"Arthur…." Merlin stumbled back into silence, blinking desolation at the sudden change in Arthur's eyes. There was a wildness there, a play of regret and battle fury, of confusion and resolve. The king's silver blade dipped slightly, perilously close, and then steadied, the point a hairsbreadth from Merlin's chest.

He didn't know what Arthur would do, hoped that whatever the choice, it would be quick. Merlin stood there, his heart beating wildly, heard the rise and fall of Arthur's ragged breathing, saw the trickle of blood soaking into Pendragon red and the grime of quenched fires smeared across one cheek, looked for forgiveness in the man he'd pledged himself to all those years ago.

The silence was deafening. Long, long moments of waiting, of Arthur deciding his fate.

From behind the king, there was a snap of wood and the quiet was filled with sudden rage as one of the men, Sir Balin, a knight who had fought beside Medraut, pushed forward. "Why are you just standing there? He's one of them. Kill him." Geraint grabbed one arm, holding the man back as he continued to snarl out his hatred. "Kill him before it's too late."

Turning abruptly, the sword so close to Merlin's heart now pointing directly at Balin, Arthur shouted, "Silence!" He drew back, his eyes scanning the others clustered around the knight, Arthur's disgust clear in the way he held himself and the set of his mouth. "You can count yourself lucky that I haven't given the order to hang every last one of you traitors from the nearest tree." His gaze flicked to the rest of Medraut's men and then back to Balin. "As yet."

The threat hung heavy in the cold rain. A murmur of protest, subdued and whisper-contrite spread through the group, but Balin was not so wise. "Majesty, your father…."

From the way Arthur stiffened, it was clear he was standing on the edge of a precipice, that a single word might push him into doing something Merlin knew he'd later regret. He never looked more like Uther than at that moment.

"Be glad I am not my father. For disobeying him, he would have gutted you and left you for the crows." His voice full of loathing, harsh and discordant, and every inch a king's, he said sharply, "You will be silent until I give you leave to speak, is that clear?"

With all the swiftness of an executioner's axe, silence fell. There was nothing but the sound of rain, the shuffle of restless horses and the muted groans of the wounded.

"Geraint." The knight's gaze snapped back to Arthur's. He was still holding onto Balin, a little too tightly if the man's pained face was any indication but he didn't let go as the king said, "Take those who followed Medraut, all except Balin here, and have them help you with the wounded. They are still under suspicion of treason and you will treat them accordingly. Some of our men will guard them, the rest will set up camp by that clearing. You know the one. We passed it earlier, a hundred yards back."

"Yes, sire, I know the place." Contempt clear in Geraint's eyes, he nodded toward Balin whose face was now a sickly white. "What do you want to do with this… person?"

"Leave him here. I wish to question him and the sorcerer further." When Geraint started to protest, Arthur just shook his head. "Don't try my patience. Not now. I'll make sure he behaves himself."

Reluctantly, Arthur's second-in-command let Balin go, although not without a heated glare that promised a lifetime of agony if anything happened to the king. With a sharp bow of his head, Geraint turned away and began to gather his forces to follow the king's commands.

Sending one long, pointed glare toward a subdued Balin, then sweeping his gaze across the now-busy knights, his own and Merdaut's chosen few, Arthur fixed his attention firmly back on Merlin. His sword's hilt in one hand, its blade-point resting on sodden leaves, still the king looked ready for judgment. "Emissary, this is no way to achieve peace."

For one split-second, he was so little used to the title Arthur used that Merlin was tempted to look behind him to see who the king was addressing. But then it hit him. The damn prat was blaming him for this disaster.

Temper flaring, his voice almost strangled in disbelief, Merlin said, "We were only defending ourselves. We had no choice."

"There is always a choice." Winter-cold, Arthur's eyes flicked downward and then off into the distance. There was a tightening around his mouth as he stood there and Merlin could see the effort it cost him not to react. Arthur had always been one to pour everything of himself into righting wrongs and fighting for his people. And now, instead of striking down someone who he must have thought was his worst enemy, to stand there talking with a hated sorcerer must have hurt. He could see it in Arthur's face and the set of his shoulders, the way he held the sword so tightly in his grip.

Merlin looked away, too, his gaze falling on the carnage, the pointless ruin of it all. Beyond the wounded and Geraint's organized band, there was a scatter of dead bodies among the trees, their corpses soaked in blood or else half-charred from unearthly fires.

