**EDITED**

It was a while before Merlin's tears subsided, leaving behind a dull ache in his chest and the feeling of having been hollowed out. He uncurled himself from his position on the floor and drew the hem of his sleeve across his wet face, sniffing and trying to get a hold of himself. He had thought that he had prepared himself for all possible outcomes of that conversation, but he had been wrong. Arthur had made his feelings abundantly clear and Merlin guessed that he should count himself lucky that he was still alive. He did not feel lucky at all.

But he could not just hide in this tent, no matter how much he wanted to. As much as it terrified him to think it, as much as he would rather just curl up here with his misery and never come out again, he had a responsibility to the people of Carthis, and he would be damned if he let them down now, after he had already ruined his chance of going back to Camelot.

With that thought in mind, Merlin pulled himself to his feet. He tried his best to make himself look as though he had not just spent a great deal of time crying on the ground, but he didn't think that he managed it. He wiped at his face once more, took a deep shuddering breath, and fortified himself against what he might find when he left the tent. He did not know if Arthur would still be there, maybe telling the knights all that he had discovered.

He wondered what their reactions would be, if they would be as affected by it as Arthur had been. No one had come bursting into the tent with swords unsheathed, at least, so he decided to take that as a good sign. He knew that things had really gone to shit when that was him being optimistic.

He clenched his fists at his sides, unable to force himself to draw back the tent flap. He did not think he could stand to see that same twisted pain and anger on the faces of the other knights, all of whom had become close friends of his over the last several years. To see that distress mirrored back at him four more times. It might just break him.

Merlin gritted his teeth against the fear. Damn it, he was Emrys. He was the most powerful sorcerer to ever exist, and he would not stay in this tent hiding away like a child. He would face the consequences of the decision he had made with his head held high. He squared his shoulders and opened the flap.

The camp was little different than it had been the last time that he had exited the tent. Thalia and Tibalt had gone, and their horses with them, presumably back home to their village now that their task was over and done. Elyan had bedded down for the night and was snoring lightly, probably still worn out from the patrol he had only just returned from before this wild goose chase came up. Mordred and Gerund were deep in conversation, smiling and gesturing ardently, but they were too far away for Merlin to hear their words. He wondered if they were speaking of magic, if Gerund had discerned Mordred's druidic upbringing yet.

Arthur was nowhere to be seen and Merlin did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed by the fact. The worried looks which Leon and Percival were shooting into the woods were a good clue as to where he had gone, though. Leon looked about ready to charge in after him, unwilling to leave his king unprotected when he was in such an obviously distracted state, but Percival had a restraining hand on his arm.

Leon looked over to Merlin as he stepped out of the tent. There was no accusation in his eyes, only an entreaty, but Merlin could not hold his gaze. It was clear that Arthur had not told them anything, that they did not yet know of Merlin's crimes. Merlin turned away from them.

Gwaine was sitting alone by the fire now, a wine skin in his hand, looking toward the woods into which Arthur had disappeared with an unusually pensive expression on his face. He took one look at Merlin as he approached and wordlessly proffered up the wine. Merlin took it from him gladly, taking a generous gulp and wincing at the unfamiliar burn of alcohol—he had never held his drink well, and he had learned the hard way many years ago that magic and inebriation did not go well together—before sitting on the log beside Gwaine and passing the skin back to him.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, just staring into the fire side by side, each involved in their own thoughts. This was one of the things that Merlin liked most about Gwaine; considering the man's prodigious talent for nattering on about everything and nothing at the same time, he also had a knack for knowing that there was a time and a place for it. He knew when his presence was all that was needed, when conversation would not be a blessing, and he was not afraid of silence like so many were.

While Merlin was grateful that Gwaine was not trying to talk his ear off or badger him for information, the quiet left his mind free to wander. With the flicker of the firelight on his face and the smell of the smoke from the campfire filling his senses, Merlin could not help but wonder what it would feel like on his skin.

Thoughts of the pyre spun through his head, of his wrists bound to a stake and the flames licking at his ankles before climbing up the wood to engulf him entirely, the imaginings as vivid and terrifying as they had been all of his life, ever since he had first heard as a child that those with magic could only be purified of their evil through flame and fire. He could not help but think that his worst recurring nightmare—Arthur lighting his execution pyre with a cold smile on his face—had every chance of becoming reality.

"So what did you do to get the princess so up in arms?"

