This chapter is a bit shorter than the others. I'm not sure if you will like it-there is lots of angst and it was a bit rushed. Please review, even if you just want to complain about how disappointed you are!

Now, despite what certain servants may believe, Arthur was not stupid; he had realised that servants don't just transform into their masters overnight for no reason. His first thought on the matter had been sorcery, but what reasons would a sorcerer have for turning him into a servant? The whole ordeal didn't make any sense until he considered Merlin. Lately, the boy had been looking depressed and overworked, and took longer finishing his tasks than usual. He had not seemed surprised to wake up as prince, and had gone to breakfast with Uther as if he had done so all his life; the enchantment had obviously been planned. As far as Arthur was concerned, this trail of thoughts had an obvious conclusion. Merlin had used magic to make everyone perceive him as the true prince. His father would be furious.

Meanwhile, Merlin was making his way to the throne room, escorted by two of the royal guards. They walked beside him, impassive and expressionless as always; Merlin wondered if they ever spoke. He could feel the dread inside him mounting with every step he took. What if they had met Arthur before? What if he couldn't answer any of their questions? Thousands of 'what ifs' raced around his head in answerless circles.

They had reached the massive oak doors, which rose, grand and imposing, above the young warlock's head. Merlin gulped, and the doors creaked open. The council chambers spread out before him, and a group of men looked up at his entrance. Merlin was sure that they would be able to hear his heart thudding wildly against his chest, and wished they would stop staring; he felt small and vulnerable under their unwavering gazes.

'Come over here, son,' Uther called, his voice booming unnaturally in the cavernous room. Merlin approached the table, and sat in the empty chair beside the king. He was introduced to the other men, and nodded to them each in turn. They were still looking at him curiously, and Merlin could not help the blush that spread across his pale cheeks, which thankfully caused them to look away.

After a while, Merlin started to relax. Sendred had asked him of his opinion on a couple of matters, and the young man's responses seemed to please him. After he had answered the third question diplomatically, Sendred had looked at him with respect, impressed.

'Your boy has a wise head on his shoulders,' the king of Mercia told Uther, making Merlin flush. 'I am sure he will make a fine king someday.' At this statement, Uther looked at Merlin, a sort of fierce pride burning in his eyes; the warlock fought to keep a straight face, struck by the irony of the situation. At the end of the visit, both kings signed the treaty and shook hands, relief showing on both their faces; there would be no war.

Merlin was feeling satisfied with how the meeting had gone right until he had stepped outside the throne room, and saw Arthur waiting for him. There was no mistaking that smug expression; he had a plan.

'You used magic, didn't you.' It wasn't a question. 'If the king finds out, he'll be furious,' Arthur continued gleefully, causing the colour to fade from Merlin's cheeks. Arthur watched the warlock, fascinated, as his complexion turned a sickly grey colour. The boy's reaction confirmed his theory.

'Please…' whispered Merlin desperately. 'Please don't tell Uther he'll kill me I'll do anything' blabbered the sorcerer urgently.

'Anything, you say,' mused Arthur. He paused for effect, the boy holding on to his every word. Frightened blue eyes waited; Arthur's next words could save or condemn him.

'I'll think about the offer,' Arthur continued calmly. 'You'll know if it has been refused.' With that he walked off, feeling smug, and leaving Merlin looking so pale and small he seemed almost transparent. Come to think of it, he would have been better off if he was. His fate was in the hands of a man whose' two favourite things happened to be seeing his manservant suffer, and killing innocent animals.

Arthur could almost feel the burden of Merlin's life resting on his shoulders, but he could also feel the sense of being invincible and powerful that came with being so completely in control. Although he did experience some shame when he thought of the torment the warlock must be going through, it was balanced with his desire for revenge. Nobody could make him into a peasant and expect no retaliation. However, he couldn't stop certain memories from coming to mind.

Arthur had almost forgotten the wide, goofy grin that Merlin used to greet him with before promptly tripping over and landing, bewildered, at the prince's feet. He had almost forgotten the lively banter that used to accompany his manservant's visits to clean his room. He tried to remember when Merlin had stopped being the Merlin he knew, and had become the reserved, quiet character that he saw nowadays. At first Arthur had been concerned, then angry, but after a while he had forgotten that there had ever been another Merlin; A Merlin that had been his friend. When had it all started? How did they end up like this? He tried to recall the day before everything had changed…

Merlin came into the room quietly, not meeting him in the eye when Arthur looked up. The Prince was stretching his legs for the first time in days, his arm in a sling; he had been attacked by the Questing Beast about a week ago and had narrowly escaped death. Apparently, his manservant had had better things to do than to tend to his master all day, as Arthur hadn't seen him in weeks.

