A/N - thanks all for your kind reviews. This one gets quite angsty...

Arthur looked around in a daze as everyone in the room (barring one knight who was holding Morgana) sank to their knees before him. It felt wrong, horribly, horribly wrong to be proclaimed king like this. There was so much blood, so much hatred. He felt his breath hitching in his chest, wishing he could be anywhere else, wishing he could be other than what he was. He was vaguely aware that they were probably all waiting for him to make some sort of kingly proclamation.

He opened his mouth. "Get out," he said quietly.

"Sire?" Gaius was the one to question him. Even the old physician had sunk to his knees in front of his new King – though he had had a hand from Merlin to steady him.

"All of you," Arthur raised his voice. "Get out. Put that in the dungeons," he pointed angrily at Morgana. "And all of you out." Nobody moved. "Out!" he yelled, furious at being disobeyed, at having all these people here looking at him, wanting something from him, intruding on his grief.

The knights and guards began to finally shuffle from the room, giving each other looks as they went and glancing back at Arthur in confusion. Gaius got back to his feet with Merlin's help, but he didn't follow the King's command. Instead he came forward.

"You're wounded sire," he said, his attention going to Arthur's bloodied shoulder. The stain had flooded down the left sleeve of his shirt, and blood was trickling off his fingers. "You need treatment."

Arthur looked at him blankly, then at his shoulder, then back at Gaius. His gaze shifted and fell on Merlin, and he was moved by a sudden stab of vicious emotion.

"Merlin can treat me," he said flatly, not allowing the emotion to break his icy exterior.

Merlin and Gaius glanced at each other.

"Sire," Gaius said. "The wound is deep, it will need stitching."

"Then Merlin can stitch it," he insisted.

Merlin looked like he wanted to do nothing of the kind. "Sire – Gaius would be better…" he broke off as Arthur fixed him with a hard look.

"You will stitch it," he said firmly. "Gaius, leave us."

Gaius bowed slightly, then put his hand on Merlin's arm, taking him with him a few steps as he walked towards the door, and handing him his bag of supplies. "Wash it," he said very quietly. "Use lavender. Keep the stitches small, then honey and calendula. Any problems, send the guard for me. I'll be in my chambers."

Merlin nodded, clutching the bag he was handed as though it were a lump of wood that was keeping him afloat in a lonely ocean. He turned back to Arthur. The door was shut, and they were left alone.

Arthur watched as Merlin nervously came towards him, glancing again at the bed as though he couldn't help but stare at the horror. Then he looked away and around the room.

His mouth was clearly dry, as when he spoke again his voice broke and he had to clear his throat. "Will you sit at the table, my lord?" he asked.

Arthur didn't say anything, barely looked at him, but crossed the room as he had indicated, and sat on the bench heavily, facing out away from the table so that he could look at his father. Merlin followed behind him, putting Gaius' bag on the table and opening it. Arthur heard him nervously moving things around, and smelt various pungent aromas rise up from the bag's interior. But his attention was fixed elsewhere. Merlin said something to him, and he heard the sound, but not the words.

"My lord?" Merlin prompted.

"Mm?" he did turn then.

"Your shirt."

Arthur was confused, but then suddenly got his meaning. He reached down and awkwardly pulled his shirt up and over his head, wincing as it re-ignited the pain in his shoulder. He looked at the wound. It was deep and bleeding freely, but it was a clean wound with un-jagged edges. It should knit together well. Merlin moved away to fetch a pitcher of water and a bowl, and Arthur felt a brief release from the pain as a pleasant smell filled his nostrils. But then it returned in sharp contrast, as his servant started to wash away the caking blood from his skin.

Arthur focussed on the bed, finding the sight of his father to have a dulling affect. He barely noticed as Merlin finished washing, then straddled the bench beside him to start sewing the wound. Even the needle passing into his sensitised skin brought barely a wince.

