Chapter Eight: Aggravations, Lessons, and Confessions

Merlin could feel the pressure between this realm and Flæsc's building. It was a constant headache, now, pounding inside his skull. He longed to close his eyes and sleep, but that currently wasn't an option.

And the whispers. The barrier between the realms was so thin he could hear the Sluagh on the other side. The giggles and laughs, high-pitched and manic, accompanied by half-formed words.

So hungry, so hungry…

Devour the bone and the blood and the juicy tender soul…

Just let me out, out, out, out—

Their malice seemed to follow him like his own shadow, always lurking beneath his feet. Merlin's head (and legs and arms and every inch of him, it seemed) ached, but he tried to focus on the present—this was important. Important to listen.

"I think it may be well served to go on the offensive, my lord," the man said, gesturing to the border on the map. He wore a smarmy, buttery expression, complimented by greased hair and dark clothes.

"Arthur, please—at least when we're alone. I might not have known you for long, Uncle, but you're family to me. I can't express how grateful I am that you've come to help advise me," the prince said, patting his bicep in a friendly manner. Agravaine looked as though he might like to cut his entire arm off, though Arthur appeared oblivious. "And I must disagree. Her exact location is unknown, and to cross Escetir's border with such a force would surely be considered an act of war."

"By whom? The vacuum left by Cenred has yet to be filled; the kingdom is rife with instability. There will be no one to fight you," Agravaine said.

"My first point still stands." Arthur gestured to the border on the map. "We've no idea where she is."

Merlin watched this exchange with narrow eyes. The two had decided to privately meet in Arthur's chambers—not just to discuss tactics, but also to get to know one another. Naturally, this meant Merlin had to stand in the corner with a pitcher of wine, refilling their goblets at appropriate intervals. He'd already almost spilled the wine all over the map; he was so tired and achy and distracted it was a miracle he didn't fall flat on his face every time he took a step.

The warlock couldn't say why exactly Agravaine rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the fact that he'd come out of nowhere, just as Arthur's kingdom was about to fall to ruin. Maybe it was his fake, stone-like smiles that never reached his eyes. Maybe it was the look of hatred Merlin always saw smoldering on his face when he thought no one was looking.

And uncle. Merlin hadn't known about any uncles—and on Arthur's mother's side, no less. The prince had always been blind-sided when it came to family. He adored his father, despite the man's atrocities, and Merlin ventured to say it might be worse with his mother. The prince had almost killed Uther over something Ygraine's "spirit" had said.

He noticed Agravaine's goblet getting low and stepped forward to fill it. Agravaine didn't even spare him a glance, and Merlin resisted the urge to pour it down his lap.

"Yes, but if you took a contingent to comb these woods, we could strike before she forms her army," Agravaine said. "Morgana would never gather enough strength to harm Camelot."

"You underestimate magic, Uncle," Arthur said, sipping his wine slowly. They were both sat at his table, a map of Camelot and adjacent kingdoms in front of them. The prince was dressed casually. "Morgana could've easily hidden her base of operations from us. Then, my men would be worn and tired for nothing. And that's assuming she doesn't have a plan for if we decide to do just as you suggest. She has multiple sorcerers on her side, as well as many mercenaries; we don't know what they might be able to accomplish, especially together."

Merlin was surprised to hear him speak so rationally and calmly about magic. But then, Arthur had always had a head for battle strategies. And he was right: Morgana could easily ambush and kill men Arthur sent looking for her. The only reason Leon and Lancelot had made it back was because they had kept their presence quiet. Anything louder and Morgana would've killed them.

"It seems like a bad idea, Arthur, to simply wait for her to attack Camelot," Agravaine said. "We shouldn't let her dictate the battle; we should fight on our terms."

Perhaps Merlin's bad feeling about him was unjustified. Perhaps he was being paranoid. But when he saw the two interact… There was something missing from the man, something warm and vital. Agravaine didn't love Arthur—neither did he respect or even like him. Merlin doubted he had any love for Camelot, either.

"We aren't letting her dictate the battle," Arthur disagreed. "We're readying our defenses. No army has yet taken Camelot, and she will not be the first. We have sentries and patrols to warn us if she strays too closely. Don't mistake preparation for idleness, Uncle."

"I can see you won't be swayed." Agravaine regarded Arthur with serious, dark eyes. "Determination is a trait I admire in a man." Oh, I bet you do, Merlin thought uncharitably.

Agravaine had arrived a few days hence, and he'd done nothing save compliment and flatter the prince. Arthur seemed blind to it; again, Merlin suspected that the connection Agravaine had to his mother was involved. Not that the servant blamed him. If his mother had died and he'd been stuck with a murderous megalomaniac, he would've been eager to latch onto his mother's memory, too.

