Okay...so I don't exactly know how this will progress or even end, whether it will just be a few chaps or a longer fic, but here is the continuation of my AU. Hope you enjoy...

Usual disclaimers still apply...(oh and I apologize now for any mistakes I've made...I'm a lousy proof reader)

Chapter 2

Merlin added wood to the small fire, then sat back on his haunches and stared at Arthur stretched out a few feet away still peacefully sleeping. For a while all he could do was watch the soft rise and fall of Arthur's chest as if still afraid it would cease once again and he would awaken from a hope filled dream.

But the steady inhale and exhale continued, and with it, a calming peace settled over Merlin. Arthur was alive. They had done it, skirted fate once again, and forever long that would be, Merlin would be grateful.

His thoughts automatically drifted to Kilgarrah and to the sacrifice he had made and despite his joy, his happiness in Arthur's survival, Merlin was saddened at the loss of yet another dear friend.

He honestly didn't know what he was going to do without the Great Dragon's presence anymore, his wisdom, his advice. For so long as he'd lived in Camelot, Kilgarrah had been such a pivotal part of his life: aggravating, infuriating, annoyingly cryptically, wise, comforting, strong. He had lived through a gamut of emotions with the ancient creature: awe, wonder, resentment, anger, gratitude, humility, friendship, sorrow.

And when Merlin had become a dragonlord, their souls had forever been linked. Their kinship and magic seemed to ebb and flow together, not gently at first, for Kilgarrah's hatred of Uther and the slaughter of his kind had left a rage in the ancient beast that had taken time to cool. But over the years, the symbiotic bond started between warlock and dragon had solidified into something no distance or time could separate as Merlin's dragonlord abilities grew.

It was difficult to explain when it even happened, but in Merlin's bleakest of times, he had always been able to sense a presence residing somewhere curled deep within him. In times of need, when doubts plagued him, when his own fears started to get the better of him, the presence would unfurl itself, rear its head and give Merlin a sense strength and hope, before receding back into the recesses of his magic.

He knew now that it had been Kilgarrah all along. It had been the bond Balinor had spoken of, the special kind of magic, the kinship only shared between a dragon and his lord. He wondered if the dragon had felt a similar feeling from Merlin. He hoped so, for this thought brought him solace.

Merlin added another stick to the fire. Unfortunately he had no food to prepare. Everything had been on the horses when they had bolted. Luckily Merlin somehow still had the water skin. He didn't even remember picking it up from the ground but was grateful for it. He had tried to hunt for berries, but had no luck, nor had his attempts to catch any fish off the shore of the lake had proved any better, so for now their bellies would just have to go hungry.

He looked up at the early morning light filtering through the trees and knew he should wake Arthur soon. They had a long journey home and he didn't want to stay in one place too long. Even with the battle won, there where sure to be Saxons as well bandits still in the area, both of which he preferred to avoid. But he would let Arthur rest a little longer.

Though his life had been restored, his wound healed, the King was still weak and would need time to recover fully.

Merlin too as he felt the exhaustion wash over him once again. He had hardly slept a wink in the last several days, his worry, his fear over Arthur's deteriorating condition and their safety as Merlin attempted to elude their enemies, combined with his own overwhelming emotional state after confessing his magic to Arthur was taking a toll on the warlock's reserves. He knew he needed to sleep, but it was a luxury he couldn't afford, not yet.

So, while Merlin kept vigil, he let Arthur rest and with only himself for company, the warlock's thoughts once more turned inward to the Great Dragon and his promise.

With a heavy heart the dragonlord knew he had failed the young white dragon he had rescued as an egg and named.

Aithusia...in the Dragon's Tongue, it meant "The Light of the Sun."

When she had hatched he had not be able to stay with her and had assumed she had remained with Kilgarrah. Instead she had somehow lost her way and found Morganna.

He feared for her, perhaps more now than ever, wondering how much of Morganna's sick hatred had wheedled its way into the young dragon's innocent heart. It had pained him to see the beautiful white dragon that had boded such hope in the caves of Ishmere so sickly, nearly crippled, unable so speak and with such anger in her eyes. She would have, sadly Merlin realized, killed him if he had not commanded her to stop. Yet in the moments after as she practically coward before him, he only saw her as she truly was, young, frightened and lost.

There had been no time to do what his heart had wanted then, to reach out and help her. Instead he had bid her to flee before she was slain with the knowledge she would likely return to Morganna. Then the spiral of events that followed in the coming weeks had prevented Merlin from doing anything else except to try and keep Arthur alive even as destiny seemed determined to play out his fate.

I will find her, help her, Kilgarrah, Merlin reaffirmed his promise.

A shifting of leaves, the clearing of a throat drew Merlin attention from his thoughts back his friend.

Arthur's eyes were open staring at the warlock.

...

Arthur stared up into a canopy of trees above him. For a few minutes his mind remained thickly muddled filled with strange voices and images. Blood, so much blood, the bodies of his fallen knights, a darkened sky, lightening, Modred and intense pain...and Merlin, always Merlin at the center of everything, hovering over him, lifting him up, supporting him. Merlin, sad, nervous, quiet, determined, desperate, grieving.

