I measure every grief I meet

With narrow, probing, eyes -

I wonder if It weighs like Mine -

Or has an Easier size

- I measure every grief, Emily Dickinson

Merlin stared out into the lake of Avalon; beautiful, still and utterly infuriating. He could see the Isle in the distance and the tower that stood tall at its peak, so close and yet beyond even his reach.

It was midnight, the full moon high above him, reflecting perfectly on the dark, still lake; that dreadful moat that kept him from Avalon, from death, from Arthur.

He held the sidhe staff, its crystal blue tip glowing as he called forth the creature from across the water. It started as a small light that could be mistaken for a firefly fluttering above the black mirror of the lake, but as it drew closer Merlin's keen eyes saw it for what it was. Finally, it hovered before him but dared not cross the water's edge to the shore where he stood; no larger than his finger, the sidhe was old and wizened, with long grey-blue hair falling from beneath her spiked crown.

"Why have you summoned me, Wizard?" she asked in a lilting voice that nonetheless held steel. "You must know I cannot grant you access to Avalon."

"Do I?" Merlin asked, marshalling his courage. "You took Arthur."

"That was his fate," the sidhe said, "written long before you or even I were born. The Once and Future King will rest in my world, until he is called back to yours. That is how the story goes, and neither of us can alter it."

Not for the first time, Merlin cursed the prophecy that had guided so many years of his life. He'd been told it, believed it, made all the wrong choices because of it, but was the sidhe saying that there was nothing he could have done to change it?

"Was there never a hope then?" he asked, agony lacing through his heart. "If I'd brought him here in time, if you'd been able to heal him…"

The sidhe looked at him with a cold pity. "No," she confirmed. "We walk the paths laid down before us, and while we may twist and turn them with each choice we make, the destination is always the same."

Merlin shook his head, unwilling to believe that the future was inescapable. The sidhe was lying, he was sure of it, she just wanted to keep him from Arthur, wanted him to feel hopeless and give into the despair of inevitability.

"Let me cross," he demanded, the full weight of his magic behind his words. "Take me to see Arthur, I need to speak to him."

"I cannot," the sidhe said with a bristle of anger. "No mortal can pass into Avalon, save Arthur Pendragon for whom a place has been carved out since the dawning of this world."

"But I'm not a mortal." Merlin took a step towards the shoreline, the gentle waters lapping around his boots. "Not really."

His father had all but told him that, in the crystal cave, and in his heart he felt the truth of it. The druids had always known it, that he was not simply a powerful sorcerer, but a child of magic itself, with power to rival even the greatest of magical beings.

"What's your name?" he asked of the sidhe.

She regarded him for a few moments before tilting her head slightly. "I am Mazoe, Queen of Avalon."

"I am Emrys," he said darkly, "Wizard of Albion, son of the earth and sea and sky, the last Dragonlord!"

"All of that you may be," Mazoe said, unmoved. "But you have not the power to command us."

Enraged, Merlin raised the sidhe staff, its tip glowing ever brighter as energy gathered in the crystal.

"I've killed two sidhe with this before," he threatened, "one was an Elder."

"And you have my thanks for it," Mazoe replied lightly. "Both were of a renegade sect who looked for power outside the bounds of our world. True sidhe care little for mortal troubles; their lives are too short to be of true concern to us."

Merlin lowered the weapon, seeing that threats would hold no sway. "At least let me see him," he pleaded, trying another approach. "Please, bring him here."

"It would achieve nothing but force him back into your world a corpse." She fluttered close to his face. "He has passed through the gates to Avalon, and cannot return to this precipice without falling back over."

"But he's meant to return one day," Merlin argued, feeling desperate. "When we need him the most - how is that not now, when Camelot faces destruction?"

"The threat you face must not be insurmountable," Mazone shrugged her bony shoulders. "I do not question the old magic, Emrys, I only know the time for Arthur to return is not upon you."

With that, she turned and flew away, her bright form growing smaller as she travelled back across the lake. Merlin raised the staff again, a small, insidious voice telling him to strike, to punish the sidhe queen for defying he, Emrys, who possessed the magic of the old world and the new.

There was a strange, prickly feeling underneath his skin, a creeping awareness of the power he could call to his command, should he choose to use it. He'd killed sidhe before, what would one more matter? And then maybe the next queen would not be so intransigent...

