Hi everyone! So sorry for how long this chapter took to get out to you, I found it a very hard one to write-but hopefully it won't be to read ;) This is the last chapter before the epilogue-the latter which I will use to tie up some loose threads and clarify things. I am not entirely satisfied with this but hope you still enjoy it. Either way drop me a thread adn let me know what you think!

Happy Reading

okokoo

Chapter 18: Strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

"Man is not truly one, but two"
― Robert Louis Stevenson

Silence hung with a weight that it previously had not possessed.

Harry did not know how to answer Arthur's furious question. He knew that he should be spewing out excuses and denials—what the desperate hope in Arthur's eyes were pleading for—but he couldn't make his vocal cords work. His lips felt as though they were suddenly melded into one silent entity.

He knew that Arthur had seen what he had done and he knew that Arthur knew that he knew….(and okay, now he was just starting to confuse himself). Point was; that even if he were able to convincingly lie to the Crown Prince's face, things would never be the same again. Because maybe…just maybe Arthur would latch onto that excuse and pretend to believe him but that is all it would be: pretend.

And the longer that the unanswered question dragged on, the less willing those hardening blue eyes would be to make that sacrifice. It was too late….some things could just not be undone. Harry knew this, god he knew this and yet he wanted it to be different this time, he wanted….

"What do you want to hear Arthur?" was what finally left his throat. The words already tasted of defeat and resignation. He may want, but it was still easier to ignore the small flicker of hope (hope that Arthur would accept him for being different, that he would understand that just because Harry possessed magic that Harry was still Harry) then allow it to truly latch on. And looking up into the face of the man he had slowly but undeniably fallen for, he knew that he was correct in his fear.

There was hurt and confusion in those eyes but it was muted by the anger, and worse, revulsion found there.

"I want the truth Emrys. I would think that it is the very least I am owed" Arthur's voice was hard and unwavering. The use of his last name was telling….the man was already distancing himself.

Harry swallowed the hurt that he felt—after all, when had he ever been given the benefit of the doubt? When had the people who were suppose to care and love him ever been there when he truly needed them? And most importantly, why had he thought that Arthur would be any different? Once again he was found the fool….always the fool—"I think you already know your truth"

It wouldn't matter what he said, they both knew that, so why bother? He suddenly felt so very tired….

"Answer the question"

Sighing and pushing lightly on the prince's shoulder (a touch that Arthur practically stumbled back from—another stab of pain wormed its way through Harry's chest) to allow him to sit up from his prone position he gave as requested "Yes. There, happy? Yes it was magic. Yes I used magic to save your life. Does hearing it out loud make it any more ok with you your highness?" Harry didn't fight the sneer or bitterness coating his words. Why should he?

Harry watched with the detached black humor as Arthur stepped back without answering. It didn't matter; his actions spoke more than any words could have. The sting of metal and wrenching of his arms behind his back by overly hostile knights barely registered as Harry couldn't drag his eyes away from the increasingly ashen face of the man he loved.

The flicker of uncertain regret and guilt did nothing to ease the overwhelming taste of bitter betrayal.

It didn't matter: Harry had grown well use to its flavor by now.

-oo—

He knew that under most circumstances that he would have felt betrayed. He was half trying to convince himself that he should use this new proof to justify his past actions against Henry. He wanted to…really he did, at least that way he would be able to brush aside his own guilty conscience.

It should have been easy—after all he had been doing something similar since he had met the messy haired youth. Yet he didn't.

Not couldn't,—the distinction was important—didn't.

His brother had after all, had done what he was suppose to have; saved Arthur's life. Merlin was not so bullheaded not to recognize that (or, for that matter, how Henry had stepped in to save him. He knew that he had been losing the battle against Morgause until Henry's distraction).

