A/N: I wrote the first two chapters of this story to present the possibility of changing the fate we saw in episode 5.13. To my way of thinking, it's every fan for themselves to decide where it went from there… but this is my version of post-Crystal Cave events.

The Day in Crystal

I couldn't change the when, couldn't get to Camlann any faster, it seemed, now that I was actually doing it, instead of just seeing it. My heart thundered in my chest and in my ears – now it was real.

I couldn't change the where. The sounds of battle reached my ears even as I leaped from my horse, heedless of whether it stayed or ran. The best vantage point over the narrow pass of Camlann was where I'd seen myself, before.

I couldn't even, it seemed, change how. The staff in my hand made directing the lightning a task easier, more accurate, and the dozen Saxons who surrounded Arthur fell back at the strike. He looked up at me.

"Emrys!" Morgana shrieked.

I called the lightning. Not at the ledge, the niche where she watched the battle and had already intervened on Mordred's behalf. What happened, Gaius had said, months ago, to the young boy who came into my chambers just a few years ago?

He grew up. He learned the meaning of duty. I heard Morgana's voice quite clearly, until the wolves gorge on your carcass and bathe in your blood.

I flung the lightning at her. A single stroke from the top of her head to the sole of her foot. A judgment, for the choices she'd made, continued to make even after so many chances to turn away. A judgment for the blood on her hands, the innocent lives, those who had suffered at the hands of her soldiers, those of our own kin with magic who had believed her lies.

In response to her fall, Aithusa swooped down. But I was ready, and bellowed out, "Nun de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai! Weas!" The white dragon paused midflight, then wheeled to flap across the dark sky. Aithusa had breathed no fire. That was different. It might not be enough, but it gave me such a great hope – if even the smallest of details could be changed…

Saxons, Morgana, Aithusa – Mordred. I scanned the pass – I couldn't see Mordred.

"For the love of Camelot!" I heard Arthur cry, and he charged forward, out of my sight.

"No!" I shouted, but no one seemed to hear me as the battle continued. "No, no no!" I mumbled to myself, and cursed as I slipped and skidded and leaped down the cliff. MORDRED! I hollered mentally, making it a warning and a threat. He'd hear me, I was sure of it. But he wouldn't listen.

Somehow I came to the sandy, gritty ground of the pass not far from Morgana. She stirred feebly and I paused. "Help me, Emrys," she whispered, reaching her hand to me.

I wanted to kill her. Wanted to snap her neck or smother her breath, anything to make sure she would never touch Gwaine, never track Arthur down, never scare away horses we might need – I needed to find Arthur, needed to be with him. I wished the lightning had killed her outright.

"Is this really what you wanted, Morgana?" I demanded, gesturing at the carnage and death around us, the red of Camelot and the black of the Saxon intermingled. She slumped back, not answering.

I turned to see several of the knights beginning to make their way through the battlefield of the pass, too far for me to recognize – though the big one might be Percival, which meant the dark-headed one next to him might be Gwaine. I hailed them as heartily as I could in my old man's croaky voice, and pointed downward.

"Morgana!" I shouted in explanation, but didn't stay to find out what they might want to do with me.

I didn't waste time searching for him. I knew where he'd be, unless somehow I had prevented - I saw him, facedown on the ground, only about a yard from Mordred's body. Ye gods, he had indeed fallen at Camlann.

My heart stopped, but somehow my feet kept going. And when I came around him to the side where his face was turned, I saw that his eyes were open. He was conscious. That was different, I told myself. Fallen, but not dead. I let the staff fall from my hand as I reached for him, and he had enough strength to push himself up to his knees, to hold onto my arms as I raised him to his feet, eased him back to the outcropping where I had seen him rest, before. I turned my attention to his lower left side, where I expected to see the wound from Mordred's sword.

"Don't touch me again, sorcerer," Arthur's voice wasn't strong, but it was steady, and cold.

"Are you injured?" I said. Damn that chainmail, it was always so hard to see where he was hurt and how badly. Mere exhaustion would not keep him lying in the dust, reclining on the rock like this, not with Saxons still running from their loss and knights following to press their advantage. Not with wounded to check and men to reassure and encourage.

"Why do you care," he took a breath, "if I live or die?"

