Hey guys, so I know that it has been a SUPER long time since I updated, and I really hope that hasn't cost me anyone's interest in the story...But here it is! The fourth chapter! FINALLY! This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but you know how that goes. When you have a lack of inspiration and a hectic schedule, the writing usually suffers. But that's still no excuse for me not updating! Again, so sorry, and please enjoy this new installment of Until That Day Comes.

"It was during one of these revolts that Percival was killed."

Arthur jerked his head up at those words, an expression of shock contorting his features. He had known that all of his knights and subjects were long dead, but it was surreal to hear it actually said. He hadn't given much thought to the actual implications of them being dead, just gone. Merlin had said that Percival was killed. Arthur couldn't imagine it, a sword being thrust through Percival's body, him collapsing, bleeding out on the ground. Or had he been struck and then taken to Gaius, only for the wound to be too severe or too late? Was it painful, slow? God, he hoped not.

As if reading his mind (who knew, maybe he could, the man was a sorcerer after all) Merlin brought Arthur's attention back to himself with a gentle tug on his sleeve. "It was quick, Arthur. Hardly any pain. The people had gotten out of hand, they were becoming violent, so Gwen sent out the knights to put things in order and calm the riot. It was between magic users and nonmagical, in the lower town. When they started to fight, the sorcerers began to throw around spells. The knights had not been trained to fight sorcerers, they had no idea how to handle a magical riot. The best they could do was to block intended spells with their swords. There must have been some sort of radical in the crowd who was using truly dangerous spells, because people- knights and peasants alike- were falling wounded. Percival was targeted by this sorcerer. He was trying to protect another knight, who had fallen, and the sorcerer struck while his back was turned. The spell was a common one, if only because it is so...so easy. It was just a blast of raw concentrated power, focused on Percival. He must have been thrown nearly twenty yards into the air, and when he landed, he broke his neck. I didn't even know until the people had been settled and the revolt put down. When I found him, Percival was...well he was already d-dead."

Arthur closed his eyes and tried to imagine a lifeless Percival, with all of his bulk. Tried to see in his mind's eye those clear and kind eyes blank in the cold stare of death, his limbs limp and unmoving, his neck twisted at an odd angle. Mouth hanging open and skin grey as stone. Arthur found that he simply could not imagine the gentle, warm knight cold and stiff. Lifeless on the ground. He wondered how many other corpses he himself had seen like that, made like that. He hadn't given a second thought to them, and yet there was a terrible empty Percival shaped hole in his heart now.

His thoughts turned towards the sorcerer who had been the cause of his friend's death. The spell had been easy, said Merlin. Just concentrated power. Did that mean that any sorcerer could use it? Had Merlin ever used that kind of force? Of course, Arthur thought to himself. He remembered when he was wounded, traveling with Merlin. He had thrown Morgana's men fifty meters at least, and they had tumbled down the hill, unconscious before they knew what had hit them. Arthur imagined, from what he had seen of the last battle at Cammlan and his proceeding journey with the warlock to the lake of Avalon, that Merlin was quite capable of anything beyond what Arthur could come up with. So then how many lives had Merlin taken in the exact same way as Percival, how many casualties had he been the cause of in every fight they had ever met?

Before he could stop it, the question that he had been asking himself came tripping from his lips.

"Merlin, have you ever killed someone with that spell?"

Arthur immediately felt his cheeks redden and his face grow hot and glanced sideways at his friend, embarrassed for his bluntness.

Merlin's eyes flickered down, his lips pursed and cheeks paling. Arthur knew the answer to his question as soon as he saw the expression on the warlock's face.

"Yes."

A moment of silence, then, "How many?"

Merlin's face completely drained of color and his eyes took on a haunted (more so than previously) look. His lips moved soundlessly for several seconds, until finally, a barely audible "Lots," passed them.

Arthur didn't want to hear anymore on the subject, he was sorry that he had asked in the first place. Merlin's answers scared him. Just how many was 'lots'?

A minute passed in silence, then Merlin cleared his throat, and continued with his narrative.

"We gave Percival a proper funeral, of course. One worthy of a Knight of the Round Table. Everyone attended and paid their respects, gave their thanks to him for his bravery and loyalty. Leon was effected the most, I think. He had grown especially close to Percival, in that first year, since they were the only original Knights of the Round Table left-"

Merlin was cut off by a bewildered Arthur's, "What?"

Arthur's friend stared at him with a bemused look. "What's the matter, Arthur?"

"Why do you say that Leon and Percival were the only ones left? What about Gwain?"

At the mention of the knight Merlin's whole countenance fell and Arthur felt a sort of dread enter his heart. What had happened to the man that would cause Merlin to wear such a forlorn expression at the very mention of his name?

"Merlin..." said Arthur with trepidation in his voice. Slowly, he enunciated each word. "What happened to Gwain?"