And mostly….he was just tired of trying to hate his brother. As lame as that sounded, it was true. It was just so hard to try and hate someone who did not bow and break in the face of misplaced animosity. Anyone else, anyone would have given in and returned Merlin's vitriol in spades by now—or at least given up—yet Henry had doggedly ignored his anger and continued on.

He had no other choice but to acknowledge that his brother was truly a good person. No matter how the bitter little boy in Merlin wished it otherwise.

So, for once, he wouldn't let that bitter boy win. For once he would step up and do right by his kin. Kin in more than blood apparently. And wasn't that shocking?

Henry was magic; powerful magic if what he had witnessed in the fight was true. He hadn't seen much, but he somehow knew that Henry's magic was not the same tainted magic that Morgause wielded. Black magic or magic users did not save people who could order their deaths after all. Merlin should know.

He shivered at the cold draft that seemed to leak in and encompass the dimly lit cells. The whole place had to have been designed not only to contain but to terrify its occupants. And judging by the involuntary hunch that had settled into his shoulders as he passed the sullen guards and flickering torch lights, it was scarily effective.

It had been 48 hours since he had watched his brother get dragged away by the king's guard: somehow it seemed like so much longer.

He couldn't help but wonder that if the guard had not also witnessed Henry's magical save, would Arthur have decided to react differently? He told himself that the prince would have, that he would have at least allowed for an explanation or reasonable doubt before throwing Henry to the proverbial wolves. It troubled him more then he wanted to admit that he didn't know the answer to that question.

Another voice in the back of his head wondered how Arthur would have reacted had it been Merlin in Henry's shoes. He didn't think he wanted to know the answer to that one.

"Five minutes" Sir Percival told him not quite meeting his eyes.

Merlin's stomach churned uneasily once more. It hurt to see the clenched jaw and wary stance of men he had grown to think of as friends. Sure that wariness and suspicion was not really directed at him, rather his brother; but it might as well have been. Still at least the knight was allowing him face time with Henry—even if it was rather reluctant.

It was far more then Merlin had hoped for….hell the fact that there was still no set date for a burning was more then he could have hoped for. He didn't know what was delaying Uther's need for vengeance against yet another innocent, but he couldn't help but be thankful all the same.

Merlin clenched his fingers reflexively as he finally came to a stop before the cell that Henry was being kept in. The shadowed darkness almost hid his brother's small frame entirely from view masking the defeated looking figure from the judging eyes outside. Merlin wanted to reach out to offer comfort but he wasn't sure it would be welcome.

"Henry?" the question came out timid—as though approaching a startled mare.

There was no answer for a long moment. Merlin was about to open his mouth before his eyes caught the hunched figure moving slightly: the moves were stiff, as though they were painful. The ramifications made Merlin's nails bite into the palm of his hands.

"Merlin?"

Henry's voice sounded harsh and dry. It was clear that Camelot did not believe in allowing witches the luxury of water or food.

Merlin found he couldn't make his vocal cords work, so he just nodded his head. He had to try and fix this….he had saved people/magic wielders from these dungeons before…he could do it again. He would do it again. He purposefully ignored the fact that he had nearly gotten caught each and every time.

He owed Henry….he might never truly make up for his horrible behavior from before but he would not lose another family member to Uther. He couldn't.

"W-Why are you here?"

Merlin felt the sting of accusation even if that wasn't how Henry meant it. He deserved it.

"I-I wanted to see how you were doing" he finally managed. Immediately regretting the statement—how stupid could he be? Of course Henry wasn't doing well…..how could he be?

Apparently Merlin wasn't the only one who found the question ridiculous if the half upward twist of Henry's mouth was anything to go by. Then again Merlin thought he would ask a million stupid things if it helped bring even a small smile to the ashen colored face in front of him.

Despite it having only been 48 hours, Henry was not looking so hot. There were deep dark circles that spoke of sleep deprivation and made his already too thin face look positively gaunt. Of course the nasty looking bruising to the side of his face didn't help any.

