A/N: (TW for this chapter: Suicidal Thoughts) Thank you guys for your patience with my terrible slowness! If you're still with me, I am forever grateful :) I've had this chapter in my head since 2015, and here I am, finally posting it in the year of our Lord, 2021. Oh, well. At least I'm a better writer now.

This chapter is pure angst and I do not apologise. Enjoy!

It was not Merlin's first time being thrown in the dungeon.

It wasn't even his second. Or his third.

To tell the truth, Merlin had long since lost count of his many damp, dark nights he'd spent locked beneath the castle, wearing down a path into the stone floor with his pacing. There wasn't much use in keeping track of his privilege when so many sorcerers like him could not say the same. Certainly, Merlin's position as the prince's servant had granted him many miraculous escapes, but with each time of being tossed down here, Merlin had to face the possibility that this night could be his last. One final stay in the dungeons, and the one that eventually concluded with him six feet under. Laid to rest in an unmarked grave, as sorcerers were not permitted marked ones, although Merlin liked to think Gaius would leave something to mark it. Anything to let people know he existed once, and that he had tried to make a difference. Tried and failed.

It wasn't a happy image to focus on, and yet, it was the only one Merlin could imagine. Just like every time he'd been thrown down here, his only solace now belonged to his pacing as he tried to not let his frantic thoughts spiral and as he silently prayed to any god or goddess who would listen that this wasn't his final stay in the dungeons. That perhaps this was just another hiccup in his long list of hiccups.

This time around, though, it really did feel like the end.

He'd done it. Deep down, Merlin knew he had done it. He had killed Roldan. He hadn't seen his face, but there had been that knight—the one he'd thrown a spell at without really looking. He'd even glimpsed the body slamming against that tree out of the corner of his eye. Heard the crack of a spine...

Closing his eyes, Merlin clawed at his hair and sank slowly to the floor, scraping the back of his skull against the unforgiving stone of the cell wall. Careless. Utterly careless. He had assumed it was an enemy knight, and he hadn't looked. He had not spotted the signature red of a Camelot cape, and thus he'd moved without thinking, performing a duty he had executed countless times. Protecting Arthur, and evening out their battle odds in secret. He'd managed it so often that it was really no surprise he did it without thought—and at what cost? A loyal knight's life, and probably his own as well. After all, he had a deep, dark, burning feeling in his gut that he wouldn't be wiggling his way out of this one. Not with the look on Arthur's face back in the physician's quarters.

Merlin knew Arthur better than he knew himself at this point. He had served the prince every morning and every night for the entirety of his four years living in Camelot, and he could safely say he had never seen Arthur look at him in the way he had an hour ago. The prince's expression had been alternating between despair and disgust, and it was a look that sent every alarm bell in Merlin's brain clanging like the enemy was at the gates. It left him now with a hollow feeling that ate at his soul, the frozen image of it burned into his mind's eye.

Roldan had said something to Arthur. He must have. Merlin had hoped to heal him in secret while he was still unconscious, but with Arthur present… it hadn't been possible. He had hoped that maybe Gaius could intervene, but Roldan must have awakened before he'd passed on. It was the only explanation, and the only reason Merlin could be sitting here now with no formal announcement as to why. It was one of those times where he could feel the truth of the situation deep in his bones, like his body itself was aware of the gravity of it and that the fear he had been harbouring for years inside himself was finally, horribly, brutally coming to life.

Arthur knew he had magic. He must know.

And yet Merlin needed to know for certain.

"Leon," Merlin managed to say, his heart racing as he leapt to his feet, calling for his friend just as the stoic knight finished speaking to the prison guard. Leon had just begun to make his exit, but thankfully, he stopped at Merlin's voice and turned back to face him. This left Merlin to try and appear calm as he wrapped his hands around the dungeon bars, although he instantly failed at it. His hands were shaking, and with a jolt, he wondered if this was the last time he'd see a friendly face.

"Leon," Merlin tried again, and he cringed at the desperation hanging in his voice. "Please, Leon, can you tell me why I'm here?"

Leon paused, and to Merlin's dismay, he didn't come back to the bars to talk with him. Keeping his distance. "I'm afraid I don't know, Merlin," the knight answered. "I'm sorry. Arthur didn't say. Only that I should organise your arrest."

His words seemed to echo off the dungeon walls, repeating themselves, or perhaps that was just Merlin's head spinning as his heart sank to his toes. He had hoped not to hear mention of Arthur's name, but he was unsurprised by it. It felt like the final nail in the coffin he'd been building for himself ever since he'd first stepped foot in Camelot.

For some reason, he'd always hoped it would be Uther's order in the end. Had always imagined his death sentence would come from the king's mouth like so many other sorcerers before him. That, at least, would feel inevitable.

But it hadn't come from the mouth of Uther, and that meant Merlin's worst fears had been realised. A confirmation of something his entire mind was already screeching at him in utter terror.

Arthur knew.

He knew.

Merlin's fear must have been evident on his face, because Leon's shoulders slumped and Merlin was touched to see a bit of conflict in the loyal knight's face. To his further surprise, Leon came back to him, walking to the iron bars so they could talk properly. "Merlin, I don't know what you did," the knight said, talking low enough that only Merlin could hear him. "But with the state I just saw Arthur in, I'm not sure I want to know."

Merlin's lip quivered at this, and he looked down, dropping one hand from the bars to tug at a ragged hole in his jacket sleeve. It was a hole he'd discovered weeks ago and he'd been meaning to mend it.

He likely wouldn't get the chance now.

"Trust me, Leon," Merlin whispered back after a moment, and it took everything in him not to break down right there and then. "I don't think you want to know. But you'll know soon enough, I'm sure. As will everyone else."

Leon grimaced, and his expression reflected everything Merlin was feeling. A grimace that said they both knew how this was going to go. "I wish you luck, Merlin," Leon said. "But I'm afraid that's all I can give you."

Merlin managed a weak smile. "I know. And thank you, Leon."

Leon tried to return his smile, but he didn't quite manage it. He patted Merlin's hand in an attempt at comfort, and then he turned on his heel, his red cape trailing behind him.

Merlin watched him go, his fingers shaking a little on the frigid metal. "Leon?" he called once more, just as an afterthought, and once again he was grateful when the knight turned back.