It didn't change the fact that Agravaine was so fishy he might even have gills underneath his high-collared coat.

"As do I," Arthur said. "And I appreciate your advice. It eases my mind to know someone with your experience is here to help guide me."

"Of course. What else could I have done when I heard my nephew had become regent?" Agravaine smiled his cold smile. "I knew right away you would need people you trusted to speak with."

For some reason, Arthur glanced in Merlin's direction as this was said. The servant took it as a cue that Arthur's goblet needed more wine, so he came and topped it off (almost tripping over his own tired feet on the way).

"You're right," Arthur said. "I know what a benefit allies can be in protecting Camelot." He glanced at Merlin again, but the warlock just raised an irritated eyebrow. He was tempted to make some sort of ridiculous expression—Agravaine couldn't see him, after all, and Arthur could—but he managed to refrain.

It was just Arthur acting weird and staring at him. Again. Which Merlin still didn't understand, but he had bigger things to be concerned with than the prince losing his mind.

"Precisely. A toast, then, to allies." Agravaine held up his goblet.

Arthur mirrored him, smiling warmly. "To allies," he said. They bumped glasses and drank. For some reason, Merlin felt as though he were missing something. They waited a beat in silence before Arthur asked, "What do you know of magic, Uncle?"

Merlin almost jumped out of his boots. Of all the people he'd decided to ask about magic, Arthur had chosen the suspicious newcomer over him or Gaius? The servant would've been hurt by it, but the hope that Arthur might change his mind on magic had slowly been fading since Morgana's betrayal.

It whispered in the back of his mind, but he tried not to think of it. Arthur will change. He'll see what magic really is—I can reveal myself then. He rubbed his temple with one hand; his headache was growing minutely. It was hard to focus on the conversation with the whispers, just loud enough to put him on edge. And why ask about magic anyway?

"It's evil, certainly. I have never known a sorcerer who didn't use it for his own benefit, even before the purge," Agravaine said. For some reason, Arthur didn't jump at the chance to agree. Instead, he swished the wine in his goblet thoughtfully.

"Truly? Not a single one?" he asked. Merlin blinked; that hadn't been the response he'd been anticipating. He recalled the multiple occasions where the prince had confessed to him that nothing good would come from magic, that it was corrupting and evil.

Where had that Arthur gone?

"No." Agravaine shook his head. "Why do you ask?" In the entire conversation, this was the only thing the servant could agree on with the slimy man—yes, Arthur, why?

"I find myself desiring to know of my enemies, Uncle," Arthur said. He still wasn't meeting Agravaine's eyes, instead staring deeply into his goblet—as though it contained some great secret. "My father was… correct in keeping me ignorant in my younger years, but I must know more of magic in order to defeat it."

There was something odd in his face, though, as though he'd swallowed something sour. As though… he were lying. But what could he be lying about? Merlin's mind whirled slowly, trying to reach a conclusion through his pain and tiredness. It was hard to think with the voices. Why would Arthur lie?

"I don't know how much I can tell you," Agravaine said. "I was no expert before the Purge, and I am even less knowledgeable now. Forgive me."

Arthur waved his hand. "It's no matter. I just—she summons such creatures, creatures we can only read of in books. And she wields magic more powerful than most sorcerers I've fought."

"I can sympathize with your plight." Agravaine reached across the table to put a comforting hand on Arthur's forearm. It made Merlin's skin crawl. "But perhaps it's for the best. Magic… It lures you in, makes you its slave. Soon, you're merely a shell for something wicked, a servant of evil."

The warlock kept his breathing quiet, though he longed to defend himself. He raised one hand to his head and rubbed his temple, trying to ease the ache. He'd heard too much similar rhetoric to let it bother him—and he'd heard it from people he liked, too. Hell, Arthur was usually the one talking about how horrible magic was, and how it corrupted even good people.

"You're right. Perhaps it is for the best," Arthur said, pulling away. He glanced at the window and sighed regretfully. "And we must depart—I have my knights to see to—and my newly recruited soldiers."

"Of course." Agravaine stood and gave Arthur a little bow. "It was lovely getting to know you more, Arthur."

The prince smiled. "And you, Uncle."

"O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anakes!" Merlin's dragontongue tore through the night. It always rose within him with force, more like a storm than anything else. His dragonlord powers were so much more alien to him than his magic. They came from separate places: his magic from all over, concentrated next to his heart; his dragonlord breath from deep in his gut.

