A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Now we see how a little phrase from the dragon can come back and bite you in the butt. Word of warning: This chapter is a roller coaster of emotions. You should never have such heavy discussions in the middle of the night.

Disclaimer: It would obviously still be on if it was mine.

Ch. 12 Confession, I mean—Story Time!

Gaius thought they were crazy.

To be fair, it was a crazy story and the elder physician hadn't had much exposure to Merlin's (and Arthur's by default) brand of impossibleness. While he did not come right out and call them both liars (which Merlin doubted he would in Arthur's case) his slowly climbing eyebrow spoke of his deep skepticism.

Merlin wished he would have a little more faith. Come on Gaius, please?

They had just finished explaining how Lady Helen was really the hag/witch who had threatened Arthur's life earlier in the week (something to look forward to). Arthur, at least, had been very interested to know that Merlin had been resistant to the sleeping spell (and had asked the warlock if he could somehow make him resistant too. Good question) and how he had slowed down time in order to pull him from the dagger's path. Gaius on the other hand…

Clearly the man didn't know what to make of them and Merlin's gut twinged with guilt over springing this on him in the middle of the night like this. No doubt it only added to the unbelievableness of the tale. The physician's panic over Arthur knowing about his magic was fading at least when said prince-king was not showing any of the pyre-burning, off with his head attitudes Uther had when it came to said talent. Merlin knew that their body language must be confusing as hell; they were obviously at ease with being in each other's personal space. The warlock figured it partly stemmed from having to dress his pratness for so many years. The rest came from friendship and trust since Arthur had a difficult time allowing others into his space. Merlin had witnessed him subtle shifting or flinching away from others many a time. Gaius likely knew that which only made what he was seeing all the more confusing.

"Maybe we can have him talk to the dragon, he certainly believed us," the king-prince grumbled, twisting part of the warlock's blanket between his fingers.

Gaius spoke up before Merlin could formulate a reply. "You've seen the dragon? When? How? Your father didn't want you to know of its existence."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I know. What was he thinking? Kilgharrah is not some mad beast, I know that now."

The other white eyebrow shot up to join the first. "You know his name? How?"

Arthur stuck his thumb in Merlin's direction. "Merlin told me right before we went to go see him tonight."

Traitor! The warlock had hoped he could have skipped this part of the explanation for a bit.

Gaius's hazel gaze switched to focus in on him. "How?" he asked simply.

"I know who my father is," Merlin whispered.

Gaius reared back, eyes widening and Arthur swung around to give him a similar look. "You do? When did you find out? And what does it have to do with the dragon's name?" Arthur demanded.

This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to visit this memory yet, but why he'd had been able to relate to Arthur so well when Uther died. If his pain had been that great when he'd only known the man for less than a day, the warlock did not wish to contemplate what the his king had been suffering. Fraught with strife as their relationship was, Arthur had still loved his father very much.

"Arthur," he began, weariness creeping into his voice. The toll of his injuries and the memories they were dredging up beginning to show. "Think carefully on what happened when Kilgharrah attacked Camelot and who we tracked down because of it."

The blond royal was pensive for a moment, shifting through the memories to see just what the warlock was hinting at. Merlin knew the moment it dawned on him, his expression shifting first to surprise, then sympathy mixed with guilt.

"Oh," he breathed, "and I said…Merlin…"

The raven-haired youth snagged the other's wrist with his good hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "It's alright, you didn't know."

Arthur shook his head, twisting his wrist until he was grasping Merlin's hand within his own. "No, it's not alright. I never should have said that! I should have known something more was going on. I'm such an idiot."

"You won't get any arguments from me," Merlin teased.

"Of course I won't," Arthur griped, his fingers drumming along the top of the warlock's hand. "Though, if I remember correctly, dragonlord's powers pass from father to son."

"They do," Merlin confirmed.

"You got rid of Kilgharrah didn't you?" Merlin nodded because what was the point of denying it. "Ha! I thought it odd that I 'killed' the dragon when I couldn't even remember striking him."

"You did strike him!"

"Thank you for stopping him."

"Seems only fair," Merlin admitted slowly, trying to tug his hand free because no one would be happy in a second, "considering I'm the one who released him in the first place."