"Yes?" Leon said.

Merlin swallowed. "Just… please. When everything comes to light. Don't hate me for it."

Leon grimaced again, and he opened his mouth to answer, but as he did, someone answered for him.

"I'm afraid that's a bit of a big ask, Merlin," Arthur said. "Because he's definitely going to hate you."

Dark, putrid terror instantly shot through Merlin's body like a bolt of lightning. For one terrible moment, time slowed to a standstill all around him, rooting him in place and rendering him unable to move from the sheer force of his dread.

He had never wanted to turn invisible more than that moment. Never wanted to run for the hills and never look back quite like now, but everything seemed to move in slow motion as Leon jumped to attention, startled by Arthur's arrival. "Sire—" he began, but Arthur raised a black-gloved hand, cutting him off as he strode into the dungeon's corridor in full.

He was still dressed in full armour. Still somewhat bloodied from the battle, although it was likely not his blood by the looks of it. The little bit of sunlight the dungeon did receive glittered on his single silver pauldron—one that Merlin had polished countless times before. It was a terrifying image for some reason, and it left Merlin witnessing the version of Arthur Pendragon other imprisoned sorcerers must see and know. A tall, broad-shouldered, and battle-hardened knight who regularly massacred his enemies with calculated precision, and at the same time a stoic-faced prince who watched sorcerers burn to death at the stake. A confident and often arrogant royal who brought down raids upon their homes, robbing them of their livelihoods, and not to mention the beloved son of one of the most brutal rulers this land had ever known. An extension of his cruelty and persecution.

And suddenly, standing there with his hands wrapped around the cold dungeon bars, Merlin saw Uther in Arthur's features for the first time.

"Leave us," Arthur ground out. He was addressing the guard and Leon, but his gaze never left Merlin's. "Both of you."

"But, sire—" protested the guard, but that was the only two words he managed to get out.

"That's an order, Madoc!" Arthur barked, and his tone was so sharp and angry it made Merlin recoil.

"Arthur—" Merlin managed to say, but his voice was so shaken and broken that he didn't have any more words as Arthur advanced, removing all space between them. On instinct, Merlin scrambled back from the bars, tripping over himself and landing hard on his back, palms braced against the rough stone. It was a natural reaction to an advancing enemy knight, but not one Merlin had ever had with Arthur.

Years ago, when they had first met, Merlin had refused to back down from the challenge in Arthur's eyes. But today, he instantly backed down from it. How quickly the tables had turned between them.

From beyond the cell door, Arthur stared down at him like a specimen in a vial—cold and calculating. His arms lay crossed against his armoured chest and his expression was stony.

"Hello, Emrys," he hissed softly, and Merlin flinched at the name. He hadn't thought this could get any worse, but hearing his Druid name in Arthur's voice felt so wrong and so terrifying that it sent chills skipping down his spine.

His mouth had gone dry, but Merlin tried his best to spit some words out. Anything. Any sort of excuse or explanation. He pushed himself to his feet with all the strength that he could muster, approaching the bars once more and bringing himself as face to face with Arthur as his prison would allow.

"Arthur," he began, and he was relieved to find his voice wasn't shaking too terribly. Maybe he could somewhat recover from this. "I think there has been a misunderstanding. I'm not sure what you've been told, but I'm not—"

"Don't lie to me, Merlin," Arthur snarled, and his tone was so terse that Merlin recoiled on instinct. "I've had quite enough of that. And I think you, like me, have been dreading this conversation for some time."

Merlin really thought his dread couldn't dig its heels in any further. However, that was not what he expected Arthur to say. "Wha-what do you mean, for some time?" he managed to stutter, and his voice was definitely shaking now. He was sure his fear was evident in his face, and perhaps that was what caused Arthur's anger to wane somewhat, the vestiges of Uther fading from his face.

It was a relief for Merlin to see the Arthur he knew return a bit, but the prince had still not answered Merlin's question, and that sent a new stroke of fear coursing through him. A battle raged in the prince's blue eyes—a conflict of emotions dueling for dominance, and it was not unreminiscent of the breakdown the Arthur had had in his chambers the day before. Merlin had been a bit taken aback by all that raw emotion then, as it had seemed to come out of nowhere—unprompted. But Merlin was now starting to deduce just what had prompted it and he didn't really like the conclusions his brain was jumping to.

"God, I'm such an idiot," Arthur whispered, and his voice was wracked by emotion as he scrubbed at his face with his hands. He turned away a little from the bars, almost as if he suddenly didn't want to look at Merlin, and fear pulsed in Merlin's chest as he watched Arthur's expression contort with pain. "I'm such a fool to have let this go on as long as it did. And now a good knight is dead because of it. I should have arrested you the moment I found out. The moment I saw you with that blasted dragon!"

He spat out the last few words, and as soon as he uttered the word "dragon," all the air immediately left Merlin's lungs. His chest heaved, and he squeezed his eyes to escape it all, bringing bursts of stars to the darkness as his brain went fuzzy and he realised—horribly—just what Arthur was saying.

What he had seen. What he had heard.

"You followed me," Merlin wheezed, and by saying it aloud he confirmed to himself. Concluded, deep in his bones, just how much he had messed things up this time. How irrevocable that mistake was.

This wasn't just about Roldan.

Arthur had known. Known for some time now.

"Yes, Merlin, I followed you," Arthur said flatly, and his voice was hardly above a whisper as he spoke the terrible confirmation. With a shaky breath, Merlin opened his eyes, but the prince wasn't even looking at him anymore. His eyes were turned away, unfocused, as if he were reliving the fateful moment in his mind. "You're not as sneaky as you'd like to think you are, you know. So, imagine my surprise to find you having a nice little evening chat with a monster I was pretty sure I killed not long ago."

"He's not a monster," Merlin said on instinct, but he instantly regretted it. Arthur's eyes snapped back to him very suddenly, the fog of conflict clearing from his face.

"Oh, that's the defense you're opening with? Really?" Arthur seethed, and his ire bristled within him like a flash fire, his gloved hands curled into fists. He stepped even closer to the bars, and Merlin teetered back, recoiling. "Defending the dragon in all this? The demonic, fire-spewing beast that burned down half of Camelot? That is a truly excellent way to start your defense after murdering one of my best knights, Merlin. Well done."