Arthur watched wearily as a single tear formed in the warlock's eye and rolled down the bridge of his nose, stopping and dangling at the tip for a moment before ever so slowly breaking away to splash onto the back of Merlin's clasped hands. In a passing thought Arthur mused that he might fill an entire moat with all of the tears that had been shed between the two men that day.

Merlin sniffled and shifted on the couch so that he was facing away from Arthur. He ran a pale hand through his raven hair, the muscles in his neck tightening, and Arthur recognized the movement, as if it hadn't been over one thousand years since he had seen it last. Merlin was gathering courage to say what he meant to. Arthur mentally prepared himself as he awaited Merlin's answer to his question, aware that whatever his friend might say he was not going to like it. Not one bit.

"While you and I were still traveling to the Lake of Avalon," said Merlin, his voice strained, "Gwain and Percival decided to go after Morgana themselves. Gwain wanted revenge. Morgana had manipulated him into giving her information by way of a young woman, who used his feelings for her to get important details and plans about the battle and about you. So they went off by themselves to hunt down a High Priestess of the Old Religion and kill her with a mortal blade." Merlin said this with bitterness, obviously still angry at both of the knights for their foolish and dangerous behavior.

Arthur was listening with rapt attention, also shocked by his knights lack of common sense and good judgment. He had never known either Gwain nor Percival to be foolish in any way (except for maybe Gwain's insistence on excessive drinking). He imagined that Gwain's feelings for this girl must have run much deeper than just the surface for him to do something so incredibly stupid and thick headed in retaliation to her betrayal.

As he was thinking this, a little voice in the back of his mind warned him that this was not the only reason why Merlin was so upset and bitter.

"There's more," said Arthur, thinking out loud. Merlin pursed his lips, a clear indication that Arthur's statement rang true. "Tell me."

Merlin closed his eyes and shook his head, silently begging Arthur not to make him tell him. But Arthur persisted. He'd be damned if Merlin was still keeping secrets from him after over a thousand years.

"Merlin," intoned Arthur, using his most kingly voice, "I order you to tell me what happened with Gwain."

Merlin stopped shaking his head, instead placing his head in his hands and slowly folding in on himself among the cushions of the sofa.

"You won't like it, Arthur."

Arthur's lips twitched at his statement. "Will I ever, Merlin?"

Merlin gave a small chuckle, though it sounded forced. But Arthur supposed it was just as well; there was nothing at all humorous about discussing their dead friends and former lives.

With his head still cradled in his hands, Merlin began in a hushed tone. "They found Morgana. They ambushed her and tried to kill her. They weren't thinking properly, tried to use mundane methods of attack. She stopped them, captured them, and she...she tortured them. Gwain, I mean. She tortured Gwain with the Nathair-"

At the mention of the dreaded snake Arthur's eyes widened infinitesimally, his face paling even more than Merlin's. He suddenly had an idea as to why Merlin was so reluctant to tell him what had happened to his friend, and why he was so bitter about it.

"- in order to get information about you. Where you were going, who you were with, how far away you were, whether you were wounded or not. The Nathair, well, it was too much for Gwain. He gave in. He betrayed you."

When Merlin spoke the last sentence his voice became harsh and his eyes hardened. Arthur wondered when his lighthearted and ever cheery servant had become such a bitter young (old?) man. Though he figured that if he'd had a millennium by himself to dwell on these thoughts, then he might find reason to harbor a grudge as well. Even against one of his closest friends. Especially if he had inadvertently caused the death of his near brother and king.

Arthur took a closer look at Merlin. He had lines in his face that hadn't been there before. There was a glint in his eye that was hard to place; was it brought about by the spiritual age, or the bodily youth? And when had Merlin's eyes become so sunken? There was a faint scar across the side of his neck, almost as if someone had tried to slash it (had they?). Arthur was beginning to realize that this was not the same Merlin whom he had left on the shores of Avalon. This Merlin seemed so much more, and yet, so much...less. Arthur could see that there was no joy in life for him, not anymore. He looked tired, and lonely, and bored. Even sitting there next to Arthur, Merlin still looked completely listless. A pang of regret and guilt went through Arthur's heart at the thought of what his death had done to the young man sitting beside him, his faithful servant and closest (even first) friend. He made a silent vow to himself that he would bring the original Merlin back. He would not let his friend suffocate in his own bitterness any longer. He would find a way to revive the spirit that Merlin once had.

