"Was I a monster from the start?

How did I end up with this frozen heart?

Bringing destruction to the stage,

Caught in a war that I never meant to wage."

- Monster, Caissie Levy

Merlin had to get out.

He didn't really have very much choice in it anymore—night had fallen, really fallen, and the sky had gone dark and the moon had come out and the stars had come out and he had to get out of here, he had to get out of here.

If he didn't get out—if he didn't get out right now, right this second, if he couldn't—if he didn't—if he failed—

If he failed, there would be no one to stop Morgana when she made her move—and she would make her move, Agravaine had said it, Agravaine had said so—and there would be no one to stop her when she marched on Camelot, when she claimed the crown and the throne and the kingdom, when she—when she killed Arthur, and I have to stop her, I have to do it, I'm the only one who can do it, I'm the only one who can fight her, fire with fire and magic with magic, I'm the only one who can do it, I'm the only one who will do it, there's no one else, there's just no one else, there's just no one else but me, it's all on me, and if I don't stop her, if I don't get out and stop her—

Merlin clawed at the collar again—and he knew it wouldn't do any good, he knew he couldn't get it off, God, how many times had he tried now? How many times had he pulled and yanked and wrenched at the heavy iron ring, and how many times had he failed, but he couldn't fail, he couldn't give up, he could never give up, not now, not ever—

—if I give up, Arthur will die, and he knew he'd burn away every last layer of the filthy, scarred-up skin of his hands on the hot metal at his throat before he let that happen, before he would back down, before he would let anything in this whole world ever hurt Arthur again, so he had to get out, get out, God, please, just let me out, let me get out, and I'll make this right, I swear, I'll make this right, I'll find a way, I'll find a way because I have to find a way, because there's no one else, it's just me, I'm the only one, I'm the only one who can save him, no one else can save him, God, please, just let me save him, and how many times had Merlin tried that, now, too, how many times had he said it, to the Triple Goddess, to the Maiden and the Mother and the Crone, one after another, one by one, and to the distant, unknown god in the chapel on the heavy wooden cross, the god he did not even believe in—to a hundred thousand gods he did not even believe in.

He grabbed for the collar again—fresh blisters burst up on his fingers, but he only gritted his teeth and held on tighter—he had to do this, he had to, he had to get the collar off, he had to get his magic back, he had to get out of here, or Camelot would be completely on its own, and Arthur would be completely on his own and he couldn't let that happen, he could never, ever let that happen—

"Hey, mate, really hate to have to bear the bad news like this—"

Merlin snapped his head up, his burned hands still locked around the metal, and his heart all the way up in the back of his throat—and oh, God, please don't let him look at me, don't let him look at me, don't let him see me, don't let him see me like this, and that shouldn't have been the first thing in his head, that shouldn't have been a thing in his head at all, not with Arthur's life on the line, because that was what mattered, that was all that mattered—

"Looked pretty hacked off, too, said he 'spects you in the throne room right quick." Gwaine dropped his voice down to a whisper and leaned in a bit closer to Lionel. "I'd think about haulin' ass if I were you. He's really not in the best of moods."

The guard—Lionel, the one who had always smiled and called out a quick, cheerful hello when Merlin rushed past him on the way to wake Arthur, the one who had always winked and whispered nah, not to worry, I won't tell, when he caught Merlin with a stolen sweet from the castle kitchens—Lionel hesitated. "I—I cannot leave the sorcerer unguarded, Sir Gwaine," he said, reluctantly, "Donovan will relieve me in—"

Gwaine scoffed. "Unguarded?" he echoed, incredulously, and raised his eyebrows. "You've got the bloke locked up in a cell, for God's sake! Sounds pretty guarded to me! What's he going to do from all the way in there? Prophecy us all to death?"

Merlin flinched and his heart ached, and please, not this, not Gwaine, please, I can't take it, I just can't, I just can't take it again, please—

Lionel sputtered—in the low light of the fires, it looked like he had gone a bit red in the face. "Sorcerers are wily and devious, Sir Gwaine! We must proceed with all caution while he remains in confinement! We have merely contained the threat! The kingdom will not truly be safe until—"

"All right, all right," Gwaine held up a hand—oh, he didn't—he didn't have his gloves on, now that Merlin looked a little bit closer, and he didn't have his cloak or his mail, and what had happened, where had it all gone, where had all his—all his knight stuff gone—? "You know what? I'll handle him 'til you get back. How's that?"

—no, please, don't do that, don't do that, don't let him stay here, don't leave me with him, don't leave me alone with him, I can't do it again, I can't take it again—

"Sir Gwaine," Lionel said, but a bit hesitantly, "I don't think you comprehend how serious this is. He has magic, and—"

"And I have a sword, yes," Gwaine jerked his chin down in a nod, "think I'll manage. Good! Real glad we got that cleared up!" He clapped Lionel, hard, on the shoulder, and he practically pushed the baffled guard away from the door and down the long corridor. "Go on, then!"

"—ah—well—Sir Gwaine, you have my thanks, most assuredly, but I really don't believe it would be—"

"Hey, hey, don't worry about it!" Gwaine waved him off with a broad smile. "Tell you what, just grab me a drink later, and we'll call it even, right?"

