At some point during the night, Merlin woke to find Arthur returned. He was staring into the flames of the campfire, and there was a hard line to his jaw that made him look weary.

"I didn't think you'd come back," Merlin said quietly, and Arthur didn't turn.

"I didn't think I would, either." He paused, seeming to steel himself for something. "You saved my life."

Merlin smiled, a hopeful, fragile smile, and then Arthur continued.

"For that, I owe you a debt. I'll take you to Avalon. After that, we're even. We're done."

The words cut deeper than Mordred's blade and Merlin bit his lip, feeling the sharp sting of unwanted tears welling in his eyes again. His vision blurred but he willed them with all of his might to stay there, unseen.

"We leave at first light. Get some sleep." The words were harsh, uncaring. Merlin stared down at his hands, and he couldn't speak, and so he swiped at his eyes and settled back onto the packs.

The next morning Arthur shook him awake, and as Merlin opened his eyes he saw a flash of concern dissipate from the king's face. When it was replaced by the same coldness as the night before Merlin wondered if he hadn't imagined it after all. As Arthur lifted and secured him to his horse Merlin thought to himself how he felt none of the relief he'd always pictured he would feel after telling his friend the truth. Instead he felt alone, hideous, a terrible monster. A sorcerer.

He remembered his youth in Ealdor marred by a loneliness that playing with Will or the other children never seemed to fix. He went to bed every night feeling empty, and after he'd found Gaius, he honestly believed that the worst was over. But now, riding in silence, Merlin finally understood that that sort of loneliness had been depthless. He had had a friend, a man he would have followed through a thousand nightmares, but he had lost him. And while he would still follow Arthur anywhere, Arthur wouldn't have him.

They were riding through a plain and Merlin had drifted to sleep. It was dreamless, a mercy he felt he didn't deserve. Suddenly he was woken by his horse jolting to a stop, and he opened his eyes to find Arthur's hand on the reins.

"Not a word," he warned, pulling a blanket off of Merlin's shoulders which the sorcerer didn't remember falling asleep with. Arthur wrapped it around himself like a cloak and Merlin struggled to push himself up, questioning.

There was a small band of soldiers approaching them, and as they neared, Merlin recognized them as Morgana's mercenaries. It was obvious Arthur recognized them, too. They had probably left Camlann, their mistress gone missing, and were looking for some other form of profit.

"What do we have here?" One of them, the leader, called jovially. He put a hand out to the side of Arthur's horse.

"My friend's sick. We're heading towards the Western Isles, to find a cure."

"You're not one of Arthur's men?" the mercenary was beaming, but there was a gleam in his eyes, and he lifted the hem of Arthur's blanket at the exact moment that the king reached for his sword. Merlin didn't see exactly what happened next because someone came up behind him and pulled him from his horse. His head struck the ground and spots of darkness danced across his vision, and instinctively his arms shot out, and the mercenaries were thrown a dozen feet away. His midsection was pulsing, and he rolled onto his side, groaning.

"You killed them," Arthur said blankly, some inflection of dark surprise in his voice. "All of them."

"They would have killed us," Merlin whispered. Arthur's face swam into his vision, and the expression there was bleak.

"The horses are gone."

"Arthur…"

"We've got to get going. We've only got two days—"

"Until I die." Merlin forced himself to sit up, taking a heady, shaking breath.

"Gaius said there are shards of Mordred's sword in your chest. That they're killing you." Arthur cleared his throat and offered Merlin a hand, and they began shambling towards the tree line. "But we'll make it."

Merlin didn't answer, watching his feet as they walked. At some point he lost consciousness and drifted into a fitful sleep, and as he slept, there was a voice in the back of his head. It spoke softly, but it was pervasive.

Do you even want to go to Avalon? It asked, and it took him longer than it ought to have to think of an answer.

Of course. Arthur needs me.

Arthur hates you.

I can still protect him. He doesn't have to know.

You've done so much already. You've fulfilled your destiny. Arthur was crowned king. He survived Camlann. He will create Albion. He doesn't need you.

Stop it. Go away.

You won't feel alone anymore.

"Go away," he repeated, only aloud. Arthur said something but Merlin wasn't listening, and then the king lifted him and it hurt.

It would be so easy. Just let go. Just sleep.

"Stop, please," he whimpered, and this time, when Arthur spoke, he heard him.

"Look, unless you want to walk to Avalon," he was saying, and Merlin stiffened.

"I don't care about Avalon!" His voice was frenzied, and he fought to calm down. He was scared, scared of what he was saying and what it meant but he couldn't deny it. Not now, not anymore. He couldn't feel his fingers.

"Gaius said it's your last chance. Why-"

"I can't, I...I'm just tired," he murmured, and the ghost of a smile crept onto his lips. "I did everything I had to... just let me sleep, Arthur, I'm so tired..."

Yes, he would sleep, and he would see Freya, and Balinor, and Lancelot.

"When we get back home I'll give you a day off."

"An entire day?"

"Two," Arthur said, and then his voice faded away. Merlin felt his legs growing cold.

When he next woke Arthur was speaking again. Merlin was tempted to ask if the king ever stopped talking, but he kept his eyes closed.

"Shuddup... clotpole."

"You know, after all that talk about notching my belt, I do believe that you've gotten fatter."

"I'd still...beat you, in a footrace." The banter was nice. Familiar. It was almost like the last few days had never happened, and so Merlin plunged on. "Thank you."

"For what? Carting your idiot self around because you went and got into trouble?" There was fear in Arthur's voice.

"It has been... an honor, sire. You are the greatest king... that Camelot has ever known, and I-I... I'm so happy I..."

It was getting difficult to speak. The coldness had overtaken the fire in his chest and he felt like he was falling, numb, and there was nothing. And it was okay.