Thank you for such a great response to the last chapter, I hope you will enjoy this one just as much. I really appreciate all those who have taken the time to post reviews, favourite and follow, also to the guest reviews and those I cannot respond to personally. As always your thoughts and comments are very welcome.

Special thanks to Caldrea32 for all her hard work as a Beta.

Chapter 6 From Bad to Worse

Arthur felt the empty vial in his pocket and, in a fit of rage, tore it free and hurled it at the wall where it shattered into hundreds of pieces - broken beyond repair like his friendship. He turned his attention back to the unconscious servant. He'd caused this, no one else; the fault was all his and he had to make it better. He started shaking Merlin's shoulder and slapping his face, trying to rouse him. When that failed to work, the monarch adjusted his position so the servant was more upright then sat on the floor, pulling the sick man's trunk against his chest, head supported against his shoulder. The royal took some comfort in feeling the faint beat of his brother's heart.

Safe in the knowledge his servant could not hear him, the dam broke. Truths poured from Arthur's tongue in a torrent of emotion, "I'm sorry Merlin, really I am, you're loyal and brave and don't deserve any of this." He rubbed his eyes to remove any traces of moisture - kings don't cry. "Come on, wake up," he pleaded, "no time for rest, you great lanky idiot, get up - we have come through worse than this." After each appeal the royal rubbed the tan jacket, trying to elicit some response from its owner, but to no avail.

Throughout all manner of scrapes and adventures the two men had been triumphant. They complemented each other and had vanquished all manner of threats; mythical beasts, bandits, and sorcerers hellbent on revenge. Merlin, who rode into battle without armour, who never left his side, had been defeated by the very man he stood shoulder to shoulder with – stabbed in the back by his best friend. There was no blade, no blood; but that potion was draining his life-force just the same. Arthur would never forgive himself for what he had done to Merlin. How could he tell Hunith that her only son suffered because of him, because of his arrogance and stupidity? Guinevere, Gaius, the knights - they would all want answers, but no explanation would be good enough.

Uther had trained his son to be strong and decisive with no regrets - a king can have no friends, can trust no one, and only earns respect through fear. Merlin taught him that those values were wrong. The old tyrant must be turning in his grave seeing a servant cradled in his son's arms, a servant whose opinion Arthur sought over any other in Camelot (save his wife), whose health and forgiveness he yearned for above all else – and if tears were what it took, he would give them gladly because some men were worthy.

The young king sensed the unconscious man stirring and he carefully extracted himself from the servant, placing the man flat on the floor with a pillow from the bed supporting his head. He watched intently as pale eyelids fluttered.

Merlin was becoming aware of his surroundings again and cracked open his eyes. The images were blurry, but he could make out a form in front of him. The man had a broad chest and lank black hair that brushed against his shoulders. The clothes were shabby and his expression could have been intimidating if it were not schooled into a reassuring smile. Balinor.

"Father?"

"Merlin?" The royal said, somewhat surprised.

Merlin had told him he'd never known his father and Arthur had assumed that the man had walked out or died – this was not good.

Balinor's voice was all wrong; the warlock blinked and the fuzzy figure came into focus, a man with short blond hair. Arthur. The sorcerer flinched. Did Arthur know now? The king had every right to be angry, he'd been deceived since the moment they'd met. Of course a Pendragon would react that way. I've lied; I have magic. My greatest fear has been realised - I've always known it could happen… No, there was something else… Arthur wasn't angry; he was… worried? He'd said he knew nothing, so why the poison? It didn't make sense. The warlock shook his head - it hurt, everything did. He was so tired and it was hard to think. Someone was saying his name and he couldn't concentrate.

"Merlin, can you hear me?" The royal debated touching his servant's shoulder to gain his attention. Arthur did not want to alarm the skittish young man but he was just gazing into space, oblivious to everything around him.

"Merlin!" The royal yelled with a bit more force than he'd intended.

The man in question jumped, then his head turned slowly toward Arthur. His face was impassive, eyes wide and lacking their usual sparkle, pupils fixed and dilated. The monarch had never seen Merlin look so pitiful. Arthur gave an involuntary shiver, Merlin was listening now but Arthur found all the moisture had left his throat, he swallowed and tried to explain.

"I think you've had a bad reaction. Gaius is on the way," the king said. "It will be alright – you will be alright... It was just supposed to be a truth potion," he added somewhat desperately, "It was an accident. You keep secrets, you never tell me anything..." his tirade was interrupted.

"Why do you think that is, Arthur?" The servant croaked, "You never react well!" The warlock solemnly surveyed the speechless king - the man he'd do anything to protect - and tried to process just what the hell had happened.