Merlin stepped back, dropping the staff to the ground as if it had burned him. He pushed those thoughts aside forcefully, watching the now small speck of blue light disappear, leaving the lake in darkness once again.

Close to despair, he sank down onto his haunches, unsure of what to do next. He had run out of options to contact Arthur - any attempts to repeat the spell the druids had cast on Samhain had been in vain, since the veil between worlds was once again strong. He'd tried to summon Freya from the lake, but she had refused his call, the surface of the water disturbed only by the bow of his rowboat and not even a glimmer of her beneath.

He'd searched for the Horn of Cuthburd, but Guinevere had ordered it hidden away and not even she knew where, lest she be tempted to use it. All of Merlin's efforts to discover who she had given it to had proved fruitless, and in the end she had forbidden him from speaking of it further.

Gwen didn't understand. She hadn't been there, in those last days of Arthur's life, and the words spoken on that final journey.

Merlin wanted to press on to Avalon, ever mindful of the poison making its way ever closer to Arthur's heart. But travel seemed to hasten the affliction and necessitate frequent rest, so Merlin built a fire while Arthur lay propped up against a fallen tree with a sullen look.

Nor would he speak, so Merlin did enough for both of them, the truth finally spilling from his lips; his meeting with Kilgarrah, the book of magic, their prophesied destiny and the golden age they were to bring about together. He stressed the latter - for everything else the dragon had told him had come to pass, so that would too - therefore Arthur couldn't die.

Arthur gave no indication he understood. His face was pale and impassive, his gaze cast inside. The only crack in his stony visage was the muscle twitching in his cheek that indicated the hard clench of his jaw. Merlin was disheartened, he'd thought Arthur's anger was beginning to cool but it seemed to grow again the more Merlin told him, so he stopped speaking altogether.

Finally, after several minutes of silence, Arthur turned to him with steely eyes.

"Did Guinevere know?"

Merlin was surprised at the question. In all the times he'd imagined this moment in his head, his mind had never turned in that direction.

"That I have magic?" He raised his eyebrows. "If she had, do you really think she would have kept it from you?"

"No," Arthur admitted after a beat. "But then if you asked me yesterday, I wouldn't have thought there was anything you'd keep from me either."

They stared at each other for a long moment, until Merlin sighed and looked away.

"She didn't know," he said, trusting it would be a small comfort. "I wanted to tell her so many times, I wanted to tell you-"

"So when her father was healed by that poultice," Arthur cut him off. "That was you."

It wasn't a question, but Merlin nodded anyway. He'd been lucky that everyone had been so relieved the source of the plague had been eradicated, suspicion hadn't remained with Gwen for the act of healing her father. He was surprised that Arthur even recalled the incident, but perhaps he'd taken notice of Gwen far earlier than even Merlin had assumed.

"I told you the truth then, if you remember." He toyed with the hem of his tunic. "I confessed I was the sorcerer - you didn't believe me."

Arthur scoffed. "I thought you were just trying to save Gwen's life."

"I was."

Arthur shifted, air hissing through his teeth as he jostled his injury. "What else?"

"What else what?"

Arthur gave him a hard look. "What else have you done with your magic."

Merlin grimly thought that if he made a list, Arthur would surely die before they got to the end of it.

"The sorcerer that killed my father," Arthur's voice was low and dangerous, not waiting for an answer. "That was you too."

"Yes - I mean no," Merlin added quickly, wringing his hands. "I mean, yes I was the sorcerer, no I didn't kill him. I tried to heal him, but Morgana had a charm placed on him that reversed my spell."

"How can you expect me to believe you tried to help my father?" Arthur looked pained, but his voice was still sharp. "He hated your kind."

"But I knew what he meant to you," Merlin said simply, voice wavering slightly. "And you're my friend."

"Friends don't lie to each other," Arthur hissed through his teeth again, hand pawing at his side to press against his wound. Merlin moved to help, but Arthur quelled him with a look that made him shrink back to his place, the fire safely between them.

"And I'm sorry for it," Merlin said almost through tears. "But how could I tell you the truth? As you said, Uther hated people like me, he would have had me executed and there was nothing you could have done about it. I thought, maybe once you were king...but then Uther died, you thought by a sorcerer's hand, and how could I have explained?"

Arthur's expression softened slightly. "You could have tried."

"You would have banished me," Merlin argued, "or had me killed."