"I did not murder him!" Merlin retorted, defending himself, but he could already feel himself digging his grave even deeper. Tears were beginning to well in his eyes, and he wasn't sure how much fight he had left in him. There wasn't much of a fight to be had. "It was an accident, Arthur. I didn't see a Camelot cape, and I—"

"Then you admit it, then?" Arthur interrupted him, and his tone was shrill, demanding. His nose was nearly touching the iron bars. "You admit you attacked him? Killed him? With magic?"

"I-I—" Merlin began, but words failed him. There wasn't much he could say. No clever words to slink his way out of this one. The jig was up. Finally, horribly, terribly up, and any defense he may have had was coming crashing down around his ears.

Over the years, Merlin had imagined so many scenarios of how this conversation would go. So many different ways it could come about. In a few more indulgent versions, things went well, but in most, they did not. After all, he would've been kidding himself if he really thought this conversation was ever going to go well for him. That Arthur was going to just accept his sorcery and carry on his merry day.

And yet, somehow... Merlin had never imagined it going quite as awful as this. Had never thought he'd be down here, behind bars, at a loss for words as he faced Arthur after having sent a beloved Camelot knight to an early grave. Accident or no, Roldan's death needed answering, and Merlin knew that. Even if he had injured Roldan without magic, he would have ended up here. He was a servant, not a knight, and he did not receive any protection from such accidents. Not like Arthur did.

And perhaps that was that fact that finally stirred Merlin's own rage, buried deep within him. That thought and that knowledge that he would be standing here behind these bars even if he wasn't a sorcerer. That a simple mistake was enough to condemn him, and that sorcery being involved was simply the icing on the cake that was his already dreadful sentence. Merlin had long harboured frustration at the injustices of Camelot, and all the inequalities and double standards that plagued its most caring citizens. From Lancelot to Gwen to Gaius, they had all suffered at Uther's laws and biases, and all of them had ended up right where Merlin was standing now. He had made a mistake in attacking Roldan, and in a perfect society, he would be willing to take responsibility for it. But the kingdom of Camelot was no perfect society, was it? Far from it.

And now, Merlin's biggest secret was out. Arthur knew of his true nature. There were no more excuses or blubbering left to shield himself from that fact. If anything, this could be the last conversation Merlin ever had with Arthur, and the terrifying reality of that struck him like a blow to the chest. It really was time to stop pretending, wasn't it? It was time to drop the façade that had become second nature to him, and where clever words may now fail him, there were words of truth and pain to replace them. Years of thoughts that Merlin had crushed down deep within himself, and they were beginning to rise to the surface now in a terrifying rush. A tirade of thoughts that when said out loud may be his only defense—or else the final nail in his coffin.

It didn't matter which outcome came to pass. Merlin could not and would not lay down and die in silence. Too many sorcerers had met their end that way for him to waste the opportunity to speak for them alongside himself. And all he hoped now was that those words would not fall on deaf ears.

"I just want to hear you say it," Arthur was saying, and his cold demand sent every molecule in Merlin's body into overdrive. Rooted somewhere deep within him, his magic boiled, screaming at him to blast his way out of here. To strike Arthur down and never look back.

But he didn't. Instead, Merlin took a big breath and looked Arthur straight in the eye once more.

This time, his gaze did not waver.

"Hear me say what, exactly?" he asked, almost in defiance. As if daring Arthur to continue his command, but Arthur didn't seem fazed by his tone.

"I want to hear it," Arthur growled, and unfortunately, Merlin knew exactly what he meant by that. "I want you to say what you are. To admit it. I want to hear it from your own mouth, and not just in the words of others. I think you owe me that much."

"Right," Merlin whispered to himself, exhaling through his teeth, and it sent a stroke of panic coursing through him to even consider saying those three words. Three words he had dreaded speaking for four long years. But he let them slip from his lips anyway. "I'm a sorcerer. Is that it? Is that what you wanted to hear, Arthur? Are you happy now?"

His whole body shook as soon as the truth left his lips, but Arthur's expression didn't change. If anything, the prince exploded into further rage. "No, Merlin, I'm not happy!" he erupted, and Merlin could see a deep, dark pain mixed in his features alongside his fury. It was a pain he recognised, having seen it in Arthur's face several times before. Betrayal. "I knew you were an idiot, but apparently I overestimated just how much. How stupid do you need to be, coming to Camelot as a sorcerer? To remain in my service? Whatever were you thinking, even stepping foot here?"

His voice cracked a bit at that, and Merlin was emboldened by the small note of caring in his tone. It gave him a tiny dose of hope. Perhaps there was still a war to be won here. After all, Arthur couldn't entirely hide his true self from Merlin. Somewhere hidden within all that armour, there was a prince that cared about him, and that was the version of Arthur Pendragon that Merlin needed to somehow reach.

The cat was out of the bag. The three words spoken.

There was no going back now.

"What was I thinking?" Merlin repeated Arthur's question, his frustration rising unfettered in his voice as his brain prepared to rain his thoughts down like fireballs, letting out everything he'd been holding back for four years. The dam had been broken, and there was no way to stop the oncoming flood. "What should I have been thinking in your expert opinion, Arthur? What, in your perfect mind, do you think I should have been thinking about? That I shouldn't be able to live and breathe in Camelot because I'm a walking, talking crime the moment I cross the border from Essetir? Is that it? Do you think I wasn't aware of all that? The first thing I saw when I arrived here was the beheading of a condemned sorcerer! The whole thing wasn't exactly lost on me!"

The words were coming hot and heavy now, Merlin's pent-up anger flowing like lava, and Arthur's whole demeanor shifted. He still moved with fury, his whole body taut and strained, but Merlin now noticed that his eyes were bloodshot. Exhaustion pulled at his features, and Merlin suddenly wondered if he'd been sleeping at all. He likely hadn't. Merlin knew a thing or two about a secret eating you up inside and what that did to you.

"Unbelievable," Arthur grunted, and he stared Merlin down with the intensity and derangement of a man plagued by demons, his eyes unblinking. "If you knew of our laws, then why would you even attempt coming here? That's all I want to know, Merlin! That's what I cannot begin to fathom, as much as I've tried. Why wouldn't you just stay in Ealdor? Or—or go off to a place where my father's laws could never reach you? Why wouldn't you want that for yourself, and save us all from the pain of what we are doing right now?"

