A/N: Thanks again everyone for the reviews, you don't know how much they mean to me. Sometimes I think I've bitten off more than I can chew with this fic but your positive responses so far make it all worthwhile. I hope you like this chapter as it's been very difficult to write and I've deleted and rewritten it several zillion times, and I'm still not 100% happy with it.

He was a dragonlord.

He was Merlin.

And Arthur couldn't reconcile the two.

Merlin entered the room, Leon and Gwaine followed, Tristan trailing behind aimlessly. All of Arthur's senses were on edge like he was primed for battle, but the rush of feelings that coursed through him when he saw Merlin were not the confusing mix he'd expected.

Instead, he was alarmed, and slightly worried. Arthur found himself striding towards Merlin without deliberate thought. "What on earth happened to you?"

His manservant didn't look like a dragonlord. He looked like he'd been jumped by bandits and dragged through a bush backwards, he seemed to be favouring one foot, he had a long tear near the base of his jacket, and on the shirt underneath –

"Hold on, Merlin is that blood? Are you injured?"

"Um, Arthur. No, I'm fine." Merlin dragged his jacket closed and glanced anxiously over his shoulder as the door started to shut behind Tristan, then the set of his shoulders lessened a little and his gaze flicked over the lines of the ceiling, and settled for moment on the floor on the far side of the room.

"Merlin, what happened? Tell me."

Merlin was distracted, he darted a glance at the corner of the room again, then he turned to Arthur. "Uh, blood? Oh, it's nothing. It's not blood, well, maybe it is. From a small cut. It's mainly mud, you see, I got lost, very lost, and it was raining, so lots of mud! I meant to clean up, but Leon and Gwaine, well Leon really - insisted that you needed me urgently now. Gwaine said you didn't want to see me at all, so I don't know. If you do, that is, want to see me now, um, do you?"

Merlin surreptitiously checked that his arm was obscuring most of the tear in his jacket and managed a sheepish grin. "Did George over-polish something?"

The gnawing sensation in Arthur's belly eased at the familiar babbling, but then he realised he was being lied to again, because it was blood not mud, not to mention there was little chance Merlin had been lost on the road to Ealdor, and all of a sudden the weight of it crashed back down on Arthur, and he could hardly breathe through the pain of it.

Arthur struggled for normality, because he didn't know what else to do, and for just a moment he wished he'd never known, never discovered this, and he despised himself for cowardice. He had to look away for a moment until he was able to speak past the heavy constriction in his throat. "Come here, it looks like blood to me. A lot of blood. Show me."

He'd get this mystery out of the way, then he'd discover the rest.

But Merlin was unsettled by this development, his alarm poorly hidden. "No, you don't need to bother yourself, Arthur. I'm fine. I just need to see Gaius and clean up."

And Arthur studied the man in front of him, really studied him and tried to see where Merlin ended and the dragonlord began. But the dragonlord wasn't there, it was only Merlin, with filthy hair in need of a trim, in the silly shabby coat he refused to part with, with the faint trace of stubble feathering his mouth and jaw and accentuating the fatigue in his eyes.

And Arthur felt like he was like looking through an opaque window where everything was hazy, and he had to see Merlin properly, to anchor himself to the living breathing man in front of him, so he'd know this situation he'd found himself in was real, because right now it felt like a nightmare he couldn't shake.

He was close enough now to reach out and touch Merlin and he did, his fingers wrapping over Merlin's elbow to hold him in place while his other hand pushed aside Merlin's jacket. The back of Arthur's fingers brushed against Merlin's shirt; Merlin's skin was warm under the thin fabric that was stained with his blood.

"Show me the wound, Merlin." Arthur lifted the edge of the shirt and glimpsed a pale strip of skin before his hand was hurriedly batted away.

"Arthur! I mean, no, there's no need. Really it's nothing. Nothing to worry about. I'm fine. So thanks." Obedience had never been one of Merlin's strengths and he stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to retreat, yanking his jacket shut again.

Merlin came to a stop when he backed into one of the large support pillars in the room, he winced and rubbed the back of his head, frowning at Arthur for a moment like it was his fault then clearly thinking better of it. He crossed his arms in front of his chest defensively and glanced past Arthur and, out of his peripheral vision, Arthur knew he'd caught Leon's eye. Then Merlin went suddenly still, his expression changing into something guarded, and then, very slowly, he made himself relax and his hands dropped to his sides.