"I care," I said shortly, reaching to move his arm away from his body. If he was bleeding badly, it would begin to show, to seep through the links of his armor. "We can talk later, Arthur, just –" he weakly tried to push my hands away, and I blazed at him, "let me help you!"

"Help me." Arthur chuckled bitterly, and it became a cough. "You killed my father, what does it matter if I die, too?"

"You just saw me defending you from the Saxons!" I said incredulously.

"How do I know," Arthur responded deliberately, "that you weren't aiming for me, and just happened to miss?"

I laughed. If he had recognized me for Merlin, the often-clumsy manservant, he couldn't have offered a more appropriate accusation. You missed the target, Merlin, and took down a dozen other men standing around. Butif he had recognized me for Merlin, he'd never believe I could be aiming for him. I laughed until the tears came, and recognized it an outlet for the turmoil of emotions fighting to pour out of my heart. He watched me doubtfully, probably sure that I was mad.

Then I pushed his hand down to his side, gently but firmly, and it hurt that I was able to – Arthur's physical strength had always exceeded mine. And always would, I vowed. There was a smear of blood on his left side, high up toward his shoulder. I twisted about, searching, found Mordred's damned blade – and there was the nick in the edge, the piece that had broken.

There were differences from what I had seen – but what if it wasn't enough?

"I'm sorry," I managed to say. He looked at me with weary suspicion, as I returned to his side. There was no way I could convince him, and no time. I spoke the spell, "Efencume, aetgaedre eala gastas craeftige, gestricie pis lic forod." I spoke slowly and clearly, and I could see a dawning comprehension in his eyes as he recognized the spell I had used, so long ago it seemed, trying to heal Uther Pendragon.

He flinched from my fingers and tried to glare at me, but at least it was obvious that he wasn't dying as his father had.

What concerned me was that the wound seemed no better, either. "Roughly translated," I said tiredly, "It means something like, o spirits assemble together your skill, mend this broken body."

He shifted, and a spasm of pain crossed his face. "You're rubbish at healing, then," he said.

I nodded and chuckled, and felt tears roll down my face. I scrubbed at them quickly with the sleeve of the red robe. "It does seem that way sometimes," I admitted, and reached to try to lift him.

"No," he said. "Just – just – just let me rest a moment."

"I'm sorry," I said again, leaning against the rock face beside him. "I did my best to heal your father, Arthur, but in my eagerness to show you that magic can be used for good, I did not notice the amulet that had been placed on his body, bearing a spell that would both reverse and magnify the magic I used – in that, I am to blame for your father's death."

Because I was still mostly standing and he was seated nearly levelly, I could see only the top of his head. "An enchanted amulet," he said. "That's a lousy excuse."

I snapped, "Why do you always believe the lousy excuse, but never the truth?"

He raised his head and looked at me, and I couldn't hold his eyes. "And who would have used such a thing against my father?" he said.

I sighed. "Can you think of no one in your household at the time who might have betrayed you so?" I said.

"Agravaine," he breathed, and his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry." I couldn't help touching his shoulder, trying two other healing spells that I knew, though neither did any good other than easing the pain, providing some comfort. He didn't react at all. "The Saxons," I said. "The dragon, Morgana – I knew it was Mordred I must protect you from."

"You knew." Arthur voice was brittle. "Agravaine. And Mordred. Merlin knew…. Did everyone know that I was to be betrayed again by someone I'd trusted?"

Arthur's bane was himself. That trust. And I, if I was to take this second chance, to appease the Disir, if Arthur was to survive, I must betray that trust also. I slid down to a crouch next to him.

"I was checking the wounded," he mused. "For survivors, for any who needed medical care. Merlin said –" he glanced at me, and then away – "I had a warning that Mordred would attack me from behind, so – I heard him coming. At first, I couldn't believe it. He'd stabbed Morgana in the back to save my life. I'd given him a place among my knights, trusted him. He risked his life for me in the Grove of Breneved. I granted his request that the girl he loved – the girl who tried to kill me – be given a second chance."

As Arthur shook his head, it wobbled a little unsteadily, and I reached for the hand that hung limply between us, reached to press my fingers against his wrist to gauge the rate and strength of his heartbeat. He looked at me with surprise.

"He will seek you out to kill you, if he can," he repeated my own words back to me. "I hesitated, just enough, and he wounded me," he gestured to his shoulder, "before I killed him." He shook his head again, his eyes dropping closed, his chin sinking toward his chest.

