After years serving a reputation as Camelot's resident hothead and arrogant prat, Arthur prided himself on the fact that he'd grown quite level-headed and patient within his role as king. He could gauge his emotions and keep them in check, and outbursts of anger were few and far between in comparison to the hot-tempered days of his youth. There was, however, one thing that could still manage to cut his fuse to the quick every time.

Secrets.

It was more than a pet peeve. Arthur had been served nothing but secrets and lies from the moment he was born, and for twenty some-odd years, he'd believed them. It seemed like everyone close to him had lied at some point or other – his father, his uncle, his advisors, his best friend, even his wife. True, he'd forgiven most of them for their wrongs and in the case of his friend and his wife, had grown even closer despite it all. Still, anytime the faintest hints of secrecy from his family brushed past him, it felt like vinegar poured over an open wound. It stung. It made him hurt. And it made him mad.

He actually couldn't remember the last time he'd been genuinely mad with Merlin. When he tried, all he could think of was that moment when he'd found out about the magic, but somehow, this time seemed worse, because by now they were supposed to trust each other. They'd made a pact back then; when the moment of trust finally came, they'd come together and made a pact that there would be no more secrets between them, not ever. Arthur had no intentions of ever breaking that pact. He didn't think that Merlin had, either. Until now.

"Guinevere, we need to talk." He said, and Gwen froze in the doorway. She turned to look at him, her face showing confusion at his solemn tone.

"What about?" She watched as he stood from his seat.

"Merlin." He said, and silence followed. He breathed deeply before he spoke, so he wouldn't yell like he was tempted to. "Guinevere, he's been acting strange ever since the Drailynnian envoy – ever since that Lady Freya arrived. He won't talk to me. He doesn't smile. Something's wrong with him, and I want to know what."

She blinked rapidly, and then began to say, "Arthur, I'm sure he's just-"

"Yes, I know," Arthur forestalled her, "he's a moody sorcerer that has excuses for everything; like you, apparently. But please, Gwen, leave the lying to Merlin. He's the expert." He felt a simultaneous rush of shame and fulfillment as the words left his mouth, and Gwen looked like she'd been slapped. She didn't say anything, so Arthur added, a bit more heatedly, "I'm tired of it, Gwen. I'm tired of being lied to, especially by you."

They looked at each other, old wounds barely hiding behind their eyes, years of new reconciliation looking strangely thin over scars that itched. Gwen looked down and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," She said. He knew it wasn't a lie, so he let her continue, "I know he's acting off. And… And I do know why. Well, at least partially why."

The shame Arthur had felt a moment ago grew at her apology, and he softened somewhat. "And why is that?"

Gwen looked like she was wrestling with something in her mind. Eventually, she looked up at her husband and shrugged. "I would tell you, Arthur, I really would, but this isn't my story to tell, even if I knew every detail. You'll have to ask Merlin about it." She nodded slightly and added, "Merlin and Freya."

Arthur's eyebrows twitched downward in a moment of surprise. Merlin and Freya. And. They were both involved – but how could they be? They'd only met a few days ago. What could Gwen be referring to that involved both his Court Sorcerer and the daughter of his guest of honor?

"Freya?" His voice must've been as surprised as his thoughts, but Gwen seemed to expect it.

"Yes," She said simply. "That's all I can say. As I said, it's not my story to tell."

Without another word, Arthur brushed past her and set his sights for Merlin's tower. Before he could leave, Gwen called back to him, "Arthur," and he only stopped for the tone in her voice – that tone, the tone that reminded him of the soft heart that he had married, the one he loved through it all.

"I am sorry, Arthur."

He couldn't say that it was nothing, and they both knew it, so he merely nodded, looked her in the eye, and left.

He found Merlin in his tower, as expected, but unexpectedly, he wasn't working. He wasn't even reading, or sleeping, or experimenting as he tended to, but was buried in a lounge chair fiddling with a strawberry of all things. He closed his hand around it when he saw Arthur approach, and Arthur pretended not to notice when it never reappeared.

"Sire?" Merlin sounded confused as he watched Arthur cross the room, "I didn't hear you knock."

"That's because I didn't. Merlin, we need to talk."

Arthur didn't sit, and Merlin peered up at him with the calculating gaze of Emrys, one that would have sent most people fidgeting. Not Arthur. Perhaps for the king's immunity, Merlin couldn't read him. "What about?" he asked uncertainly.

