"You may go, Merlin." It was more of a demand than a dismissal.

Merlin stared. Arthur was wrong. He had to be. One didn't spend his life protecting a king that hated his kind simply on a whim. Merlin did trust Arthur. He knew he did. It was just…

After Arthur talked to him in the tunnels that day, Merlin had convinced himself his silence was justified. Not yet, he always told himself. Arthur isn't ready. But he couldn't say that anymore. Arthur had proven it that day with his promise of change. There was only one reason that kept him from telling Arthur the truth.

Fear.

He was afraid.

"You're right." The words escaped Merlin's lips before he even knew he was speaking. He didn't stop, though. He owed too much to Arthur to stop.

The king's words reverberated through Merlin's mind.

You have shown great loyalty today, and yet I have been stubborn, refusing to let go of my father's prejudices. I have not given you the trust you deserve.

"He has not given you the trust you deserve."

When Arthur didn't move, Merlin continued. "You told him that you were afraid to let go of your father's hatred. But that's not true, Arthur. You proved it that day, when you gave Emrys your promise."

Arthur lifted his head then, still facing the window. His body grew very still.

"You gave him a promise—one that could not have been easy for you to make." Merlin swallowed. It felt like his heart was trying to jump out of his chest. "And yet, he ignored it. He did not give you the same trust that you gave him."

I believe I am ready—if you'd give me the chance—to rebuild the relationship our people once had.

"But I believe he is ready—if you'd give him the chance—to rebuild the relationship your people once had."

Arthur's breathing was becoming unbalanced. He took deep breaths, trying to steady himself. Merlin wished he could see his face. Was it full of anger? Or perhaps it was the one he always wore when he was betrayed, full of shock and sadness.

If you choose not to trust me, I understand. But I think you and I both know there is far too much at stake to let this hatred go on for any longer.

"If you choose not to trust him, I understand. But I think you and I both know," Arthur spun around then, eyes so intense that Merlin almost stopped, "there is far too much at stake to let this hatred go on for any longer."

Silence.

The couple stared at each other for what felt to Merlin like hours. Arthur, disbelief coloring his expression, and Merlin, nervous out of his mind, stood completely still, unsure how to proceed.

Finally, Arthur spoke. "How…" Arthur's eyes jumped around Merlin's face, trying to figure out what to say. "You know him—Emrys. You must. How else would you know about that meeting?"

Merlin said nothing.

"Answer me, Merlin!" There was a sternness in his voice that could only be attributed to that of a king. "Who told you about that conversation?"

With pleading blue eyes, Merlin told him.

"You did, Sire."

Merlin watched as his king—eyes wide in shock—took a step back, as if being shoved. He had only seen Arthur this astonished a handful of times, and none of those accounts were very happy ones. They usually ended in Arthur's extreme depression, forcing Merlin to cheer him up with a pep talk.

But Merlin could not save the king from himself now. Not this time.

"No…"

Arthur wanted to deny it. He wanted to call Merlin a liar, to tell him to stop fooling around, that this joke wasn't funny. But even Arthur couldn't deny the truth when—once again—his own words were thrown back in his face.

"It should not have taken me this long."

Even before Merlin finished his sentence, he could see the truth settling on Arthur's face. It was like the pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place; the riddle that was Merlin finally made sense.

And yet, it made no sense at all.

"You can't be…"

But the guilt on Merlin's face said otherwise. There was a certain firmness to it, a silent plea that begged for Arthur's understanding.

"I am."

Silence engulfed the room once again. Merlin watched his king, waiting for the inevitable drawbacks of such a serious conversation. Right when Merlin thought he'd have to break the silence, Arthur spoke.

"You're lying."

Merlin's blood ran cold. This is what he'd been afraid of. Arthur had been betrayed so many times, stabbed in the back by people he thought were his allies. Had the reservoir of trust in Arthur's heart finally run dry?

"No, Arthur." Merlin's voice was filled with desperation. "No more lies. I swear—"

"You swear?" Arthur cut him off. "You swear? What good is the promise of a man who has lied to me for years?"

"I lied to protect you, Arthur. You must realize that."

Arthur looked at him then, with a gaze so piercing and distraught that Merlin almost took a step back.

"You expect me to believe you?"

Merlin's eyes softened. "I want you to believe in me, Arthur."

Arthur stood there, staring at his friend's—no, Arthur corrected himself—his servant's face.

"Show me."

Merlin blinked. His mind tried to process the implication of that demand. "W-what?"

"You are telling me, Merlin," Arthur started, slowly, "that you are Emrys. Is that correct?"

At Merlin's hesitant nod, Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Prove it."

Merlin felt his heart speed up. For a moment, he was completely at a loss. He knew what Arthur was asking, but after years of hiding in the shadows, years of making sure no one caught him in the act, Merlin wasn't sure he could do it. He pushed himself forward anyway.

Tentatively, Merlin began to walk towards Arthur. The king's eyes narrowed, but he made no move to stop him. When Merlin was merely a few feet away, he lifted his arm so it hovered over Arthur's. At the motion, Arthur's chin jerked upward—it was a warning, he realized.

The two stared at each other then, neither willing to release the other's gaze.

"Þurhhæle dolgbenn."

With the whispered spell came the familiar flash of gold, and a bright light that resonated from Merlin's palm. Arthur broke the gaze then, and turned his eyes to the glow that was now illuminating the room. The light was floating, he realized, and engulfed his whole upper arm. It took all of his strength not to push Merlin away. After it dimmed to nothingness, Arthur took a step back, not taking his eyes off of his arm. The cut that Mordred had made was no longer there.

Merlin stood, completely still. He didn't dare move. All he did was watch his king, who looked down at his arm like he'd never seen it before.

"Get out."

Merlin swallowed. "Arthur—"

"Get. Out."

Merlin tried to breathe, but found it too difficult. His eyes stung. With a pained bow, Merlin turned and left the room.

A/N: Aaand there it is. So, I know that reveal might've seemed a little too sudden for Merlin's tastes, but hey, Arthur was about to backtrack into his old nothing-good-comes-of-magic ways. He panicked, all right? ;P Thanks for reading. As always, reviews would be lovely.