Author's Note: So this one feels both wordy and awkward to me, but I don't know... Dealing with episodes is always a struggle. More importantly, thank you so much to my reviewers! I know I haven't responded to you all yet, and I'm sorry for that. But do not doubt that I appreciate your support as much as always. WARNING: more spoilers for S5E11. Also, I'd just like to assure you guys that while there will obviously be plenty of angst from this point on, I do promise that it won't be 100% angst. I WILL be including some happiness in there. Just in case any of you were getting really worried. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

The next day was Kara's trial in court. She admitted freely to the part she played in the attack, but she showed no fear or remorse. She took the trial as an opportunity not to clear her own name, but to publicly accuse the king of all the crimes he'd never been held accountable for. She had little hope of changing the minds of any in the room except, perhaps, Mordred's, but she would do all she could to fight against oppressive tyranny. Kara would speak the truth, if the power to do all else had been taken from her.

Little did she know that she was being heard, and not only by her friend, but by Merlin and the queen, a number of the knights, and even the king himself, though he debated with her. Merlin and Gwen listened with particular interest: Merlin because he recognized the truth of her words and willed Arthur to hear them (while battling his own guilt at supporting Uther's regime), and Gwen because she was wise and also heard the truth in Kara's words, saw the picture of injustice and cruelty that the druid painted and that Gwen knew to be accurate. She was given much to contemplate.

Coming to a stalemate of opinions, the issue finally arose of Kara's help from within Camelot. Merlin felt panicked for his lover—he had no reason to trust this Kara.

"I treated myself."

Relief. Loyalty was, evidently, another of her virtues. Merlin's estimation of her rose with each passing moment, though he was loathe to admit it. He didn't approve of her methods perhaps, but she had reasonable cause for them, and she was clearly a good and intelligent soul. He could see why Mordred would… No. He wouldn't think about that.

"You are lying. Whoever it was left a trail of footprints in the mud."

Mordred felt as though someone had looped a hook through his intestines and yanked. He couldn't resist looking shakily to Merlin as Arthur went on. Merlin was looking steadily back.

"Footprints that resulted in your capture."

Gods. Mordred had been so mistaken, so very out of line. Once again it was he in the wrong, and Merlin that had not broken a promise, and had indeed stood by his side. How could he ever make amends for such behavior as he'd exhibited? That of a child throwing a tantrum, refusing to listen, believing only what he wished to.

Was that the truth of it? Had he wanted so badly to believe that Merlin was as guilty as he was that he couldn't bear to see the facts of the matter? Was he so petty, so immature?

And even worse than this realization, Mordred now knew also that it was he responsible for Kara's capture, and he alone. Everything, all of it, he was to blame, it was his fault, he'd failed her more completely than he'd thought. He should be the one in chains.

Kara, wonderful Kara, lied for him, insisting that it was a stranger. "I have no idea who he was."

Then Arthur passed down the sentence. The young knight turned to his king with pain-filled eyes as the words were uttered. Mordred watched despairingly as the damned woman was dragged from the courtroom while intoning one last threat.

Speaking with Kara after brought tears to his eyes, no matter how he tried to hold them back. Even after learning that Mordred was to blame for her capture, she still smiled at him, promised to keep his secret.

"That person is… very dear to me."

Mordred didn't deserve such kind-hearted devotion.

It killed him to see her behind bars, but Kara was stronger than he was: she was accepting of her fate and no tears misted her clear blue eyes, as they did his. When they were children, he'd always admired her steadfast strength, and always strived towards it himself. Right now he again felt weak in comparison, and he felt helpless, a feeling he hated above all others. But there was one thing he could do.

As he'd promised, Mordred went to the king, his fear paramount, but his loyalty and affection leaving him no other alternative. Kneeling respectfully, he confessed, "It was me. I was the one who took the herbs to the druid girl."