The silence was telling, and his heart sank not to hear the denial he had so longed for.

'I never would have executed you," Arthur said eventually.

"But you would have banished me."

Arthur stared at him a moment, expression hardening once more. "How could I allow you to stay? How could I trust you, knowing what you were, what you had done?"

"You...banished Gwen once," Merlin said carefully, as the incident was never, ever spoken of. "But eventually you forgave her, allowed her to return, trusted her once more."

Arthur stiffened and looked away. "That was different."

"Because it wasn't her fault, yes, but at the time you didn't know-"

"Because I thought Guinevere made a mistake," Arthur cut him off, his words clipped. "An error in judgement caused by...roused feelings that had never been resolved. A unique set of circumstances that would never recur, and I believed that she loved me enough to make up for it."

In his agitation Arthur had tried to rise, but his face screwed up in pain and he fell back down against tree, breathing heavily. Merlin scooted over to his side and this time Arthur didn't seem to have the strength to stop him.

"You've reopened the wound." He drew a fresh bandage from his pack and held it against Arthur's side, removing the old one sodden with fresh blood.

"I love you too," Merlin said plaintively as he tended to him. "Can you not believe the same of me?"

"But yours wasn't a momentary lapse." Arthur looked away again, a tear escaping from the corner of his eye. "Every time you lied to me, you betrayed me."

"Was it betrayal to save your life?" Merlin pressed. "More than once, I might add."

Arthur exhaled through his nose, jaw firmly clenched, and Merlin wasn't sure if it was in pain or frustration, but decided it didn't matter which. He did not return to his spot by the other side of the fire, and instead leaned back on his haunches, clasped his hands together, and took a deep breath.

"I healed you with magic, when you had poison put in your ear," he began. "I killed the sidhe Sophia when she bewitched and tried to sacrifice you. I got the antidote when you were bitten by the Questing Beast, I destroyed the staff that controlled the Army of the Dead. I've created rockfalls, diverted arrows, disarmed enemies...I've saved your life so many times I've lost count."

But instead of gratitude, Arthur was visibly simmering with rage, his lips pursed so tightly they were white.

"How busy you were," he said through clenched teeth, refusing to look at him. "Anything else?"

Merlin swallowed heavily, realising he'd miscalculated. But there was no going back, or denying Arthur the truth that had been kept from him for so long.

"The sword that killed the wraith," he said quietly. "Forged by dragon fire. It was made for you, Uther was never meant to wield it. You claimed it eventually of course." He nodded to Arthur's scabbard..

"Excalibur?" Arthur brows knitted together as he grasped the golden handle. "But I drew it from the stone…" He swallowed as if he tasted something unpleasant, and turned an accusing gaze towards Merlin.

"I didn't, did I?" He looked ill. "You put it there so I would prove myself, but your magic let me remove it from the stone. It was all a show - another lie."

"No it wasn't," Merlin defended himself. "Everything I said, about you being the greatest king Camelot had ever known, and the only one worthy of wielding Excalibur, it was all true. You just had to believe it."

But Arthur wasn't listening, gripping the handle of the sword so tightly the leather of his gloves creaked.

"But I'm not a great king," he murmured. "Every victory I've claimed is only because you were there in the shadows, easing my way."

"I've helped," Merlin admitted, leaning forward. "Because I believed in you, Arthur, I knew that you could become Albion's greatest king; unite the kingdoms, bring about a golden age."

"Only because a dragon said so," Arthur spat out bitterly. "You believed in the man he told you I would be, not who I actually am."

"Only at first," Merlin admitted. "But you were a right plonker back then, so can you blame me?"

Arthur was unamused by his attempt at levity, his face turned resolutely away. Gone was the ease between them, the good natured ribbing and spirited banter.

"I wouldn't have served you all these years Arthur," Merlin said seriously, "if I didn't believe in the man you are. When you faced countless dangers to find the mortaeus flower that would save my life, when you drank the poisoned cup in the labyrinth of Gedref to restore Camelot, when you were prepared to sacrifice your life countless times to save the lives of your people - they were all your decisions, and your victories."

"You are the greatest man I have ever known." He hesitantly reached out to put his hand on Arthur's arm, relieved when he did not pull away. "I told you, all I've ever done has been for you."

"What does it matter now?" Arthur was despondent. "I'm going to die."