Accident? You wanted to know my secret and now I'm dying? The irony wasn't lost on Merlin. He should be angry, but what purpose would it serve? He did not have it in him, did not have the energy to fight his fate. I should just tell him; I've nothing left to lose. Only that wasn't true. His brother's faith and friendship - no matter how fragile - was the only thing that kept him going. The cord that connected them was now so tenuous it would surely snap, but he had to cling to it for just a little longer – even though he knew Arthur would need to know in the end.

Even when ailing, Merlin knew how to silence a king. Arthur could not think of an appropriate response. He felt uncomfortable under the glare of the man he'd betrayed and so busied himself in the practical.

"Can you sit up?"

Not waiting for an answer, the strong knight pulled the younger man into an upright position. Merlin still looked terrible. He was studying his hands again, turning them over and inspecting them, but then stopped and gazed into the opposite corner of the room.

Again the royal couldn't help himself and turned to look at what his servant seemed so captivated by – but there was nothing there.

"Merlin?" Arthur grasped his friend's shoulder, "What are you looking at?"

"Freya."

The king pulled his hand away like he'd been burnt.

A small smile touched his servant's full lips and his attention remained behind Arthur. The royal's mouth went dry and his stomach twisted – Freya was dead. Merlin was calm and no longer seemed angry that his friend had tricked him, but the relief this should have brought was short-lived. The dark-haired man was somewhere else entirely, somewhere with ghosts - and that was most disturbing. Had the dead come to claim his friend? He had heard of such things, but did not want to believe it. Arthur placed his hand tentatively against Merlin's chest.

"There is nothing there, Merlin," he ran his tongue over his teeth and swallowed, not sure how to continue. "Freya's gone – she died years ago. You told me that," he said softly.

"I know..." the dazed man turned towards him, his deep blue eyes watery and earnest, "but she's here now. She's spoken to me before in times of need...she told me what to do."

"Times of need?" The king croaked.

"How to defeat Morgana's un-dead army…"

The king was speechless, his arm dropped to his side, his mouth agape. All had seemed lost, we had been losing the battle, then the spell broke and we were victorious. How could Merlin have influenced that? After stunned silence, sarcasm took over; it was his only form of defence when it came to his servant.

"You do that a lot – destroy immortals?" The statement was said with a hesitant smile. He had not expected a reply but he got one.

"I do what's necessary to protect Camelot, to protect you," the warlock said defiantly, looking straight at his king.

"You protect me?" This was getting surreal; Merlin had purged himself of the potion but he was not getting better, he was getting worse.

"All the time," he shook his head and frowned, "but it's not easy." The sorcerer was becoming distant, eyes brimming with moisture, "Always you, but I tried so hard to save them all."

"How many times Merlin?"

"Five!"

"Five? You saved me five times?" Arthur was incredulous.

"No!" Tears spilled over his cheeks, "I don't keep track of how often I save you or others, only the times I've failed." His face scrunched up in pain, but he was determined to continue. "All this power," there was a dismissive wave of one hand, "I was not strong enough, they died because I could not shield them. Will, Freya, Lancelot, my father... even Morgana, all gone," he gestured with his hands, "I couldn't stop it happening."

"Morgana is not dead."

"Not physically," his arm jerked in a fist then flopped down in frustration, "but the Morgana we knew died years ago and it's all my fault." The frail man became resolute, "She's become bitter and twisted, bent on destruction. I've stopped her Arthur – but what about next time?"

Suddenly Merlin seized his king's arm. He clutched the fabric tightly, bony fingers biting into the king's bicep to such an extent it hurt.

"Listen to me, Arthur, Morgana is obsessed with killing you. She won't rest. She's grown stronger – I thought she could be saved but it's too late. I have looked into her soul and it is wretched; she's insane, there is no coming back."

"Merlin," Arthur tried to pull away, yelping when his servant's grip intensified – despite his frail appearance his voice was strong and commanding, frighteningly so.

"No, listen, you never listen," frustration laced his tone, "this is important. Don't go after her, but if there comes a time when she is close use your sword – Excalibur - it has the power to destroy her." The servant released the royal's arm and flopped backwards, "I'm sorry I failed you."

"Don't be absurd – you are not going to die and you're not to blame for what happened to Morgana, or those deaths." The king had hold of Merlin's snot-streaked face, forcing his friend to look at him. "Stay with me Merlin, Gaius is coming."

"It's too late," he said sadly, "I think..." he blinked and sighed. "That's why they are all here, to take me to Avalon."

