XIV.

They are in the woods before either of them slow.

Merlin is breathing hard, the air wrenching out of him in short, sharp, rapid pants. Arthur sucks in air to get a handle on his own breathing; he's done this sort of exercise his whole life, and could have done it much longer were it required of him, although his body is stammering a bit, still weakened from the extended rest. They're stopped now, though, so Arthur looks back the way they've come instead, dismay curdling his stomach. "Well," He says, hands flexing into fists at his side. "That was stupid."

Merlin looks at him helplessly. "I didn't," He says, still gasping for air. "Ask you to do that."

Arthur rolls his eyes, gallantly resisting the urge to point out that Merlin had been in no position to ask anyone for anything. "Sit down before you fall over," He orders instead, taking back his correct role in the chain of command.

And Merlin, for once in his life, obeys without argument, falling back into a seated position on a large rock. His breathing finally starts to settle down, and he says after a minute, "We have to keep moving."

"And go where?" Arthur asks, a little harsher than he means to. "In case you didn't notice, we just committed treason."

Merlin is silent for a few heavy seconds. And then he says, "This makes two times I've committed treason in the last two days, then. That has to be a record."

There is a note of reluctant humor in his voice, as if he's trying to find the positive in this situation. But there is no positive in this situation, and fury settles hard like a burning coal in the pit of Arthur's stomach. He storms over to Merlin, hauls him to his feet again, his grip harsh about Merlin's collar. "Don't you dare joke about this!" He demands. "You betrayed me!"

Merlin blanches, which only makes the bruises on his face stand out even more. But: "I didn't!" He protests, pulling away. "I would never betray you, Arthur!"

"How can you even have the nerve to say that?" Arthur barks a furious laugh. "You've lied to me, all this time. Deceived me. You have magic!"

"I'm sorry about that, Arthur. I am, I'm sorry, but you must know understand: I use it for you!" Merlin is practically pleading. "I only ever use it for you, Arthur, I swear it. To help you. To - to save you."

Arthur turns away, draws a hand over his face. "I don't need magic to save me," He says.

The silence that follows is almost hurt, even though of the two of them Merlin is years away from having the right to feel hurt.

Arthur drops his hand to the pommel of his sword, as if he has not already rendered the threat moot by the mere fact that Merlin is still alive instead of a pile of ashes at the base of a pyre. "At least tell me when you learned it," He says, not trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"I didn't learn it," Merlin replies. "I've always had it. Since I was born."

Arthur scoffs. He's not a fool. He might not know much about magic, but he does know, "That's impossible."

"It's the truth."

There's more he wants to say, but he doesn't get the chance.

Because there, in front of him, quite out of nowhere, the sorceress has appeared.