(AN: Thanks so much to those of you who are reviewing, following, and favoriting. It's very encouraging. Not that I don't also appreciate the silent spectators, quietly judging namelessly in front of their screens of light. I also salute you. In other news, cliffies are going to happen, people. I'll try not to put any if I know it'll be a while before I post, but be prepared. I intend to leave you hanging at the end of chapters. Not all chapters, but some. I shall not apologize, because I am doing it on purpose. Anyway, enjoy!)

Merlin kept his eyes closed.

Here in the dark, it was easy to pretend that he was asleep in his bed at Camelot, just waking from a terrible nightmare.

Or maybe he was on a hunt, drifting off, and when he started awake Arthur would call him a girl and throw something at him.

Or maybe Mordred had knocked him out again, and he was just imagining the worst possible outcome of this confrontation.

But it wasn't the worst outcome.

Arthur was still alive. Merlin had to keep him that way.

He opened his eyes.

His magic still swirled around them, like liquid glass. Merlin watched it glow for a moment, losing himself in its beauty. Sighing, he turned and did what he had to do.

He looked Arthur in the eye.

Shock. Pure and utter shock. None of the other emotions he expected to see—anger, hatred, disgust—only shock. As if there were no room in Arthur's mind for anything else.

The king's eyes darted away, taking in the magical shield, then focusing past it. His gaze settled on Mordred.

"You," he said, glaring and leveling his sword at the young man. "You're doing this."

"Me?" Mordred scoffed. "I wish I could. I've never seen anything like it. I knew he would do something to save you, but this…" His voice trailed off as he stared at the sphere in awe. "I've always known you were powerful, Emrys, but I never really understood. Not until now."

"His name is Merlin," Arthur spat. "And you are not going to convince me that this is him. You cannot convince me that he has lied to me, or betrayed me, so you might as well stop trying."

Mordred just smiled.

"Arthur…" Merlin's voice was a ghost.

"Shut up," Arthur said, spearing him with a quick glance. "Get ready to attack as soon as this thing falls."

Merlin dropped his head, breath rushing out as he tried to blink back the wetness from his eyes.

"It won't fall until I let it," he said.

"Stop." Arthur said, really looking at Merlin. "Just stop it."

"I should have told you before—"

"Merlin, no."

"Yes," said Merlin, stepping forward. Arthur's sword arm slowly dropped to his side as he turned his full attention on Merlin. "This is who I am. I have magic, and I use it to keep you safe. Since the day we met."

Arthur closed his eyes and turned his face away. In that moment, Merlin knew his thoughts as clearly as if he had shouted them.

No. Not again.

"You see, King Arthur," Mordred said. "Even your closest friend was afraid to tell you of his magic. Not because of anything your father did or said. Because of you. Merlin is afraid of you."

Arthur flinched at this, and Merlin turned to Mordred to tell him that he had it all wrong. But meeting the young man's cold, stern gaze, he found he had nothing to say.

"Emrys," Mordred continued. "Arthur Pendragon will always hate us. He was corrupted from an early age, and he will never abandon his father's stupid, ignorant, weak—"

Suddenly, Arthur cried out and slashed through the magical shield, launching himself at Mordred.

Pain exploded in the very core of Merlin's being as the blade met the ball of light. He gasped, unable to even scream. The lightning had hurt, but not like this. He blinked, trying to clear the white spots that obstructed his vision. The intense blinding pain was gone, but there was a lingering ache, like an ulcer in his soul.

That was no ordinary sword.

Rising with some effort—when had he fallen?—Merlin made his way toward Arthur, who was wildly attacking Mordred. The sorcerer ducked and dodged, trying to give himself space, but his adversary didn't give him time to breathe. Merlin watched anxiously, looking for some way to end the fight.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the sorcerers that they had taken down earlier. The man was creeping behind Arthur. With a determined grimace, Merlin called to his magic and threw it against the man.

The dull ache he felt erupted once more, almost causing him to blackout. Blinking back tears, he saw his target stumble slightly. The force he had used should have blasted the man into the wall! Instead, the sorcerer looked around in confusion for a moment, before finally spotting Merlin.

Well, at least he wasn't attacking Arthur.

