Startling awake, Merlin experienced a period of deep disorientation.

His eyes focused on the familiar beams of the underside of the roof in the Physician's quarters. Dusty light tumbled through the high windows and the comforting ruffling of parchment drifted to him from the direction of the worktable, accompanied by a gentle clinking of glass bottles. The sharp aroma of fresh-cut herbs perfumed the air.

Last he'd known he was in the lake, with Freya. All appearances indicated a significant change of scenery.

It was so perversely normal, that he was half convinced the last week had all been some terrible fever delusion. Indeed, the fact Merlin was waking in the physician's quarters and not a dungeon seemed a significant indicator his imagination had fabricated at least parts of it.

Making a conscious effort to unclench his jaw he let his eyes drift shut, seeking to return again to the dream of the lake and Freya. Frustratingly, Merlin's now awake thoughts began to race with the momentum of a boulder careening down a hill. One hand crept under his shirt, fingertips gliding over his side. The intrusive memory of a dagger's bite quickened his breath. The skin was smooth and unblemished. A dream. Relief had begun to flood his veins when he found tough leathery scarring, centered on a sunken point roughly two inches wide.

Hand recoiling as though from a hot coal he pressed both palms against his aching eye sockets, pushing until stars filled the void. Sitting perfectly still he let the tension in his bones and sinews mount until it was so immense he couldn't bear to remain still any longer. In an explosion of movement, his eyes flew open as he flung off the blanket and swung his legs out of bed, almost falling over from a rush of dizziness. His body felt heavy as clay, limbs cumbersome and sluggish even as his mind tumbled on with a horrified crystalline clarity.

It was all real.

The gorge rose in Merlin's throat, and he barely managed to throw himself to one side before retching, gagging on acidic fluid. He emptied the watery contents of his empty stomach onto the floor, body heaving.

When at last the convulsions stopped, he sucked in deep, steadying breaths. Someone patted his back and pressed a cup of water into one hand. Merlin swished the fluid around his mouth until the lingering sour taste was gone before spitting it back into the mug. Giving Gaius a grateful smile, he set it to one side. "Thank you. I really hate-"

His expressions of gratitude were interrupted as Gaius pulled him into a tight hug. His mentor's arms trembled with emotion, clutching Merlin with something near desperation.

"I thought we'd lost you."

Blinking back tears Merlin soaked up the embrace, returning it fervently. "Can't get rid of me that easily— who'd clean the leach tanks?"

Someone cleared their throat from across the room, and he looked in the direction of the sound to find Leon. Perched on a stool against the far wall, the man's pale eyes were tired. The senior knight nodded at him, the corner of one mouth dimpling in a smile. "Welcome back."

When at last Gaius released him, Merlin took the time to run his hands across his own body as if taking inventory it was all there. "What's happened?"

The knight and physician glanced at each other. "Well," began Gaius, "When the Druid girl disappeared you collapsed."

Determined to steer the conversation away from Freya, Merlin pushed on. "How long did I sleep?"

"Three days," said Leon.

Eyes widening the startled manservant looked to Gaius for confirmation, "Three days?"

"You were dead for almost a week. I'm surprised you woke up after only three," said the physician. He looked as though that week had aged him a hundred years.

Merlin contemplated how to ask his next question. "And you're sure I was really… Uhm…" Unable to say the word out loud he trailed off before gesturing significantly.

A strangely intense glint entered Gaius's eyes.

"Yes."

Chills of foreboding slipped up and down his spine, a minstrel playing a lute. "But the old religion demands balance— for a life to be given one must be taken!"

A thought occurred then, one which tried to wrench his stomach through the floor. "Gaius! Where's my-"

Gaius patted his hand, "Hunith is safe, I already checked. Bedridden from having drunk some bad water, but it's nothing out of hand. She will visit as soon as she is fit to travel. I didn't tell her about… well. I thought it best not to worry her for nothing."