"The Drailynnian envoy," Arthur said, "you've been acting like a depressed moron ever since they arrived, and I want to know the bloody hell why." He took a few deep breaths and let Merlin watch him wide-eyed. "So, what's wrong with you?"

Merlin didn't answer, and the king and the warlock simply stared for a few moments. Arthur's dwindling patience snapped and he continued, "Guinevere says that she knows, but she won't tell me." He couldn't tell if Merlin was surprised or relieved. "She said it has something to do with Lady Freya. Is that true?"

Then, Merlin's face fell, and Arthur knew he'd hit it right. "Arthur..."

"Does it have to do with Freya?"

This time, Merlin didn't look up at him. "Yes."

"What about her? What could have possibly happened with her that's gotten you wrapped up in a hermitage all this time?"

Merlin closed his eyes tight and sighed, and Arthur got the impression what he was about to say hurt him. He was hoping it was because Merlin was about to admit the truth, but when the man began to speak, Arthur realized right away that it wasn't. "Arthur, it's… complicated. I can't… I mean, you'd-"

"No." Arthur snapped, pointing a finger in Merlin's face. The warlock seemed to be genuinely taken off guard, and could only watch as Arthur's anger broke to the surface. "No, you shut up. Don't you dare say it's something I wouldn't understand. Don't you dare say you can't tell me, Merlin, because you promised."

Both of them remembered that promise, and Merlin couldn't reply.

"You promised. And I don't bloody well care what stupid excuse you want to give me this time, I won't have it anymore. I know you feel like you have to live half your life where no one can see, that you think if you lie about every other thing that happens to you you can keep us all from being hurt, but you're wrong, Merlin, and I am sick of it, because it does hurt, every time, and you don't know it."

Merlin was only watching. He was listening. And still, he didn't say anything. Somehow, this knowledge alone made the rest of Arthur's vulnerable tirade spill out.

"I know I won't understand all the time – hell, I probably won't understand half the time. I may call you an idiot, but it's not really true, is it? I'm the idiot here, and we both know it. I know that I don't understand everything about magic, or sorcery, or all that's happened because of what my father did, and I know I never will. I know that I hardly understand you, much less all that's happened to you. I know that you don't want to tell me about… about whatever the hell it is we're even talking about right now, but damnit Merlin, you promised. You promised we'd never keep secrets again, not about the things that mattered. This matters, Merlin. And don't you dare say that it doesn't."

Merlin looked away, and Arthur suddenly noticed how tired he looked.

"I want to help, Merlin. Please."

They looked each other in the eye, and seemed to remember the full reach of their friendship. No secrets. Merlin sighed. When he spoke, his voice sounded old. Weary.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I shouldn't have kept it from you all this time. Force of habit, I suppose."

The transparency of it all, the sudden defeat and apology of his voice made Arthur slump. That's it? He almost wanted to say. He didn't. Instead, he swallowed his still-buzzing anger and forced out a tentative question that he'd asked Merlin a thousand and one times since they'd made that promise years ago. "Will you tell me?"

Merlin sat up and looked thoughtful before he took a deep breath and said, "It wasn't the first time we'd met, at the gates, Freya and I. We've met before, many years ago."

Arthur wasn't sure what to think. "Where?"

"Here. In Camelot."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he didn't say anything at first, but when it became clear that Merlin wasn't going to elaborate, asked, "What happened then?"

Merlin chewed at his lip, and looked over at Arthur with a haunted expression. No secrets, the words ran across his face, and he sighed. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he gestured to the couch by his chair. "Sit down, Arthur. You'll definitely want to sit down for this."

At that, as Arthur had learned after dozens of these truth-telling encounters, meant that he probably wasn't going to like what Merlin had to say.

Neither of them realized it was dark until after Merlin had finished talking. After wiping at his eyes where Arthur wouldn't see, Merlin waved his hand to light some candles. Warm shadows flickered on Arthur's face for several moments until he finally said,

"I'm sorry." He only hoped it sounded as deeply felt as the dagger that Merlin's story had planted in his chest. I'm the one who planted it, he told himself. It twisted in further.

"I've told you, I forgave you years ago, Arthur." And for whatever sick reason, Merlin had the gall to mean it. Arthur shook his head.

"Merlin, what I said to you that day, what I did, what I – oh god…" Arthur sunk his head into his hands.

"Don't," Merlin told him, but Arthur didn't want to listen.

"Oh gods, I can't believe… If I had only known… Oh, gods I'm so sorry, Merlin…"

Unexpectedly, a book collided with his head. He sat up and stared.

