Merlin always knew that Arthur's brashness would get them into trouble. He just didn't think that the end of Camelot would begin with an argument with the High Court of the Old Religion.

'Embrace the ways of the Old Religion, Arthur. Or risk the ire of the Goddess.' The three voices of the Disir were so similar that it was difficult to tell which judge was speaking.

'I refuse to be judged by those who do not know me.' Arthur's voice rang through the cavern, proud and defiant.

'You have always been known, Arthur Pendragon. And now you come here, to the very heart of the Old Religion, trampling hallowed relics, treating our sacred space like you do your kingdom, with arrogance, with conceit, with insolence.' The Disir hissed their disapproval, every word coming closer to their final judgment.

'Enough!' Gwaine cried. Merlin winced, aware of how the Disir would react to such disrespect but unsure how to stop him. 'You speak of the King!'

The lead Disir merely moved her head, throwing Gwaine back against the wall of the cavern. All the knights drew their swords, ready to fight their way out. But the knights could not defend themselves from the Disir's attack. A spear flew through the air, despite no one having thrown it. Only Merlin heard the slight shimmering sound of magic as the spear hurtled towards Arthur. Merlin tried to stop it, but it was too late. The spearhead hit flesh with a sickening squelch, and the knight hit the floor, barely retaining consciousness.

Mordred had done what Merlin could not. He had saved their king by throwing his body between the spear and Arthur.

'Merlin!' Arthur yelled, his distress clear in the shaking of his voice. Merlin ran to the fallen knight, even as Arthur ordered his men to fall back. They retreated from the cavern, Merlin at the rear, until he sensed a shimmer in the air. This time he was prepared. He deflected the spear aimed at him with his magic without even seeing it, causing it to fall, inert, beside him. He turned to see the Disir at the front straighten, her hood falling back just enough that Merlin could see her face. There he saw something change in her expression: formerly merely angry, now it showed something akin to curiosity.

Who are you, boy, that you serve the king, despite your magical talents? She spoke in his mind, like Mordred sometimes did.

I am Emrys, he thought back. I will protect Arthur until my last breath.

He turned to leave, and as he reached the mouth of the cave, he heard a sigh like the rustle of fallen leaves.

Emrys.

When they returned to Camelot, Merlin watched in silence as Arthur fretted over Mordred as if he were his own brother while Gaius examined him. The physician met Merlin's eyes from across the room, shaking his head minutely so that Arthur didn't notice. Merlin didn't react, remaining stony-faced until Arthur left.

'Only your magic can save him,' Gaius said, gesturing at Mordred's unconscious body.

Merlin remained perched by the window. 'I cannot save the life of a man destined to kill Arthur.'

'If Mordred is destined to take the king's life, why has he just saved it?'

Merlin hated how reasonable Gaius sounded. He knew that outwardly, Mordred had done nothing to arouse suspicion since coming back to Camelot – in fact, he had been as honourable as Sir Leon, if a bit naïve. But he couldn't ignore Kilgarrah: every time he had, things had gotten worse, until he did whatever the dragon had told him in the first place. When he told Gaius as much, the latter leaned back, crossing his arms.

'What happened to the young boy who came into my chambers just a few years ago?' His voice had taken on the disapproving tone reserved for when Merlin was being stubborn or reckless (usually both).

Merlin's expression hardened. 'He grew up,' he said shortly, 'and he learned the meaning of duty.'

If the choice was between Arthur and Mordred, he couldn't risk saving someone who posed a threat to the future Arthur was destined to bring about. Even if that someone was only a boy.

A boy who had sacrificed himself for that same future.

Then Arthur ordered Merlin to ready the horses so that they could return to the cave, to beg the Disir for mercy. Much of the journey was made in silence, each turning their own worries over in their minds again and again. Merlin cursed Arthur for his recklessness, and was convinced that in doing the thing Arthur thought was honourable, he would inevitably bring Camelot crashing to the ground. But at the same time, he couldn't shake Gaius's voice: if Mordred was really to bring about Arthur's death, why had he just saved his life?

