A/N - So here follows a ramble, followed by an - *drumroll* - update! It's been far too long since I updated this, and for that I apologise. Most of you are aware that I had a new baby recently (he'll be three months old on Sunday), and following a difficult pregnancy, it's been a rough few months. Ollie was hosptalized with severe jaundice at 3 days old, then had a tooth removed a few weeks later, plus we had to wait to see a cardiologist as he has a heart murmer. Thankfully, the murmer didn't indicate anything major, though the baby does have two tiny holes in his heart. Luckily they are the type that close themselves over time, but as you can imagine, it's been quite stressful around here. Throughout this, Ollie also suffers with reflux which, while a little better right now, still means that he's cranky most of the time and needs to be held almost constantly. Suffice to say, writing is difficult...

Anyway, this update was actually started months ago, but I only managed to finish it today. I had to chop some away before I could continue as it didn't seem to be flowing very well, and as it has had bits added to it over several months, I'm still not sure that the flow is as it should be. Nevertheless, it's an update, and I do know where the story is going, it's just a question of how often I can manage to squeeze in the writing of it. As always, I promise to write as often as I can, and to update as soon as possible. And I also promise that it won't be 8 or 9 months before the next update. *cringes* I'm so, so sorry for the wait... and I hope this chapter isn't as rusty as I suspect it is.

E x

P.S. - I've given this a couple of read throughs, but if I have missed any spelling or other errors, I apologise. And as always, I don't own Merlin...


When Merlin woke up, awareness was slow to come; the room was in semi-darkness, and it took a few moments for him to realise that it must be quite late in the day, though it was not yet the full dark of night. He shifted around a bit, stretching his legs – which had been curled up against his chest – and rolling onto his back. He was surprised to discover that his hands were covered, and he frowned with confusion. He tried lifting his head; the dull throbbing from the back of his skull reminded him of what had happened, and he closed his eyes as the memories flashed through his mind.

Tentatively, he searched his thoughts for anything that might indicate that Mordred was still with him, but he relaxed when he couldn't detect anything untoward. He had no idea why the druid was so quiet, but he wasn't about to question it; he didn't know how much time he had before another attack might begin, and he fully intended to take advantage of the reprieve so that he could try to formulate some sort of plan to eradicate Mordred's horrifying control over him.

Gingerly sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of his bed, and used his teeth to loosen the knots in the cloth that was binding his hands. Breathing through the slight dizziness that was assaulting him, he shoved the ruined pieces of his tunic to one side and stood up, listening carefully for any signs of movement from outside his room.

It was quiet – almost too quiet – and Merlin wondered if perhaps he was finally going to have some luck that day, and not have to face anything more than the concern of his guardian. He stepped towards the door, wincing as he tripped over an overturned stool. Squinting in the half-light, he winced again; the floor was still covered in the debris from the explosion of magic earlier that day. He carefully picked his way through the mess, and pressed his ear against the door. Feeling hopeful at the distinct lack of noise coming from the other room, he opened the door a couple of inches, but closed it again almost immediately when he realised that luck was definitely not on his side after all, for Gaius was seated at the table with a number of open books before him, and Gwaine and Arthur were also there, poring over the various tomes.

Merlin leaned his forehead against the door and took a few calming breaths. Despite his lucidness, the sight of the King had made his heart race, and he had to swallow the sudden bile that had risen in his throat. His head buzzed a little, but he continued to breathe deeply and slowly, forcing the feeling away, reminding himself that Mordred was not with him at this time. He nodded to himself a couple of times, and reached for the door handle, gripping it firmly. Allowing himself a few more calming breaths, he opened the door once more, only this time he opened it all the way and nervously stepped through, closing it softly behind him.

He must have been even quieter than he'd thought, for the three men seated at the table didn't move; the warlock leaned against the door, his hand still gripping the handle behind him, and willed his heart to beat a little slower. He could feel beads of perspiration dotting his forehead, and it was taking every bit of self-control that he had not to rip the door back open again and flee back to the relative safety of his room. He must have made a noise – or perhaps moved without noticing – for he suddenly found himself meeting the eyes of Gwaine.