"No you're not." Merlin squeezed his arm gently.

"You left something out," Arthur said, turning his gaze back. "The sorceress that healed Guinevere of the mandrake."

"Erm...yes," Merlin admitted. "That was me too."

The ghost of a smile crossed Arthur's face. "Are there any other sorcerers in the world, or are they all simply you in disguise?"

Merlin laughed. "Well, I couldn't have you recognising me."

"I suppose not." As quickly as it had come, Arthur's smile faded. "I should have done something then, at least considered changing the law. I used magic to save someone I loved, but would imprison one of my own subjects for doing the same. You must think me the worst kind of hypocrite."

"I should have told you then," Merlin countered, seeing all too clearly the wrong choices, too late to change any of them. "Or when you went to see the Disir, or a hundred times before that."

"We both failed," Arthur said softly, closing his eyes. "At least you have the chance to fix it."

"You do too." Merlin scooted closer. "We're going to make it to Avalon, and the sidhe will heal you." But even he had trouble believing the words as he looked at Arthur, pale and wane, his life almost spent.

Merlin looked up at the sky - they had to get moving, and he fidgeted anxiously. The rest had not seemed to revive Arthur at all, if anything he was slipping away.

"I know how you can make it up to me." Arthur opened his eyes again, and Merlin was heartened.

"Anything."

"Look after Guinevere. She'll need you."

Merlin tried not to be offended. "You don't need to ask that of me."

He'd been Gwen's friend before he was Arthur's, the two servants had shared a bond before she had fallen in love with a prince; did he think he wouldn't look after her? But Merlin had to admit they hadn't been as close lately, and perhaps Arthur had noticed.

"All the same," Arthur said, grasping his hand. "If I'm to die, I need to know she'll be safe - that you'll watch over her life as you've always done for mine."

Merlin squeezed his hand in return. "So does this mean I'm not banished?"

Arthur - finally - gave a full smile. "I'm not asking you to protect her from Ealdor, so it would seem not."

It was everything he'd waited years for - acceptance from his friend knowing the whole truth. And yet the victory was bitter unless Arthur could share it with them, and hot tears spilled onto Merlin's cheeks.

"I'm going to protect you too," he promised. "You're going to live, and be king, and I'm going to help you."

"You have to help her now." Arthur's voice was barely a whisper, but he held Merlin's gaze, unblinking. "Please, swear on your life you will."

Merlin clasped Arthur's hand with both of his. "I swear."

It had been the easiest promise he'd ever made. Keeping it was harder, as all Merlin saw were enemies drawing in, and not enough weapons with which to fight them.

Merlin sank to his knees heedless of the freezing mud at the edge of the lake. He needed Arthur's guidance, that steady calm he embodied before a battle, the steely determination when forming a plan. He needed his king to give him orders, and his friend to give him strength.

Even with the Queen's Alliance, it pained him to admit, they were vastly outnumbered, but his main source of anxiety was betrayal from within. Gwen, however, simply refused to believe any of her knights capable of such treachery, and didn't see how anyone could mount a coup without their support. She was too trusting, and he feared it would get her killed.

Merlin rose from the mire and brushed at the mud on his trousers. Retrieving the sidhe staff, he fell back from the lake and mounted his horse to begin the long journey back to Camelot. There was little to do but let the thoughts turn over in his mind, anxiety only growing.

They weren't facing a magical threat, but armies of men and Merlin could only fight on one front. This time he wouldn't have Kilgarrah to assist him, he wouldn't have foresight courtesy of the crystal cave. He'd gone there too, the source of magic and his own power, and yet even the crystals would not yield to him, would not show him the future that frightened him to his very core. Was that because it was yet unwritten, or simply so very terrible the crystals would not reveal it?

Merlin led his horse through the fen, the ground marshy and half frozen in the bitter winter. There were so many questions that did not have answers - it seemed ludicrous for the enemy to attack when snow threatened every day to cover the land between Essetir, Mercia, and Camelot. Odin was a seasoned battle commander, so he must have some reason to take the risk - perhaps a sorcerer of his own to clear the way for his army? Merlin had heard of no one who could or would stake a claim as Morgana's successor, but somehow Odin knew the name Emrys, knew of the prophecy even though he had twisted it to serve his own purpose.