Merlin waited, wondering if he would be able to get a little shut-eye before Kilgharrah showed up. Though cold, the ground somehow seemed inviting. Like if he just laid down for a second…

The feel of the dragon growing closer stopped his thoughts of sleep. He peered above him to see a great form blotting out the stars. It descended swiftly, color bleeding into Kilgharrah's scales as the moon illuminated them. Merlin braced for the wind, and he wasn't disappointed when the dragon's wings blew a great gust into his face.

"Young warlock," Kilgharrah greeted, dipping his head. His great golden eye regarded him, and Merlin felt something like concern through their bond. "You—"

"If you mention how tired I look," Merlin interrupted, tone deadly calm, "I will blow something up."

"I was merely going to say that you must be hard at work. I have never seen you so… worn," the dragon said mildly. Something like offense leaked into his tone, and he lifted his head back up. Merlin was too exhausted to deal with his wounded pride, though.

"Yes, well, I've defeated magical creatures before—destroyed immortal armies, thwarted kings' plans, even stopped Morgana. But the feeling the Sluagh gave off… I will not let Camelot be caught unawares." Merlin shivered, though he wasn't sure it was from the cold.

"Your prudence does you credit," the dragon said. It was nice to hear, after all the ominous warnings Gaius had given him. "The witch plays with fire in dealing with such creatures."

Merlin rubbed his face. "She never could leave well enough alone," he said. "Have you news of her? Or her whereabouts?"

It was hard to tell with his dragon face, but Kilgharrah seemed to grimace. "I apologize, young warlock, but I can only sense her vaguely; strong magic shields her. But her Working grows horribly strong. The portal will be rent before long."

"I know. I can feel it, too. I just… I need to know what she's up to. What kind of magic is stopping you from seeing her?"

"Complex wards. It is more a high priestess's work than Morgana's own—I suspect Morgause didn't leave her without resources when she perished," the dragon replied. Seeming to sense they might be talking for a while, he sat down, startling a rabbit from where it'd been hiding in the brush.

"Then there's no way to know?" Merlin asked. He wanted to know her plans, her tactics. How many mercenaries did she have exactly? Had the number of sorcerers with her grown? How equipped were they? "What about…" He hesitated. Kilgharrah had seemed so angry when he'd first done it. "Sending my soul out?"

But instead of becoming irritated, the dragon snorted. Which was perhaps more insulting. "And put yourself at risk? I would not advise it."

"But it's possible?" Merlin pressed. "I could find her base, see what she's planning? Spy?" It was the one advantage he missed now that Morgana was no longer living in the castle. Sneaking about, learning what he needed to from her meetings with Morgause. He felt blind, now. Maybe that was why he was so desperate to set up defenses.

"Perhaps…" The dragon cocked his head now, thoughtful instead of derisive. "If you were to do so purposefully. I doubt the wards will protect against soul-walking; usually such things prevent scying and similar magicks. This is different enough you would likely be able to bypass them."

Encouraged, Merlin braved the question. "Could you… help me?" he asked. He sat in the grass in front of the dragon, his legs tired from all of the nights he'd spent sneaking around the castle instead of resting.

"Help you?" Kilgharrah repeated. "You have soul-walked before, young warlock. A dragon cannot perform such a feat; only human mages are capable of such things, and never by accident. You are the first to do such a thing."

Great—Merlin was different from other sorcerers in one more way, now. At least this might give him an edge, unlike some of the differences that had almost gotten him killed. "You must know something about it," Merlin said. "I've only ever soul-walked in my sleep, Kilgharrah. I need help to do it purposefully."

"Very well. I will tell you what I can," the dragon said. "Soul-walking requires a trance-like state to be effective—much like sleep, or so I've been told. The mage must relax and loosen their magic. But even as they let go, they must hold on. One should never drift while soul-walking; a mage never knows where they might end up." Here he paused and gave Merlin a pointed look.

"I was asleep!" the warlock protested. "It wasn't my fault."

The dragon grunted, unconvinced. "As you say. In their trance, the mage must never forget their goal: where or who they need to send their soul to. Like I mentioned before, the mage will have access to their magic as they soul-walk—one of the advantages of soul-walking. But should anyone sense you, Merlin—should Morgana detect you… The consequences would be dire."

Merlin stared up at Kilgharrah. The moon behind the dragon reminded him of the crimson one in Flæsc, and the whispers in his head seemed to grow louder. "What could she do, if she caught me?" he asked.

"If she recognized what you were… She could trap you, destroy your soul—though that would require a level magic I do not yet think the witch is capable of. But if she were to stop you from accessing your body, you would wither away and die, your soul moving on to the realm of the dead," the dragon warned. Merlin shuddered. It would be horrible to be trapped, unable to help Arthur or Camelot, trapped as his body died of dehydration.

