(AN: Glad to see you guys are still with me! Thanks so much for the encouraging reviews. I'm going to try to have the next chapter up in a few days. Thanks again!)

Gwaine, possibly for the first time ever, wished Arthur was here. As much as he teased and twitted the princess, he knew Arthur wouldn't be sitting on his hands while a friend was in danger. Especially not when that friend was Merlin.

He went back to mending a small tear his cape, trying to keep his mind off the fact that the sun had just barely reached its peak in the sky, and there were still hours before sunset, and anything could happen to Merlin in that time-

He threw his cape down violently. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to banish the images that cropped up every time he thought of his friend. His stomach knotted as he gathered up his cape, needle, and thread once more.

What was wrong with Gwen? He could see her now, talking with the soldiers. Smiling. Her friend and her brother were both out there fighting, maybe injured, maybe worse, and she wanted to wait? What was the point? How could reinforcements do anything but help? And Percival was just as bad. And he had been there! He had seen the bodies littering the castle as they made their escape. He had seen the sorcerers coming back, retaking the fortress. What had he said when Gwaine tried to stay behind and find Merlin? There's too many of them. We'll take Arthur to safety, then come straight back with more men. So much for that promise. So much for the fellowship of the knights. So much for all their fine talk about bravery and loyalty and-

RIIIIIP

Gwaine looked down at his shaking hands and the scarlet cape that now lay in pieces before him.

Well, he supposed that was fitting, because he was done.

Leaving his cape on the ground, he stood and casually made his way back to where the horses were tied. A soldier he didn't know was standing guard. Not ideal, but it had be a while since Gwaine had gotten to knock someone over the head. He made his way forward quietly, searching out the horse he had ridden the night before.

"Take a break, Sam," called a soft, strong voice. "I'll take over for a while."

Gwaine turned in time to see the soldier, presumably Sam, pat Percival gratefully on the arm before striding back toward the main camp, never noticing Gwaine. Unlike Percival, who stared right at him.

Gwaine dropped his stealth and began to saddle his chosen horse, the steady mare that had brought him to camp last night. With an uncomfortable jolt, he realized that it was Merlin's horse.

Focus.

Finally, his mount was ready to go. Percival still hadn't spoken, but Gwaine could feel his eyes on his back.

Gwaine swung himself into the saddle, and then looked back at the man he had thought was his closest friend.

Percival looked at him steadily, and then nodded. He wouldn't go with Gwaine, but he wouldn't stop him. He valued his friendship with Gwaine, but Camelot came first.

Gwaine almost wished he could be that way. Dedicated to the cause. Giving it all up for the greater good.

Giving a final nod to his friend, Gwaine turned his back on the greater good and rode off for a lesser good that meant far more to him.

Arthur thought he was handling things quite well considering.

Considering that his sister was not only alive, but now free.

Considering his best friend was a secret warlock.

Considering he had been stabbed by the druid boy he had helped rescue.

Considering he was trapped on a make-believe, magical island with the one person he wanted to avoid above all others.

Considering all of that, the fact that he wasn't curled up and crying like a small child seemed like a victory.

At least he had tried. At least he wasn't lying there, resigned to spending eternity in this dull no-where land. As much as he wanted to ignore his companion, he was growing more and more irritated with the man's apathy. Especially considering that this was all his fault in the first place.

Arthur picked up a handful of moist sand. He watched as trail of water and grit escaped the main clump and traveled down his wrist. For a moment, he considered the mushy mass before him.

Then, he lobbed it into Merlin's face.

The result was... satisfying.

After the initial shocked gasping and sputtering and the subsequent outraged glare, Merlin rose indignantly and strode away. Arthur watched him leave for a moment, then turned an faced the other direction. Soon, Merlin rounded the other side of the island and was walking back toward Arthur. He nearly tripped over his king as he tried to clear the mud out of his eyes. He stopped, startled at seeing Arthur before him.

"Hello," Arthur said, trying to replicate the infuriating cheer Merlin greeted him with every morning.

The servant merely glared at him and turned away from the shore, stalking toward the tree line. Arthur heard him settle in the scant forest, spitting and blowing sand from his mouth and nose.

The satisfaction he had felt earlier was beginning to fade. So, purely as a distraction, he called out.

"Don't be such a girl, Merlin."

No answer. That was fine. Arthur didn't care.

"What, no smart answer? No made-up words to insult me?"

