Title: Edge: Part 3
Author: hermitknut
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG at the moment, might become PG-13 or even 15 at a later date.
Warnings: Slash (duh).
Summary: King Uther is dead; Long Live King Arthur! But it's not quite that simple. The interregnum – the time between the death of one king and the coronation of the next – is proving to be more complex than it would seem. Two old friends return; but have the last five years changed one of them beyond repair?
Disclaimer: If it were mine… Merlin and Arthur would make out in almost every episode :D

A/N: This is the sequel to "Heads and Tales" [links to all chapters here]. You can probably make sense of this without reading that if you like. This story has not been finished yet so I don't know how long it will be, but it should be about the length of Heads and Tales if not a little shorter. I know little about how this gap between one king and the next works, so I've just imagined my own version :P If you have any suggestions, please feel free to make them – also, reviews are awesome.

Merlin had spent much of the day in the library; when he returned to his temporary chambers that evening, Arthur was waiting for him.

The king-to-be was leaning against the window frame, the fading sunlight playing in his golden hair. Merlin halted in the doorway and gave the customary bow.

"My lord," he murmured, before going over to the desk and tidying his belongings for something to occupy him. He could not pretend for long, however, as he had not really left a mess. He resorted to standing calmly in the growing dimness, waiting for Arthur to speak. The minutes spun out.

"Did you miss me at all?"

The words were barely more than a whisper, but Merlin heard them. Appropriate, courtly responses lined up in his mind, but then Arthur turned to face him and the undecipherably dark expression in his eyes drove Merlin's preparations from his mind.

"Did you?" Arthur asked again, voice a little stronger, but only just. He took a few slow steps towards Merlin, putting them within an arm's reach of each other in the small room.

"I missed you," the blond murmured. Merlin did not reply, unmoving, but something inside him felt a pull. He could almost see himself in Arthur's eyes. Soft, pale skin stretched over angular cheekbones.

Merlin shivered as Arthur's sweeping eyes were replaced by fingertips, rough pads of skin moving gently against the lines of his face, his throat, his collarbone –

"No…"

It was just a murmur, barely heard, something many men would have ignored – but Arthur stopped still, frozen, knowing that although he would hear no whisper of complaint, if he continued beyond this point he would have crossed a line.

"Merlin," he breathed, unmoving.

There was a pause of absolute stillness; and then Merlin spoke.

"It's late, sire," he said, his manner once again courtly, respectful – but he had not moved away and there was a slightly rough quality to his voice. "Should you not be returning to the Lady Guinevere."

It was not a question.

But Arthur had finally had enough.

"What the hell happened to you, Merlin!" he exploded. He regretted it instantly as Merlin flinched violently away from him, but he could not stop now.

"I was trying to contact you, trying to find you anywhere; I followed goose chase after goose chase, rumour after rumour and you weren't anywhere! And now you come back here as though nothing has changed when you've spent four years ignoring me –"

"Oh really?" Merlin snarled back, finally provoked. "You were the one who stopped turning up to meet me, you were the one who left me alone when you had Gwen and now you expect me to hurt her like this? You –"

"I wrote to you! I left you a letter to explain and you just ignored me!"
"There was no letter! I waited for you because you asked me to, waited month after month but you never came because you're nothing but a coward and LIAR!"

The chamber was silent apart from the breathing and the echo of Merlin's last word which seemed to hang in the air. For the first time, Arthur saw the anguish in Merlin's eyes. For the first time, he felt the pain of knowing that he had put it there.

"There was a letter, I swear," he said, willing Merlin to believe him. "Leon swore to me he left it in our usual place, I waited for your response as long as I could but in the end –" Arthur's words dried up in his throat. In the end he had been forced to assume Merlin's silence was permission. In the end, he had given up on him.

Merlin was gazing steadily at Arthur, his expression unreadable. Arthur licked his lips and forced the truth from his dry throat.

"I swear to you."

There was a pause. Then Merlin turned and left the room, summoning his cloak to his shoulders wordlessly as he left. Arthur stood there for a few minutes, lost, before returning to his own chambers.

He was later informed that Merlin had left the city on horseback at speed.

The camp was quiet when Isa looked up from the dress that she was mending.

"Storm," she murmured.

Merlin entered the camp barely moments later. He ignored those who hailed him in greeting, approaching Jethar who was standing with one or two others and discussing weather magic.