"How do I stop her from sensing me, then?" he asked.

"Perform no magic," Kilgharrah said immediately. "I doubt she will sense your soul—such a is a feat worthy of the high priestesses. Though Morgana claims to be one, her skills are woefully undeveloped. But it doesn't take a high priestess to sense magic. And your spells—your magic—won't be muted by a physical body. Even small, subtle magicks might be detected."

Merlin almost sighed in relief. It was a tall order, but doable. "And there's no other way for her to sense me?"

"None that she is capable of," the dragon assured.

Then that left Merlin with a plan to figure out Morgana's plans. And what was better: he would know what she was up to, but she wouldn't know what he was up to. It was the best set of circumstances he could think of. Merlin made himself more comfortable on the ground and stared up at Kilgharrah.

"So how do I go about this… trance?" he asked.

The dragon eyed him, and Merlin waited for the criticism he knew the look accompanied. "You wish to practice now? Even though you are…" He seemed to try and find the right word, which was more tactful than Merlin had ever seen him. "…Unfocused?"

"I'm not unfocused," Merlin said. And I'm not so tired I can't practice a trance. "I can do it, Kilgharrah. I just—need some direction."

"Very well," the dragon agreed. He stretched out his long neck, and Merlin wondered if it was uncomfortable to arc it down at him the whole time. "Direction. You must have a destination in mind for your soul, before you begin the trance. Somewhere close, preferably, so I might pull you back if something goes awry. And somewhere safe."

Safe and close. Merlin thought for a moment. Why not this very clearing? He'd already gone farther places while soul-walking; he just needed to know he could do it on purpose. And the only one there was Kilgharrah. "I have it," he said.

"Close your eyes," Kilgharrah instructed. Merlin did so. "Concentrate on this place you're thinking of. What does it feel like? What does it look like, smell like? Let yourself be drawn there. Remember what it felt like when you soul-walked before, the feeling of otherness, of being without body. Focus on where you must go, and let yourself relax."

The dragon's hoarse timbre eased Merlin into something that was almost sleep. He was only a hairbreadth's from falling completely comatose, the weight of his exhaustion beckoning him.

No. Do as Kilgharrah says. Focus. He concentrated on the clearing around him, letting Kilgharrah's voice fade into the background. The air was chill, the grass soft but cold. He could hear the wind, the buzz of insects and hoots of owls. This clearing was a place of safety for him, a place of learning. Kilgharrah could be frustrating, but he was wise (and more than a little manipulative).

When Merlin's eyes opened, it felt like he was dreaming. He could see his body, slumped, eyes closed. Kilgharrah had stopped speaking; Merlin "stood" (or as near as he could figure, he stood) in front of him. It was just as it was.

"I was thinking you might go a little farther than this, young warlock," Kilgharrah said mildly. When Merlin opened his mouth to reply, he realized he had no vocal chords with which to speak.

I just needed to know I could do it when I wanted to. I already know I can go far—I followed Arthur when he was fetching the Mortaeus flower for me. Merlin walked forward, experimenting. Even without a body, everything felt solid. He almost couldn't sense anything different, except he didn't have to breathe. That was odd.

"Had you been anyone else, I would have been impressed that you had managed such a feat on your first try," the dragon said.

Merlin crossed his arms, feeling (for not the first time) insulted. But because it's me it's not impressive?

"You said it yourself: you've already done this. Twice—unless you did so as a child," Kilgharrah said. "Should I congratulate a babe on realizing it can breathe on purpose when it has been doing so automatically all its life?"

Breathing and soul-walking aren't the same thing, Merlin grumbled. Between Arthur, the dragon, and Gaius, he'd received so much disapproval he could fill an entire castle with it. And so little praise he couldn't even fill a room. It wouldn't kill them to say good job every now and again.

"My metaphor stands," Kilgharrah sniffed. Haughty, prideful creature. But the words were thought fondly. The dragon was centuries old; if he weren't entitled to his haughtiness sometimes, who was?

Er… Merlin looked again at his apparently unresponsive body. You never told me how to go back in?

Kilgharrah gave an approximation of a laugh. "It is a much easier process than getting your soul out of your body, so long as nothing blocks you. If you focus, you will feel a connection between your soul and body—they aren't meant to be separate, and they are drawn toward each other as magnets are. Simply stop using your magic to block your soul and body from being brought back together."