The manservant was at first stunned by Mordred's foolish, self-incriminating admittance. Then he was flooded with admiration for Mordred that transcended mere words. Admiration for having the bravery to face Arthur, to admit his connection with Kara—the consequences to himself be damned—and bluntly ask him to reconsider. He spoke to Arthur in an honest, straightforward manner that Merlin had never accomplished. In only a few spoken sentences, Mordred proved himself a better man than Merlin had ever been.

"She's not to blame. Morgana is using her in her quest for power."

"You know this girl."

"She is… someone… since I was a child… she's always lived inside my heart."

Merlin's stomach churned viciously at this declaration of love. Was Mordred's love for Kara equal to his love for Merlin? Could it possibly be more?

How could Merlin have lost him so quickly? He'd thought they were made for each other. Mordred's love had made him feel happy and proud; seeing the passion the younger man held for him finally made him feel like he was worth something, something incredible, because Mordred thought he was.

But in the end he wasn't special at all. A flame from Mordred's past had found room to worm into Mordred's heart in only two days. Heart flooded with sorrow, Merlin felt emotionally reduced to the boy he'd been before ever stepping foot in Camelot.

"But what you ask… This girl, she is a danger. Not just to me. She's a sworn enemy of Camelot, ruthless to the cause."

Desperately Mordred shook his head. "No. I will change that, she'll listen to me."

"I cannot risk the lives of my citizens, Mordred, no matter who asks."

The young man was trembling. "I beg you, Arthur."

The druid may as well have been pleading with a sympathetic brick wall. Arthur spoke of the bond between knights and yet refused to help him, to hear him. He couldn't see Kara's goodness or innocence.

The youthful optimism that Mordred kept stored inside himself seeped away, leaving an empty hole in its wake. Kara had been right. Arthur would never accept her. Mordred had been wrong to think he would, to think he would change his mind if spoken to directly by a friend. At last he understood why Merlin had never spoken frankly with Arthur about his magic. It did no good. The king was stuck in his ways.

Merlin watched silently, hating every moment of seeing his lover in such agony, a tear rolling down one cheek. He longed to reach out and brush it away, to hold Mordred in his arms and keep him safe. To kiss him and love him. But he could only stand and observe, stuck, frozen.

He still felt the jealousy and insecurity burning inside of him. But even this was overpowered by the overwhelming fear and heartbreak when Arthur responded predictably, turning down Mordred's request, though not without compassion.

Defeated, Mordred left. Merlin wanted to call out to him, to console him, but he knew his words would be meaningless. Insulting, even. Once Mordred was gone, Merlin tried to reason with Arthur, to call his attention to the perils of the situation, but Arthur wouldn't listen. Merlin wished he were blessed with Mordred's bravery, that he might simply tell Arthur about the prophecies and be done with it.

But he couldn't. Gods help him, he couldn't.

Her words were soft and persuasive. They fanned the ashes of confusion and hurt left in his bruised heart until they grew into a fire of betrayal. Her words slid through his mind, twisting and turning, gently nudging his thoughts, his beliefs, until they began to match her own. It all became clear to him now, how right she was. Arthur Pendragon was a good man, he wouldn't relinquish on that point, but for all his pretty words—and Merlin's—he still practiced under the exact same laws as Uther.

What had Mordred been doing? When he'd come to Camelot he'd accused Merlin of standing by and doing nothing, of spending ten years at Arthur's side without telling him the truth or making him change his mind on the ways of sorcery.

And then Mordred had followed right in the warlock's footsteps. It would almost be laughable, were it not sickening.

Still, he did care deeply for Arthur, and wished him no ill. But watching Kara die at the hands of an ignorant friend was something he wouldn't do.

From the moment Mordred stepped into the royal chambers late that night, Merlin knew something was terribly wrong. He couldn't help himself as he took several long steps behind Mordred, asking, Mordred, what is this?

The younger man gave no answer, approaching Arthur directly.

"I wanted to…" Mordred swallowed. "…to apologize."

Arthur's gaze was soft. "There's no need."

"I'm sorry for what I did. I hope you'll forgive me."