"What?"

~Arthur~

Arthur and Gaius's twin shout was louder than prudent and the king-prince only hoped that the castle guards' terrible attentiveness would continue because there was only so much he could handle at the moment. Arthur knew, he knew that this was going to happen. Well, not this specifically, but this. As both prince and king, he had been faced with choices over the years that held terrible consequences no matter what he decided. Those decisions had left more than one person angry. When thinking of Merlin's magic and what he had likely done with it over the years, he had speculated on his warlock facing similar moments.

Funnily enough the dragon had been one of those larger moments.

Merlin trying to reclaim his hand finally registered and he tightened his grip, careful not to hurt the other. The last thing his friend needed was another injury.

He would let Merlin explain. He knew his friend would have his reasons and they would be doosies no doubt. As much as he wanted to be angry over the loss of life and destruction that decision had caused, he couldn't let that reaction control him. This was Merlin.

And he was going to get it right this time.

"Why?"

~Merlin~

Merlin had expected explosions. Perhaps even literally (his magic might help Arthur in that case). It wouldn't be undeserved. He been there to witness firsthand the destruction the Kilgharrah had wrought and it was a guilt that he carried with him even now. He would do everything in his power to prevent it from happening this time, use every tool at his disposal.

It wouldn't happen again.

But Arthur wasn't reacting how he expected. There were some decisions that Merlin had been forced to make over the years that he knew Arthur would disagree with and even be furious over and this was one of them. But just as he had other times, his king was surprising him with his patience and willingness to understand before he passed judgment.

Course, it might help that it hadn't actually happened yet this time around.

Despite his nervousness he began to explain, spilling the entire grim story for his king and Gaius. Neither man interrupted, allowing the warlock to speak freely and the more he did, the better he felt. One of the knots that seemed perpetually lodged in his stomach loosened, then unraveled and he could breathe. His body relaxed, he stopped trying to reclaim his hand and faced Arthur head on.

Huh, he hadn't realized just how much telling Arthur, even the terrible things, would make him feel better. It probably helped that the man was reacting calmly at the moment, but overall it was like having a boulder lifted from his shoulders. He needed this. Arthur needed this. They needed this. As much as Gaius was present and needed to believe them, it wasn't about him. This was about Arthur and Merlin. The moment that they were denied because of Merlin's fear and Arthur's death. While he was jumping to the middle instead of relating from the beginning as he should, it was still a moment just for them.

Maybe they should just go on a long hunt for a few days or maybe camp out with Kilgharrah. From what Merlin could remember from the visit (admittedly he had napped through most of it) Arthur had tried to explain but he was missing Merlin's half of the story. The warlock smirked internally, Arthur was missing the other half of the coin.

Stupid destinies.

As his story wound down and finally came to an end, silence once more reigned, the two members of his audience attempting to absorb what they had been told. As the silence continued to stretch, tension once more began to creep back, settling in the warlock's stomach. A bead of nervous sweat rolled down his cheek and he desperately wanted to wipe it away but Arthur had yet to release his hand. The Once and Future King seemed to be examining their joined hands with great interest, though Merlin knew from experience that the furrowed brow spoke of inner contemplations, not outer.

Say something. Say something. Say something! Anything! Not silence, I can't stand silence, Merlin pleaded silently, projecting that wish into his expression.

What seemed like an age passed before Arthur raised his head to once more meet Merlin's gaze. "Okay."

Okay? That was so very nonspecific.

"Okay?" the warlock repeated.

"Merlin," and boy, didn't that tone of voice just sound like he was lecturing an errant child (which he was not!), "I knew there were going to be things that I wasn't going to like hearing and I know, I know that this isn't the only thing but I promised myself that I would be as objective about this as I could. I died, Merlin, and while I don't know how you and I got this second chance we've been gifted with, I'm not going to waste it being angry over things that technically haven't happened yet."

Well.

Merlin blinked.

That was…well.

That was actually very mature of Arthur.

His stomach once more lightened and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth despite his split lip. The joy that was bubbling inside his chest was threatening to send tears spilling from his eyes, swollen or not. Giggles of sheer happiness were rising and he didn't bother to contain them, nor to care just how strange or silly he appeared. He did manage to contain himself before he hugged his king to death (again) because it was a relief. Arthur…Arthur was…how did you even phrase it? Arthur was being understanding on a level that was astonishing. He was going to give Merlin a chance, despite all of the lies that he had told over the years.