When they arrived, Arthur laid down his sword in a patch of clover. When he noticed Merlin's raised eyebrows, he rolled his eyes. 'I'm not totally insensitive, Merlin.'

Before Merlin could think of a good answer, Arthur was already moving towards the dark opening of the cave. This time, as they traversed the rock passages towards the cavern, Arthur took care to avoid touching any of the wooden charms hung from the ceiling, some of which had been newly rehung after their last visit. Merlin absently wondered whether the Disir did it themselves, balancing on a large rock, or whether they used magic.

'Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, we have been expecting you.' The voices of the Disir broke the silence of the cave.

Arthur knelt. The image of the young king, gold and silver in the darkness, kneeling humbly before the ancient priestesses, was a stark contrast to the last time they had come, when he had been the very portrait of arrogance and offended honour. 'My men and I behaved with arrogance and stupidity. We dishonoured this place and insulted your faith. I humbly beg your forgiveness.' He paused, then continued, his voice thick with emotion. 'Sir Mordred may yet pay the ultimate price.' His throat bobbed. 'I come here to petition you for his life.'

'Why should we help you?'

'I ask not for myself, but for a young man whose only crime was to sacrifice himself for his king.'

'The future holds much suffering for you, Arthur Pendragon – for you and your people,' the Disir warned. Merlin tensed, sensing that the final judgment was coming. 'If you wish to save your kingdom, embrace the Old Religion. Learn her ways. Bow to the Goddess.'

Arthur looked away. Even standing behind him, Merlin could read the tension in his shoulders, the worry in the tilt of his head. 'You know I can't do that.'

'Consider carefully,' the judges hissed. 'You have until tomorrow.'

Merlin was searching for more firewood when Arthur's voice reached him.

'How did you know this place was sacred?'

Merlin was taken by surprise. 'That's obvious.'

'Pretend it isn't,' Arthur said, serious for once.

Merlin looked around him in the darkness, trying to find the words to explain it. 'Everything here… it's so full of life. Every tree, every leaf, every insect.' Arthur sat up to see him properly, probably wondering why he sounded so reverent, but Merlin barely noticed – he was too entranced by the music of the valley. 'It's as if everything is vibrating… as if everything is much more than itself.' That was it. The strange feeling of life about to burst from every root and branch and flower, that everything was interlinked, that there was a web of pure existence in this sacred place.

'You feel all that?' Arthur sounded sceptical.

Merlin met his gaze. 'Don't you?'

Arthur shook his head.

'You're missing out.'

The pair were silent as Merlin sat on his bedroll, across the little campsite from his king. 'What will you do?'

Arthur stared pensively in the direction of the cave. 'I don't know. My heart says do anything I can to save Mordred, but I've seen what misery unfettered sorcery brings. Before my father outlawed magic, Camelot was almost destroyed by sorcery. In my own time, Morgana has used it for nothing but evil.' He brought his gaze back to meet Merlin's. 'What would you do? In my place?'

A shiver went down Merlin's spine. 'Me? I'm just a servant, a lackey.'

'Lackeys can be wise.'

Merlin barely heard him. What could he say? Yes, Arthur, bring magic back so Mordred can be healed. No, Arthur, you can't bring magic back, so your friend must die. Neither of those were right, yet they seemed to be the only options.

Merlin's thoughts were interrupted when Arthur spoke again. 'It's not like you to be silent.'

'Kingdom's future is at stake.' More so than you know.

'And a man's life.' Merlin's eyes flicked up to look at Arthur. The other boy was watching him intently. Merlin couldn't bear to think of him as a man; he was still too young, despite being tried and tested over and over again. In his mind, Arthur was still the boy he had met in the streets of Camelot just after he had arrived, the boy who was arrogant and brave and trying desperately to do the right thing.