I leaned forward to retrieve both dragon-breathed blades, Mordred's and Arthur's, gripping them awkwardly in one hand, then encouraged my king to put a rather floppy arm around my neck. I snugged his body against mine with my other arm, and stood for both of us.

Arthur leaned heavily on me as we shuffled through the pass. But I wasn't carrying his unconscious body, and I wouldn't be hiding him in the forest.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Halt!" It was Leon's voice, Leon's sword extended very definitely toward my middle as I made for the king's tent.

"Not now, Leon!" I snapped, tossing the blade aside with a thought.

Percival said from behind me, with the touch of his own blade at my ribs, "That is our king you are holding, sorcerer."

It didn't really surprise me that we had been discovered. Of course the knights would be on the lookout for Arthur, and our going was slow and clumsy. "And that is a sword you're holding!" I croaked impatiently. "And it is still sharp, Percival!"

"The last we saw of you, you threatened to kill Arthur." I didn't have to peer past Arthur to know that it was Gwaine approaching from the other side.

"And now I am trying to save him, yes, life is complicated," I growled. "Now, your king is heavy, and if you really want me to walk over you again, I can oblige, but if not, stand aside that I may take him to his tent! And someone go for Gaius!"

Arthur was still supporting some of his weight, but his head was bowed all the way forward, his eyes were closed, and he didn't respond to any of our voices.

Someone called to us, and Leon, the only knight I could see right now, turned. "Gaius, you are needed!" he responded.

"Arthur!" Gaius exclaimed a moment later, astonished. I knew he'd have questions for me later, but the physician in him took over. "Bring him in here – do lower your swords, Percival and Gwaine, you are not helping. Leon, if you would please let Gwen know that he has been found." Gaius held the tent flap aside, and Arthur and I shuffled into the tent.

I led him hobbling to the bed, where we turned and sat together, before I ducked out from under his arm. Gwaine was right behind us, and reached to unbuckle Arthur's armor, but I shrugged him away, pushing the two dragon-forged blades in my fist at his chest.

"You take care of these," I told him, "and let me take care of Arthur." I began to remove Arthur's chainmail as quickly as I could, the ease and familiarity of years hindered only slightly by aged and arthritic fingers.

Gwaine backed away to place both swords on a rack close to one wall of the tent, and didn't say anything.

"I think it's only the left shoulder we need to worry about," I said to Gaius, as my mentor helped me ease off the jacket Arthur wore under his armor. Our king stayed unsteadily upright, but he wasn't fully conscious. "I don't think he's hurt anywhere else. Mordred's blade was dragon-forged by Aithusa. A small piece –" I held up thumb and forefinger to show him the approximate size, and Gwaine bent to examine the sword in the rack – "lodged in the wound."

Both of Gaius' eyebrows rose. "How do you know –"

"I saw it all in the crystals," I rasped. "Knife." I snapped my fingers, and a dagger from a stand on the opposite side of the bed darted into my grasp.

I was aware that Gwaine had partially drawn his weapon behind me, but I ignored him and cut Arthur's shirt away from the wound, the thin white material stained and sodden with blood. Thick red liquid still oozed from the mark, too close to Arthur's heart for my comfort, but as I examined it gently, I could see that the blade had opened the wound in an upward direction, probably striking the inside of his shoulder blade before stopping. I checked – there was no wound on his back.

"I attempted to draw the piece of metal," I said, as Gaius hovered.

"If the blade was forged in a dragon's breath," Gaius began, "Its fatal power –"

"Yes, yes, I know," I said impatiently, "its fatal power will not be easily denied." But it resided in muscle tissue, not any of Arthur's organs. "We'll have to make another cut to remove the shard." Arthur's head rolled toward me on his pillow and his eyes focused briefly.

"Such a fragment," Gaius said slowly, "would resist removal."

"We can't leave it," I snapped. "It'll kill him."

Gaius pushed more insistently, and I backed up to let him conduct his own examination. Gwaine moved silently where he could see all three of us. Arthur grunted, and my mentor murmured soothingly. Then Gaius relinquished his place to me again, and I continued to slice the king's shirt for a temporary bandage as he wiped his hands on his blood-stained apron.