Arthur was silent for a moment, but he couldn't push this aside. He couldn't let Merlin push it aside. He didn't know why an injury had to be another secret that Merlin wanted to hide from him, and it compounded the weight dragging him under, the lies were suffocating.

And he couldn't bear it, not so soon, and not again. His father was dead, Morgana was lost to him, the family bond he'd thought he'd shared with Agravaine had been nothing but a lie, and this man in front of him was one of the few people he could almost call family that Arthur had left.

He tried another tactic. "Where were you, Merlin?" And he wondered what story he'd be told.

"Um, yes. That. I was ... I was away a bit too long, wasn't I? Sorry about that. I should have asked you before I left."

"Merlin?"

Merlin heard the warning note. "Okay, the thing is, I wanted to see if my mother was safe, after the Southrons found us in Ealdor."

Arthur nodded. That was reasonable, and at least was probably true, and once he would have accepted it as the entire truth. "And was she?"

"Well ... I didn't actually get that far before I got the wound." Merlin seemed to realise what he'd said and backtracked hastily. "Not that I was that badly injured, of course. But you see, I lost the horse too – don't worry, it was one of the Southron's – and so I thought I'd better come back, because, you know, if I tried to get to Ealdor to see my mother and then get back here without a horse, I'd be gone too long, and the thing was, I'd only told Gaius I'd be away for, um, not very long. Did he uh, did he mention anything to you?"

Like the tavern? Was Merlin fishing to see where his story should go? And Arthur remembered what else Merlin had said, he'd gotten lost - on the road to Ealdor. A lie, and Arthur would call him on it. "And you were lost too, right?" Merlin regarded him blankly for a moment and Arthur reminded him, "You just told me, you got lost, it rained and so you got muddy."

Merlin began to babble something else about taking a shortcut that turned out to not exactly be a shortcut, but Arthur only half-listened. A good lie should always be simple. Long ago he'd learnt that lesson from the group of boys he'd once called friends. He could barely remember their names now, but he'd remembered the lesson, don't apologise for it, don't over-embellish it, keep your story simple.

He said quietly, "Merlin." And Merlin stammered to a stop, the slight movement of his body as he shifted from one foot to another a hint of his unease. "Will you answer me honestly?"

Arthur waited for Merlin's cautious nod, then he said, with more gentleness than he'd ever used with Merlin, and more than he felt, "Is it your blood? All of it? Over your jacket, your shirt, your breeches, and, by the look of it, in a sock as well?"

Merlin grimaced. "Honestly, um, well, I suppose it is. And when you say it that way, it doesn't sound very good, but, it's not that bad, it's nothing to worry about. Trust me, Arthur."

Arthur took a step forwards, closing the already short distance between them. He placed a hand flat against the pillar beside Merlin's shoulder, leaning into Merlin's personal space, and making a concerted effort to keep a tight lid on his fraying control. "Merlin, I am trying to trust you." And Arthur realised with some surprise that was the truth, or at least part of it. He stopped for a moment to process that thought. "I want to see the injury."

Merlin stared at him for a long moment, and Arthur met his gaze steadily. Then Merlin turned his face to the side, his dark lashes fluttered against his pale skin as he closed his eyes and swallowed several times, his adam's apple bobbing up and down nervously.

Arthur waited, but Merlin didn't speak, his lips were pressed together in a firm line. Arthur took the silence for permission, and he pushed aside the torn jacket and lifted the edge of Merlin's shirt.

Arthur blanched. There was a long scar decorating Merlin's skin, it was about the length of his hand-span and the width of a finger. It was recent, yet more healed than it should be, and it still had flecks of dried blood caking it. The scar ran at an angle from the bottom of Merlin's ribs, across the top of his hip, and around the side of his stomach. It was surrounded by an angry, purpling bruise which was stark in contrast against his pale skin.

Arthur swallowed back the bile in his throat. He'd seen enough battle wounds to know it had been caused by a sword, and that the sword would have cut deep, slicing through layers of muscle and possibly to the bone. It was obvious the scar had not been healed naturally by its very size and that there was no sign of stiches, not to mention a wound of this magnitude should still be weeping blood because it would tear if the patient did not lie abed for some time.

