A/N- I cannot believe it's taken me so long to update! :( I'm really sorry, everyone. I hope this last part will make up for the long wait.

Scars- PART 2:

Merlin grabbed a stick off the ground and looked at it carefully. Is firewood supposed to be wet? Or dry? He couldn't remember correctly from their last escapade in the forest.

Something snapped behind him. On instinct, Merlin whirled around and lifted the branch over his head.

"Woah, Merlin!" the king raised his hands in defense. "It's just me. Now, put the twig down and no one gets hurt . . . Meaning you. We wouldn't want that head of yours getting knocked up more than it is."

He let the stick swing back to his side. "You wanted something?"

"Just . . . came to help."

Merlin eyes narrowed a bit and moved a foot towards him. "You want to collect firewood?"

Arthur shrugged. "How hard can it be?"

"Are you sure you're the king of Camelot?"

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?"

"'Cause you want to help me . . ."

"Merlin."

He grinned. "Just checking.

The king rolled his eyes and hid his slight indication of a smile by turning and stooping low to pick up the nearest thing, which happened to only be a walnut. He straightened and watched Merlin, whom couldn't shake the goofiness from his lips and was plotting a plan in which to embarrass his master further. He wasn't prepared, though, when something thunked him hard on the head and he toppled over, his cry of terror could be heard from the far off camp site.

Merlin whirled in astonishment, ready to take on any attack with magic. Instead he found the king . . . laughing.

Arthur didn't find the situation funny at all. He thought it was hilarious! His giggles were completely un-king like and he held his side in mortifying pain. Peels of it split through the wall he'd made between manhood and childhood.

Merlin did not find his pained head to be a joking matter, but he let that fade away at the sight of Arthur Pendragon giggling crazily. A grin slipped on his face.

Before Arthur knew it, the situation reverse. Something hit him rather hard on the head. He cried out.

Arthur glared up at his servant who was giggling just as badly as he had been, maybe worse.

"You'll regret that," he promised.

Merlin couldn't answer. He was still laughing.

One walnut hit him square a chest, knocking the laughter out of him. The next whacked him in the shoulder. And several more rained on his head and, strangely, his knees.

He retaliated immediately. Gathering the walnuts that'd been thrown, he returned fire. It was to neither of their surprise he missed Arthur with most of them, but still two managed to hit their target on the elbow and straight at the stomach. Arthur ducked for cover and began gathering more ammunition.

The fight lasted a very long time, more time then they might have imagined. The only reason none of the men went to check on them was because Gwaine told them not to and kept them busy with various bets on who might come back the most bloodied up.

They found themselves finally done. Arthur sat slumped against a large tree and Merlin sprawled out on the ground a few yards away on the moss ridden grass. Both were silent say for their pants and gasps of exhaustion. When that finally ceased, they lay in silence, looking up at the sky that had suddenly grown quite dark. Neither spoke. Neither wanted to for a good deal of time.

"Thank you, Merlin."

Merlin turned his head towards the king and squinted a bit through the darkness. "What for?"

"I haven't laughed in a very long time. I thank you for that." Arthur leaned his head towards him and smiled briefly.

More silence.

"We didn't collect firewood," Merlin said.

"Right."

"We better get started then, I suppose."

". . . Right."

They both got up from there relaxing positions, stretching a bit from the soreness. They felt every aching muscle, bruise and welt (Merlin more so then Arthur). After that, they began to search for firewood.

At first, Arthur was embarrassed to ask his servant whether they needed dry or wet sticks. Merlin didn't want to tell him that he couldn't remember so they just settled on dry branches. The servant grinned at his master every now and then. The king was carrying firewood. Gwaine was going to love this.

After a while, something about the silence grew incredibly awkward. On most occasions, these moments were relished by both parties but this was different. It was like there was a tension in the air that Merlin just couldn't shake off. Something was wrong.

"So why did you really come here?" he asked.

A few yards away, Arthur flickered his eyes towards him, making himself appear very self-conscious. "What makes you say that?"

"'Cause I know you and you haven't stopped burning a hole in the back of my head since you got here." This seemed to trigger the reaction he was looking for. Something like guilt flashed through Arthur's eyes. "What's going on?"

With a sigh, Arthur walked over to him and sat himself down on a moss bedded rock. Merlin did the same only because he knew it would agitate the king if he towered over him. Silence settled in quickly and they listened to the sounds of the new night.

"Where did you get your scars from?"

Merlin's head snapped towards him fast. A look of panic cross over his face. "Uh . . . What scars?"

Arthur snorted. "The ones on your chest. I can see them now."

He lifted his arm and looked. Sure enough, the tear in his tunic had grown to show a good portion of his chest. Arthur could see the scars all white and sliced so deep in his body. The terrible fire that took him had burned layer after layer of Merlin's skin. It was a truly horrendous sight, to be sure. Arthur couldn't see the whole thing . . . how could one man endure so much pain?

The young servant turned his shirt so it covered the marks. Arthur's view of it was obstructed. He looked up at Merlin and saw his grim expression. He was starring right back at him. Did he not want to talk about it? Was that the kind of look he was giving him?