"—oh—erm—thank you very much, Sir Gwaine—"

And, God, Merlin just wanted to shut his eyes or clamp his hands over his ears or bury himself, deep as he could, in the scratchy heap of dirty straw, because he couldn't take it again, he just couldn't take it again, it would be Arthur all over again, and he knew he wasn't strong enough for that, he just knew he wasn't strong enough for that again, he just knew he wasn't strong enough to hear how Gwaine hated him, now, too, he knew he wasn't strong enough to see Gwaine look at him the way Lionel had looked at him, the way Sir Ector had looked at him, the way Arthur had looked at him—

But Lionel had already started off down the dark hall.

The light clink and clank of the guard's heavy armor got fainter—fainter—fainter—until, at last, the sound of it faded away into silence.

Lionel was gone.

—no, please, I can't do it, I can't hear it, I can't hear it when he says he hates me—

"Right." Gwaine whirled around to look in past the thin wooden slats of the door, and he—

—he smiled? No, no, he did, he really did, he really did smile, just there, and right at Merlin, too. "You ready to get out of there?"

Wait. What?

"—don't really have a shitload of time on our hands here—" and Gwaine pulled out a key—or, no, wait, it wasn't a key, actually, it wasn't a key at all, or, at least, it wasn't the key to the dungeons, no, Merlin had nicked it enough to know—the key to the dungeons was all old and rusted and dark, and a little bit warped, now, with the age of it, and this one was long and straight and shiny—it gleamed, in Gwaine's fingers, under the weak, warm light of the fires—but Gwaine jammed the Not-Key right into the lock anyway, and he jiggled it up and down, like he wanted to—like he wanted to open—

"What are—what are you—what—?"

Gwaine grinned at Merlin, but he never took his hands off the Not-Key. "Let's get you out of there, yeah? We can work out where we're headed later—if you've got ideas, I'm open, 'course, but right now, we just need to—"

Merlin blinked. "I have magic," he said, because it really, really looked like Gwaine hadn't heard about that bit. Or maybe he had heard about it, and he just didn't believe it, and, oh, God, that would be—that would be worse, somehow, that would be—that would be—that would be Arthur all over again—

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Gwaine nodded. "Picked up on that bit, actually, believe it or not." He twisted the Not-Key one last time, and the lock finally clicked. He pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside. "Come on," he held out a hand, and jerked his chin at the door, "what do you say we get out of here, huh?"

All right, well, obviously, the truth hadn't really hit Gwaine yet, or maybe he just hadn't had time for it to actually sink in all the way, because if he had, if it had hit him, if it had sunk in, he would have—he would start to—he would be—

"I have magic," Merlin said, again, because it just didn't feel fair to—well, to exploit Gwaine like this, to let Gwaine do all of this for him when—when he was— "I'm a sorcerer."

"Merlin," Gwaine said, "look, time is really not on our side, all right? Don't get me wrong, the magic's great, can't wait to see more of it, you are going to show me so many spells as soon as we're out of here—"

Oh—no, it wasn't right, it couldn't be right, he had it wrong, he had it all wrong, and God, Merlin's heart hurt, with the sudden burst of hope, bright as a fire, in his chest, because it just couldn't be right, and it was stupid, it was so stupid, to think Gwaine really might—

"—but you gotta get up, and you gotta come with me first or you'll—wait," Gwaine broke off, sharply, and his warm brown eyes narrowed, and he leaned in a little closer to Merlin, "what the hell is that?" He tapped a finger on the side of his own neck.

"Oh," a hot flush flooded Merlin's face, and he wanted to—to throw his hands over it, he wanted to hide it, to cover it up, just cover it up—it was the last thing he wanted in the world, for Gwaine to see him like this, for any of his friends to see him like this, caged and collared like an animal, like a—like a monster, "it's—it's nothing—"

"Arthur," Gwaine hissed out through his teeth, "is a fucking bastard."

"Gwaine!" Merlin said sharply. "That's not fair! You don't understand! He's just trying to protect Camelot from—"

"From you?!"

"—I—I don't—" Hot tears burned behind Merlin's eyes, and the dungeon blurred around him—he really does think I'm dangerous, he really does think I'm a monster, he really does think he needs to shut me away in a cage just to keep Camelot safe—

"I can't—" Gwaine shook his head, "—I can't fucking believe—wait, no, actually, I can, he's a fucking bastard—"

"Stop it," Merlin said, but his throat had pulled so tight with the tears he didn't know if Gwaine could even hear him at all, "stop it, Gwaine, he's just trying to—to do what's—what's r-right—" and he thinks this is what's right, he really thinks this is what's right, and what if it is, what if, maybe, this is for the best, after all I've done, after all the innocent people I've hurt, after all the lives I've taken—

"Hey, hey," Gwaine put a warm, strong hand on Merlin's shoulder, "hey, come on, don't—don't do that, just—sorry, look, I'm sorry. Here, tip your head back for me, all right? Let's get a better look at that. I'll see what I can do."

Merlin's stomach jolted, and he stepped back—well, stumbled back, really, his legs hadn't wanted to hold him up for the last four hours or so, and he really did throw a hand over the collar this time, he curled his fingers around the thick metal, and he didn't care how it burned him. He couldn't stand back and let Gwaine get hurt like this. "No, no, don't—you can't—you can't touch it—see—" he took his hand off, and held his palm up—the blisters looked very red against his white skin, "—it burns—it blocks up my magic, see, and—"

"—burns—?"

"—don't—" Merlin shook his head, because he knew that look on Gwaine's face better than anyone, better than Percival, even, "—don't freak out, Gwaine, don't go flying off the rail—"

"—I'm not flying off the rail! No one's flying off the rail! Nah, he's only gone and put a fucking torture thing around your fucking throat, why would I go flying off the rail about—!"