He felt hollow. He wanted to feel – something. Anything. His father had been his world – yes a hard taskmaster, a forceful presence, a difficult and challenging man whom he'd fought and loved with equal measure. But he had been his father. And now he'd been taken, slain in his own bed. He should have been there, should have done something to protect him. He would never get the chance to have just one more conversation, and for all he knew, his father had died hating him, the memory of their last encounter filling his mind as his daughter had stabbed the knife down into his heart.

Arthur wondered if he'd known who it was who struck the fatal blow. Probably. Morgana would have wanted it that way. It added to the sport. She wanted to inflict mental pain as much as physical. She'd become cruel. This blow was to wound him as him as much as it had their father.

He should have her put to death immediately.

Or maybe not. Maybe he should leave her here as the demon rose. Leave her to face it alone in a cage, to be destroyed by her own evil, her own magic. It seemed a reasonable fate for a sorcerer.

"I'm sorry – about your father."

The voice startled him at first. He realised that he'd drifted off, forgotten that he was even in this room, that someone was sitting close beside him stitching together his skin.

He turned his head away from the bed and stared fixedly at Merlin. His servant's face was a mass of concentration as he sewed up the King's wound. Arthur felt his hands shaking slightly, but he didn't even look to see what kind of a job he was doing. He just stared.

The cruel emotion he'd felt earlier bubbled back to the surface. He grabbed at it.

"I'm surprised," he said. It felt like he hadn't spoken in years.

"At what?" Merlin said quietly.

"At you," he said.

Merlin glanced up. There was sweat forming on his brow from the effort he was taking, the pressure he was under. He looked confused. "Why are you surprised at me?"

"Well," Arthur said, taking a breath and feeling a dull tug on his stitches. "I thought you hated my father."

Merlin looked incredulous, and opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur went on:

"After all, he hated you."

Merlin was clearly confused. He breathed out a sort of semi-laugh, and went back to Arthur's shoulder. "I'm not sure he noticed me enough to hate me," he corrected. "I mean – I think he thought I was incompetent, but I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say he hated me."

Arthur smiled faintly. "Oh I didn't mean you in particular," he went on breezily. "I meant he hated you the way he hated all sorcerers."

He wasn't sure what kind of a reaction he'd been expecting. Shock. Denial. Apologetic? The part of him that was hungry for drama even hoped it might be violent; that the sorcerer beside him would reveal himself in all his majesty and he would be forced to fight for his life.

But he didn't get any of that.

At his utterance, Merlin's fingers briefly stopped stitching, and his eyes found their way up to Arthur's face. But his expression was peculiar. Surprise, yes a bit of that, but then fading almost instantly into what Arthur could only describe as relief, before shutting off entirely. He went back to his shoulder.

If anything his shaking hands calmed somewhat. But Arthur could see him swallow.

"How long have you known?"

No denial.

"Since Alvarr told me," Arthur said.

His eyes flicked up again, and he nodded slightly. "That makes sense," he said. "I knew he'd said something to you that day." He went back to the wound. "You've treated me differently ever since."

Arthur's brow creased at his lack of reaction. "You're not afraid?" he demanded. "Of what I might do?"

Merlin just shook his head. He finished his stitching and reached for a small pair of snippers to cut the thread. Only then did Arthur check to see what his wound looked like. It was closed, the stitches ridiculously neat and small. Merlin put the snippers back and reached for another small bowl. He began to pour honey into it and mix it with something that looked suspiciously like flower petals.

"If you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now," he explained, but didn't raise his eyes from the bowl.

"So you do not deny that you have magic?"

He shook his head.

"Or that you have used it in this kingdom where its practice is banned?"

His face tightened somewhat, but he responded: "I do not deny it."

Arthur wanted to hit him then, just wanted to lay into him. It actually took an effort not to. "Why?" he asked in a choked voice.

Merlin continued mixing. He was clearly tense. "It's my destiny to protect you," he said quickly in a small and cracked voice that Arthur could barely hear.