"The metal is lodged on the outer curve of the second rib," Gaius said. "I believe you could use your magic to fuse the metal and bone. The shard will stay in place…"

"And then?" I said.

"Then – we'll see." He patted my shoulder. "I will return with proper bandaging materials, water for washing. I have comfrey –"

"Any yarrow?" I said. "Lady's mantle? Sticklewort?"

"I brought all I had in Camelot," Gaius said. "It's been used."

"And the hills are crawling with Saxons," I sighed. "Maybe I can get some later. Gaius, just – send the supplies. There must be dozens who need you. I'll stay with Arthur."

Gaius nodded and turned to leave. "Come, Sir Gwaine, I am in need of your services."

For a moment, Gwaine stood in Gaius' way in the entrance of the tent. "You trust him enough to leave him alone with Arthur?"

I pretended I didn't hear, keeping my back to them as I pressed gently against the wound.

"He has watched over and protected Arthur for many years, Gwaine," Gaius said, his voice at once gentle and stern. "There is no one better suited to care for him."

"I can think of someone," Gwaine muttered rebelliously, and I had to smile, because he couldn't see me. Little did he know… I sighed. "Arthur," Gwaine continued stubbornly, "needs a physician, not a sorcerer."

"What about a man who is both?" Gaius said.

I heard a rustling of cloth, and then silence. Arthur's eyes opened drowsily, but showed no alarm at seeing me, if he even realized who I was – or at least, who I looked like. I took a deep breath. Even if he didn't know me as myself, this was going to be strange.

I began to speak the words of the spell. Even through my concentration I was aware that his expression was one of reluctant fascination, and that his eyes never left my face.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Merlin."

His voice woke me immediately, though it was still night, and very softly spoken. I straightened in my chair, turning to the bed. He hadn't moved, he was still flat on his back, the blanket tucked over his chest and under the injured arm. I leaned forward, noticing that Gwen had come to sleep in the large bed also, curled on her side and as close to Arthur as she could get without touching him.

"How'd you know I was here?" I said, softly so I wouldn't disturb the queen's rest. I moved where I could see his face and he could see me.

His fingers twitched in an abortive attempt to point. "Could see your boots, you idiot, no one wears boots like yours."

The bandage on his shoulder was still white, more a precaution than anything else, since I had fused the sword fragment to his rib-bone and healed the tear in the flesh and muscle. I peeled the bandage back to check the thick pink scar, to test that patch of skin for any increased heat. He was watching my face, so I gave him a reassuring grin, easing the bandaging back into place.

"We'll get you a sling for the ride back to Camelot," I promised. Back to Camelot! Everything was different, now. "Keep your arm immobile for–"

"Merlin," he said again. "Where have you been?"

My heart twisted just a little. I could hear what he had not said. There was a battle – there was a sorcerer – there were enemies – Where were you?

"Sticklewort," I whispered, and grinned at his look of confusion. "Lady's mantle, and yarrow."

He moved his head negatively on the pillow. "I will never understand you, Merlin."

"You haven't fathomed me out yet, sire?" I teased. Hopefully. If he guessed, if he figured it out…

"I had a dream about you," he said, frowning in mild bewilderment, probably brought on by the loss of blood, the lateness of the hour, the tonic for pain I'd made him swallow upon my return from the woods as myself. "You said –" He paused. I understood. Now that I was here, beside him, how unbelievable it seemed.

I wanted to tell him. Oh, how I wanted to tell him. My time was up. So was his. This was borrowed time, now – stolen time. And it was running out, once again. But my physician's training said, wait. Give him time to recover from this wound before you inflict another. The shock… the saying went, the shock could kill him.

"If it was about me, it must've been a nightmare," I whispered. "Let me guess – you dreamed that in my absence your chambers became an absolutely unlivable disaster?"

"Merlin –" he said.

"No, I know," I continued stubbornly, still smiling, "You dreamed I was a perfect servant and kept your quarters impeccably, and you had absolutely no reason to yell at me, was that it? How frustrating that must have been for you!"

My reward was a little quirk of a smile he couldn't quite hold back. "You are ridiculous," he said. "I'm glad you're here."

"Better late than never," I quipped softly, and had to rub the cuff of my shirt at the corner of my eye.

"That's the story of your life," Arthur said. He rested for a moment, his breathing deep and even, his eyes on the tent material above the bed, moving slightly in the night breeze. "But herbs were not all you brought back from the woods," he said then.