Arthur raised his head, Merlin was watching him now, and when he caught Arthur's gaze he flushed and turned his head away.

Arthur pulled Merlin's shirt back down, hiding the injury, and the hand that still rested on the pillar beside Merlin's shoulder clenched into a fist.

Arthur said quietly, "This was the wound? The source of the blood, that's all over you?"

Merlin's expression was cornered, but his chin came up, and he nodded, once.

"It's almost healed."

The answer was quiet and resigned. "Yes."

"How?"

Merlin lowered his eyes and shook his head. "You don't want to know, Arthur."

Arthur kept his tone level. "I do, I'm asking. How, Merlin?"

Merlin shook his head again, his voice low and tense. "What does it matter? It doesn't matter."

Arthur eyed the state of Merlin's clothing. "You could have died." The thought was paralysing, and he had to take a moment. He wondered, had Merlin healed himself? Arthur didn't know if that was in the realm of a dragonlord's ability. Or had the old man or Emrys been involved?

Arthur said bluntly, because if he didn't Merlin was going to skirt around the issue forever. "Merlin, do you think I'd rather you have died, than be healed by magic?"

Merlin twitched once at that, he bit his lip and avoided Arthur's gaze, and Arthur didn't miss the slight sheen in his eyes. "Arthur, I'm sorry for going off and not telling you. But you're right, I did lose a lot of blood. And yes I was obviously healed by means you wouldn't approve of. Can we just leave it at that? Could I please go and clean up?" His voice cracked on the last sentence.

Arthur was conscious of their audience, the two guards on the door were standing to attention and pretending the invisibility of their station, he called out across the room to them. "Petrov, Rowan, out. Secure the doors, stay outside." The guards turned to obey, but the doors opened before they touched them, and Percival and Elyan walked in.

Elyan said, "Arthur, you sent for us?" Both knights were dirty with the grime of the trail, they were still in chain mail and had come straight from patrol.

For a moment Arthur couldn't remember his request, but then he did, it was a lifetime ago when he'd thought to send them to Ealdor to check on Merlin, when everything in his world had been a simple black or white.

The guards left, the door shut behind them, and both Percival and Elyan hesitated as they became aware of the tension in the room. Arthur's eyes met Leon's, and the knight nodded at Arthur's unspoken request, drawing Percival and Elyan aside and speaking to them in a low tone.

Merlin was as still as a hunted animal sensing a trap, he hadn't even turned to look at Elyan or Percival. Arthur studied him for a moment longer then pushed himself off the pillar, away from Merlin, and Merlin sagged at the reprieve. Arthur strode across to Leon and said in an aside only the knight could hear, "Send one of the guards to find Gaius."

Then Arthur turned. "Guinevere, can you ask someone to bring food and wine, enough for all of us? No, Tristan, it's okay, stay."

He focused on Merlin again, who hadn't moved except to shrink further into the stone pillar behind him. As Arthur came closer, Merlin winced visibly. "Arthur ... please."

Arthur took up his earlier stance again, leaning into Merlin's personal space, one hand flat on the pillar near Merlin's shoulder, so they were almost touching chest to chest.

This closeness wasn't the way they did things, there were enough personal touches in the everyday dealings between a king and his manservant to not want to seek more out unnecessarily, but at such close range, Arthur could see the hitch in Merlin's breath when he stumbled over his words, and the brief flicker in his eyes that betrayed the unease he was trying to hide. And Arthur tried to understand, and to see, but they were shackled both by lies and by truths that had not been said.

Arthur said quietly, "We need to talk."

Merlin shut his eyes momentarily, a look of defeat passing over his face. "About the magic healing." He took a deep breath. "Okay. Yes."

No, that would be something he'd discuss later. "I'm not angry that magic healed you, Merlin." Arthur didn't miss the slight start of surprise, and he forced a calmness that he didn't feel into his voice. "Don't you think it would be hypocritical of me to condemn you for the use of magic to heal when I'd sought the same for my own father?"

But the reassurance didn't have the affect Arthur had half-expected, instead Merlin bit his lip guiltily and wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes, and the reaction made Arthur wonder if he did have magic, if he had healed himself.