Arthur laughed suddenly, causing Merlin to jump. "Protect me?" he demanded incredulously. "How could you possibly use magic to protect me?"

Merlin continued stirring. The mixture was presumably stirred to death by this point. "There are many magical threats, sire," he said, in the same quiet voice. He stole a small look at Arthur's face. "It has been my duty – and my privilege – to protect you from them." Finally he started to smear the honey over Arthur's wound using the spoon he'd been mixing with.

"For how long?"

"Sire?"

"For how long? I mean did you learn magic here where it's banned? Did Gaius teach you? I know he used to practice so there's no point denying it. How long have you had magic and been protecting me from all these incredible magical threats?"

Merlin ignored the increasingly sarcastic tone to his voice and continued to treat the wound. "I've had magic my whole life," he said. "And I've used it to protect you since almost the day we met." He put the bowl back on the table and reached for a role of linen bandage. "I used it in the great hall that day when the witch threw a knife at you. Had I not been there you would have died." He began to put the bandage on, wrapping it round quickly, presumably awkward at their proximity now that he was being questioned about something so intimately controversial.

"And you can see the future?"

At those words, Merlin did look at him in shock. He hadn't been expecting Arthur to know about that. "Yes," he admitted, his hands stilled suddenly. Then he shook his head slightly and reached again for the snippers. "It's why Alvarr wanted me in the first place." He began to slice off the bandage and then split the end down the centre so that he could tie it off.

"He still wants you for it," Arthur told him, his eyes fixed to his face. "Badly. He was willing to trade his allegiance to Morgana if I was willing to give you up to him."

"Really?" Merlin sounded amazed as he tied a knot around Arthur's shoulder. "That was the deal and you didn't give me up? Why? You could have protected the kingdom?"

He finished finally, but didn't clear up the remnants of the treatment. Instead, he quickly got himself off the bench and moved away from the King. A sensible move, Arthur had to admit. He swivelled his shoulder to see how much movement he had in it, satisfied to find it pliant enough, though it did ache. Then he got to his feet as well. His own shirt was ruined, so he crossed to his father's cupboard and pulled out a replacement, slipping it over his head with barely a thought.

When he turned back, Merlin was standing beside the bed, moving slightly from foot to foot, hands behind his back, eyes on Arthur. The king realised that he hadn't answered his question.

"I don't betray my friends," he said, twitching his shirt into place as he came forward. "I don't hand them over to sorcerers – no matter if it cost the whole kingdom. I trusted you instead." His eyes were drawn once more to his father, blood stained and still beneath the covers. "And now this," he whispered.

"I did not kill your father, Arthur," Merlin insisted quickly. "This is nothing to do with me."

"Really?" Arthur said coming forward. "Your actions helped Morgana."

"What?" Merlin was incredulous. "Which actions?"

"The fog? You're going to deny that's yours? I knew from the moment Gwaine mentioned it at the council meeting that you would try something like this." Merlin just stood there with his mouth open. "It provided the perfect cover for Morgana to enter the kingdom and murder my father!"

"It was intended to protect the refugees!" Merlin exclaimed, still no denial.

"And you expect me to believe that you're not in league with her?"

"Who Morgana? No, she hates me. I poisoned her Arthur, poisoned her to protect this kingdom. And she has never forgiven me. And I killed her sister, I don't think she cares for me very much for that either."

Ah. "So that was you?"

"Yes – just one of those incredible magical threats we were talking about."

"And you never thought to tell me?"

"What, that I killed Morgausse, or that I had magic?"

"Either."

"No, because admitting one would have meant admitting the other, and magic's sort of punishable by death around here."

"So you expect me to believe that my father's murder brings absolutely no pleasure to you at all? To you a sorcerer, when he's killed hundreds of your kind. Who would have killed you if he'd known the truth."

"No pleasure," Merlin insisted without hesitation.

"No?"

He shook his head.

"Then why didn't you warn me?" Arthur all but screamed at him.