"Emrys!" Jethar said, looking first pleased before confused at Merlin's dark expression. He didn't have a chance to question it, however, before Merlin swung at him. Merlin had never been much of a fighter, but neither had Jethar – and Merlin had trained with Arthur Pendragon. His fist caught Jethar on the chin, knocking him to the ground on his back, eyes wide with shock.

The others in the camp were drawn to the scene immediately, two of the men and then a third rushing in to hold Merlin back as he struggled to reach Jethar.

"Did you think I'd never find out?" Merlin all but hissed as the three druids fought to restrain him. "Did you think it wouldn't matter, I'd never notice? Is that –" his eyes and Jethar's were locked "- is that why you didn't want me to go back, to find out what you'd done? To find out that you betrayed me!"

Merlin's magic surged within him, flicking the other druids away from him like flies. He advanced on Jethar who pushed himself backwards, crawling in reverse along the ground as Merlin's magic soared with anger, Arthur's face in his mind. He raised his hand to cast –

- and a strong hand caught his wrist. Merlin turned, about to curse the obstruction from him, when his eyes met Mylan's and a younger voice reached his ears.

"Emrys, what's wrong?"

Isa. Between Isa and Mylan, something ugly inside Merlin was soothed a little. Slowly, he lowered his hand, never looking away from Mylan's eyes as the older druid released his hold on Merlin's wrist. No one else was moving, all eyes on the scene.

"Ask him," Merlin spat eventually, his pain now more evident in his voice than his anger.

"You're hurt," Isa said softly. Merlin felt her take his other hand gently in hers, and realised that it was aching with a dull pain. He must have hit it on his way to the camp, so full of fury that he had not noticed.

"It's not that bad," he muttered. The tension in the camp seemed to have defused slightly, but everyone was still on edge. Jethar was still in the same position on the floor, but he had raised a hand to the blooming bruise on his chin. Merlin took a few steps back, looking away. Mylan turned to Jethar, still keeping one eye on Merlin.

"Jethar?" Mylan asked, his voice patient. He did not need to press the matter; he held enough respect that neither Jethar nor Merlin would have hid it from him for long.

"I was trying to protect him," Jethar muttered. "It wasn't safe, you can't trust men like him –"

He was quickly silenced as Merlin turned back to him, livid, but Mylan put a hand on his shoulder. Wait.

"What did you do?" he asked calmly.

Jethar did not look at him.

"There was a letter for him."

"And what did you do with it?"

"I – I burnt it."

Whispers and murmuring of disapproval and curiosity filled the camp for a few moments, before Mylan quietened them with a gesture.

"Why?" he asked. His tone was grave. The druid community functioned almost entirely on trust, and a breach of it to this extent was therefore taken very seriously. Jethar just looked down at the ground. Merlin stared at him.

"Why?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Silence. And then –

"Because he doesn't deserve you!"

The words burst out of Jethar like startled birds. They echoed in the silence, painful, naked, but that did not phase him. He was back on his feet, almost as angry as Merlin had been.

"He used what you had and when things got too dangerous, he sent you away!" he shouted. "You keep running back to him when you belong here with us – you'll never be able to trust him but you're too blind to see it!"

The sounds of birds in the distance and Jethar's heavy breathing where the only things breaking the silence. He swallowed, looking down again.

"I just – I just wanted…"

His voice betrayed him. Merlin had been shaking with anger, but now that he had recognised a certain quality in Jethar's voice he understood. He had been too wrapped in thoughts of Arthur, had not seen, had not noticed, the way Jethar's eyes would follow him during the day, the admiring tone in his voice, the pride in his eyes when Merlin complimented his spellcraft.

Merlin looked at Jethar with his newfound understanding, and knew that he had no right to punish him further. The others would do that – he would be relegated to tasks that required the least trust until he earned it again – but Merlin, although his anger was still there, knew not to say any more. He turned and met Mylan's eyes, who had also understood, and nodded.

"I have nothing more to say," he said quietly, his throat dry. "I must return at once to my duties." Mylan nodded at him in acknowledgement, and Merlin began to walk away. He left the camp without looking back.

His horse was tethered nearby, and he began the ride back. He went slowly at first, trying to fight the urge to curl up and cry, but out of nowhere he suddenly felt his heart clench and his breath race. In his mind's eye he saw Arthur; and he felt the danger overcoming him. Arthur was in trouble, even if he did not know it yet.

Merlin spurred the horse into a gallop and raced back to Camelot, praying that he would reach it in time.