Chapter Five: Arguments

Merlin was let out early—just in time to fetch Arthur's dinner. He shuffled, trying to stretch his aching muscles out gently. He knew he had Gwen to thank for it—and thank her he would. Flowers, maybe? He'd seen some nice lavender just outside the citadel, and Gwen loved the color purple.

"Don't cause anymore trouble now, Merlin," the guard said, smiling. The servant grimaced back. Most were heading home for the night, the sun lowering in the sky.

I didn't do anything. "Right," he replied, and the guard marched off. Merlin sighed and made his way back to the physician's chambers; he'd need to clean himself up before he served the prince. People who saw him shied away, noses wrinkling at his stench—not that he blamed them.

Gaius was making some kind of stew for dinner, stirring the pot as it heated over the fire. "Merlin!" he greeted, turning. "What on earth did you do to find yourself in the stocks?"

"Nothing," the servant denied, closing the door behind him. At Gaius's look, he explained, "The great prat's strange mood swings is what got me in the stocks. He hasn't been this inconsistent since he yelled at me for his bathwater being too cold and then too hot in the span of about two seconds."

"Well, better get yourself cleaned up," Gaius said. "Arthur will be expecting you."

"He better be expecting a piece of my goddamn mind," Merlin muttered to the older man's raised eyebrow. "Watch your sleeve, Gaius; you're liable to catch it on fire." His mentor turned to his attention to his robe, which indeed was rather close to the open flame, as Merlin trotted up the stairs to his room.

Scrabbling through his things, Merlin found a clean(ish) shirt and trousers. He removed his soiled clothing, tossing them away to be washed (i.e. magicked clean) later. With a flash of his eyes, the rotten vegetable matter was off his skin and hair, and he pulled on his fresh clothing.

There. Now for Arthur's dinner.


When Merlin opened the door, he was met with the sight of Gwen and Arthur at the table. They whirled at the noise, and both had odd expressions on their faces, as though he'd caught them kissing instead of sitting. With a flourish, he set the tray down forcefully between them and stalked off to pick up the place.

"So, Gwen, how has your day been?" he asked conversationally as he put Arthur's comb away. When Gwen didn't reply, he glanced at her. She was watching him with wide eyes, as though he were a stranger who had delivered the prince's dinner.

"F-fine," she squeaked. "And yours?" She paused, seeming to realize how ridiculous that sounded. On lighter skin, Merlin suspected her face would've been beet red. "I mean, I know that it was terrible. You spent all day in this heat, getting vegetables thrown at you. I didn't mean to… I'm sorry I—"

"It's okay," he interrupted, smiling at little confusedly. Why was she acting so oddly? And Arthur had been silent—the great prat. No, I'm sorry I locked you up all day with such little provocation. No, I'm ready to listen to you now instead of punishing you. Nothing.

Gwen glanced at Arthur's stack of books—probably policies he was investigating. There were a few there, though he couldn't properly make out the one on the bottom. She looked back to him, and Merlin realized both she and the prince were watching him. Eerie.

"Do I have something on my face?" he asked, touching his cheek.

Gwen shook her head silently, her lips upturned into a forced smile. What in the gods' names was wrong with her? And Arthur?

"Only the usual," the prince managed, turning to the food in front of him. He made no move to reach for it or eat it. Gwen continued to look at him, though she glanced away when he met her eyes.

Merlin faced them, putting his hands on his hips. "Okay, what is going on? Did you two accidentally destroy something of mine? Kill a pet I didn't know I had?" He could practically feel Gwen's cheeks heat, though Arthur stared at him defiantly, hand clutched around his fork.

"You don't get to ask us things like that when you refuse to tell us about—about what's wrong with you!" Arthur exclaimed, brandishing the eating utensil. "And lying to me about a sickness in the lower town!"

"I was helping Gaius; you can ask him!" Merlin cried, raising his hands up. Why couldn't Arthur just drop it, like he had so many times before? Why did he choose now—when so much was on the line—to act like a great big nosy prat? Since when had he ever cared about Merlin's personal life?

(The warlock knew this wasn't fair of him; Arthur, after a month or so of knowing him, had helped to defend Ealdor from bandits. The prince had never not cared about Merlin's personal life—at least when there was something important at stake.)

"Arthur, stop shouting," Gwen chided, laying a hand on his arm. He reluctantly lowered the fork. "That doesn't help anyone. Why don't you sit, Merlin, and we can talk about this like rational adults." Her tone was reasonable, but had it been anyone else, Merlin would've walked away. Arthur had thrown him in the stocks, for no reason! He didn't deserve to have Merlin listen to him.

But since it was Gwen, Merlin sat.

"I can't believe you threw me in the stocks," Merlin muttered, crossing his arms. For a moment, he saw a flash of guilt and confusion cross the prince's face, but it was gone when he properly looked.

"You wouldn't tell me what's wrong with you, and then when I asked where you were, you lied," Arthur accused. Merlin's lips tightened. I was gathering information about the Sluagh. I was performing magic. Does that make you happy? I'm the thing you say you hate most in the world.

"There was no sickness in the lower town," Gwen broke in gently. "Why did you say that, Merlin?" Her eyes were earnest and wide, and it made Merlin all the guiltier because he knew he had to lie. He'd been expecting an irritated Arthur, not an honest, understanding Gwen.

Merlin looked down, summoning his most shameful look. It wasn't difficult; he was shameful. He fidgeted with his hands. "I—to tell you the truth, I was at the tavern." If he'd looked up, he would've seen twin expressions of disappointment on his friends' faces. "But that's still no reason to throw me in the stocks!"

"Get out," Arthur said lowly. Merlin's eyes widened, but he made no move. "Get out!" the prince snarled, and the servant rose.

"Merlin, wait—" Gwen tried.

"No—if the great prat doesn't want me here, I won't be here. I wouldn't want to go against his Majesty's wishes." He bowed sarcastically. "With your leave, sire." And he whirled on his heel, striding from the room with the taste of bitterness on his tongue and Gwen calling him to come back in his ear.


Merlin knocked softly on Lancelot's door. When the knight responded, Merlin entered, scowling. He didn't want to bring his bad mood down on his friend, but he honestly couldn't believe Arthur! The man was a complete child.

And there was a deeper fear: Have I truly become so unconvincing? How had Arthur known he was lying when such lies had worked in the past? Was he simply becoming wiser? Or was it something else? He shook the thoughts off; he had bigger issues to deal with right now. Mainly, the army marching on Camelot.

"Hello, Merlin. Haven't seen you all day," Lancelot said. He was in the midst of polishing his helm, the smell of oil thick in the air. As he looked up, he seemed to notice Merlin's expression. "Has something happened?"

"Don't worry about it—Arthur's just being a prat," Merlin muttered, shutting the door behind him and sat in the chair in front of Lancelot's desk.

"So the usual, then?" Lancelot prodded.

"Yeah, something like that." Merlin leaned back. "Thank you for lying to him. I know it's not easy to be—untruthful, to our friends. Your friends." Arthur had been acting so strangely—were they friends anymore? Why had the lying set him off? Merlin's mind swirled with questions, though he knew now wasn't the time to be getting distracted.

"I wasn't really lying—not about the important parts." Lancelot smiled. "And don't be so hard on yourself; you lie for a good reason."

