Thank you once again to everyone who followed, reviewed, and favourited the last chapter. A special mention goes to April29Roses, Ddiwerth and Katerina Reiley who were so supportive via PMs your thoughts were very helpful and of course, a big shout out to Caldera32 for her tireless work as my beta.

This was originally one chapter but I've split it in two as at over 6,000 words I felt it was a little long. I hope you enjoy it and as always your opinions and feedback is very welcome.

Chapter 8 The Aftermath

Merlin knew which option he had chosen because everything ached. He was immersed in a bone-deep pain; however, on flexing his fingers and toes, he concluded his body was still in working order - albeit a tad sluggish. Avalon could wait; he would see his father and the others again one day. Freya - the very thought of her made his heart clench but he pushed it to the back of his mind; it was not their time. Being in Camelot at Arthur's side was where he was destined and needed to be – there was still so much to do.

Merlin was still in shock; angry at what his sovereign had done, yet anxious about the royal's reaction to his magic. If he were honest, (and he wanted to be from now on) part of him wondered how long he'd stay in the land of the living now his secret was revealed. Whatever happened, whatever the outcome of all this, he had made his choice and he would deal with the consequences.

He did not really want to wake up, the bed was warm and comfortable and he could easily let himself drift, but he had slept long enough. It was an effort to move his stiff limbs beneath the heavy covers. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for the onslaught of bright light, then opened his eyes.

The surroundings were unfamiliar, certainly not a cell (which was a good sign), but neither were they the physician's quarters or his own room. The bed was opulent, with plush sheets and a canopy - guest chambers maybe? He struggled to sit up, failed, and rolled onto his side instead. That's when he realised his mouth was dry. He spied a water container on the other side of the room and out of reach. Looking around he seemed to be alone, which was odd. Where was Gaius? It was more important to drink, so he let his eyes flick gold and the jug came hurtling towards him at speed. It was travelling much quicker than expected, but just before he was smacked in the face by his salvation the flying pitcher was intercepted by a muscular forearm. That's when Merlin became aware Arthur was standing there, staring at him, mouth ajar.

There was a pregnant pause, neither man willing to break the silence. Merlin inwardly shuddered; he'd just performed magic in front of the king of Camelot and the blond man had done nothing, said nothing, not even flinched - but there was no way the royal had not seen. It felt wrong, but he wasn't going to hide anymore - that's what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

The king pushed down the feeling of revulsion at seeing those brilliant blue irises tainted with gold. The act they'd performed was so innocuous, so mundane, and it had looked effortless – no words or complicated gestures. Arthur swallowed and cleared his throat.

"How are you feeling?" He ventured tentatively, ignoring the obvious.

"I've been better," was the weak reply, the servant glanced up from where he'd been picking at his fingers and offered a small smile.

The king nodded and bit his lip, "You look pretty terrible."

"Thanks, you don't look too good yourself," was the sharp counter.

"Well, that's a damn sight better than you!" The royal huffed indignantly.

It could have been like old times, but it wasn't. An awkward silence ensued, Merlin attempted to move things on.

"Could I have the water please, I'm thirsty."

"What?" The king said, flustered, and then the request caught up, "Oh yes, of course."

Arthur scuttled over to the table and poured some liquid into a goblet. The warlock needed help to sit up and, once he was secure, the cup was handed over. Merlin hated feeling so physically helpless and could not stop himself hesitating before taking a sip, but when he saw the look of regret on the king's face he continued.

Both men looked intently at the furnishings rather than each other. Merlin fumbled with the ornate cup, it seemed wrong to drink from such a grand vessel.

"Here," the royal gestured to the dark-haired man to give him the goblet. The servant thought how odd it was seeing the king assume his role and it almost made him smile, but not quite.

"Thanks."

Arthur nodded, there was more silence and then he spoke, "So this feels very familiar." Merlin raised his eyebrows in question. "This," Arthur gestured to himself and the servant, "us, stuck in a room – you recovering, me asking questions."

"It's not quite the same," was the sour reply, "last time you didn't try to kill me."

The cup slid from the monarch's fingers as he stared, red-faced, at the occupant in the bed. The base clanged against the floor sending a fountain of fluid towards the king. Merlin's irises glowed and time slowed, the cup righted and the suspended liquid poured back to where it had come from. A flick of his lashes and the cup floated through the air and back down onto a table.

Merlin glanced nervously at the king; he took in Arthur's stoic expression, the vein pulsing on his temple and the white knuckles, and he knew it was taking all the royal's reserves not to react. The sorcerer felt small and exposed, like he'd been caught in his undergarments. He'd not meant to goad Arthur, it just happened. Ever since his magic returned he'd felt engorged with it, like it was seeping out of him on the slightest whim. All those years spent learning control and restraint seemed to have deserted him; his magic and emotions had always been closely linked and both were currently in turmoil, as changeable and volatile as the ocean.