Obviously Gwaine had decided that the he had given Merlin enough space and quiet for now. The man had good timing, Merlin couldn't deny that. Gwaine's question pulled him out of his macabre thoughts. Not that the new topic was really any less distressing. Merlin did not answer him. He had already lost one friend tonight, and he was likely to lose the rest of them in the morning; he wanted to keep this one for as long as he could.

"Was it something to do with magic?"

Merlin looked at Gwaine sharply, trying hastily to school his expression into something more neutral than the shock and suspicion he felt at the abrupt question. He tried to go for innocent surprise, but he had never been overly good at making that expression look convincing, according to Gaius.

"Magic?" he repeated, rather proud that he had managed to suppress the tremble trying to force its way through into his voice. "Why would you think that?"

"There isn't much that can get Arthur that upset," Gwaine pointed out, gesturing vaguely toward the tree line, where Arthur still had not returned. He leaned in to Merlin, looked around warily to make sure no one was close enough to overhear, and then leaned in even closer just to make sure. "Did you tell him that you have magic?"

If Merlin had been standing up, he would have fallen over. Sitting as he was, there was little else for him to do but gape open-mouthed at his friend. He thought that he would have been inured to shock by now, what with the number of revelations he had already endured that day, but obviously he would have been mistaken. Gwaine was watching him with deceptively quick, calculating eyes, taking in his every minute reaction and waiting for Merlin to say something, but he did not seem angry or accusing.

Merlin tried to respond to his question, to scoff and laugh it off as ridiculous even though there was little point in denying it now when it was all going to come out tomorrow anyway, but all that came out of his mouth was an incoherent splutter followed by a rather strangled-sounding, "H-how did you…?!"

"I didn't know, actually, but you just confirmed it," Gwaine said with a slow grin spreading across his face. "I've had my suspicions on the matter since the Perilous Lands. You know, that obnoxious little dwarf at the bridge with the funny hat? The one that turned my sword into a bloody flower? Courage, Strength and Magic, he said. There were only so many options," he said with a shrug. "It wasn't me. And it certainly wasn't Arthur."

"The Perilous Lands?" Merlin hissed, only just remembering to keep his voice down. "Gwaine, that was over four years ago! If you suspected me for that long, why didn't you ever say something?"

"Every man has a right to his secrets, Merlin. I have plenty of my own. I figured that if you wanted me to know, then you would tell me eventually."

Merlin searched Gwaine's face for any hint of negative emotion: anger at the years of lying and hiding, hurt or betrayal at the lack of trust that it implied, suspicion or even fear at the sorcerer hiding in their midst. But he did not see any of that. There was only warmth and trust and no small measure of concern for him.

For one of the very few times in his life, Merlin was left speechless, his heart clenching in his chest at a sudden upwelling of affection for Gwaine, the rugged knight with a sharp tongue and a pure heart. Gwaine gave him a soft smile, so much more honest than the roguish smirk that so often graced his features.

"So am I right?" he asked, not bothering to try and hide his enthusiasm. "Did you tell Arthur about your magic?"

Merlin deflated at the reminder of what he had done, dropping his head into his hands as that feeling of hollowness flooded him again, the ache throbbing in time with the pain blossoming behind his tired eyes, still gritty from crying.

"Yeah, I told him," he sighed out with no small amount of difficulty.

"I take it that it didn't go over very well." It was not a question; it didn't need to be.

"Well, it certainly could have gone better." Merlin pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, watching swirling colors appear on the backs of his eyelids. "It might not have been so bad if that had been all I had to tell him."

"There's more?"

Merlin turned to Gwaine with a strained approximation of a smile, which was all he could work up at this point.

"Apparently you're not the only one with a secret noble heritage," he said.

One of Gwaine's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Oh, so you're a nobleman in denial as well?" he asked jokingly.

Merlin thought it best to be blunt.

"I am going to be the King of Carthis."

Gwaine's second eyebrow leapt up to join the first, both of them reaching ambitiously for his hairline. He looked at Merlin for a moment, judging his sincerity. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something to that, paused, and then closed it again with an aborted shake of his head.

"I did not see that coming," he admitted blankly.

"I am also a Dragonlord," Merlin tacked on, thinking he might as well get it all out in the open in one fell swoop.

"Bloody hell, Merlin, you don't do anything by half measures, do you?" Gwaine squawked indignantly. "When you hold back, you go all in. How many secrets have you been keeping?"