"Did they….are they…" Merlin trailed off not quite sure how to ask, unable to drag his eyes away from the mottled skin. Thankfully it seemed that Henry knew what he was trying to ask and answered anyway.

"No. They didn't….honestly, they ignore me for the most part" Henry stated with a stilted shrug. At Merlin's skeptical look he continued, "It's from the battle….really. Morgause got a few more hits in then I thought…"

Appeased by the knowledge that at least the men Merlin saw as friends weren't further abusing his brother (at least outside of what he assumed Uther had ordered them to do) he decided to let it go.

Silence seemed to fall between them and it wasn't until Merlin heard the clank of metal on stone (Percival—his mind supplied) did he get around to why he had truly come down to see Henry.

"I….I'm sorry" Merlin said forcing his gaze to meet Henry's viridian eyes without flinching away.

"For?" Henry asked sounding a bit confused.

"For everything..." Merlin answered without hesitation, "For how I treated you—it wasn't fair of me. It wasn't anything you had done as I am sure you know….but still, I had no right to treat you like dirt so I am sorry"

Henry opened his mouth but once again Merlin cut him off.

"Please" he made a gesture with his hand, "let me finish or I won't be able to." Henry gave a slow nod though his eyes were unreadable. "I'm sorry that I lied to you but mainly I'm sorry I made it so you felt like you couldn't share this part of yourself with me"

This time Henry did cut him off, "stop" "no, Merlin, stop. Thank you for apologizing but you don't need to"

This time it was Merlin's protest that was cut off, "no…I mean, yes I accept your apology for being a dick and yes I think you were in the wrong there but you don't need to apologize for the last bit. I…er well I don't know whether or not I would have told you even if we'd had a different relationship"

Merlin wanted to tell Henry about his own magic….but the risk of doing so down here…surrounded by enemies….

Once again his brother surprised him, it would seem that Henry saw the hesitation in his eyes and somehow just knew what he was trying to say. It was a bit spooky in truth.

"Hey, it's okay. I know Merlin"

"You know?" he voiced unable to keep the doubt out of his tone.

"I know" he stated decisively. And somehow Merlin knew that he was telling the truth. Somehow, someway Henry knew about Merlin's magic…..and that he too had been keeping secrets.

Merlin knew it wasn't logical but somehow knowing that Henry knew (and wasn't that a mind twister) took a weight off of him.

He couldn't have stopped the next words if he had wanted to; and frankly, he didn't want to.

"I will get you out of this. I promise you I will"

"I know"

-o-

"Are you really just going to stand to the side and watch him burn?"

"Get out"

He watched his manservant clench his jaw—that familiar defiant look flashing in his eyes and he just couldn't take it any longer.

"I said get out! Get out now Merlin or I will not be responsible for my next actions"

He barely managed to get the words out—anger, rage, confusion, hurt-too many emotions to properly list and decipher—coursing through his veins like molten lava. Merlin must have caught the truth in his uttered threat or maybe he just recognized that their combined tempers wouldn't help resolve anything, because for once, he did the smart thing and listened. Not before throwing another angry glare at his lord and letting the door slam forcefully.

Arthur didn't try to hold back the roar of rage as he sent the still warm dinner tray flying off the table with a violent swipe of his arm. As quickly as the rage had come it fled leaving him to sink down exhaustedly to the floor.

He didn't care if he didn't look the part of a prince at the moment….he just couldn't keep up the façade right now.

He didn't know what to think, what to feel, or more importantly, what he was supposed to do.

When he had first seen Henry use magic he had been sure that it was a mistake…that somehow, someway, he had been hallucinating. When he could no longer deny what he had seen he had been hurt, angry and betrayed.

That had shifted into numb disbelief before settling back into vengeful rage. Now though, now he was just tired (and though he tried to deny it—guilty. Had he really just stood back and watched his father's men drag the man he professed to love and swore to protect, into the castle's dungeons?).