Arthur was being a friend.

And frankly, a better one that Merlin had been. Others might argue that Merlin dealing with all of the magical troubles that Camelot and his royal pratness seemed to attract while still taking care of his royalness was the better friend, but after this, the warlock would always, always disagree. Arthur had every right to be furious with him, especially about the dragon, and while he was likely angry to some degree he was doing his best to understand as well and that was…that was…

Wonderful. Freeing. Exciting!

Merlin had often spent his spare moments (of which he had very few) imagining what it would be like to live in a magic-filled Camelot, serving at Arthur's side, free of all of his lies. All of Albion under their protection, its people safe, happy, and prosperous. The dream shown like a jewel, glittering and hopeful and bright. But as the years progressed it became distant, shrouded, all but lost under the plots, schemes, and mayhem that dogged their heels. Now though…now it was being rediscovered, polished and displayed for all to see.

He would be damned before he let it get lost this time.

Arthur did not tease him for his (slightly hysterical) reaction, bestowing an understanding smile instead. It made Merlin wonder just what Arthur had been through before they had found each other again.

"A second chance," Gaius's voice snatched Merlin from his contemplations, pulling him back to the present. "And both of you have your memories from your previous lives? How is that even possible?"

Arthur just shrugged and Merlin did his best to look innocent. "I don't know, but I would certainly like to. The last thing I remember was lying in Merlin's arms, nearly dead and wishing that I could fix the mistakes that I had made. Do right by Merlin," the blond royal glanced at him, "and others."

"Did the dragon say anything on the matter?" Gaius asked.

" 'Only a great sacrifice would achieve such a goal,' whatever that means." And then Arthur paused, suddenly thoughtful and Merlin held his breath. "Merlin," the king-prince's focus seemed to pin the man to the bed, "do you have any idea what happened? You were the only one there, weren't you?"

"Um…yes I was. Just you and me," the warlock answered nervously.

Arthur's cobalt eyes narrowed and Merlin began to panic. He never, never wanted to tell this. No, he couldn't tell. He couldn't. He wouldn't! His friend would never forgive him (or consequently never let him out of his sight again). No. There wasn't a good explanation for what he had done, only that it needed to be done. Arthur had been taken from him—too soon. Their bright future snuffed out with the slice of a sword. The warlock fumbled, desperately reaching out to snag a hold on Arthur because his panic was giving way to terror, the memories of that moment overtaking the present. His king, his friend in his arms, slowly leaving him behind for the next life and Merlin couldn't let that happen.

Life without Arthur…there was no life without Arthur. His king had become the center of the warlock's world, the sun to his Earth and he could not continue without his sun. He couldn't. He couldn't let this happen…no, it wasn't happening yet and wouldn't happen in the future.

No, no, not happen. Not happen. No. No. No. NO!

~Arthur~

Arthur watched in both confusion and alarm at the changes that flitted across Merlin's face. He knew the warlock was hiding something, that much was obvious from the fake-innocent look he was trying pass as a real (as if Arthur would fall for that-hah!). But before he could question the man more closely, Merlin seemed to become…lost. His eyes grew hazy and distant, his breathing picked up, and he snatched up Arthur's wrist as though to make sure he was still there (and maybe keep him tied to the present).

"Merlin?" he called, trying to break the warlock from wherever he was descending. His alarm only grew when his friend let out a distressed keening sound that cut across the king's chest like a solid punch. That sound…it was that of someone who had lost everything and conjured up the thought of what the king-prince had once read about a banshee's wail (it reminded him entirely too much of Mary Collins's scream at her son's death). Arthur wanted to dive forward and wrap his friend up, protect him from that pain. Would that he could he would scoop that memory from his warlock and lock it away so that it could never do this again.

"Merlin!" he called firmly, trying his best to keep his own panic at bay. His body was frozen, shock taken hold, and he was not the first to react.

What in the name of the Great Dragon was going on?