But unlike Arthur, he saw more than Camelot's loss. There weren't just chain-mailed bodies sprawled across the still-smoking woods. His own people had been hacked to bits or choked to death on their own blood when feathered bolts plunged in.

This was the depth of destruction that the war between them had wrought.

His despair caught in his throat and for a moment, he couldn't breathe, couldn't speak for the horror of it. Finally, swallowing back the grief, he said, "Arthur, you…."

Cutting him off, his face flushed with anger, Arthur brought the sword up for a second and then thrust it, hard and furious into the muddy ground, shaking as if he couldn't trust himself not to plunge it into Merlin's chest. "You were supposed to talk to your people, get them to send someone else in your place." His eyes narrowed and he said, with more than a little distrust, "Or is killing my men their answer?"

"Your men were attacking us. Did you expect us to roll over and let them kill us without fighting back?"

Something in Merlin's voice must have gotten through to him because Arthur blinked back in surprise, frowning a sudden thoughtfulness that hadn't been there before. For a moment, the king said nothing, merely looked around again at the carnage, almost as if he were counting his dead and Merlin's, too.

"And now?" At least the fury was gone. What else lay beneath Arthur's steady gaze was beyond Merlin to decipher.

He shrugged, feeling miserable and confused and as uncertain as ever. "It's complicated."

"When is it not with you?" Arthur's tart reply would have been a joke between them four years ago. Now it only sounded contemptuous. "Do I need to prepare for another attack? Will they come back with reinforcements?"

At least he wasn't assuming the worst.

Frustrated, Merlin pulled cold fingers through his wet hair, and wiped a muddy smear of something across his chest. He was exhausted and terrified of what the sorcerers at the Isle might be planning next and his wound was aching and Arthur wanted answers, of course. At some point, he'd like to stop the rain, too, although he doubted that Arthur would appreciate him using magic at the moment.

Nodding toward the lake, Merlin said, "Very likely. I tried to get them to see reason but once Medraut and his men showed up, they thought I'd turned traitor." He shook his head, saddened that it had come to this, then remembering how things had been at the Isle, how they'd accused him of leading Camelot forces to their hiding place, he scowled questions at Balin. "I didn't leave a trail. I'm not even sure how Medraut knew where to look."

There must have been answers behind Balin's silence; the man was looking very, very guilty. But it didn't matter. They'd already been talking for far too long and Arthur needed to leave before those at the Isle came back to fight again.

"Sire, Nimueh said…." Arthur's face tightened and Merlin almost stumbled to a stop, startled by the loathing in narrowed eyes and the king's set mouth. Another deep stab of grief but he shoved it aside; he didn't have time for this. Even so, some of the frustration and loss still bled through as he said, "No matter what you think, I'm not siding with her!"

There was a flash of suspicion in Arthur's eyes but he nodded for Merlin to continue. "Nimeuh told me it was a trap for you, that you'd follow Medraut here, that you'd have to fight no matter what. You've got to leave before it's too late."

"It is already too late." He tried to ignore the satisfaction in Balin's face, tried to ignore his own desperation as Arthur said coldly, "Do you think my people will accept magic back once they find out what you've done here?"

Merlin shoved himself forward, unbidden anger flaring, misery and pain and utter frustration sweeping through him. He was trembling with the intensity of it as he snarled back, "What we've done here is defend our home. They'd have killed everyone, even the children, and you know it."

Arthur held his ground, staring at him oddly as if he'd suddenly sprouted wings or gone mad. Merlin had never learned how to get what he wanted with soft words or with a courtier's manipulation, never learned how to rein in his temper when he needed to, at least not with Arthur, never learned to be subservient. Once, it might have amused Arthur to see him struggling with courtly protocols; now it appeared that he was just the enemy and not worth the time.

From behind him, Merlin could hear the rattle of chainmail coming fast but Arthur waved the men off. "I will handle it." There was another mutter of complaint, Geraint likely, but it, too, faded as Arthur turned to Balin. "What do you have to say about his accusation?"

Balin's gaze flicked to Merlin, heated triumph in his eyes and then as he bowed low to Arthur, he drew it out for a long, long moment, oily servitude in every movement. When he did straighten, puffed up, sure of his place, his face was eager for a king's favour, only changing into an obscene sneer when he jerked his head toward Merlin.

"He's a liar. We were setting up camp when we spotted him; the little maggot was spying on us. Sir Medraut was going to question him when the other scum showed up and started throwing fireballs and magic at us. We had to fight back."

It was an excellent performance; it only drove Merlin into fury.