Merlin thought carefully before he spoke, giving neither answer nor advice, merely trying to help his friend to choose himself. He would do anything for Arthur – anything except choose for him. 'You must protect Camelot. You must protect the world you've spent your life building – a just and fair kingdom for all.'

'You'd have me sacrifice a friend,' Arthur said flatly.

Merlin shook his head slowly. 'I would have you become the king you are destined to be.'

Arthur leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to peer at Merlin through the smoke of the flames between them. 'If I do save Mordred, all my father's work will be for nothing. Sorcery will reign once more in Camelot. Is that what you'd want?' Arthur stopped. 'Perhaps my father was wrong. Perhaps the old ways aren't as evil as we thought. So, what should we do? Accept magic? Or let Mordred die?'

There was a pricking behind Merlin's eyes. Suddenly close to tears, he looked away, trying to clear them.

But Arthur noticed. 'What is it?' he asked, eyes narrowing. 'If it's about Mordred dying, Merlin, we've had this conversation before – no man –'

'Is worth my tears, I know,' Merlin finished for him. 'It isn't that.'

'Then what is it?' Arthur asked again, his tone veering quickly towards exasperation.

Merlin swallowed down his terror, drilled into him by Gaius and his mother – those who had always told him that telling anyone else would mean his death. This was Arthur. Arthur, whom he trusted more than anyone. Arthur, his best friend, even if neither of them would admit it. It was safer to tell Arthur than virtually anybody else, even if he was the only who could actually pass a death sentence.

'I have magic.' The words hung between like a pall, chilling the air despite the fire.

Arthur looked at him askance. 'Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. Why would you say that?'

Merlin was shaking. 'I do. I'm a sorcerer.' His voice cracked on the last word.

Arthur shook his head, though at what, Merlin wasn't sure. 'You're not a sorcerer. I would know.' Merlin loved him for that last sentence alone, for the certainty that Arthur knew him, trusted him.

For Arthur, he would do anything. Even put his own life in his hands.

'Arthur… look.' He held his hand out towards the fire, and, eyes glowing, willed the sparks to form the Pendragon crest: a sitting dragon, wings extended, breathing fire. He heard Arthur's sharp intake of breath, but didn't dare look at him until the image faded.

'I use it to protect you. To defend Camelot.' The words were hard to get out, but they were important. Arthur had to know, had to understand. 'Only for you.'

Arthur was still staring at the flames, pale as a sheet. Emotions flashed across his face – fear, anger, dismay, surprise, anger again – until he wiped all expression from his face and stood up.

'Stay here,' he ordered tonelessly, not turning around.

Merlin's stomach dropped. 'Arthur…'

'Just… you heard.' With that, he stalked out of the clearing, away from the fire, away from the light – away from Merlin.

Merlin waited for Arthur's return for hours, sitting on his bedroll, watching the fire burn down to embers. He stoked the fire again, and waited for another hour, then gave up. He curled up under the blanket, shivering. He was used to camping, to sleeping rough, but it was always with Arthur by his side. Would this be the new normal? Arthur unwilling to be around him, always wary – and that was if he let him live. The idea scared him more than actually telling Arthur he had magic.

When he finally fell asleep, it was with wet cheeks that glistened in the flickering light of the fire.

The next morning, Arthur had returned. He barely spoke to Merlin, unless it was to snap an order. Every time he looked at him, a flash of anger crossed his face, building up the feeling of lead in Merlin's stomach. They packed up the campsite in silence, each moment tenser than the last.

They reached the cave sooner than Merlin had expected; or maybe it was that every minute seemed both longer and shorter than normal. Arthur drew his sword and stabbed it into the ground before entering the cave. Like last time, he was careful not to touch any of the hanging charms. His expression was closed, unrevealing. Merlin, for once, had no idea what Arthur was thinking; no idea what was about to happen, either to him or to Camelot.

Once again, Arthur stopped before the Disir, Merlin just behind him.

'You have returned. Is your decision made?' The eerie voices were louder than before, unless that was merely Merlin's imagination – everything seemed louder, from his footsteps to his heartbeat, thumping painfully in his chest.