There was a genuine brokenness in Arthur's tone, an honest incapability to understand, and Merlin pursed his lips. His whole body was vibrating with emotion, and he closed his eyes for a moment, beginning to realise just how hard this was going to be for Arthur to grasp it all… how deranged Merlin's entire life mindset must look to Arthur. How much there was to explain.

But he had to try.

"I came to Camelot because I needed help, Arthur," Merlin answered, and he opened his eyes once more, curling his hands around the bars as he tried desperately to urge the prince to look past his own biases for a moment. To push beyond the barriers of his upbringing long enough to begin to understand. "Isn't that why so many others come here? I needed help and I needed Gaius. My mother knew that long before I did. I was so lost, and I desperately required some sort of guidance as my magic grew stronger with each passing birthday. My mother knew that Gaius could be trusted to teach me. He had known my father, and he had helped him escape Uther's manhunt for him."

Merlin sucked in his breath at this, debating on whether to explain further. But why not? What was there to lose now? "You even met him once," he admitted, watching carefully for Arthur's reaction. "My father. Balinor. The last Dragonlord."

The words felt strange leaving his mouth, and for once, it was Arthur who looked like he'd been punched in the gut. "The… I—" he stuttered, and his face turned a ghastly shade of white. "The Dragonlord was your father?"

Merlin nodded, and it was weird to watch a wave of understanding flicker through Arthur's blue eyes. It gave him a surge of hope. "Gaius didn't tell me," he began to explain, and the whole story started to flow out of him as he resorted to pacing the stone floor once more. It was a bit of a relief to move around instead of looking at Arthur, but at least Arthur was here. At least he was listening. "I suppose he was trying to protect me. But that's why I am able to summon the Great Dragon. When my father was killed, his Dragonlord abilities passed on to me. I know I told you you had killed the dragon, but, well, I ordered him to go away. He has to obey my every word now that I am the last Dragonlord."

Merlin said it rather matter-of-factly, but it was all clearly becoming a bit much for Arthur to take in. His eyes were glazing over, trying to process everything, but Merlin continued on before he could come to any conclusions.

"I know it's hard for you to understand," Merlin gushed, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible to avoid startling the prince further. "I know our lives are so different, and that it's so hard for you to see through my eyes. But please. Please try. Gaius is one of the few people who survived the Great Purge. He is one of the few people who knows all the things my father was never able to teach me, and the only man who could ever hope to stand in for him. When my mother suggested I go live with Gaius so that he could mentor me, I was prepared to face the dangers of Camelot to get that. I will never regret doing so. Gaius saved my life by agreeing to take me in, and he did so despite the dangers I subjected him to."

Merlin paused for a moment, catching his breath, and tears were beginning to well in his eyes. He hadn't realised how deeply he had been suppressing all of this until it had come bubbling up out of him—and especially as it was likely his last day alive to admit it all. Better late than never.

"I don't regret coming to Camelot," Merlin pressed on, and he hoped Arthur could see why he didn't. "I won't ever regret putting my life in danger to come here. I just didn't… I never expected to meet you along the way. You were never a part of my plan. I hadn't heard about the prophecy yet, or learnt that my arrival in Camelot had been foretold centuries ago by the Druids. When I first came to the castle, I didn't know that it was the purpose of my birth to serve you and Camelot, and that's why I never felt at home back in Ealdor… or why I'd often considered taking my own life."

He stopped for a moment at this, shuddering, and unable to continue as he stared through his tears at the cell window and the bit of sunlight filtering through it. The thought of taking his own life was something he'd never admitted out loud to anyone but Gaius, but it was true. He had felt so adrift back then. So alone. The only sorcerer born in the middle of nowhere, with no idea what to do with himself or his powers. If he couldn't use his magic for something, he was better off dead, right? What else was he good for? But the prophecy had brought his life into focus like never before. Gifted him a purpose much like Arthur's—an ideal greater than himself, and a people worth fighting for.

Arthur himself hadn't said anything throughout all this, and for a moment, Merlin feared he'd left the dungeon—but when he swirled back around, Arthur was still there, rooted listlessly on the other side of the bars. Just staring blankly at Merlin, as if Merlin was a unicorn that had wandered into his horse pasture, and Merlin figured he was a bit like that, in a way. He formulated his next words carefully.

"I am a sorcerer, Arthur," he said softly, and the three words felt strangely beautiful to say aloud this time. "You know that now. But what I need you to understand is that I'm not quite like others. I've had my magic since birth and I've always been in control of it, even without any formal study. I've always been an outcast, even among other sorcerers, but I know now why I am different from the rest. My magic was always meant to serve the betterment of Camelot. I was always meant to end up here. That is my destiny, foretold centuries before my birth under the name 'Emrys,' and it is why I am still living and breathing to this day."

His whole body shuddered as said those last words, finally finishing his spiel. It was a speech he had never written out for himself, and yet it was one that had been sitting in his heart from day one in Camelot. A hidden truth that was now out in the open air, and Arthur was still just staring at him. Lifeless. Emotionless. His face unable to read.

Merlin just stared back. He wasn't sure what else to do. The truth was out there, and now it was up to Arthur to decide what to do with it. Merlin's fate rested in his hands, and after a moment that felt like an eternity to Merlin, Arthur finally spoke.

"'Betterment of Camelot,'" was all he said, repeating Merlin's words dully, and that wasn't exactly what Merlin had hoped for.

"Sorry?" Merlin asked, but to his great despair, he saw a surge of anger starting to flare in Arthur again.

It wasn't hard to spot the signs. Arthur's hands curling into fists. His face reddening. His body tensing once more. It was all so familiar to Merlin, and yet all the more horrible to watch now than it had ever been before.

"Betterment of Camelot?" Arthur repeated again, and as his fury drove the syllables of the word 'betterment', Merlin was beginning to think maybe that wasn't the best turn of phrase to use. "This is your star defense in all this, Merlin? That is your big call for understanding? That you should be forgiven and excused because some random Druids cooked up some prophecy in a fancy name, telling you that you were supposed to be here to protect Camelot? Oh, of course, Merlin, the oh-so-powerful Emrys, you definitely protected the kingdom just as promised when you murdered a Camelot knight in cold blood using the same magic you keep telling me I should understand and accept!"