The knight started to rise from his chair, but Merlin quickly shook his head. Gwaine frowned, but obeyed Merlin's silent command, though the other man kept his eyes fixed on him. Inevitably, Arthur looked up, and Merlin couldn't stop himself from nervously tightening his grip on the door.

"How are you feeling?"

Merlin was taken aback at how nervous Arthur sounded, and noted the way Gaius jumped at the words. The physician got to his feet and hurried over to him, his face creased with concern.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," he scolded, causing Merlin to smile a little.

"I'm fine," he said. Looking gingerly over his guardian's shoulder, he briefly met Arthur's eyes and repeated his words. "I'm fine."

For once thankful that Gaius was being his usual fussing self – it meant Merlin could avoid Arthur's gaze without it seeming too odd – he allowed himself to be led further into the room. Gaius was clearly intending for Merlin to join him at the table, but that was much too close to Arthur for Merlin to feel any degree of comfort, so he gently veered towards the bed used for patients, and perched against it, waving the physician's grumbles to one side.

"I'm fine, Gaius, really... but it's probably better if I sit here. Just in case...um... well, just in case."

"Do you need anything? I've made another batch of medicine for your headache, and there's some fresh bread from the kitchens that Gwaine brought back, along with some cheese, and a bit of fruit."

Merlin declined the medicine – he could probably do with it, in all honesty, but he wanted to keep his wits about him as long as he could – but he accepted some of the still-warm bread, and a cup of water. He nibbled at the bread, his eyes flicking towards Arthur every few seconds, and he nervously scratched at his neck in between mouthfuls of food; he wasn't sure if he scratched because of actually feeling itchy, or if it was the result of the palpable tension that was permeating the room.

Truly, it was almost suffocating; Gaius was pale to the point of greyness, his concern evident on his kindly face, while Arthur was watching Merlin with a brooding concentration. As for Gwaine, it was difficult to discern just what the man was thinking; the knight's gaze was flickering between Arthur and Merlin, his entire body almost twitching with alertness.

Merlin cleared his throat awkwardly; he took a sip of water, and absent-mindedly crumbled the bread in his fingers. When it became clear that everyone was waiting for him to say something, he gestured towards the books spread out on the table.

"What are those for?" he asked.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but Gwaine frowned, shaking his head slightly and placing a restraining hand on the King's arm. Merlin's eyebrows raised a touch, not only at Gwaine's behaviour, but also because of the way Arthur accepted it without so much as a word.

"Now, don't get yourself worked up into a tizzy again, but we think we may have discovered what's wrong with you," said Gwaine. "Or at least, the gist of it, anyway."

"You have?"

"We think you've been enchanted; or cursed."

"You do?" he replied, shifting a little on the bed. He caught Arthur's eye, and looked down at the bread in his hands, crumbling it further into dust as he fought the urge to suddenly flee from the room. Enchantments and curses were far too deeply connected with magic – and his current source of stress – for him to feel at all comfortable with the direction the conversation was heading. He wanted to end Mordred's hold over him as much as his friends wanted him to get better, but the risk of his magic being revealed was too high.

"And we even have a good idea who cursed you," said Arthur, who looked almost pleased at his words, despite the seriousness of the situation.

Merlin dropped the remnants of the bread he'd been crumbling, and wrapped both of his hands around the cup of water that Gaius had given him; he could feel the itching starting up again – or at least, he thought he could feel it – and he needed to occupy his hands. He brought the cup to his lips, and sipped at the liquid so that he could muffle his reply.

"Arthur believes that Kara may have cursed you at the moment of her death," said Gaius, causing Merlin to drop the cup from his suddenly nerveless fingers. He blinked slowly, gaping a little at the unexpected words.

"Wh-why..." he spluttered. He moistened his lips before trying again. "Why would you think Kara was responsible?"