"—stop it, Gwaine, don't—!"

"—just—let me—God, Merlin, stop fighting me! It's hurting you! Look at your hands! Fucking look at your hands, I can't let it keep hurting you!"

—and Gwaine grabbed for the collar again, and this time, he finally got his fingers 'round the iron ring, and he—

—he didn't get burned.

Oh.

"But—" Merlin stared blankly down at Gwaine's very un-blistered hand, "—but—I don't understand, it—it should have—it really should have—it really does—I know it really does—"

"I think," Gwaine said, and very tightly, too—it just didn't sound right on him, it just didn't sound right on him at all— "this thing isn't meant to hurt anyone but sorcerers."

Oh. Right. Yeah. That made sense. That made a lot of sense, actually, because Sir Dinadan had touched it, hadn't he, all the way back in Arthur's chambers, when he had put it down on the table with the crystal and the mirror and the manticore portal, and Arthur had touched it, too, when he had—when he had clasped it around Merlin's neck—and now Gwaine—but this was different than Sir Ector, and this was different than Arthur, because Gwaine was trying to help—

"Thank you," Merlin said, but choked, and hoarse, and a little bit breathless, too, and he knew he shouldn't, oh, God, he knew he shouldn't, he knew this was wrong, this was bad, this could get Gwaine killed, he had just betrayed his king, he had just betrayed Arthur, but— "thank you, Gwaine, thank you—"

"Don't count your chickens." Gwaine leaned in a little closer, and he scrunched his eyes up in a squint to find the collar's latch, in the dark of the dungeons. "This is going to be the easy bit. Gotta get you out of here and all."

Merlin's heart jumped in his chest—oh, God, this was real, this was really real, all of it, he just couldn't believe it, he just couldn't believe—Gwaine doesn't hate me, Gwaine doesn't hate me at all, and he'll get my magic back to me and he'll let me out of here and I'll stop Morgana and I'll save Arthur and everything will turn out all right, everything will really turn out all right, oh, God, I just can't believe it, we're really going to make it—

"—yeah, already got us some food," Gwaine barreled on, and locked his fingers around the latch, "and I reckon it should last us to the border, at least—"

Wait. What?

"To the border?" Merlin echoed, and he stepped back a bit, until Gwaine's fingers fell from the collar. That warm, bright burst of hope in his heart dimmed right back down to dark again—he had thought Gwaine knew, he had thought Gwaine just understood, but—but this— "What do you mean 'to the border'?"

"Of Camelot?" Gwaine reached for the collar again and raised his eyebrows. "Can't exactly hang 'round here too long, Merls, you're a wanted man, and even the Princess can put two and two together—well, on a really good day, at least."

"You want me to leave?" No. He couldn't. That was not a choice off the list here, that wasn't on the table, that wasn't in the cards, he couldn't leave, he just couldn't leave, not with Morgana—not with Agravaine—

Gwaine scoffed. "Leave? No. I don't want you to leave. I don't want you to have to leave here, I want you to be happy—"

Oh.

"—but—" Gwaine blew out a hard breath, "—but I want you to be free, too. And I want you to be safe. And that—" he shook his head, "—that's not going to happen here, Merlin. That's not going to happen here, not ever again, not for you."

And, oh, Merlin actually let himself think about it—for one small and selfish moment, Merlin really let himself think about it, and he—oh, he wanted it, he really, actually wanted it, so much, more than he had ever known he could even want anything at all, he just wanted to rush right out of this horrid little cell and he wanted to—God, he wanted to hug Gwaine, he really wanted to actually hug Gwaine, and he wanted to say, yes, please, yes to all of that, to every last little bit, yes, please, just take me away from here, please, I don't want to die, I don't want to get burned, I just want to be safe, God, I just want to be safe again, because I can't remember what it feels like to feel safe, not anymore, not since Agravaine—

—but—

—but Agravaine. And Morgana.

And he couldn't turn his back on Camelot.

He couldn't turn his back on Arthur.

"Gwaine," Merlin said, softly, maybe because he didn't really want Gwaine to hear him, maybe because he didn't really want Gwaine to listen to him at all, "I can't."

"What?" Gwaine frowned. "What are you talkin' about? 'Course you can. See, look, door's wide open, all that's left is to get that thing off your neck, and get out of here," he tugged, lightly, at Merlin's wrist, "before that guy at the door shows back up again—"

"Gwaine." Merlin pulled his hand away. "I can't." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. But I can't."

"No, no, don't—" Gwaine shook his head, "—don't do this, come on, you can't do this, you can't—you have to—"

"No." Merlin swallowed. "I have to stay here. Morgana's going to—" he shut his eyes and sucked in a long breath, "—she's going to attack Camelot. Tomorrow. If I leave now, there won't be anyone to stop her. Swords can only do so much against her magic."

"No!" Gwaine nearly screamed it in Merlin's face. "No! If you actually think you're going to do that, you'd better think again, because I'm not going to just stand back and let you—!"

"All right, then, fine," Merlin snapped, and maybe a little too sharp, maybe a little too mean, "you go on, then, and find us another sorcerer who will actually help Camelot. Go on. I'll wait."

"Why the hell do you want to help Camelot?" Gwaine jabbed a finger, hard, into Merlin's chest. "Huh? Look at what this place has done to you! You don't owe this kingdom cold shit!"