Then there was the more troubling notion of the enemy within. The Queen's privy council knew Merlin's druid name, so perhaps there was a spy among them, if not a sorcerer in Odin's ranks. Cartigern was the obvious choice, although he was not party to the council's discussions. But Merlin was convinced he coveted Guinevere's crown, and had even identified likely allies by keeping a close eye on his movements and associations. Thus far he hadn't seen any of the inner circle of knights - those with seats at the round table - act in a way that would rouse his suspicions. He'd wondered about Bedivere, given his outspoken aversion to magic, and had trailed his every movement for days but in the end had to conclude he was likely as honorable as he seemed.

He didn't have the time to devote such attention to the rest of them - many were soon preparing to depart with Camelot's army, with Merlin still to choose which camp he would join. It was a weighty decision, for he knew with his magic he was their best hope for victory on one front, but that it would leave the other vulnerable. The lives of so many men rested on his decision, and more than that, the citizens of Camelot from the farmland to the citadel, and finally, that of Gwen and her unborn child.

It was a burden he felt would almost break him, and he was running short of strength.

Guinevere was in her garden, only permitted by her midwife Alys to spend a short time each day there since the weather had turned so bitterly cold. The sky above was dark grey even though it was almost noon, as the sun could not penetrate the thick blanket of cloud.

"I think it may snow," she remarked grimly, looking up at the sky. Her companion that day was Nella, who had been giving the garden high praise despite the frost that clung to what leaves remained. She too looked up at Gwen's pronouncement, clasping her hands together.

"Oh, snow makes everything look so pretty," she said with an innocent delight that always made Gwen smile.

"Yes, but it's rather hard to march in."

Nella's mouth dropped open as comprehension dawned. "Oh yes, of course," she said, moving to sit beside Gwen on the stone bench. "I didn't think - I hope it doesn't snow."

Gwen patted her hand. "You shouldn't have to think of such things at your age." She drew her cloak tighter, resolving to talk about anything but the upcoming battle; it weighed all too frequently on her thoughts and she didn't want Nella to worry.

"I spoke to Geoffrey," she said, recalling the genealogy scrolls he'd shown her. "Your father was the son of Uther's aunt Inya, which made them cousins, and so as their children you and Arthur were second cousins."

"Oh really?" Nella said with the enthusiasm of someone who enjoyed what she heard didn't quite understand what it meant. "So to the little prince?"

"He'll be your second cousin once removed," Gwen repeated what Geoffrey had said.

Nella looked pleased, although again it seemed to make little sense to her. Perhaps the mere wording was enough, a way to describe their familial connection and feel close to someone, since Guinevere had gleaned she received little attention or affection from her parents.

"Maybe he'll call me cousin Nella," she said. "That's easier than second-cousin-once-removed Nella, don't you think? Or maybe Auntie Nella, given the difference in our ages, even though it's not exactly the correct term. I'd like to act as an Aunt to him - it would make me feel wise, like I could give him advice."

"We'll see." Gwen liked to hear the girl talk, that free unfettered chatter of youth; she spoke without thinking, without weighing the consequences, but while charming it could sometimes cut too close to the bone. Morgana would have been the child's aunt, and Elyan his uncle, but both were gone, so while Nella quite innocently took pleasure in being the child's closest blood relative, she didn't take into account exactly why. Gwen chose not to edify her, always careful to keep her grief close.

"But I might not be able to stay," Nella said, sobering slightly. "Father wants me to go home, he thinks it's not safe here."

"I don't want to worry you." Gwen took her hand. "But he may be right."

"But I don't want to leave!" Nella insisted. "I want to be here with you, my Lady, to help in any way I can. He won't send me away if you command him not to."

Guinevere regarded her for a few moments, knowing Merlin would have her press Nella for information, ask her about her father, his movements, exactly what dangers he thought lay in Camelot. But she couldn't bring herself to take advantage of the girl's trust and guileless manner - she'd become a friend, a merry presence that had given her comfort as one by one Annis, Mithian, and Elena had left the city.

"I do not want to create discord between you and your father," Gwen said carefully. "But I will speak to him."

Nella was effusive in her thanks and the conversation thankfully turned to trivial matters, a great relief after the tense council session that morning. But it was to be a brief respite, as Merlin soon appeared, the knees of his trousers covered in mud and looking as if he hadn't slept in weeks. Gwen rose to her feet, grateful for Nella's assistance to do so.