"Far too many," Merlin murmured, returning his gaze to the fire. The question had been meant as a joke, more like than not, but it hit far too close to home for him to take it that way.

Gwaine's annoyance faded immediately as he picked up on Merlin's sudden despondency and he laid a warm hand on his shoulder for a moment.

"Is that all?" he asked teasingly. "Or do you have a wife and seven kids hidden away somewhere? An evil twin you're not telling us about? A tail maybe?"

The ridiculousness of Gwaine's questions drew a soft chuckle from Merlin and he smiled gratefully up at his friend. He had a knack for breaking for the tension and for making people feel at ease even when they had no right to.

"No, certainly none of that. Those are the big secrets. Well, most of them at least," he amended with a pained grimace, thinking of Emrys, of freeing Kilgharrah and allowing him to live, of poisoning Morgana. There was just too much to tell in whispers over a campfire in one night, an entire lifetime of lies and half-truths and slipping through the shadows.

A part of him, a nearly overwhelming part, wanted to tell Gwaine everything, to spill out all of his mistakes and his sins and get that compassionate, nonjudgmental smile in exchange, but he realized with a painful jolt that he would not get the chance. He scrubbed at his face with his hands, desperately wanting to turn time back on itself and make it so that this stupid trip had never happened. It had ruined everything.

"So…King of Carthis, huh?" Gwaine prompted, fishing for details as tactfully as he could, which was to say not very.

Merlin nodded, having to swallow hard in order to choke back the bile that rose in his throat at the very thought.

"When will you be headed out there?"

"Morning, I expect."

"Morning? You're not coming back with us?" Gwaine asked, sounding considerably more surprised by this than any of the unbelievable things he had learned so far. "What about your things? Gaius?" It sounded like those weren't the things that Gwaine was actually worried about, but for once he held his tongue. Merlin was grateful for that.

"Carthis is teetering on the brink of civil war. They can't afford the time it would take for me to journey there and back again, they need me right now. I will send someone to collect my things, and maybe write a note to Gaius explaining the situation. It's not as if Arthur would approve of my returning to Camelot at this point, anyway, not with everything that he knows now," he pointed out, the yawning emptiness in his chest threatening to suffocate him with its weight.

Gwaine had nothing to respond to that with.

Emrys…

The voice echoed inside his head and Merlin turned to see Mordred watching him intently from across the clearing, apparently having finished his conversation with Gerund. Merlin sighed, not able to think of any excuse not to tell Mordred what had happened; he already knew half of Merlin's secrets anyway, and the rest would inevitably come out in the morning. He gestured for Mordred to join them by the fire.

The young knight did so with a wary glance at Gwaine, looking as though he did not want to say what he wanted to in front of him. Gwaine gave Mordred much the same look. Both turned to Merlin.

"You both know," he said simply. "In fact, more than half the people in this camp know. I don't think that has ever happened before," he added with a frown, more to himself than to either of them.

The knights eyed each other skeptically, both having trouble believing that the other actually knew what Merlin said that he did.

"What has happened, Emrys?" Mordred asked, finally deciding to trust Merlin's word that Gwaine was in the know.

Gwaine frowned and flicked a glance between them as though he wanted to ask about the strange form of address, but thankfully he held his tongue; Merlin really was not in the mood to get into the whole druidic prophecy thing at the moment; that was one secret he had not divulged to Arthur, and he wasn't looking forward to it when the time came for him to do so.

"Is the king in danger?"

A sudden shiver of dread ran down Merlin's spine at that question, ice creeping up to claim his stomach as the image of Mordred in black armor driving a gleaming sword through Arthur's stomach with flames leaping up behind them forced its way to the forefront of his mind. Yes, he wanted to shout, from you.

Horror rose up to strangle him; he had not factored Mordred's presence into his decision to leave Camelot. He had forgotten all about him and the danger that he posed. How could Merlin possibly leave Arthur alone with the man who was destined to kill him? But there was no way that he could go back to Camelot now, not with Arthur so thoroughly disillusioned. He was needed in Carthis, and unwelcome in Camelot. He could not be there to protect him, to act us a buffer. But there was nothing he could do to get Mordred away from Arthur either.

"Merlin?" Gwaine asked, reading something of his thoughts in the tightening of Merlin's shoulders although his expression did not show them outright.

"Arthur is fine," he told Mordred finally, his thoughts racing frantically, working overtime to figure a way out of the situation that he had gotten himself into. "But he knows. About me."

