And now for the scary part... Tumtumtuuuuum!
Have fun! And thanks for all of the reviews! I didn't have time to reply to them, sorry about that, but they are always welcome!

MBM

Flash. Smoke. Thump. Arthur's feet landed on grass. He was getting used to the strange sensation now, and it didn't take him long to recover his bearings. They were outside; the sun was shinning, the birds were singing, there was a light breeze. Arthur looked around. It was unmistakably the training grounds. How many times had he practiced here on his various servants after all? Too many times to count, he would wager.

He could also see himself, and he was pleased it was him at an older age. He didn't think he would have been able to bear it if Merlin saw him as a newly born baby, crying and screaming as though he had some strange wish to wake the dead. Along with himself, was another boy. He looked average. And that was all Arthur could describe him as. He had a boring face.

"Oh, I know him…he's…he's…" Arthur tried, raking through his memories in search of the correct one. "Okay, I don't know him. Who's he?"

"David," Merlin said.

David was fumbling around with the catch fastening up his armour. He seemed to be clumsy, though not a patch on Merlin. If he had been Merlin, he probably wouldn't have made his way out of the castle yet. The other Arthur was swinging his sword – his signature move. This had to be a training session.

"David…doesn't ring any bells…" Arthur said to Merlin, shaking his head, nonplussed.

"Arthur, this was only two years ago!" Merlin spluttered, apparently appalled. "You ought to be able to remember at least some of your servants!"

"Well, I don't." Arthur shrugged.

"What, and that's what I'll become?" Merlin demanded, and was that hurt in his eyes…? "Just another servant? A nobody! I thought a long time ago that we might have once become friends. Seems I was wrong." He turned away, and his face might have been hidden, but Arthur knew in his heart of hearts that it was disappointment displayed in his features now. And maybe he was staring to feel a little bit, just a little bit guilty.

With a strange, suffocating feeling lying heavy inside his throat like a stone, he turned back to face the scene before him. The swings of his other self's sword were becoming more frequent, faster, and Arthur knew that he was about to make a move any second. Behind him, David stood ready to defend. But why did the other Arthur look so angry? Why was there an ugly mask of hate covering his face? Merlin had brought him here for a purpose, but none of it made sense.

Suddenly, the other Arthur attacked. David countered haphazardly with his shield, and the sword came crashing down on it. The shield shook; David stumbled back; the blow had been heavy. Arthur took it all in his stride, and again and again he came crashing down on the shield, hammering the servant back, further and further.

"So…" Arthur could hear his past self hiss through gritted teeth, his face inches from his terrified servant, "you think you can –" he battered David back more, never pausing or hesitating to allow the servant reprieve, "– give me…a cold bath…do you?"

"It was a mere accident, sire, I assure you!" David cried, his legs buckling under the weight of each blow.

"Save your excuses for someone who might care."

"Please, no! You're going to –"

And all in a split second Arthur saw the swords, maces, axes and other weapons lent up against the tree. His past self was driving David back relentlessly, not showing his unwilling opponent a hint of mercy: they were heading dead towards the tree. An axe was hung from a small hook driven into the trunk, and as David was forced back against it, the hook came loose, and the axe fell.

It was as if time had slowed down, and Arthur closed his eyes. He knew what would come next and did not want to see it. There was a metallic echo of sound as the axe cut through the air; and then there came a sharp, pain filled squeak, and a thump as something hit the ground. Tentatively, Arthur opened his eyes. David was slumped against the tree, dead. And Arthur was standing above him, his face void of all emotions, except for a terrible, stony indifference. It made the real Arthur sick to look at. Had this really been him?

And then the other Arthur spoke, his voice as hard as his face.

"I hate cold baths."

Arthur suddenly became acutely aware of eyes boring into him. He turned and faced Merlin.

"D-did I really kill him?" he asked. "I don't remember."

"You don't want to remember," Merlin replied, and his eyes were horribly understanding, seeing right through him, into his very soul.

"But how…?" he said, hating those all-knowing blue orbs.

"You pushed it away," Merlin said, "like you will my memory…"

"Never…" Arthur whisper: his throat would allow him little else as he choked on his words. "I will never forget you."

Merlin looked at him sadly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Arthur cried in earnest. "I'm sure!"

Merlin looked at him for a moment longer, and then the flash came again. And they were standing in a hall. But it was dark, dank, murky. The tapestries hanging from the falls and from the ceiling looked dull, adorned in cobwebs; and on them was made images of dead men, those who still lived and fought above the bodies cut down where they stood. Arthur took his eyes from them and looked around the rest of the room. Posted by the doors were guards; they wore the Pendragon crest and yet there was nothing grand about the golden dragon. Here and there were a few scattered courtiers, but they looked sad, sorrowful, like they had given up hope a long, long time ago. The place looked as though it had never been loved.