Merlin loudly cleared his throat, partly to bring Arthur out of the far away look he had on his face, and partly to dispel the tension and sour emotions and memories that talking about Gwain had brought to the surface. When he had realized that Gwain was dead, Merlin had been heartbroken. He had lost too much for such short amount of time. When he had found that Gwain had given up their location, that misery had turned to something else. Not quite hate, no, he could never really hate such a good friend, one only had to look at his relationship with Morgana to know that. But the sadness gave way to feelings of betrayal and disbelief. He'd had a hard time understanding how Gwain, even under torture, could give up their location. Merlin had been angry with him for the longest time. He couldn't even talk about the knight without going red in the face. Now, however, Merlin could see that it would have been near impossible for Gwain to hold out, because Morgana would not have stopped until she got the information that she wanted, and had Gwain died under torture, then she still had Percival to fall back on. Merlin tried to blame his grief and loneliness for his anger, but deep down he knew that it was no excuse. The anger that he had projected onto Gwain's betrayal had just been a magnified and concrete outlet for his anger at himself.

Merlin took pity on Arthur; his face was slack and his eyes disbelieving.

Yet more betrayal for Arthur to sort through and come to terms with, more wrongs against him that he would have to either forgive or forget. Merlin was suddenly glad, in that moment, that he had had centuries to sort out his feelings and separate them so that he could control them. With his ever increasing age had come much wisdom, and much better methods for filing and assessing his turbulent emotions, even learning to moderate them. And though the thought of his fallen friend and his unprecedented betrayal still stung and hardened his voice and face, he would not let it control his true feelings for the knight, nor let it ruin the first real happiness he had felt in centuries.

With an inward deep breath, Merlin said "Well, I think that's enough of that. It doesn't do to dwell on these things. Besides, it doesn't matter now."

After a moment's hesitation, Arthur nodded in agreement. Merlin could see from the way his brow creased ever so slightly in the middle and the way he set his jaw that he was still trying to process his new knowledge. Even after centuries, after his memory had long since gone fuzzy of those first several hundred years, he could still recognize these small signs, for he knew Arthur's face better than his own.

"What-" Arthur cleared his throat, "What happened after Percival was killed?"

Relieved to be moving away from the topic of their aggrieved and traitorous friend, Merlin continued with his story of days gone by.

"After Percival, Leon was the only original member of the Round Table left. He introduced many new knights into the circle in his time. He and I worked together to train and teach the knights how to fight against magic, to properly defend themselves. We didn't want to loose anymore friends to lack of knowledge. Leon remained Gwen's most trusted knight and a close confidant, one of few. After he retired he stayed near to Camelot, electing to purchase an estate just outside the city walls, instead of claiming and moving to his family's estate. For that, both Gwen and I were extremely grateful. He was always near, should we have needed him."

Merlin paused a moment, stealing himself for one of his more painful memories.

"And there did indeed come a time when we were in need of him..."

Merlin's voice was thick as he murmured the next sentence. "Not long after Leon left, Gaius...h-he passed on."

Although his voice cracked and was still thick with grief, the warlock did not shed a tear. He had already shed far to many that day, and over the years the pain of the loss of his mentor and father at heart had dulled considerably. Gaius had lived a good, long life, much longer than anyone had any right to. And when the time had come, the physician had been ready. He had passed to the next life in peace, not from any sickness or injury, but simply the natural process of aging. Of that Merlin was grateful.

Gaius had taught him everything, fostered and nurtured him into the man he had become. Merlin remembered him everyday of his life, and still lived by the lessons that the old man had instilled in him. He had saved some of his mentors books and treasures, but they had either been lost to age, like the physician, or destroyed by the many events that Merlin had lived through. Either way, there was nothing but memories left of his adopted father...

Merlin suddenly stood up from the sofa, effectively putting an end to his musings. After all, what had he just told Arthur? It didn't do well to dwell...that was what he had told himself everyday. As soon as he felt the grief and self-pity begin to well up, he would remind himself that it was no use, he couldn't do anything about what happened now. The art of moving on was difficult to master, but necessary. And master it he did.

Arthur watched his friend as he murmured those words, feeling that at last this was some burden that they could share. Arthur did not know the pain of watching everyone he knew slowly fading away. He could never imagine the loneliness of a thousand years spent waiting for something that he didn't even know for sure would happen. Nor could he know what it was to feel amazing age but at the same time young and fit, to hide a part of himself from the rest of the world because they wouldn't understand. He couldn't compare any of his experiences with those of Merlin's. But this, the loss of a father and mentor, this he could relate to. The days of numbness, passing through halls and crowds like a ghost. Waking up every morning expecting to see his father's face only to be harshly reminded that his father was gone, never to be seen or touched or felt again. The moment of realization when he understood and accepted that this was the way things were, and nothing he could do would change that. Arthur knew all about this, and so when Merlin suddenly jumped up and started to pace in front of the sofa, it was no surprise to Arthur. The agony and grief of losing a parent needed a physical outlet, of that the king was well aware. Even after years and years...

Was that alright? Did I do good with Percival's death? I have to say this chapter was really difficult to write simply because I wasn't sure what way to approach subjects like the knights dying and and Gwaine. So please tell me what you thought, because reviews are extremely helpful! And I promise that the angst won't last forever, I just gotta work out all the past stuff before I can move on to Arthur and The Real World.