His voice had risen to a screeching level in mere seconds, and Merlin's heart plummeted to his feet, any remaining threads of hope vanishing from his body. All of his platitudes had soared right over Arthur's head. Disappeared into the aether, followed by any of his surviving hopes and dreams.

They were back to square one. Back to the ghost of Uther shining in Arthur's expression, stronger than ever before. No sob story from Merlin seemed to be able to banish the king's poison from Arthur's mind. It had been a futile attempt from the very beginning, and now it was Arthur's turn to speak.

"Did it ever occur to you that this so-called prophecy is total horseshite?" Arthur now roared in Merlin's face, cascading into a furious rant of his own. Tears welled in Merlin's eyes, and he had to stop himself from turning away from him to avoid the abuse. At this point, he might as well lay down on the stone floor and curl up in a ball to prepare for his execution. "Did you ever wonder if you're really no different than any of the other sorcerers murdering my men, Merlin? And now you've dragged Gaius back into the old ways with your sorcery, making him complicit in your—"

"It was an accident, Arthur!" Merlin cried out in pain, cutting Arthur off. He couldn't take it anymore. The accusations sent a flash of deep hurt and anger through his entire body and without thinking, he threw his arm forward in an angry gesture, causing Arthur to yelp—reeling away from a sorcerer's outstretched hand. Fear instantly overtook the prince's entire body at even the possibility of Merlin performing a spell, and it wounded Merlin like nothing ever had before.

He instantly dropped his arm at the reaction, keeping his distance from the bars to alleviate Arthur's fear. To try and appear non-threatening. But what was the point? His non-threatening days were over… as well as his days in general. "Please, Arthur," Merlin attempted once more, his voice just short of begging now. "It was an accident. I need you to know that. It was a mistake, and one I could have remedied! I could have healed him with magic, and I would have, if you hadn't sent me away. Did that even occur to you? Did it even cross your mind that I could have saved him?"

His voice croaked at this, and to his surprise, he witnessed a new emotion flash across Arthur's face. It was an emotion that Merlin recognised instantly, but not one he would have expected to see in this moment. And yet... there it was.

Guilt. Fresh, dark, horrifying guilt, and it was a slip up on Arthur's part that sent a new wave of understanding rushing over Merlin… especially as he watched Arthur struggle to conceal it.

"It didn't occur to you, did it?" Merlin voiced aloud, his words hardly above a whisper as that terrible realisation sunk into his bones. "It didn't even cross your mind at all that I could've healed him, did it? That I possess that ability? Was it deliberate, you sending me away? Robbing me of my chance to fix things?" His voice wavered, the words hardly able to form as he stared at Arthur in horror. "If you'd let me stay—if you'd trusted me—I could have fixed this, Arthur! Roldan could still be here!"

Merlin's voice had spiked in urgency and grief by the end of his rant, and of all the truths that had been spoken, he quickly realised this was the last one Arthur wanted to hear.

The prince's cheeks flushed scarlet, both from shame and fear—followed closely by denial. "Oh, no," Arthur raged, and he pointed an accusatory finger at Merlin's face, his teeth clenched in fury. "You don't get to put this all on me, Merlin. You don't get to twist this, to—to wiggle out using clever words and dubious logic you did back in the cave. I knew what you were doing with all that tricky little word play and secret meanings. 'Emrys has left Camelot'? Does it make you feel better to tell a clever lie over an outright one? Is this your way to alleviate your guilt for lying in the first place, and for not taking responsibility for your actions in the light of day like the rest of us?"

"Responsibility?" Merlin bristled in insult, and he really had never felt incensed quite like this. Arthur was deliberately changing the subject, deliberately steering around his mistake with Roldan. Purposely avoiding his own carelessness—avoiding his own responsibilities—and the audacity struck every nerve in Merlin's body. "Responsibility for my actions, Arthur? Do you mean taking responsibility for existing? For being an illegal person by birth? Do you mean accepting consequences for protecting myself when a knight I thought was an enemy advanced on me with his weapon drawn? And really, Arthur, as prince of Camelot—when have you ever had to accept any consequences for your actions? Or your father for that matter?"

Outrage twisted Arthur's features at this, and his mouth opened to fight back, but Merlin charged on forcefully before he could, trampling over any attempt to talk over him. "When you get someone killed, Arthur, there are never consequences," Merlin seethed, fully braced up against the bars now. He was as close as he could get to being in Arthur's face, his knuckles white around the dark metal. "When you get someone killed by accident, it's actually ruled an accident. But what about someone like Gwen? Or her father? They can't afford to make any misstep without winding up locked down here, and neither can I. This isn't about responsibility at all and I think you know that!"

"Don't you dare bring Guinevere into this!" Arthur thundered, and it took Merlin a moment to realise Arthur's hand was squarely on the pommel of his broadsword despite the bars. "This isn't about her. Or my father."

"But isn't it?" Merlin countered, and his anger faded suddenly, replaced by a sorrowful, tired cloud of defeat. "So, tell me then, Arthur—why do I still have a head?"

He practically sobbed the question, and Arthur blinked, clearly taken aback by it. "What?"

"You heard me," Merlin said, and he pulled back from the cell door again, retreating to collapse onto the small bench of his cell, his limbs slumping with fatigue. "Why do I still have a head, Arthur? I know I'm losing it within a few hours, but you've known about my magic for nearly two days. Why are we only having this conversation now? Why didn't you drag me to your father as soon as you found out? Or is the only reason I'm down here now and not then because I have the privilege of being someone you cared about? A privilege that has kept both Gwen and I from losing our heads at the hands of your father long ago?"

"Don't you dare try to pin this on me!" Arthur screeched, and with every ounce of Uther returning in his features, Merlin lost more and more hope that he could ever get through to him. "There is no point in trying to spin this in your favour. I am duty bound to the laws of Camelot and the verdicts of the king. You know that. I do not always agree with those decrees, and one day, I may rule differently, but I don't know where you got the inane notion that my thoughts on sorcery were ever going to change! Guinevere is no sorcerer. Tom was no sorcerer. You are. Therein lies the difference, Merlin!"