"Merlin," she greeted him with concern. "Where have you been?"

"Nowhere," he waved a hand dismissively.

"You missed council this morning," Gwen tried not to scold him but was unsuccessful.

"I saw Leon in the hall, he filled me in." Merlin's gaze slid to Nella. "I heard your father attended today, my lady. I bet he was pleased."

"Yes, I think so," Nella smiled, missing the hard edge to Merlin's words. "He wants to be of use to the Queen, he has already raised our men to serve in Camelot's army, and brought his personal guard to help protect the citadel."

Merlin's smile was devoid of warmth. "Has he just."

Gwen gave him a warning look, but he studiously ignored her, his gaze fixed on Nella.

"I imagine he's been catching up with old friends," Merlin said. "Who has he shared his table with lately?"

"Oh, well Lord Howell, he's my uncle on my mother's side." Nella answered cheerfully, likely pleased that Merlin was showing her attention. "But it's very boring, all he ever talks about are crop yields."

"Any Knights of Camelot?" Merlin pressed with the same fixed smile. "I imagine he must be well acquainted with a few, and I'm sure they make better conversationalists."

"Oh, I suppose." Nella's face scrunched up in thought. "He -"

"Thank you Nella," Gwen cut her off, but patted her arm so she wouldn't take offence. "But if you'll excuse us, I have something important to discuss with Merlin."

"Of course my Lady." Nella ducked into a curtsey and began to walk away, oblivious to Merlin's simmering outrage.

"Say hello to your father," he called after her. "Perhaps he'll invite me to dine with him one night."

"Oh." Nella turned back around, twining her hands together. "I - I'll ask him."

All three of them were well aware that her father would sooner drink poison than have a sorcerer at his table, but Nella smiled as she took her leave, perhaps pleased even at the dream of it, since she herself thought so highly of Merlin.

Gwen sighed, cupping her belly with both hands as she took a seat on the stone bench once more. "Don't do that please."

"What?" Merlin shrugged with feigned ignorance. "You wanted me to be nice to her."

"Yes, but not interrogate her."

"I was just making conversation." Merlin clasped his hands together. "And if it helps me root out Cartigern's fellow traitors all the better."

"I don't want you using that innocent girl to do so," Gwen countered. "Manipulating her into surveilling her father is underhanded, and you know it."

Merlin exhaled harshly, looked down at his boots and radiated irritation. "She might not be that innocent."

"I trust her," Gwen said in a voice that didn't brook opposition.

"Alright, maybe she might not betray you on purpose," he admitted. "But no doubt her father asks about what you talk about with her, what she sees and hears...who knows what she may let slip - however unintentionally."

"We don't discuss affairs of state," she said dryly, "I enjoy her company for that very reason."

Merlin grimaced, altering his approach. "Was there a reason you allowed Lord Cartigern to be present in council today?"

"He asked," she said simply, "and it would have looked suspicious to exclude him."

"Is that all?" Merlin was incredulous. "You're the Queen, who cares what it looks like?"

"I can't afford to alienate the lords," she argued. "I've tested them already with repealing the ban on magic, and Cartigern is a powerful voice among them."

"It's just foolish Gwen, to be worried about hurting his feelings when in all likelihood he wants information to pass to Odin!"

Gwen spread her hands, feeling constantly pulled in ten different directions. "I'm walking a very fine line here Merlin."

"Well you may be about to trip over it!" Merlin all but yelled.

Determined that one of them should remain calm, Gwen rose and moved to brush past him. "I don't want to have this conversation again."

He caught her arm, gently turning her back around to face him. "We have to, Gwen."

She pulled away but did not leave, instead walking back into the garden, conceding he was right.

"I mean, think about it," Merlin said to her back. "I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that were you to be killed, Lord Cartigern would be next in line for the throne?"

"No."

"And it was no coincidence he was pressing you to name him your heir?"

"Of course not."

Merlin huffed. "So isn't it obvious he is in league with Odin?"

"It's a fair assumption," Gwen conceded, turning back to face him. "I wouldn't say obvious. Were he to be accused, he could easily point out that Odin seeks Camelot's crown, so what would he have to gain colluding with him?"

"Exactly!" Merlin threw his hands up. "He's got some scheme brewing and the perfect smokescreen - maybe he'll double cross Odin, maybe they've agreed he can have Camelot for some price, that's what I'm trying to find out, so I can stop them!"