A good reason? But would Arthur really see it as such? Merlin didn't know, couldn't know, but he suspected his friend would be too incensed to look at the situation with a clear head. An angry Arthur was an irrational Arthur.

Merlin huffed. "Sometimes, I don't think Arthur's attitude towards magic will ever change, and I'll be stuck lying to him forever." Morgana had seen to that, if Uther hadn't. Funny how Arthur's family seemed intent on turning him from magic forever, each in their own ways. Something else they shared, he supposed. "And even if it does, and I tell him… He doesn't like being lied to."

"Perhaps," Lancelot said, noncommittally. "But he's a man of reason. Understanding. Compassionate, even." All true, but no one could be all of those things all of the time. Merlin himself was guilty of inconsistency, as were all people.

"Ye gods, Lance, don't tell me you're in love with the man," Merlin groaned. "Singing him praises as if you were preparing to write love poems and serenade him with your words."

Lancelot flushed but answered, "You know my sword doesn't swing that way."

Merlin rubbed his eyes. "Speaking of swords, may I see yours?" When Lancelot regarded him incredulously, the warlock's tired mind registered the words. "Not like that; you're getting as bad as Gwaine. I mean your actual sword. You know, the one you like to kill things with?" Merlin glanced around, and he spotted it, sheathed at the knight's feet.

"Whatever for?" Lancelot asked.

Merlin reached for it, standing to unsheathe the blade. "The Sluagh's skin is tough and difficult to break through with regular steel. Only powerful magic can do it. If I enchant your sword, you'll have no trouble."

Lancelot's brow furrowed. "But—won't that be visible? And what about the rest of the knights—the rest of the army?"

The words ate away at Merlin, but he held himself firm. With the shield, Arthur may not even send them out to fight. Thus reassured, he flipped the sword to examine its length: sturdy, regularly cleaned and honed, without so much as a nick.

"I'm doing all I can. And you know as well as I that you'll be in the thick of it, along with Arthur," Merlin said. He was just one man, one man against everything, it seemed at times. He was so tired he could hardly think straight, and the night was just beginning. "And the enchantment won't show if I carve the right runes in."

"But the other knights…" Lancelot trailed off, regarding Merlin's face closely. "Alright. Please, enchant it. When will you be done?"

"I'll drop it off tomorrow morning," Merlin promised. "Before training." He sheathed the sword and tucked it under one arm. "You won't even know it's there—except it'll be far better at killing things."

"Everything?" Lancelot asked. "Will I need to be more careful in training?" Yes, Lancelot, I'm giving you a special sword so powerful it will slice through flesh like butter. To enchant something to harm normal, living things—rather than corrupted, evil creatures—was not something Merlin could ever see himself doing.

Merlin shook his head. "Not with how I plan to enchant it. It's still a sword, just… better. And I need to figure out how to get something similar to Arthur." Excalibur, he was thinking. Hidden in a rock, deep in the forest. None, as far as he knew, had taken it.

"Can't you just take his blade and enchant it?" Lancelot asked.

"I could, but that would be redundant." He tapped his hand against his thigh. The only question was how to get Arthur to accept a magic sword without him realizing it. Perhaps a gift from some foreign dignitary? It would be easy to make one up…

"Excalibur," the knight realized. "How are you going to get it to him?"

"I'm not sure yet," Merlin admitted, "but I'm sure I'll think of something. Maybe you can help." He didn't think so, but he knew his friend liked being useful. And, well, Merlin didn't want to forget he was there again.

Lancelot's face brightened. "Anything," he said. "Don't wait too long if you think of something, yeah?" He'd thought of a few already, but nothing that Lancelot could be involved in without increasing the risk of exposure.

"I'll try," Merlin said, sighing. "But I'd best be off—the only time I can work on these things is when everyone else is asleep." Unfortunate, having three jobs. Especially when he could no longer use his work as Gaius's assistant as an excuse to hide his more illicit activities. He could already feel the weight of exhaustion clouding his mind. His joints ached from having spent most of the day in the stocks.

"The witching hour," Lancelot joked. This only made Merlin think of Morgana and Camelot's impending doom, but he decided not to burden his friend with his gloom.

"Yeah." Merlin gave him one last tired smile and left.


Enchanting Lancelot's sword didn't take nearly as long as he feared it would. He supposed it was all that practice he'd been doing, staying up late and creating runic configurations. Using a carving spell he'd found, he traced delicate runes—teine for warriors, ohn for protection from evil, duir for strength—into its hilt. He'd unwound the leather grip so he could hide the runes there. He wasn't entirely sure how to bind the hilt back in leather, but he was sure he could figure it out. Probably.

He refused to return to help the prince dress. If the man wanted to yell at him to get out, Merlin would. The insufferable prat deserved to sleep in his uncomfortable day clothes.

After carving the runes, Merlin glanced carefully to the door of his room—certain Gaius would come in any second to see his reference books strewn about the floor, the sword levitating in the air. But there was no one. He'd eaten dinner with the old man, though it had been a quiet, tense affair. Both were worried about Morgana, but Gaius still disagreed with what Merlin planned to do.

The warlock laid his hands on the blade, careful not to nick himself, and poured magic into the runes. They glowed softly, their shapes holding his power easily. He smiled and plucked it from the air, swinging it experimentally.

Perfect. The runes would last at least a year, given the grip's protection. It would keep them from eroding and losing shape. Now, to get this blasted leather back on.

Merlin struggled for half an hour to right the sword, knowing he wouldn't be able to go to any blacksmith to get it repaired (not in the least because it was an odd request by itself). It felt like his first time trying to thread a needle—difficult and frustrating. He tried multiple spells before the sword finally appeared as it had before.

Beaming in satisfaction, Merlin sheathed the blade. Accomplishment surged; it wasn't often he could do something so blatantly magical to help his friends. Most of the time he feared it would lead to his death faster than someone could cry "sorcerer!" He tucked the sword under his bed, but he packed the books into his satchel. It was time to begin the real work; everything up until then had been preparation, the way knights trained for ages before ever seeing real battle.

The warlock glanced out the window: the moon was high in the sky. Most everyone but the guards would be asleep, not that they were a problem. He crept from his room, his magic muffling the creak of the door. Gaius snored in the main room, and Merlin's eyes glowed as used them to see in the darkness.

Despite this advantage, he still managed to knock over a candle, which surely would've woken Gaius had his magic not caught it. By the gods, that was close. Plucking the candle from the air, he left it on the table and hurried from the room.

The rest of his trip went relatively smoothly, though he did stub his toe on one of the low tables in the hall, and he barely muffled his pained wheeze (his boots weren't the most protective in the world, and in fact one of his toes poked through—the very toe he'd stubbed). Walking gingerly, he managed to make the rest of the trip without incident.

There were no longer guards to keep people from finding the dragon or its cavern, which Merlin considered a serious security oversight. Instead, there was an unassuming locked door the guards passed every few minutes that led down the passage that went to the cave. It was an easy feat to place his hand on the door and unlock it, leaving no trace that it had ever been tampered with.

He slipped inside, snagging one of the torches off of the wall to light his way. The cavern seemed much as it had, though Kilgharrah's shackles regarded him silently from the bottom. A flash of guilt wracked him, but he shook it off.