"And yet, you didn't arrest me immediately!" Merlin retaliated, gesturing at the air like it may help his point. "And why is that, Arthur? Is it because, somewhere within yourself, you know that just because I have magic that doesn't mean I am your enemy? That you understand, somewhere buried within you, that sorcerers should be judged the same as any man—on our actions, and not on the nature of something we are born with?"

He put as much emphasis as he could muster into every word, but again, they only fell on deaf ears. "Oh, based on your actions!" Arthur scoffed, and once again, Merlin instantly regretted his word choice. "Alright, then, Merlin, let's examine a list of your most recent actions, shall we? Because last I looked, that list begins with the murder of a Camelot knight!"

Merlin's face darkened, and he pushed himself up from the bench to try and conjure up a defense, but Arthur plowed on before he could. "I wanted to think you were the type of sorcerer you say, Merlin," Arthur raged, and he began to pace back and forth himself, leaving Merlin to recall how he had induced that habit on the prince over the years. "I wanted to believe that you were a sorcerer that wasn't an enemy. While you obviously couldn't stay in Camelot any longer, I wondered if perhaps I could help you find somewhere you could live."

He stopped his pacing at this, and Merlin tried his best to avoid his gaze, but there wasn't much use in it. Arthur stared at him so intensely now that he could not ignore it.

"I wanted to believe you were my friend, Merlin," Arthur whispered, and his blue eyes were so tortured and so sincere that these words cut deeper than anything that Merlin had ever endured. "I had wanted to believe that the man I'd come to know wasn't just a façade built up to manipulate me. So, there's your answer. That's why I did not arrest you immediately, and that was why I didn't tell you I knew about your terrible secret. I wanted to pretend that nothing had changed so that I could decide if you werean exception. A sorcerer that did not deserve to be put to death. But now…"

He trailed off for a moment, as if hesitant to say his next words aloud. But he said them anyway.

"Now I am more convinced than ever that those sorcerers don't exist."

Arthur swallowed at this, as if biting back tears at this, and Merlin did the same, both of them trying hard to keep it together. But there wasn't much left to keep together. Arthur had more or less spoken Merlin's death knell aloud, and they both knew it. Merlin didn't even have any words left in his arsenal to defend himself. It seemed more clear to him than ever that Arthur's mind was beyond changing.

"I did try, you know," Arthur admitted softly, almost in afterthought, and he drew in a large breath, attempting to compose himself. "I did what I thought was right, and I gave you time and space to prove yourself to me. But you failed my test. And now I'm left with no choice."

He said it like he was trying to reassure Merlin, but Merlin flinched at the word "test." While Arthur had been ranting, Merlin had gravitated towards the centre of the cell, and he now stood directly across from Arthur, the small sliver of light illuminating the blond prince amongst the gloom of the dungeon walls. It was an image that would forever haunt Merlin's dreams now, as he stared at Arthur from beyond the cell bars.

"Test?" Merlin managed to repeat softly, and he disliked everything that word implied. "What do you mean by 'test'?"

A hint of guilt crossed Arthur's face at the question, and Merlin did not like what that implied, either. "Well, not a test, exactly," Arthur defended himself in a rush, and just as Merlin suspected, he stepped back a little. Trying to meld himself with the shadows like a shield. "A trial. One of my own devising, and not my father's. I wanted to give you a fair chance, and I…"

Arthur trailed off for a moment, and his expression was so disoriented that Merlin wanted to reach through the bars and shake some sense into him. But there was no use in it. "Merlin, I just wanted to understand the why," Arthur said, his voice almost a sob, and the dreadful part was that Merlin wanted that, too. But perhaps that was impossible. "I just wanted to understand why a sorcerer would come here, serve underneath me, and then lie to me as you have. And can you blame me? Can you blame me for being unable to fathom what possessed you to do these things?"

There was a begging quality to Arthur's tone now, and Merlin was at a loss of what to do about it. He desperately wanted him to understand, but this was not some heavy lifting Merlin could perform for him. He could not just erase a lifetime of misunderstanding from Arthur's mind. So, instead, he just said the only thing he could think to say.

"What is there to fathom, Arthur?" Merlin said, and it was a last-ditch attempt to reach his friend. To help him remove the Uther-shaped block in his brain that was preventing him from making progress—but, in the end, that was an obstacle that Arthur himself would have to remove. "I am still a person. Is it so hard to believe that I care? Care about Camelot? Care about you, despite my oh-so-detestable and evil abilities? Is that really so impossible to fathom?"

"Yes, Merlin, it is!" Arthur cried out, and he struck the black dungeon bars with his steel gauntlet in a sudden attack, causing Merlin to flinch at the sound. The loud vibration of metal on metal bounced around the dungeon, clanging in both their ears. "It is impossible for me! I want to believe you, but I also want to know it isn't all one big ploy to manipulate me because clearly, the majority of what came out of your mouth was nothing more than fiction!"

"And do you think I enjoyed lying to you?" Merlin retorted. "Do you think I take pride in sneaking about and hiding parts of myself?"

His voice stalled a little at this, and he brought a hand to his chest, begging Arthur to see past the surface just a little bit. "I'm still me, Arthur," he implored, and he prayed to the old gods and the new that Arthur believed him. "I was and am always me. But I'm only the amount of me I can legally be around you. No part of that is a manipulation, and you will never understand what it is like to live your life like that. No amount of testing me is going to help you know what it is like to remain in a kingdom where your very existence is hated and hunted. I'm glad you wanted to give me a fair trial—really, I am, but I do think in most fair trials the accused is allowed to know they are being interrogated!"

Merlin had let a bit of his anger leak into his voice at the end there, and that had been a mistake.

"Oh, of course that's your spin on this then, isn't it?" Arthur fumed, and once again Merlin had failed to clear that Uther-shaped barrier. "That I'm incapable? That I can't possibly understand? That I'm in the wrong for giving you a taste of your own medicine? Do you really think that all your lies are justified? That I am the enemy here, for going against my own father's wishes by not dragging you to him in chains when I first discovered your betrayal?"

His voice had gotten so shrill that it was a miracle the whole castle hadn't awakened to hear them. Merlin wondered if they had. "I wanted to let you go!" Arthur howled at him, and his flushed face was a painting of mixed emotions. Rage. Confusion. Sadness. Guilt. Merlin imagined his own tortured expression wasn't all that different. "I had wanted that for both of us, Merlin! I had hoped that it could come to pass! You even passed the first two trials. Just not the third."

