A sense of security came over him. He felt warm and protected. He couldn't recall the last time he was not overwhelmed by the internal dread which was practically incorporated into his body and his soul. Not having this dread was a new albeit welcome feeling.

He was half asleep and half awake. Awake enough to remember he was out in the woods because Arthur dragged him on a one-day hunting trip. He was lying in his bedroll nearby the campfire. Arthur took the first watch and Merlin went to sleep but something woke him up before his shift. But he was still asleep enough to be able to go back to the floating state of mind when the reality is out of your reach. He kept his eyes closed trying to think back to his dream and trying not to lose this fragile state of mind.

He wants to remember. He needs to remember. He knows that anxiety, fear, and self-deprecation, will come back, being his constant companions for years. But now there's none of it and his sorrowful soul clings to this state of things. He tries to relax and go back to the meditative state which usually comes before sleeping.

And here it is. He can see sunny autumn; he is on the road on his faithful horse. The leaves are golden and red and deep brown and it's so beautiful that it's breathtaking.

And on his right side, there is Arthur. He tells something to Merlin and Merlin laughs, carefree, and happy as never in his life. There is no stress in his posture; his shoulders don't look like he carries on them the heavy burden of destiny and lies, like he is not marked by death from the moment he was pulled out from his mother's womb into the world which condemns people like him simply for their existence.

The king is still laughing when he turns his head towards Merlin and for some moments their gazes lock. And Merlin stops his horse, astonished. Arthur looks at him with a smile playing on his lips and with such deep brotherly fondness that a realization strikes Merlin right away. He knows. His friend knows. This Arthur knows about his magic. Because he looks at Merlin and he sees him – Gods, he really sees him, for what he is, as the whole – and he… he accepts him. He shares his burden as Merlin was sharing his for years – and oh Lord – if it doesn't feel good. The golden Arthur from his dream, sunlit and regal as ever, claps his hand on his shoulder and they continue their journey.

.

.

.

Merlin opens his eyes and starts to blink fast trying to wash away the tears he didn't even know were there. When all of it crushes on him in a heartbeat, he involuntary lets out a strangled sob. All his lies and losses and sacrifices made by his loved ones and not by him when it had to be him, the meaningless slaughter of his kind, the despise of his friends towards all which is even remotely magical, and his constant and already lost ages ago battle of trying to convince himself that he is not a monster, and all his fears – of the pyre, of being run through by the hand of one of his friends, the fear of hate and rejection -, and a great weight of responsibility for all who is magical and for Arthur, - all of it just becomes too much and his chest burns and damn it if it does not hurt. It hurts and stings and he starts shaking and someone produces a painful wail and he thinks it's him but his body reacts even before he realizes it - he covers his mouth with his hand in a futile attempt to put this animal sound back where it belongs: deep inside and hidden.

He bends over and puts his knees to his chest. He curls into a miserable ball of pain and in these moments the world outside doesn't exist, there is only this constant pain that crushes his body and he never knew his burdens were that heavy until they were gone for a moment, and then came back all at once. He used to carry them and putting new ones on top had never felt like it made a difference but, oh Lord, it made.

Merlin's eyes produce more tears and he tries not to think about burning but his brain is not collaborative and gives him images of all pyres he witnessed, and he can picture them with peculiar details; the sound of the crowd and the screams of a condemned and then there is smell, damn it, there is the smell, and Merlin curls even more, trying to become as small as possible and then there is a weird feeling in his guts and he trembles more and then starts vomiting, and oh Lords, it doesn't stop, and there is sweat dripping from his forehead, and he can still feel the smell of a burned meat and he cannot take it anymore, he just cannot, and he cannot breathe and he chokes on his own vomit…

"Merlin!"

Someone is calling him, and he realizes it was going on for quite a while. It sounds like a litany, like a prayer, "Merlin", "Merlin", "Where does it hurt?", "Please, reply", "Merlin, tell me, what it is", "What's wrong?", "Merlin, MERLIN!"