Merlin wasn't sure it would be as easy as he said, but upon focusing inward, he could feel a tug on his soul. It wanted to be back inside his skin, where it belonged. The warlock stopped drawing on his magic to keep his soul anchored to the clearing. At first, he wasn't sure it had worked—

And he snapped back into his body. He gasped, the sensation of having bones and organs and skin re-assertng itself in his mind. And his exhaustion. It was so much worse with a body. Merlin yawned. Why hadn't he noticed how bad it was?

"Sleep," Kilgharrah said.

"I—I can't—" Merlin was interrupted by another yawn. Why couldn't he keep his eyes open? Had soul-walking taken more out of him than he'd thought? "I have to…"

"Sleep," the dragon insisted again, though his tone was as gentle as Merlin had ever heard it. "I will wake you before dawn."

The last thing Merlin felt was a warm, surprisingly comfortable scaly limb lifting him into a better position before something just as warm covered him.

He was pretty sure, in his last moments of coherence, that it was Kilgharrah's wing.

Arthur didn't like how quiet the city had become.

He looked down at the courtyard—at the citadel, really. Normally, there would've been a few late-night workers, perhaps some maid's laughter drifting up to his window. But all was silent.

Imposing the curfew was the right thing to do, he told himself. If Morgana attacks early or something… She'll do it at night, to maximize the chaos. I need them safe in their homes. Plus, if anyone was about, it meant they were suspicious and in need of questioning.

Something crashed behind him. Arthur turned irritably. Unless it's Merlin. The man was clearly exhausted, and the prince had done his best to ease his chores without making it obvious.

The plate spun on the floor like a coin before finally rattling to a stop.

"Good thing they're metal, eh?" Merlin said, bending to pick it up. It was a wonder the servant had ever managed to sneak anywhere at all. Arthur still couldn't believe how stealthy he'd been when… when…

No, don't go there. You didn't do it. He's safe.

"I doubt the most indestructible of plates could ever survive your brand of clumsiness, Merlin," Arthur said, crossing his arms and eyeing the new dent in the plate. Merlin grinned sheepishly.

"All part of my charm, sire," the servant said, finishing stacking the plates.

Indeed, Arthur thought. It was sort of charming, but—no. You are not thinking about Merlin like that. "You couldn't charm someone if they were throwing themselves at you." There. That was suitably mean.

"We all can't be princes. Some of us have to rely on things other than our station at birth—good looks, personality, intelligence."

"I suppose it's not surprising you haven't found anyone yet, then, seeing as you have none of those things," Arthur quipped, walking to his bed.

Merlin's mouth twitched, but either he was too tired to come up with a retort or Arthur's had been too good (if the prince were being honest, it was definitely the former). The man looked like he was about to collapse.

You won't be saving anything if you can't see straight, Merlin, Arthur admonished silently. The prince climbed into bed, knowing Gwen would be arriving shortly. It was getting colder, so at least he had a plausible excuse for sleeping with his shirt on.

"I'll need you bright and early for that council meeting, Merlin," Arthur said as Merlin began to snuff out the candles. So for God's sake, get some sleep. "I mean it—this is important."

"Battle tactics for Morgana. I know," Merlin said, but the prince suspected he had no intention of sleeping much for that very reason. "I'll wake you up on time, Arthur. No need to get your bed sheets in a twist."

The prince grunted, waiting until he heard the door open and close and Merlin's footsteps fade before sitting up and getting out of bed. He padded over to the candles and lit a few of them before going over to the jewelry drawer and pulling out Merlin's diary. Arthur felt a little like a sneak, as he had when he'd first chosen to open it, but…

I'll understand everything you've done for me, Merlin. No more secrets. Once everything with Morgana was over, Arthur would tell him. And his men, and possibly the entire court. He just… had to figure how to.

The knock came a few minutes later, Gwen entering without his verbal confirmation.

"Hello," she greeted, sitting next to him. She looked lovely as always, though Arthur could see what looked like grease or oil on her cheek.

"Hi," he said, smiling. "Shall we?" He had stopped asking her if she wanted to read; she seemed content to simply listen to him.

"Of course. Though I still can't believe how much trouble he gets you out of," she said. The last few entries had covered the span of a year, detailing the time during Morgana's disappearance. Merlin had saved him no less than ten times, nearly once a month. Assassins, faeries, and some magical horse-thing called a kelpie, among others. The prince had a limited recollection of these events, as he often did.

"Yes, well…" It made a part of Arthur uncomfortable to know just how much he owed his life to Merlin. He knew now that the feeling wasn't fair of him; Merlin had saved his life without reward for years. He had no right to be so… untrusting, even if the man had lied to him.