Merlin tried to control his panic as he backed away from the man as quickly as he could. His mind was racing. His magic must have been damaged some how. Trying to use it was like trying to run on a broken leg: not very effective and very painful. Instead, Merlin began picking up whatever he could and chucking it at the sorcerer. The other man batted the debris away and answered with his magic. Merlin ducked, dived, and rolled, every so often whipping a piece of wood or stone at the other man. Unfortunately, his aim had never been very good. One rock went very wide and hit Arthur.

"Oi!" the other man cried, giving him a quick looked of annoyance before turning back to Mordred.

It was such a familiar exchange, and Merlin found himself smiling and shouting back, "Sorry! Didn't see you there!"

Then the memory of what had just happened caught up with him and he froze, paralyzed by the thought that he would probably never banter with Arthur again.

It was all the distraction his opponent needed.

Merlin felt the push catch him in the chest. He crashed over a table before slamming into the floor. He toppled and slid, the magic carrying him further than any natural blow.

"Merlin!" he heard Arthur shout. He barely had time to be surprised at the fright in the other man's voice before the ground disappeared, and he was falling.

Arthur turned when he heard the crash. He saw Merlin, tumbling across the floor like a discarded toy. Then, he saw what Merlin was heading towards.

He didn't think. He dropped the Sarrum's sword and sprinted toward his friend—sorcerer, liar—sliding on his stomach as he dove to close the last few feet. He reached out, seizing Merlin's arm with both hands as the servant fell into the mouth of the pit—the very one Morgana had been in.

Arthur grunted as Merlin jerked to a stop, dangling in the darkness. For a moment both men just breathed. Then, Merlin's eyes widened.

"Arthur, let go," he said urgently. "Let go now."

"No," Arthur said as strongly as he could.

"Arthur, Mordred!"

Damn it! Arthur had forgotten for a moment. But he wasn't letting go. He just wasn't. He tried to pull Merlin up, but he had no leverage. He let go with one hand and tried to brace it on the edge of the pit.

Merlin slipped.

Arthur's heart flew into his throat has he threw his arm back down and clasped his servant with both hands once more. Merlin cried out, and Arthur knew his grip would leave bruises. He didn't care. He couldn't stand the thought of watching Merlin slip into the blackness, waiting to hear his body crumple at the bottom. No. He would not lose his friend this way.

Is he still your friend?

Arthur didn't know, and right now, he didn't have time to figure it out. Two thoughts clashed in his head as he search frantically for a way out.

I can't let Merlin die.

Once we get out of here, I'm going to kill him.

It wasn't the first time either thought had entered his mind.

He hoped it wouldn't be the last.

Arthur's face was turning red above him.

"Arthur," Merlin said, desperation slipping into his voice. "You have to get yourself out of here."

"No." Arthur ground out again. Merlin could feel Arthur's palms beginning to sweat. He felt himself slip a fraction of an inch. Arthur growled and readjusted his already crushing grip. Merlin thought about trying to wriggle free, but what if the motion brought Arthur down with him? He had to talk Arthur into dropping him.

"You are the King!" Merlin shouted.

"The King orders you to shut up," Arthur shot back.

"It's probably not that deep…"

"You think I'm going to risk that?"

"I have magic, remember?" Merlin said, viciously. "I'll stop myself from getting hurt."

"Really? Like you used magic to fight the sorcerer. Oh wait no, you were chucking rocks at him."

"I do have magic, Arthur!"

"I know!" Arthur hollered. "And I'm not trusting it to save you!"

Merlin was silent. Then, he heard footsteps.

Mordred came into view.

You see, Emrys? his voice echoed. Even if he finds away to trust you, he will never trust magic.

"It's time to end this," he said aloud.

He plunged the Sarrum's sword into Arthur's back.

The king screamed, head thrown back in pain, and Merlin screamed with him. He felt Arthur's hands spasm around his arm, but his friend held on. Arthur's head fell forward, and Merlin could see him clenching his jaw. He met Merlin's eyes, and they both knew what was about to happen. A brief look of regret and understanding passed between them.

Then, Mordred yanked the sword back out.

Arthur's hands slackened, and Merlin fell.

As he watched Arthur's face and the light grow distant, he welcomed his fate.

There was no such thing as a coin with one side.

The last thing Arthur saw was Merlin's falling forming disappearing in the darkness.

Then, the darkness consumed Arthur too.

He felt someone kick his body, felt his arms and legs loll bonelessly as he rolled. Then, he heard a creak, and something slammed right beside his head.

"Goodbye, Emrys."

Footsteps passed him and echoed away.