I'll do better this time. I swear it. He held the torch high as he made the long descent to the floor of the cave. Kneeling, Merlin took out the books from his satchel, keeping the torch floating above him with a simple "Flotere." The flames flickered across the pages like they were dancing as he opened to his reference pages.

"Forćeorfe stán eac brád ond gewill," he said, glancing to the page. He'd practiced often enough that his hand and mind were steady in directing the spell to begin carving out sections of the stone.

The first binding rune was Gort, meant to protect homes from magic of ill intent, slightly modified to define "home" as "Camelot" and "magic of ill intent" as magic originating from Flæsc. It had taken much research and experimentation before Merlin had been satisfied with the results.

The next, Uathe, for protection and defense. Sweat trickled down Merlin's forehead and neck as he urged his magic to carve the runes as precisely as possible. It was easy to mess up on something so large, and the farther off the runes were, the less powerful they would be.

Ohn and Eadhadh for a strong shielding, the two largest and most outward runes. In the end, it translated to something like Magic barrier shield protect Camelot from Flæsc. The simpler the overall message was, the easier the runes were to combine.

Carving the massive thing took close to two hours, and near the end Merlin's legs shook and his back and neck ached, his soreness from the stocks aggravated by his standing. He panted raggedly, his magic already beginning the process of empowering such a large rune.

He sat on the hard ground, his eyes flashing. He groaned, his fatigue growing as the crutch of his magic was wrenched from underneath him. A headache began to pound behind his eyes, an incessant knocking, as though sleep was begging to be let in. The warlock struggled until he slumped, eyes closing, magic still flowing.

I hope I won't end up late tomorrow, was his last coherent thought.


"I can't believe you, Arthur Pendragon!" Gwen nearly shouted as the door shut. Arthur winced at the noise. "I can't—I can't believe you! After everything you know he's done—you go and treat him like that! You're not the man I thought you were." She was nearly in tears after registering the hurt and fear in Merlin's eyes. "He's saved your life; he's planning to help save Camelot right now, and this is what you do?"

Arthur put his head in his hands. "You're right. I just—I get so angry when I see him and remember all the lies he's told me. I can't…" He slumped. "That's no excuse. I lost my temper, and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

Gwen understood, to some extent. To realize that the man she'd known for years was a sorcerer, to know he was planning something right under their noses… It was hard to believe. And it hurt her, to know he hadn't trusted her. But even then, she couldn't blame him for it, not the same way Arthur seemed to. It was like blaming a horse that had been brutalized all its life for shying from its master.

A person was more than their circumstances, but they could never escape them, like scars that lingered.

"It's not me you should be apologizing to," Gwen chided. "Especially after throwing him in the stocks. And my job isn't to make sure you're behaving, Arthur. You're not a child."

He'd grown in the time she'd known him, but sometimes the old Arthur would poke through, sharper and more brittle than his new, more self-assured counterpart.

"I know, I know," he said. "I acted terribly, but I can't understand why he lies about—about everything! I mean, was our friendship even real? Was anything real?" The hurt and bewilderment in his voice made her heart ache, but he had to know his doubts weren't true. Sometimes she forgot Merlin had been his first true friend.

"You read the entry as well as I," Gwen said. His tense face relaxed only minutely at the evidence that all he'd built with Merlin over the past few years was authentic. "You know it was real, that he feels warmly toward you. That's why what you've done has hurt him so much."

Arthur frowned. "He didn't seem hurt when he stormed out the door." This coming from the man who was so upset he threw his friend in the stocks, Gwen thought. The man's emotional range wasn't anything to be lauded, and Merlin's was better only by comparison.

"Of course he was hurt. You're his best friend—well, next to me—and you shouted at him. No one likes being shouted at, Arthur, especially when they haven't earned it. And after being thrown in the stocks." She thought for a moment. "Perhaps we should just tell him—"

"No!" Arthur protested. "We don't know the full story yet." Gwen felt they had a decent idea of the story—and it was wrong to go behind his back, especially after she'd seen the hurt on his face from how poorly Arthur had treated him. She didn't want him to look at her like that.

"I feel as though it's more a violation of privacy than anything else. Merlin doesn't deserve this," she said. She'd been ready to do it before, but… She feared losing his friendship. They knew he wasn't going to turn on them like Morgana had—shouldn't that be enough?

"I have to know, Gwen. I have to know before I talk to him." There was a sort of desperation in his voice she hadn't often heard. His eyes bore into hers, blue against brown.

Her lips tightened. It was wrong, but… She knew Merlin was private (and now she understood why). Perhaps this would be her only chance to see as side of him she would never see in person. Didn't he deserve to have people who knew him—wholly and completely? He had Gaius, but having a mentor wasn't the same as having friends.

"Alright. I'll still help you—but not tonight. Tomorrow sometime; I have things to do." Another piece at the forge, not that she'd share that with him. He wouldn't mind the fact that she was blacksmithing, but he might mind that she was struggling financially, and Gwen didn't want his handouts. She could do this herself.

"Thank you, Guinevere. I can't tell you enough how much you mean to me," Arthur said.

Gwen smiled. "And you me. Good night."

"Good night."


Merlin startled awake, cold and in the dark. His torch had gone out and fallen to the ground. I'm lucky I didn't set myself on fire. When he called his magic to summon a light, it flared brightly, more brightly than he'd intended—as though it were eager.

Despite his hours of sleep, he somehow felt more drained than before. But when he surveyed the ground beneath him… The rune glowed to his magical senses—it tasted like herbs and ozone. It was filled to the brim with his magic; he'd been unconsciously feeding it all night. It must've taken hours for me to fill it to capacity. He clambered to his feet, his whole body shaky and sore.

He'd never sustained that much magic before in his life: not for lightning, not for using the power of life and death, not for changing his age. Those magical feats had been over and done with almost instantly (though the age thing had been a bit longer). This had lasted almost a whole night, and it was as though he'd spent the last five or so hours sprinting at full speed. His magic, though… It felt as though he might do it all again without any ill effects, even as his body trembled.

Drained, he gathered his books up slowly and slung the satchel across his back. It seemed as though he were carrying bricks—not books—as he trekked back up to the cave's opening. I hope I haven't overslept by much. This shield better be worth all the trouble.

If it didn't do its job… Merlin wasn't sure what he'd do. He knew he wouldn't be able to idle as Camelot fell to Morgana and her army of Sluagh. But would his other defenses be enough if this one fell? Reaching the top, he snuck back out of the passage, unlocking and re-locking the door on his way.

He sighed; the sunlight streaming through the window was watery but new. It hadn't been up for long. Poking his head out, he noticed clouds covered the sky—the air was cooler than it had been all week. This would've been good weather yesterday, Merlin thought crossly. His skin was tender from its time in the sun, not that he would tan. No matter how much time he spent outside, his skin stayed a stubborn, pale white.

He smelled of sweat and dirt, so he popped into the physician chambers to dress and wash up. Gaius was sitting at the table, regarding him with a raised eyebrow. Merlin stood guiltily in the doorway, his eyes wide. He'd expected the older man to be on his rounds by now.