Especially after you nearly killed him. The prince frowned and pushed the thought away. He opened the journal to the next entry and cleared his throat, beginning to read.

We've found Morgana. Arthur had been sent out to search for her, nearly relentlessly. I, naturally, followed, though guilt ate away at me for what I'd done to her. I almost couldn't bear it.

Arthur swallowed. Morgana again.

We found her disheveled and dirty, near a bandit camp. We brought her home, and I think Arthur was nearly in tears. I had never seen him so happy. I felt terrible, seeing the state she was in. I thought she must've escaped Morgause somehow and landed with the bandits.

She took me aside that first day and told me she forgave me, that she understood why I'd done what I'd done. I couldn't believe it; I was so elated, so pleased. I spent the rest of the day in a daze—she'd forgiven me!

But as I continued to watch her, I noticed oddities in her expression: her smile seemed forced, and had almost a hint of malice to it when it was true, as though she knew something the rest of us did not. She would scowl at Uther when she thought no one was looking.

"Do you think this is…" Gwen trailed off, but Arthur nodded.

"It must be," he said. "You know she never could've really forgiven Merlin—or even Uther. Not for what they did to her. This… This must've been when she went bad, so bad we couldn't get her back."

And he hadn't seen, hadn't noticed the little details Merlin had. Was he that blind, or was the sorcerer merely that observant? The prince hoped for the latter, and he felt the evidence supported him. Merlin always seemed to know what was going on, even when he had no right to.

He continued:

A sentry was found stabbed. The knife was one used by the High Priestesses of old, Gaius said. The sentry was well enough that he would have been able to wake and tell us who had attacked him. But we weren't as watchful as we should've been, and we found him dead, poisoned.

Gaius told me to check on the king. When I did, I noticed something odd underneath his bed. You have to understand that Uther had been acting strangely—seeing things that weren't there, children he had murdered during the Purge.

A shadow fell across the room, and I hid quickly under the bed, where I saw it: some kind of root, covered in dark liquid. A hand reached to grab it, and the hand belonged to Morgana.

I knew, then, that she hadn't forgiven me for trying to kill her. She hadn't forgiven Uther, or Camelot, for their hatred. I followed her, and she met with Morgause in the forest. But she'd known I'd followed her, and Morgause tied me up using enchanted chains. They left me to die—that part of the forest was infested with sekrets.

"What are those?" Gwen asked. She didn't seem surprised that Merlin had found Morgana working with Morgause.

"They're like… giant scorpions. Their venom is deadly. I had a knight once die from a sting. It took him a few days, and it hurt like fire. Or so he told us." He grimaced. I can't believe that stupid little idiot got himself caught. Well, he could. "He made a poor decision going after her unprepared. And why didn't he use his magic to escape?"

"He must've wanted to keep it a secret," Gwen said. "From Morgana and Morgause."

"Right. A tactical advantage. But what's the point if he doesn't use it to survive?" Capable of doing something, unable to do it. How helpless did that make Merlin feel? Constrained to the shadows, kept still by invisible chains. Arthur tried to imagine it, and found he couldn't.

"Well, he's alive now, isn't he?" Gwen pointed out. That was true enough, though Arthur ignored the voice saying it was no thanks to him.

He kept reading:

And sure enough, they came. I tried to get rid of the chains, but Morgause's magic was woven too tightly, and it would've taken me ages to unravel it. I blasted the encroaching creatures back, but I was too late: one of them struck my back. As I lost consciousness, I called to Kilgharrah. I think it was instinct.

The sting was white-hot, like fire. The flames seemed to spread through my veins and into my skin. I itched and ached all over when I regained consciousness. I couldn't move, even though Kilgharrah had already begun to heal me.

It was difficult for me to look at him; we had not spoken for a year. When I saw him, all I could see was what he had done to Camelot, to my friends. But I thanked him, and he flew me back to Camelot once I had healed enough.

Arthur's mouth tightened. He still wished Merlin had killed the damn beast. But he supposed if it were useful… And it sounded as though it had used magic to save the warlock's life, save him from the agony of a slow, painful death.

Doesn't change the fact that it killed hundreds of my people. The prince knew now where the blame lay. Merlin had had his part in it, yes, but the dragon was ultimately responsible. It—he—wasn't some unthinking beast. It had been a conscious decision on his part to try and destroy Camelot.

I explained what I had learned to Gaius, and we rushed to Uther. He was crying, curled up in a corner, and I took the thing from underneath the bed and threw it in the fire, where it died with a shriek.

Arthur was furious with me the next day—I had missed work, after all. And I even told the great prat that I had been dying, but did he believe me? No—the man believes me when I lie, and disbelieves me when I speak truth. I'm damned either way.