Still nothing. Dammit. It wasn't that he cared. He didn't. But if anyone should be ignoring anyone, Arthur should be ignoring Merlin, not the other way around.

"You know, I'm the one who should be ignoring you."

Silence. Why did he care? He shouldn't. After all, Merlin had been lying to him for years.

"Since you're the one that has been lying to me for years!"

He wanted answers. He wanted to understand. But in leu of that, abusing Merlin had it's own charms.

"What, did that mud ball finish you off? I knew it. The moment I'm not there to hold your hand, you roll over and-"

"Ha!"

Arthur spun around. He could just see Merlin's back through the shadows of the trees. The other man was sitting stiffly, obviously trying to ignore his master.

"What was that?" Arthur said, rising.

"Oh, nothing, sire," Merlin said, not looking around. "Just stupid, clumsy old Merlin, the drunkard. Never mind, me, I can't possibly have said anything important."

"Are you offended?" Arthur asked as he walk forward to stand in front of his servant. He took in the other man's flushed cheeks and scowling face. "You are! We are trapped on a magical island with no clue how to get away, I've been stabbed, you've just told me you're a sorcerer, and you're on your dignity because I threw mud on you!"

"Warlock."

"What?"

"I'm a warlock. Not a sorcerer. There's a difference."

"Wow. That is fascinating stuff, Merlin, and I'd love to hear more, only I don't care."

"You should care!" Merlin shouted, finally meeting Arthur's eyes.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't choose to practice magic." Merlin said, standing. "It chose me."

"Ah," Arthur said as he walked away. "That's a great line. You should write a ballad with it."

"It's true, Arthur," said Merlin, following him.

"I've never heard you sing, but I'm guessing you were a fine soprano until a year or two ago."

"Don't you believe me?" Merlin said.

"Fine!" Arthur said, spinning to face him. "Yes, Merlin, I believe you, though based on recent events, I don't know why. The thing is, I don't care if you chose it or it chose you. It's not your choice of practicing magic that bothers me."

"It's not?" Merlin looked shocked, and Arthur was scarcely less surprised himself. But he had never hated Morgana, Morguase, or anyone else merely because of magic. It was something else.

"You lied, Merlin," he felt defeated just saying it. "You lied for years. And you kept lying."

Merlin's shoulders slumped.

"I know," Merlin said, sounding weary like he did sometimes. "And Arthur, there were so many times I wanted to tell you... Actually, I did tell you once."

It was true, and it was one of the things Arthur had been calling himself ten kinds of fool over.

"You were trying to save Gwen." Arthur said almost smiling. Then, he thought of another thing and all humor faded. "And... Dragoon. That was you, wasn't it?"

If he had punched Merlin in the stomach, it would have had the same effect. Looking away, the servant nodded.

Arthur nodded as well, turning back to the shore once more. He sighed, running a hand across his lower lip. He had known the answer before he asked the question. Still, it was hard to take in.

"I didn't mean for him to die," Merlin's voice was small behind him.

Arthur breathed out heavily, looking up as moisture gathered in his eyes. The salty air was getting to him.

"I know," he answered.

There was a long pause. A warm hand fell on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," Merlin whispered. And if his voice trembled a little, Arthur wasn't going to mention it.

"I know," Arthur finally looked back at Merlin. Something in his chest that had been tight and painful for a long time finally loosened and settled. Then, he noticed something strange.

"Merlin," he said as calmly as he could. "Why is your arm see-through?"

"Gaius!" Leon shouted as he lurched onto his stiff legs. "Look at this!"

The physician quickly took the aged scroll and held it to the late afternoon sunlight that streamed through the window.

"This could be it..." he said, squinting at the faded drawings. "I can't make out much of the writing... here's something, 'taken from the tree Barnstokkr in the hall of...' it fades out again."

"I think I can make this bit out," said Leon, pointing to a passage further down the page. "'...shattered by the spear.. reforged by the son...dragons fear...' I can't make out more that. It's not much help."

"Let me take a closer look at the drawing," Gaius said, retrieving a large, domed crystal from a nearby table. Placing it over the page, he leaned in to peer closely at the image. "It is almost certainly the same sword. The markings are quite distinctive. And there's writing here... 'Once shattered, now reforged.'"

"How does that help us?" asked Leon.

"It doesn't," said Gaius. "But if it means what I think, it may very well help him. Or, if my suspicions are right, them."