Arthur watched the whole scene with a dry throat and tingles up his spine. After the display was finished the monarch found what little moisture there was left in his mouth, swallowed, and choked out, "Gaius said you should be careful about doing... doing..." the king twirled his fingers, not knowing what to say, and looked decidedly uncomfortable while trying not to show it.

"Magic?"

He nodded.

"What else has he said?"

"Not a lot; he's not really speaking to me unless he has to."

"Oh."

It was quiet - to the extent the muted sounds of Camelot's citizens going about their day filtered into the room from the outside. Arthur looked towards the faint noise; he had just seen the laws of nature defied twice in less than ten minutes but the sky had not fallen in and the people below were completely oblivious to the marvel he'd just witnessed. The royal shook his head and wondered if he would ever get used to it.

"We weren't sure if you were going to come back," the king said quietly as he toyed with the ring on his thumb, as if taking some comfort from it.

"I wasn't sure if I wanted to come back."

Arthur felt like he'd just been slapped. What did I expect after all that has happened?

A few days ago he had been at his lowest ebb and then he'd been sure Merlin had twitched, that his servant's fingers had gripped ever so slightly in his, but it had not happened again. The physician had told him it could have just been a reflex and not to read too much into it. There were no more movements, no change in his condition, but the storm stopped. The skies cleared, the sun came out again and there was even a rainbow. Only Merlin!

The king had been looking out the window, then he'd become distracted watching the specks of dust illuminated in the light – it was strangely beautiful and made him feel better, if only for a moment. Hundreds of golden dots continued to dance in front of him and then he realised what they were and, more importantly, what they could mean. Arthur stood stunned; he'd never seen anything like it – he was truly in awe and rooted to the spot. He was not afraid; it was warm, familiar, and comforting. He felt like he did when he found something important he'd thought was lost, but that's exactly what it was, the return of something dear - at least that's what he'd hoped. A pattern formed, a steady stream and then a river in the air, making its way across the room and to the figure on the bed. Molten light accumulated above Merlin, then started to flow into his mouth, settled on the surface of his skin and sunk into his form. As the magic moved through his body the servant's skin became iridescent; the process continued for several minutes until the brightness faded and the room went back to being as it had been. The royal approached the bed. The figure remained motionless but he looked better – his lips and cheeks were pink instead of grey and the pulse was now strong.

Nothing happened at first; the patient remained unconscious. Over the next day he started to fidget and move as one is supposed to in their sleep. Then he began to mumble and speak; of his mother and father, his love and his king. He talked in the language of the old religion – for Arthur knew what the strange words were now. Things exploded, bottles and books flew off shelves; plants sprouted, bloomed, and changed colour. If the royal had not known Merlin was magic there was no denying it now! Still, he did not fully wake; he'd been semiconscious enough to be given some fluids and perform basic bodily functions but had shown no awareness, not until today.

"I wanted to tell you," came a barely-audible voice.

Arthur was brought back to reality and looked at the pale lost figure in the bed. The royal did not speak, he kept getting it wrong, instead he motioned for Merlin to continue.

"I was scared," he said flatly.

Arthur felt sickened, "Do you really think so little of me?" The anger and frustration that had been bottled up threatened to erupt, "That I would have turned you in, told my father? That I would have watched you burn? You think that?" He ran his fingers through his hair, breathing heavy and stilted.

The servant was suddenly struck with an urge to lash out, I was right - look what you did! Only Arthur had not intended to hurt him and the king was trying so hard, sniping at him would only damage things further; besides, Merlin had genuinely not meant it that way. He had to explain.

"No, not fear for my life - well, at first maybe." He looked directly at the king, it was important to phrase this right, "I know you, Arthur, you are a good man. Camelot is the most important thing to you; it always has been, and it always will be. I didn't want you to choose between me and the law, between me and your father..." he paused and looked haunted, "then I was afraid of losing you, your friendship, your faith in me." He looked down, fiddling with the covers, and sighed, "So many people have betrayed you and… and I didn't want you to think of me like that." He could not meet the king's eye, "I kept waiting for the right time, for things to change... "

The royal jumped up, "I wish I'd never used that damn potion; I swear I didn't know what would happen," the king clenched his fists and kicked at the floor. "I knew you were lying to me, I just wanted the truth."

Merlin shook his head, "When I tell you the truth you don't believe it! I told you about that servant and you ignored me."

"You had no proof – just one of your 'funny feelings'," he rolled his eyes and jerked his head, "I can't arrest someone based on that – I need facts!"