Merlin's breath halted. There was a layered meaning in that. The tone was clear. This wasn't an apology for deeds past. It was an apology for deeds yet to be committed. Surely he hadn't… Surely Mordred hadn't decided to re-embark on the path fate had laid out for him? Merlin's pulse thundered in his ears.

"I'd never let something like this ruin our friendship."

The manservant gritted his teeth at the unending idiocy of his best friend. Could he not see what was happening?

Mordred gave a weak smile. "You took me in. I will always remember that. And everything you've done for me," he added.

Arthur waved a hand. "You've rewarded me. By… becoming my most loyal of knights."

A crack splintered the casing of Mordred's heart. "Thank you, sire." He gave a slight nod then walked away from the desk.

As Mordred came towards him, Merlin tried again to speak. Mordred, please. The druid only looked at him, silent, and walked past. Merlin watched him go, fighting to keep his face as blank as ever. Barely listening to his friend, Merlin frantically raced out the door after the other man.

He jogged down the hallway, turning a corner where he caught up to Mordred. "What are you doing?" At the sound of Merlin's voice, Mordred came to a slow halt. "You're leaving, and you're going to take her with you."

There was no doubt in his mind that he was correct, and each word destroyed him inside, even as he forced them out. He knew it wasn't fair to feel that Mordred was choosing Kara over him, that Mordred loved her more than him, but he felt it still, and it wrecked him. He made himself confront Mordred anyways, because this wasn't about Merlin's feelings, it was about Arthur's life. Mordred needed him now—not as a lover, but as friend and guide.

The knight turned. He'd desperately wanted to avoid Merlin, but Merlin was letting him have none of that. It would have been so much simpler, so much less painful, not to see Merlin, not to speak with him again before running away. He loved Merlin more than anything in the world, and wanted nothing so much as to stay with him always. His heart had already shattered into a million pieces at the knowledge that once he took Kara he would never be able to return. He'd be separated from Merlin forever, never able to come back to Camelot, never able to witness Merlin's shining smile again, or touch his cheek, or laugh with him, or see him in any way. A tortuous separation that would last for eternity and would likely drive him into the depths of depression.

But his duty to his friend, to doing what was right, to saving the life of a good person, was more important than any personal longing. How could he live a happy life with Merlin knowing that he'd sacrificed a dear friend in order to have it? He was barely keeping it together now, and that he was only doing for Kara's sake.

The urge to apologize for his recent actions boiled inside of him, but what was the point? What was the point when he would be gone tomorrow? It was better to leave things on a bad note than to fix everything just in time for them to split apart forever. It took considerable effort to keep tears from tumbling forth when he locked eyes with his lover.

"Do not stand in my way," he warned. His chin quivered. "I don't want anyone to get hurt."

Merlin shook his head sadly. "Mordred…"

"Kara is sentenced to die in the morning. What would you do?"

"You can't," was Merlin's reply.

"Tell me you wouldn't do the same… for the woman you love."

Merlin's heart plummeted like a stone in a lake, both at the reminder of Freya and the intentional use of "love" rather than "loved" (Mordred always picked his words with deadly precision). Here was the proof, the confession—as gentle and understated as sweet Mordred could make it—that he did indeed love Kara now. More than Merlin. In place of Merlin. So distraught was he that he could barely think, and he softly uttered the first words to come to mind. "Don't be foolish."

Mordred's expression was tender as he smiled sadly at Merlin, covering his guilt at using falsehoods in order to push Merlin's heart away from him. "You see?" He knew what Merlin had once done for Freya. He knew Merlin had no authority to reprimand him. "You cannot." With great power of will, he turned away.

Merlin couldn't accept it. He couldn't let Mordred leave. He was frightened, terrified! It seemed that Kara had, in the span of only a couple days, managed to regain control of Mordred's affections. If Mordred left Camelot with her now, there could be little doubt that she would soon sway him back onto the course of his fate, if she hadn't already. Without Merlin's love and Arthur's companionship to guide him, Kara—ally of Morgana—would use their love to twist Mordred back into what he once was.

Merlin couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let Mordred go with her. There was only one way that story ended: with Arthur's death.