Arthur winced as Gwen gave him a look.

"Is that true?" she demanded.

"I can't remember," he said. "Listen, Gwen, you know how he can be. He says something ridiculous—how was I supposed to know? All I knew was that my father was falling apart, and he was nowhere to be seen."

Her expression softened. "Yes. I suppose you would've wanted his support." Well, that was a girlish way of putting it, but Arthur wasn't about to say that aloud.

"Er, I guess. It was more I needed him to fetch my breakfast, help me dress…" She gave him another knowing look, and he shut his mouth. "Right."

Cenred and his army marched on Camelot. Arthur's forces were outnumbered, and though the enchantment over Uther had been broken, he was in no state to lead. Arthur headed the army, prepared to hold off the enemy.

But Gaius and I hadn't kept as close an eye on Morgana as we should've. An army of skeletons rose up behind Camelot's army, which was now trapped between two opposing forces.

I sensed where the magic was coming from, and it made sense, as far as necromancy goes. I took a sword and ventured to the crypts, where I saw Morgana and a staff—the source of the evil magic. It pulsed with a chill and an undead aura, one I nearly couldn't stand.

I begged her to stop, to see how she might use her gift for something greater, something better, than this. I felt as though I had set her on this path, and I was desperate to find something other than hatred in her eyes. But they were cold and hard, cutting like emeralds. We dueled, and I used my magic to loosen stones from the ceiling, knocking her out.

I destroyed the staff, and the skeletal army crumbled. I raced to find Arthur, to tell him what had happened. The traitor in Camelot, the one who had slayed the guard and driven Uther to madness—it had all been Morgana.

At least Merlin had been prepared to tell him the truth, even if he hadn't actually done it. It was odd, but Arthur realized this was one of the only times that Merlin had seemed ready to trust him—to really trust him—in this diary. He trusted me with the afnac, Valiant… He tried to tell me about Cedric… But Arthur hadn't believed him enough for Merlin to keep coming to him. How many times had the prince disbelieved him before he'd given up?

It put a sinking sensation in Arthur's heart.

But she had gotten there first. It was she—not I—who had destroyed the staff and saved Camelot. There was a ceremony to commemorate her bravery, and she glowered at me the entire time. I could feel her thrumming hatred from where I stood, as though it battered me like waves. She told me if I ever tried to expose her, she would tell everyone about me poisoning her.

And still there is a terrible despair in my heart, for I know that she didn't have to be this way. We could've been friends, but instead we have become enemies.

"That's a disheartening ending," Arthur muttered. "Before reading this, I thought Merlin was an eternal optimist." Though perhaps naïve would've been a better word; the servant always seemed to think everything would work out. Come to think of it—he'd nearly always been right.

"Really? He's always struck me as more of a pessimist," Gwen said.

The prince pretended to think about it.

"I suppose he complains enough for it," Arthur finally said, and Gwen let out a laugh.

"Come on, he doesn't complain that much." She smiled. "Though he certainly doesn't like some of the chores you give him." Arthur shook his head.

"You haven't heard him on a campaign. He complains about the campsite being wet, about his saddle sores, about how hard the ground is. He'll complain about anything." Arthur smiled, thinking about it with nostalgia. How long had it been since he'd dragged Merlin on a hunt? Not since he'd been regent.

He'd have to drag the servant out, after… After what? Morgana? After he confronted Merlin about his lying? The thought held less appeal than it had before, after what had happened in the cave. He'd been so ready to kill him…

"Are you ready to read the next entry?" Gwen asked, breaking him from his thoughts. He swallowed, wondering what she would think of him if he confessed what he'd nearly done.

"Yes." He cleared his throat.

So Gaius is acting strangely. Very strangely. He went to the tavern, he's not reacting to things as he should. And I think… Well, I think I might have had something to do with it. See, I stumbled across this hidden room in the library, filled with magic books that escaped the Purge.

Only there was something trapped in a container there. And I may have released it. It was a goblin, I think.

And I'm pretty sure it's possessed Gaius.

"That little shit!" Arthur exclaimed. "Did you hear that? He released it, and then pretended as though he had no idea how it'd gotten out!" He shook the journal almost triumphantly.

"Arthur," Gwen scolded, but there was laughter in his eyes. "He couldn't have confessed—Uther would've beheaded him."

"And if he'd told me—" Arthur growled, but cut himself off from graphically threatening his servant. You nearly did that anyway, he thought. Behead, kill, murder. He had almost killed his own servant in cold-blood. His—well, he wasn't sure he could consider Merlin a friend, after all this. But an ally, certainly.