"Merlin," Gaius's voice rose above the keening, two wrinkled hands framing the warlock's face. "You must calm down. Arthur is right here. He's not dead. You saved him. He's alive."

Oh. Merlin was remembering…that moment. That moment caused this? His, his death? He…he had hoped (foolishly he knew) that Merlin had been able to move past that now that he knew that whatever he had done (Arthur knew he had done something and he would find out), had worked, but no, he was wrong and he hated it. Nothing should be allowed to effect Merlin like this. Arthur…Arthur wasn't worth this. Nor had he been worth the tears that he had seen (and not seen) the warlock shed. He had been a terrible friend at times, raised Merlin's ire and caused ill feelings between them so why?

Whatever the reason, he would not let this continue. Gaius was having no luck breaking through this storm, but maybe, just maybe he could.

Nudging the elder physician gently, he stood up. Gaius glanced his way in surprise before relinquishing his spot. Arthur tugged the wailing warlock upright and began to shimmy his body behind him on the cot. The older man quickly caught on to his intentions and between the two of them was able to maneuver Merlin until he was propped up against Arthur's chest, large ear firmly planted over the king-prince's heart. The blond royal hooked one arm around the too thin waist and carded the other through tangled raven hair.

"Merlin," he said firmly and the keening dropped lower, losing its strength. "I'm here with you and I remember. You did it, whatever it is, and you won. I'm not going anywhere this time," he promised.

The keening petered out as the sheer amount of physical evidence overwhelmed it. Arthur continued to whisper softly and the panicked breathing slowed to match his own. Before long the warlock slumped against his support, plainly worn out from the energy of the attack. Arthur let him rest for the moment, still struggling to regain equilibrium of his own senses. He hated feeling so unbalanced and out of control of the situation. If only he had been more open to his friend. If only he had been a better friend, a better king, this wouldn't be happening. It made him want to punch something (or throw something—maybe knives at the idiots who had attacked Merlin?) and it burned him that he could not do more. He was a man of action after all and this just didn't seem like enough. What had Merlin done for them over the years, ensuring both he and Camelot survived and thrived, that he had missed over the years?

What had he done to give them this second chance?

"Merlin," he whispered, reluctant to break the calm that had finally descended over them, "what did you do? Please."

The warlock tensed and for half a second the king-prince feared he had plunged the other straight back into his nightmares. "Arthur…" he trailed off, but the blond royal would not let this go.

"Merlin, please."

A tortured sigh ripped itself violently from his friend, threatening to send him coughing because of the broken ribs. Arthur was patient. He knew he could outwait his friend in this instance and for half a moment, he was uncomfortably reminded of waiting for his prey while hunting. The premise was disturbingly similar.

"A great sacrifice had to be made," the warlock finally began, "just as the dragon said. I didn't know if it would work, I had no plan, but I had to try anyway." The blond royal watched as the warlock released his hold, however reluctantly, to rub his stomach. Why would he do that?

"What did you do?"

"You—you were dead, Arthur, dead! There was nothing I could do to save you. You had gone beyond my reach." Merlin dug the heel of his hand harder into his stomach and Arthur laid his hand over the others to halt the movement. It was then that he felt it. Like a tingle of warmth, a spark of static that surged from the warlock to Arthur. He flinched, but forced himself to keep his hand where it was. Something was wrong, perhaps even beyond what the blond royal believed. Carefully he shifted Merlin's hand away from his stomach and rolled up the shirt. Purple bruises and white bandages made whiter by the bruises immediately appeared. He almost didn't notice it at first, lost as it was among the damage. A pink scar, seemingly unaffected by the bruises peaked just below the bandages.

That couldn't be right. How was this even there? Why was it like this?

He traced it, his touch a bare hint of whisper over the skin, but Merlin shivered, sharing the sensations that Arthur felt. The king-prince was not able to stop himself, sliding his finger under the bandage to gauge the full extent of the injury. He was certain, though the majority of it was hidden from him, of what it was.

A stab wound.

A stab wound that was practically leaking residual magic.

A stab wound made by a sword.

