GUYS GUYS GUYS. It's been less than a week. New personal record?

Also, why do people always wind up crying and/or hugging in things I write?

Speaking of hugs - hugs for all the kind reviewers! Y'all are the best :)

Chapter Ten: Someone Trusting

Gaius took barely one look at Merlin before he said, "Sit." It sounded like an order. Merlin obeyed, going one step further and laying his head on the table.

Like magic, a bowl of steaming broth was produced and placed inches from his nose. "Eat," Gaius commanded when Merlin didn't so much as twitch.

Merlin raised his head and picked up the spoon. He proceeded to twirl it around the broth without any signs that he might take a sip.

"May I ask what has you wandering back here so late in hte morning, looking like you've just risen from the grave?" Gaius inquired, eyebrow raised in question.

"The only way to close the Rift is to sacrifice Arthur," Merlin said bluntly.

That stunned the physician into silence.

Merlin had awoken stiff and sore on his own in the forest. The weight of what he now knew hadn't left him during his dreams, and it certainly wasted no time assaulting him in the waking world. He'd briefly considered running away, never returning to Camelot, not even to explain. Gaius could work it out for himself. Everyone else could assume him dead and move on.

And yet, because of fate's sick humor, Merlin was too used to the idea that he wasn't allowed to leave Arthur's side. He had to be near enough for protection at all times.

"I assume Kilgharrah offered no alternative," Gaius said quietly.

Merlin shook his head, unable to bring himself to answer. What alternative could there be? He'd asked himself that the whole way back to Camelot. The prophecy was specific. This wasn't something Merlin could do in Arthur's stead. This time, there would be no room for the words "I willingly give my life for Arthur's."

"So what are you going to do?"

Another impossible question. Was there no end to them? "What can I do?" Merlin countered, a tad petulant. "I can't do it, Gaius. Even if I wanted to, I don't remember the spell Morgause used. Yet the longer I sit here and do nothing, the more magic is swallowed by the Rift. I can't let that happen, either. No matter what I do, I can't—"

He broke off, his eyes and throat burning. He looked away, ashamed at how often Gaius saw him like this, breaking down and falling apart.

He jumped slightly when he felt the old man suddenly enter his personal space. Gaius engulfed him in a hug, pulling Merlin tight against his sholder with a hand at his back. Merlin's eyes stung anew as he considered all the times Gaius had comforted him with such an embrace. He realized suddenly that he'd never hugged his guardian on an occasion when the world wasn't ending.

"The world has not been fair to you, Merlin," Gaius murmured in his ear. "All these burdens and choices should never have fallen on such young shoulders. If I could bear it for you, I would, though I fear I would not manage half so well as you."

"I don't feel like I'm managing very well at the moment," Merlin said in a half-whisper, since it was all he could manage.

Gaius pulled back enough to offer him a small smile. "You are still able to cry," he said. "Believe me when I say how strong that makes you. Very few in your position would retain the heart or the sanity necessary to shed a tear."

As predicted, Arthur went out of his way to pile more chores than actually existed onto Merlin's to-do list. It didn't help that it wasn early impossible for Merlin to respond with his usual grumbling—not when he knew what he did—and Arthur kept squinting suspiciously at him, trying to figure out what was wrong. Such scrutiny almost always resulted in an extra chore.

He didn't escape from the prince until after darkness had fallen, at which point he was exhausted to the point of keeling over. He did not allow himself such a luxury, however.

He knew it was useless, but he didn't know what else to do with himself. Thus, Merlin found himself sitting in a sea of books pulled from the gloomiest corners of the castle library, each with varying degrees of legality. The older-than-dirt magic book in his hand was most certainly not one he would survive getting caught with, but he felt fairly confident no one would enter his room.

Someone knocked on the door.

Suffering several different types of heart failures at once, Merlin nearly fell of his bed. "Ah, just a second, I have to—"

"Merlin? It's me, Gwen."

Merlin almost fainted from relief; he had no idea how he could have explained himself if anyone else had opened the door. "Come in," he called weakly.

Gwen's eyebrows went up as she surveyed his room. "I had no idea you were librarian," she commented. Her eyes fell on the book in his lap, the curly, faded, foreign writing on the cover a dead giveaway to its contents.. "Oh," she said flatly. "Are these all books on—on—"

"No," Merlin said quickly. "Well, I mean—sort of. But they're not all mine. I'm just, I'm... researching."

"Researching magic?"

For some reason, the accusation in her voice pricked at Merlin's nerves. "Gwen, we've been friends since the day I arrived in Camelot. I've been alone with you, alone with Arthur, alone with Uther about a thousand times since then. If I'm an evil sorcerer hellbent on destruction, I must be pretty awful at it, because last I checked, all three of you were still alive and Camelot was as un-destroyed as ever."