'It is,' Arthur replied solemnly. 'I cannot do as you ask.'

Merlin felt his stomach drop.

'At least, not entirely. I cannot "embrace the Old Religion," as you put it. I cannot worship as you do. I do not know how, and besides, I have my own faith. But I will allow magic back into Camelot. Sorcerers will no longer be persecuted, unless they are shown to have actively caused harm to my people. Those who wish to may return to the old ways. Would that suffice?'

Merlin's vision had gone hazy. He had to brace himself against the wall of the cavern to stop himself from falling over. He didn't understand what was happening. This was too much in too short a time. Did he hear right? Did Arthur know what he had offered? Was he going to let him live? Could he stay in Camelot?

Then another voice sounded in his head, equally off-guard. You appear to have changed him.

I did nothing, he thought back.

You did more than you know.

'It is not what we asked,' the Disir hissed. Merlin looked up, stricken: Arthur would not – could not – offer more. Not with Camelot in its present state. 'It is not what the Goddess requires. But… it will suffice. We will permit you to do as you have promised.'

Merlin let go of the wall, trying to steady himself. He wished he could see Arthur's face – even the slightest bit of emotion would give him insight into what he was thinking, but from here, all he could see was the stiffness of his shoulders.

The Disir were still speaking. 'However, as a show of your goodwill, we require that you keep a sorcerer by your side. To ensure that you keep your promise.'

'Who?' Arthur's voice was terse.

Merlin shifted, moving round to see his friend still staring, stony-faced, at the three priestesses, who simultaneously raised their arms and pointed at Merlin.

'Him.'

Merlin froze, but had already move enough to see the muscle working in Arthur's jaw, the way it did when he was trying to clamp down on too many emotions at once.

'Fine.'

The warlock's eyes widened. He had expected some sort of resistance, but if Arthur accepted, he wasn't going to complain – especially if it meant he didn't have to leave Camelot.

'You have made your decision: sealed your fate, and that of your kingdom. Farewell, Arthur Pendragon.'

Arthur bowed stiffly, then left the cavern. As he did so, however, he met Merlin's gaze, just for a second. His face was blank, unreadable. When Merlin followed him out into the sunlight, hopefully leaving the cave for the last time he somehow felt worse than he did when he entered.

Arthur had accepted magic, had even allowed him to stay. Wasn't that enough?

No, the treacherous voice inside him whispered. Not if he doesn't trust you because of it.

The ride home was quiet, Arthur riding ahead, flinching imperceptibly whenever Merlin came too close. Each time it happened, it felt like a tiny shard of ice was being thrown at Merlin's heart. He would be glad when they got to Camelot, when things could start returning to normal. Arthur only spoke to him to give him orders, and even those were rare. They had travelled together so often that Merlin did most things automatically, without Arthur's instruction.

When they rode into the castle, Arthur swung himself off his horse almost before it had stopped. He passed the reins to a stable hand and went to speak to one of the knights milling around. But before he got the answer to whatever question he'd asked, his face lit up and he was off, weaving his way towards the stairs leading into the castle. Merlin turned, trying to see what had unlocked the tight clamp Arthur had kept on his emotions for the last few days. A chill passed over him.

Mordred was bounding down the stairs, a smile on his face, as excited as a puppy to see his king again. He looked well – not just healed from his wound, but really well, bright and energetic and ready for anything. He reached Arthur, who grinned in delight and crushed him in a bearhug. Only Merlin knew to look for the quick glance he spared to the skies, thanking every deity he could imagine for bringing his friend back from the brink of death.

How could he have forgotten why they went to the Disir in the first place? After he'd told Arthur his secret, dealing with the fallout had become the disaster-that-must-be-averted, not the risk of Mordred killing Arthur.

And now, with magic permitted back into Camelot, Merlin had simply handed another weapon to the druid boy.

Merlin glared at the ground, trying to contain his fear. When he looked up again, Arthur was gone.

