A/N: Hey guys! Happy April Fool's Day! Hope you guys got the shit pranked outta you!

This is a shorter one, just another little something that popped into my head. I hope you guys enjoy it!

King Arthur, in all his glory, stared down at the kneeling prisoner shackled before him. He was very aware at the silence of the room, growing tenser and tenser depending on where you stood. If you stood to the left of the king, where his wife and the High Knights were, then the anxiety in the air weighed heavily, though if you stood to the left of him, there was an almost indifferent air about the room. As if the people who stood there only attended because they were required to.

Arthur supposed that they must have been used to this. After all, his father had done this many times before. Too many times, if Arthur were to be honest. But to be fair to the people on his right, it had never been a friend before. Well, a close friend at least.

The king was very aware of his queen fidgeting next to him, casting scared glanced between the prisoner and the king. Arthur was also aware of the knights - especially Gwaine, whose hand rested atop his sword and was glaring at the king as if he wanted to rip him apart limb from limb.

He was also extremely aware of Merlin, the prisoner before him. His head was bowed so Arthur could no longer see his expression. But the man was shaking, terrified.

"Merlin of Ealdor," announced Arthur, startling both Merlin and a few other court members who had grown used to the silence. "You have been found guilty of the crime of sorcery. Do you deny it?"

Arthur noticed all the fear drain from Merlin's eyes to be filled with sadness and despair. The former manservant then looked up at his king, his misery-filled blue eyes also filled with something else, something like…anger…or frustration. Arthur couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"No, I don't deny it," Merlin said quietly.

"Then you give me no choice – "

"Me?" Merlin interrupted with a bitter laugh. Arthur could have sworn his face was wet. "I give you no choice? You, Arthur Pendragon will always have a choice." He glanced over at Gwen. "Sometimes it's just easier to think that we don't."

"I have a choice, as does a sorcerer," said Arthur. "So,tell us, sorcerer. Why? Why the hell would you betray your king and your kingdom. Why would you betray your friends for the evils of magic?" The king narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, both wanting and dreading to hear Merlin's answer.

The anger and despair seemed to build up in Merlin's eyes before it boiled over and he shouted, "FOR YOU!" There was a shocked silence in the room as every eye rested on the sorcerer, wanting to know more.

Merlin was breathing heavily, trying to hold in his tears. And as Arthur looked at him, he saw a man that had lost everything. A man that was finally naked and bare and vulnerable after years in sheep's clothing. A lost man. A lost friend.

"Everything I did, all that I've done, I did it for you, Arthur. For no one else. You have no idea how much I've sacrificed for you and your bloody kingdom!"

"How dare you?" Arthur said in a menacing voice. "Sorcerers are evil. They seek only for themselves and to wreak havoc on the world."

"And tell me, Arthur," said Merlin quietly. "Do I look evil to you?"

Whatever Arthur had expected him to say, it wasn't that. He hesitated for a moment, a brief moment, and hope flashed in Merlin's eyes. Seeing that hope, Arthur snapped himself back to reality and replied,

"Sorcerers are evil and foul. They bring only pain and sorrow."

In his words, he only heard his father. And he didn't know if he liked that or not.

Merlin stumbled to his feet and guards came forward and pointed their spears at him, ready in case Merlin decided to attack their king. But he made so move to do so. Instead, he focused on Arthur, seemingly blocking everything and everyone else out.

"Arthur, do you know who I am?" he asked softly.

The king didn't expect a dagger of sorrow pierce his heart. This was like Morgana all over again. Except this was worse. Far, far worse.

"I thought I did," he replied.

Merlin flinched, but barreled on, "The Druids call me Emrys. They have…prophecies about me. I am…" Merlin drew in a breath and there was a flash of fear in his eyes, as if he feared the very words he was about to say. "I am the most powerful warlock to ever walk the Earth."

There was a moment of silence. No one moved or spoke, or breathed. Jaws locked. Eyes shifted. Fear consumed. Awe radiated. But Arthur simply sat back in his throne, dumbfounded, trying to process what had just been said. His first reaction was to laugh and call Merlin and idiot. Merlin the most powerful sorcerer of all time? The idea was laughable! Besides, what would the most powerful man on Earth be doing working for a "prat"? Merlin and powerful just didn't go together as well as Merlin and whimsical did.

