Yikes! Three updates in as many days! I know I'm really putting our boys through some extreme emotional stress, but it's for a good reason, I swear. I know where I'm going with this, and though we all know the ending, I at least hope it won't be quite as heartbreaking as the show's finale was. I'm pretty sure that this is the last one for this weekend, and as I work Monday to Friday, there probably won't be anything new until next weekend. Then again, this is fairly pouring out at the moment, so who knows? Thanks again for the follows and the favourites, and a huge shout out to CaptainOzone, whose wonderful review literally brought tears to my eyes. :))

If Arthur thought he was confused before, then he was rendered utterly confounded by his servant's heartwrenching explosion of grief. He was desperate to say something to his friend, but he really had no idea what words he could use. How could he even begin to convey his thoughts and reactions to what had undoubtedly been an extremely painful experience for the dark-haired man who was currently pacing so nervously before him?

He was robbed of speech. Hell, he was almost robbed of his very breath, and he was aware more than ever of his complete inadequacy when it came to dealing with anything remotely linked to the emotions of another person. From the moment Merlin had started speaking, Arthur had wanted to call back his demand for answers; however much he wanted – needed – to know the truth, the king also knew he was totally incapable of dealing with the consequences of his command.

If Merlin had looked broken before, that was nothing compare to how he looked right now. The man in front of him was unravelling before his very eyes, and Arthur was at a loss as to how he could help him. For despite everything that had happened, despite the lies he'd been told and the truths that had been revealed, there was one feeling inside him that overwhelmed all of his instincts. There was still anger there, and there was still the cold sting of betrayal, no matter how much he tried to bury it; but more than that, there was compassion for his friend, and he had no idea what to do about it.

He was far too forgiving, he scolded himself, trying desperately to cling to the gut reaction of fury he'd experienced when he had first heard Merlin's confession. He knew it was stupid to clutch at the strands of his initial anger, but he was afraid of what could happen if he let go of it entirely; he was afraid of what it would do to him if he allowed acceptance to flow through him. His friend had spoken at length about Lancelot and the events that had led to his death, but Arthur was as sure as it was possible to be that what he had learned barely even tapped the surface of the mystery that was Merlin. He didn't know if he was strong enough to survive the guilt that he suspected would be unrelenting if he fully embraced the truth; he shied away at the very thought of it.

So Arthur kept a lid on his emotions – something he had been able to do for as long as he could remember – and simply did what he always did. He pushed his feelings of guilt and compassion to one side, and locked them away safely, protecting himself from the pain. It was selfish, and it was cowardly, but for the moment, he had enough physical pain to deal without adding emotional trauma to it. Besides, Merlin appeared to be suffering enough pain for the both of them.

Arthur mentally swatted away the fresh burst of guilt at that thought.

His servant appeared to have spoken himself hoarse, and was plainly evading the king's eyes as he occupied himself with what Arthur could only assume was to be their supper. Numbly, he realised that they hadn't stopped to eat since they'd left Gaius earlier that day. He shifted slightly and made himself appear to be sleeping; he was just as unwilling to address the situation as his servant apparently was. Once he was satisfied that Merlin was completely oblivious to everything apart from the pot he was stirring, Arthur relaxed enough to observe the man before him.

He didn't look any different than what he normally did; the same shabby clothes; the same gangly frame, and the same ridiculously large ears, which stuck out awkwardly from the mop of unruly dark hair. He was the same as he'd always been... except he was totally and utterly different. It took several minutes before Arthur could put his finger on what was bothering him, but when he did, it was so obvious that he couldn't understand why he'd never seen it before.

Whenever Arthur had thought about his idiot of a manservant in the past – which, if was honest with himself, was far more often than he chose to analyse – his immediate impression had always consisted of his servant's infectious humour, and his stupid smile, which never failed to epitomise the goofiness of his friend's features. No matter how dire the situation, Merlin had always managed to make him laugh.