"This is not about 'owing'!" Merlin smacked Gwaine's hand away. "This is about Morgana, because, maybe you haven't noticed, but she has this really nasty habit of just murdering everybody she doesn't like! And I'm not going to sit back and let her! Innocent people are in danger!"

For half a moment, Merlin thought Gwaine hadn't even heard him, really, he thought Gwaine hadn't even listened to him at all—hell, for half a moment, he thought Gwaine would just go on and yell a bit more, or shove him right back in his cell and lock the door and say fine, then, if that's how you're going to be, you can stay in here forever—but—

"You know what, Merlin?" Gwaine rubbed hard at the bridge of his nose, and a sigh slipped out of his open mouth. "You're the best goddamned person who's ever set foot in this castle. And I really fucking hate that about you."

Merlin's stomach did a sharp, horrid jolt—best goddamned person, the best goddamned person, and he actually thinks that, doesn't he, oh, God, he actually thinks I'm a good person, he actually thinks I'm the best, but if he knew all the rest, if he knew all the secrets still in the shadows, if he knew the truth, the real truth, the whole truth, he would think I was rotten, he would know I was rotten and filthy and dirty and bad—

"Yeah. Well." Merlin swallowed. He thought about Agravaine's dark eyes and hungry hands and oh, so you do like it a bit rough, don't you, Merlin, and can't you take a compliment, Merlin and you're beautiful, absolutely divine and I don't know a man alive who could resist those lovely blue bed-me eyes and if I was the "best goddamned person", if I had any good inside of me at all, that wouldn't have happened, none of that would have ever happened— "Don't count your chickens."

"Right, so," Gwaine lifted his head, with one last, tired little breath, "come on, let's have another go at that thing, yeah?" He tapped at the side of his own neck. "And you can fill me in on the plan you've got."

Merlin winced. "Uh. Well."

"Oh. Great." Gwaine nodded, and grabbed for the collar again. "No plan. Best kind, if you ask me."

"—well—um—" Merlin scratched the back of his neck, "—you don't have to do anything, not yet, just hang onto your sword, get into your armor, and be ready to fight, she's sure to have an army or something—"

"Uh, right, yeah, about that," Gwaine fumbled with the latch, but it didn't look like he had opened it yet, "my armor's gone, actually, so, that bit's pretty good and scuppered, but—"

"What?" Merlin frowned. "What do you mean, your armor's gone? How did you manage to lose that stuff? It's on you, like, all day, every day! And! It shines!"

"All right, first off, I didn't 'lose' any of it, I just turned it all in—"

"Turned it all in?"

"Oh, yeah, hang on, did I forget to tell you that bit? Yeah, I'm not a knight anymore."

"What?!" Oh, no, this just got worse and worse by the moment, didn't it? Merlin knew Gwaine and Arthur had never really seen eye-to-eye on—well—much of anything, actually, but—but this— "Arthur sacked you?!"

Gwaine snorted. Loudly. "No, I sacked myself. Turns out, it's not really my brew of mead, you know? Can't serve a king who turns his back on his friends like that."

"No!" Merlin knew he said it too loudly, he knew he had nearly shouted it, really, but he just—he just couldn't let Gwaine do this, he just couldn't let Gwaine take the life he had built up here, and throw it all away, not for—not for me— "No, you can't—you can't do this! You have to go back! You have to get Arthur to take you back! Say you're sorry, tell him you changed your mind, tell him you want back in—"

"I haven't changed my mind, though," Gwaine broke in, sharply, "and I don't want back in. And I'm not fucking sorry."

"—you can't do this, please, Gwaine, don't do this—" oh, God, this is my fault, this is all my fault, look at what I've done now, just look at what I've done, this is all because of me, Gwaine turned against Arthur because of me, Gwaine's going to leave Arthur because of me, Arthur has lost a knight and a friend because of me, because I'm rotten and it spills over and bursts out on anybody who gets too close to me, on everybody who gets too close to me—

"Hey, hey, look at me, Merlin, look at me," Gwaine bumped Merlin's chin up, lightly, with a gentle tap of his knuckles. "It's just a job, yeah? Pretty sure I can find another."

"—but—" but it wasn't just a job, it wasn't, it was an honor, and it was for the best and the bravest in this whole kingdom, and you're one of them, you're one of the best, you're one of the bravest, and you just threw it away like it was nothing, because of me, all because of me, "—but you loved it," Merlin said, numbly, because it was all he could say, it was all he could think to say.

Gwaine laughed. "No, I love a good fight, that's what I love. And I reckon I can find a good fight in just about any old tavern. But a friend like you? Now that's one in a million, Merls. And I'd be mad to give it up."

Oh. And he really did mean that, didn't he, Gwaine really did mean that, all of it, and he had really—he had really done this, he had really done all of this, for Merlin, just for Merlin, he had gone and given up everything he had ever had for Merlin, he had thrown his whole life away for Merlin, and he would have—if Merlin had let him, if Merlin hadn't stopped him, if Merlin hadn't said no—he would have fled the kingdom for Merlin, too.

He would have done it. He really would have done it, no plan, no place to go, nothing but the clothes on his back and the food he had said he had nicked—

"Merlin," Gwaine said, in a very not-Gwaine sort of way, and his fingers slipped off the collar again, "I—I don't think—" he bit his lip, and ducked his head down to look at it a little closer, "—I don't think this thing is coming off."

