Past and Present Danger

A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews. I'm so pleased I haven't lost you all. This is somewhat of a mammoth chapter compared to my others, so you might have to give me until after the weekend to get the next one out, but hopefully this will suffice for now!

This is one of my favourite chapters so far, so I hope you like it. The first half was written before my computer crashed and the second half was written tonight, so if one half is riddled with errors, that's why!

Anyway, hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please review!

Chapter 21

As soon as Arthur sat down at his desk and pulled out a new scroll, he felt stupid. Wasn't this the sort of thing that women did? Record down their thoughts and memories in writing? He had never done anything like that. The only things he ever wrote were speeches, and even then he usually discarded them for Merlin's much more eloquent and heart wrenching versions. He really had no idea how Merlin managed to write things down so perfectly. It was one of the few things he envied him for. Because the truth was that Arthur really didn't envy Merlin. Occasionally, before he had known about the prophecies that were associated with his friend, Arthur had envied the fact that Merlin didn't have the responsibility weighing on his shoulders that Arthur, as the once future and now actual King of Camelot, did. How many times had he said something along those lines to Merlin; that he couldn't possibly understand what it was like to have a path marked out for you that you had to follow? He cringed when he thought of those times now. Merlin had never once let on that, in actual fact, he was struggling with the same burdens. He had just offered Arthur the words that he needed to hear to make the situation seem just that little bit more bearable. And yet Arthur had never questioned how Merlin seemed to understand exactly what he was going through.

There were so many things that he hadn't bothered to question when it came to Merlin; he had just accepted the man into his confidence and into his affections without so much as a moment's thought to consider how utterly ludicrous and undeniably odd their relationship was.

Yet it was a bond and a friendship that he knew he would have undoubtedly faltered without. For some strange and highly irritating reason he needed Merlin with him, and in realising the possibility of that very thing disappearing in their current situation, Arthur was being filled with a terrible sense of dread. That was why he was going to write down the events of that day and the thoughts that he had had, which had unquestioningly changed the course of the future. That was why he was going to sit here and record every last detail that he could remember of the moment when Merlin had come back to Camelot. He could not afford to turn against the man again if his memories failed him and so he would make them permanent in ink.

He wasn't sure when or where to start and so he built up to the actual event slowly, explaining to his possible future self, all the emotions he had felt before hand. It hurt to have to dredge them up again and be honest about how dark his thoughts had been, but he knew that if he forgot his memories, he would not accept a written explanation unless it was proved to be him that had written it. Some of the things he wrote down were things that only he knew; not even Guinevere knew everything that he confessed to the parchment.

With that done, he began his task of reliving those moments up on the castle battlements. He remembered them clearly. Despite the fact that he rarely dwelt on them, they were some of his most vivid memories. How could they not be when they had so drastically transformed everything he knew about himself and magic?

Going up onto the battlements had been their only remaining option at that point. Many of the city's soldiers were searching for Merlin and those that were left were quickly succumbing to the dreadful fear that the black shadow seemed to create. Arthur didn't ask anyone to come with him. He had been quite prepared to face the foe alone and die facing it alone. They had tried everything else to kill it; all their weapons had proved utterly useless. His last stand had been planned as just that. There was no chance of victory, but if he was going to die, it would be as a King fighting for his people. He had wanted everyone else to flee, but his closest knights, the knights that had brought him from Prince to King, had chosen to be by his side.

He had said a sad and desperate farewell to Guinevere; had heard her screams of denial as she was dragged away from him. But he hadn't wanted her to die; he wanted her to live, if she could. And so he had given the order. A few soldiers, along with Gaius, had carried it out. He was later told that the knights had fled before they'd even left the castle. Arthur had wanted to blame them, but he knew too well the heart-shattering influence of the black shadow.

With Guinevere gone and his faithful knights at his side, Arthur made his way through the corridors of the castle –his home- until they reached the battlements. The terrible creature of dark magic –for that was what Arthur assumed it was- had descended low over the city; a black cloud that blotted out all other light. But now it had drawn itself into a much smaller point, just above the castle.

Arthur had never truly been able to describe what he had seen and felt at that moment -not that he thought about it very often- but his one clear impression of the creature was despair. Despair in its most tangible and destructive form. Arthur looked up into the twisting heart of the shadow and knew what it was like, for the very first time in his life, to wish for death. He had never felt that before, even in his lowest points, but standing on the top of his castle, feeling and knowing the overwhelming power and the terrible evil of the dark magic above him, Arthur had wished that he could die and never look on the sight again. He knew his knights felt the same way; he could sense it in every slight movement and sound that they made.