Of course, sometimes the laughter was probably completely unintentional – Merlin was and always had been an idiot – but the laughter had been there nonetheless. The light-heartedness that was so central to the character of his servant was something that had grounded Arthur so many times over the years that he'd almost forgotten it was there. It was as familiar as his own hands, and heaven knew he didn't waste his time thinking about them. After all, why would he think about something that was simply... there? Merlin's inherent sparkle and joy for life was just another one of those things that Arthur accepted as fact. Merlin wouldn't be Merlin without it.

As he scrutinized the man in front of him, however, Arthur knew exactly why he looked so foreign to him. It wasn't the fact that he knew about the magic, and it had nothing to do with their earlier conversation about Lancelot. It was, quite simply, the absence of his smile. The face before him bore no resemblance to the Merlin of the past. There was no trace of the mischief that usually danced in his eyes, and no sign of the laughter that was usually not far beneath the surface. The lips that so often turned upwards were currently thin and drawn.

Merlin was about as far from smiling as he could probably get, and it was this that shook Arthur to the depths of his soul. His own thoughts taunted him wickedly...

How could one man carry so much grief?

Arthur may have had little to no experience when it came to deciphering the emotions of others, but even he could see that the grief that weighed on his friend was too deep to be associated with their recent conversation. That Merlin mourned the lost knight was obvious, but it wasn't what was causing the dark-haired man to look on the verge of a nervous collapse.

Merlin was worried about his king, but even though Arthur knew that was part of it, he also realised that this still wasn't the whole reason that his friend looked so desolate. This was something deeper; something that had been torturing his servant for far longer than a few hours. This wasn't a fresh pain; this was something that had been whipping at Merlin for a long time.

Now that he thought about it, he realised that Merlin's smiles had been growing steadily less frequent for months now. What astonished him was that he hadn't even noticed, not really. Oh, there had been times when he had grown impatient with his friend for being somewhat moody, but he'd never paused long enough to question the change in him.

What the hell had happened to cause Merlin to lose such a huge part of himself?

Arthur didn't have chance to ponder this latest burst of insight, as suddenly the man in question stood up and approached him.

"Arthur?" he whispered. "You awake?"

The king blinked blearily in the direction of his friend, and flinched at the sight of the face that was mere inches away from his own. The proximity only served to highlight the drastic changes that he had only just begun to fathom. The light from the campfire flickered eerily across Merlin's face, cruelly enhancing his ghost-like features. His skin was paler than he had ever seen it, and the bruises beneath his eyes were so dark that they almost obscured them. Almost. But even the bruises couldn't disguise the deep anguish that lurked in the fathomless blue orbs that were even now darkening with indescribable pain.

"There's no need to do that," his friend whispered sharply. "There's no need to shrink away from me. I'd never hurt you, Arthur."

Too late, Arthur realised that his instinctual backing away from the pain etched in his servant's face only served to torture his friend even more. The way Merlin's shoulders slumped was truly soul-shattering.

"Merlin, I..."

"It's alright, I understand. I-I just brought you some food, that's all."

"I'm not hungry," said Arthur numbly, unable to find the words to defend himself.

"I haven't poisoned it or anything."

"I know," said Arthur wearily. "I'm just not hungry. Really. Don't read anything more than that into it."

"Oh. Right."

His friend shuffled his feet nervously, eyeing the bowl in his hands. He looked lost, and this was yet another thing that Arthur now realised was familiar to him, though he couldn't pin-point any specific memory where he'd seen the same thing before now.

He was so damn blind.

"Go and eat, Merlin. There's no point wasting it."

Merlin nodded reluctantly, and returned to his position by the fire. Arthur resumed his fake sleeping and watched his servant carefully. After several minutes of listlessly stirring the food in his bowl, Merlin eventually poured the contents back into the cooking pot. He stole a glance at the king before slowly standing and removing the pot from the flames. Arthur watched as his friend quietly cleaned up the area, covering the stew he had made with a cloth, and placing the bowls beside it. He set down his bedroll near the fire and settled down, all the while shooting concerned glances at the king.