Merlin's stomach dropped. "What?" Not coming off? No, that didn't make any sense, that didn't make any sense at all, just a flick of the latch, and it would—it would just—

"See, look, right here," Gwaine traced a finger, lightly, over the metal, "look, there's all this—well," he dropped his hand back to his side, "you can't see it, I s'pose, but it's—" he swallowed, "—it's got, uh—" he snapped his dark eyes up to Merlin's face, "—it's got burn marks."

"Burn marks?" Merlin echoed. "But what does all that have to do with—?"

"I don't think—" and Gwaine wouldn't look at him anymore, Gwaine wouldn't look at him at all, "—I don't think it's meant to come off until—" he looked at the wall, at the window, at the door, at the straw-strewn ground, anywhere but at Merlin, "—until the sorcerer who's got it on is—"

Oh. It crashed over Merlin like a wave, and his insides turned to ice. "Burned," he said, in a whisper, because he already knew Gwaine wouldn't say it, he already knew Gwaine couldn't say it, and he couldn't say it, either, except like this, so quiet he could hardly hear it for himself. "Until the sorcerer who's got it on is burned."

Gwaine nodded.

No, no, that's not right, that's not true, please, it has to come off, I have to get it off, I have to get my magic back, how am I meant to stop Morgana like this, how am I meant to save Arthur like this—?

"I-I'm sorry," Gwaine whispered, "I just—God, I'm sorry, Merlin—"

"Don't—" Merlin shook his head—he didn't know if he even had it in him, to say anything right now, to say anything ever again, but this wasn't Gwaine's fault, this was actually the exact opposite of Gwaine's fault, really, all of it, and Gwaine had come along and tried to fix it, "—don't, Gwaine, really, you've—you've done more than enough."

And that was true, wasn't it? Gwaine had come all the way down here to save him, to take him away from here, to take him somewhere safe—

Oh.

Wait.

That was it. Wasn't it?

"Gwaine," Merlin said, and that warm, bright burst of hope flared up again, inside of him—he would be damned if he let a stupid ring of metal stand in his way, after all of this, "you said you had enough food to last us to the border. Right?"

"Uh, yeah," Gwaine blinked, and his mouth edged down in a frown, but he nodded anyway, "yeah, but—but hang on, now, you said—"

"I know," Merlin held up a hand to stop him, "I know what I said, but this isn't about me, I'm not asking for me, I—I think—" he swallowed, "—I think we need to get Arthur out of the kingdom."

"Oh! Yes!" Gwaine broke out in a broad smile. "Yes! Now you're talking, Merls! Let's depose the bastard and get that—"

"No!" Oh, God, that was even worse than what Merlin had come up with. "No deposing! That's not what I meant!"

Gwaine deflated, like a ship with all the wind let suddenly out of its sails. "Oh. Are you sure? Because that sounded like a pretty clear-cut deposition plan right there, and I really think you might warm up to it if you just—"

"Gwaine," Merlin said, sharply, and held up his hand again, "we are not deposing Arthur, and that's final. We're going to get him out of the kingdom, for his own safety, before Morgana attacks. It's too dangerous to let him hang 'round here. If she gets her hands on him, she'll kill him, and we cannot let that happen."

"For his own safety?" Gwaine echoed, incredulously, and raised his eyebrows. "And how the hell are we supposed to do that? He'd eat every tapestry in the castle before he'd run from a fight. Especially with Camelot on the line."

"Uh—well—" Merlin dragged in a breath—if he did this, if he really did this, if he really went through with this, Arthur would never forgive him, not for this, not ever, no, Arthur would hate him, always, forever—and I'll never get the chance to make things right with him, I'll never get the chance to tell him I'm sorry, I'll never get the chance to tell him this is all for him, this has always been for him—

But.

But that didn't matter. Really. That didn't matter at all, right? No, of course not, and it was just selfish of him to even think—no, he just had to make sure Arthur was still alive to not forgive him and always hate him, that was it, that was all that mattered, really, just so long as Arthur made it out all right, that was all that had ever mattered at all.

And this wouldn't be the first friend Merlin had ever lost.

"—well, I—" Merlin swallowed, hard, and he tried not to think about how furious Arthur would look, when he finally realized, when he finally knew, "—I think we're—erm, you, actually, just you, not we—not me—I can't really be seen around the castle anymore, so just—just you, then—you're going to need to dose him with one of Gaius' sleeping draughts. With one of Gaius' really strong sleeping draughts—" God knew Arthur slept like the dead half the damn time, but better safe than sorry, with the stakes so high, "—and then get him out of the kingdom."

"Oh, he'll just love that," Gwaine muttered.

"It's just until Camelot's safe again," Merlin said, but his stomach still twisted up in a hundred thousand too-tight knots—I'll never get the chance to make things right with him, I'll never get the chance to tell him this is all for him. "Just get him out of the castle—the Forest of Essetir should be far enough," he stooped to pick his ragged red scarf up off the filthy floor under his feet—a small thing, a stupid thing, but if he was going to get out of here, if he was really going to get out of here, he didn't want anyone to see him like this, he didn't want anyone to see him the way Gwaine had—caged and collared, like an animal, like a monster, "And I promise, I'll come and find you as soon as Morgana—"

"Come find us?" Gwaine narrowed his eyes. "Oh, hell, no, Merlin, you're mad if you think I'm going to hide out with him for God knows how long while you're in the middle of—!"

"Please, Gwaine," Merlin grabbed at his friend's wrist with shaking fingers, "please, he needs someone to look after him, and I—I won't—" he swallowed, hard, and his eyes burned and prickled again, "—I won't be there."