The prince acknowledged Merlin, and then his servant asked him how he was. They exchanged a few more words, but Merlin seemed to be building himself up to say something. The prince felt strangely uncomfortable; he ate a grape and walked around the room to try and alleviate the rising tension. Merlin had his back to Arthur, and seemed hesitant in turning round. When he was finally facing forward, he seemed to have to make a conscious effort to look at Arthur. His servant's ashen skin had contrasted with the dark shadows under his eyes, and he looked even slighter than usual, but Arthur could see determination and resolve in the set of his jaw.

'I need to talk to you,' he said finally, looking his master in the eyes.

'You still haven't got it yet; I decide when we need to talk,' Arthur had answered, rolling his eyes. Merlin had no concept of his rank compared to Arthur, but truthfully, the prince enjoyed his inappropriate retorts. He was a welcome change from the usual mindless zombies.

'Not today.' Arthur had started up at his manservant in surprise. His voice had been low, serious, demanding attention.

The prince had tried to maintain his rank: 'I sometimes wonder if you know who I am.'

'Oh, I know who you are,' Merlin had replied, walking towards Arthur.

'Good.'

'You're a prat,' Merlin had smiled cheekily.

Merlin had then proceeded to articulate what he now realised was a goodbye. After Merlin had returned from wherever he had gone, he had been different. There was no answering back, no banter and no fun. All the times Arthur had wished he had a 'proper servant' had backfired on him. At first, he had tried to comfort Merlin, but to no avail; it was as if their friendship had never existed. It was only a few months before it didn't.

Merlin had been the only real friend Arthur had; the only person who didn't want to gain anything but companionship from his closeness to the prince. Arthur had become lonely and bitter when his servant had withdrawn into himself, shutting himself away from everyone. The prince had just wanted his friend back, but now realised that punishing him and giving him more chores in the hope that he would become the old rebellious Merlin would not solve anything. Arthur now realised why his servant could not confide in him. Whatever happened whilst he was away probably involved magic, which was punishable by death. Even so, the prince wished that Merlin had had enough faith to confide in him.

Whilst Arthur was busy reminiscing, a shout jerked him rudely out of his train of thought.

'ARTHUR!' The prince flinched, and looked around, trying to discover the source of the disturbance. He thought he recognised the tone…but surely…no, it couldn't be…Gwen?

Surely enough, the young maid was just behind him. The usually mild-mannered maidservant was irate. Her fists were clenched so tightly that the tendons stood out; her usually warm brown eyes were flashing; and her cheeks were flushed a bright pink. Arthur only just had time to register how beautiful she looked before a fist slammed, hard, into his jaw. The prince froze in shock; nobody hit the crowned prince.

'How dare you,' Gwen thundered, making Arthur wish he was still slaving away at his chores. 'You are a cruel, selfish man, Arthur Pendragon. Merlin thinks he is going to die! Do you have any idea how that feels? Do you have any idea how many times he's saved your life, and this is how you repay him! I wish he'd left you to rot.'

Gwen's last sentence was injected with so much venom that Arthur could almost feel it spreading through his veins, poisoning his heart. Through the pain, he felt confusion. When had Merlin saved him? He couldn't even save himself from falling over!

'Wait, Gwenevere. What are you talking about? Anyway, I think I am being pretty lenient, considering the fact that he used magic to enchant my father. The same magic that is forbidden in Camelot-'

'-The same magic that he used to save your life! Merlin sacrificed so much to keep you living.' Gwen paused for a moment, scrutinising Arthur carefully as if she was trying to find something. 'I don't even know why.'

These last words were said quietly, but hit Arthur harder than the punch in the face. Gwen couldn't think of a reason why anybody would want to save him, and to be honest, neither could he.

Merlin stared at his bedpost unseeingly, a myriad of memories and emotions spinning around dizzily in his head. He saw Will's chest being pierced with an arrow; his mother lying on her deathbed; Gaius slumped on the grass, pale and lifeless, behind Nimueh; his mother dead, her eyes blank and unseeing, her bloodless lips slightly open in a silent ongoing cry of pain.

Merlin felt bile rise in his throat and retched over and over again, tears cascading silently down his pale, drawn face. He had done this. How many others would have to die for him to fulfil his destiny?

A new image rose, unbidden, in his mind: a thin pallid boy tied to a stake, sagging against the ropes that bound him. He was surrounded by flames that lashed at his aching body. As the fire rose higher, the boy choked violently, suffocated by the black fog. He screamed piercingly; his body was arched in agony, straining against the ropes.

Merlin was sick again and again until his throat was burning. At last, exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep.

Please don't hate me for being so evil to Merlin! This is not exactly like the series-Hunith is dead because Merlin was too late to save her. This means that she is dead because Merlin was trying to save Arthur, so Merlin doesn't feel as comfortable around the prince.