"I understand that you aren't a child, Merlin, but I would rather this not become a regular occurrence. I fear my old heart won't be able to take another instance in which I look into your room and find it entirely deserted. This, I'm sure you know, is what took place this very morn." He calmly ate a bite of porridge as his ward continued to stand there, blinking. "Well, come in, why don't you—instead of standing there like a fool."

Merlin, sufficiently chastised, slipped in and shut the door behind him. "You know I've had things I've had to do—things that can only be done at night."

"Reckless things, you mean, that might get you killed," Gaius said, disapproval clear in his tone. "And normally you study in your room—but this morning you weren't there. Not to mention, you look like you got into a fight with the floor and lost."

The warlock scrubbed his face, trying to rouse some wakefulness. "That's not far off, actually—I spent the night in the dragon's cavern. The shield is done; I'll just have to activate it when the army arrives."

Gaius's eyebrow crept higher. "Truly? You accomplished such a feat in a week?"

Merlin shifted uncomfortably, his boot grinding into the floor. "It seems functional. But I do really need to change and wash—if I serve Arthur like this, he'd have questions." And he might not believe my answers, Merlin thought.

"Yes, yes—but take a bit of bread on your way out," Gaius told him, gesturing to the warm bread next to the fire. Merlin smiled as he climbed into his room. He changed and washed quickly. Oh, right. The sword. He'd drop it off as he went to Arthur's chambers. He tucked his books under his floorboard and took Lancelot's sword.

"And what are you going to do with that?" Gaius asked when he saw the blade.

Merlin grabbed a half of loaf and gestured over his shoulder with it. "Return it to Lancelot," he replied.

"And why do you have Lancelot's sword in the first place?" Gaius called as the warlock left the room. Merlin pretended he hadn't heard. His mentor muttered something about youth and lack of sense as the servant made his way to Lancelot's chambers.

Upon arriving, Lancelot opened the door as Merlin raised his hand to knock. Startled, Merlin froze, but the knight grinned. "Merlin!" he said. "Just the man I was looking for. Is it finished?"

The warlock glanced down the hall but saw no one. Still, he kept his voice low. "The enchantment is done." He gave the sword to the knight. "And I noticed it needed sharpening, so I did that, too." The knight's smile seemed to grow bigger, as though it was threatening to swallow his face. Not a pleasant thought.

"Thank you, Merlin." Lancelot clapped the warlock on the shoulder, belting on his blade. "Is Arthur waiting? Training is meant to begin in an hour."

"An hour?" Merlin repeated, eyes widening. The man would have his head. He hurried down to the kitchens, piling on sausages, eggs, and fruit. He grabbed a carafe of wine he would water down.

Then, he climbed the stairs as quickly as he could, almost tripping once and nearly running into three people, all of whom looked at him sympathetically. The word of his time in the stocks must've spread.

Though angry with the prince, Merlin refused to do something as petty as knock—the servant had made it known very early on that knocking for someone as irritating as Arthur would never happen. It had become almost a game to them; could Arthur convince Merlin to knock?

He shut the door behind him using his hip and placed the food on the table. He weakened the wine with a pitcher of water left over from last night and threw open the curtains, faint sunlight streaming into the room.

Should I even "rise and shine" him today? Merlin wondered. He felt the prince didn't deserve Merlin's normal treatment, not after how he'd hurt the servant. He drew the curtains around the bed, angling his head down at the sleeping prince. "My lord, it's time to wake up." Arthur hated it when Merlin over-used his proper titles. The servant wasn't really sure why; he also complained when Merlin didn't address him respectfully.

"Hrrggg," the prince muttered, and Merlin debated tossing the rest of the water on his stupid face.

"Get up, Arthur," he said. "Or else you'll be late—which is something of a sin, apparently. Perhaps you should lock yourself up in the stocks." This last part was said somewhat bitterly, but if Arthur noticed, he didn't let on.

"What the hell are you on about?" the prince grumbled, sitting up reluctantly. He froze upon seeing Merlin there—surprise, maybe, that he was on time. Irritation overcame his face before it shut down, like a snuffed candle.

"Nothing, sire," the servant said, bowing low. "Your breakfast awaits, my lord. It grows cold in your absence."

The annoyance came back to Arthur's expression as he swung out of bed, gesturing for Merlin to get his slippers. This Merlin did with mock haste, depositing them in front of the great prat's feet with a flourish.

"I hope you find them soft and comfortable, sire," he said. I hope you trip and fall on your ass, he added in his head.

Arthur squinted at him before he stood, moving to the table. He continued to peek at Merlin from the corner of his eye as he began eating. The servant was reminded of the day prior, where he and Gwen hadn't been able to keep their eyes off him.

What the hell is going on? But now wasn't the time to figure it out. He might have finished the shield, but his work wasn't yet over. Puttering slowly about the room, he forced down his exhaustion, trying to exude his normal peppiness—like some under-trained, overexcited puppy, Arthur often said.

I'm not a dog for your entertainment, Merlin thought sourly.

The servant did his usual chores: making the bed, airing the room, changing the chamber pot, dusting, sweeping, arranging anything that was out of place. He could feel the prince's gaze on his back all the while, as though something unseen clung to him.

The prince hardly said two words to him when Merlin helped him into his clothes and armor, simply holding out his arms to be dressed. The servant thought about doing something deliberately wrong just to embarrass him, but the risk that he'd be thrown into the stocks again was too high.

"—deaf as well as dumb?" Arthur snapped. Merlin glanced up; the prince was holding out his hand expectantly. "My sword?" he prompted.

"Of course, my lord," the servant said smoothly, reaching round to fetch it. Should bloody well let you keep this one, too. No mystical sword for you—just plain steel. See if I care when you die. He presented it to his master, dipping his head.

"I'm itching to smack you," Arthur murmured. "Just so you know." He snatched the sword and buckled it to his belt.

"I'm at my lordship's beck and call," Merlin replied demurely. "If my prince deems me worthy of smacking with his own hand, it would be an honor to receive."

"Don't you think you're laying it on a bit thick, Merlin?" Arthur demanded.

"My devotion to thee, my lord, cannot be denied or restrained. If thou were to command that I must fall upon a blade to please you, I would do so unhesitatingly and without restraint," Merlin answered, miming being stabbed. This was the most fun he'd had in days, and it felt like a mild revenge for what Arthur had done to him.

"Alright! Stop—I… regret throwing you in the stocks. And—" The prince paused, as though struggling to choke out the words. "Throwing you out of my chambers. You did not deserve such treatment."

A piss-poor apology if Merlin had ever heard one. Regret? How about—hey, sorry, one of the only friends I have, if I treated you badly these past few days. Would you like some time off? But only the Arthur in his daydreams was so kind.

"I deserve whatever treatment my lord judges to be fair and honorable," Merlin said, just to see the look of horror on his face. The prince opened his mouth, but the servant continued. "And if 'fair' and 'honorable' include tossing his hard-working servant into the stocks, mayhaps it's time I find a new lord."

Arthur's face grew pinched. "You wouldn't dare," he said. The words sounded like a jest, but his tone was off, as awkward as his expression. As though he'd lost the art of bantering with Merlin in the day his servant had been in the stocks.

Ridiculous man can't last a full twenty-four hours without me.