He had spent hours trying to convince himself that he was in the right, that he didn't really know Henry at all: That the whole thing had been one big evil plot on the sorcerer's part that their love had never truly existed. He had tried so hard.

He had failed.

Yes he was hurt and confused as to why Henry had hid such a thing (but no, he was not even allowed that small comfort- not really. After all, how could he expect Henry to tell him the truth when he had stood by his father's side time and again, even going so far as to carry out his father's horrendous orders against magic users?) and maybe he had let his anger and hurt in the moment make him passive in the face of his lover's desperation.

But hadn't he sworn not to let Henry down again? Could he really stand back and do just that in the face of his lover's most desperate hour?

The answer was simple; no. He could not.

Even if Merlin had not come and shouted/pleaded with him to do something, Arthur knew wouldn't have stood aside.

Not this time. Because the truth of the matter was, no matter what his lover may or may not have done, no matter what he may or may not be: Arthur loved him.

And nothing, not even magic, could change that.

-00—

Mordred flinched at the sound of breaking pottery. He would be rather shocked if anything inside the rundown shack survived Morgause's temper tantrum at this rate. One thing was for sure, he knew better then to face her at the moment….then again he was starting to rethink the whole 'facing her' thing at all. After all so far her side wasn't exactly batting for the win.

No….after this latest failure (especially since he now knew that Morgana had done exactly as he had feared and gone running back to the little magician's side) Mordred was thinking that tucking tale was sounding better and better.

Not that he was just going to up and abandon the cause completely of course….he simply was considering switching—no that wasn't quite right either….not switching then—creating a new side in this stalled fight. He had made a promise after all….

And if there was one person (even if the current mind was unaware of it) that he could put his horses behind, well….it certainly wasn't Morgause any longer. He had originally followed the witch not because she owned a fair amount of power (sure not crazy amounts, but enough) but because she had a strategically cunning mind to put that power to use. Now though…

Well now, she like many with ambition before her had fallen into the revenge/vengeance trap. Sure a bit of revenge driven anger was all well and good…but it could quickly grow to overshadow any sort of rationality if not careful. And well, Morgause had not been careful enough.

So yes….Mordred came to the quick decision as he disappeared, unheard and unnoticed, back into the forest, that now was a good time to not only create a new side but to carry out his promise. He had an ally to awaken.

First, of course; he had a burning to stop. Why must winning be so complicated?

-0-

"Hurry up girl—I needed that bucket a day ago!" Clarisse snapped out.

Gwen swallowed down the part of her that wanted to talk back and grudgingly grabbed the water bucket. What with Morgana's disappearance (even if she was back now), the numerous fights and squabbles that had been breaking out in Camelot as of late, and finally the most recent attack; her previous rather cushy position as a lady in waiting had been replaced with that of a scullery maid.

To say that she hadn't been enjoying the demotion would be putting it lightly.

Still it could have been worse she suppose—she could have been rotting away in a cold cellar like her one time friend Henry. She still couldn't believe that he had fooled them all! (Though now that she thought about it….it definitely explained a lot).

Like how Arthur could have so easily forsaken her affection for the likes of some scrawny nobody. Really, now that she knew that Henry had magic (and had not been wrongly accused like her poor father had been—far too many witnesses had seen him use it. And yes, maybe she was ignoring the small fact that he had used said magic to save Arthur's life….but still. Magic was magic, it could not be trusted) she felt much less guilty for her less benevolent thoughts towards the boy.

Maybe now Arthur would see the light; although she did hope that Henry's horrible betrayal did not sour him completely on cross-class relationships.

She didn't even have the time to shriek before she was roughly dragged; hand over mouth, into a dark side alley. Oh GOD! She was going to die….she was so close to actually getting what she wanted (ok…so not that close, but still) and now she was going to…to…fall victim to a heinous crime. She couldn't quite allow her mind to voice just what happened to women unfortunate to get in such positions; it was just too horrible.

