A/N: Okay, here's the last bit. I'm done. Thank you SO MUCH if you reviewed, favorite or followed. I appreciate it so much, you have no idea. Just . . . thank you.

Previously:

"On a ride," Arthur said truthfully. "Merlin, there's something I want to tell you . . ."

"What is it?" Merlin asked suspiciously as he walked over to the table and began gathering up the remains of Arthur's lunch.

Arthur sighed, mindlessly twisting the hem of his tunic. "Three weeks ago, there was a bet." He said. "Between myself, Gwen and the Knights."

"O-okay . . ." Merlin said, clearly not understanding what that had to do with him. He swiped bread crumbs off of the table's surface and onto the silver plate, his eyes trained on Arthur.

"The bet was to try and figure out where you went once a month," Arthur said reluctantly. Merlin's face paled dramatically, and Arthur worried that Merlin might faint.

"So . . . you . . ." Merlin didn't seem to be able to speak, merely gazed at Arthur in horror and fear. Arthur didn't like those expressions on Merlin's face at all. Merlin had no need to be afraid of him.

"We saw Freya," Arthur confirmed. "Merlin, why didn't you tell me?"

Merlin jerked his gaze away. "There was nothing to tell," he said tonelessly. "What was done is done. At least . . . at least I still see her, sometimes."

"Merlin," Arthur said, pained. "I—I killed her. How could you still face me after that?"

Merlin shook his head wildly. "It wasn't your fault," he said. "I should have . . . I should have gotten her out of the city quicker."

"Somehow I don't think this was your fault," Arthur said. "I was, after all, the one who . . . who killed her."

"Who freed her," Merlin corrected quietly. "She's happier now then she had ever been in life."

Arthur closed his eyes and sighed slowly. "Merlin," he said. "You have been a loyal friend to me for a decade. I would not be who I am without your help. If you ever need to . . . to tell me something, I swear on my life—on Gwen's life—that I will listen and hear you out."

He opened his eyes in time to see a flicker of deep, painful guilt in Merlin's eyes before it was gone. Arthur felt breathless in the face of such agony, such self-loathing. How could Merlin, his clumsy manservant, his loyal friend, his clueless idiot, feel such torture? No secret could do that to a person—no secret Merlin should have to keep.

Arthur suddenly, desperately, wanted nothing more than for Merlin to tell him, to let him in on this secret.

Because it was killing Merlin.

Merlin was dying inside because of this secret, and Arthur was helpless in the face of it, hadn't even seen it until now because he was looking because . . . because . . . because Freya had told him about it.

He really was an unobservant twat.

"Thank you, sire." Merlin said. "And . . ." he darted a look at Arthur, "Please don't follow me again,"

"Unless your life doesn't depend on it, I won't." Arthur said solemnly. Merlin nodded and tripped out the door, cursing softly as he banged his shoulder into the wall. Arthur grinned slightly before it slid off his face.

"Merlin has been keeping secrets his whole life. It was necessary to ensure his survival. Merlin will tell you when he gains the courage and peace of mind. For now, support him in any way that you can. Merlin loves you like a brother, and one day he will tell you. Just trust in him as you have always done."

That flash of guilt in Merlin's eyes, like the endless ocean. Clearly he thought that whatever his secret was, it would ruin Arthur . . . it would ruin their friendship.

"Oh, Merlin." Arthur whispered. "I trust you. You don't need to fear me,"

The guilty eyes said differently.