The last thing he heard was a muffled groan and a whispered curse.

Then, there was nothing.

Sleep would not come.

Gwen was exhausted from the endless day. There had been nothing to do but wait and worry. Though she considered herself a patient person, it was against her nature to sit idly by while others were in danger. She could see the same restlessness in the knights around her.

Leon was constantly in motion, checking on the men, polishing weapons, and pacing along the camp's perimeter. Elyan, on the other hand, had withdrawn into himself. He sat, still as a statue staring at the fire, or the trees, or some unseen spot in the distance.

Gwen tried to control herself, to project confidence and calm to the knights. She tended to armor, mended, cooked, cleaned, anything she could to keep her mind occupied. She even sang, joked, and told stories with the men, all with a cheerful smile on her face. It was one of the hardest days work she had ever done.

Now, alone in her tent, she longed for sleep to lull away the gnawing unease in her stomach. But it eluded her. She had just decided to give it up and find something to do when she heard shouting.

She rushed out of the tent, still fully dressed. In the shadows on the edge of camp, riders were dismounting, being welcomed warmly by the other knights. She ran closer, anxiously searching through faces.

"Gwen!" a voice called.

It was Gwaine. For a moment, she was flooded with relief as she saw him atop a horse, and handing something down to Percival.

But he wasn't carrying something. It was someone.

"Arthur," she whispered, running over.

Percival settled her husband in his arms. Stopping in front of him, Gwen ran her hand through Arthur's hair, calling his name. Tears welled in her eyes when he did not answer. She looked at Percival for explanation, but he looked as lost as she felt. He also looked exhausted.

Arthur still lived. He would want her to look after his men.

"Leon, Elyan!" she called. The two men rushed over, faces falling when they saw Arthur. "Take the king to my tent and call the physician. Then find food and blankets for all these men; they are dead on their feet."

The two knights rushed to do as they were told. Gwen helped support Percival as she led him to a nearby fire, Gwaine close behind. The next half hour was a blur for Gwen as she directed efforts to care for the men, making sure that they had food and that their wounds were tended. She kept all other thoughts out—thoughts of Arthur, and of a certain conspicuous absence.

At last, everyone was seen to. Gwen dashed to her tent and threw open the flap. Her husband was laid out on his stomach. The physician was putting the final stitch on a wound in Arthur's back. Gwen drew close, kneeling beside the cot at her husband's shoulder, stroking his face with her hand. He didn't stir.

"How is he?" she asked, voice rough from overuse.

The physician continued to bandage the wound, eyebrows furrowing as he considered her question.

"He is extremely lucky, for one," the man said. "As far as I can tell, nothing vital has been hit. He has no fever, no trouble breathing, no murmurs in his chest—the wound did not even bleed very heavily. He survived miles on a galloping horse, which would kill most anyone who had internal damage. I see nothing that should keep him from making a full recovery."

Gwen took in the man's concerned look.

"But…?" she prompted.

The physician sighed.

"There's something… strange about the wound. The lack of blood, for example. I would normally be encouraged by it, but here, there is no clot, no reason for it to stop. It is as if the wound simply… dried up. There is no irritation or redness in the surrounding skin. The force it took to plunge the sword down—" Gwen swallowed convulsively, "—should leave bruising, but there's nothing. It's almost as if the skin is… dead. I would blame poison, but if it is, I've never seen one like it."

Gwen nodded, closing her eyes for a moment.

"You're Majesty," the physician said. "He needs Gaius."

Gwen opened her eyes, weighing her options. Gaius was in Camelot. They had needed someone they could trust in the citadel, so he stayed behind. The knights that had just returned needed to rest, but resting would not help Arthur. He needed to get to Camelot, quickly. Already forming a plan in her head, she stood, addressing the physician.

"Get him ready to leave. Anything you need—blanket's, bandages, anything—get them quickly and have him ready to travel within the hour.

Without another word, she turned and left the tent. Moving quickly, she approached Percival and Gwaine where they sat, shrouded in blankets near a fire. Percival looked up expectantly when she came and started to rise, but she waved him down and sat across from them. Gwaine just stared into the flames.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

Percival told her. About Sarrum's dungeon, Merlin's rescue, the fight for their lives. He told her about the unexpected arrival of the sorcerers, and how Arthur got the knights to safety. He told her about Morgana. Then, he looked at Gwaine uncertainly. The other man didn't even notice, still glowering at the fire. Percival continued.