"This regent business has made you all to serious, Arthur," Merlin answered, rolling his eyes. "And you really are going to be late if you dally any longer."

"I'm not the one dallying," the prince growled, but he marched out of his chambers nonetheless, Merlin trailing after.

The training grounds were filled with knights already, who stood to attention as the prince arrived. Arthur nodded his approval, and Merlin wandered off to make sure everything was in order. He didn't really understand why he had to do the work of about ten servants, but at least the prince wasn't irrationally angry with him anymore.

Not that this behavior was any less strange. Even as he spoke to the knights, Arthur continued to peer at him from the corner of his eye. He trailed off a couple times, watching as Merlin sharpened a sword. Why is he acting like such a loon? Perhaps it was some kind of lingering concussion. The gods knew he'd had enough to kill any normal man—one with a thinner skull and smaller head, anyway.

The servant welcomed these thoughts, as this dilemma of Arthur kept them from turning darker, even as the looming threat of Morgana never really left. Though he was certain he wouldn't be able to fix whatever crisis Arthur was going through, it was a welcome distraction, if only briefly.

Soon, Merlin found himself drifting forward, sleep tugging seductively on his eyes. Perhaps just a short nap—they'll never know…

"Not falling asleep there, are you Merlin?" a voice asked. The servant startled awake, the blade slipping from his grasp and almost impaling his foot. He looked up to see Gwaine, watching the exchange with equal parts confusion, concern, and amusement.

"Er, no," Merlin denied groggily. He looked behind Gwaine: most everyone else was sparring, probably enjoying how cool it was compared with yesterday. At least Arthur not baking in his armor meant he would be less grumpy.

"Don't hurt yourself there, mate," the knight said. "I know sleepiness and pointy objects don't mix well from experience."

The servant delicately slid the sword away from his body, leaving it in the grass. "I'll keep that in mind," he said.

Gwaine side-eyed him, quirking his eyebrow. "Do you know what you've done to get the princess's petticoat in a twist?" he asked. "He keeps looking over. Didn't even come to tell you off for sleeping on the job."

"I wasn't sleeping!" Merlin denied again. "I was just… resting my eyes. It's very different from sleeping by a large margin. And no, I don't know what's wrong with him."

"Hm." Gwaine twirled his sword idly. "You haven't started courting anyone, have you?"

Bewildered, Merlin tilted his head. The hell does he think he's playing at? Why was it that whenever he was acting "oddly," everyone assumed he had a partner? Or, apparently, when Arthur was acting oddly. "Definitely not. I think I would've noticed if I had. Why are you asking?"

"Never you mind," Gwaine said. Um, I think I do mind. "He didn't find out you spit in his food, did he?"

"I don't spit in his food, Gwaine." Merlin stood, brushing grass from his trousers. He did sometimes feed the prince food that had fallen on the floor, but what Arthur didn't know probably wouldn't kill him.

"Good—best to deny it even to those that know, eh?" Gwaine winked, clapping the servant on the shoulder. Merlin grinned. "Anyway, just wanted to make sure everything was good between you two."

The unsaid, Or we'll have words, warmed Merlin from the inside-out, like he'd had a mug of steaming cider. He was tempted to tell the knight about the stocks, but he didn't need to be causing any trouble for his friend. "You know Arthur." He shrugged. "Bit of a prat, but mostly forgivable."

"It's that 'mostly' part you have to watch out for, my friend," Gwaine said. "He's better than these nobles—swords stuck up their asses, the lot of them—but that doesn't mean he's above making mistakes." Didn't Merlin know it.

"He hasn't done anything," Merlin lied. "But I appreciate it. I don't know why he's acting so strangely."

"Good," Gwaine said, punching his arm lightly. "I best get back before the princess makes me work extra. You be sure to come to me if that changes, alright mate?"

"Of course," Merlin lied again. He wouldn't put Gwaine in the middle of him and Arthur if he could help it. In fact, he would do his best to keep the knight out of as much danger as possible. He itched to ask for the man's sword, just to enchant it. To make sure this man—who called Merlin friend—would stay alive in this upcoming fight.

I won't let you die, my friend. I won't let anyone else die—not if I can help it. Merlin watched Gwaine go back into training, brows furrowed, mouth a hard line.


To Prince Arthur Pendragon… Merlin frowned, the feathery end of the quill touching his nose. It didn't seem flowery enough. Whenever he read Arthur's letters from other nobles, the salutation seemed to drag on forever as they did their best to list all of the prince's titles.

To Crown Prince Arthur Pendragon, Current Regent of Camelot… That was better. Upon your taking up of this great burden… No. That sounded awkward. Since your uplift in station to Regent of Camelot… That wasn't right either. A noble would probably have more tact than to imply Uther's infirmity was a positive thing, even indirectly.

Merlin rubbed his eyes. Was he cursed to never get a full night's rest? How was he going to be of any use against Morgana if he couldn't even write a damn letter? I am saddened to hear the news of your Regency—though of course I know you to be a great Crown Prince, and I am certain you will make an equal Regent to the Citizens of Camelot. There, that seemed to flow. No, I am saddened for King Uther, who has been an excellent Ruler over the Great Kingdom of Camelot for twenty years now. I pray for his swift recovery. And that seemed flowery enough. And the capitalization was a nice touch, Merlin thought. Nobles thought everything was important, and thus they capitalized everything. Made it a pain to read.

However, I thought such an important event could not go unnoticed. Although I acknowledge that this is not a celebratory time, I ask that you accept the gift I have included nonetheless. I regret that I could not see you in person, my Prince—the line made Merlin want to barf—but pressing matters of estate have made this impossible.

My best blacksmith forged this sword, many years ago. Not entirely true, but Merlin didn't mind elevating Tom in this way. The man hadn't deserved what he'd gotten. I myself dared not touch it for its majesty; I have known from the very beginning that it was made for Royalty. Again, made for Arthur, but whatever.

With the pressing news of your Regency—and Morgana to the border—I could not in good conscious keep it for myself. God has made it clear that He wishes for you to have it, and I am but His humble servant. Many of the nobility had converted, something Uther had no issue with. To declare oneself a pagan was to declare oneself a sorcerer. The Triple Goddess was only one of many, after all (though She championed magic).

And so I have shipped it to you, my Lord, with the hope that it will serve you well. Please accept my apologies that I could not be there in person. I wish you and his Highness nothing but the best of health.

Your Loyal Servant,

Lord Bodrick

It would need some work, but Merlin would have to wait, anyway. He had to account for the time it would've taken had this all been real, which would've been at least two weeks. Barely enough time to get it to Arthur, but Merlin would do what he could.

Not to mention, he needed to find some sort of courtier. He might be able to pull it off himself, if he had a disguise… But he really only had the old-man disguise, and he didn't want to spend any extra time and energy learning new spells. Perhaps I can call in a friend…

Regardless, Excalibur would be in Arthur's hands when the Sluagh came. The largest issue, aside from finding a fake courtier, was Arthur meeting Bodrick in person. Fortunately, the elderly lord was known for his poor memory—and slow decent in senility. Merlin felt bad using him so, but Bodrick was loyal. Surely he'd want his prince to survive the army marching on Camelot.

