Greetings Readers! This oneshot just came to me the other day, and it was one of those things that would not let me go until I'd written it. So...hopefully it's good! I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Spoilers for 4x12, conflicted Arthur, angst/hurt/comfort (I do like writing lighter stuff, I swear! It'll be coming eventually!)

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or any of its characters.

You knew. You knew that Agravaine was betraying me.

I had no proof. But…I did have my suspicions.

I feel such a fool.

Arthur, can you please-

One more word and I swear to God I will send you into exile.

For all your many faults…one day you will be the greatest king this land has ever known.

The twig in the dying embers of the fire snapped with an almost explosive pop, bringing the deposed king out of his troubled sleep. He stared around almost wildly for a moment, worried that enemies had discovered them at last, only for his heart to quiet and still as he realized he was literally jumping at the wind. He let his head fall into his hands. I've been such a fool.

When his mind wandered over the past year with Agravaine as his advisor, there were so many little instances, so many odd reactions to things that Agravaine had shown, that in hindsight his treachery was astonishingly clear for the beginning. But he'd never seen it – never even had more than a lingering suspicion after the attack of the assassin and the brief disappearance of Merlin.

Merlin. Arthur groaned as he mentally whipped himself thinking about how many times Merlin had tried to make him see the light. How he had tried to steer Arthur away from the self-destructive path that Agravaine was so earnestly proposing. And all he had gotten for his pains was verbal abuse and threats of exile, all for nothing that was really fault. All for telling the truth and trying to get Arthur to see.

It wasn't until Merlin had been dangerously wounded and lost to the grips of the assassins that Arthur really understood how much he relied on Merlin. Not just on his support, but on his subtle counsel and advice. He supposed he could admit it now, the idiot was truly wise. What's more, he never pushed Arthur into a corner, even when he himself felt passionately about something – not like Agravaine. He could always trust Merlin, trust his manservant to see past all the obfuscation to find the truth.

Agravaine hadn't been the first. As Arthur let his mind stay on its melancholy bent, he remembered how Merlin had never seemed to warm up to Morgana after her year-long disappearance. Not really, not the way that he had before she had gone. He'd even suspected the man of having affections for his half-sister; how could he not notice the sudden coolness towards her, a coolness that was distinctly uncharacteristic for the normally cheery manservant. He had to have known then, but he must have known that to say something would have meant dire consequences for himself. And who would have believed a peasant over the king's ward?

I would have, Arthur argued to himself, but even in his mind the thoughts fell flat. He hadn't believed Merlin this time around; why would he believed him when it was Morgana he was accusing and not Agravaine?

The thought process was really not improving Arthur's opinion of himself as a good king, no matter what Merlin had said earlier around the campfire. How could he be a good king if he was so blind – not only to what he himself saw but what others told him? His mind somehow switched back to Merlin, remembering how so many times the younger man had pointed out the truth that he had steadfastly refused to believe. Killing the unicorn brought on the famine and drought. The woman Uther married was really a troll. The druid camp was really cursed. Gaius was not a traitor. All these things and more Merlin had known and tried to tell him, but he was stubborn to listen. And the mark of a great king was to listen. Arthur laughed slightly to himself. That certainly wasn't one of the things Uther had taught him. He'd probably learned it inadvertently from Merlin himself.

He owed Merlin so much – for his loyalty, his faith, and also for sticking around when each of those had been put to the test over and over again. He could never fully repay his friend – he would admit it on occasion – for all that he had done. But he wondered how Merlin could stick around through all of this.

Peering through the rising smoke of the dying campfire, Arthur looked around and realized with a jolt that Merlin's bedroll was empty. By the time they had both finally given way to sleep, Merlin had edged a bit away from the flames to allow Tristan and Isolde more warmth, especially since Isolde was still in such a sensitive condition. Had Merlin finally had enough?

Arthur listened intently, but he could hear nothing that could be connected to his manservant. No gathering of sticks, no nonsensical tunes being hummed, no tentative snapping of twigs as stealthy feet crept around the campsite keeping watch. Maybe for all of Merlin's encouraging words, he had come to listen and accept what Arthur was professing as true. Maybe Arthur wasn't the king that deserved the throne of Camelot, and the smarter-than-given-credit-for manservant had finally had enough.

That hurt. It hurt, surprisingly, more than any betrayal he had experienced, and just as much as watching the love of his life kiss another man, although the pain was admittedly of a different sort. He had taken Merlin for granted, and maybe that would turn out to be his downfall.

No man is worth your tears, he once said to Merlin, but he could not say that the salt tears tracking down his face were unfounded.

He was about to truly lose himself to the tears and give way to howls of grief when he heard a tell-tale snapping of twigs and a slight muttered curse as the sound grew closer and louder. His eyes narrowed in recognition as the voice became closer, and then he immediately flopped down into his bedroll, feigning sleep. Through his mostly closed eyelids, he saw his manservant make his way through the surrounding trees, sitting in front of the fire and warming his hands for a moment before tossing another stack of kindling on the fire. Merlin looked absolutely exhausted but there was a pleased expression in his tired eyes as he stretched his neck back and looked up into the sky. He yawned largely and then moved over to his bedroll. He lay down himself and then his eyes slid shut. Arthur almost missed the whisper over the crackling fire, but he strained to hear the words Merlin was saying.

"Don't worry, Arthur. We're going to get through this."

Arthur thought for a moment that Merlin had seen him awake, but as soon as his words faded into the night they were followed by a light snore that showed Merlin had immediately slipped into sleep. The king sat up and smiled to himself.

He still didn't believe fully that he was the right man for this job. But Merlin, through all that they had been through, seemed to believe so, and believed it whole-heartedly. So that would have to be enough for now.

Merlin, after all, was always right.

A/N: This is definitely my most Arthur-centric oneshot so far, and I hope you enjoyed it. Arthur seems to really have a crisis of faith in the last two episodes of season 4, and I absolutely love that Merlin knows how to bring him out of it. I also like the idea that Arthur is at least somewhat aware of how much Merlin does for him, because he doesn't acknowledge it too much. Ah well.

Thanks for reading and please review! I like to see what people think and reviews make me happy!

Thanks to all those who have reviewed. Will be responding soon!