Merlin searched for his friend of hours, but to no avail. Despite knowing every inch of the castle, Arthur was nowhere to be found. Either he was moving around, not giving Merlin a chance to find him, or he wasn't in the castle at all. Both were possible, and if he didn't want to be found, Merlin knew he should give him space – even if that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Instead, Merlin returned to Gaius's chambers, where he found the physician poring over his books, as usual. For a second, Merlin was struck by how little had changed around the castle, despite his whole world having shifted on its axis.

'Merlin, what is it?' Gaius hadn't looked up from his book, but had apparently sensed Merlin's presence. He supposed it wasn't too hard: most people who came to see Gaius wouldn't just stand silently in the doorway.

'Arthur knows,' he blurted out. He crossed the room and sat on the ledge by the window, hugging one knee to him as the other leg swung free.

Gaius looked up. 'Knows what?'

'About my magic.' The look of shock on Gaius's face would almost have made him laugh if he hadn't felt so awful, his insides twisted into a tangled mess, a fog of worry and misery clouding his mind.

The physician's gaze flicked to the door, as though nervous someone might pass by and hear their conversation. Merlin simply waved his hand and the door closed on its own.

Now Gaius was frowning. 'Merlin, I've told you before –'

Merlin smiled bitterly. 'It doesn't matter anymore. Arthur agreed to allow magic back into Camelot. All he needs to do now is to announce it.'

Gaius gaped at him. When it became clear that he wasn't going to say anything else, Merlin launched into the tale of the last few days, telling him about the choice the Disir gave Arthur, and when he asked Merlin's opinion, he had told him he had magic. When the story came to a close, Merlin let his head droop into his hands.

'I just don't know what to do… Since I told him, Arthur's barely spoken to me. He's avoiding me, I know it. He allowed magic back into Camelot, but I don't know why. I just… what do I do?' He raised his head to look at Gaius, hoping for an answer.

The latter grimaced, aware that his response wouldn't be the one his protégé wanted. 'You need to give him time, Merlin. He will come to terms with it, or he won't. But either way, you cannot force him to speak to you. It must have been a big shock to him – he'll need time to recover, to change his worldview. Suddenly discovering magic isn't the evil Uther taught him it was will take time to sink in.'

Merlin shook his head slowly, as though trying to deny Gaius's advice. 'It's not just the magic. When I showed him, his face… it was like he was scared of me. He's my best friend,' he whispered. 'I can't lose him.'

Gaius joined him at the window, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. 'I know, Merlin. I know.'

Merlin was on his way to Arthur's chambers for his normal duties when he saw Mordred at the other end of the corridor. Before today, he would have ducked back around the corner and taken another route to Arthur's rooms, but now he felt he had to speak to the young knight. Mordred seemed preoccupied when Merlin reached him, gazing out of the window, unaware that Merlin stood at his shoulder.

'I need to talk to you,' Merlin said abruptly. Mordred started – whether from his thoughts being suddenly disturbed, or from Merlin speaking to him directly at all, Merlin didn't know. Either way, Mordred nodded and followed Merlin to an empty room.

'Arthur went back to the Disir to beg for your life,' he began. He wasn't sure why he had started there; he just knew it was important for Mordred to know how far their king was willing to go for his friends. 'But to lift the infection, he had to allow magic back into Camelot. He asked me what I would do… and I told him I had magic. Then he agreed to make magic lawful again.'

Mordred's shock was identical to Gaius's. 'After everything you've done for him, you just took that risk without thinking? He needs you, Merlin. You shouldn't have risked yourself like that.'

Merlin's tone hardened. 'That's exactly why I had to do it. He had to see that magic wasn't all bad. That it could be used for good.'

Mordred's eyebrows rose. 'It apparently worked.'

'I'm not so sure.' At the knight's questioning look, Merlin continued: 'He hasn't spoken to me since I told him.'

Mordred simply watched him, trying to read his face. 'Thank you,' he said finally.