"If I remove my hand are you going to scream?" the soft, very male voice asked…the tickle of hot breath puffing off her ear. She hastily shook her head to the negative praying to anyone listening that he believed her.

"I do not plan to hurt you, however should you do something stupid…." He trailed off ominously.

Gwen's panicked thoughts were stuck firmly on "Please don't kill me, please don't kill me…" but she did manage to understand what he was warning.

She felt the cold press of steel on her rib cage replace the hand that had been placed over her mouth. She only barely managed to stop the desperate scream that wanted to worm its way out of her throat. No doubt her attacker would make good on his threat should she fall prey to her instincts.

"Good...Now dear Guinevere"-God he knew her name!—"I believe we really want very similar things…I propose that we help each other out… what do you say?" the soft voice was equally cajoling as it was mocking, yet despite her current situation Gwen couldn't help feel her curiosity perk up.

"W-What do you mean? How do you know my name? who are you?" she stuttered—hating how her voice betrayed just how terrified she was at the moment.

"tch..tch.." the man tutted, "I think I'll be the one asking the questions if you don't mind. Though I suppose a little token would not harm anyone….. I know who you are dear because I having been watching"

Gwen felt a shiver of dread roll up her spine—her captor chuckled mirthlessly at her body's reactive tensing.

"Oh no dear. Not you….you are hardly important in the scheme of things….though you could be with a bit of help. No, I'm talking about your dear prince and his lovely little friend"

"Tell me Gwen….did it make you angry to know that Arthur would rather bed some pathetic little boy then invite you into it?" the taunt made Gwen's jaw clench, her old jealousy, insecurity and rage over Arthur and Henry's filthy/immoral activities rising up once again.

"I don't know what you are talking about" she spat, her anger making her forget her previous fear.

"No? so you wouldn't be interested in getting Arthur's attention back where it belongs then?" the man mockingly asked….his stance behind her never faltering, the blade still firmly pressed against her skin.

"I don't….he's already going to burn for his devil's work anyway" she fumbled her denials.

"Really? a sorcerer powerful enough to enchant the prince to love him….a sorcerer powerful enough to defeat Morgause is going to allow himself to be burnt at the stake? Do you really believe it will be that simple? That your prince will be freed from his grasps that easily?"

Gwen didn't want to listen to the man's words (he did after all, basically kidnap her and was holding her at knife point. No honest, trustworthy type would do that…) but she couldn't help it. They crept in and infected her mind like a vile poison…..he was right….there was no way that someone as evil and powerful as Henry would be defeated that easily.

And a love potion! Of course! Why hadn't she thought of that?! It was so obvious….all this time Arthur's trapped free will had likely been screaming at her for help and she hadn't done anything…..

"I….what can I—we do?" she asked shakily finally realizing the severity of what he was implying.

"Don't worry, I can help you" –a small voice in the back of her mind was asking just why this man wanted to help…what was in it for him? yet she was far too desperate to stop Henry's vile influence on Arthur to pay it much mind, "all you need to do is make sure that a few drops of this ends up in the prisoner's water bucket" Gwen felt the vial as it was slipped into her pocket.

"That's it? what will that do?" she questioned even as her hand was protectively patting her pocket.

"It will simply break any of his current enchantments….and stop any further magic. Simple but effective" the man explained reassuringly.

"You still didn't tell me who you are….or why you need me do to this at all" she allowed a few suspicions out.

"Who I am is not important. And simple my dear—you have the easiest access…you are working in the kitchens these days are you not?"

"Yes…bu—" she began to protest again but was cut off this time.

"Do you or do you not want Arthur back?" the man demanded impatiently.

"Yes…bu…"

"Then do as I instructed. You are Arthur's last hope….."

And with that the man was gone: all evidence- except for the conspicuous weight in her pocket- of their brief interaction gone with him.

Could she do this? Did she have a choice?