But then he noticed the naked, blunt look in Merlin's blue eyes. It was the look of a man who was telling nothing but the truth. Not half the truth, not a twisted truth, but the whole, plain truth. And it was the look of a man who feared that very same truth.

"I can raze kingdoms with a few words. I can kill a dozen men with none. I could break out of these chains without a thought," said Merlin, lifting his wrists and shaking his manacles. He paused, then added with the smallest of smiles, "And though you can kill me in one blow, I can kill you with less than that."

Arthur felt dizzy. He felt dizzy and sick and exhausted. He wanted to go curl up on his bed and lay there forever. He wanted the marble floors to swallow him and suck him into their depths. He wanted to reverse time. He wanted to wipe his mind clean of this horrifying, horrifying revelation. He was so confused and yes, afraid. Because, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, his friend stood before him, shackled in chains, awaiting his death sentence.

But that wasn't the reason he was afraid, not really. Arthur had in chains the most powerful person that would ever live. He was more powerful than Morgause or Morgana, and much more powerful than him, and maybe even the whole Camelot army.

"Arthur," said Merlin, his piercing blue eyes looking into Arthur's very soul. "If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it a long, long time ago. Or better yet, I would've just left Camelot for a week and let all of the sorcerers and assassins kill you. Or, if I wanted evil and terror as you say, I would've helped Morgana take Camelot from you. But I did the opposite. I helped you to take it back."

Arthur let out a shaky breath, thinking on Merlin's words and running a hand through his hair (and almost knocking his crown off his head in the process). Merlin was right. If Arthur had to pick the person he trusted most - if he was truly honest with himself – he wouldn't pick his father, or Morgana when she had been good. He wouldn't have picked Leon, or any of the knights for that matter. Hell, he wouldn't've picked his own wife.

He would've chosen Merlin.

Because Merlin was always there. Always. Whenever Arthur woke up with a pounding headache and blurry vision, Merlin was there. Whenever Arthur was getting attacked by something magical or vicious or both, Merlin was fighting along next to him. Whenever Arthur found himself as a fugitive, watching as his own sister took control of his kingdom, Merlin was right over his shoulder, offering comic relief and sage advice, often at the same time (Merlin was the only one who could possibly do that).

And though he would never admit it, Arthur loved Merlin, he really did. But it was a different love than what he offered Guinevere. This was a brotherly love, a bond, you could say. Arthur regarded Merlin as his younger brother. He felt protective of him and shared everything with him. He felt most comfortable with Merlin than with anyone else.

And it was for these reasons that this betrayal stung the worst. It was for this reason that this wound was gushing blood and Arthur knew it would never stop. It would never scab, and it would never leave a scar. Instead, it would fester and bleed for the rest of his life. It would never heal.

The pain turned to anger and that anger heightened on seeing Merlin's hopeful expression. He felt heat flood his face as he looked once more into the face of his worst nightmare.

"Perhaps you were attempting to trick me, to gain my trust, and to use me to your advantage. Perhaps you were simply waiting for the right moment. I do not understand the minds of evil like yourself, sorcerer," the king spat.

Merlin stared up at his king. He shook his head. "Are you blind?" he nearly shouted.

"Hold your tongue!" Arthur yelled.

Merlin rose to his feet, looking at Arthur beseechingly. "Arthur, listen to me, you're not like your father. You are a fair and just king – "

Arthur rose to his feet and stepped forward threateningly. "My father was a great man. Greater than you or I could ever hope to be. He set on a quest to purge the kingdom of the evils of your kind. A quest I seek to continue."

"Arthur, please, listen to me! It doesn't have to be like this – "

"Silence, I am your king – "

Merlin seemed to lose all patience with the man in front of him. "You prat!" he yelled. "Would you just listen to me for once in your – "

It was wrong. All of it was wrong. It was twisted, morphed into something evil, something upside-down so confusing and terrifying. But it was real. All of it. This was real, it was no dream. And Arthur's friend. Arthur's only real, most loyal, trustworthy friend was… Morgana. All Arthur saw was Morgana.