Arthur straightened a little, and watched Merlin closely; the warlock shifted his eyes away and bent to pick up the cup he had dropped, not willing to look into those strangely observant eyes; eyes that were far more alert than they normally were when it came to looking at him.

"You seem nervous, Merlin," remarked the King almost casually.

"No," he said quickly. "Not nervous." Which was a lie, of course, because nervous was definitely what he was feeling, but for reasons other than what Arthur would think. Mordred was already beyond angry at Kara's death; the druid would no doubt be furious if his beloved's name was further besmirched by accusations of dark sorcery. "Just... surprised. I don't understand why you would think Kara was to blame for this."

Arthur opened his mouth, but quickly snapped it shut again as he peered into Merlin's eyes. He frowned as he stood up and slowly walked around the table, keeping his eyes fixed on his friend.

"Was it Kara?" he asked quietly.

Merlin kept his eyes lowered and busied himself with refilling his cup. He didn't know how to respond; he certainly did not want to lay blame on a girl who was no longer around to defend herself – not to mention potentially provoking an unstable druid in the process – but even so, it was incredibly tempting to let it happen so as to divert any attention away from Mordred.

"Merlin?"

Merlin jumped violently at the touch to his shoulder. How the heck had Arthur reached him so swiftly? He quickly stood and scooted around the king, using the bed as a barrier between them.

"Now this is getting ridiculous!" said Arthur, raising his arms in exasperation. "I'm just trying to talk to you!"

"You can speak to me fine just where you are," said Merlin quickly. "No need to invade my personal space."

"Your personal space?" spluttered the King. "Are you trying to annoy me?"

"No!"

"Well if that's the case, sit back down so that we can discuss this like sane people," said the blonde, not without a trace of sarcasm.

"I don't see that there's anything to discuss," replied Merlin, a little desperately. "You're barking up the wrong tree, Arthur. It wasn't Kara. In fact, it's not a curse, or an enchantment, or anything remotely associated with magic at all. I just have a sore head..."

By the time Merlin finished speaking, his voice had quietened to a whisper, and he was looking anywhere except into the three pairs of disbelieving eyes that were boring holes into his already pounding head.

"Not caused by magic. Really."

Arthur was clearly reigning in his temper, and Merlin visibly flinched at the King's cold tone.

"Merlin, mate," said Gwaine, stepping forward calmly with his hands raised, "Look, there's no need to panic. It's not your fault if you've been cursed."

"I haven't been cursed," Merlin mumbled, though honestly, even he knew how ridiculous it was to keep denying it.

"Merlin, listen to me," said Arthur, in such a gentle way that it made Merlin look up with surprise, "I don't know why you think you have to lie about this, but I am your King, and I order you to stop."

Gaius now entered the triumvirate of persuaders and placed a comforting hand on Merlin's shoulder.

"My boy, nothing you can say is going to get you into trouble; all you have to do is tell us what you know. Because I know you, and I know when you are hiding something. You know who's behind this, so just tell us."

"I can't."

"Ah, my boy..." sighed Gaius sadly.

"I told you he wouldn't say anything," said Gwaine quietly, though his words weren't laced with his usual mockery, just tinged with concern. "I honestly don't think he's capable of saying who it is. Or at least, he's too scared to say it aloud."

Merlin looked at his usually smiling friend with reproach, devastated to discover that the man had clearly revealed at least part of their earlier conversation.

"There," said Arthur suddenly, making Merlin jump.

"What?" said Gauis.

"There. That look. Right there. What else did you discuss with Gwaine that you can't tell me?"

"Gwaine's my friend. What we discuss is between us," Merlin bit out, more than a little unnerved by the unusual perception that Arthur was displaying.

"I'm your friend too, aren't I?"

Merlin blinked, not sure how to respond. His heart was screaming for him to reply yes, but his head was filled with images of a mocking, cruel Arthur who was chasing him through the night; a cold and angry king who was sentencing a sorcerer to death.

