Chapter Thirteen

For all that they have been through it is the first time Arthur stands by Merlin's side as he performs magic freely—not to heal Arthur, not to save Arthur, just magic with Arthur by his side.

He doesn't know what he expects. Golden eyes that haunt his nightmares and hissing words that shadow his waking hours perhaps. But there's only a brief moment where Merlin's eyes shine to gold—and they are not bright with greed and power but shining with promise and loyalty—and the room loses its dreamlike quality to become nothing more than a vacant room in Arthur's home.

The first thing he notices is that there is no sign of Merlin's illusion—no body, no blood, no sign that there had ever been such a terrifying sight.

The second thing he sees is Morgana's body—her corpse lies just where she had fallen, blood pooling around her, eyes vacant. The dagger still resides in her heart.

Arthur stares at her for a long, long time.

"What will we tell them?" He finally asks though his voice is hoarse, and he cannot tear his eyes away from his sister. His sister who is dead. He can't wrap his head around it, not really. It's like losing his father all over again.

Merlin is silent behind him; and how many times has Arthur taken advantage of that—his silent shadow—and how many people have lived to regret never realizing who walked behind him? "I don't know," Merlin answers softly, "perhaps it depends on what they remember."

Arthur nods: for all the times he has wished to confess his sins to the people he loves he does not relish the prospect of voicing this tale now.

"Let's go," he turns away from Morgana for the last time and turns back to Merlin.

As they make their way to the council room, Merlin explains why he had to put them all to sleep one by one after breaking Morgana's enchantment with terms that Arthur only vaguely understands. The how and why don't matter to him, not as much as the rise and fall of Merlin's voice. He falls silent as they open the doors.

For all that Arthur trusts Merlin it is still terrifying to look upon that room where everyone lies on the ground, eyes closed, still as can be.

They wake Gwen up first.

She doesn't remember anything.

Arthur doesn't know whether to scream or weep. He gathers her in his arms and holds her close because it's Guinevere—his Guinevere who gives compassion and wisdom and love and kindness without even trying; it's his wife and he loves her. He holds onto her and when she eventually pulls away from him but only enough so she can look at him he just smiles at her.

"What happened?" She asks and there is worry in her eyes and her voice is weak but for the moment he cannot bring himself to care about anything but the woman in his arms.

"Morgana," he answers finally and says nothing about what she did, what she made Gwen do, what she made her say. Says nothing about the wounds—scars now that he carries through her hands.

While Arthur buries himself in his wife, Merlin wakes the others up slowly, carefully, silently.

Nobody remembers anything.

Arthur doesn't let that bother him, not right now; they can deal with answers later. Right now, he wants only to comfort himself in the knowledge that his people are safe and alive.

"It's over," Arthur eventually says, and the truth of the words astound even him.

It was over. The war they had been fighting for years has finally come to an end. There would be more battles of course; someone else would crop up to fight Camelot but for now, this war was over. There would be no high priestess lashing out in anger and sending spies and poisoning his kingdom and killing his people. There is finally peace.

Arthur has forgotten what that felt like.

He expects a chaos of questions and demands of reports and a roaring cacophony of noise; he gets nothing but almost silent shuffling.

Nobody asks what happened, nobody wonders why they woke up without memory, they do not question Arthur's declaration of peace. They stand up stiffly, get their wounds tended to by Merlin, and when Merlin suggests bed rest for all, they simply follow his suggestion quickly as if they had only been hoping someone would let them sleep.

He wonders why, wonders if maybe this isn't really over, wonders if there could be an enchantment on them even now that Morgana is dead.

After they close the door to his room, leaving his wife sleeping behind them, he brings this fear to Merlin, but his friend only shakes his head. "You didn't remember either that first time—at least not at first. I think it has to do with how much force she had to put in the enchantment itself; the more things went against your character the harder you fought without even realizing. Between all that and her magic it's expected that there would be side effects."

"But I remembered eventually." Not soon enough. He wishes he didn't remember even now.

Merlin rolls his shoulders back, stretching carefully with a wince he can't quite hide but his voice is steady as he answers, "Yeah, but you were different, Arthur. Not only did you break the enchantments, but you had something to keep reminding you that something was wrong. You had me. They don't."