"Arthur ... I don't ... I can't ..." Merlin struggled, and his breath hitched. "I don't know what to say."

Arthur watched his unease grow, and it strengthened his suspicions. "Forget it for now. That's not what I want to talk about."

Merlin's face turned cautiously relieved, but Arthur shook his head, a warning of the conversation to come. "I had some visitors from Ealdor earlier."

Merlin's eyes flashed to his, and Arthur answered his question even before he had a chance to voice it. "No, not Hunith. She's fine. Hob and his son, Rolf."

Merlin cleared his throat. "Um. I don't know them."

"They were worried, you see. Hob and Rolf."

Merlin nodded uncertainly, though it was clear he couldn't work out where Arthur was going with this.

Arthur almost wished he could turn back time, he didn't want this. Yet he had to know the truth, he had to face it, and only then would he know what was the beginning, and what was the end. "They saw you, Merlin."

Because he was watching very carefully, Arthur saw the brief flicker of panic before Merlin's face smoothed into the familiar guileless expression, and the truth of Hob's tale hit Arthur again with the shock of fresh knowledge, because the studied innocence on Merlin's face was confirmation enough.

There would be no more deceit in Arthur's life. He said bluntly, "Merlin, they saw you call the dragon. And they saw what happened, after that."

For a moment it was as if time had stopped and Merlin was frozen, then he turned his head to the side and gave a shaky laugh. "What? A dragon?"

No more lies. The surge of anger that raced through Arthur was as unexpected as it was blinding, and he struggled with himself to not give it free reign. "Were you ever going to tell me about this Merlin?"

Merlin looked like he was going to say something, then he changed his mind, stumbling. "I ... Arthur. I don't know ... I mean ..."

"What have you got to say about it?"

"I ..." Merlin gave a tiny shake of his head. "Arthur ... what?"

"How about the truth, Merlin?"

Arthur could see when Merlin realised there was no escape, when the denial and poorly concealed panic on his face changed into resignation edged with despair.

The silence between them grew into something thick and heavy, and then Merlin clenched his fists and whispered, "I didn't know what else to do."

Merlin twisted away from the pillar, away from Arthur. He was breathing heavily. He said in a low, tight, monotone, "What was I meant to do, Arthur? There were too many of them and they were after you. I couldn't leave them near Ealdor, Morgana knew the connection to my mother, if she'd realised she was sheltering us, she'd have killed her or even the entire village."

He looked into Arthur's eyes. "You tell me, what else could I do? How else could I keep you all safe?"

It was true, he'd never known this man.

It wasn't hurt ripping Arthur apart, he wouldn't allow it, and now he welcomed the growing anger, and took refuge in it. "But that's not the point, is it?"

"You're a dragonlord, Merlin?" Arthur had almost forgotten all about Gwen and the knights, Percival's question hung in the air, and his astonishment was clear, normally he'd never interrupt his king.

Merlin hesitated for a moment, he tore his eyes away from Arthur reluctantly, and gave Percival a quick unsmiling glance and nodded briefly, once. Gwaine nudged the knight's shoulder, shaking his head, but Merlin's attention was focused on Arthur again, and now, Arthur saw the dragonlord.

Merlin's chin was up, his back straight, his lanky loose limbs controlled and sure. There was nothing light in his face now, his expression was intent. He said mildly, but with the hint of a bite, "So what is the point, Arthur? You knew this, when you called me here. You want to do this in front of them? What do you want from me?"

"I want you to tell me the truth." His voice hard, Arthur closed the gap between them. And he was angry, Arthur realised, very angry, and he refused to admit to himself why.

Arthur took another step forward, and Merlin's head shot up and he shook his head and backed away, putting up one hand, the gesture clear, don't come any closer.

But Merlin wasn't the king, and so Arthur's advance did not hesitate.

Merlin shook his head. "Don't." How he could look both so shattered and so strong?

"Don't what, Merlin?"

There was a concerned murmur from Leon, but Arthur paid it no attention, walking slowly towards Merlin like he was stalking his prey, and he was, because this was the hunt of his life.

"Back off, Arthur. That's close enough."

It would never be close enough, Arthur wondered if he'd ever been close to this man at all. "Or what? What'll you do?"