Morgana. Lancelot. Guinevere. And now Merlin.

But all Arthur saw was Morgana.

All he saw was her reign of terror. All he saw was the evil, unnatural gold-color in her eyes. All he saw was the blood she had spilled. All he heard were the tortured screams of the innocent – men, women, children.

But then silence. Nothing. Except a pair of shocked blue eyes that pain had glossed over. There was a strange ringing in Arthur's ears. There was something familiar in his hand that he was gripping like it was the difference between life and death. And there was something warm flooding over his hands – something he was all too familiar with.

Then he looked up at Merlin. He saw the pain and betrayal in his eyes. A little ways down, in the corner of Arthur's eye, he could see red. And –

Oh.

No. No.

A scream cut through the air. It was not Merlin's – it was Guinevere's. He could hear the tears in her voice.

And there were two shouts – one from Gwaine. Arthur knew because the shout had been a curse. The other one was no doubtedly from Gaius.

There were footsteps. Running. Arthur was being wrestled away from Merlin by someone. Who?

SMACK.

Ah. Gwaine. Of course. Only he would dare to punch the king.

Arthur straightened up again, rubbing his sore jaw. He was almost knocked over by none other than his own wife, who had pushed past him in a state of panic.

Gaius was there, lifting Merlin's head into his lap and instructing Gwaine to apply pressure to Merlin's wound. Gwaine was using his own cape and glancing at Merlin desperately. It was a state that Arthur had never seen him in before. The other knights, except for Morded (he was standing stock-still in the background), were shuffling awkwardly above, not knowing what to do and being too shocked and panicked to do anything.

Guinevere was crying. Just crying. Arthur had never seen her like this before except when she had lost her father.

And then everything crashed onto Arthur: He had stabbed Merlin.

He had murdered Merlin, his best friend, in cold blood.

Arthur threw the sword away. It was too blunt to be Excalibur – Excalibur was always sharp. He almost threw up – thinking about how much it had to hurt to be run through by a blunt blade.

Arthur was coward. A coward!

He noticed his breathing speeding up. He knew he was starting to hyperventilate, but he didn't care. All that mattered right now was Merlin.

Arthur fell to his knees and crawled over to Merlin, which only earned him a sword to the neck. Gwaine's sword.

"Gwaine," Merlin croaked, "don't." He glanced at Arthur, then offered a small smile to the knight. "He saved me from the pyre."

Gwaine looked completely horrified. "Merlin, mate, that's not funny. Don't make joked like that. Of course you're gonna live long enough to get to the pyre."

Merlin tried to laugh, but resulted in his body convulsing a little and for him to spit up some blood.

A wave of fear flowed through Arthur so powerful, that it physically hurt. He grabbed Merlin's shoulders.

"Merlin?" he called. "Merlin, don't you dare. Stay with me, you hear? Or you'll be cleaning out every single damn stable in the kingdom." Only then did Arthur register that his vision was only blurry because of tears.

Merlin's eyes squeezed shut, full of pain. "Arthur – I'm s-sorry."

"What?"

"'M sorry."

Arthur wanted to lay down on the floor, shrivel up, and die. "There's nothing to – "

Merlin's eyes flew open, and he looked at Arthur through pain and tear-filled eyes. "Arthur! I'm – I am sorry."

Arthur let out a sob, surprising even himself. But he wasn't focused on that. "You're forgiven, old friend. I can only hope that I am too, whether I deserve it or not."

Merlin reached out and punched Arthur on the shoulder.

Arthur held in his sob this time.

But he couldn't when Merlin choked on his own blood once more. Only once more.

Everyone in the room turned to Arthur. Every eye pinning the blame on him. But it was his wife who spoke for them.

"What have you done?"

A/N: Well, that was fun. Did anyone cry? Well, if I get enough requests, I'll make a little sequel to this. Maybe. Possibly. I don't know. It's up to you guys. So tell me what you guys thought of it in a review. Good, bad? Too detailed? More detail? To fast? Too slow?

Review!

~theAnonymousParadox