Arthur paused there, out of breath, and Merlin took the chance to cut in. "So, there were three tests?" Merlin accused, not even bothering to hide his disdain at the mention. "Three attempts to put me through your secret trial? What were they, then? I feel I have a right to know."

Arthur deflated a little at this, a bit of shame crept back into his expression. At least that was a small victory on Merlin's part. He should be ashamed. "Our conversation in my chambers was the first," Arthur admitted, and he couldn't quite meet Merlin's eyes anymore. "The Druids were the second."

"Right," Merlin murmured, processing that. Arthur's odd emotional breakdown alongside the bizarre display in the Druid cave. It all checked out. "And the third?"

"If Cenred's men attacked, I wanted to see how you fought in battle," Arthur explained slowly. The guilt in his voice was rising by the second. "I wanted to see how you went about it. If you had control over your… spells. Evidently not."

He gestured vaguely at the word "spells," and Merlin frowned, realising all too haltingly what he meant by that. I wanted to see how you went about it.

"I—wait," Merlin said, and he took an unsteady step back. His palms flew to his temples and he tried to wrap his mind around this, pressing hard on his skull as a speculation he didn't want to consider fluttered across his mind. "Arthur, you—you didn't you send Roldan to spy on me, did you?"

A rush of panic sliced across Arthur's face at Merlin's question, and Merlin's eyes instantly widened at the sight of it. Arthur immediately attempted to shield it, but it was too late. Merlin knew what he'd seen.

"You did send him, didn't you?" Merlin breathed aloud, and he hardly dared to believe it. To digest that, and process how it changed things. "You ordered one of your strongest fighting knights to follow me during a battle and you're surprised when I thought he was an enemy knight? What were you thinking, Arthur?"

"I didn't think you would kill him!" Arthur screamed, but Merlin could see the shame gnawing at his every feature. A worm eating at his core, and wondering if he was more at fault than he'd realised. "I knew you wouldn't perform magic in the open, and I didn't think…"

"Well, no kidding, Arthur," Merlin snapped, cutting in with a rage he hadn't expected. "You clearly didn't think! We were ambushed! I was fighting for our lives, just like you, and I must have saved you from countless enemy knights over the years! That is my job. Keeping you from harm, even if I have to keep it a secret! Even if I never get any credit for it! And yet, here you are, sending a knight to spy on me in the middle of a bloody battle, charging in to the Druid cave and threatening their leader—"

"I was never going to kill the Druids!" Arthur defended himself, but Merlin thought even he could see the weakness in that argument. "I have no quarrel with them. I just wanted to see how you'd respond, so I—"

"—threatened a large group of innocents with murder just so you could test my strength of character?" Merlin finished his sentence for him, incredulous. "Do you even hear yourself, Arthur? In what world is that a trial worth having? In what way was all this violence worth it? Why didn't you just talk to me!"

"Why didn't I just talk to you?" Arthur yelled in echo, and the tears had broken free now, rolling down the bridge of the prince's nose. Merlin had to bring his hands to his own face to confirm he was also crying. The floodgates had really opened now. "Merlin, why did you never talk to me? Four long years of being my manservant and you never figured this was something I should know? Or did you just decide that it was better if I found out on my own? That somehow it would be my responsibility to confront you about it?"

His voice had collapsed, swirling with hurt and brokenness, but Merlin could hardly contain his rage. "Oh, that is just rich, Arthur," Merlin seethed. "Me, tell you I'm a sorcerer? I screamed it to the whole war council once! None of you believed me, and don't you think I would have told you about it, if it would've meant things would go any differently? I think we both know it wouldn't have made any difference, and I'd still end up exactly where I'm standing now sooner or later. I wanted to explain everything to you! I wanted nothing more than to stop hiding from you! But I'm not a fool. I knew the turmoil it would cause you and I didn't want to burden you in that way. I didn't want to put you in the exact position that you are in right now!"

He took a big breath in then, once more trying to nail his point home, but it still felt all too futile. "It is my destiny to serve you, Arthur," Merlin said in a whisper, and he hoped the sincerity of his tone carried across the iron bars and buried themselves in Arthur's thick skull. "It's my destiny to live here, in Camelot, so that I can protect you in a way only I can while we work towards a future you cannot yet see. I knew this wasn't something that would be easy for you to understand, and so I tried to protect you from it for your own sake. And that's why I hid this from you."

He said it with as much goodwill as he could muster, but Arthur was still not getting it. "But you're still hiding from me, aren't you?" Arthur accused, and it was as if Merlin's words had flown in one ear and sailed right out the other. All of Merlin's deepest, darkest truths bounced off of Arthur like broken arrows, and Arthur stepped away from the dungeon bars, spreading his arms wide to show Merlin off to an imaginary crowd. "Look at him!" he yelled to the invisible jury. "He's still hiding from me! The great and powerful Emrys! Renowned by the Druids to the point that they would die for him, and yet, this entire time we've been talking, he hasn't performed a single spell."

He pivoted back to face Merlin at this, and his expression had a deranged grimace on it. "Your secret is out, Emrys," he said in a slightly crazed tone, still gesturing with his right arm wildly. "And there is nowhere left to hide, and yet, you haven't made even the smallest indication of who you really are. I don't hide who I am like you, because I can't. I am the crown prince of Camelot, a future king, and I wear my crest and my armour in the light of day. I wield my sword with precision and honour. But when you hide destructive, murderous powers, and when you clearly can't control them—"

"Control?" Merlin roared, and at this time when he snapped, he could feel the ancient dragon magic within him boil to the surface. His voice deepened, a growl buried within it not unreminiscent of Kilgharrah, and beneath his feet, the whole cell began to shake. "Control? You want a spell, Arthur? Fine! Then have a spell!"

And with that, Merlin thrust his arm out towards Arthur, feeling his powers explode within him—a tidal wave of fury, pain, and grief turned into pure energy.

And then the whole row of dungeon bars flew off their hinges.

The bang was deafening. Sparks flew off the metal as the dungeon door rose into the air, a supernatural wind kicking up into existence as the whole row of dungeon bars soared away from Merlin, careening for Arthur's face. Merlin was pretty sure he heard Arthur cry out—saw his armoured arms shoot up to protect himself, but Merlin stopped the bars just before they struck him, the metal hovering just centimetres from Arthur's nose.