"Well, Uther never had a problem," the warlock countered viciously.

"What?"

Years of pent up emotions rose to the surface, "Your father would execute someone at the mere mention of magic. He did not wait or care for evidence, he only needed an accusation – remember Gwen? Morgana set her a trap and would have led her to the pyre had a real sorcerer not intervened," he shouted, then tried to calm his breaths.

Arthur gave Merlin a piercing glare. Of course he remembered; that image was seared onto his brain. The royal looked like he would launch into a defensive tirade but in the end he simply said:

"I'm not my father,"

There was an awkward pause.

"I know," Merlin answered softly. "You're more than he ever was."

The warlock let his head fall back and when it bobbed up again he continued, "My funny feelings are just that." He hesitated, briefly closing his eyes. No more secrets. The blue orbs opened and he pressed on, determined to explain his gift. "I sense it - the magic in the world; it has a footprint, I can see it, feel it, hear it - magic is me and I am magic. I know when it's pure and good or when it has been twisted and tampered with." The dark-haired man gave his sovereign a pleading look, "What am I supposed to say? When the unicorn was slain, there was a shift in nature. When Eylan disturbed the druid shrine, I felt their pain and heard their screams. Sometimes, I receive warnings that are known only to me because of what I am. Tell me, how do I describe that?"

The royal was green, "You see ghosts?" Arthur thought back to when they were in his chambers and his servant had claimed Freya was with them along with Merlin's father and dead friends. The royal scanned the room nervously.

"Not as a rule, but I do have a connection to the spirit world and any creature of magic. It was the vilia - water spirits, that healed me from the dorocha. Under certain circumstances they can communicate with me and I with them. I can see what others can't."

Arthur had always wondered how Merlin was the only one to survive the dorocha's touch but he'd been so happy to see his servant recovered he'd not asked. Then there was the quest, Lancelot's sacrifice, and somehow it got put aside - like everything else. If only he had paid more attention; there was so much he did not know. At least now he had the pieces to put it all together - it was just so overwhelming.

"How do you deal with that?" Doesn't it drive you mad?"

"It can be a bit distracting," the warlock shrugged.

Arthur frowned, his servant's incompetence had always been a source of irritation but secretly the royal had found it quite endearing - plus it provided him with ample opportunities to poke fun at his gangly friend. What if he wasn't actually uncoordinated - what if the warlock was merely concentrating on higher things and not paying attention? He'd played the fool when they'd first met and that was clearly not true. There were times when he was wise, intelligent - was that the real Merlin?

"Oh right, so you're not really clumsy, it's an act like everything else?" he had not meant it to come out like that, he just felt he did not know Merlin anymore and wondered if he had ever known him.

"It's not an act, Arthur," the warlock was angry now, "this is me. I'm not pretending." The metal pitcher began to shake, in tune with Merlin's wavering emotions. "I did not ask for this," his hands balled into fists. "Do you know what it's like to grow up as a bastard and a freak?" The pitcher flew backwards and into a wall, spraying its contents over the brickwork and floor.

Arthur flinched. He didn't. He knew what it was to be born with a mantle, to be treated differently, to feel alone - but he'd received praise, accolades, and respect. All he'd had to worry about was the possible insincerity of those around him.

The remaining goblet rocked back and forth then stilled. The warlock calmed, his head and shoulders slumped, he picked at his nail beds and began to speak.

"My mother once said she'd considered drowning me as a babe, of taking us both." Merlin struggled as he said the words he'd never spoken before.

The king's blood ran cold at the revelation.

"I'd had a difficult day," the warlock rubbed his arm, but did not elaborate, "I told her it would have been better if I'd never been born," Merlin's eyes were glassy, focused on the bedspread. "She got angry - I'd never seen her like that - she begged me never to think that way; said that I had a gift, that I was special. I did not believe her... and then she told me." His breath hitched, but he continued, "I must have only been a few months old. She was tired, alone, and stuck with a crying baby. She couldn't ask for help, not when objects were flying around the room. It wasn't her fault, she just couldn't cope. It was a fleeting thought, only there for a moment but it terrified her; then she realised there had to be a reason for the way I was, there had to be a purpose."

The royal was stunned; what could he say? He'd never considered what it would be like to have magic or to be so young and live in fear. He'd always been taught it was a choice - greed, a lust for power and domination - but this sounded like survival. He became aware that Merlin was staring at him.

"You are that purpose, Arthur. You are The Once and Future King. I am Emrys, and I was born to serve you."

I hope you liked that - the next chapter should be up soon. Not much more now, one final chapter and an Epilogue! Please let me know what you think.