"Please, Merlin," Arthur whispered, pouring more of his own energy into the bond. "I swear, I'll be the man you think I can be. The man you deserve for me to be. I am done hiding. Done being a coward. Just, give me the chance. Please, come back and I'll prove it to you with every future breath I take," he pleaded.

Suddenly, Merlin arched in his arms, drawing a deep, gasping breath. It sounded painful, and harsh, and it was the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever heard. He held his own breath while he waited for Merlin to expel the air he had taken in, then draw in another.

Merlin was breathing.

The bond between them flared to life again, bright and fierce. Arthur put his hand to the boys' throat, feeling for the fluttering pulse under his fingertips. It was there. Weak, so weak. There was still much work to be done, but it was there. The fever heat that had faded began to return. He couldn't stop the mad, desperate laugh that turned into a sob of relief. Merlin had managed the impossible yet again.

"Gwaine, Elyan," Arthur called urgently. "Make a litter. He won't be able to ride. Leon, fetch me Gaius's kit."

He heard the scrambling behind him, never taking his eyes off the slow, but blessedly steady, rise and fall of the chest in his arms. He heard disbelieving bouts of laughter from them. The sounds of joy. Another miracle. They didn't understand or know half of what had just happened, but they accepted the gift for what it was.

"Do you still offer me that choice, King Arthur?" The crystalline voice chimed.

He had forgotten her. He pursed his lips. The all consuming anger had fled him completely. But he knew, with the clarity of hindsight, that he had meant every word. He had not lied. He could not have. Not with Merlin cooling in his arms. He brushed sweat and blood soaked hair from Merlin's eyes. He wanted to see them when they opened.

"I won't apologize," Arthur said, firmly. "If you would take my life in exchange for the one returned to me, then it is a price I will gladly pay, Sister." And he meant that too, he realized. "A thousand times over, I would pay it."

He looked at her then, expecting to see anger, or hatred. She was a messenger of Fate, after all, and not accustomed to being threatened. But he saw only patient understanding. Grief could drive a man mad, he knew. Another lesson he'd desperately needed to learn. He'd needed to understand Uther's blind hatred when it came to magic. He'd needed to understand so he would not repeat.

A part of him felt ashamed that he had. If the Dragon hadn't offered hope, if Merlin was still cold in his arms, he would have become his father, only so much worse. Merlin would be disappointed in him. And that thought made his breath catch. More than letting down his people, his knights, he could not live with disappointing the man who sacrificed so much to believe he could be so much more.

"Remember this lesson, Pendragon. That is the price magic will exact from you. Remember that it was mankind that did this, not magic. Evil has many forms. You must be wary of the bond you share. You each have within you great power. Those powers can be tied to the fragile emotions of man. That balance is required," she intoned. "And remember always the choices both of you have made. He is no more capable of accepting your death than you his. Love has bonded you. Hatred can break it."

Arthur nodded, heeding the warning. Fate wouldn't always be there to teach. The next time he forced Merlin into a position to sacrifice himself, he had to accept the boy would do it without a single thought to those he left behind.

He looked over when Leon knelt next to him with the not so simple medical kit. He had dragged Merlin back from the edge, but the Dragon had been right. He wasn't able to heal him. Merlin's injuries still posed a danger to him. He set about cleaning them as best he could, paying no attention when the light beside him faded.

Leon- good, solid, unshakable- sat quietly beside them. Helping where he was needed. If he realized Arthur still hadn't let the servant out of his arms, he said nothing. If he noticed that Arthur's hands were shaking as he worked, he said nothing. About Arthur's howling rage and grief, he said nothing.

When Merlin was bandaged, and carefully moved to the litter, Leon looked at his King. "He won't survive to Camelot, Sire."

"I know." Arthur ran a hand over his face, thinking. "We'll take him to Ealdor. I know his secrets. Perhaps it's time he discovered one of mine."

0 10 1010101010

Merlin blinked, the room a little too bright for his sensitive eyes. He heard someone shift beside his bed. His unusually soft bed. Not his, then. The room had a feeling of space in it. Definitely not his. Not Camelot. He drew a hesitant breath, and continued to try and open his eyes. So bright.

Whoever was beside him seemed to realize the problem, and jumped up. Within moments, the bright room was dimmed to a single candle stand burning in the far corner. He blinked again, this time able to open his eyes even as he felt the bed dip beside him.

"Merlin?" An anxious voice called quietly. Of course, who else could it be but Arthur?

"Ar…" his voice cracked, and he swallowed, trying to work some moisture into his mouth, closing his eyes again. He felt so weak. So tired.

He felt Arthur's gentle hands at the back of his head, the solid arm across shoulders, easing him up slowly, pulling him until his forehead rested on Arthur's shoulder. The hand at his back left for a moment, gathering thick pillows behind him, then slowly easing him back into a supported sitting position.

He heard water being poured from a pitcher on the table next to him, and a cup was pressed to his lips. He swallowed, then eagerly tried to take more, frustrated when it was offered to him only in small sips.

"Slowly, Merlin. I know you're thirsty, but you have to take it in slowly," Arthur explained, keeping his voice soft. Did he somehow know about the ache pounding through Merlin's head? He seemed to understand a lot. That hand was still supporting the back of his head as he drank.