"I – I..."

"You. You... what, Merlin? What? We're not friends? Is that what you're saying?"

"You're the King," he replied quietly.

"I was the King yesterday too, Merlin, and under the impression that we were friends. What has happened to change that?"

"You're the King!" Merlin shouted. "You're the bloody King, and that gives you the power to do whatever you want! To punish... to pass judgement..."

"What the hell has that got to do with anything?" demanded the blonde, pulling at his hair with frustration.

"Everything!" Merlin exploded.

"Why? What have you done that's so terrible?" Arthur asked, rolling his eyes. "Did you forget to muck out the stables? No? Forgot to polish my armour? Maybe you ate some of my lunch one day, hmm? For pity's sake, Merlin, whatever you think you've done, it can't possibly be that bad. This is you we're talking about, after all. You're softer than a royal pillow, and wouldn't harm a fly. And besides all that, what exactly do you think I'm going to do once I find out about this terrible transgression? It's not like I'll sentence you to death for filching one of my chicken legs, is it?"

It was an impressive speech for Arthur, not least because he said it with a lot less rancour than was usual. Dimly, Merlin realised that he would have been both proud and amused in normal circumstances, but though Arthur had strung together an impressive amount of words in a short space of time, Merlin only really registered the last sentence.

"What if it wasn't just a chicken leg?" he whispered, forcing himself to look at his friend fully.

"What?" asked Arthur, blinking with confusion.

"What if it wasn't just a chicken leg? What if it was something else? Would you... would you sentence me to death then?"

"Merlin..."

Gaius placed a restraining hand on Merlin's arm, but the warlock shrugged him off without taking his gaze from Arthur's.

"No Gaius, I want to know."

"Merlin, why would you even think I'd sentence you to death? I don't understand. What could you have possibly done to make me even consider such a thing. Only treason would push me down that road, and even then... well, even then death wouldn't – couldn't – be an option. Not that I'll ever have to worry about treason with you. I know that; you've been my most loyal friend for as long as I can remember."

"You don't know anything," said Merlin, almost to himself. "And if you did...well, you don't know how you would react, or what you would do."

"So tell me, then!" said Arthur, throwing his arms in the air. "Tell me this big, bad secret that you're hiding."

"I can't."

Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but stopped short. After flicking his gaze between Gaius and Gwaine – who were both watching Merlin with concern – the King took a step back, and pulled in a calming breath.

"Fine. Don't tell me. If you're so scared of telling me this horrible thing, then don't tell me. What I don't know can't hurt me, right? Whatever it is, I don't care, only that it's so obviously bothering you. So let it go. Don't tell me."

For Arthur to back down was one thing, but for him to do so with such calm and understanding almost made Merlin want to weep. Never had Merlin felt so tempted to reveal his secret, but now was the worst possible time. He had no control over his magic, and no idea how he was going to get it back. Mordred was a loose cannon, and capable – through Merlin – of reducing Camelot and her King to a pile of dust. So Merlin swallowed the temptation to reveal all, and gave Arthur the only answer he could.

"There's nothing to tell," he said with a note of finality. "No big secret; no crime to confess. Not even the theft of a chicken leg."

"So what the hell is this all about?"

"Nothing, Sire; nothing at all. No secret. No magical curse. No enchantment. Just... absolutely nothing."

And it was true, in a roundabout sort of way. There would be nothing – Merlin would be nothing – if Arthur found out the truth. And that's exactly what would happen if Merlin tried to unmask Mordred as the person responsible for this whole situation. And as Merlin acknowledged this to himself, he fell into a pit of true despair. If he couldn't figure out how to rid himself of Mordred's control, then one of two things was going to happen; Merlin would break, and after revealing Mordred's actions, the druid would retaliate and spill all of Merlin's secrets, or Mordred would unleash his rage through Merlin and destroy all that the warlock held dear.

In all truth, it didn't really matter one way or the other; either way, Merlin would be dead.