Even so, he lifted his sword, but the weapon shook in his hand. That was something else that had never happened to Arthur. His sword was like an extension of himself and it gave him a certainty that nothing else did. He never felt inadequate or without purpose when he had his sword in his hand, but the trembling of the sleek metal betrayed him. And it wasn't fear that was causing the shiver –although he was more frightened than he had ever been in his life. No, it wasn't the fear. It was the battle that raged through him at that moment. The battle between his instincts: to give up and face his death without defiance, and his mind: to stand strong until the last. That was what caused the blade to shimmer in the darkness.

He turned his attention away from it and instead looked back at the blackness above them. He watched it with the same anger that had become his everyday companion since Merlin had gone. The same uncertainty in who he was and what he should do riddled him, just as it had since he had realised who Merlin truly was; how he had betrayed Arthur and the whole of Camelot. For one moment, Arthur thought that maybe, just maybe, Merlin had conjured the dark shadow to destroy them all. But even he, in all his twisted fury against the man who had been his closest friend, could not equate the darkness above him with the friend who had once been beside him.

That shocked him, angered him, even more. He had thought that Merlin had gone past the point of ever being viewed in his mind in a favourable way. But sure enough, when Arthur looked at the magic force that was about to destroy him and the magic force that was Merlin, he realised that there was a difference. His mind raced over the idea, confusing him, forcing him to rethink what he had learnt and it made him angry once again. He gave a yell of frustration and despair and hatred and hefted his sword into the air towards the creature.

The shimmering darkness seemed to pulse quickly for a moment, almost like some great creature laughing at his feeble attempt at attack. But the movement quickly changed. One long arm of the blackness seemed to suddenly detach from the main body and then began to twist impossibly fast, narrowing at the end as it did, until it produced an enormous limb that looked exactly like a sword; just as sharp, yet a thousand times bigger than Arthur's own weapon.

The limb was drawn back, ready to strike. Arthur put his shield in front of him. He knew that it was useless; like trying to fend off a dragon attack with sheets of parchment, but he didn't care. This was how he had lived and fought all his life. It would be how he died.

He watched, the despair growing, his angry regret encompassing him, as the arm flew towards him faster than he could track.

A shape detached itself from the shadows around him atop the battlements and Arthur realised what it was going to do. He opened his mouth to yell a refusal, but the sound never left his mouth as the shape, now evidently a person, threw itself between him and the killing strike and took the full force of the blow. Arthur braced for the impact of the person's body –a man's body- being forced back into his by the undoubtedly colossal strength of the darkness, but it didn't happen. The man stayed rooted when he was, his arms flung out to the sides, his back arched backwards slightly, and his head tipped towards the sky.

A strange light was beginning to glow from the front of the man, the side facing the creature; like a shield of light which was the exact shape of his body. And then a scream -one which brought a tear of desperation to Arthur's eye- was ripped from the man's throat. There were two reasons why such an unusual reaction was produced in Arthur: one was because the sound the man made was like the dying howls of injured creature who was enduring a torture beyond what it could endure. And the second was because he recognised the voice, even distorted and agonised as it was.

Merlin.

Arthur stood there, with Merlin's screams his only point of reference in the world that was rapidly disintegrating before his eyes. He tried to remember why he had banished Merlin; he tried to remember that use of magic was against the laws of Camelot; he tried to remember that Merlin had lied to him for years and betrayed him. But the only thing he knew at that moment was that he couldn't bear the thought that Merlin was in so much pain.

It didn't matter what he had done, or what he could do, or that he had lied. All that mattered was that, at one point, Arthur had trusted him above all other people, had regarded his counsel more highly than that of anyone else and had known that he was the truest and closest friend that Arthur would ever have. And he was hurting; he was dying, only a few inches from where Arthur was standing… and he could do nothing to help him.

The scream seemed endless. If it stopped, it was only long enough for Merlin to take another deep breath and repeat the sound. Arthur felt his insides coil and twist as a sickening feeling encompassed him. He wanted to put his hands over his ears; wanted to block out what was happening, but he couldn't. All he could do was stagger slightly to the side and move forward a few steps until he was looking at Merlin's face.

There he was confronted with the face of a man who he had shared some of the most important events of his life with. Including the one that he was currently living through. Merlin had come back. Come back from where? Where had he been? How had he hidden from Arthur's searches? And why had he come back? But Arthur knew the answer before he asked it; had known the moment he realised who the figure was. Merlin had come back to save Camelot. To save Arthur. As he always had done.