"I'm not trying to hinder you," Gwen said, her own irritation rising. "Just asking you to think about how you go about it, and find proof before taking action."

"I have the proof of my own instinct," Merlin's voice was rough. "Let me bring him before the council to question him. Maybe there's a potion that can make him tell the truth..."

Gwen balked at the suggestion. "Isn't that dark magic?"

"Not necessarily." Merlin was grim, but determined. "If the intent is good."

Gwen wasn't convinced, if anything his escalating behaviour was starting to worry her. What kind of ruler would she be if anyone under suspicion was brought before her, force-fed a potion and compelled to reveal their secrets? It would prove right those who saw magic as a tool for terror and subjugation, and she would not start down that slippery slope.

Merlin, however, only grew even more frustrated by her silence.

"When the stakes are this high, you have to make some hard decisions," he pressed desperately. "I mean, wouldn't you do anything to protect your child?"

"Of course," she snapped, covering her belly protectively. "In self defence."

"How is that different from taking out our enemies now, before they have the chance to get close?"

"I don't know," she said stubbornly. "But it is."

"I just…" Merlin pressed his hands to his temples, distressed. "You're being so… I can't protect you if you don't let me."

"What are you going to do?" she challenged him, unable to quell her anger. "Kill him? Odin would surely be next, and then Alined, and Lot, and Bayard? What of Bedivere, he's constantly disagreeing with me, will you get rid of him to protect me too?"

He grimaced, and his gaze slid askance, his fists clenching. Clearly, he was unwilling to deny it, to discount the possibility that he would do anything, if he thought it necessary. A cold chill scuttled down Gwen's back - she's seen that kind of determination before.

"What about Nella," she went further, "since you think she's an unwitting spy. Better to be dealt with now just in case she's a threat, is that right?" She took him by the shoulders, forcing him to look at her.

"Where does it end, Merlin, will you keep going until there's no one left in Camelot but you and I, then will you be satisfied?"

"I have to do something Gwen!" he cried, pulling at his hair. "I have to do something. I failed Arthur, and I can never change that. I can't fail you too."

He sank to the ground, weeping. It was cumbersome for her to kneel, but she did, and drew him into her arms, holding him as tightly as she could.

"It's alright," she soothed him, stroking his hair as his tears drenched the shoulder of her gown. Gwen had never seen him so distressed, body wracked with sobs as he clung to her as if a lifeline. Her heart broke that she could not help him, all she could do was let him release the torrent of emotion that had clearly been building for some time, her embrace firm and unwilling to let go.

After a while his cries died into whimpers, and he began to catch his breath. Her maid, Constance, appeared with her quick steps echoing on the stone path, slowing as she caught sight of Gwen and Merlin huddled on the ground.

She turned to leave, but Gwen beckoned her closer.

"My Lady," Constance began nervously, "Alys sent me to fetch you. She said you have been in the cold for long enough today."

In truth her knees were aching from being pressed against the cold ground. Merlin pulled away looking guilty, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"Alright, I'll come now," she told Constance. The girl curtseyed and scurried away with obvious relief.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said as he helped her to her feet. "I shouldn't-"

"Hush," she told him. "Come to my rooms, and we'll get warm."

The first thing Merlin noticed was hat Constance hadn't built the fire quite right. She'd used plenty of kindling, but had stacked them too loose meaning the fire would burn through the logs all too quickly, and would need constant feeding. He resolved to show her later the best way to pack the wood and rake the coals, so the fire would last all day and she wouldn't need to check on it. He wasn't sure he'd quite be able to look her in the eye after she'd seen him weeping in Gwen's arms like a child, but there was nothing to be done about that.

Merlin prodded a stray log with his foot, pushing it deeper into the fire to catch alight. Gwen's accusations had stung him badly, and the turn of her thoughts undeniable.

"You think I'm going to end up like Morgana," he said softly, turning around to face her. She had settled herself in her favourite chair by the fire, where she often took up her sewing or read a book of an evening, a wool blanket tucked around her legs. Colour had returned to her cheeks after the chill of the garden, but she still looked deeply troubled.

"She had good intentions too," Gwen said, a slight tremor in her voice. "She was a good person, but became twisted by hate and obsession, and her magic gave her the power to act on it. I just worry, Merlin, that your fear is taking you to that same dark place."