He turned to Arthur, sarcasm clear in his voice. "Of course I was spying. I was trying to see if you had… well if you had decided to wipe us out once and for all. I didn't…." Jaw working, a painful scowl cutting deep into his face, he snapped, "But I didn't attack them. They started it, firing their crossbows and throwing knives at my back as I ran away. Medraut yelling something about slitting my throat after they'd finished questioning me." Merlin scrubbed one hand across his face in frustration. A sharp sting at his cheek and his hand came away slick with half-dried blood; the odd thing was that he didn't even remember getting the wound. "That's when the other sorcerers arrived and then it all went to hell."

For a single heartbeat, there was silence. Then shaking himself clear of the memories, Merlin said, "It doesn't matter now. Go back to Camelot, Arthur. Let me try and fix this somehow. I think I can…."

"I am not going to run away from battle like a whipped dog. I have wounded to treat and dead to honour." A frown marring his face, Arthur lifted his chin, squaring his shoulders, looking for all the world as if he were ready take on a thousand sorcerers if necessary. "A Pendragon doesn't retreat from danger. Ever."

Merlin wanted to weep with frustration. Stubborn, pig-headed and blinded by arrogance, yet Arthur was a man who would always think of his people before himself, would help those less fortunate because it was the right thing to do, a man he remembered and missed every day of the last four damn years. He was also an idiot.

Vexed beyond measure, Merlin snapped back, "That stupid pride of yours will get yourself killed."

"I am not a child to be lectured." Arthur's voice was pure ice. "Least of all by you."

By all the gods, the man was infuriating.

It took a moment or two but Merlin was able to rein in his entirely-justified desire to strangle the bloody fool. It didn't help that a smirking Balin was thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. Taking a deep breath, ignoring the swift passage of time and the growing urgency to make the prat see the truth before it was too late, he deliberately softened his voice and tried again. "Sire, if you withdraw a mile or so away from the Isle, they may see it as an attempt at reconciliation. They must know you have wounded who can't travel just yet. I can try and talk to them, get them to agree to a truce at least."

Arthur still looked as immovable as stone but at least he hadn't said no. Taking that as a good sign, Merlin said, "Even if they don't trust me, most of them are reasonable. They'll send someone else to see if I'm telling the truth."

Apparently it was too much for Balin. "Majesty, you can't. He's seen how many of our men are wounded or dead; he's seen our weaknesses. If you let him go, we will lose our only advantage." Overbearing, contemptuous, looking thoroughly confident in the rightness of what he was saying, he all but spat in Merlin's face. "Besides, he's a sorcerer. You know he can't be trusted."

There was a flash of something in Arthur's eyes, pained memories or doubt or judgment, he couldn't tell but Merlin was not above begging for his people.

"Sire, please let me try. The others I sent back to the Isle already know what is at stake and I think…." Merlin swallowed hard, said desperately, "Don't let your hatred of what I've done in the past destroy this one last chance at peace."

"You sent them back?" There it was, the contempt in Arthur's voice and underneath a kind of disbelief. He'd made it sound as though Merlin wouldn't have the brains or the ability to send a rock back, never mind living beings.

Old habits die hard or sometimes not at all. Too familiar, too much like other times when Arthur was being an idiot and Merlin had had to remind him of it, he said automatically, "Of course, I did. I wasn't going to let them kill you, you…." The prat was unspoken but still it hung there in the air between them.

Arthur opened his mouth, probably to argue some nonsense about being able to protect himself without a sorcerer's help, but with every heartbeat, Merlin could feel that time was running out. He cut across Arthur's protests. "Sire, if you want a truce, I need to go now. They are likely readying for another attack while we stand around arguing."

"Majesty, you can't! He's one of them. He'll destroy us all." Balin's voice was rising in fury while Arthur stood there, ignoring him, staring instead at Merlin. "Don't let your weakness for this maggot blind you to his lies."

Abruptly, Arthur rounded on Balin, sword swinging up, bright silver catching the light. There was agitation in the way the king shoved it toward the man, a wild mixture of ferocity and loathing and it was all Balin could do to evade the blade.

Shocked, Balin took a half-step backwards, scrambling out of range. "Sire?"

"That so-called maggot saved my life back there, at great risk to his own."

No doubt looking as much an idiot as Arthur had always said he was, open-mouthed and thoroughly thunderstruck, Merlin stared at the king. He had never thought to hear Arthur speak well of him again, certainly not after all they'd been through together.