Arthur was forced to step back as the brightness that was forming the shield protecting Merlin, suddenly intensified. And then, slowly but gracefully, the shield began to expand outwards. Intricacies of light and pale colours began to twist and wind their way forward, forming patterns that seemed to hold the light together and strengthen it as it stretched out into the night and forced the blackness back. It was easily the most beautiful and most mesmerising thing that Arthur had ever seen.

As soon as the shield began moving forward, Merlin stopped screaming. Yet far from relieving Arthur, this only served to increase the sickening feeling that had gripped his chest. It was easy to see from the look on the man's face that the pain had not subsided in anyway. It was still there, but now, whatever Merlin was doing, required too much focus for him to waste energy screaming out his pain. His body reacted in other ways, however, and soon it began to shudder violently. The pressure of whatever he was doing seemed to be shaking the very fibres that made up his person.

Again, all Arthur could do was watch.

On the other side of the battlements, the knights were just as transfixed at what was going on. The shield was still expanding, but now Arthur noticed something different about the way it was forming. The patterns no longer seemed random; the colours no longer thrown together. Arthur gasped in disbelief as he began to recognise aspects of Merlin in the shield that was pushing the blackness back. He couldn't describe or explain it exactly, but it was as if the colours that were edging their way forwards and mixing with each other were exact representations of some part of Merlin. The patterns seemed to spark something in Arthur's mind that was linked only to his once-friend. Every part of the shield now seemed to hum with Merlin.

His disbelief and awe, however, soon dissipated as he began to ponder what that could mean. He looked at Merlin's again, but his face had smoothed out and his body had stopped shaking. He was perfectly still, but it was a calm that unsettled Arthur. The deep uneasiness that had rooted itself in his stomach began to blossom in tangible fear. He looked from Merlin to the shield and realised that of the two things, the one that now made him think of Merlin was the shield.

Merlin was pouring himself into the shield. He was the shield. He was forcing his mind, soul, spirit, anything that made up who he was, into a human shield.

'No,' Arthur had whispered. No-one had heard him, but he heard the word and wondered at it. Because when it came down to it, after all the anger and hatred and confusion and feelings of betrayal, there was one truth that Arthur hadn't realised he was holding. He had missed Merlin and the thought of him dying was unacceptable.

For that was why he was here. Arthur saw it now, saw it so clearly that he berated himself for not realising as soon as Merlin had rushed across. Merlin had come back to die. He had come back to sacrifice himself…again. How many times had he done it before? How many times had he risked his own life to save everyone else's? How many times had he shown that his loyalty was to Arthur and Arthur alone?

Arthur saw the last six months of his reign pass through his mind in a matter of seconds. He watched his actions with a mix of disbelief and disgust. How could Merlin, regardless of magic, ever have been someone that Arthur needed to hunt down and kill? Merlin, who would never hurt anyone. Merlin, who had allowed himself to be bossed around by Arthur for years. Merlin, who had never done a selfish thing in the entire time that Arthur had known him. How could Merlin be anything like the sorcerers and magic users that Arthur had encountered in his life? How could Arthur have been so blind as to not see Merlin's lies for what they were? Protection. For himself, but also for Arthur. What had he said before he disappeared? I can't protect you if I'm dead. That was always what it had been about for Merlin. It was in his nature to protect and he had done just that. Always.

Arthur smiled, just briefly, as he realised that he had been wrong, that Merlin had never meant him any harm, or even any hurt. He had only wanted to protect. The smiled faded almost before it had begun. He had realised too late. This was it now. This was Merlin's final attempt at protection.

Arthur felt a deep regret pass through him at the revelation. It was too late. Too late. There was nothing he could do now. Merlin had set a course of events in action when he had stepped onto the rooftop. A course of events that Arthur could only watch with an aching sadness and quiet desperation. And so he did. He decided in that moment that whatever happened he would watch Merlin and remain by his side. Whatever the outcome. That was what they had always done before; that was how they had lived their life as Master and servant, as King and subject. As friends.

Arthur clenched his fists at his side. He had let Merlin down. He saw that now. He had let him down. Merlin had never once let him down, never once had he abandoned Arthur or given up on him, even in his dark moments. Merlin had been there through all his faults –and there were many- through all his moments of uncertainty and weakness. Merlin had stood by him.

And Arthur had let him down; had forced him to flee; had hunted him down. Regret was soon joined by shame in Arthur's mind and he let it swamp him, just for a few seconds, before pushing it away and focussing on Merlin once again. He would stay by his friend's side. Even if it was too late now, even if Merlin wasn't even aware that he was there. Arthur would stay.