"Is that all?" Mordred asked skeptically, not accepting that as the sole cause of Merlin's distress.

Merlin hesitated, trying to determine the best way to enact the half-baked plan that was quickly taking shape in the back of his mind.

"I'm leaving with Gerund in the morning. I'm going with him to Carthis," he said.

Shock overtook Mordred's features much as it had Gwaine's; apparently no one could fathom the thought of him leaving Camelot. Or maybe it was just the thought of him leaving Arthur. He pushed the stab of pain from that thought out of his mind before it could show on his face and focused on the task at hand.

"What?" Mordred gasped. "But what of Arthur? It is your destiny to be at his side." His astonishment made him look younger than he normally did, closer to his true age.

Merlin realized then just how young Mordred really was. His terrifying glimpse of the future had led Merlin to view Mordred through a cloud of suspicion, to treat him as the threat that he promised to become, the vision from the Vates overlaying his sight.

But Mordred was perhaps twenty years old, hardly more than a child really, and Merlin felt a stab of remorse, a pulse of empathy for the life which the young knight had led so far. It had not been an easy one.

"I do not have to be at his side in order to protect him," Merlin said, trying to sound more confident in that fact than he actually was; he could try to stop threats from reaching Camelot's borders, but there was really only so much he could do from such a distance. That would not stop him from trying, of course. He would do everything in his power to ensure Arthur's safety, even from another kingdom. "Whether I am there or not, I will let no harm come to him. But I have other obligations, and they must take precedence at this time."

"What other obligations?" Mordred asked, sounding baffled as to what could possibly be more important than his destiny.

"I am the last living person with a direct claim to the throne of Carthis," Merlin said.

Mordred just stared at him for a moment, disbelieving. Gwaine was looking between them, taking in the odd dynamic the two of them had and trying to discern the reasons behind it. He knew Merlin well enough to tell a lot from the tension in his body, to see the thinly veiled mistrust and hear the cautiousness in his every word. Something was up between them, but he could not figure out the history that was lingering there from observation alone.

"You're…" Mordred started haltingly, still trying to comprehend what he had just been told; to tell the truth, Merlin was as well, but he did not have the luxury of wasting any more time with breakdowns and panic attacks.

"I am leaving for Carthis in the morning with Sir Gerund," Merlin repeated as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, Mordred instinctively moving to mirror his stance. "Mordred, would you…" he began, but he trailed off uncertainly.

He was not at all sure this was a good idea, but it was the only one that he had at the moment. He had to get Mordred away from Arthur, had to do this last thing to protect his true King, and Merlin would have to have been blind not to have seen the way that Mordred looked at him sometimes, the barely concealed hurt and confusion every time Merlin failed to join the knights in ribbing him good-naturedly, the adulation in his gaze and the disappointment when Merlin stubbornly refused to trust in him. He took a deep breath and started again.

"I was wondering if you would…if you would come with me."

It sounded more like a question than anything else, really. Gwaine looked at Merlin as though he had grown a second head; Merlin's frosty attitude towards the young knight had not been missed by anyone, including Mordred himself. The knight in question somehow managed to look even more gob smacked than ever, his mouth hanging open and his ever present composure for once completely shattered.

"You want me to…to come with you?" he stammered, his voice sounding small and at least half an octave higher than usual. "But, why?"

Merlin shifted uncomfortably, painfully aware that the primary reason was to remove him from Arthur's presence. He couldn't tell him that, of course. Instead, he drew on his prior realization of Mordred's youthfulness and the honest sympathies that it had brought to the fore.

"Well, it is a kingdom where magic is free, where people like us are respected for our gifts. I have never experienced that, and I am pretty sure that you haven't either. I want to share that with you. I want for you to have that chance," he said.

And it was true. A large part of Merlin's heart, the part that had not been hardened by his foreknowledge, still viewed Mordred as he had when he had first laid eyes on him as a child on the run from Uther's guards, scared and alone and persecuted for a power he had not chosen and could not hope to control. Mordred had reminded Merlin so strongly of himself back then, and his heart had bled for him. Despite all that had happened between them, despite all that Merlin now knew, that empathy had not faded in the intervening years.

Mordred's wide eyes glistened in the firelight as he stared at Merlin with something close to awe. Merlin tried to keep from fidgeting as he waited for his decision, struggling to ignore Gwaine's gaze trying to drill a hole through his skull.

"Emrys," Mordred finally choked out. "I would be honored to accompany you."