And he wouldn't want me there, even if I was.

"This is mad. You don't even have your magic anymore!" Gwaine jabbed a finger at the collar. "You can't tell me you really think you can take on Morgana like that!"

"Gwaine," Merlin said, sharply, and he knew he didn't have a chance—not even half a chance, not without his magic, not with the horrid collar still locked around his throat, not with the raw and enormous power Morgana held inside her, and if he fell into her hands, that was it, that was all, it would be over, it would all be over because he would never live to see another sunrise, not ever, and he knew that, he knew it, but—

"I have to try."

Merlin rushed down the dark corridors, to the wild, too-fast thump of his own terrified heart, loud as a hammer, loud as a drum, and the dull thud of his thin, worn boots on the hard, uneven stone floor under his feet, and the thick shadows all around him, all over him, and the sharp scream of his own magic inside of him, and how am I meant to stop Morgana like this, how am I meant to save Camelot like this, how am I meant to do anything like this, really, how am I meant to be any good to anyone at all when I'm stuck like this, and I can't, I just can't, I can't do it, not without my magic, but I have to do it, I have to, I have to try, I'm the only one, there's no one else, there's just me, that's it, I'm it, I'm the only one—

—he turned the last corner—

—and he crashed straight into—

—straight into—

—oh—

Merlin stopped.

And he knew he shouldn't, he knew it was the worst thing he could do, really, right now, it was just the absolute worst thing he could do, because now she would run off and raise the alarm, or she would scream for the knights, and he should run, he knew he should just run, as far as he could, as fast as he could, he knew he should push past her, knock her down, if he had to, if that was what it would take, and run, just run, he had to run, he had to get to Morgana, he had to stop Morgana—but—

But.

See.

Gwen didn't run off to raise the alarm. Actually.

And, also, she didn't scream for the knights.

No, she just sort of stood there, in the middle of the corridor, and she stared at him, her dark, warm eyes very wide in her brown, pretty face, and a small, wooden bowl clutched in her hands, and her brows arched up a bit, and her mouth half-open—

"Merlin?!" But she still didn't run off, and she still didn't scream, no, she didn't even step back, and why—? "What are you doing? You're meant to be—!"

Executed—that was what Gwen would say, wasn't it, yes, that was exactly what Gwen would say—executed, burned, tossed on a pyre and lit up like a match, and a good thing, too, there will be one less monster in the world, and Merlin's stomach clenched just to think of it, of how she would look when she said—

Except she didn't say, she didn't say anything else at all, because the window shattered, just then—no, no, wait, that wasn't right—the window exploded, actually, it just blew up, in a sudden storm, in an absolute avalanche of—of sound, of sound after sound after awful, echoing, inescapable sound, and so loud, Merlin thought, for a moment, it might end the whole world around them, it really might end the whole world around them, it would tear the earth apart, it would split the sky in two—

A hundred thousand shards of broken glass blasted back, out of the window's thick frame, and into the narrow corridor, and the pieces all glittered, like diamonds, like crystals, in the light of the stars, in the light of the moon, sharp as daggers, sharp as swords, in a sparkling, deadly rain, ready to fall, right on—right onto—

"Gwen!"

Merlin didn't really think about it—because he didn't need to think about it, he didn't need to think about it at all—so he didn't know he was going to do it, not at all, not until he was on the floor, very suddenly, with Gwen under him, and her warm, small body pulled tight to him, to his chest—and he had done that, right, he had done it, he had grabbed her and dragged her to him, except he didn't really remember that bit at all—and the soft skirt of her long dress pooled out in a pale purple puddle on the cold stone, and he had his hands on her head, he had his dirty fingers half-tangled in her dark curls, and when he raised his head, he could see the glass, all around, a scattered silver trail of it, like a river in a map, on and on down the corridor, and the bowl in Gwen's hands, the wood had not broken, but it had fallen over on its side, and the food within had spilled out in a smooth brown streak along the floor.

"Are you—?" Merlin trembled, all over, with the shock of it, but he pushed himself up, off of her, and he dropped his hands and he let her go. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?" He couldn't see any blood, any break in her skin, any glass in her flesh, but—

"No, I—" Gwen got up, and she trembled, too, just like him, and he could see it, in her hand, when she put her palm flat to her heart, "I—I don't think so, I think I'm all right, I just—" she glanced at the window, at the glass on the ground, and back to the window again, "—Merlin, what happened?"

Merlin looked at the window, too. He could see the black sky, and the white snow, and the—oh, the houses down there, the homes, all lit up with warmth, with the golden glow of a fire in the hearth, and this is why I have to do it, this is why I have to try, this is why I have to fight Morgana, even if I don't think I can, for them, for all the people down there.

"I think," he said, and slowly, too slowly, maybe because he didn't want it to be true, "Morgana just fired her first shot." His insides turned to ice before he had even pushed the last word off his lips. He had thought he would have more time, he had thought he would have more time than this, he had thought he had until the first light of the new dawn, at least, and by then, Arthur would be out of the castle, out of the city, and that was all that mattered, that was all that had ever mattered, at all, but he had it wrong, he had it all wrong, because he always, always had it wrong, and she was here, now, and by this time tomorrow, Camelot will have a new ruler, that was what Agravaine had said, that was exactly what Agravaine had said—

"Morgana?" Gwen stopped. "She's here?"