"Arthur? If he'd told you, what?" Gwen asked, but Arthur shook his head.

"Let me keep reading. It's a new entry—that one was rather short."

Honestly, the whole thing wasn't too hard to fix. I did have to poison Gaius, though, in order to get the goblin to abandon his body. Then, I managed to trap it. But, and there's no easy way to say this, what the goblin did was absolutely, without-a-doubt hilarious.

Arthur scowled deeply at the diary as Gwen covered her mouth and looked away. Probably hiding her smile. His scowl deepened.

He made Uther go bald, and then slapped his head, telling him it would get his hair back. The king (and Morgana) also had a bad case of flatulence. The knights broke out in warts (and the horror on Leon's face was rather priceless).

And best of all is Arthur. He had the ears and voice of an ass! It was the funniest thing. I can't stop laughing. If the goblin hadn't insisted on possessing people and wreaking havoc, I might've thanked him for it. It was gold, to hear Arthur braying—

"I'm not reading anymore," Arthur said stubbornly. "I refuse to listen to—to this when he's the one who released it in the first place!" He was the biggest liar to have ever lived, multiplied by ten. The biggest rat in the whole damn palace.

Gwen giggled helplessly. "It's not as though the goblin hurt anyone, is it? And it was, well, it was rather—"

"If you say 'funny,' Gwen, I'm going to throw this damn book out the window," Arthur threatened, holding the journal up menacingly.

The servant tilted her head as though considering it, her mouth pursed as she tried not to laugh. "Right. One more entry for tonight, do you think?"

Arthur squinted at her, but took the change of subject as graciously as he could. "I have a council meeting early tomorrow, so perhaps we should stop for now," he said.

"Alright," Gwen agreed. She tilted her head at him. "Are you okay, Arthur? You seem—distracted, tonight. I mean—" And here she began to speak so rapidly that Arthur had trouble keeping up. "—of course you're distracted, with Morgana and Merlin and everything. That was a stupid question. You just seem—more distracted? Or, no, distracted about something else. Something unrelated, or maybe related. And I'm rambling now, aren't I?"

"A bit," Arthur said, smiling. "But you're right. I…" He set the diary down on the table and tapped his fingernail against it. "I almost—almost did something terrible."

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked.

"I thought about executing him, Gwen." Arthur put his head in his hands. "Or even just—killing him outright. I followed him, a night or so ago. I almost... What if I'd done so? You know he never would've raised a hand against me, not in this. I would've murdered him, and he would've let me." He laughed derisively. "What a fine way to repay him for all he's done."

She placed a hand on his arm. "You wouldn't have done it," she assured.

"You don't know that. You didn't see me. I was—" He swallowed. "I was ready. My sword was raised; he wouldn't have seen it coming."

He could see a fear in her eyes, but her hand gripped his forearm tightly.

"You wouldn't have done it," she repeated. "In fact, you didn't do it. Arthur, you can be hasty, but I could never believe, not even for a second, that you would ever kill Merlin. He's your best friend—no, don't lie to me. You two are close."

His eyes were filled with pain, thinking of the glow in the cave. If Merlin hadn't begun his spell… Arthur wouldn't have snapped out of it. "I almost committed regicide—patricide—in a fit of rage. Merlin stopped me. But who would've stopped me from killing him?"

"You stopped yourself," Gwen insisted. "You made yourself gather evidence before hand. And you're not the man you once were."

He laughed again, but it was more genuine. "I think that's been made abundantly clear." He gestured to the diary. "If I had a gold piece for every rant Merlin has in here about me, I could buy another kingdom."

"Likely true." Gwen smiled at him softly. "Don't think on what could've been, Arthur—you'll only drive yourself to madness. Think on what is."

The prince sighed, but he placed his hand overtop of hers. "God, how is it I ended up with two know-it-all servants?" But there was a gentle fondness in his voice, and Gwen knew it.

"Because behind every good prince is about two-dozen good servants," she said, leaning closer.

"Well where the hell are the rest of you, then?" Arthur asked as she pressed her lips to his. He closed his eyes, but it was a light, almost chaste kiss. Gwen ended it before it could ever truly begin.

"Good night," she said, rising from the chair. He watched her skirts fall about her ankles in waves of coarse fabric.

"Good night," he called as she left, touching his fingers to his lips. They were still tingling with anticipation.

How was he supposed to sleep after that?

AN: Happy holidays! Thank you so much for the response; I love the reviews, follows, favorites, etc. Questions: What did you think of Agravaine? And the soul-walking? How was the diary entries and Arthur/Gwen's response?