Now all that was left was to retrieve the sword, finalize the letter, find a fake courtier, figure out how to make it look authentic… Merlin sighed, looking at his bed. A little less than three weeks left—it could wait. Standing from the floor, he stretched his stiff muscles.

As he tucked the draft of the letter under his floorboard, he glanced around. Where had his journal gone? It had his notes on the Sluagh—among other, highly sensitive information. Down on his knees, he peered inside his hidey-hole thouroughly. Not there.

He ran a hand through his hair and peeked under his bed. Nothing but cobwebs and dust (ye gods, he needed to clean). Beneath his blanket? No. He flung the offending cloth aside, combing his room from top to bottom. It wasn't in his cupboards or revealed when he picked his clothing up from the floor.

Where is it? Panic made his fingers tingle and his heart race, as though he'd overdosed on an energy-restoring draught. He began looking in increasingly unlikely places, like in the drawers of his rickety nightstand or underneath it, though it was too high to conceal the diary. Where is it? He even flipped his mattress up, revealing nothing.

"Calm down," he told himself aloud. His room somehow looked messier than it had before. I probably left it in the goblin room or in the dragon's cave. He would have to check tomorrow night.

He did his best to push these things from his mind as he changed into his nightclothes and crawled into bed, snuffing the candles with a flash of his eyes. Forcing himself to breathe deeply, he pointedly didn't think about all of the information in the diary: information that could get him executed, banished, tortured.

No. He didn't think about it.


The next day, Gwen snuck into Arthur's chambers during the evening. She'd seen the light in Merlin's window; he'd gone home for the night. A few months ago, she might've cared for the talk this would generate, but now she hardly paid attention to who saw her (though she did do her best not to be seen). Most knew that Arthur had feelings for her—and many nobles assumed she was his mistress, a passing infatuation. She did her best not to care, for she wasn't his mistress, and she wasn't a passing infatuation.

"Ah, Guinevere," he greeted, looking up from the table, where he seemed again to be working on paperwork. Seeing her gaze, he explained, "Estimates for the number of soldiers we might raise in three weeks' time. And dispatches for more knights, to see if they might be able to catch a better wind of Morgana's plans."

"Has Gaius found anything on the Sluagh?" Gwen asked, sliding into the seat next to him. She tried to ignore their closeness.

"Yes, though I can't be sure the information comes from him and not Merlin," Arthur said, rubbing his temple. "They're from another world, apparently. Like the Faeland, only worse. He's written me a full report—and he gave one verbally, so I might ask questions. Apparently they are resistant to steel and most normal weapons, as well as weak and mediocre magicks. Only powerful magic is said to be able to defeat them."

Gwen knew normally he might speak to Merlin about this, not her. Despite their similarity in class, Merlin was better than her at thinking strategically (though, now that she was thinking about it, she wondered if it came from simple practice). "Did Merlin seem confident in the diary when he wrote of a plan?"

"Yes, but it's Merlin," Arthur said, frustrated. His hand clenched. "Even assuming he hasn't been lying to me about everything—" Gwen had to stop herself from interrupting, though she frowned at his words—"I have no baseline for his abilities."

"Then wouldn't it be better for you to tell him?" she asked gently. "You could simply… ask. You would be able to coordinate your attacks."

"Gwen, I understand that you still—put your faith in him. But I can't. He has lied to me, his prince, many times over." He held up his hand to forestall her protests. "I suppose I can understand why, and I appreciate what he's done, but… I can't depend on him to tell me the whole truth. Having written his deepest secret in here, however…" He held up the diary. "He has lied to me, but I know he has not lied in this."

"I think the Merlin we know is the same as the one in there," Gwen said, gesturing to the book. "He wouldn't lie to us if he didn't have to. It's clear—even through the risk in writing it—that he wants to tell the truth. His fear is simply greater than his faith." His faith in them, his faith in Arthur. His faith (or lack thereof) in Uther. Not that she could blame him for that last one.

"I have to know," Arthur said. "I have to know the truth before I can speak with him about this." His eyes shone brightly even in the candlelight, alight with determination and fervor.

"What? As some kind of test?" Gwen demanded. This was already a type of betrayal—but to test him? That seemed worse. "To see if he tells you the truth?"

"Yes," he admitted, though he bore no trace of regret or remorse. His face was colder than his father's. "I will test him once I know the truth of what he's done."

Gwen knew Merlin would pass. She knew the goodness in his heart (or hoped she did), still bright and burning even after all the hatred and terror he'd experienced. She sighed. "Fine. Shall we start?"

Arthur nodded, opening the book. "This is where I was—you can go back and read the other entries later, if you like." A bit high-handed, but Gwen could understand his eagerness to press forward.

"Alright. Shall you read, or shall I?" she asked, hesitant to volunteer. Her reading wouldn't be up to par with his, and she was surprised he hadn't asked if she could read. Perhaps he had simply assumed, which was both irritating and flattering.

"I can," Arthur said, already leaning over the book. He cleared his throat before beginning:

I fear I have made a mistake—though perhaps I have avoided a greater one. Uther is a tyrant, one who has hunted my kind for years, forcing me into hiding for fear of my life. And yet… I have saved him before. It tears at me, but I don't do it for him. Arthur is not yet ready to become king, and beyond that… It would hurt him to lose his remaining parent.

"What do you think he's talking about? 'Saved him before'?" Gwen asked. Arthur glanced at her, face tightening.

"Edwin Murien—the physician who claimed he could 'cure all ills'—he enchanted my father to make him sick. Merlin broke the enchantment, basically," he replied. Gwen knew the warlock had obviously helped Camelot, but to save the king who persecuted his kind? Then again—he'd admitted to his reasons. It seemed Arthur was at the forefront of his mind in these encounters.

Gwen's father—Tom—was caught consorting with a sorcerer, Tauren. He did so unknowingly, but it mattered not to Uther. The blacksmith managed to escape the cells only to be slaughtered by the guards. Gwen grieves mightily, and my heart aches for her.

Arthur read on quickly, though this didn't stop the twinge of loss and longing in Gwen's heart. It was better now that she had her brother, but she wished desperately that Uther hadn't killed her father (perhaps indirectly, but it had still been his fault).

Morgana was beside herself—and when she brought it up with the king, he locked her up for impertinence. Tauren went back to Gwen's house and threatened her, wanting what Tom had been working on (a stone to turn lead to gold). He planned to use the gold to bribe the guards and kill the king.

Morgana went to deliver the stone to Tauren, and she asked to be let in on the scheme. I didn't know what to do—allow the tyrant to die, or save Arthur's father? I asked Gwen if she would kill Uther if she had the chance. She said no—and if she, whose own father was killed by him—can let go of her anger enough to say such things… I must be as good as her.

Arthur stopped. "She really… even then…" Gwen knew his mind must have been whirling. Hers was no different; the room seemed to be spinning. She'd been too caught up in her own grief to notice the strangeness of Merlin's question (she barely remembered now), or Morgana's vicious anger.

"She's always been vengeful," Gwen said. "And clearly Merlin stopped it. I don't think she was against Camelot—not yet, anyway. Just Uther." This seemed to bring no comfort to Arthur, who stared blankly at the page.

I did my best to stop Tauren, but it was Morgana herself who dealt the killing blow to the sorcerer. I suppose she had a change of heart—or perhaps she was playing him all along (though this I doubt; she seemed sincere enough).