No, she did not. Not if she wanted the old sweet doting Arthur back again. Decision made she turned and hurried onwards to the water well.

-0-

Harry tried, and failed to stifle the shiver that wracked his freezing frame. Having grown up under the tender mercies of the Dursley's, Harry had always thought himself immune to such discomforts, unfortunately that long built up resistance to things such as hunger, sleep deprivation and cold, sadly did not seem expand to 5th Century hospitality. The cold that was the Camelot dungeon seemed to seep and settle into one's bones without any sign of relinquishing it's vice grip.

That and he had gotten used to having a few square meals a day as of late. He almost wished he hadn't allowed himself the comfort of settling down in Camelot—at least had he been living and surviving on his own he would have been more used to the knawing emptiness in his gut.

One would ask why he just didn't use his magical voodoo to apparate himself out of his cell and too safety…..the problem was that he couldn't. And no, it was not because of some noble self sacrificing idealism or anything as ridiculous as that….no, it was far more vexing then that (at least to Harry it was). It would seem that for the first time since he had arrived in Camelot, his magic was not responding as it should.

He had spent several incredibly frustrating hours (when he was first tossed in) trying and failing to use his magic to escape: only to find that he couldn't. And while he knew that Uther (the hypocrite that he was) had employed a sorcerer to ward the dungeon against magic (most likely way before he had taken to burning said magicals with great aplomb—at least he hoped so. Though knowing Uther as he did he would not be surprised to discover that whoever had warded the cells against magic had later been tossed in them), he really hadn't thought that they would be strong enough to stop him.

And yes, perhaps that was a little arrogant of him.

Though in truth, he still felt that if he had not been so drained from fighting Morgause earlier and healing as many of Camelot's injured as he could during the fight (something he was starting to regret considering many of those he had helped heal were now employing their new found health to keep him caged) he would not have had issue getting around the magical dampening.

It would seem that the bad part of his luck complex was in full swing.

It wasn't helping that he was having trouble not giving into the steadily increasing black spots swarming his vision either. He felt another shiver (this time not from the cold) roll down his spine. He had long known that his black outs and lost memories could be nothing good….but he was starting to suspect that him willfully ignoring them was going to come around and bite him in the ass; and rather soon, if the amount of trouble he had staying aware and awake was anything to go by.

He violently shook his head trying to disperse the fogginess of his thoughts before shuffling his way over to were a metal pail sat innocently in the corner. For the first however many hours or days (he wasn't sure how long he had been down here—with no window or light to give away such information) he had been here, his captors had not given him the luxury of food or water. It was only just recently that a terrified looking scullery maid had scuttled as near as she dared to the cell and left a bucket of musty smelling water for him to drink.

While initially suspicious (he couldn't help but think that it felt an awful lot like a last meal type deal) he couldn't bring himself to ignore it any longer: Not with the burning thirst in the back of his throat. That and he figured that Uther would always go for the more showy execution of burning over a quiet, secluded death by poison.

Dipping his dirty and bruised hands into the bucket he barely held back a groan of appreciation. No matter how dire his current circumstances were (and no, despite Merlin's promise and good intentions—he somehow did not have much faith in his brother succeeding in his rescue) the promise of water was enough to make him thankful.

Splashing some of the cool liquid on his face helped focus his wandering thoughts and he didn't hesitate to bring the next hand scoop to his mouth:

Maybe he should have.

The itch in the back of his mind became a head pounding vice. He knew without having to give it much thought that he did not have the energy to try fighting this time.

Even if he did; what the hell did he have left that was worth even trying to?

-o—

Arthur paused, trepidation filling him as his hand hovered uncertainly at the door of the dungeons—the last barrier between prisoner and free. It wasn't that he was second guessing his choice to help Henry escape….he wasn't.

No….his current uncertainty wasn't over his decision, but rather on the reception he would receive when he finally faced the object of said decision.