He blink several times trying to force the haziness away and, as his mind cleared, so too did everything in the past few days slot back into place...their journey together, Merlin by his side caring for him, silently accepting Arthur's barbed comments meant to hurt as much as Arthur was hurting. Merlin protecting him, even as his eyes watched sadly Arthur's confusion and mistrust. Merlin's anger as Morganna loomed over him, triumphant and gloating as Arthur lay helpless, and the final thrust of the sword that ended his sister's life. And Merlin, there at his side again, lifting him up, dragging him onward followed by the utter dejection and despair at the realization that Arthur just couldn't go on.

Arthur had shushing him quietly as his friend still fought to save him, trying vainly to lift him back up.

Merlin.

Merlin's grip had tightened. No. I can't loose you.

Just hold me, please...just - listen...there's something I want to say…

You're not going to say goodbye.

Merlin, everything you've done…I know now…for me, for Camleot...for the kingdom you helped me build.

You would have done it without me.

Maybe…I want to say something…I've never said to you before…

With his last breath Arthur had wanted, needed, Merlin to know his efforts had not been in vain and he was forever grateful to the young man for his friendship, for his devotion, and that Merlin had succeeded in saving him. He had made Arthur a better man, a better person and a better king.

And as the tip of the magical blade found its final mark, Arthur could think of no one better to spend his last breath with than his best friend, the one person who had always been there beside him through every battle fought, through every hardship Arthur faced. The two words that had never come easily from an arrogant prince, now flowed freely from a humbled king as he gazed up into Merlin's face.

Thank you.

Arthur let go then, accepting his fate. He felt himself falling into a warm darkness that not even Merlin's distant shouts, his anguished cries could pull him back.

He should have known by now Merlin wasn't about to accept Arthur's decision. When had Merlin ever listened and actually done what he was told?

When Arthur's eyes opened again, he thought he was dead or at the very least dreaming, except for the fact his dreams usually didn't involve sitting in the middle of a lake, soaking wet and cold, with his manservant still there, looking worse than ever, tears rolling down his cheeks, snot dripping from his nose, and the most idiotic smile plastered on his face.

But Arthur wasn't in the water anymore. Instead he was lying alone under a canopy of trees. His eyes darted around.

Merlin.

Arthur shifted, suddenly anxious to find the idiot, a sudden fear leaping into him until he spotted the young man a few yards away, kneeling in front of a small fire. One leg was tucked underneath him, the other bent allowing his interlaced fingers to rest on his knee. Relieved washed over him.

About to call out, he paused. His servant miles away, lost deep in thought.

Sorcerer, Arthur reminded himself.

For the first time in his life though, the word no longer brought forth the shudder of distaste or loathing. It could not, not when equated with the young man who had been by his side all these years. Living in secret, in a kingdom who would see him dead, all for a destiny and a king Merlin believed in, yet asked nothing in return.

As Arthur studied his manservant's profile, he became worried though at the pained expression on Merlin's face. He looked forlorn and very sad as if some great weight, burden was still upon him. Arthur frowned, wondering just what had happened on the lake after Arthur thought he had died.

He shifted and tried to speak, but found his throat sticky and parched and tried to clear it.

The reaction was almost instantaneous. The solemn, almost grief-stricken expression vanished as Merlin's face light up, mouth widening into a very Merlin-like grin.

"Arthur." He was at his side almost immediately, hand reaching out touching Arthur's shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

Arthur ran his tongue over his dry cracked lips. "Thirsty."

Merlin immediately scrambled back over to the fire, tripping on his own two feet and nearly falling into the flames in his haste to retrieve a water skin.

He looked sheepish as he returned to Arthur's side and Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes and grin at the clumsiness that was just so…Merlin.

He drank thirstily, wiped his mouth and handed the water skin back.

"Thanks."

Merlin nodded taking an extraordinarily long time to re-cork the bladder as he studied the king. He suddenly looked uncertain again, as if not quite sure where he stood babbling something about not being able to offer any food but stopped when Arthur reached out and grasped his forearm.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't ever feel you have to hide yourself from me again, Merlin. I meant what I said before. I don't want you to change."

Merlin swallowed hard.

"And I want you to be able to talk to me, about whatever it is troubling you."

Merlin's cheeks flushed with embarrassment realizing Arthur had probably been awake for a while by the intense scrutiny on the king's face.

"I don't want anymore secrets between us, Merlin."

"I don't want that either, Arthur," he replied softly, honestly. He paused, and once again his shoulders shifted slightly, became tense. He met Arthur's eyes with the same bravery he had faced when he thought Arthur had despised him, loyalty laced with fear, uncertainty laced with hope. "But there are things you still don't know. Things I want to tell you, just…not right now."

Arthur felt the fragile hold of Merlin's composure. Everything was still so new, so uncharted in this new relationship with his servant. He saw in Merlin's eyes the desire to be honest, truthful with his king, yet a lifetime of hiding, lying, and concealment were not habits so easily broken. Arthur knew he could not demand the answers from Merlin, but it didn't mean he couldn't push in his own how-to-deal-with-Merlin sort of way.

