A/N: Three more chapters to go. Thanks, everyone, for sticking around! Enjoy! As usual, DISCLAIMER: I don't own Merlin!
"I don't know," Arthur said quietly after a beat of silence, "what I would do about this were my memory in-tact. Do you?"
"No, Sire," Merlin replied honestly. Sometimes it had felt as if he and Arthur were close enough that Arthur would be willing to accept Merlin for who he was, should Merlin have had to tell him. Other times, Arthur was so out of reach that Merlin felt he'd have to keep his secret forever. Point was, destiny had woven their lives together permanently, and Merlin had always known eventually it all would have come to this.
"I've realized something in the last few days," Arthur said suddenly, moving to sit in a nearby chair, "That sometimes what I should be doing, what I'm expected to do, isn't always necessarily the right thing. Or . . . I suppose the thing that feels right."
He paused, sighing a little and running a hand through his hair in frustration. "And to me, it doesn't seem right that you should be punished . . . killed, for saving my life. It doesn't make sense that the magic that hurt so many people in my life and I'm sure the lives of many others, is the magic that kept me alive tonight. And it makes me think that's just it: it's not the same, is it? Magic can't be all bad, if it can be used to help people. Right?"
Merlin could hardly believe what he was hearing. He took a deep, shaky breath.
"What I don't understand, though, is why you did it. Why you helped me, if you knew the risk."
And suddenly, the words began to tumble out of Merlin like an avalanche as his head snapped up to face Arthur for the first time in a while:
"It's my job to protect you, Arthur," he said slowly, determinedly, "Our futures are linked and they always have been. You are meant to be the greatest king Camelot has ever known. But it's . . . so much more than that. You may not remember it, but . . . You're a prat and you're arrogant but you've saved me and so many others, time and time again. You represent honor. Justice. A new beginning. And you're a good man. You don't always show it, but I've seen it. I believe in what you can be. And there isn't anywhere else I'd rather be than here, protecting you. And magic helps me to do that."
The red-hot conflict in Arthur's eyes had been replaced with a cool softness, Merlin realized as he finally finished speaking. The Prince stood up, moving so that his face was inches from Merlin's. Merlin felt his heart racing, felt his body turn almost-limp, and then:
"You," Arthur whispered, "You must go. It's late. I need . . . I need to think."
Merlin touched Arthur's arm, blindly reaching out for the connection between them that wasn't there. "Arthur, I-"
"Leave, Merlin." There was no harshness in his tone, but the words had the same impact they would have if there had been-because instead, they were full of horrible emptiness.
Merlin walked out of the room, roughly smudging a stray tear out of his vision as he went.
Guinevere had just turned the corner to head to Morgana's chambers when she saw none other than Arthur standing outside his own room, leaned up against the wall with his eyes closed.
She raised an eyebrow and debated going over to talk to him, staring down at the floor and idly wringing her hands. Arthur was different now. And who knew if he'd ever be himself again?
Despite all that, Gwen recognized the bits and pieces of Arthur Pendragon she'd always known, weaved into this new man like a quilt. And it was what prompted her to take a few hesitant steps toward him with a quiet, "My lord?"
Arthur opened his eyes and appeared to be relieved at the sight of her. "Guinevere."
"You should be resting. You've lost quite a bit of blood."
Arthur's expression suggested he was distracted by something as Gwen spoke. Then again, he always seemed distracted lately, Gwen had noticed.
Nonetheless, she spoke up again: "Everyone was quite surprised at what you said to the King this evening. After you left, he began yelling at Gaius to try harder in finding a cure for your . . . your illness."
Arthur looked up at her again. "He is angry, I presume?"
"Very. But . . . I think what you said was quite right, Arthur."
He smiled a bit. "At least someone does."
"Are you alright?" Gwen found herself blurting, "I mean . . . you've been through so much. And the only person who seems to get through to you is Merlin."
There was moment of awkward quiet between them until Arthur spoke again: "Guinevere, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"If you found out something about someone, that made you feel as if that person isn't who you thought they were, what would you do about it?"
