Merlin shook himself awake. It was not as though he wanted to ignore sleep's siren call, or that the thought of sleeping through these hours was unappealing. He just did not want to be asleep when Arthur finally made his decision, whenever that would be. Time passed strangely in these dark cells underground. An hour might have passed, or a day. They had fed him once, begrudgingly, setting the scant food and water just outside the cell before scuttling away like beetles, as though afraid he would turn them into actual beetles. He sighed and drew his knees up to his chest, locking his hands around them and leaning against the wall, his awareness pressing outward. The worked stone slowed him only a little; living stone was easier to move through, kept its history closer, but all Merlin wanted was a glimpse of the outside, a sense of fresh air and the time of day.

Sunset . . .

A day had passed, then, after one of the longest nights of his life. A day spent in the dark, retracing the events of Morgana's attack to figure out if there had been another way to defeat her without revealing his magic. He had not come up with one thus far. A year ago, Morgana's power had felt like a fire crackling in a hearth, strong enough to warm a body, but with the potential to become much more. She had reached her potential, though, and was still growing, her strength shivering through his awareness like wind gusting away from a burning building.

The sorcerer-warriors had been powerful, too, in their own ways, and every bit as dangerous as Morgana. 'If I hadn't acted, Arthur would have died. They all would have died, and I might have joined them. But was there another way . . . ?' Merlin's heart said no, even though his mind still raced around the possibilities. They would have died if he had done nothing, and died if he had been subtle. Morgana's final attack against him had been bad enough. Merlin's ribs still ached from the killing spell he had deflected, if only just.

No, there had been no good choices, no way of keeping his secret while keeping Arthur alive. He had done his best. Now he could only wait for Arthur and be thankful that it was not Uther making the decision. 'And what if Arthur chooses the same path as his father?' a little voice asked. Merlin shook his head in denial. 'Arthur is not Uther,' he countered, 'the half cannot hate that which makes it whole. Arthur would not send me to the pyre.'

'And yet he nearly burned Gaius, once. And you, though he did not know who you were.' The little voice of doubt was persistent. Merlin tried to shove it away, but it kept whispering in spite of his efforts. Memories of past burnings rose up like smoke, the deaths of sorcerers both good and evil; worst had been the Druids. Sharing his thoughts with Druids was easy as breathing. It was a fine trick for a summer day, or a night when they wanted his attention, but that little blessing had become a horrific curse whenever one was given to the flames. Merlin had deliberately not counted the number of Druids whose slow, awful deaths he had felt even while they burned.

Each time, he ghosted around the castle for days, unable to eat or sleep for the screams that haunted his steps. Arthur never taunted him for it, fortunately. The prince seemed only slightly less disturbed than his servant on those days. Uther, Merlin knew, had slept like a child. 'He would execute you. Are you sure his son is any better?'

Shuddering, Merlin forced himself to focus on the bench beneath him and the stone at his back, anything to get rid of that nagging little voice. "Léoht," he whispered, throwing caution to the wind as the little ball of pale blue light appeared in his cupped hands. He was already in prison for using magic. What harm could a little ball of light do? At least now, he could see more than the thin glow at the end of the corridor. The darkness did not press so heavily anymore.

He spun the little light back and forth between his fingers, flipping it around the way a conjurer might flip a coin, making it disappear and reappear on a whim. A trick to entertain children. Merlin almost smiled at that. He felt like a child, lost in the darkness with little hope of rescue. Only one person could save him, and it was even odds as to whether Arthur would want him alive or dead. Merlin shivered. The light flickered and died. 'Dead or alive,' that cold voice returned, 'He won't want you at his side anymore.'

A chill settled into his bones. He curled more tightly in on himself, resting his forehead against his knees as the dark thoughts whirled ever more dismal, threatening to destroy what little bit of courage he had built up while waiting through the long day in the dark cells below Camelot.

'He loves you, Merlin. Even if he will not admit it to himself. He would sooner destroy himself than you,' another little voice welled up from the depths of his mind. He wanted it to be true, even if there was a very real chance that it was not. He clung to it as a drowning man clings to a bit of driftwood, and waited.


Gaius's chambers had always been a welcoming place to Arthur, back to the time of his childhood when his worst problems had been skinned knees and caretakers who would not let him ride his father's warhorse. Save for the times the physician was cooking up some wretched new potion, the place smelled the way a home should- sweet and warm and clean- and always lit with a hundred bright candles. Arthur hoped the healer would not throw him out straightaway. Gaius was one of the few in Camelot who could order the prince about, and tonight, Arthur felt like he deserved whatever tongue-lashing the old man felt it necessary to deliver.

He gave two knocks before edging into the room. Gaius looked up from his seat at the table. A flash of hope flared in his eyes before giving way to disappointment at who he found at his doorway. 'It's because I'm not Merlin,' Arthur reproached himself, trying not to let the thought act like a handful of salt on raw wounds. "Gaius. I need a word with you. About . . . "he trailed off.

"About Merlin?" the physician finished for him.