Several minutes passed, until Arthur was sure that his servant had drifted into a light slumber; then he saw what was now the familiar sparks of magic floating slowly upwards from the fire. He couldn't be sure, but he was fairly certain that Merlin did indeed have his eyes closed, though clearly it was more of a meditative state rather than actual sleep. Merlin was lying with one of his arms beneath his head, and the other hand was idly circling the ground in front of him. It was a completely different pose from the one earlier that evening, but it told Arthur the same thing as before.

It was obvious that Merlin wasn't really concentrating on the magical sparks before him. The way he created the shimmering images with the flames was as natural to him as scratching an itch. Arthur had now seen his friend's skill with fire three times, and each time he had been – albeit unwillingly – struck by the sheer beauty of it.

Once again, a dragon was the main focal point, and Arthur understood this was significant somehow, and not only because of the Pendragon crest. The dragon represented something more personal to his friend. He didn't know how he knew this, he just did, and he wasn't about to start questioning his certainty when he realised that Merlin was far from finished with his latest surge of magical artistry. For the first time since this whole nightmare began, Arthur was filled with a pleasant anticipation for what his friend was about to do.

At first, he couldn't make out what the servant was creating, but after subtly shifting his position, he was fully able to take in the entire image that was glowing brightly above the fire. The dragon was in much the same pose as before; its wings spread wide, as if soaring in flight, and its head looking regally into the sky. But that was where the similarities ended, because there was something new in this image, something that Arthur was struggling to comprehend. Dwarfed beneath the dragon was the figure of a man, his arms outstretched, as if wanting to embrace the magical creature before him. The fiery man wasn't big enough for there to be any recognisable features, but Arthur noted the shoulder-length hair and the tell-tale swirl of a cloak.

"Help me. Please help me."

Arthur was pulled rudely from his contemplation by the softly spoken words. He blinked, and listened closely, wondering if his friend would say anything else. He was rewarded for his patience when Merlin continued to whisper into the darkness.

"I don't know if I have the strength to do this. I thought it would be easier when he knew, but it's not. Despite everything, I've always believed he would accept me. And I know he has it in him to do that. I know it. But I never expected him to be dying when I finally told him the truth. This isn't right. None of it is."

The king wilted under the weight of desperation that was so clearly behind the words being torn from his friend's heart. Shying away from this was no longer an option, and no matter how much he wished he could look away, his eyes stubbornly refused to obey his command.

Merlin's eyes were now open, and even though the king wasn't close enough to see it himself, he knew that those orbs were pleading for some sort of answer.

"Please, help me one more time. I can't lose him. I can't. If I do, there's nothing left. I'll have failed; my purpose, my entire life, will have been for nothing. I can't live with that. It will destroy me. Please... please help me."

Arthur could not begin to understand what his servant was talking about - purpose? what purpose? - nor could he guess who Merlin was directing his pleas to. The only thing he understood was that Merlin was begging for his king's life, and the sheer agony that was revealed in his friend's voice was ripping Arthur to shreds.

The king was intensely relieved that Merlin had now fallen silent; he honestly did not know if he could cope with any more disturbing insights into his friend. He felt himself slump a little, letting his muscles relax, and exhaled silently, only to gasp with shock mere moments later.

The image of the dragon and the strange man disintegrated, only it was not with the same calmness that Arthur had seen before. This time, the shower of sparks did not return gently to the fire below; this time they exploded silently, yet powerfully, all at once, and seemed to attack the very flames that gave them life. Stunned by the sudden ferocity displayed before him, Arthur could only gape at the dark-haired man who had made it happen, and was once again struck by the complete wrongness of what his eyes revealed to him.

Arthur didn't think he had ever seen anyone so angry in his entire life, least of all Merlin, and though he knew the anger was not directed at him, he was suddenly terrified.

Once again, the king was stricken with the undeniable knowledge that he had no idea who his friend really was; he didn't know him at all.