Regardless, I have let the tyrant live. For good or for ill.

Gwen let out a sigh of relief, though she'd known the king hadn't died at Morgana's hand. "See? She hadn't turned. She was still good, then—still on the side of Camelot."

"Perhaps," Arthur said. "But if she couldn't see the harm killing the king would do to the people… Merlin seemed to be less conflicted, though he insists on calling my father a tyrant."

Gwen didn't point that was exactly what Uther was: a tyrant who hunted down anyone he perceived to be in his way. She knew Arthur had to work this out for himself; she couldn't think for him. He needed to reconcile the contradicting ideas that a man who could love him as a parent could also hate—hate so whole-heartedly as to erase hundreds, if not thousands, of lives.

"Merlin's a good man," she said eventually.

"It was you who convinced him," Arthur replied, searching her eyes. The blue, she noticed, was like a lake—deceptively shallow, hidden depths beneath. "It appears you've helped many confront difficult decisions. Your heart has always helped steer us in the right direction."

Her cheeks warmed at the blatant praise, and she hoped her darker skin and the dimness of the light would conceal it. "He would've come to that conclusion anyway—and the same goes for anything I've helped you with. I only help you reach it faster, perhaps."

He grunted disbelievingly, but didn't try to convince her further. Instead, he began the next entry.

This has been a tiring week, reader. Arthur was bitten by a questing beast—something with the body of a leopard, feet of a hart, and head of a snake. And a very venomous snake at that; there is no cure for its bite. It spelled Arthur's death.

"He has a very blunt way of putting these things, sometimes," Arthur remarked, pursing his lips. Gwen wanted to laugh, though she supposed it might be disconcerting to know for certain how many times he'd been close to death.

And so, I went to the dragon for aid. He's been helpful in giving me hints in the past—his advice is how I knew about defeating the afnac. When I asked him, he said that I must go the Isle of the Blessed. There, the power of life and death might be used to save Arthur—someone else dies so that he may live.

"The dragon?" Gwen asked. "What's he talking about?" Or, well, writing about, but that didn't sound quite right.

"The dragon beneath Camelot—apparently he began speaking to it, his first week here. He went to it for advice periodically," Arthur replied. He rubbed his face, as though tired.

Gwen blinked. "He… spoke to it? Is this the same dragon that attacked Camelot?" And if it was… What did that mean? She couldn't wrap her head around it. Had the dragon's escape really been a release? Had Merlin been naïve enough to do that? Or someone else?

"Unless there's another dragon I don't know about running around, yes," Arthur said. "My father believes the one I killed was the last." He grimaced before continuing.

And having tried every other avenue, I went. The prince is a prat, but I know he will be a better king than Uther; already he is more just and caring. And beyond that, he's my friend. I couldn't simply let him die, not after everything that's happened.

At the Isle, I encountered Nimueh. She is—or was—apparently a High Priestess, which meant she could wield life and death. I told her that I wanted to trade my life for Arthur's—I would die in his place. She agreed, and gave me water to give to Arthur to heal him.

Arthur stopped, his eyes widening. "I can't believe that idiot!" he muttered. Gwen could, though she never would've suspected the magic aspect of it before. Merlin was one of the most self-sacrificing people she knew, especially when it came to Arthur.

"You two had already grown close," Gwen said. "It makes sense that he wanted to save you."

"He shouldn't have done it. Using magic to save my life by trading his own—it sounds dark, Gwen. Something that shouldn't be touched. No one should wield that sort of power." This, she agreed with. The idea of someone being able to choose who lived and who died… It smacked of corruption, of absolute power.

"It's not as if Merlin was using it himself—or using it to harm Camelot. He wanted to save you," Gwen pointed out. "That's noble, even considering the potential abuse for this type of magic."

"I suppose. But he went to Nimueh to do it." At her confusion, he continued, "She's the one who put the afnac in the water and poisoned Merlin."

Wow. Gwen really did need to read what she'd missed. Just how many things had Merlin been involved in? "I think that just shows how desperate he was to help you," she said. "He wouldn't have gone to her unless he was convinced you would really die."

Arthur frowned but didn't contradict her.

The water did as she said, but I didn't die. My mother came, deathly ill, the taint of magic upon her, and I knew that Nimueh had chosen not to take my life but my mother's.

I confronted the dragon. He knew Nimueh wouldn't have traded my life, and he didn't deny this. And for his betrayal, I vowed that he would never see the light of day again. He roared at me in anger, and used his fire against me. I blocked it with a shield, and left.

"But why wouldn't she?" Gwen leaned forward to read over the words. "Why did she decide to take the life of Hunith?" Arthur frowned, tapping the page.

"Perhaps she couldn't control the magic—or maybe she simply wanted Merlin to suffer for his part in stopping her earlier plans. But somehow the dragon knew that she wouldn't take his life. Maybe it knew her, from before?"

"Maybe," she said. Gwen was relieved, at least, that this made it seem more unlikely that Merlin had been the one to release the dragon. She didn't know what she would do if that had been the case. Likely as not, some crazy sorcerer had—or it had simply escaped.

I set off again for the Isle, intent on forcing Nimueh to take my life and spare my mother's. Except Gaius had gone ahead of me, trying to sacrifice his life for mine. When I arrived, he was insensible on the ground, Nimueh standing over him.

Rage rose in me, rage like I have rarely known. She hadn't honored our bargain, first trying to take my mother and then Gaius, the only father I have ever known. We fought there, on that sacred Isle, and she scorched me with flame. I won in the end, and, so desperate to save Gaius, something tugged within me to make the trade.

And so I did: I traded Nimueh for Gaius, and my mentor was suddenly alive, there in my arms. My mother is recovered, and though my chest pains me, I am happier to serve Arthur than I ever have been before.

"And that's the end," Arthur said as Gwen looked over his shoulder at the words. She couldn't believe it—Merlin, their sweet Merlin, had used this power? She supposed he had used it to save Gaius, but…

He sounded like a powerful sorcerer. Somehow, she'd been picturing someone with enough magical power to help out when needed, not someone with enough magical power to control life and death. It sent a shiver down her spine, but he was a better candidate for wielding it than most anyone else she knew. She could tell Arthur felt the same; he'd gone pale.

"All that power…" he murmured.

"And he used it to save you—and his mother, and Gaius," Gwen assured. "He's a good man."

"Even good men can be corrupted," Arthur said, voice troubled. "How am I to know that he will never abuse this power for his personal gain—against Camelot? How can I check something like that?"

Gwen wanted to argue back that the same could be said for his power; royalty was nearly as unchecked as magic, and nobles weren't exactly hunted down and killed. She knew this would only make him defensive, though, no matter the logic of it. "Trust, Arthur," she finally said. "His personal gain is Camelot's gain. He has only your interests—and your people's interests—at heart. You can see that here."

"Nothing has contradicted that, but I fear it's only a matter of time. That much power, all of it hiding in the shadows… It's bound to rot and fester," he said. "Like Morgana's. She was one of the best people I knew, and now—" He didn't finish, the pain fresh on his face. He smoothed the page in front of him as if to avoid crumpling it—a controlled, jerky motion.