"Didn't think I noticed, did you, Merlin? I'm not as blind as Balin here might think." Arthur didn't look at him, was still watching Balin but under all the anger, for a moment, there was a hint of respect. Then whatever warmth Merlin might have thought he heard leached away.

Arthur turned fierce again, eyes hardening into stone. He looked every inch a king about to deliver judgment. "Whereas you, Balin, and Medraut and the others with you disobeyed a direct order and precipitated a war."

The man began spouting some nonsense but Arthur just cut him off. His blade steadied, aiming directly at the Balin's heart as he said almost pleasantly, "So tell me, Sir Balin, who should I believe?"

Merlin could see the fear in the man's eyes, the shroud-white face. Arthur was standing there, sword promising swift death; any other man might have grovelled for mercy. So Merlin could only be stunned by Balin's tenacity and sheer arrogance when he said, "Your Majesty, you should believe those who have served you and your father loyally for many years, not some lying, treacherous worm who manipulates everything to his own advantage."

"Enough!" Arthur took a step forward, the sword's edge sharp in the light. For an instant, Merlin thought the king might kill Balin after all. If it had been Uther, the knight would be on the ground already, in agony, bleeding out his life on the forest floor. But Arthur wasn't his father.

Hungry retribution in his eyes, for a moment Arthur stared at the man. Then shouting for Geraint, the king stood there, twisting his blade back and forth, death cutting through the air, close but never close enough to injure. It was only when Geraint rushed up to him did he turn the sword away and shove it back into the sodden earth.

Keeping his eyes on Balin, Arthur said, "Geraint, escort this traitor back to his men. We will deal with him later."

"Yes, my lord." There were stumbling objections as Balin tried to persuade Arthur to reconsider but they were ignored; lightning fast, Geraint grabbed one arm, twisting it sharply upward behind his back and then the other, Balin struggling to get free but it was useless. He was well and truly caught.

"Demon spawn! He'll destroy us all. He can't be trusted. He'll gut you and boil your entrails for..." Geraint's free hand pulled hard against Balin's mouth, shutting him up but the muffled protests could be heard even through his fingers.

Geraint, however, seemed to take it all in stride, nodded toward Merlin. "And him, sire?"

"Leave him to me." Balin was struggling harder, his eyes wild and his feet were kicking at Geraint, in vain. "Make sure everyone is prepared. Merlin thinks there will be another attack. I don't want to be caught unawares again."

"Yes, sire." With one final nod from Arthur, Geraint began to march Balin away, the prisoner shouting abuse and paranoia as he struggled to make himself heard. Half-turned toward Arthur, Merlin was still flinching at the impossible lies screaming across the forest when there was a sudden silence and Merlin twisted around to see Balin slung over Geraint's shoulder, clearly unconscious.

"A good man, Geraint." Arthur sounded almost relieved. Scanning the area, probably looking for enemies behind every bush and with good reason, he turned back to Merlin, stared at him with decisions written across his face. "Emissary, now that the rain has stopped, you will go back to the Isle and try to get them to agree to a temporary truce. I think that…."

Arthur's voice seemed to fade out and Merlin could only think of one thing – that he might be a great sorcerer in the making but he was also an idiot. He hadn't noticed, by all the gods, he hadn't noticed.

The rain had stopped, the rain had stopped and Merlin hadn't been the one to do it. Heart pounding, his throat clogged with sudden dread and for a moment, he couldn't breathe, certainly couldn't speak. He hadn't done anything.

The rain had stopped.

He almost didn't hear Arthur shouting at him, but whatever the man was saying, he couldn't grasp it, not when panic was climbing into his mind and shutting everything down. He must have looked wild-eyed and frantic, his hands shaking with worry, and of course he was inarticulate because he was a damn idiot.

"Arthur, Arthur, listen to me. Listen! The rain, it's not supposed to stop, not until I reverse the spell. They must have." The king was standing there, looking at him with growing frustration but Merlin didn't care. He had to get everyone away before it was too late. "Arthur, get out of here. Back that way, at least a mile! There's another clearing further back on the way to Camelot and they…."

"Merlin, slow down. What's wrong?" Arthur was beginning to understand, looking around him as if waiting for sorcerers to appear out of nowhere.

Merlin wasn't listening, though, instead gazing towards the Isle. He could see the vivid glow of something beyond the stone walls and hear the faint sound of chanting. It was discordant, somehow, but then abruptly it changed into a thrum of energy, a pulse of heat and light.