"Where are we?" Arthur hissed in under tones to Merlin. He felt wary of breaking the silence even to that extent.

"In the future," Merlin answered. "Do you see him?"

Arthur looked in the direction Merlin was allocating, towards what he guessed was the throne. The windows were swathed in a thick sheet of dust, and little light could find passage through it, choked by the darkness, but Arthur could still make out a figure sitting upon the throne. He looked as though in deep thought, though Arthur had the impression that this man always looked like that: almost like he was conspiring about something. He seemed wary, like a coiled viper, ready to strike at any second.

Although he could not see this man's face, Arthur had taken a disliking to him, and he leaned over to Merlin again.

"Who is that?"

"That, Arthur," said Merlin, "is you."

Arthur stared at him. Surely he had to be mistaken. It wasn't possible! He would never have allowed the castle to fall under such a state of disrepair.

"But how can that –?" he began, but Merlin cut him off.

"You do not need to talk," he said. "Stay silent and listen."

Arthur turned back to face the room, a mixture of fear and dread flooding into him. Was the future really going to be like this? Was there nothing he could do to stop it? Maybe it was possible it was just a trick. But whether it was or not, he still had to endure it at the present.

Frightened by these prospects, he raked the rest of the hall, wondering if there was something else he was supposed to see. His eyes fell upon the outline of a man somewhere in the shadows of a pillar. He looked vaguely familiar somehow, like someone he might have seen wandering the corridors of the castle at some point or other. Arthur narrowed his eyes, willing them to become accustomed to the gloom; curious to know whom it was who stood so quietly in the corner. And suddenly he knew.

Merlin had always been thin, his clothes always hanging off him as though they were wet, and his cheekbones defined, his face angular. And even though they peeked out from behind an untidy black hairline, his blue eyes always sparkled as though it was a joy to just be alive.

But this Merlin looked entirely different.

His clothes had changed; he wore a darker material, and they fitted him better, though this was not because he had gained weight. He was thin – so, so thin: he was almost curling in on himself. His collarbones protruded unnaturally from his pale chest, which was just visible from the loose fit of his shirt's neck. His skin was all but white, ghostly and gaunt in the dim light. But his face. His face is what grabbed Arthur's attention. The Merlin he knew nearly always had something to smile about, and that stupid, goofy grin would appear so often upon his features. In fact, Arthur would say it was almost infectious in a way: it made you want to smile back. But this Merlin looked as though he had not smiled for several years. Although his face was blank, his eyes were spilling over with emotion: a bitter abandonment, like he was an unloved novelty cast out to die.

Arthur looked to the Merlin beside him. The contract in the two was astonishing, but he shook that aside, wanting to ask a question of him. But before he opened his mouth, he knew that he would not receive an answer; Merlin's expression told him as much. And he looked away again, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"YOU, SERVANT!!! KNEEL!!!"

Arthur jumped and was immediately angry with himself. Clear and concise, the king's voice rang out through the courtroom. Everybody snapped to attention. And only then did Arthur see the small servant boy kneeled to the ground before the throne. He was trembling, and at the king's voice he laid himself flat to the floor.

"You have been found guilty of using enchantments and magic, the penalty for which is certain death," said the king, his face overshadowed in darkness as he tightened his grip of fear over the servant. "Do you deny the charges?"

The servant was quivering, sobbing, and nothing coherent came from his lips. The king seemed to decide he had pleaded guilty, and straightened in his seat. Arthur could see a horrible smile stretch across his face. His face. HIS. He was doing this. And it made him feel sick.

"I've turned into my father…" he whispered.

Beside him, Merlin inclined his head to look resolutely at the floor.

"Then I have no other option but to sentence you to death," said the king, and though his words were sympathetic in some small way, his expression and tone showed otherwise. "Guards, take this piece of filth away." He spat on the ground beside the throne.

As the guards moves forward, the man's whimpering sobs falling upon deaf ears, the Merlin away in the corner began to creep tentatively towards the throne. Arthur willed him to keep away, not to risk it, but Merlin continued to edge forward until he was stood but a little way from the throne. The king rose, although not on Merlin's account, and went to a small table, taking a goblet and filling it with wine from a pitcher. Swallowing, Merlin followed him, his caution evident in the slowness of his steps.

"Sire," he spoke after a moment, his voice cracked with lack of use, "this man – this man…he is not a threat to the kingdom, my lord."

The king slowly turned, a look of quiet and dangerous, unpredictable fury written across his face. Though Merlin looked scared, like a terrified rabbit caught in the headlights, he kept his eyes fixed upon the king.

"I'm sorry…" the future Arthur said, "I must have misheard you. Repeat yourself."

Arthur could tell this was more a threat than anything: the king was daring Merlin to make a stand. And he sincerely hoped that Merlin was smart enough to see it, for his own sake. But whether out of foolishness or downright bravery, Merlin spoke up once more…