He moved closer to Merlin –or Merlin's body at least, for he wasn't convinced that his friend was contained within it anymore- and took up a vigil beside him. He avoided touching the man, unsure of how that would affect whatever was happening, but he got as close as he could. He had to shield his eyes against the bright light of the shield. It was so intense that the entire roof of the castle seemed to glow as if bathed in the midday summer sun. But for all its brightness, Arthur could not help but notice that the darkness was not subsiding. It seemed to hum again just outside Merlin's shield of light and then, unexpectedly, it surged forward. The shield held for several seconds, but even Arthur could see it buckling under the pressure. It was forced back, until tendrils of the shield seemed to re-fuse with Merlin's body.

Suddenly, Merlin's body took a great gasp of breath and then staggered back several steps, Arthur at his side. Arthur recognised Merlin again; he was no longer fully in the shield, somehow the darkness had forced him back inside his body.

He was loosing. The thought filled Arthur's mind even before the telltale signs of pressure resumed in Merlin's skinny frame. He trembled violently and his face contorted with pain once more. And all around them, the darkness began to swell; pressing its advantage, pushing Merlin back, evaporating the light of the shield.

'Help.'

The words were forced out so quietly and with such restraint, that Arthur barely heard them, but the sound of Merlin's familiar voice after such a long time, was enough to attune Arthur to the man's plea. Fulfilling the request was another matter. Arthur looked around frantically for anything he could do to comply with Merlin's request, but there was nothing.

'Help,' the man repeated and the words, though spoken so quietly, seemed to resonate with a power and compulsion that made Arthur feel his helplessness even more keenly than he had before.

'I don't know how,' he replied, just as quietly. Merlin's face seemed to smooth out at the sound of his voice, just for a moment, but it was short lived and seconds later, the darkness was pressing him again. He seemed to steel himself for a moment and attempt to gain the upper hand once again, but by now the darkness was encompassing what remained of the shield. The castle was no longer glowing; it had taken on a dusky hue instead. Arthur saw the end approaching as rapidly as the light dimmed. He looked at Merlin, but the man's eyes were closed and his features were like stone; his concentration in the battle that was still going on.

Arthur clenched his fists at his side. They were going to loose and he would not get a chance to tell Merlin that he had been wrong. Never in all his life had he ever wanted to admit that he was wrong, least of all to Merlin, but now as he saw where his life would end, he was filled with an overpowering desperation to talk to Merlin once more and admit that he had been wrong, that he was sorry and that he understood all that Merlin had been trying to do to save them over the years.

Lost in his own regrets, Arthur failed to notice the door onto the battlements open. It was not until a few seconds later that he became aware of movement around Merlin. Lots of it. There were people; dozens of them. But the only one he recognised was Gaius. The rest of them looked like ordinary people, town workers, farmers. From Camelot, he was sure, but very ordinary.

What were they doing? Arthur frowned, but his expression soon switched to one of panic when they all reached out to touch Merlin. He opened his mouth to warn them of the dangers of doing so, but before he could, they had already made contact. Arthur opened his mouth again to ask what they were doing, but a split second later, all thought of talking died as he watched their eyes, every single one of them, turn a glowing gold.

They were using magic. On his castle rooftop there were thirty or forty of his people using magic, including his court physician. He froze, unable to say anything even if he wanted to. Old feelings of outrage and hatred began to creep up his spine. He forced them down again, fighting his own internal battle, even as Merlin's raged on.

How many sorcerers were there in Camelot that this many of them could turn up when half the city had fled? A shudder passed through him. He pushed it down. They were trying to help, they must be. Help. Arthur shook his head in disbelief. Merlin had called for them. He hadn't been asking Arthur. He had been searching for anybody that could help him to finish what he started. And they had come. They had come, despite the fact that their magic-hating King was on the roof, despite the fact they risked execution by coming to Merlin's aid.

Instantly, Arthur made a decision. He turned away from the faces of the people gathered, making no attempt to remember what they looked like. That way, he would have no reason to punish them, he wouldn't even remember who they were. Instead, he focused on Merlin. The shield, which had begun to dim, was strengthening again. Tendrils of light were crawling around the back of Merlin and linking to the hands of the people that were gathered behind. A similar light began to emanate from them. It was nowhere near as bright as Merlin's, but when that light was drawn out and added to Merlin's shield, it increased the intensity in seconds. It was brighter now, than it had been before.

They were lending Merlin power, Arthur realised. They were giving him just that little bit extra that he needed.