A scene began to form in his mind of the last moments and beyond of his (previous) life. His body lay cooling in Merlin's arms, having drawn its last breaths. Merlin's grief, of which he only had the vaguest notion, beginning to consume him. A life, a life without his best friend, his king, the most important person in his world, stretched out before him with no end in sight. Why had it ended this way? This wasn't the plan that Destiny had for them. Nothing seemed worth trying if his other half wasn't there. How could he have let this happen? The great and mighty warlock had failed in the one most sacred duty he had been given. If only he had the power to reverse time, fix the mistakes that he had made along the way. Perhaps they wouldn't be here, one dead, the other dying inside.

It would be then, Arthur thinks, that Merlin's mind would begin to lose rational thought, searching frantically for a solution to reverse what had happened. And there it would lay, seemingly innocent. The sword that had ended Morgana's reign of terror, the first and best gift that Merlin had ever given his king even if it had been indirectly (thanks for that Uther).

Excalibur.

Take me up. Cast me out.

It was agonizing, but Arthur imagined his warlock, face pale but blotchy from crying, numbly wrapping a shaking hand around the sword's hilt, drawing it close to examine it one last time. With his decision made, he reverently laid Arthur on the ground, bestowing one final kiss upon the cold brow. If what he was about to do didn't work, it wouldn't be good-bye for long for hopefully the warlock would be allowed to follow his king on the final journey.

If it did work, well…

Arthur wanted it to stop, he wanted it to stop right now, but it wouldn't. As though magic itself had opened a window so that Arthur was fully aware of just what Merlin had done for him. His ears were filled with the sound of hoarse chanting, his skin tingled with the swelling power, his eyes squinted at the bright light that was beginning to coalesce around his warlock and his sword. Just at it everything seemed to reach its peak, Merlin did what Arthur feared he would do.

Merlin plunged Excalibur through his own chest.

No! No! No! No! NO!

The power of the memory sent him reeling back to the present and he opened his eyes (when had he closed them? He didn't remember doing that) to see Merlin's worried cerulean blue eyes watching him.

Merlin!

Arthur rocked forward, snatching his friend closer, hand sliding up the back of his shirt, seeking (and finding) for what he knew would be there.

An exit wound.

Great kings of old. Merlin had…Merlin had…because of him. He'd done this because of Arthur. It was one thing to take on the danger of a situation for another, throwing yourself into its path (though admittedly that was not good either). This. This was something else and so much worse. Merlin had killed himself because he couldn't stand to be parted from Arthur. Oh, he had performed some ritual (likely made up on the spot knowing Merlin) on the off chance that they would get a second chance at life (good job on that) but Arthur knew, he knew that Merlin had little hope that it would work (or maybe too much hope). If it hadn't worked, the king-prince did not doubt Merlin would have been satisfied with annoying him in the afterlife just as he did in their present life.

And it was that sticking point that Arthur was having a hard time grasping. How…why…what had he done? What could he have possibly ever done right in his life to deserve the man that was practically vibrating in worry against him? No one else in his life, no one, had sacrificed so much as his friend and he held the proof between his palms. Who else would have committed suicide on the off chance that it grant them (or even just Arthur) a chance at life once more?

No one, not even Guinevere.

And maybe he wasn't being fair, but it was hard to deny the truth when it lay (thankfully still) breathing before you while carrying the scars as proof. His friend, his brother, his family…his.

The person he positively loved most in this world.

And the thought of Merlin killing himself so that Arthur might live once more was a thought that was circling back and he found himself crushing the warlock (while somehow still mindful of his injuries) against him. This would not be allowed to happen, he thought as his hands moved over Merlin in a frantic pattern, trying, and failing to convince himself that the other was alright and there with him. No. Never.

Never.

~Merlin~

How their roles had reversed, from the one offering comfort to the one receiving it, Merlin wasn't sure, but then again not much made sense any more. His magic was intervening, he just knew it, and instead of him having to voice what he had done, Arthur was being shown.

Merlin wasn't certain if that was worse than telling.

No, he decided as rocked the shell-shocked man, it was very much worse and he cursed his magic for doing such a thing. Arthur was muttering nonsense under his breath, his hands finally having left the scar only to lock tightly around the raven-haired youth as though to keep him from dissolving into dust. Not likely to happen, but his king seemed beyond rational thought and nothing Merlin or Gaius tried would bring him back from to it.