Merlin frowned. 'For what?'

'For taking that risk. For playing your part in bringing me back – and magic back to the kingdom.'

Merlin had turned to the door, about to leave, but he froze. Then, very quietly, he said, 'I didn't think this would happen.'

'What?' Mordred's voice was sharp. When Merlin was silent, he asked again: 'What do you mean, Merlin.'

'There's a prophecy,' the latter said flatly, 'that says you will kill Arthur Pendragon.' He turned back, catching the expression of horror that flitted across the young knight's face.

'Me? Kill Arthur? That's ridiculous – I would never – he's my king – my brother – I won't…' Mordred's words faded away in the silence of the small room as his thoughts raced. Then realisation dawned. 'Is this why you've barely spoken to me since I returned to Camelot? Why you don't trust me?' Mordred had gone pale.

Merlin nodded minutely. Mordred looked sick.

The two men stared at each other in silence, each seeing the younger boy that they had met all those years ago, when one had saved the other's life.

Finally, Mordred broke the silence. 'You have to believe me, Merlin. I would never kill Arthur. I love him, just like you.'

Merlin kept staring at the other boy, Arthur's words buzzing in his mind. Where would any of us be, if no one had given us a chance? Then the events at the Disir's cave: Mordred throwing himself in front of the spear meant for Arthur before Merlin could do anything. Mordred was prepared to give his life for Arthur – surely that must be worth something?

'I believe you.' The words came out almost before he was aware of them. Mordred sagged in relief, a hand against the wall to steady himself. 'But you need to tell Arthur that you have magic, too.'

If it were possible, Mordred grew paler. 'Are you sure?' The tremor in his voice was unmistakeable. Merlin could sympathise – if Arthur reacted this badly having known Merlin for years, winning him over to Mordred's side would be even harder.

'He has a right to know. You don't have to tell him yet – maybe wait until he accepts my magic, and makes the official announcement. Then you shouldn't have anything to fear. If you want,' he offered, 'I could come with you when you tell him. If he trusts me again, that might make it easier.'

Mordred acquiesced. As the shock of the last few minutes faded, his sense of humour – which even Merlin had to admit was infectious – returned. He smiled, not as easily as usual, but still exuding mischief. 'And hey – with both of us together, Morgana doesn't stand a chance.'

And for the first time in almost a week, Merlin smiled properly. He held out his hand for Mordred to shake. 'That she doesn't.'

For the rest of the day, Merlin wandered aimlessly around the castle. He kept returning to Arthur's chambers whenever he would normally have duties, but each time found it empty. Instead, he roamed the halls, trying to find things to keep himself busy; to keep his mind off Arthur.

Gaius sent him on a few errands, understanding his unspoken need to be useful. But when they were done, he was back to wandering the castle. He visited old nooks he hadn't seen in years: a forgotten room in the west wing; a quiet passage behind a tapestry; inside the roof of the tallest tower. In the last one, he noticed a small square letting in light through the ceiling. He looked around warily, though he knew he didn't have to, then focused. He felt himself floating upwards, and as he neared the ceiling, he pushed the trapdoor open and climbed out.

He sat on the roof, higher than the guard stations, and looked out over the kingdom. It was all so peaceful from up here – Merlin could almost forget the roiling in his stomach at the thought of the next time he would speak to Arthur. Almost.

He didn't know how long he sat there, listening to the faraway sounds of the town and castle, watching birds wheeling in the sky. But when the sky began to darken, the colours changing from blue and white to gold and orange, he made his way back inside, closing the trapdoor behind him.

He traipsed back to Arthur's chambers, expecting another disappointment, but when he knocked, a voice called, 'Yes?'

Merlin slipped inside, his stomach in knots. He cleared his throat. 'It's me, sire.'

Arthur was at his desk, writing with his favourite quill. He hadn't looked up when Merlin came in, but the stiff line of his neck told Merlin that that had been on purpose. He'd known he would come, and had let him in anyway. Merlin tried not to hope that this was the beginning of Arthur accepting his secret.