For a moment, they both just stood there: Merlin with his right arm outstretched, his magic coursing through his veins, and Arthur only a few yards away from him, his back arched and forearms crossed above his face to protect himself. Meanwhile, the dungeon bars gently drifted above Arthur's head, the steel somewhat warped from the strength of Merlin's magic.

In the silence that followed, Merlin slowly advanced, emerging from the shadows and taking a single step over the dark line that had once held his prison.

"I do possess control, Arthur," Merlin ground out, and he could feel his eyes glowing gold. His words were less a threat and more a fact. "I've had control of my magic since before I was old enough to speak. It is an inseparable part of me. It is no different than my arms, or my legs. I have more control over it than most of your knights ever will with their weapons, and my magic is not a weapon. It is only a weapon when I choose it to be."

He spat out those last words, and as he stood there, performing his magic knowingly in front of Arthur for the first time, Merlin did not regret his outburst. He could feel his raw magic radiating down his arm to his fingertips, controlling every minor movement of the eviscerated dungeon door. He was in complete control of it, keeping it bobbing in midair as easily as he would hold a jug of water. It felt good to take control. It felt good to be himself—openly and without apology.

But what didn't feel good was the look on Arthur's face.

Fear was an understatement. Complete and utter terror had overtaken the prince's face, and in a way Merlin had never witnessed before. He had seen Arthur look at him in a multitude of ways, but never like this. Never like Merlin was a monster that had crept up from the depths of the underworld, threatening his life with outstretched claws, and it was a look that shredded any good feelings within him instantly.

Merlin had never wanted Arthur to fear him.

Slowly, Merlin's conviction wavered, his fury dissipating, and he retracted his arm, calling the bars back towards him and placing himself voluntarily back into his prison. The whole door swooped back into its spot in a graceful arch, snapping back into the floor with ease, and Merlin melded the metal back to the stone with a simple flick of his wrist. If someone had looked closely, they would be unable to tell that the bars had been blown off their hinges, but Merlin's point had been made all the same. He could walk right out of here if he wanted to. Take on the guards. Make a run for it. Perhaps even survive the escape attempt.

But that was not the overall point he was trying to make. Merlin did not consider himself an enemy of Camelot, and the last thing he wanted was to justify that narrative. Somehow, deep within him, Merlin had known this day and this war between them would come. The last thing he wanted was to choose the wrong power play at the end of the chess game, and he dearly hoped that he hadn't made a fatal misstep by acting as he had just now.

"Arthur, I'm not your enemy," Merlin said softly, trying to curb his anger a little as he could feel them both moving into an endgame of sorts. A final plea for mercy on Merlin's part, and a final attempt at reconciling any sort of relationship he and Arthur shared. "I am your friend, and somewhere within yourself, you must know that. My many mistakes only define me if I don't atone for them, and you have many mistakes to atone for as well. Just because you haven't known a sorcerer to stand at your side doesn't mean I'm not the exception. We're not as different as you'd like to think we are, and I do not oppose you."

He said it with conviction, almost like a declaration, but his confidence was not shared in Arthur. The prince looked shattered as he cowered before Merlin even from a long length away—a deep, dark shame overtaking his features as he realised just how badly he would lose to Merlin if Merlin didn't hold back.

"But you d-do oppose me, don't you, Merlin?" Arthur managed to stutter, and he lowered his armoured arms very slowly. He had still held them raised, shielding his face despite the iron bars having already been returned and fixed. The fear in the prince's face was even more apparent now, and it was an image worse than any other for Merlin to watch as Arthur stood there like a leaf quivering in the wind—weakened despite his armour, and appearing like even the smallest gust might blow him over. A shell of the Arthur Pendragon that Merlin had come to know.

"You do see that, Merlin, don't you?" Arthur whispered, and Merlin had to move in closer just to hear his soft, crestfallen words. "You must see that. There is no way forward for you here. You stand opposed to the governing of Camelot, and that is everything I represent. That is my destiny."

"But, no, Arthur, it isn't," Merlin tried to argue, and he fought back tears of his own as he realised just how useless his words truly were. "You are destined to be king, and to make this kingdom your own. I… I stand opposed to the governing of Camelot as it pertains to one article in particular. Why does that suddenly make me an enemy of the crown? Do I have to be perfect in upholding your father's ideals to call you my friend? I think we both know that isn't how it has to work, and you can't claim you've never disputed a law before. I saw how you argued against the First Code as it pertained to Lancelot. You saw the honour in him, and his will to serve. You begged your father to reconsider, and you let him go. I don't see myself as any different, nor do I see any difference between Lancelot's sword and my magic. And yet... here we are."

"Yes," Arthur said flatly, and even as he said it, a stoic, emotionless mask returned to his face. A dark sense of conviction creeping into his features, and a mental veil that dropped into place to conceal his pain and fear, hiding his inner thoughts from the world once more. With a pang of loss and guilt, Merlin watched as the Arthur Pendragon he knew and loved retreated once more into the depths of Arthur's mind, replaced only with a stony warrior façade. A mental armour braced against the world, and this time… this time, there would be no breaking through it. "Here we are, I suppose, Merlin. And here we will stay. Goodbye, then, Emrys."

And with that, Arthur turned sharply on his heel and stalked out of the dungeon, rounding the corner and disappearing out of sight before Merlin even registered what he was doing. The blood red of his cloak snaked behind him like a flag, dragged around the dark corner with terrible finality, and unlike Leon—Arthur did not turn back.

For the second time that night, Merlin felt like all the air had been sucker punched right out of his lungs. It was incredible to him how quickly it felt like he was drowning, choking on air as his chest struggled for oxygen. Panic instantly rose within him, seizing up his muscles as he stood there, immobilized, and somehow—somehow, he had thought he'd had more time. Somehow, he had thought he had had more words to say. More defenses to summon, or more heartstrings to pull—

But now, there were no more words to say. Just like that, it was all over.

"Arthur?" Merlin called out, his words echoing down the dungeon corridors as he touched the dungeon bars, clasping them with his clammy, quivering hands. But his solitary cry was spoken aloud for only the unforgiving stone of the castle to hear.

Arthur Pendragon was already gone.