"I don't—" Merlin shook his head, "—I don't know, she was meant to—she was meant to be—" he stepped over the glass, over the upturned wooden bowl, to get to the window, and he trailed his fingers lightly down the sharp edges of the shattered shards still stuck inside the thick, stone frame—maybe he couldn't cast a spell of his own anymore, but he could feel the remnants of the magic in the glass—dark magic, evil magic, and a shudder crawled down his spine, just to touch it—

Yes.

Morgana was here.

"But—" Gwen got to her feet, and dusted off the long skirt of her pale dress, "—but how would she have gotten in?"

Merlin's stomach jumped and jolted, because he knew—he had thought Morgana would just go and find herself a different way, a new way, a better way, and she would launch her attack before he had time to work out the plan, to work out a way to stop it, to stop her, but that was wrong, wasn't it, because he always, always had it wrong—

"The siege tunnels."

Morgana had gone ahead and gone through the siege tunnels.

Because she had known, hadn't she—no, no, she hadn't known, she had planned—she had done this, all of this, all of it, she had made sure this would happen, she had made sure this would all happen—the crystal and Arthur and Agravaine and the collar, and she hadn't needed to find a new way, then, a better way, because she knew he couldn't stop her—

Merlin turned away from the window to look at Gwen. "You need to get out of here." He didn't really have to think about it. He didn't really have to think about it at all. Maybe he couldn't stop Morgana, not like this, but he could still save his friends.

But it didn't matter, because Gwen didn't look like she had even heard Merlin at all. "If Morgana's here, then, we'll need to warn Arthur, that's the most important thing, obviously," she nodded, a bit, to herself, "we need to get to him, and tell him everything we know—maybe we can—"

"No," Merlin said, and maybe a little bit too sharply, "we can't. I already tried it that way, trust me, he's not going to listen. Just get out of here. Get to Gwaine—he should be in Arthur's chambers by now—he'll help you, he'll get you out of the castle, he'll get you somewhere safe—"

"Somewhere safe?" Gwen echoed, a little bit blankly. "What—no, we can't—! I can't—! If we give in now, the battle is already over, and Morgana has already won! The knights of Camelot are among the finest soldiers in the five kingdoms, they've triumphed over Morgana once already—"

"The knights?" Merlin almost laughed at that—oh, Gwen, if you only knew—but the sharp, sick fear in the bottom of his stomach just wouldn't let him. "The knights didn't 'triumph', Gwen, you can't 'triumph' over magic unless you've got—!" Magic, unless you've got magic of your own, unless you've got magic for yourself, unless you can fight fire with fire, but he didn't say it, because he couldn't say it, he couldn't look at Gwen and say it, he couldn't say it and see all the fury there in her face, all the hatred, all the hurt, all the betrayal, he couldn't say it and see the ashes of all the bridges he had ever burned behind her eyes.

But Gwen didn't need him to say it, did she—just like she hadn't needed him to say what had really happened on the Isle of the Blessed that night, how Lancelot had really died. "Oh," she said, very softly, and her eyes had gone very wide in her face again, "oh, Merlin, you—?"

You're just as bad as Morgana, maybe that was what she would say, you're just as bad as Morgana, you're just like her, you have magic, just like her, so you're just as bad as her, you're just like her because you've got—

"You did that?" She tipped her head at him. "You saved us?"

Saved? No, that wasn't—that didn't—no, no, that didn't really fit in with all the rest of it, that just didn't fit in with all the rest of it, and where was the—where was all the—where was all the rage? All the betrayal? All the how could you do this to me, to Arthur, to everyone, how could you lie us to like this for so long? Wasn't she mad at him? Wasn't she furious with him? Didn't she hate him?

"I-I mean—" she put her hand to her chest again, "—I mean, I knew, when I heard, when Arthur—you've always been so—and when he's with you, he's always—he always gets—and good things always happen when you're here—"

Good things. Merlin's throat pulled tight again. No. Gwen had it wrong. Gwen had it all wrong. He had never made "good things" happen, not ever, not once in his life, and even if he had, it wouldn't matter, because all the bad would still always be there to cancel it right back out again.

"—and we always win, every time, even when we really shouldn't, but I—I never—you really did save us," she flicked her brown eyes up to his, "didn't you? When Morgana and Morgause—and Cenred—?"

"I—I don't—I didn't—" I didn't, really, or, well, maybe I did, sort of, but I had help, I had a lot of help, from Freya and Kilgharrah and Gaius, and really, the Cup was the easy bit, actually, it was the guards we had to watch out for, only he didn't get the chance to say it, he didn't get a chance to say any of it, because Gwen bounded forward, past the glass and the bowl to get to the window, to get to him, and she—

—she—

—oh—

She hugged him.

Like she didn't hate him, like she didn't hate him at all, like maybe she never had, even when she had heard—even when Arthur had told her—and maybe it's like Gwaine, maybe it's just like Gwaine, maybe she doesn't mind, either, maybe she doesn't care, maybe she's all right with it, even, maybe I won't lose her like I lost Arthur, and Merlin could swear his heart would break open, burst apart, with all the hope, and all the no don't hope don't do that don't ever do that don't you ever hope again—

"Thank you," Gwen whispered, in his ear, and her voice trembled, a little bit, and her long, curly hair tickled the side of his face. "Thank you, Merlin. For everything."