He had no idea how Henry would react to seeing him-it was rather unlikely that it would be favorable, not that he could blame his lover (ex?) if that were the case. No, Henry had every reason to hate and resent him….god knew that in his shoes, Arthur would have. But that didn't stop Arthur's heart from aching at the thought; stupid he knew (after all not all that long ago he had watched as the same man was dragged away from him—knowing that they were taking him with the final goal of death in mind. He had watched and done nothing…guilt burned his gut with a rancid aftertaste).

Taking a deep breath he pushed his doubts aside(he did not deserve to dwell on them after all….he would face his lover and accept whatever Henry wanted to throw his way—it was the least he could do) and walked through the door.

Time was not unlimited, he knew that Merlin was distracting the dungeon guards with some sort of bumbling tale about possibly, maybe, perhaps having heard someone sneaking in through the south side entrance, but that only gave him 15 minutes at most to sneak Henry out (he had originally balked at this plan, concerned that Henry's subsequent absence would be blamed on Merlin—but Merlin had insisted, and rightly pointed out that he could not be blamed if he was within the guards sights the entire time. Something that Arthur had reluctantly conceded).

He felt his breath whoosh out of him; partly due to the coldness of the air but a larger part due to the sight that met him. He rushed over to the damp prison bars—uncaring if the dirt and mold on them dirtied his princely garments—desperate to verify that the unmoving lump in the corner was not….

No. He wouldn't think that. It was not possible….not unless Uther had forgone his normal need for public humiliation…..no…..he knew his father. He had to…he couldn't be wrong about this….

"Henry?" he called out—the uncertainty long ago replaced by fear.

His heart dropped when no answer came.

Not pausing long enough to think through his decision, Arthur hastily scrambled to unhook his master set of keys and moved to the lock. He fumbled slightly as he turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, moving with a haste shown normally only in attacks on him and his knights over to where Henry's body lay unmoving.

He crouched down his shaking hands carefully gripping the thin shoulders and shaking them slightly, "Henry….please. Henry, come on….we need to leave. You need to get out of here" the desperation in his tone drowned out his other scared thoughts. Thoughts that centered on the fact that Henry was not answering….nor moving.

He shook the body in front of him again, this time with more force.

He didn't know what to do—he was just about to try flipping Henry onto his back so that he could drag him out, when with lightening fast reflexes that he hadn't thought possible, a thin but almost inhumanly strong hand closed around his wrist.

Arthur let out a cry (okay…shriek) of surprise toppling backwards only to find himself pressed onto the cold floor forcefully. "Wha…" he began but found the question dying at the back of his throat as his eyes met the cold set of green ones looking down at him.

He knew right then and there that whoever….whatever this was; it was not Henry. Not the Henry he knew anyway.

It (because Arthur refused to refer to the being above him as his lover) saw the realization in Arthur's eyes and let out a cold chuckle—mirth that did not reach It's eyes. "Well…well…well….what have we here? Could it be… The Prince of Camelot? I must say it's an honor to finally meet you your majesty. I have been waiting a very long time"

Arthur forced a swallow past his dry throat, "W-who are you? Where….what have you done with Henry?" He was proud that his voice didn't shake.

"Henry? hmmm apparently not as dim as you look are you. Though not sure why you care...a little late for that love. Besides Henry can't come out to play right now, don't worry though he will be able to hear you scream as I tear out your pathetic little heart….

…who knows maybe he will even enjoy it. I know I will."

Arthur renewed his struggles in earnest; fear of the man's words snaking into his gut. He didn't hear a lie in those words.

He growled in useless rage as his struggles did nothing. Anger at whatever possessed his lover's form filled him.

"I have always cared" he denied—knowing that it was trued despite however poorly he had shown it in the past.

He wanted to move away from the bitter laughter that his denial drew forth from those familiar yet unfamiliar lips.