"What?" I asked.

"The old man," he said. "The old sorcerer." I couldn't tell by his tone whether he was angry with that man – with me – or pleased. Or just resigned. "Gaius knows him. He told you where to find him, when my father… was dying. He told you, didn't he, where that old man went, after. It wasn't back to that hut was it, but… a cave. In the valley of the fallen kings."

I couldn't say anything. I just sat there, feeling my mouth gaping open. How could he be so close to the truth, and yet still miss it completely?

Arthur gave me the ghost of a self-satisfied smile. "Close your mouth, Merlin, you look like a fish," he said. "Gwaine told me where he'd taken you – now, correct me if I'm wrong, but herbs don't grow in caves, do they? You gave that old sorcerer your horse… which is why you're so late."

"The sorcerer…" I managed. It was me, I should say. And then he would say, Don't be ridiculous. This is stupid… and there would be wary disbelief in his eyes, and then a strange fear… And then he would send me away.

"I'm not angry, Merlin." He sighed, and winced as he shifted in the bed. "He saved us all. How does my shoulder look? I think he managed to heal me, at least partially. If you know where to find him, I think I'd like to arrange a conversation, sometime."

"Yes," I said faintly. All these years, Merlin, you never sought any credit… And I didn't want it, this time, either. I couldn't say, it was me. Damn it all, if there was anything these last ten years had taught me, it was, there was never going to be a good time.

"Maybe now there'll be time to re-examine those old pre-Purge laws," Arthur continued, his eyes once again turned upwards, as if he was speaking to himself. "Even though Mordred… well, the Disir kept their word, didn't they? Maybe…" he blinked, then again, more slowly. Then he dropped his eyes to me and smiled in a worn-but-contented way. "Glad you're here, Merlin," he mumbled. He turned his head toward Gwen on the pillow, and closed his eyes.

I sat and watched him fall asleep. My heart was thundering, my throat dry. He was so close to guessing. He had missed me. I would betray him if I told him. Things would never be the same between us, and my thoughts ran in confusion. There was no right, or best. Just a choice.

An idea entered my mind, a twisted, sickly, cowardly idea. If Arthur amended laws, began to allow the practice of magic – even severely restricted magic, even just for healing, or just for defense, or just under supervision…

If magic was legal, I could "become" a student of magic. Arthur might even encourage me, applaud my progress. He might even respect my "newfound" knowledge and strength. We could "discover" that I was the prophesied Emrys. I could "become" a powerful sorcerer by the side of my king – and he would never need to know that I had lied. Ever. Even once.

I wanted him to know of my magic. But not the years of lies and hiding. Yes, a twisted, sickly, cowardly idea. My silence for his happiness – but that was not the deal the Disir had given me. My freedom from lies meant his trust in me destroyed. There was no good answer. This would not end well for either of us, I was afraid.

I would give anything for his life and his happiness, but it seemed he could not keep both. And I could keep neither my secret nor his trust.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

I glanced to make sure the wounded soldier was unconscious, before placing my hand lightly on the bandage on his side. There weren't many left, the wounded of whom Gaius said to me in a low voice, only your magic… Those for whom magic was their only hope had either died before I could reach them, or I had healed them the first day.

This man had suffered a slash across his side. Gaius had stitched and treated the wound, but it had festered and the man's fever had risen steadily. Gaius thought maybe the bowel had been nicked, and by the smell of the wound, I thought he was probably right.

I knelt by the cot in the infirmary, bowed my head and whispered the words. It reminded me, always, of my father healing Arthur's wound. As long as the wounded person could not see the gleam of magic in my eyes, any other person could stand right next to me and I could excuse the spell for muttered words of encouragement. The wound would remain bandaged until the next time he was due for an examination, and Gaius would get credit for being an amazing physician. It was almost laughably easy.

"Merlin," Gaius said, and I knew from his tone what he wanted. It wasn't a stop doing magic in public you stupid boy tone, nor yet a Merlin you've forgotten what I asked you three times to fetch or a watch where you're going you've knocked over that medicine and broken it tone. It was a come give me a professional opinion tone.

