"Arthur, really. Are you going to tell me what's bothering you, or am I destined never to get any sleep?" Guinevere sat up in bed, the sheets rustling as she reached for a candle.

"I don't—"

"You've been so fitful the past few nights." The warm light of the flame flooded the chamber and Arthur saw how tired his wife looked. There was no irritability in her voice, though, just concern. "What's on your mind?"

"There's nothing," he started, but settled back onto his pillows with a sigh. "It's Merlin."

"It's always Merlin," Gwen began to run her fingers through his hair, a motion which never failed to comfort the king. He closed his eyes.

"Ever since Avalon, we haven't… It feels like we're not as close as we used to be."

"It was a big secret for him to keep, but you mustn't grudge him for it, Arthur. He thought it was the only way." She spoke gently.

"Right, but now… It feels like there are so many secrets, Gwen. We barely see each other for an hour or two a day."

"Talk to him," she soothed. "He's still your best friend. I know he doesn't—"

"It's not him," he said. "It's me. I'm the one keeping secrets, Gwen." He sat up.

The more he spoke, the paler Gwen seemed to grow. Her hand, long since fallen from his hair, gripped at her chest.

"Oh, Arthur," she murmured, and her eyes were full of tears.

Merlin walked slowly down the stairs from Gaius's room, gripping a tea tray as if it were likely to fly out of his hands and shatter. His eyes were dull, his face grim and set. He set the apparatus down gently, stared at it for a moment, and then swept it and several emptied vials off of the workbench with a cry.

He sunk to the floor and immediately began to pick up the shards, praying Gaius was still asleep. He had been trying so hard to keep his emotions in check, but with every passing day, he grew more and more frustrated. There were only so many teas and poultices he knew how to make.

"Merlin?" The voice was quiet, coming from the head of the stairs.

"Gaius, what are you doing out of bed?" Merlin rose but didn't turn, fighting to clear his expression of any latent misery. "I… I tripped. Dropped the tray. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake—"

"My boy, we need to talk." The physician spoke in a harsh whisper. He was clinging to the doorframe and it looked as though he had lost at least twenty pounds, ten of which he never stood to lose. His face was drawn and haggard, and he stared out at his charge from eyes sunken in deep hollows.

"You need rest," Merlin hurried to grab the old man, by now used to how thin and reed-like his arms had become.

"Merlin, stop." Gaius held the blue fabric of the warlock's shirt with a blazing intensity. "It's over."

Merlin didn't even blink, still shuffling Gaius towards the bed. He had resumed the dead-eyed expression from earlier that day, and indeed from the past several weeks.

"Merlin!" Gaius reached up and gripped his ward's face between his hands, his fingers icy. "Listen to me!"

"No," Merlin said, but at least for the moment he had stopped walking.

"There is nothing you can do. It's not a disease, Merlin, it's a curse."

"Gaius—"

"I'm going to die."

"Gaius—"

"And you, Merlin, are going to let me." He sagged slightly, his energy spent, and finally allowed himself to be led to the cot. His breath, which had become a constant rattle, was now grating and heavy. "I should have told you sooner, and for that, I'm sorry. I didn't want you to lose hope, or do something stupid."

"Something stupid," Merlin echoed, sitting heavily on the side of the bed and gazing blankly at the wall. "What… stupid thing would I do, Gaius?"

"You would go running off after whoever's causing this."

"There's still time."

"They would kill you, Merlin, and while I've come to terms with my own death, I refuse to accept yours."

"So what, then?" Merlin's shoulders were sagging, caving in around his body, and his hands were clenched in his lap. "So what? You expect me to just… sit here?"

"I expect you to allow me this final promise," Gaius smiled, and it was serene, and it was sad. "Don't seek them out. Don't fight."

"I can't." Merlin shook his head once, twice, his voice low and husky. "If I kill them—"

"For you to be able to kill them, it would be as a dragon. That would mean the death of everything that you are, Merlin, and I cannot allow the sacrifice of one so important for the sake of an old man like me." He laughed, but it sounded painful. "You've given so much already for the sake of Albion. Promise me just a little more."

Merlin opened his mouth and closed it, silent. He was thankful Gaius couldn't see his expression and he closed his eyes, turning and hugging him in answer. The physician took it as a confirmation; Merlin could feel the smile tugging at the cheek which rested against his own.

For the rest of that afternoon, the two lived in separate worlds. Gaius was peaceful, beaming and talking about how close he felt he was coming to a solution for the emμοναχικόs problem. He even managed to keep down a weak broth and slept deeply for the first time in a while. Merlin sat next to him long into the night, the book he was pretending to read lying undisturbed in his lap as he stared sightlessly ahead.

He hadn't promised Gaius anything.