Merlin shook his head, annoyance flashing across his face, and the expression was so familiar that Arthur knew the ache in his heart was a wound from love, not from hate.

"You want the truth, Arthur? You really want it?" Merlin's hand dropped to his side. "Then you can have it."

He met Arthur's gaze, Merlin waited for a moment, and then … Merlin vanished before his very eyes.

Arthur blinked into the incredulous silence in the room.

"Merlin, how did you ... ?" It was Gwaine who found him first, and Arthur and the others followed his gaze. Merlin was near the window on the far wall, his shoulders tight. He was watching them expressionlessly, cataloguing their reactions, but as he took in Gwaine's slowly growing smile, the heavy tension in him eased for a moment, before he stiffened again and shifted his attention back to Arthur.

He took a step forwards, just one. "Yes, Arthur. I have magic." There were no excuses in his voice, but there was an old sadness. "I'm a warlock, I'm a dragonlord, I am magic. Now what?"

Arthur couldn't allow himself to react. "Now what? Tell me, what happened at Ealdor." It wasn't a question, it was a demand.

Merlin's glance flickered over the other occupants of the room and lingered for a moment on Leon. "But why? You already know, Arthur, don't you?" He didn't seemed to be troubled, and improbably, his focus actually shifted away from Arthur to the stone pavers beside him.

The dismissal infuriated Arthur, he strode forward angrily, and when he was only a few steps away from Merlin he could see what had captured Merlin's attention, there was a large black beetle twirling over the floor like it was caught in a breeze, but there was no breeze in the room. It was odd, but Arthur didn't have time to think about it, the beetle ceased its movement, and Merlin turned back to him, taking a few steps forward.

The manservant had gone. The dragonlord, the warlock, magic, paced. Merlin's back was straight, his gaze strong. "Ealdor. What happened? Yes, I'll tell you." He bit his lip, and agony swamped his features for one short moment before being hidden so quickly that Arthur almost thought he'd imagined it.

"Arthur, you see to protect you, I had them killed. To protect me, I had them burnt. Ironic isn't it, that I gave them a sorcerer's farewell? So that's where I went, back to Ealdor, not to check on my mother, but to burn them." Merlin glanced across at Gwen and the knights, then he looked away, his throat working. "There were ninety-five men, I killed them, they're all dead. I was burning them to get rid of them, so you wouldn't discover me, so you wouldn't know what I can do."

"You're lying." Because this wasn't the truth. "It was the dragon who killed them, there were eyewitnesses. I know it wasn't you, Merlin." The creature was a monster, an instrument of Death.

"No, Arthur." Merlin was terse. "You don't understand, you don't understand any of it. I am a dragonlord, they're my deaths, Kilgharrah killed under my command. My command. Kilgharrah has helped me so many times, he's helped you, he's saved Camelot."

Kilgharrah. The dragon, the "K" in the note.

Arthur tried to process it, but this truth defied belief. "I see."

"No, Arthur, you really don't. Because I killed too, Arthur." Merlin couldn't keep still, he paced, quick and sharp. "Did you ever wonder what happened to Agravaine?" He waited. "Yes? I killed him, Arthur, in the caves, along with a few of his men. I lied back in the caves when I told you no one had seen me. He caught me in a dead end and I had to use magic to escape. I couldn't let him run back to Morgana with my secret. And I couldn't let him tell you about me, you weren't meant to know." The last words were bitter.

Arthur shifted uneasily, and it was nothing to do with Agravaine. "Merlin … you killed with magic?"

There was distaste in Arthur's voice, and he knew Merlin heard it, because he stilled for a moment before he turned away, his back a stiff line that Arthur could almost reach out and touch, if he wanted to.

Did he want to?

And Arthur wondered, could they possibly overcome this?

This man was a dragonlord. This man was ... he'd said, magic. And Arthur knew him, and he didn't know him, he didn't know if their friendship could survive, he wondered if he cared enough for Merlin to be able to accept or at least overlook what he'd discovered, he didn't know which way the scales would tip.

And that was where Arthur made his biggest mistake, thinking only as a king instead of also as a friend. Because he thought where he led Merlin would always follow, he thought he held all the cards in this confrontation between them, he thought it would be only him who'd decide if they still had a friendship when the dust settled.

It didn't occur to Arthur that Merlin might be the one to end it all.