"Mordred."

The knight halted, unable to keep walking when that wonderful voice bid him stop.

"Please," he said in a last-ditch effort. As all else had failed, Merlin could only hope now that his intimate plea would appeal to some part of Mordred that loved him yet. Surely there was still a piece of his heart reserved for Merlin. Merlin had to believe that.

Mordred's eyes fluttered shut at the painful, painful word. Why was Merlin doing this to him? Couldn't he see how much it was already killing Mordred inside? He didn't want to do this, he didn't want to leave. But how could he let Kara die?

"I know you did not betray me before," he said coldly, as close to an apology as he was willing to make when their lifelong estrangement would begin the next day. "Do not do so now."

Merlin watched him go with a broken, frail heart.

Gwen was sharing a pleasant dinner with Arthur when Merlin burst into the room. "Merlin?" she exclaimed automatically, concerned to see her friend in such a state.

"I'm sorry. My lady, I- I need to speak with Arthur. It's important."

Arthur rolled his eyes, putting his wine goblet down. "It better be."

Gwen watched the exchange worriedly, knowing that Merlin wouldn't have interrupted without a dreadfully good reason. Even as Merlin nodded, he looked ill, not quite himself.

"It's Mordred."

"What is it?"

Exceedingly confused and worry increasing, Gwen shifted, looking more closely at her friend. Mordred? He was reporting something about Mordred? But why would he-

"Arthur…" Merlin swallowed, straightening his back with discomfort.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"He, uh…" Merlin couldn't keep his eyes on the king. He fidgeted uncharacteristically and looked down at his feet.

"Well?" Arthur nudged.

There was a bad feeling in the pit of the queen's stomach. She wished she could tell Merlin to stop, to keep himself from speaking whatever was on his mind, something that a sense of foreboding warned her he would later regret. As a friend, Gwen had no wish to see Merlin suffer, as he clearly was now. She wasn't surprised, as it seemed he was reporting some trouble to do with Mordred, and, as she very correctly surmised, that must have been the last thing he wanted to do.

But she kept quiet. Though her heart protested, Guinevere's first duty was to the people as their queen, and if an injustice occurred or a law was broken, she had no choice but to let Arthur hear it out, no matter the source.

"He's going to help the druid girl escape," said Merlin finally. Gwen was struck dumb. Her husband, more used to dealing quickly with calamity, soon jumped to his feet and rushed to the door, followed by Merlin. Gwen stayed where she was, pondering this astounding occurrence, the concern for her friend overwhelming her. She honestly cared less about the jailbreak than she did about how Merlin was handling the news.

He must feel truly terrible if Mordred had chosen to leave Camelot with Kara, leaving Merlin behind. And there was no doubt that he was hesitant to report Mordred, and felt powerful guilt for it. Gwen wondered if Mordred had revealed the plan in confidence, trusting his lover not to tell Arthur. If so, Mordred had made a grave miscalculation, and Merlin could only be wallowing in layers of self-loathing.

Sighing, Guinevere pushed her food away, appetite gone, and wandered over to the window. She waited for Arthur to return, waited to hear further news. She had no idea what she wanted that news to be.

Mordred took several steps forward towards the dead body, jaw dropped and brow creased with sad bewilderment. Kara looked to him, dagger still in hand. He shook his head, asking for answers.

"He's a Camelot soldier," she justified. He would have raised the alarm, gotten them both thrown back in a cell before they'd even left the city. He was therefore a necessary casualty. Didn't Mordred see that?

The young man was frightened. Perhaps Kara had changed after all. When they were children, even if she would have condoned the action, she could never have been so blank, so cold-hearted over it. He was a person, Kara, he was about to reply.

Warning bells rang out, not allowing him the chance. The two fugitives had no choice but to turn and run, away into the forest and their only chance of escape from the guards and knights now after them.