The voice summons him and he is compelled to react. It's compulsory, it's more than a habit, he hears the voice of a king, of a friend, and he must obey. He tries to stick to the words and he doesn't want the voice to stop. And the voice doesn't disappoint: it does not disappear, if not it becomes closer and brighter. And there is "Merlin", "Merlin", and there is fear and concern and then he feels a palm gingerly touching his back, it shakes slightly; and finally, finally his body stops purging itself and he takes his first full breath and opens his eyes…

… to find Arthur's face close to his. Two blue orbs are fixed on Merlin and it's so similar to Arthur's gaze from his dream that it almost initiates another attack but he manages to pull himself together.

Arthur looks at him in pure concern. His face is so open and vulnerable as Merlin has never seen. His left-hand squeezes the manservant's shoulder; his other hand hovers over his body trying to find a place where he can put it as if Arthur is not sure what to do and how to help.

In the silence of the night, you can hear their heavy breathing. Their gazes lock and it feels like forever and Arthur's eyes are pleading, asking, searching for replies, trying to understand. Merlin feels lightheaded and detached from his body. He cannot think straight and his heart is still pounding at an incredible speed.

He puts one of his hands to the heart in morbid curiosity. Too hard, too fast… Gently Arthur takes Merlin's hand away and replaces it with his. It feels like a dream: the night, the silence, and Arthur's hand on Merlin's heart as if Arthur needs confirmation that his friend is fine and alive.

The heaviness of Arthur's hand disappears from his chest. He gets off his knees, and without a word helps to get Merlin into a sitting position.

The silence drags and penetrates the pores. It's a heavy silence, full of questions and concern.

Arthur turns his gaze away from his friend and looks at the fire. He still can see Merlin in the corner of his eye but the penetrating heaviness of his blue orbs is gone, giving the raven some privacy, and for that he is grateful.

"Better now?"

Merlin is unable to produce any sound, his vocal cords seem to be blocked and he just nods twice in an attempt to reassure Arthur that everything is fine.

"Gods, Merlin". His hand scrubs tiredly over his face, in an effort to wipe away overwhelmed emotions and think straighter. Merlin knows this Arthur, it's an Arthur who is about to make a difficult decision and Merlin knows he is not going to like it. He has the confirmation when the king finally says: "We have to talk about it".

And Merlin wants to say "There is nothing to talk about", or "just a bad dream, drop it, Arthur", or "I didn't know you care" and he even opens his mouth… only to close it with a painful sound.

He is so worn out and Arthur's eyes are penetrating his soul and he knows, he knows this time it's not going to work. Arthur will know it would be a lie because he saw everything and it was not "nothing" and Merlin was choking on his own whimpers and trembling and trashing and of course it was something. And then there was silence and he lost his chance to brush it off right away after the attack and gosh, he is still trembling, and Arthur, Arthur…

"Good heavens, you are still trembling", Arthur moves away. There is a sound of his steps and Merlin should have drifted off because the next thing he is aware of it is Arthur in front of him with a waterskin open and Merlin is wrapped in the king's red cloak.

Arthur is furrowing in concern and Merlin realizes he was talking to him all this time.

"Merlin, are you with me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm right in front of you, prat".

The attempt to a bunter is quite miserable but with a twitch of his lips, Arthur shows him that the attempt per se is appreciated.

"Alright, let's make you drink some water".

Tiredly Merlin leans on a tree and grips the waterskin as though it was his ultimate mean of survival.

Firstly he just puts some water in his mouth and spits it out to wash away the taste of vomit and then drinks and Gods, it tastes like heaven.

He is grateful to Arthur for that. For the water, yes, but more for the opportunity to do something without having to talk. He needs this break to pull his thoughts together and to understand what he has to do now. He drinks methodically and slowly and in the silence of the night, you can hear only the dancing of the flame and his gulps. While he drinks, he manages to get a look at Arthur. His friend doesn't put his gaze away from him, watching him. Who knows what he is thinking. Who knows what he is seeing.