Arthur waved a few pieces of parchment. 'Take these and make copies. I need lots of them. And quickly.'

Merlin nodded, even though Arthur still wouldn't look at him. Crossing the room, he took the sheaf of notes, careful not to brush Arthur's fingers as he did so.

Slowly. They were going to have to move slowly.

He cleared his throat again once he was slightly further away from the desk. 'Sire, you have a feast tonight, in honour of Sir Mordred's recovery.'

'I know, Merlin, I ordered it,' Arthur snapped. Merlin could barely stop himself from rolling his eyes – if he didn't remind him, Arthur would almost always forget, but if he did, he would pretend to have known all about it. Besides, when he was working, Arthur often got distracted, completely disregarding the time until either Merlin or Gwen said something.

Merlin placed the papers on a table by the door and headed for the wardrobe, selecting with a practiced eye what would be appropriate for the king to wear. He threw the shirt and fresh trousers over the changing screen so Arthur could find them easily, removed a new cape from a drawer, found his simplest crown – the one he wore at relatively informal formal occasions – then dug out his 'special occasion' boots, which were basically the only ones which had never been worn while riding or fighting, and therefore were the smartest.

With a sigh, Arthur threw down his quill and went behind the changing screen. Merlin pulled a cloth out of his pocket to give the boots a quick buff while the king changed. The fact that he hadn't been sent off already was a good sign, but he didn't want to push it. He would stay quiet until Arthur outright asked him for help, rather than helping without invitation. That way, Arthur would get to set the pace of their recovery.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

Arthur's blunt question threw Merlin off guard. He dropped the cloth he had been using, and scrambled for an answer as he picked it up.

'You're a useless servant, Merlin, as you well know, but I have never met anyone more loyal. You having magic does explain a lot, but that isn't the problem here. The problem is that you didn't tell me. How can I trust someone if they won't tell me the truth?' All this came out in a rush, as if Arthur had been bottling it up for days.

Merlin chewed his lip. 'I wanted to, but…' he trailed off, unsure how to phrase his answer.

'What?'

'You'd have chopped my head off.' Merlin inwardly winced at how curtly that had come out.

Arthur's voice was quieter now. 'I'm not sure what I'd have done.'

Merlin spoke gently. 'And I didn't want to put you in that position.'

Arthur came out from behind the screen, his hair mussed from pulling his shirt on. For the first time, he sounded uncertain. 'That's what worried you?'

Merlin met his eyes, willing him to see his sincerity. 'You would have had to choose between disobeying your father or killing your friend. You deserved to find out when you could make your choice freely – admittedly, the Disir didn't give you much choice, but I wouldn't change that you found out. If you are to become the king you are destined to be, you had to make that choice yourself.'

'What about you?' Arthur's piercing blue gaze had sharpened. 'What's your destiny?'

'I was born to serve you, Arthur. And I'm proud of that.'

Arthur stared at him for a moment, then nodded sharply, clearing his throat and fiddling with his cape. 'Those papers. Copies.'

Merlin bowed. 'Yes, sire.' He left the room, picking up the parchment as he did. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

He turned the corner, and his curiosity was piqued as he remembered the look of concentration on Arthur's face when he walked in. What exactly was he making copies of?

He scanned the sheet on top. It was covered in Arthur's bold writing, half of it scored out, even a few tears where he had pressed too hard with the quill. But when Merlin realised what he had been writing, he understood where the frustration had come from.

It was the announcement that magic was to be allowed back into Camelot.

Merlin smiled to himself. Perhaps this journey wouldn't be as hard as he expected.

Hi guys!

I've had this idea forever, but only just got round to writing it properly. We're in for the long haul on this one, based on the episodes of Merlin Season 5. Hope you enjoyed! If you did, leave a review - I love reading them! If you didn't, feel free to leave a review anyway - I always want to improve.

Love,

NewtPevensie xoxoxox