Jogging just behind Kara, Mordred couldn't help but think on what it meant, that the bells were ringing. The next shift of prison guards wouldn't have arrived yet. There was no earthly reason her absence should have been noted, unless…

Merlin. This time there really was no other explanation than Merlin's betrayal. Mordred couldn't understand. What would possess Merlin to do such a horrible, hateful thing? He knew the older man remembered Freya, he knew that he hated the injustices and the murders as much as Mordred did, knew that he sympathized with the druids. And he didn't believe that Merlin could be so spiteful as to turn them in simply because Mordred implied stronger feelings towards Kara than he truly harbored anymore. Merlin wasn't that sort of man.

Then what could it possibly be? Mordred couldn't fathom what was going through Merlin's mind. In a way, it didn't matter. This time he wasn't mistaken, he wasn't in the wrong. He was in the right, doing a good deed, and Merlin was trying to punish him for it. The older man had effectively signed the death warrants for both Kara and Mordred.

He tried to tell himself it wasn't important, that the only important thing was to focus on evading the guards, but of course he didn't believe it. To be so in love with another person that they were like a part of you that makes the whole, and then to be struck such a devastating blow, was enough to bring a weaker man to his knees. Mordred powered through, kept on running, but he felt like nothing more than a sack of flesh and bones threaded together at the seams by agony and despair, and an instinctive protectiveness towards the girl he'd once loved that was more important than his own life.

Finally there came a point when Kara could run no further, though she'd made it an admirable distance. She was out of breath, panting, her leg in severe pain.

They were crouched together behind a rock when Mordred heard Arthur calling out his name. The knights made a loud trail through the night, cracking branches and rustling leaves as they made their way towards the fugitives. Taking a deep breath, Mordred drew his sword. Kara stared at him in shock as he rose, holding the weapon in front of him as he faced down four of his closest friends. No words were spoken. No one knew where to begin.

Use your magic, encouraged Kara. Kill them!

His eyes moved towards her, disbelieving that she could even be suggesting such a thing. "They are my friends," he told her.

"Give yourselves up," commanded Arthur. Mordred turned back to the king, expression hardening resolutely.

"Let her go," he demanded. His tone was firm, but his eyes were entreating. "We will leave Camelot and never return. You have my word!" He kept his gaze locked on Arthur, refusing to look towards the man just to Arthur's right, the man who had destroyed him. Arthur wasn't budging. "Please."

When Arthur remained unresponsive, Mordred swallowed, palms sweating anxiously on the hilt. His watering eyes flicked first to one good friend, "Gwaine?", then to the other, "Leon?". Both men looked melancholy—though nowhere near as miserable as himself, Merlin, and Arthur—but neither spoke a word to him or in his defense, instead ignoring his cry for help. How he wished Percival were here. Percival would stand beside him, Mordred knew it.

Use your magic! Kara exclaimed impatiently. Do it!

Clenching his jaw, Mordred felt his heart harden towards those he'd called friends. What was the use in having friends if they could all so easily betray you? He was asking for very little, and promising much in return. All four of the men staring at him were guilty. Guilty of crimes against his people, and now of repaying his deep loyalty with nothing. Their friendship was worthless. They had betrayed him.

He would be merciful. He wouldn't kill them, as Kara wanted, he would simply knock them out cold.

That didn't stop his heart from squeezing as he lowered his sword. His eyes bore straight into Merlin's now, giving fair warning in one shared look. Merlin would understand what it meant. Mordred would do anything, he was even willing to challenge the most powerful sorcerer in the world, if that's what it took to save her. He had love and conviction on his side: that would give him the advantage. It was Merlin's own fault that it had come to this, that he would be forced to publicly reveal his own magic if he wished to stop Mordred.

That was the choice he was offering to his former lover. Either fight and reveal his secret, or stand down and let Mordred and Kara escape, as he should have done in the first place.

The druid knight's head lowered, eyes closing in preparation as he pulled himself together, feeling the thrum of power within him. When he opened his eyes, all warmth was gone, and he stared purposefully at the warlock, challenging him.

What shall it be, Merlin? he asked.

He would never know Merlin's answer, because suddenly everything went dark.