"Don't lie….it won't save you" the imposter taunted—his mouth turned up in a mocking grin as though there was nothing in the world that concerned him. Yet, looking closer, Arthur could detect true anger underneath the veneer of ease. He swallowed knowing that the next words could be his last….yet he had made his decision when he came down here….it didn't matter that this was not the Henry he had expected to find. He had decided….and perhaps a small part of him hoped that his Henry was not completely gone, had not been a lie from the start…..

"I'm not lying. I love him…." he winced but refused to stop even as the hands holding him down moved to his throat, "I love you Henry….I'm sorry it took me so long to admit it. I'm sorry I have failed you again and again….but if anything is true, it is that. You and only you"

For a moment Arthur thought that he had succeeded, that his words had done the impossible, as the hands on him seemed to loosen. It was for the barest part of a second, but just as soon as the flicker of hesitance appeared, it disappeared; leaving icy emerald eyes in its wake.

"No. No….you lie. You may have been able to trick my weaker half…Harry was always so desperate for love, but not me. I won't allow it….no. But perhaps I should be thanking you? Yes…after all if it wasn't for your betrayal—well to be fair you and everyone else I suppose—then Harry would have had a fighting chance against the potion. Tsk tsk….so sad, to bad"

Arthur's mind tried to make sense of what was being said but the longer he allowed the imposter to speak the more obvious his loose grip on sanity became. It would have been fascinating, had it not been so terrifying to literally watch the mind crumble in on itself. Arthur had witnessed the sing-song tone that the imposter adopted at the end of his statement before; sadly it was in those that were dragged to the sanatorium.

It might have been this fact that allowed Arthur to grasp the blade strapped to the side of his leg and pull it out…something told him that he would never have gotten the drop on the imposter otherwise. All he needed to do now was slide the blade in: a quick sharp jab between his ribs and the threat to his life would end. It would be simple….should be simple….

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't bring himself to hurt him….no matter how far removed Henry (wait hadn't the imposter used the name Harry?...no matter, something for another time) was from this man holding him down right now; he was still in there. He had to be. Arthur refused to believe otherwise.

He brought his hand up and with a strength he did not know he possessed he wrapped his hand around the dirty loose collar of the imposter's shirt. A tense second later they were separated; the imposter half slumped against the floor and Arthur scrambling backwards—blocking the cell door. He hastily hauled himself up, his hand on the hilt of his sword….unsure what to do now.

The slumped man chuckled dryly, "Well done your highness…..seems there is some fight in you after all….well, what are you waiting for then? Finish the job. A quick slice to my throat should do it…unless of course you take after your father and would rather wait for a good old burning" he cackled again, no light of clarity in his eyes as he stared at Arthur in challenge.

Arthur had made his decision.

He found himself moving towards the slumped man with sureness he had not had an hour ago. The imposter looked resigned yet oddly triumphant at this, his eyes falling shut as Arthur grabbed hold of his collar once more and used it to haul him off the floor.

He had made his decision.

He took the small victory of surprise on his 'enemy's' face as he brought his face towards him. Their lips barely brushed against one another but it didn't make it any less meaningful, not for Arthur anyhow.

"I won't lose you Henry, you have ten minutes….now go"

And then he let go and walked away; leaving an open, unguarded cell door in his wake.

Notes:

Chapter title from the infamous novel first published in 1886, titled Strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, now better known as Jekyll and Hyde. The work is commonly associated with the rare mental condition often called "split personality", referred to in psychiatry as dissociative identity disorder, where within the same body there exists more than one distinct personality.[4] In this case, there are two personalities within Dr Jekyll, one apparently good and the other evil. The novella's impact is such that it has become a part of the language, with the very phrase "Jekyll and Hyde" coming to mean a person who is vastly different in moral character from one situation to the next (taken from wikipedia).

**The potion that Mordred had Gwen give Harry acted to suppress Harry's conscience and allow Myror free reign. Only a truly strong determination or something to truly fight for (for example: Love) would be enough to break through the potions effects