"She did it all for her own ends though," Merlin argued. "I'm doing this for you."

"I know." Gwen looked down at her hands. "I'm sorry your promise to Arthur is such a burden to you."

Merlin's mouth dropped open. "You knew?"

"I know my husband." Gwen gave a sad smile, and when she looked up tears shone in her eyes.

"It was my last promise to him," Merlin murmured softly. "I didn't want it to be a lie."

"I understand - would it help if I released you from it?" A tear slid onto Gwen's cheek. "If you would prefer to leave Camelot...I don't want you to stay out of obligation."

"No," he assured her, falling to his knees before her chair and taking her hands. "That's not why - I mean, yes, I promised Arthur I would protect you with my life. But it's more than that."

He looked up at her intently, wanting her to understand. "You were my first friend here, Gwen. You were kind to a boy in the stocks when everyone else was pelting him with food. You - you're my best friend."

Gwen squeezed his hands and smiled through fresh tears. "You're mine too. I'm sorry if I haven't always shown it. In the months before Arthur...we drifted apart."

"I know, I regret it."

Looking back, Merlin was ashamed with how his worry over Arthur had consumed his entire life, how he'd pulled away from his loved ones when he should have gone to them for help. He saw with sickening clarity that he was making all the same mistakes, focusing on everything but what was truly important, holding on too tight without realising it was all slipping through his fingers.

"When you were enchanted by Morgana," he said, "I should have done more to free you from her hold. But I saw you as the enemy."

He'd been so close to advising Arthur not to try and save her because of the risk to his own life! Merlin shuddered at the thought.

"I was the enemy," Gwen said quietly. She didn't like to talk of that time, and whenever Merlin had tried to raise the subject with Arthur he'd been quickly shot down. "How could I blame you for wanting to save Arthur when I posed a danger to him?"

"Still." Merlin wasn't ready to forgive himself. "I didn't treat you like a friend should."

"And how did I treat you?" Gwen shook her head and sighed. "After becoming Queen I should have pressed Arthur to make you an advisor, give you a position at court - not let you serve at our table."

"I was exactly where I needed to be," Merlin told her. "You know no one pays attention to a servant, and I could protect Arthur better at his side rather than in his council."

"Still," she echoed him. "It was selfish, I think. Arthur and I had waited and waited to be together, after all those years of longing I...just wanted to be with him, and I forgot about everything else."

Merlin smiled. "Thanks understandable." He patted her knee and shifted to the nearby chair that had become his designated spot by the fire in the past months. After the marriage, he'd learned very quickly not to disturb the couple abed, and knock extremely loudly before entering their room whatever time of day or night.

But Gwen bit her lip and looked guilty. "I think a part of me was jealous of the bond you and Arthur shared."

"What?" Merlin laughed, giving her an incredulous look. "You were more than welcome to take over washing his socks if you wanted."

"That's not what I meant," Gwen said, but managed a smile. "You both always had these adventures to go on, and I was left here to worry and wait...again."

She sighed and looked down, hand rubbing slow circles over her belly. It was larger than ever now, it was almost time for her confinement - and so once again, Merlin realised, they were riding off to war while she was trapped within Camelot's stone walls, waiting.

"If I could stay with you, Gwen," he told her. "I would. We could make a stand here, rather than marching out."

"No." Gwen shook her head. "Arthur and I had the same conversation before Camlann. We must stop them at the border if we are to protect the whole kingdom, not just those who live in the citadel."

"Besides," she looked at him again, "there's no one I trust more to defend Camelot. I trust in you, Merlin, not just your power, but the strength of your heart. You just need to believe in yourself."

He had, in the crystal cave, when he'd come into his true power and broken free from the rocky prison. Then again on the cliffs above Camlann, calling lightning down from the sky to decimate the Saxon army. But it had slowly seeped out of him like the blood from Arthur's wound, and since then everything had seemed beyond his reach.

Merlin rose to his feet again, too agitated to sit still. "It's not that easy," she said, running a hand through his hair.

"I'll help you." Gwen stood too, taking his hands. "And I'll listen, about Cartigern, and anyone else you're worried about. We'll decide together what to do."

Merlin gazed at her a moment, then smiled and pulled her into his arms, tucking his chin on the top of her head as he held her close. "Alright, Gwen," he said, feeling buoyed by her faith. "You and me - just like old times."