He finishes drinking – and it was too fast, he is not ready yet – and he will never be, and Arthur takes the waterskin from his shaking hands and puts it away.

"Thanks". It's just a whisper, quiet and almost imperceptible, but Arthur who watches him like a hawk cannot miss anything, so he nods in acknowledgement. Another second of silence and of waiting for who will make the first move. Finally Merlin's lips part.

"So, no jokes about crying and being a girl's petticoat?"

Some dark emotion flashes on Arthur's face, and it becomes even more open – and Merlin doesn't understand how it is even possible and how it is possible that it's him who made the king look so young and vulnerable.

"Don't", Arthur's voice is rough as if he didn't use it for a long time. "Don't, Merlin. Not after… this. When you just…", his voice breaks and Merlin's heart hurts for his king because Arthur had never sounded that broken and shall never be. "Merlin, you flinched when I was trying to calm you, you were trashing and trying to put the distance from me…", he abruptly stops, takes a breath, and then pronounces, "Tell me".

Merlin doesn't remember pulling away from a touch of his friend, or, for the record, that Arthur was there all this time, but he can understand the pain in his king's voice.

But how he can tell him? It's impossible. This word is written in flames in his soul, in every cell of his body – he just cannot – and he clenches his jaw and slightly shakes his head, pretending that it's still possible that the king will drop it here. He knows better, thou. This stubborn mule.

"You can tell me, you know. Whenever it is", a plead, not a demand. His voice is gentle and his eyes are full of concern. He will never look at him like this again if he tells him.

He clenches his jaw so much it hurts, all his body tenses like he is about to defend himself against an enemy. Arthur is not an enemy but now – now – he is a threat because he pays attention and he notices things and it's bad, it's bad – all years of hiding just tell him to dodge, to lie, to pretend.

Arthur must have read his resolution from his body language as he goes for another tactic, strategist as he is.

"Did…", there is a small hesitation before he proceeds, "did someone hurt you? Threaten you?" He waits for the reply with trepidation and hopes to hear "no" and fears to hear "yes".

Merlin gulps. "No no, Arthur, nothing like this, it's not this".

"Then what is it?", Arthur puts his hand on his shoulder, trying to get to his friend through the barriers, feeling that if he doesn't go through them now, Merlin will build others and to reach him will become less and less possible.

"What haunts you? What weights on you so much, Merlin? I want to be there for you as you have always been for me. I want to help. I need to help. If you just let me", his gaze is heavy on Merlin and never leaves his face. He repeats in a whisper, "Let me help you. Please Merlin, I beg you, tell me what's wrong".

And this does it. Merlin cannot take it anymore. It's too much, everything is too much and he is sick of himself and of pain and of Arthur begging him – Arthur begging - two words which should never go together in one sentence but they do… because of him, because of Merlin, of his best friend, of his secrecy and lies and he feels dirty and unworthy of concern of this man as ever.

So this is it. Eight years of the best friendship in his life – it finishes here, in this clearing. He had never imagined it would finish like this.

He closes his eyes and it's definitive like a sentence. It's final and heavy and deadly and poisoning. He twitches his lips in an ugly grimace of pain or repulsion but when he opens his eyes for another time, all his masks are gone, stripped, disappeared. His facial muscles relax, his gaze is sincere and open and he watches in Arthur's eyes and tells the impossible, the prohibited: "I have magic, Arthur. I was born with it and I use it for you, only for you".

With the last word he losses all energy and like a ragdoll sinks into the tree. He can see the look on Arthur's face changing into an expression he cannot read – and it shall not be good, he always could have read Arthur – and he cannot take the pressure anymore and drops the gaze. He looks at his hands uselessly folded on his hips. He is so run out, that he thinks he probably is not even able to raise them even for one inch. The thought is futile and fleeting, just a distraction from reality and the heaviness of what had just happened.