"More than you being a secret sorcerer, and a powerful one at that?" Arthur drawled in his most kingly prattish manner.

Merlin's mouth lifted at the corners at the all too familiar tone of banter.

"Warlock, actually."

"There's a difference?"

Merlin nodded slightly and the king bid him to continue. "Most sorcerers who practice magic develop the ability when they are older, sometimes not until they reach adulthood. Some like the Druids, when they are younger, but they still use spells and incantation that require years of practice to master. My magic is different."

"How?" Arthur asked, for he was truly curious to know more about the side of his friend he had kept hidden for so long.

"I was born with it. According to my mother I could move objects, do things with just a thought in my mind since I was an infant."

Arthur's eyebrow arched. "That must have given Hunith a challenge."

Merlin smirked. "Indeed. From the stories my mother told me. Mostly it made her afraid."

"Of you?" Arthur couldn't believe it. Not of the woman he knew as Merlin's mother.

"Not of me. For me. She was always terrified I would be found out."

"But Ealdor was in Cendrid's Kingdom, not Camelot."

Merlin shrugged. "It did not matter. Magic might not have been outlawed, but neither was it accepted. And Ealdor was a small outlining village, close to Camelot's borders. Bounty Hunters, even Knights of Camelot, would not have cared."

Sadly, Arthur knew this was true. How many times had bounty hunters brought magic users from distance lands before Uther to reap the reward? How many times had Arthur, when he was still a young knight, had been sent on patrol seeking out Druids and magic users alike with just as must gusto as bandits and murderers? There had been no distinction then.

And even now Arthur was still struggling with the whole concept of magic and a lifetime of what he'd been taught. After learning, watching, witnessing what his friend, his servant, his secret protector had done in the last few days, strike that, years, the "truths" ingrained in him since birth were cracking under their very foundation.

It was something, among many somethings, Arthur needed to think about but for now his curiosity got the better of him and he just had to ask.

"Why would Hunith send you to Camelot all those years ago, Merlin, knowing the danger she was putting you in?"

"She thought she was protecting me."

Arthur couldn't help but snort at that.

It was obviously still an odd feeling for Merlin to talk so openly about himself, his magic, in front of Arthur, but the king waited, giving Merlin all the time he needed.

"I was young and angry about constantly hiding who I was, even if it meant watching others suffer when I knew I could do something to stop it. I started rebelling and taking too many risks. Then Will found out, saw me using magic. I was terrified at first, and then just relieved to have someone besides my mother know and accept me. When my mother found out though, she was furious and panicked. She was so afraid that others would discover my secret too. So she sent me to Gauis."

Merlin found a small stick, picked it up, absently playing with it.

"She knew Gauis from a long time ago, from before I was born. I don't know the whole story, but Gauis had helped her once and she knew she could trust him. She also knew, that before the Great Purge, he had practiced healing magic. She felt that if there was anyone who could reach me, understand, help me control my magic, it was him. And she was right."

Merlin then went on to explain how Gauis became his mentor, how he and Merlin had often worked together to fight threats to the kingdom, to Arthur, even Uther, how they had often come to heads over Merlin's impatience, acts of rashness or stupidity, but mostly how Gauis had been a steady influence, his guide, and the father figure Merlin had never had.

Without even realizing it, Merlin had settled down and leaned his back against a tree, his shoulders relaxing as he continued to talk.

When he had first come to Camelot, the warlock hadn't known anything about using spells or incantations. His magic was just raw, untamed and instinctual. Guais had taken him in and taught him the ways of the Old Religion and showed him how spells and incantations could help focus his power, refine it, and control it. Though his magic still reacted on instinct, knowing the ways of the Old Religion, had help Merlin develop his powers.

"I was always taught magic corrupted the soul," Arthur finally said.

"I know. And I know all that you faced, including Morganna's betrayal, only solidified those beliefs. I wanted so many times to tell you the truth about me, but there just never seemed to be the right time."

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Arthur replied, remembering all the times he had spoken heatedly, harshly against magic, realizing, sadly, how many times his words must have hurt Merlin deeply and kept the barrier erected between them.

"Magic is neither good, nor evil, Arthur. It just is. It is how the user chooses to wield it, just like a sword or any other type of weapon or power, that leads to aid or corruption."

Arthur thought about this, and then thought about the recent conversations they had shared.

Some people are born to be farmers, some great physicians, some great kings. I was born to serve you Arthur and I am proud of that.

All these years Merlin and you've never sought recognition

It's not why I do it.

Why are you doing this? Still behaving like a servant?

It has been my destiny, as it has been since the day we met….I do this because of who you are. Without you, Camelot is nothing….There will never be another like you, Arthur…

I also do this because you are my friend and I don't want to loose you….

And Arthur, looking at his manservant now, realized he felt the same way. He didn't want to loose Merlin either.

...

TBC

reviews appreciated :)