"What are we going to do?" Merlin asked, rubbing his cheek against the blond head. It was just about the only gesture he could offer as his only good arm was occupied with keeping the man close. Arthur had finally quieted, but his silence was haunting and the warlock avoided locking eyes with him because it was just too much.

"He can't leave like this," Gaius said, laying a hand over the blond royal's brow. "And I doubt we could manage it anyhow. I'll give him something to help him sleep. We'll keep him with you. No doubt he would protest if we tried to separate you."

"I might protest too," Merlin admitted weakly.

Gaius's lips twitched, delighted to see that not all humor had been lost. "Yes, I suppose you would." He peered down at the pair, silent in his demands. Merlin had little resistance when it came to the elder physician and he certainly wasn't finding more now. His eyes locked with the knowing hazel ones. "What you have done, Merlin…I knew you were special from the moment I met you. Now I am beginning to see just how special and to whom." He laid a hand over the covered stab wound, the sign of Merlin's greatest sacrifice. "Please be careful, for all our sakes."

The warlock swallowed, covering the wrinkled hand with his own. "I will be because we will get it right this time."

"What was right once may no longer be, keep that in mind," Gaius warned before straightening, slipping his hand out from under the others. After a brief search of his supplies, he returned to the pair with a small bottle of pale yellow liquid. "Here, help me get him to drink this."

Between the two of them they were able to wrestle Arthur into submission, pouring the sleeping draft down his throat. The effects came on quickly as it seemed between one blink and the next Arthur lay gently on Merlin's shoulder, snoring. The warlock released a sigh, wanting nothing more than to join the other in slumber, but he couldn't. It was not prudent for them to remain in the open parts of the physician's chambers. It would be better in Merlin's rooms where the unlikely pair would be better hidden from accusing eyes. But before he could shift himself upright, Gaius laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"If you even think of rising I will force the same sleeping draft I gave Arthur down your throat too," he warned.

"But we can't stay out here," the warlock protested weakly, not moving for he knew the other offered no idle threats.

Gaius tilted his head, one white eyebrow rising. "Yes, I suppose you are right." Merlin could have sworn there was a mischievous twinkle in those hazel eyes. "It wouldn't do for anyone to see Arthur or you like this." He clapped his hands softly as if he'd come to a decision. "We shall have to move you then."

"But that…" the warlock's speech abruptly cut off as Gaius's eyes flashed gold and the bed Arthur and he occupied rose. A yelp was forced from his throat as he clung with his only good arm to the side of the bed.

"Gaius!" he accused, wild-eyed. The man hummed in acknowledgment, directing the bed up the stairs and into Merlin's chambers. It would be tight fit, but they would manage. Merlin kept silent during the move, unhappy with not being in control of their flight. He wished that Arthur was awake for this because he was never going to believe Merlin when he told him what happened. The moment the bed settled gently to the floor, the warlock exploded.

"I can't believe you just did that!" After all of the times that the physician had berated Merlin for foolishly using his magic to do things (such as the endless list of chores Arthur was so fond of), he goes and does this!

Gaius offered him a benign smile (cheater!). "Really, Merlin, how else do you expect a man my age to accomplish the very important goal of hiding you and Arthur? I certainly couldn't have moved you two on my own and neither of you are in a position to help me."

"But you…you…you used magic!" The warlock was not going to let this go.

"Yes."

"But you tell me all the time not use it foolishly! What do you call that?"

"Hmm…that does sound like something I would say and had to say often," he gave the warlock the gimlet eye and the dark-haired youth blushed. "Now, it's time for you to rest. The both of you." Gaius leaned over, tapping Merlin's forehead. Immediately exhaustion overwhelmed the warlock and he laid down, snuggling up to his bed companion.

"Gaaaaiuuuus…" he moaned, tucking close to Arthur. That…that…old man had cast a sleeping spell over him!

He faintly heard a chuckle as a blanket was drawn over both of them. "Sleep well, Merlin."

The warlock was left with no choice but to follow his king into the land of dreams.

End Chapter 12

A/N: I love Gaius, he cracks me up. I did warn you that this chapter was a bit of a roller coaster of emotions. From funny to freak out! So now you know how Merlin did it! Please review, I live off them!