There was a horrible moment of silence as they stared at each other, both breathing hard.

Arthur shook his head. Soul sick. "You have magic," he said. "You have the gift of sight. You were here tonight in this room before the guards before anyone. You knew this would happen."

Merlin's eyes started to glint. "Yes," he admitted in a whisper.

Arthur came towards him, tears on his own cheeks now. "Then why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, words full of emotion. He took a few steps towards his servant, who didn't move. "Why didn't you save my father?"

"I'm sorry," Merlin said.

"You're sorry!" Arthur yelled. "My father is dead, and you're sorry. You could have stopped this from happening. What the hell is the point of having magic if it can't prevent something like this?"

"I couldn't," Merlin insisted, his tears now starting in empathy at Arthur's pain. "I saw your danger, I couldn't do anything for your father. I could never have saved him. Arthur, I'm so sorry."

With a cry of heart wrenching agony, Arthur made a rush forward, grabbing him by his jacket and forcing him backwards until he made contact with the wall. Arthur held him there, inches from his face. "You are no friend of mine," he hissed out, hands trembling as they squeezed the material as tight as they could. "I sacrificed this kingdom to keep you safe, and you have betrayed me."

Merlin looked up and away from him, tears streaming down his face. He didn't struggle.

"Magic is banned for a reason," Arthur went on with passion. "Because it corrupts the soul, as it has corrupted yours. You let this happen, you let Morgana kill my father. And for that I will never trust you again." He shoved him once more, and Merlin flinched, but said nothing, did nothing. Then Arthur backed off, breathing hard. Merlin still didn't look at him.

"Get out," Arthur hissed. "I never want to see you again."

At that, Merlin did look at him, disbelief on his face. "Sire…" he took a few steps forward.

"Out!" Arthur yelled. "Get out! I told you to go, just go!"

And with that, Merlin turned and fled the room. And when he was gone, Arthur collapsed to the floor, and wept as he hadn't done since he was a child.

"Merlin?" Gaius knew immediately that something was wrong as soon as Merlin burst through the door, his eyes red. "What happened?"

His ward pushed past him without a word, running to his room at the back.

"Merlin?" Gaius demanded again, confused. Surely Merlin could not be this upset at Uther's death. He must have argued with Arthur. Then the boy re-emerged from his room holding a pouch in his hand. Gaius' eyes widened as he recognised it as the bag that held the dragon stone. He fixed Merlin with a look. "What happened?" he asked firmly.

Merlin wiped his hand quickly over his face, wiping away traitor tears. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I have to do this."

But as he tried to walk past Gaius once more, his uncle grabbed him with surprisingly strong fingers. "What happened?"

Merlin looked into his uncle's face, seeing worry and care and love – and he wanted to break down right there and give up on everything. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.

"He knows," he spluttered out. "Arthur knows about my magic. Alvarr told him."

Gaius' eyes went wide. "He knows?" he let go of his arm in shock. "What did he say?"

"Oh just that – I was responsible for his father's death, that I couldn't be trusted, and that he never wanted to see me again."

Gaius' heart melted at his woeful confession. "Merlin he's angry, he's grieving, he's just lost his father. We all say things we don't mean in these situations."

"I don't think so," Merlin insisted, fresh tears falling. "He sounded pretty much like he meant it, Gaius."

"So this is your solution? Killing yourself on a meaningless quest?"

"It's not meaningless!" Merlin insisted. "This could save Camelot!"

"Or end in your hideous death! Merlin please, think about what you're doing! Don't do this out of anger. We'll find another way to defeat the demon, and Arthur will regret what he's said. You'll see. Please, wait. Go to bed, sleep on it. You're exhausted."

Melrin shook his head vigorously. "I've made up my mind," he insisted. Then he stepped forward and enfolded his uncle in an embrace. "I'm sorry Gaius," he said in his ear. "I love you." Then he ripped himself away, and left without a backwards glance.

TBC