Arthur nodded as he took a seat across from Gaius. "How long did you know? About his . . . His magic?" The words still felt strange on his tongue.

"Many years, sire," Gaius sighed and wrapped his hands around the clay cup in front of him. The warmth of the steaming contents eased the pain of his arthritic joints. "Since well before he arrived in Camelot. I've known his mother since she was a child, and when Merlin started showing signs of having magic, she wrote to me asking what she should do."

"And so she sent him to Camelot? Where he would be hated and executed if anyone found out?"

Gaius gave him an even look, silently asking the prince to be quiet until he was done with his story. "When he was old enough, we intended for Merlin to be my apprentice. He would learn the physician's craft as well as how to control his powers. In time, we thought we could send him somewhere where magic wasn't so feared- Nemeth, perhaps, or Helva. But fate played her hand, and he became your servant. Now, he would not willingly be parted from you, Arthur."

"He said he was born with magic," Arthur rested his elbows on the table, settling his chin in his hands, "But I've never heard of such a thing. Morgana did not have magic when she was a child. She grew into it."

"Indeed," Gaius said, "Merlin is unlike any sorcerer I have ever encountered. He could move objects with his mind when he was still in his cradle, and he learns any spell with ease enough to make a High Priestess envious. He outstripped my capabilities long ago and is, for now, still more powerful than Morgana." He paused, and the unspoken thought, Or else you would be dead right now, hung between them. "I have never met his like before. There are some who believe that Merlin is the most powerful sorcerer who has ever lived."

"I know little of magic, Gaius. What does that mean?"

The old healer lowered his eyes, focusing briefly on a candle in front of him. It burned low and would likely to go out at any moment. "Sire, if my own, fading powers were as this guttering candle, then Morgana's would be like the citadel on fire."

"And Merlin?"

"Merlin could set the whole of the kingdom of Camelot ablaze."

The answer shook Arthur to the core. Morgause had been strong enough to put everyone in the city to sleep; Morgana had destroyed a tower with the power of her voice alone. 'And Merlin is stronger still?' He lowered his head further, pressing his thumbs against his temples to ease his aching head. "He said he only used it to defend Camelot. How do I know that's true?"

"He has always had faith in you, Arthur. You must have faith in him. I could give you a very long list of the things he has done for you, and for the kingdom, but it would count for nothing if you don't trust him."

The prince looked up sharply. "Trust him? How can I? For six years he's been by my side, and neither he nor you ever bothered to tell me this one truth, this most important truth, Gaius. Did you honestly think I would send him to his death?"

"You father would have," the physician said. He spun the cup in a slow circle in his hands. "I must confess, sire, that Merlin always wanted to tell you. He wanted you to know, but it was my advice that kept him silent. And fear of your father."

The fire crackling in the fireplace was the only sound for a long time as Arthur absorbed all that he had heard. A hundred more questions begged to be asked, but they would wait. His head was full enough for the moment. "Thank you, Gaius." He moved to go, making it to the door before Gaius spoke again.

"Sire?"

Arthur did not turn back. He knew what the question would be. "Yes?"

"What will you do?"

He opened the door. "I don't know yet. Good night, Gaius."

The walk back to his chambers was a lonely one. The few who crossed his path quickly moved away at the sight of his stormy expression, even the lord who was always fawning over the prince to curry favor. For his own part, Arthur hardly looked up, the journey familiar enough that he could walk it blind. Tonight, he needed to, for he barely noticed who and what he passed until he reached his chambers and found Lancelot waiting. The dark-eyed knight stood straight as an arrow against the wall by Arthur's door, decked out as formally as he could be, his chain mail shimmering, the golden dragon of Camelot a glossy reminder on his shoulder. "Sire," he bowed his head as the prince approached, "May I have a word with you?"

Arthur paused, his hand on the door latch. All conversation this night would involve his servant, it seemed. "Of course," he nodded sharply and gestured for Lancelot to enter. Someone had lit the candles, lending the room a warm glow. He wished he could feel it. "What did you wish to speak with me about?"

His chain of knighthood rattled when Lancelot dropped to a knee, a half-dozen tiny, penitential chimes as he lowered his head. "I came to speak on Merlin's behalf. I know the laws regarding magic in Camelot, as well as the laws against harboring sorcerers. By your father's law, Merlin should be put to death. I've come to beg for his life."

"You knew." Arthur rounded on the knight. 'Is there no one in this land who tells the truth?' "You knew what he was, and you kept it from me?"

"Yes, sire," Lancelot said softly, still kneeling, his eyes downcast. "Forgive me. I said nothing of it because it was a matter of honor."

"Honor?" Arthur spat, incredulous, "How can lying to me be a matter of honor?"

"Merlin used magic to save my life when I rode out to face the gryphon. I would be long dead if not for him, and many innocents as well, had that creature been allowed to continue its rampage. It would be poor repayment for my life, if I had spoken of it and that information sent him to the pyre. Sire, I will gladly accept whatever punishment you deem necessary- strip me of my knighthood. Cast me into prison. Exile me. But please. Spare Merlin."