He noticed Gwen starting to smile, and some of his irritation faded. "What?"

"Un-destroyed?" she repeated.

Merlin grinned sheepishly, and Gwen burst into giggles. When the laughter faded, the tension, though still present, wasn't quite so thick anymore.

"Does this mean you're not afraid anymore?" Merlin asked. He couldn't help but notice that she was still standing close to the door - in other words, as far from him as possible. He gestured vaguely toward the area of bed that wasn't occupied with books or himself. Gwen hesitantly migrated closer and sat, glancing sideways at some of the many titles. Merlin hoped she didn't happen to see The Crafte of Dark Magick. He almost hadn't grabbed that one, but he'd figured he might as well use every reference within reach.

"I was more upset than afraid," Gwen admitted. "Actually, I suppose I was both. I know it doesn't make sense that you could mean us harm. You've had so many chances to hurt Arthur, and you haven't, not once in four years. But Morgana—" She bit her lip and looked away.

"But Morgana was here for fifteen years before she did anything," Merlin finished. Gwen nodded almost imperceivably. "I dont' know what to say to convince you that won't happen to me. Honestly, I've always thought that if I ever had to explain myself to someone, it would be Arthur."

Gwen smiled at the prince's name.

"All I can do is promise. I care about you, and Arthur, and all my friends. I might not care particularly for Uther, but I'm not about to put Arthur through the pain of losing his father."

"I didn't tell him," said Gwen. "Arthur, I mean. But Merlin, I think you should. Haven't you been friends long enough to trust each other?"

"I do trust him," Merlin replied. "With everything that won't get me killed."

"That's not what I call trust."

"You couldn't even look me in the eye until five minutes ago," Merlin pointed out. "No offense, Gwen, but that's not very trusting, either. If you felt betrayed, how do you think the son of Uther Pendragon is going to feel? He's hated magic his whole life. Not to mention, it's his kingdom Morgana tried to take."

None of this even mattered, Merlin thought miserably. If he went through with the prophecy, Gwen wasn't likely to believe he was an innocent, harmless warlock. In fact, he'd convince all of Camelot once and for all that magic was pure evil. Magic would be saved, but it would never be free.

With that realization, it became even more official: there was absolutely no way to win.

"...Sure he'd be willing to—Merlin? Are you even listening?"

Gwen's voice called him back to reality. "S-sorry," Merlin stammered. "I got distracted is all. What were you saying?"

She gavce him the sort of look he'd only ever associated with his mother. "Gaius told me you didn't sleep well last night," she said. It was half a truth; he'd actually spent the night in a forest talking to a dragon. "You should get some rest. I'm sure whatever you're researching can wait until tomorrow."

He smiled wanly. It couldn't, really. But no matter how hard he looked, he probably wouldn't find an answer anyway. For a man who couldn't afford to give up, he had a very bleak outlook on his chance of success.

"I will," he promised. Eventually, he didn't add. "So, are we...?"

Gwen sighed and stood up, straightening a particular stack of books that was leaning dangerously at the edge of Merlin's bed. "It's a lot to get used to," she said. "I... I still need time to think. But Merlin, I know you're not evil. I've seen you risk your life for Arthur a dozen times. I know you'd never hurt him."

There wasn't much she could have said to make him feel worse.

Briefly Merlin wondered how much harm it would cause if he let Gwen in on his dilemma. He dismissed the idea just as quickly. His magic was one thing; no matter how he explained himself, he would never be able to make her understand how or why, exactly, he was now forced to contemplate sacrificing the very man he'd sworn to protect with his life.

"I'd sooner die than hurt him," Merlin said softly. Gwen smiled and departed, unaware that despite how genuinely Merlin believed that, he might not have a choice.

Despite Gwen's orders, Merlin did not rest. Hours later, a candle still burned on his nightstand. The books were no longer in neat stacks, but rather hanging open in random spots about the room. He'd finally—reluctantly—picked up The Crafte of Dark Magick. Many of the books he'd flipped through were quite similiar in content; he figured that if nothing else, the book of dark magic would present new material and maybe a change of pace.

It was foul. Merlin's overtired mind was even more sensitive than usual to the horrific things the pages described. Spells to boil someone from the inside out, curses that caused the victim unimagineable pain for every word they spoke, and—worst of all to Merlin, who shuddered at the very prospect—even a spell to strip someone of their magic. He slammed the book shut, imagination working into overdrive even as his eyes drooped.

He'd continue his search tomorrow, he told himself tiredly, clearing enough room to lay down and dropping like a bag of stones against his pillow. A whispered word blew out the candle. He watched the smoke curl lazily upward, wincing as he remembered how the spell to boil a man's insides could eventually leave the skin steaming and smoking.

His dreams were far from pleasant that night.