Oh. She really didn't—she really—she didn't—not at all—maybe she never had—maybe she never, ever—maybe—

Merlin wrapped his arms around her, and he hugged her back—too tightly, and he knew it, he could feel it, he could feel how hard he held her to him, how close he held her to him, how he nearly crushed her into his chest, how his fingers gouged into the back of her dress, and he knew he should pull back, pull away, let her go, he could hurt her, if he kept on like this, but—

—but no one's held me like this in so long, and I just want a few more minutes, please, just let me have a few more minutes, that's it, that's all, I just want a few more minutes, just long enough to remember what it feels like when someone touches me without wanting to hurt me—

Gwen stepped back. "Merlin, we have to warn Arthur. I know," she held up her hand only moments before he opened his mouth, "I know you said he didn't listen, but we have to try. We can't let him walk into all of this blind. If Morgana takes him by surprise, she'll—"

"I know," Merlin cut her off. "Believe me, I know. But he's not—Morgana won't—he's going to be safe, Gwen, trust me, he's going to be all right, Gwaine is—" he hesitated, half a moment, before he said it, but she wanted to keep Arthur safe, too, right, she would get it, she would see, "—Gwaine is getting him out of the castle. Now. Right now. And you should go with him. Morgana won't be any kinder to you, if she catches you."

"Gwaine is getting him—?" Gwen arched her dark brows. "How on earth has he convinced Arthur to leave Camelot with Morgana—?"

"Um," Merlin said, "he didn't. Actually. I-I told him to dose Arthur with one of Gaius' sleeping draughts and—don't look at me like that! What would you have wanted me to do? He wouldn't leave on his own!"

"I—I can't believe—" Gwen shook her head, "—as soon as he sees you again, he'll murder you—"

Merlin tightened his lips. "Yes," he said, sharply, "well, he was going to do that as soon as he saw me again, anyway, Gwen, I really don't see how I've made things any worse."

"—I—" Gwen's small, pretty face softened, a little, and all the hard lines around her eyes and mouth smoothed back out to nearly nothing, "—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I wasn't thinking."

Merlin shook his head, and he meant to say it's all right, it's okay, it's not a big deal, it's fine, that was what he meant to say, that was what he wanted to say, but the words just wouldn't come. "Forget it," he said, instead, "just—just forget it, you need to get out of here, all right? Go with Arthur and Gwaine. It's not safe for any of you here."

"What about you?" Gwen pressed. "If it's not safe for the rest of us, it's certainly not any safer for you. What are you going to do?"

"No, don't worry about me," because if he let her do that, God knew she would never leave, "I'll be all right. Just get out of here." He stepped past her and looked down the long, dark corridor ahead of him. It would be a long way, and with Morgana already within the walls, it would be a close thing, and without his magic, he didn't know how he would ever manage it, but he had to try. If he could just seal off the siege tunnels, and shut out as many of Morgana's soldiers as he could, Camelot might just be in with a chance.

"Oh, Merlin—" Gwen grabbed his hand up in her own, and squeezed his fingers, "—just be careful, please, don't get yourself hurt."

Merlin smiled at her—he had to smile, because if he didn't, he really thought he might cry, he really thought he might just burst out into tears and hug her again, and say oh, God, thank you for not hating me, thank you so much for not hating me, I can't believe it, I can't believe you don't hate me, I can't believe you aren't scared of me, I can't believe you don't want me to get hurt—

"Oh," he said, instead, "you know me, Gwen. I'm always careful."

Merlin still hadn't really figured out how he would seal up the siege tunnels yet—if only I had Percival here with me, I bet he could do it, he could probably tear the tunnels down all by himself, with his bare hands, no magic or anything—but he had already nearly reached the entrance, and come on, I have to do something, I have to get this right, I can't just give up—

Someone grabbed him.

Someone just-just grabbed him, just like that, and he didn't see where they had come from, and he didn't see their face, just the strong, lean fingers snapped shut, like a shackle, like a chain, around his wrist-and a quick, deft hand twisted his arm up behind his back—until he heard his shoulder crack, until he felt his shoulder crack, and the pain of it ripped the breath from his lungs, and broad, brawny arms slammed him, face-first, into the stone wall, and the bruise Sir Ector had left on his cheek pulsed and pounded with the fresh blow.

"Well, you sure don't look like much," a very deep, very low voice said, from behind him. "Let's hope you're worth all this trouble."

The whole corridor looked very blurry, suddenly, and when Merlin tried to turn his head, to turn around, to get a better look at the man who held him, it made his stomach churn and toss until he really thought he would be sick.

"Where—?" He murmured, half into the cold stone at his cheek, and God, he knew this wouldn't do any good, he knew he wouldn't get anywhere, not like this, but let's hope you're worth all this trouble and that meant—that had to mean— "Where is Morgana?"

"Funny you should ask." The man jerked him up, off the wall, by his shoulders—and, oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Merlin really thought he might pass out with the pain of it. "She has the same question about you."

Notes: all right, so, yes, i know i said i wouldn't be back until after the holidays. i know! i said that! i did! but i just got Seized by The Muse™️! also, real talk, i just missed this fic a whole hell of a lot, and i figured, if i really stuck to it, i could get a chapter out by the first week of December. lo and behold!

all right NOW i won't be back until after the holidays. and i really mean it this time, i will not touch this fic until Dec 26. at the absolute earliest. i just. i will not. i will turn my attentions to other things. i will do that. i will. y'all have the right to quote me on that. i solemnly swear i'll leave y'all alone until Christmas has passed.

and, as usual, before i go, thank you all so much for all this kindness, support, and encouragement on this silly two-in-the-morning brainchild. i can't even begin to express how much it means to me, to think actual people enjoy this at all. Y'all are truly incredible.