"Merlin is not Morgana," Gwen said firmly. "The only thing they share is magic, and it's clear that Merlin's relationship with his is far different. He's had it since he was born; don't you think he would've gone bad long before now?" The doubt in his face increased, but he didn't look entirely convinced.

"I can't put the fate of my kingdom into what I think; I must know," he said. "For certain." She could understand his perspective: his entire life had been spent on certainty, knowledge, and learning—a far different one than hers. But she wished he would have more faith in their friend.

"Isn't that what we're doing?" Gwen gestured to the diary, and Arthur sighed.

"I suppose. Let's continue."

I can't believe him! After everything we've done—everything I've done—the great prat still refuses to take my word over a complete stranger's, even when that stranger is so shady he could block out the bloody sun!

"This is more like the ones I read before," Arthur muttered. "He rants about me constantly—even though he's the one who's been lying since we met!"

"You did treat him rather poorly in the beginning," Gwen said, trying to be delicate. "Rather like you treated him yesterday." A low blow, perhaps, but nothing less than he deserved. Merlin shouldn't have been thrown into the stocks; she hadn't had to read his journal to know that.

I realize I'm perhaps not being very clear. It starts with a tomb beneath the castle—recently discovered—that housed the powerful sorcerer Cornelius Sigan. He was known as the most powerful sorcerer to have every lived, capable of making blood rain from the sky.

"Oh," Gwen said. "I remember that. The gargoyles came to life, didn't they?"

Arthur grimaced, squirming in his seat. "Among other things, yes." She wondered what that meant. Just how poorly had he treated Merlin for the servant to have been so upset with him?

Arthur, his knights, myself, and a few others went hunting (because Arthur can never leave innocent wildlife alone—the castle's stores aren't even low). I used my magic to throw a spear at the boar, which was about to kill the blasted prince. And this Cedric fellow—a man who I had never met before—takes the credit! Everything went down hill from there: I somehow passed out in the stables, I was doing everything wrong, and Arthur took this Cedric fellow into his employ.

"You fired him?" Gwen gasped. "I can't believe you!"

"Well, it's not like I knew it was Merlin who'd saved my life!" Arthur defended. "And the man was acting like a lunatic! He fell asleep in the stables, he accused Cedric of being possessed. I thought he was hallucinating from lack of sleep! So I told him to take a few days off—temporarily."

"And hired a man you hardly knew?" Gwen cried.

"That's what happened with Merlin! I thought it was an apt reward for his service," Arthur replied. And that was a fair point, she supposed, but it must've hurt Merlin for his best friend to believe someone else over him.

Well, that night, someone (Cedric) broke into the tomb, looking for riches, and managed to release the soul of Sigan. It possessed him. When I tried to tell Arthur about it, the prince laughed me off! I should think after Valiant, and the fact that I saved his worthless life when we first met merits me a little more credibility.

"He warned you of Valiant?" Gwen asked. She had a dim recollection of a knight who'd been using some kind of enchanted shield to cheat in one of the tournaments, though it had happened years ago.

"Yes." Arthur frowned, but she could see the guilt in his eye.

Anyway, Sigan woke the gargoyles and bade them to attack the citadel. Being made of stone meant the knights' swords were of little use. I did my best to find a solution to the issue, but neither Gaius nor his books held the answers. In the end, I was forced to return to Kilgharrah.

He was sly in manner; he bargained for my help, as I suspected he would. I have vowed to free him—eventually—for his aid. I see fire in his eyes, a fire that burns so hot I fear it will destroy everything. He gave me a spell to trap Sigan back whence he came—a crystalline jewel.

Arthur and Gwen looked at each other, and Gwen covered her mouth with one hand. "You don't think he…" She trailed off. She couldn't finish. Had Merlin released the dragon on Camelot? But then, what else could he have done? He couldn't have very well let Sigan take over; that wouldn't have been any better.

"He better not have," the prince said. His face could've passed for one of the gargoyle's outside his window. His brows hung low over dark eyes. "I won't forgive him if he was the one that released that damned beast."

"What else was he to do?" Gwen cried. "Sigan would've destroyed the city just as easily as the dragon did." Perhaps faster, she added silently. She shuddered to think of how much more of a tyrant he would've been compared to Uther.

"It wasn't his choice to make!" Arthur trembled. "He had no right to make any of these choices about Camelot."

"There was no one else to make them! Should he have stood back and allowed his home to be destroyed?" Gwen demanded. Arthur's feelings of hurt and anger were obscuring the logic of the situation. "Don't be ridiculous, Arthur. He did the best he could. You should be thanking him for getting rid of Sigan, not agonizing over what he might've done."

"We'll find out later whether he did the best he could," Arthur said.

I confronted Sigan in the courtyard and defeated him. Arthur didn't even properly apologize, but I suppose keeping me on is good enough, coming from him.

"And you didn't apologize?" Gwen asked. "It's no wonder he starts off half his entries with rants about you, then." Perhaps her words were harsh, but they were no harsher than how Arthur had treated his friend. Didn't he understand the power of his station? Didn't he understand that Merlin didn't have that same power? Though he was far from helpless—and Gwen wouldn't stand being called helpless either—he didn't control an entire kingdom like Arthur did.

"I told you: his claims were insane. I wasn't trying to anger him, but I couldn't just let him go around accusing people of being possessed!"

"Even when he's right?" Arthur stayed silent after that, and Gwen knew her point was too logical, too irrefutable, for him to dismiss. Like corruption uncovered, his honor wouldn't allow him to ignore it. "You can't just pick and choose what you believe when it comes to him," she said. "You can't only listen to him when he agrees with you—"

"I don't!" Arthur protested. "Of course I've listened to him, even when I think he's wrong. And oftentimes he has turned out to be right—"

"No, listen to me. You may not mean to do it, Arthur, but a friendship must go two ways. You can't ignore him when it suits you, or throw him in the stocks when he hasn't done anything." And, though this was all from Merlin's perspective, it seemed as though their friendship was perhaps more one-sided than she'd thought.

"He's lied to me! My first—and for a while, only—friend has lied to me! Don't tell me he's done nothing!" His chest heaved, and his arms shook from where he'd slammed his hands into the table. Gwen sat in silence, simply looking at him. Had she gone too far in what she'd said? Or was he overreacting? He's clearly hurt, she thought as he withdrew his hands from the table. When he spoke again, his tone was more subdued. "It's getting late. Why don't you go home? We can resume this tomorrow."

Gwen nodded hesitantly, standing. She couldn't leave with all that awkwardness between them. "Alright. I—I'm sorry. I can understand why Merlin did what he did, but he hurt you regardless. I shouldn't have said what I said."

Arthur smiled up at her tiredly, and she knew he didn't hold a grudge against her. Theirs had been a simple argument, not a friendship-shattering fight.

"I'm sorry too," he said. "For shouting. Good night, Gwen."

"Good night," she replied, and left.


AN: There will be more focus on the reading in later chapters. Sorry no Arthur POV this time, just Gwen and Merlin (there will be some Arthur next chapter). Thanks for the reviews/favorites/follows; they mean a lot to me! Questions: Are you liking Merlin's and Gwen's POVs? What did you think of Arthur and Gwen's conversation over the entries? Stay safe out there :)