The water helped clear some of the fog from his mind. He was weak because he'd been sick. Lingering pain blossomed through him, but he remembered it being worse. He had healed some, then. Time had passed.

He desperately wanted to keep drinking in the refreshing liquid gold, but his stomach was full now. He turned his head away slightly from the next offering. Arthur returned the cup to the table.

"Thank you," Merlin murmured, letting his head fall back into the supporting pillows. He opened his eyes again, seeing his King sitting, tense, beside him on the bed. The rather large bed. Surely he wasn't in Arthur's room? He looked up, saw a wooden ceiling, and wooden walls. Not Arthur's rooms, then. He had spent enough hours scrubbing those brick walls and floors to know.

"Are you… how are you feeling?" Arthur asked, stumbling over his question. Merlin knew him well enough to know Arthur was barely clinging to control.

"Alive," Merlin answered promptly, turning his gaze back to his friend. "Thanks to you." He had yet to determine if that was a good thing, but it was definitely a start.

Arthur bowed his head, letting out a breath he seemed to have been holding forever, and Merlin felt the hand that had moved from supporting his head to lay on his chest- over his heart- begin to shake. The King's entire body began to shake, and small, soft, sobs began coming from the hunched figure. "So close, Merlin. You died. And you were so sick," Arthur whispered. This was the first time in a long while Arthur was able to feel sure his friend would live.

Arthur found himself overwhelmed. Merlin was here. Was alert for the first time since he'd died. Weak, and obviously confused, but here. The relief that washed over him was as overwhelming as his grief and anger had been. He couldn't breathe through it. He couldn't stop the tears from flowing freely. All the fear, all of the dread, he let it go, unable to spare the energy to contain it any longer. He had almost lost so much...

He felt Merlin push himself up, knew it was causing the younger man pain, and couldn't find it in himself to stop him. When he felt Merlin near him, he put his hands to the young man's face, drawing their foreheads together until they rested against each other, his thumbs running over the edges of those chiseled cheekbones while grasping the raven black hair on the back of his head.

He needed this. Merlin was real. He could feel his skin touching his own. He was sharing the breath that had once stopped. His exhausted muscles shook harder. This, this had almost been taken from him. More. He needed more. He wrestled with it, trying to subdue it.

"Arthur, the Knights…" Merlin murmured, conscious of Arthur's pride in his reputation.

Arthur tightened his hold. "I don't care," he ground out shakily. "By all the gods, I don't care." And he truly didn't. Let all of Camelot walk into this room now, witness the intimate position the two men were in, and he didn't care. He was done hiding. Done pretending. He would keep his promoise. "I lost you, Merlin," he whispered, tears coming fast and furious now. "I lost you."

Merlin's heart melted as he reached up to grab the wrists of the hands holding his face. Arthur had been strong, until now. It was time to let go. To let himself feel everything that he had shoved inside to continue to do what was best, to be the King. It was just the two of them, now, in this small world. No King, no servant. Bonded by something greater than either of them. Two beating hearts that had suffered greatly, but somehow overcome the odds against them.

He sensed Arthur's need. It was as familiar to him as his own skin, a sense as built into him as taste or smell. He wasn't sure what it was his friend needed, but whatever it was… "Take it, Arthur," he offered quietly, meaning it. Always, whatever Arthur needed, he would gladly give. His death had broken something inside his King, and he would pay any price to give it back to him. He felt Arthur hesitate, trying desperately to pull himself together, to deny whatever it was he needed so desperately. "Take it," he repeated with every ounce of conviction he could muster.

He wasn't entirely surprised when he felt Arthur's quivering lips surge to meet his own. Gentle, at first, then stronger, taking all that Merlin had freely offered and more. He tasted Arthur's salty tears on them and didn't care. His body screamed in painful protest, and he didn't stop. Nothing else existed save for Arthur's need. He gave willingly all he could.

Arthur poured every emotion that had overwhelmed him into that kiss. He reveled in the feel of the younger man's chapped and rough lips. It didn't matter. Merlin was real. Merlin was here, with him, giving all that he asked and giving still more. "I'm sorry," Arthur whispered in between breaths. After each apology his lips begged for more. And each time he asked, Merlin answered, without hesitation, without thought.

Slowly, he felt his shaking ease as he convinced himself that it was real. That the Sister of Fate had spoken truth. Love was their bond, and love was their future. All the secrets of the past didn't matter. The worlds of propriety and class and proper place fell away. This was the leap he had begun to take so many years ago in a cold cave. There was only Arthur and Merlin. Two sides of the same coin. Connected now in a way only they held the power to destroy. In this one kiss, the foundations of Albion was born.

His tears dried, and only once he had taken all he felt Merlin could give did he back slightly away, their foreheads still together. "Thank you," he breathed.

"Always, Arthur," Merlin promised.

01010101010101010102

Hunith and Gwaine backed stealthily out of the room. They had heard the two men speaking and had come, ready to fetch anything either needed. Neither had expected to walk in on the intimate scene. Once well cleared, they looked at each other, each trying to judge the others' reaction to what they had witnessed.

Finally, Hunith smiled. "It could never have come out any other way, could it?"

Gwaine shook his head. "Not with those two."