"It's not Emrys asking," Merlin said gently. Emrys still has to view you as a threat, he thought might still have to kill you. "It's Merlin."

Mordred's shock and reverence softened into something more open, something fragile and painfully hopeful. It made Merlin's insides squirm guiltily.

"Alright, what's with the 'Emrys' thing?" Gwaine finally broke in, caving in to the curiosity he had held at bay through the conversation so far. "I'm pretty sure your name is Merlin, unless that's just a cover story."

Merlin rolled his eyes, half relieved at the conversation being diverted and half resigned at having to reveal yet another secret. He heaved a sigh and rubbed at his temple, trying to dispel the sharp pain that had long since taken up residence there. He opened his mouth to explain, but Mordred beat him to it.

"Emrys is a term from an ancient druidic prophecy," he said in the same even, assured tone he always used when speaking of such things, the one that said that he believed wholeheartedly in what he spoke of. "Emrys is said to be the most powerful warlock to ever exist, destined to guide and protect the Once and Future King so that he may fulfill his own destiny."

The blatant veneration in his expression forced Merlin to look away uncomfortably, turning automatically to the forest where Arthur had disappeared; he still had not returned.

"To ever exist?" Gwaine repeatedly, sounding a little faint. "Seriously? Are you being serious right now? Merlin, is he serious?"

"I have yet to meet my match," Merlin admitted reluctantly, trying to convey through his tone alone how dubious he still found that claim to be. Forever was a long time, after all. He didn't feel like he really deserved to monopolize the top spot.

"I have to admit, I would not have guessed it from looking at you." Gwaine looked him up and down appraisingly for a moment or two before nodding definitively, as if the matter were settled, accepting his unfathomable power with considerably more ease than Merlin himself had.

"Can you truly not sense it?" Mordred asked him.

Gwaine's brow furrowed in confusion, looking back at Merlin for a translation of that question.

"Mordred somehow knew me on sight as this Emrys person. I had never even heard the name before, and I had no idea what it meant until later," Merlin told him, trying his best not to think of what else he had learned because of the druid boy's appearance in Camelot. He cocked his head at Mordred, though, a question coming to his mind that he had been wanting to ask for a while and had not had the opportunity. "Is that a druid thing? Iseldir recognized me as well, but other sorcerers have never been able to pick me out like that."

"I am afraid that I do not know the reasoning behind it, only that it's true," Mordred shrugged. "The druid elders might be more informed than I on the matter."

"I guess I'll ask them when I get to Carthis then. There will be plenty of knowledgeable people there, I imagine," he said. "That will be one good thing about this; I might actually get to study for once. Gaius will be proud."

He found his eyes prickling hotly at the thought of his guardian, the man who had taken him in and treated him like a son. He wished he could see him again, go back and say goodbye at least, but he knew that what he told Gwaine earlier was true. And he knew in his heart or hearts that if he went back, he would not be able to bring himself to leave the comfort and familiarity of the physician's workroom, not when he knew what would be waiting for him when he did.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Gerund. The man's kindly face radiated concern and Merlin gave him a strained smile of reassurance, the most genuine he could manage in the circumstances.

"Have you reached your decision, Merlin?" he asked, looking as though he would rather that he not have to ask at all.

"I will ride with you in the morning," Merlin confirmed with the sensation of tying a noose around his own neck.

Gerund's relief was palpable, though he tried to hide it in light of Merlin's distress. He squeezed Merlin's shoulder comfortingly.

"Thank you, Merlin. We will be honored to have you, my Lord."

Merlin looked up, horror overtaking his features, and shook his head fervently.

"Oh no," he said. "No. Don't start with the whole 'titles' thing, don't do it."

"If you're going to be king, Merlin, you're sort of going to have to get used to it," Gwaine pointed out.

Merlin made a helpless noise in the back of his throat, wondering pathetically how this could get any worse.

"Just…leave off the titles until absolutely necessary, please," he groaned. "I don't think I could take it."

Gerund smiled down at him again, his expression taking on a wistful edge.

"You really do take after your father," he said fondly. "He disliked honorifics as well. He felt like they removed him from his people."

Merlin's heart skipped a beat, swelling a bit at these words, at the confirmation of his father's character, and he locked the detail away with the scant others he had collected over the years. He nodded his gratitude to Gerund and the mage nodded back before moving away again, off toward his tent. Merlin, suddenly feeling exhausted, rubbed at his forehead.

"What am I getting myself into?"