"We were blasted off the stair somehow. Both knocked out. I came to when Gwaine woke me, pulled me up to help Arthur. I did my best to bandage him, while Gwaine…"

Gwaine finally pulled his gaze from the fire to look at Gwen.

"I was looking for Merlin."

Gwen nodded, throat tightening. Since the knights' arrival, her worry for her friend had increased by the minute. She had pushed it aside, focusing on what she needed to do. But now she had to face his absence and what it meant. She knew Merlin would never leave Arthur's side willingly. And he wasn't here.

"Did you… find him?" Gwen kept her voice from breaking, but only just.

"Not a trace," Gwaine replied. "But we had to leave. There were sorcerers everywhere. I don't know why he wasn't there, but I can't believe that he would leave by choice."

"You think they took him." The relief Gwen had felt that Gwaine hadn't found Merlin's dead body was replaced by a new spike of fear.

"I do," Gwaine said. "I can't think why. Especially if they thought Arthur was already dead. Why take Merlin?"

"Maybe they didn't," said Gwen, rubbing her hands over her face. "He could have found a place to hide and wait them out. Merlin's smart."

"So what do we do?" Percival said. Both his and Gwaine's eyes fixed on her. Taking a deep breath, she stood.

"Elyan, Leon!" she called. The two men came quickly. "I need you to divide our fresh troops between you. Any that just rode back stay with me; they need to rest. Leon, you will take a group back to Camelot. Your mission is to get Arthur to Gaius as quickly as possible. You will leave now. Can I count on you?"

Leon bowed low in response.

"Then go," Gwen said. Leon dashed off to organize his men. "Elyan, your group will leave at first light. You will go back to the Sarrum's castle."

"What?" Elyan said. "Why?"

"Elyan, listen," Gwen said as patiently as she could. Her nerves were raw, and she was not in the mood to be questioned. "We need to secure that stronghold. It has weapons and supplies in it that need to be accounted for, as well as documents and letters of state. But more importantly," she laid her hand on his arm, "Merlin is missing. I need him found. Please, Elyan. Can you do this?"

Eyes hardened with determination.

"Of course," he said.

"Be careful, Elyan." Gwen said. "The sorcerers might still be there."

"I will," her brother promised, giving her a quick hug. He moved to sit with Percival and Gwaine, and Gwen turned, heading back to her tent.

"Wait," said Percival. He held the hilt of a sword to Gwen. "We picked this up to defend ourselves on the way out, but it's the sword that stabbed… I'd rather not keep it."

Gwen grasped the hilt as firmly as she could, eyes searching against her will for blood on the blade. Arthur's blood. Forcing a parting smile at the knights, she left.

Inside the tent, Leon was getting last minute instructions from the physician. The two looked up when she entered, then started toward the door to give her some privacy with Arthur. She appreciated that.

"Here," she handed the sword to Leon, keeping her face blank, "This is what he was stabbed with. It might help Gaius."

The compassion in Leon's eyes as he took the sword almost made her break down right there. Almost. Instead, she held her head high as the two men left, then approach the still figure before her.

Gwen sat on the cot beside her husband. He lay on his back now, and looked as if he were sleeping. Gwen took his limp hand in hers, then gently brushed his hair back from his face. She tried not to be disappointed when he didn't stir.

"You're going to be fine," she whispered. "You will. We have too much left to do. You cannot leave yet. I need you here."

Gwen curled up beside her husband, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting her head on his chest. She wanted so desperately for him to hold her that she ached. Finally, she released the tearful sobs that had threated to fall all day.

How could Arthur be this close and yet feel so far away?

He stared at the grey waves that rolled gently on the sea. The salt air blew in his face, filling his lungs and dancing through his hair. He looked out as far as he could, to where the waves faded into the grey fog that surrounded the island. At his feet, the water made smooth tracks in the grey sand. A grey bird cried out, and he turned to watch it fly to the grey trees. Something was moving under the trees. A grey figure emerged and came toward him. As it closer, he recognized the man.

Huh, he thought, So, he's dead too.

The figure stopped a yard or two away.

"Arthur," the man said uneasily.

"Merlin," he responded, moving forward. Merlin nervously stepped back.

"I'm going to kill you!" Arthur yelled, breaking into a run.

Merlin fled, only to be taken down by the king's flying tackle.

(End of Episode One)