"It wasn't recent," Merlin muttered softly.

". . . What happened?"

The soft sound of the wind picked up around them. The young man looked at the ground with an expression of defeat. He took up a blade of grass and toyed with it for what seemed like hours. Neither man let their gazes waver.

After a while, Merlin shifted his body and dropped the blade of grass. He was ready to talk.

"Have you . . . Have you ever wanted to do something good but instead just make things worse?"

Arthur thought about this. There were moments like that in every man's life. His own probably more than anyone else's. He nodded in response.

"I just can't seem to do good things without there being consequences. It's hard."

He waited for him to continue.

"It was when I was thirteen years old," he began. "I was living in Ealdor in Cenred's kingdom with my mother. Everything was so simple then. All I had to care about were chores and making life comfortable for us."

"So, basically like it is now."

Arthur waited for him to smile and agree, but that never came. It surprised him. His friend's eyes seemed to harden a bit at the statement. He ignored what the king said and continued.

"I had a friend named Will. You met him awhile ago, remember?"

Arthur nodded. How could he forget? No matter how many honorable deaths he'd seen, each one will always be remembered with a dreadful pang in his chest. He will always carry the burden of those who died for him and the kingdom of Camelot.

"Will and I were camped in the forest a few miles off from our village," he continued. "We'd been sent to hunt around a bit for some food to sell to traders who traveled there every year. It took a us two days before Will shot a wild boar."

"You went hunting?" Arthur asked.

Merlin grinned. "No! I carried the equipment. Will did all the shooting. Every time I tried, I would miss by at least thirty yards."

"With you, I don't even have to imagine that happening." The king laughed.

"Anyways, when we came back something had happened. A man named Mythral owned an entire crop. He was always grouchy and complaining about us being in his fields. In the two days we'd been gone, everything wilted and died. On our return, I was blamed for having used witchcraft to destroy his crop."

"It was Will who'd done it then," Arthur stated, remembering Merlin revealing the secret of his friend's identity. "He'd used magic as revenge."

Merlin paused for a moment and licked the dryness off his lips. "Y-Yeah. He did.

"Mythral wasn't the only one who believed this. Everyone thought I'd done it. There wasn't too much evidence to go on and my mother convinced most of the people that I hadn't done anything. Still, I wasn't to be trusted. I wanted people to see my innocence without question.

"About a month later, we had a small festival. It wasn't much. Everyone brought in a little food and we played some music. Still, it was a lot of fun. Not everyone was fully convinced I didn't have anything to do with the crops dying. My mother and Will both went. I stayed home. By the time the festival was half way through, it had grown dark.

"Mythral came in the middle of the night. He threatened me with an axe and led me to his home on the outskirts of our village. Mythral . . ."

The king knew where this was heading. Merlin stuttered the man's name and couldn't seem to get it right on his tongue. He was afraid of what had happened next. With confidence, Arthur rested his hand on the shoulder of his friend. "You really don't have to tell me. I think I know the rest."

Merlin shook his head. "It's not what you think. Mythral didn't burn me. I burned myself."

"What?" Arthur's eyes shot up.

"He'd taken me only because he wanted me to fix the crop. He wanted me to work for him to repair the damage done to his field. When I refused, he got angry. He told me to go home and shoved me. I . . . Knocked over a lamp. I tried to get him out. He died instead."

"I'm sorry."

Merlin shook his head and sighed. "So am I."

"You know . . ." he searched for the right words. "It wasn't your fault."

"It kind of was-"

"Merlin."

"Well, isn't it?" He pierced his lip and starred at the ground. "If I had just made time to fix his field, maybe he never would have died."

"Look at me, Merlin." the servant didn't. "Look at me!"

He did and starred up in his master's eyes, waiting for what he was about to say. "It was not your fault," he began. "It was never your fault. It was an accident."

"Yeah, and I got away with only this." Merlin grabbed the edge of his shirt and lifted it so Arthur could see the horrorific scars. The red stained his skin and crawled through his ribs like veins, jagged and twisted betraying the truth of how deep the wound had been; with the lack of care it had been given.

But, the king didn't even look. He kept his eyes steadily on his companion. "There is a reason you have those scars, Merlin. It's so you can remind yourself every day that you tried to save a man and you tried heroically."

Merlin blinked. "It didn't do any good . . ."

"But, you tried!" he cried. "I've killed men also, Merlin. I'd give everything so I didn't have to, but I did. You have a scar Merlin from one death . . ." he paused. "I have scars worthy of a hundred men.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't stop remembering the man you killed. I'm saying that you should stop being the man that killed him. Remember him, but don't remember him like this."

While Merlin tried to contemplate what he just said, Arthur rose and returned back to the camp where his men were waiting.

Everything grew quiet. Merlin was alone now. The forest was dimming around him, and was peaceful say for the wind tousling his inky hair against his skin. His arms rested against his knees and his body swayed a little to the left against the winds cold grip.

He sat there for a long while. His eyes never saw the things around him, swaying and moving. He never saw the twilight half hidden by a wondering cloud.

Nor did he ever see the two eyes of white dragon peer out the forest, smiling, and then disappear.