I stood from the side of the newly-healed soldier, resting comfortably now, and the world turned briefly white. I heard ringing in my ears, and almost collapsed right onto the cot with the man, but if I took a minute to clear my head, they would wonder what was wrong with me. As I turned, I tripped on the leg of the bed, but though the formerly-injured man was jostled, he didn't wake.

Arthur sat on a higher narrow table at one side of the room, used by Gaius for examining and treating before the injured man was moved to a cot, removing his shirt stiffly and uncomfortably. I made my way to them carefully so I wouldn't fall – again, I had bruises on both knees from being in a hurry and tired and of course what always happened whenever I was either.

"Merlin," the king greeted me. "Gaius assures me you've been keeping busy – I'll have to take his word for it, since I haven't seen you do a lick of work the last three days."

"To be honest, sire," I returned, "I'd rather be charged with the care of a dozen wounded soldiers –" I gestured around the room – "than with one royal pain in the –"

"Merlin," Arthur threatened, his attention focused on me as Gaius performed his examination of the healing scar on his shoulder. "If you value your head, do not finish that sentence."

"Shall we ask Gwen how well you've been behaving?" I murmured. "I bet you don't bully her…"

We had all taken on extra duties when we returned to Camelot. As there was far too much medical work to expect Gaius to handle alone, I hadn't seen Arthur since we'd gotten back. Hadn't hardly been out of the infirmary, actually. Gwen had taken over Arthur's care, assisted by various other servants who had a moment or two, and I received observations from some of the knights as they performed random duties like carrying fresh water or meals for those recovering.

"Think I'd rather be recuperating in one of these beds than playing nursemaid," Gwaine had grunted.

"Gwen's got her hands full," Percival had told me with one of his slow smiles, when I asked after our king.

Leon had looked at me seriously. "He's getting lots of rest," he told me. "Take care of yourself, too, Merlin, all right?"

Gaius questioned Arthur, "You've kept your arm in the sling? Restricted your activities, no movement of the limb at all?"

Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes," he groused. "Yes, and no." He flinched as Gaius tapped his elbow in a wordless command to raise his arm.

"Merlin." Gaius turned to me. "I want you to lift Arthur's arm, to the anterior, posterior, and lateral directions, then rotate the joint. Arthur, do not attempt to use the muscles at all, simply let your arm remain lax."

I obeyed, standing at Arthur's left and slowly working his arm, one hand around his wrist and the other supporting his elbow as necessary. Gaius probed at the area an inch or so up and out from the scar, where the shard remained. Both of us watched the reactions of Arthur's expression to gauge his level of pain.

"Still quite tender," Gaius pronounced. "It will take some time for your body to form scar tissue around that bit of metal."

"How long before I have full use of it again?" Arthur demanded, shrugging out of my grip and facing Gaius as I shook out his shirt and began to help him into it, injured arm first as there would be less jostling that way.

"It is too early to say, sire," Gaius said, after a second's pause.

Arthur seemed not to have heard that ominous pause. "I can resume normal duties, then?" he said, impatiently ducking through the collar of the shirt I bunched together for his convenience. "None of this, confined to my bedchamber nonsense anymore?"

"No lifting, no carrying – no training," Gaius said sternly. "But yes, you should be fine to resume your other duties, as long as you don't push yourself beyond the capabilities of your endurance."

"I don't plan to," Arthur said, easing down from the table. "Not when I've got Merlin here to push beyond the capabilities of his endurance." He gave me a grin, daring me to protest.

I didn't. I couldn't help thinking of the crystals, Gaius saying, at best, two days. By now I'd have pushed Arthur's body out onto the lake in the boat… I could only stand there, grinning back at him, thrilled at the prospect of a list of unnecessary chores and bellowed insults.

"You must be exhausted," Arthur commented, as Gaius turned to wash his hands in a basin. "Never thought I'd see the day when you're too tired to be rude."

"I'm saving it up, sire," I said. "Just wait til tomorrow."

"Mm," he said dubiously. "Make sure you get a good night's sleep, Merlin – you have real work tomorrow, not the laziness you've gotten away with around here." Gaius raised his eyebrow, but Arthur's sarcasm was only superficial, and we all knew it.

I watched him walk away. There was energy in his stride, and he tested his shoulder and arm as he went, albeit gingerly.

"I've got to tell him," I said to Gaius.

"Are you sure that's wise?" he said.