"So they'll never remember?"

"I don't know. I imagine it will all be like a nightmare they don't really want to think about. They might remember flashes but not much else—I think, I can't be sure of any of this, Arthur," He stops suddenly and leans against the wall, "I guess, if you tell them though they'll probably remember more. It's up to you—" Merlin cuts off with a gasp; he squeezes his eyes closed and leans his head against the cold stone.

Arthur closes the distance between them, "Merlin?" he calls worriedly. His hand hovers awkwardly between them; he wants to help but he doesn't know how and he's so afraid of hurting Merlin even more than he already has.

What had Merlin said? "Keeping you alive took everything—I didn't have anything left." How literally had Merlin meant that? Stupidof him to allow himself to be distracted from all the wounds that Merlin still had. Stupid of him to forget that though he couldn't see them, Merlin's body was still riddled with fatal injuries. Stupid, stupid of him to forget that Merlin was still dying no matter how fine he said he would be.

"I'll be fine, Arthur," he murmurs but his voice is shaky, and he doesn't even try to open his eyes and look at Arthur which is altogether not a convincing argument. "Just give me a moment."

"I'll go get Gaius," Arthur promises and the words hold a bittersweet relief for him. Finally, finally he can get help for Merlin—help far more worthy than his own two hands and limited knowledge and damning guilt. Finally, someone else will know how unworthy he really is of the crown, the people's respect, Merlin's loyalty. "I'll be back."

"No!" Merlin yells and jerks towards him, his hand grasping Arthur's shirt with far less strength than he had displayed before, "No, Arthur, please don't!"

Arthur freezes; struck by Merlin's desperate pleading and his trembling hand. "But you need help, Merlin."

Merlin shakes his head, winces, and bites back a growl, "Please?"

And Arthur can't say no to him, not now after everything that's happened, not after Merlin has brought peace and saved Arthur and all his kingdom, not after Arthur has brought this pain and this terror on him, not after everything Merlin has done for him regardless of how Arthur has treated him.

Gently he slides Merlin to the ground. And Merlin's thin, so much thinner than he should be and he's shaking all over and he's cold, so cold. And Arthur is scared, so scared but he doesn't know what to do.

He's never known what to do with Merlin.

"Merlin please?" Arthur whispers, begs for permission, pleads for Merlin to stay with him. He cannot lose Merlin. Not before, not now, not ever. "Please?"

Merlin draws in a ragged breath and somehow, somehow finds the strength to raise his head and look straight into Arthur's eyes—into his very soul, it seems, "Arthur, this..." his voice is thin and he stops to cough for a moment before going on in a stronger voice, "Arthur, I don't want anyone else to know. It's none of their business—this is between us. Just you and I." He pauses to cough, again, but he doesn't stop, and Arthur doesn't interrupt. "It's just what happened, it happened, Arthur. That's it."

"I don't know how you can say that," Arthur says in a small voice.

"Arthur," Merlin replies in a hard voice, "Morgana hurt me but I'm alive and I'll be okay with a little bit of time. And it was Morgana who hurt me. I know that and you should accept that as well," he sighs and shakes his head; he seems to choose his next words carefully, "Do you blame Gwen for this?" He asks as he gestures to Arthur's hand where there was a small, round scar. It takes him a moment to realize it was from when she had pinned him to the table before Arthur had realized that the end was there.

"No!" he counters viciously because of course he doesn't blame Guinevere for something that hadn't been in her power to stop, "Of course I don't, it wasn't her!"

Merlin raises an eyebrow at him, and Arthur snaps his mouth shut. "You're right, it wasn't her."

"It's not the same," Arthur says but he can't explain why it's different.

"It is. It's the same as you not wanting Percival to take the blame for something he didn't do after your little 'training accident'. It's the same as you not blaming Gwaine for almost killing you or Leon or Gaius or George or any one of them. It wasn't them. And it wasn't you who hurt me."

Arthur lets the words sink in, but he knows he won't ever really let go of this guilt, ever be able to absolve his hands of the blood stained on them.