Something lifted into the air, was coming toward them, impossibly bright, trailing sparks that sent plumes of gas and water skyward when they hit the lake, a high arc of dazzling light and then down, down, ever closer. And another a heartbeat behind the first.

Fireballs or worse, it might be far worse.

Ignoring Arthur's questions, ignoring the sword sharp in his hand and the way he was looking at Merlin, he shoved the king toward the woods, "Run, you idiot, run!"

Merlin's terror must have gotten through. Arthur stumbled back a bit, looking towards the Isle just in time to see another of the fireballs soaring into the air. But it didn't matter. The first one was screaming toward them, a huge sphere of rock and fire, glowing red-hot, flames liquid bright. It was arcing down, faster and faster and Merlin could see that it would be close when it hit.

He couldn't wait any longer for Arthur. Shouting at the top of his lungs, he yelled, "Get down!"

The woods around them exploded in a wall of heat and light, half-molten rock flying everywhere. Whizzing past his head, stones shrieking in superheated air, close enough to scorch his skin. The crackle of trees bursting into flame, the screams of men in agony.

Arthur was staggering back, beating at the fire blazing across his chest. Merlin lunged for him, shoving him down and rolling him in the wet mess of mud and steam. The man was trying to fight him off but he wouldn't stop, not until Arthur was safe.

But the king wasn't known to be an excellent warrior for nothing. A punch thrown into Merlin's side and his lungs felt as though they were collapsing. Arthur scrambled up, tunic still smoking, only to duck again as another fireball hit, a little further away. It wouldn't be long before the whole forest was aflame.

Groaning, his body still reeling from Arthur's attack, he struggled to his feet. In the distance, Merlin could hear Geraint yelling for the king and Arthur shouting, "Retreat!"

It was chaos. Men were running fast, the terror of horses fleeing into the woods, the whoosh of steam and pitch as trees turned into torches. The third fireball struck, closer to the lake's edge, sowing more panic than anything but the first two had done enough damage. Most of the troops were on the far edge of the ridge and fleeing, some with wounded, up and over, back towards Camelot.

Arthur started to stagger in that direction, too, obviously to meet up with his troops, create some kind of order as they retreated beyond the reach of the fireballs.

From across the lake, Merlin could see another globe of light, intense and fire-deadly, starting to arc up. He knew the sorcerers wouldn't stop, not until the Camelot forces were out of range. Even then, those at the Isle might pursue them. He had to argue them out of this catastrophe; otherwise, what was left of goodness and right in this place would collapse into never-ending war.

Croaking out Arthur's name, as the king, soot-singed and furious, turned back toward him, Merlin wheezed, "Have… to… go, prat! Save… you."

Arthur ignored the wounded look Merlin sent him. Instead, he pointed into the air, out toward the approaching blaze. "You're a sorcerer. Stop this. Stop this, now!"

Looking past the king, he could see that the brilliant fireball was already on its way down, heading straight for the remaining knights. No time for finesse, certainly no time to think about what he was doing, Merlin flung his hand up, throwing magic out toward the fiery stone, "Ábric!"

In a great blast of heat and light, the fireball exploded into thousands of smaller fragments, a thousand brilliant points of flame and rock, still raining down on the forest and the lake and the men scrambling to get out of the way. It was no longer a threat of crushing those underneath but he'd spread the fire, not put it out.

"What are you doing?" Roaring, Arthur's face was a furious mixture of exasperation and shock. "You really are the worst…."

Merlin was ready to match him fury for fury. He was trying his best. "It was your fault. I'd have been able to do better if you hadn't hit me. I need to breathe for the spells, you know."

"You bumbling idiot, there's no time for this. Get them to stop before it's too late!" Arthur's gaze was taking in everything, looking around, desperate.

"I'll go, I'll go but promise me you won't take any chances." It was clear that the king was only half-listening to him but something must have penetrated that thick skull of his. Arthur turned to stare at him, disbelief in his eyes as Merlin said, "Please, Arthur. I won't be here to protect you and if they come back, you'll have no defences against them."

"I'm perfectly capable, you damn fool."There was a huff, of laughter, of remorse, of affection, Merlin couldn't tell but Arthur only said, "But if it will get you to move, I promise. Now go!"

Nodding, wishing everything could have been different and knowing that every second counted, Merlin stood back, gathering magic into his fingertips, into his mind. Chanting the spell that would take him back to the Isle, things began to haze out, wind picking up and there was the movement of fire and light and breathless anticipation and through it all, he could see Arthur watching him.

Then the tired, soot-washed face of his king faded away.