"Six months have passed," I said. "I was told, I needed to accomplish revelation, assume my identity, tell him my name." They had said, he will accept you, or he will not. And seal his doom. "I saw him dead, Gaius, in the crystals in the cave. I saw Mordred run him through." I turned and showed the physician the location on my own side.

"I see," Gaius said. "Was that how you knew a fragment had splintered from the blade and remained inside the wound."

I nodded. "You said, the shard would travel inexorably toward his heart, that my magic would not be strong enough. I was taking him to Avalon, but we were too late. I saw him die, Gaius."

"But you were able to change it," Gaius said. He glanced around and drew me a little further into the corner. "Did you see yourself tell him of your magic?"

"Yes."

"And?"

I hesitated. "At first, he wanted to send me away. But by the end… he thanked me." I blinked and cleared my throat and he patted my arm.

"That's very encouraging then, isn't it?" he said.

"But he had no choice," I argued. "He was weak, and alone – he saw me do magic to hide us from the Saxons, to save both our lives – he was dying, Gaius, and he knew it. Now that he isn't, will he forgive me?"

Gaius turned so that we stood side by side, surveying the room together. A couple of maids moved between the cots, but no one needed our immediate attention. My magic, I knew, would no longer be required, for the remaining patients to make full recoveries.

Another figure entered the room with a bucket of water and a dipper, made her way to the end row and began offering water to the convalescing wounded – a blonde girl, a refugee from one of the outposts attacked by Morgana weeks ago. A girl I had seen in the crystals hung for treason, the girl who had betrayed all of us – telling our enemy of Arthur's plan. She was the only one who could have told Morgana of the trip Gwaine and I intended to take to the cave. She would have told Morgana the location of the wounded, vulnerable king as we traveled to Avalon.

Gaius interrupted my thoughts. "Have you thought about - how you will tell him?"

I laughed, but it sounded bitter in my ears. "For years," I said. "Mostly I hoped he would just see, or guess… I've thought of little else since we went to Breneved, but…"

"The longer you wait, the harder it gets?" Gaius guessed.

"Arthur deserves the truth," I said. Even if it hurts. He deserved the chance to – do with me as he saw fit. Whatever justice required. "Now that we've passed Camlann, and Mordred and Morgana are both dead and buried there… they all deserve the truth. I've thought about talking to Arthur in his chambers, at the end of the day." That idea appealed to me, just he and I, and probably a long and sleepless night to follow – but those several hours might serve to temper his initial reaction before he made a decision.

"I think," Gaius said, "you are right to tell him."

"Do I have your blessing?" I said, facing him. "I mean to say, if I tell him, he's going to know that… that you knew."

Gaius raised one eyebrow at me. "Arthur's temper on a bad day is not as dangerous as Uther's caprice on a good day," he told me, "and I dealt with that for more than twenty years. Do not worry about me, my boy. It is part of a physician's privilege to keep confidential the secrets of those under his care."

"I hope Arthur agrees with you," I murmured.

"Do as he says, Merlin," Gaius said, gesturing to one of the empty cots where I'd been catching a few hours' nap whenever it was convenient. "Get some rest."

"I will," I told him. "I have someone I need to speak with, first."

Leaving Gaius, I made my way between the cots to where Eira offered another dipperful of water to a man with a bandage around his hand. Her bored expression turned briefly guilty as she met my eyes, then she turned her face to pretend interest in the man on the cot.

"I'm very sorry," I said to her, conversationally.

"Excuse me?" She was confused.

"The death of your – friend, in Camlann," I said. "You must miss her."

A look of terror came into her eyes, and she blurted, "I would never –"

"Never mind," I said soothingly. "I'm not concerned about her anymore. But Gwaine, now, I am concerned about him."

She hesitated. "What are you saying?" she demanded guardedly.

"If you truly love him," I said, "and you are happy being with him, then I will say nothing further. If you don't," I shrugged, "it's best you leave sooner rather than later, wouldn't you say?"

She looked at me and understood exactly what I was saying. "I think – it's sooner," she said carefully.

"Don't suppose we'll be seeing you in Camelot again," I said, my tone cheerful. "Ever."

She agreed, "No," and gave me a last glance, before she darted from the room.

I went back to the spare cot and curled up, trying to pass one last peaceful night in sleep.

FYI, there are two more chapters after this one, will post tomorrow and the next day.