The next few minutes confirmed Arthur's suspicions. Merlin's shield swelled, and once again the darkness was forced back. But still, even with all the extra power, Merlin seemed unable to destroy the blackness that still swirled, if now a little more frantically, above them. Some sort of stalemate seemed to have been reached, and it wasn't enough. Arthur looked at Merlin again, the shell of his friend as it now was with the shield back in place. A change seemed to be occurring. The people behind seemed to sense it as well, for they began to stiffen and their faces were taut with concentration. Something was happening, of that Arthur was sure, but he couldn't begin to guess what it was. All around the air seemed to hum with…magic, he realised with shock. He could sense it. How much power was Merlin wielding, that even Arthur could feel it in the air?

Suddenly several things happened at once. Collectively the people who had been aiding Merlin gave a gasp and staggered back, like people who had been caught in some sort of trap and had just managed to pull themselves free. At that second, the tendrils of light that had connected them to Merlin shot forward to join the shield. Merlin's body took several steps forward, his arms came round in front of him as if commanding the shield. And then…light.

Arthur closed his eyes at the sudden intense burst that issued from the shield. It was so bright that even with his eyes closed and his arms thrown up to shield his face, Arthur still felt the light burning into his eyes. A shudder echoed in the air all around him. What was happening? Ignoring the pain, Arthur opened his eyes and tried to see what was going on.

Above them, the light was racing forwards, still a shield, but now spreading out in every direction, making the sky a brilliant white. And at every place where it hit the darkness it rushed through it, dispersing it into the air, devouring it, erasing it, dissolving it. Every point of impact between light and dark seemed to send ripples shimmering through the air. It was those that were causing the world to shake and shudder.

Arthur forced himself to keep his eyes open. He felt the despair that had so heavily weighed upon him begin to disappear as the light raced through the sky, obliterating the darkness until, at last, with one final intense blast, the light pulled back on it's self, sucking itself towards a point on Merlin's chest and then vanishing completely.

For a few seconds, Arthur could see nothing except for the imprint of the light's glare on his eyes, but slowly his sight adjusted and he found himself on the castle battlements, on a cool autumn night. The sky above him was dotted with stars. The people that had been there moments ago were disappearing back into the castle, the knights were stood with their eyes still shielded and Gaius was kneeling on the ground, his head bowed…

'Merlin!' The words were torn from Arthur's throat the moment he saw the man lying motionless on the floor. At some point in the last few minutes, Arthur must have moved away from Merlin and the intense light, because it took several panicked strides for him to reach the man's side and fall heavily to his knees.

He looked pale, too pale, even for Merlin.

'Gaius?' he asked, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. He was aware that the knights were moving closer, but he didn't acknowledge them. He watched as the old physician reached down and pressed gently on Merlin's throat.

It seemed like hours before the man lifted his head and gave a small nod of reassurance. Arthur let out a breath of relief.

'Merlin,' Arthur tried, touching the man's shoulder and shaking it gently.

'Sire,' Gaius began. 'He is very weak. Maybe too weak too…' The man tailed off and Arthur saw the deep sadness in the man's eyes.

'Merlin,' he tried again.

'Sire, he won't answer.'

'He'll answer me,' Arthur told Gaius, a harsh edge coming into his tone before he could stop it. 'Merlin. I am ordering you to open your eyes and look at me.' He said it firmly, as he would have done before when Merlin was doing something that was irritating him. Several more seconds past, but still Arthur waited. Something told him that he had to wait, that he had to make sure that Merlin answered. Because if he didn't, Arthur had a terrible feeling that Merlin would never answer anyone ever again.

'Sire. Perhaps-' one of the knights began, but Arthur cut him off.

'Wait.'

And so they did, for seconds or minutes or hours, Arthur didn't know. Somebody draped a cloak over the Merlin's body, another rubbed his arms. And still Arthur waited. He was used to waiting for Merlin; he had never done anything on time or with any haste. Up until now of course, when he had thrown himself between Arthur and the blackness that would have killed him.

Slowly, Arthur moved closer, and the others seemed to take that as a signal for them to move back. With the semi-privacy that afforded him, Arthur found his hand creeping up to rest on Merlin's shoulder, felt himself lean down where he knelt to speak to Merlin once again, out of earshot of the others.

'Merlin,' he began. 'Thank you for saving my life. I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you.' He took a deep breath. 'I know now that I was wrong. Please wake up my friend.'

He lifted his head to stare at Merlin's face and slowly, so slowly that Arthur feared he was imagining it, Merlin's blue eyes began to open. Arthur felt a smile creep onto his face as Merlin blinked several times and then focussed on his face.

'I forgive you…my friend,' he whispered.

At his desk, Arthur put the quill down. His hand ached and his eyes were sore from staring at the parchment for so long. He stared at the words, the confessions that he had etched into the page. Merlin's final words echoed around his head. Reaching up, he rubbed his face. He was not surprised to find his cheeks slick with tears.

Please review.