Gwen made a pout of confused curiosity, but Arthur's pressed lips told her he probably didn't want to go into much more detail. She didn't bother pushing the issue. Instead, she offered him the best advice she could.
"Well," she said thoughtfully, "It depends. If it were me, and if it were a person I cared about, I'd be willing to put aside my prejudices to see if that person's intentions, that person's good qualities, are enough to cancel out whatever wrong they've done to me by lying."
She watched a range of emotions flash across Arthur's face as she finished speaking, before he nodded slowly and replied, "Thank you."
He disappeared into his room before she could say another word.
Guinevere certainly wasn't stupid. There was something else eating at Arthur behind the physical and mental battle wounds he suffered. Something much more. But she knew he wouldn't tell her. And she knew, somehow, it wasn't her place to know. This was something Arthur had to figure out on his own.
Yes, Arthur was different-changing into someone new, and for all Gwen knew that could be for the best.
But hanging onto glimpses of memories, of stolen looks in corridors or the gentle touch of Arthur's hand on hers, was futile.
Maybe it was time to let go. Gwen could mend Arthur's battle woulds, but she couldn't fix everything.
But there was one boy, her good friend, who she knew was going to try to no matter what. So she put her faith in him instead.
Guinevere sighed, turned on her heel and headed to Morgana's room, muttering to herself, "Merlin, whatever the hell it is that's going on with him, you'd better fix it."
Arthur sat on the edge of his bed, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation. The silence in the room was almost painful, and Arthur found himself listening hard for the slight breeze outside, just so he could focus on something other than his own (very confused) thoughts.
Merlin had lied to him, and it seemed he'd been lying for quite some time, now. What upset Arthur the most was that in all this chaos, in all this not-knowing, Merlin had been the one thing Arthur felt he did know. But he'd been wrong about that all along.
Falling back onto the bed with a sigh, Arthur closed his eyes. Maybe a good night's rest would help him forget the way Sir Evyn's limp body had looked on the forest ground.
The thoughts of his faceless mother, the woman he never knew and the reason his father was so full of hatred.
The forlorn expression on Merlin's face when Arthur had asked him to leave.
The silence began to shape into a comfortable lullaby when suddenly, it happened again.
Come to us, Arthur. You're almost ours now. You'll be ours always. Such a golden soul.
The voices charged through his brain, leaving his shaking body in their wake. "No," he whispered, sitting up and clutching his head, "No, no . . ."
A jolt of pain ripped through his chest then, and Arthur stifled a yell, beads of sweat casting themselves onto his forehead before dripping down the sides of his face. Suddenly, Gwen's earlier words began to ring loudly in his ears, and he realized that the one person he needed most right then might still just be the one person he could trust. Somehow.
"Merlin!" he yelled, his breath shortening and clipped with pain, "Merlin!"
His servant stumbled into the room within mere seconds, face flushed red and eyes wide with worry. Arthur briefly wondered whether or not he'd been pacing the halls outside, for him to have gotten here so quickly. Typical Merlin. "Arthur? Arthur, what is it?"
"Don't let my father see . . . he'll just . . . " Arthur winced, clutching at his sides, abandoning the thought to replace it with another, "The voices, Merlin. There's . . . there's pain. In my chest."
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will it all away when he felt cool, familiar hands brushing against his forehead and then bracing themselves around his shoulders. "It's all right, Arthur . . ."
His eyes snapped open and he looked at Merlin warily. "I don't know if I can . . . trust you," he muttered.
And Merlin tilted his head to the side just slightly as the shadows danced across his face. "Please . . . learn to trust me, Arthur. There's a part of you that knows you can."
Arthur clutched to the fabric of Merlin's shirt, the touch sending a wash of familiarity and relief over him. The pain continued to throb in his chest, and he found himself mumbling, "Promise you won't g-go. P-promise."
"I promise, Arthur. I'll always be here."
The last thing Arthur heard was Merlin's repeated whisper of "always" before he drifted into darkness.