In the silence filled just by the crack of fire, the only thing Merlin can hear it's his words: "I have magic, Arthur, I have magic, Arthur, I have magic".

Gods. GODS. What had he done, what had he just done?!

It feels like another attack is about to start, and he tries to curl into a ball and not to think.

Suddenly, there is a movement and it makes Merlin flinch. And there is a sound and Merlin opens his eyes (when did he close them? he cannot remember), and there is Arthur and he is punching a tree with all his force – once, twice, and more, and more – and each time Merlin trembles as he is struck by lightning and another portion of tears is streaming down his face and he tries to be quiet, to do something right, because he never does things right and look what had he done to Arthur and he wants to be a good friend but he should have produced some noise because Arthur's head sharply turns in reaction to the noise and he stops punching the tree and he pants heavily and looks at Merlin with an unreadable expression and then approaches him in two fast steps and Merlin doesn't want to be seen pathetic and miserable – he really really doesn't – but he cannot control it – and his body puts distance between him and the king. He tries to crawl away, loses his balance, and his hand buckles under his weight but it's all futile and in the end, he finds himself where he was, leaning on the tree. Arthur is seating in front of him and his face is the epitome of suffering and pain; Merlin cannot see it, and in shame, he turns his face away.

"Born with it?", the words are left hanging in the air. The heaviness of what they imply is undeniable.

Still overwhelmed with guilt and shame, with his head awkwardly tilt to the side, Merlin nods. It seems enough of a reply to Arthur. Wide-eyed, he repeats as if trying to taste these words.

"Born with it".

It's not a question anymore. He says them out loud, trying to see how they fit on his tongue.

"Born with it", he repeats in a whisper.

"Born. With. It".

It seems the words are burning in his mouth and Arthur cannot get them out enough and he continues to repeat them, he chocks on them and it makes Merlin worried and only worry for Arthur gives him the courage to finally look at Arthur properly in his face and not from the corner of an eye.

And like a mad man, he repeats in awe as litany: "Born with it". And Merlin has to stop it because it is not healthy, it is not right, it's wrong – oh so wrong – and he gathers all his courage and puts his hand on his friend's damaged bloodied knuckles – and Gods, he doesn't know if he still has a right to do so – but he does it, for Arthur – always for Arthur – and he is so scared and so drained and his touch should be so light but Arthur feels it nevertheless and it's enough for him to come back to reality and he finally stops this horrible loop of repeating the same sentence.

He attentively looks into Merlin's face and Merlin doesn't know what he wants to see but he lets him search for it. He doesn't use covers and masks and just lets Arthur's gaze study him – he can do it forever if it is what Arthur needs – and surely, surely Arthur finds something because suddenly his hands are wrapped around Merlin's body in a tender brotherly movement and he puts Merlin's head to his chest.

Merlin is scared to move, scared to ruin everything again because it is what he does. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, Arthur's chin is placed on his head, and he feels awkward and younger and lost and so vulnerable, and he doesn't know what all of this means but it should be a good thing, right?

And then his friend says, "Thank you for telling me".

The King and The Warlock don't know it, but it is at this moment that a Once and Future King is born.

They cannot know it but they can feel that these words change everything. Suddenly Merlin can breathe and he finds out that he can control his limbs. In a gentle motion with utmost reverence, he wraps his hands to hug Arthur back. Arthur squeezes his hands a little bit tighter in encouragement and support and Merlin for the first time in years believes that maybe there is a tiny possibility that they can still do things right, together.

When he closes his eyes, he sees himself and Arthur from the dream, carefree and happy. Arthur is riding in front of him. He stops and waits until Merlin gets up to him. He winks at him, and they put their horses into a gallop and go with the wind side by side, as they are supposed to be.