"I said stop it, you prat. You couldn't have known, you didn't know. You acted within the best of your knowledge. You didn't intend it, and contrary to what your wallowing might imply, nothing you say can change that." He held Arthur's gaze for a moment before adding, "And besides all that, I told you, I forgave you years ago. So just… don't." But despite it all, Merlin still looked hurt when he talked about it, and Arthur couldn't obey completely. He still tried.

They listened to the candles burn for a while. Merlin had been talking for what could have been hours, and Arthur wasn't sure what to say for a long time.

"So… but… she really did die, though?" It seemed like such a stupid thing to ask, all things considered. Somehow, Merlin chuckled at the question.

"You can imagine why I was so shocked to see her."

"She didn't seem to be as surprised."

Merlin frowned as though he hadn't thought of it. "No…"

"But… How is she here, then?"

"Exactly my problem."

"Is it… Could it be magic?" Arthur thought it was the obvious solution, considering Merlin's background.

"That's what she said it was, although…"

"You've spoken to her about it?"

"Not exactly," Merlin seemed frustrated at the thought. "She's tried to explain, said she would, but every time we're interrupted. Mostly by Valas." He spat the name, and Arthur was vaguely surprised.

"What's with that tone? I thought you'd get on well with him, another sorcerer. Seems nice enough."

Merlin clenched his fist and explained, "Yesterday, Freya came to Gaius' chambers with a bruised cheek. She swore she'd gotten from falling on some stairs. I believed her, and treated it. Later, I found another bruise on her arm." His knuckles were white, but Arthur didn't think that Merlin realized it. "It was hand-shaped, Arthur. She denied it at first, but eventually I got her to admit that someone had hit her. She said it was him."

"Who, Valas?" Arthur's voice cracked in his surprise. Merlin nodded. Arthur sat back in shock. He'd been sure that, of all people, the old man was utterly harmless, sorcerer or not. "But why would he hurt his own daughter?"

Merlin was shaking his head before Arthur finished. "He's not Freya's father – her family is all dead. I don't know why he's claiming to be her father, and I don't know why she's playing along, but I do know that he's hurt her, and I don't trust him."

"Well…" Arthur tried to think of anything to contradict what Merlin was telling him. "He could just have… Adopted her, or helped her in some way after… after she somehow came back. I mean, he's a magic user, and so is she, right? Like a mentor or something… Maybe he gave her refuge in Drailynn?"

"Where is Drailynn, by the way?" Merlin asked, "Anywhere on our maps?"

Arthur blinked. "Well, no, it's too far west to be on our maps."

"Then how do you know where it is?"

"I was given maps."

"By whom?"

"Well, Lord Va-" Arthur's expression suddenly morphed into sudden suspicion. "Lord Valas." He said. Merlin nodded.

"Thought so."

"You… You're not saying that you think that Valas made up an entire country, are you, Merlin?"

Merlin shrugged. "I don't know what I think, Arthur."

"…Who d'you suppose he is? Really?"

"I don't know," Merlin insisted again. "But I do know that he has hurt Freya, and I don't trust him." He grit his teeth and added, with a protective bite that sounded foreign in Merlin's mouth. "And I will do anything in my power to keep her away from him."

Arthur stared at his friend with something of revelation, and sympathy.

"You do love her, don't you." It felt strange to say, since by all rights Freya should be dead and Merlin shouldn't even know her, and before that day Arthur had never known that Merlin had ever loved any woman, but somehow, Arthur didn't feel any awkwardness or shame in it.

Merlin looked down at his hands in his lap, and through the candle light, Arthur thought he could see Merlin fiddling with that errant strawberry again.

"Yes," he said quietly.

Arthur nodded. Eventually, when he began to lose Merlin to his thoughts once more, he rose and crossed over to put a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Thank you for telling me, Merlin." He said. He was halfway to the stairs when Merlin called back,

"Thanks for listening, Arthur."

The king paused and nodded. I'm sorry, Merlin. I can't imagine what you've been through, Merlin. Don't you worry, Merlin, he wanted to say all of it, but didn't. I'll keep an eye on Valas. We'll figure all this out. Even an idiot like me isn't completely useless. But he didn't know what he could say, so he simply nodded, and turned to leave.

In the back of his mind, he had a vague idea of what he needed to do next, and he knew it was going to be one of the most awkward, guilt-ridden conversations of his life.

After all, how, exactly, was a king supposed to ask a dead druid girl, the love of his best friend and Court Sorcerer, to forgive him for her murder?