The prince turned on his heel and stalked toward the windows, determined not to speak until his anger cooled somewhat. Camelot glittered under the velvet night, a thousand lights from a thousand windows turned the dark stone into a jeweled ornament in the vastness of the world. A soft breeze carried the sound of laughter and music up to him. A pang of jealousy stabbed at him, that others were carrying on being happy when he could not. 'That's a child's response,' A voice seemed to whisper. It sounded like Merlin. Arthur sighed and closed the window. "I have no intention of executing Merlin, Lancelot. I never did. I . . . I thought I could trust the people around me, and now I find that Merlin kept this from me. So did Gaius. And now you. Did the rest of you know? Gwaine? Percival? Anyone? Look at me!" Arthur nearly shouted the last.

Lancelot raised his head, his eyes calm and clear as he met his prince's gaze. "No, Sire. To my knowledge, only Gaius and I knew. We did not speak of it unless it was absolutely necessary. I know I have broken the law, and I know there is no excusing it, but it was done in the name of friendship and loyalty. Merlin is one of the best men I have had the privilege to know, and I did not want to see any harm come to him."

He nearly faltered under the weight of Lancelot's calm and, dare he say, righteousness. Sir Lancelot the Bright, the people called him, and not because his armor was well polished. They said he had no sin on his conscience, but Arthur had found one. A lie of omission was still a lie, but the prince found he could not blame the knight for it. Loyalty counted for much in Arthur's mind, but still. 'They don't trust me.' "Thank you, Lancelot. I will keep your words in mind. Now, please. Go. I need time to think." He turned back to the window, ignoring the knight's quiet acknowledgment when he left.

Time passed, an hour or so, Arthur would have guessed. There was a knock at the door followed by the sound of it opening. Familiar footfalls broke the quiet.

"They said you've not eaten today," Guinevere said softly, "I figured someone should take care of you, since you wouldn't see to it yourself. I know you have a lot on your mind," She set the tray on the table, arranging the dishes in their proper places and pulling the chair out for him when she was done. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Arthur?" He heard her drift toward him, felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Tell me what I should do." He stepped away from the window to look her in the eye. A lock of her dark hair had fallen across her forehead. He brushed it away. "I feel like I'm lost in the woods, Guinevere, with not star left to guide me. Merlin . . . Merlin has magic."

"I know," she breathed.

"You did?" Arthur's brow furrowed.

She nodded. "Elyan told me after you came home this morning. He said you ordered the guards to take Merlin to the dungeons, and that no one was to see him. Are you sure that was the right thing to do?"

"My mother died because of magic. This kingdom was nearly torn apart because of it. So many sorcerers have tried to kill my father and me . . . And you-" Arthur spun away as his voice nearly broke. He drew in a long breath before continuing, "How many have died because of what Morgause and Morgana did? I have seen nothing but evil done with magic in my life, and now I find that my own servant is a sorcerer. By all the laws I am sworn to uphold, I should be building a pyre for him right now."

"You listen to me, Arthur Pendragon!" Guinevere's voice rang with steel, "There is no one more loyal to you than Merlin. He would not think twice about sacrificing himself for you, and you know it."

"He is a sorcerer."

"He is your friend, Arthur. Isn't that one of the qualities that you, as a knight- as the future king- are supposed to uphold- friendship? As well as courage and loyalty?"

Lesser men would have quailed at the look in Guinevere's eyes. Arthur managed not to, but only just. "He lied to me."

"Don't you think he was afraid, Arthur? If your father had known, don't you think he would have sent Merlin to the pyre without a second thought? How much courage has Merlin had to have, how much faith in you does he have, to stay at your side, knowing that the smallest slip of the tongue could lead to his death?" She rested her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye until he broke away, cowed by the intensity of her gaze.

"He lied to me," Arthur said again, softly, "How can I trust him, when he wouldn't trust me with the truth about himself? Can you honestly tell me that you're not upset at him?"

Guinevere pulled away, her jaw set. Her eyes were awash with disappointment. "Am I upset at Merlin? Yes, a little. I wish he had trusted me. But do you know what else I wish for, Arthur? A kingdom where we forgive our friends for their mistakes, and where years of loyalty are not forgotten in a night. And mostly, I wish for a kingdom where equality is more than just a word we say. Merlin saved your life last night. He saved all your lives. Had he used a sword, all of Camelot would be praising him right now, but because he used magic to do it, he is locked away in some cold, dark cell. He is your friend, Arthur. Don't forget that."

"Then what would you have me do?" Arthur asked as she whirled and strode toward the door.

She turned back to face him again, her face limned by candlelight. "Stop hiding in your chambers and talk to him. You won't find out why he kept his magic from you any other way. And mostly, I want you to ask yourself if those knightly qualities you swear to uphold are more than just words to you." In the moment before she turned away again, Guinevere looked a thousand times nobler than Arthur felt. Then the moment was lost and she was gone, his chamber door slamming shut in her wake.