"Arthur, I was hurt but that's all over now. I've moved past it and you should too."

"They should still know," Arthur declares softly and he's not sure if he's talking about his own sins or Merlin's sacrifices throughout the years.

"Why?" Merlin asks and there's curiosity in his voice, "Why does it matter to you so much that they know?"

"I'm afraid," Arthur answers honestly. Merlin starts back and opens his mouth, but Arthur talks over him, "I'm afraid that if they don't know then this will happen again." And maybe there's no logic in that fear but Arthur's life has never travelled a logical path. And he absolutely does not want this—or anything like this to ever happen again. Not to Merlin, not to anyone. "Why don't you want them to know about you?" And again, Arthur doesn't know exactly what he's asking; he wonders if Merlin does.

Merlin is quiet for a long moment; his body is still shaking and he's still so pale and he still looks like he is about to pass out at any moment but he hasn't given permission and Arthur won't go behind his back even if it is to save his life. He'd given his word and Arthur can't betray that no matter how badly he wants to, how much he needs to.

"Because I don't want them to feel guilty," Merlin finally answers, "I just want them to be safe and happy and knowing about me isn't going to help that."

Arthur can't decide if Merlin is talking about his health or his magic either but he's not sure it matters.

"I want us all to move on, Arthur. And I don't think that they need to know, and I don't think we need to complicate matters further by telling them. I just...I think it's time to put this whole matter where it belongs, behind us."

They sit there in silence for a while, staring at each other, at the wounds they have carried for so long and yet no time at all, thinking of what the other has said.

It's Merlin who breaks the silence—he's always doing that, it seems—with a promise full of such meaning it scares Arthur, "If you want to tell them Arthur, I'll stand by your choice."

And Arthur knows then he's not just talking about the wounds that cover his body, not just the events of the past months, not just talking about Mordred's betrayal and death. He's talking about everything.

About the magic he possesses.

About the sacrifices he has made for Camelot and Arthur.

About the scars he has attained in service to his king.

He's talking about telling them everything and it's not because he wants to; it's because he believes in Arthur and if Arthur wants to tell, then he would spill his secrets as if they weren't his to keep, as if he didn't have a right to choose what to say or what to stay silent about.

And Arthur knows then, that no matter how much he wants Gaius to tend to Merlin's hurts and make him better; no matter how much he desires Gwaine's anger and Leon's disappointment and Gwen's horror; no matter how much he thinks he deserves to be punished for what his hands have done, he knows he won't tell them.

Not now at least, not for his own benefit and not even for Merlin's health. These are Merlin's words, his secrets, his life story.

And Arthur will not order it to be told by force.

One day, when Merlin is ready, when he wants to then Arthur will stand by his side and listen.

One day but not today.

"You still need help," Arthur tells him and hopes Merlin understands all that he means in those few words.

Merlin smiles crookedly and nods.

Eventually, Merlin gathers his strength to stand and Arthur draws on his mask of courage to face the next part of the day.

Facing Morgana's cold, dead body is no easier this time around than it was before.

"So I did what I had to and in the end I was the only one left standing." Merlin had told him, and Arthur had been far more focused on comforting him then he had on wondering what exactly those words meant.

He knows now as he surveys the battlefield while Merlin stands a few steps behind him.

"I did what I had to—" And how many other times had Merlin done this; fought a battle and was the only one left standing, the victor but at such a cost; then come home, come up from the tunnels, walked through the citadel's gates and never let a single word fall from his lips of the devastation he has wrought on others and the blood on his hands?

Battlefield is the only way to describe the carnage in front of him. His eyes slide away from the remains of the monstrous creatures and find what is left of Mordred's body.

Arthur looks at it for a long time before he turns his back.

Merlin watches him with something akin to wariness and something that is most definitely sorrow.

"He'll be stripped of his title," Arthur declares without regret. It isn't enough, not nearly enough to assuage his fury at the druid but it is all Arthur has left to him so he will do it. Camelot will know of Mordred's deception and Merlin's loyalty.

The wariness disappears from Merlin's face, but the sorrow stays long in his eyes.