"NO!" The king shouted, distraught. "No – it was just a truth potion, nothing more; you can't die, Merlin – that's an order." He swallowed but there was no saliva, all moisture being diverted to his nose and eyes and threatening to break free. "You will be polishing my armour in no time," the king sniffed, but they both knew that was not true.

"Look," the warlock waved his arm in front of Arthur; his eyes were wide and full of wonder, "It's kind of beautiful like this – embers, sparks that fly on the wind and turn to ash – kind of ironic, don't you think?"

Arthur closed a fist around Merlin's flailing limb, lowering it slowly; he spoke to his servant like he was speaking to a child.

"There is nothing there."

"It's leaving," the warlock said wistfully, "my life-force."

"I can't see anything."

"You can't see the magic?"

Arthur's breath caught in his throat; Merlin was clearly delusional – but somehow he knew his friend spoke the truth. He needs a physician.

"There is no magic here, Merlin; I would know." The king was firm in his argument, but Merlin did not waver.

"It's everywhere, Arthur," he marvelled. "It's in the very fabric of the world; fire, rivers and oceans, the earth, the air that we breathe - it is all around."

As Merlin spoke a sense of foreboding had built in Arthur's chest, the things his friend said suggested one thing – one secret that, if true, would explain why Merlin had remained silent. Finally it was about to be laid bare, and he did not want to know. He could force the truth out of Merlin, he had the power, but he no longer wanted to. Arthur was brave, fearless, but he was scared to ask the question because he already knew the answer.

Suddenly the servant turned to his king, grabbing his arm, "You have to leave now, it's not safe."

"I'm not going anywhere," Arthur was getting frustrated – Where is Gaius?

Merlin was insistent, "You – you, go, I can't control it." A desperate shout, "Please GO!" He had started to tremble, "Go before it's too late."

"No."

The warlock did not fully understand what was happening, but he was sure of one thing - he was dying. It was not in a battle or in some heroic way; it was not what he had imagined and he could not stop it. Somehow he'd kept his secret but was being burnt from within for not telling the truth. He was frightened and did not want to die alone, he craved the comfort and the presence of his brother, but Arthur had to leave. He just needed to tell him the truth first, to make him realise that magic was not evil - that his had one purpose: to defend The Once and Future King.

Merlin felt weaker for each strand of his golden gift that left, but bony fingers locked onto muscular biceps; fever-bright ocean eyes bore into the king's solemn sky-coloured irises.

"I've never betrayed you, Arthur … I only ever wanted to protect you."

"I know, Merlin. I've always known; you don't need to say it." Your loyalty has never been in doubt. I failed you; I'm an arrogant, shallow fool. What does that secret matter now?

The servant shook his head, closed his eyes briefly then opened them wide, "Please understand it's not evil – I used it to shield - only for good, only for you."

Arthur was shaking his head, pain clouding his face, willing his brother to stop. He did not want to hear the words that were about to wash over him, but he could not hold back the torrent as Merlin's final truth hit him.

"I have magic, Arthur," he took a deep breath, "I was born with it!"

It was like being in a vacuum. He heard nothing, and everything was black save for his servant's face. The king watched in shock as the tide retreated; deep blue pools around the pupils disappearing, leaving behind pure gold. The orbs of fire rolled back in their sockets, lids shuttered out the light and the body they belonged to crumpled to the ground, slipping through slack arms.

Arthur sprang back like he'd been stung. He could not comprehend what he had just seen. Instinct told him to run away and he started to; he scrambled on his hands and knees and got a few metres but could not do it. He could not leave. Merlin had magic, but the man's life was at stake and that was more important – it had always been more important and he saw that now.

The room was getting brighter and when Arthur looked at Merlin's body he saw light emanating from it. Flecks of gold were rising in a steady stream, accumulating on the ceiling above in a swirling mass of white-blue sparks. It was getting noisy, a buzzing sound that he had not been aware of before but was increasing in intensity. It was like being in a blizzard - he couldn't see, blinded by the light, he couldn't hear his own shouts over the deafening roar. He was crawling towards the stationary figure, it was most important that he got there. He sensed something and reached forward, grasping a wrist and being shocked when the skin burned him - but he would not let go. He could find no pulse.

"NO!" Arthur screamed, his voice lost in the building crescendo of noise and light. He pounded on the chest of his friend with his fist, begging for him to wake up.

"Take me instead," he pleaded to no one and anyone, "take me."

The king of Camelot was blasted backwards, striking the wall and falling to the ground. The glass in the windows shattered and blew outwards, but darkness had claimed the royal before his body hit the floor.

To be continued...