"Then how? Who?"

"I cannot be sure. Do you remember anything from before you came back?"

The air in the room crackled from the intensity of the focus now directed at Merlin from both adults. Not that he could blame them— a chance to peer behind the veil of mortality? To perhaps glean an answer to one of the biggest questions which mankind had ever conceived? Regretfully, he shook his head. "No. Well, not much. I remember… being called back."

"What does that mean?" Asked Leon, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"I remember a voice. It was unlike any I've heard before." He paused then, for the claim somehow felt like a lie. "Or…I'm not sure."

There was a flicker of intuition there, and Merlin chased it. Through sheer force of will he dredged up the sensation of phantom hands caressing his face, and an echo of that same voice.

"There will be a price."

Whether memory or imagination; the ominous words rang in his head clear as the tolling of a bell, filling him with dread.

Gaius's voice interrupted, interrupting the tumbling thoughts, "Rest, there's no need to push yourself just yet. Why don't I make us all some hot tea?"

The words drew Merlin's attention to his body and to the layer of perspiration that gathered across his forehead. His breathing tore a ragged path down his windpipe. Blinking rapidly, he nodded gratefully to his mentor.

"None for me, thank you, Gaius. The King will want to know he's woken." Leon burst out, visibly uncomfortable. "I'll also have the kitchens send up some food."

He inclined his head to each of them before stepping quickly to the door. As the knight slipped out, there was no way to miss the two guards Arthur had posted in the hallway.

"I tried to talk to him once, explain some things," hedged Gaius, noticing Merlin's attention lingering on the now-closed door and guessing at the direction of his thoughts.

"How did he take it?"

"I think he wants to hear it from you."

Heaving out a breath Merlin buried his face in his hands, "How can I face him, Gaius? What do I possibly say?"

"Tell him the truth," said Gaius. As if it were that simple.

Could it be?

"There is something more. The voice that brought me back? She called me Arthur's sentinel. She named Arthur The Once and Future King like it was some sort of title. And she said something else." Merlin took a moment, forming the words carefully from memory to avoid mispronouncing anything, "Éower widsiþ gewitan hæfde begunnon. I understand bits of it, but not others. Do you know what it means?"

The old man's face had drained of color. When he spoke, his voice was carefully cultivated to mild curiosity. "No, I'm afraid not."

Lie.

"What does it mean?" Pressed Merlin, determined.

Gaius stood, flustered. "You have been awake for all of ten minutes! Will you relent in your incessant pursuit of new problems and let yourself rest for once in your life!?"

Unfair as it may have felt, Merlin accepted the chastisement. He let it land and sat in the ringing silence that followed. The longer he sat with it, the more aggrieved he became.

"I don't… choose this." He whispered, gesturing vaguely. "It feels like something cursed follows in my footsteps. And I worry if I ever take the time to rest, to stop thinking, then someone I care about will be… lost. I knew Morgana was struggling. Maybe if I hadn't looked away, I wouldn't have had to kill her to stop her. What if the next person I miss the chance to save is Arthur?"

Letting out a long breath Gaius rested a hand on the crown of Merlin's head. "Morgana made her own choices. As we all do, at the end of the day. You can't save everyone. And even if you could, you are more than a sacrificial lamb for the lives of others. Perhaps this is my fault for not reminding you of that. Your path is a dangerous one and your destiny is so much bigger than I can understand; I thought it not my place. But my dear boy— I cannot remember the last time I heard you laugh. And that was all I could think of as you lay broken under my hands."

The Hell his death had put Gaius through was writ in a tremor in the old man's gentle voice. "I won't stop you from fighting, I know you may even die. But if your life is so cold, then I have failed as your guardian. We can talk about what comes tomorrow once you've had a few days to take care of yourself. Physician's orders."

Suppressing a reactive instinct to argue, as Merlin's defensiveness faded, he began to consider the possible merit of Gaius's words. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed either. The sort that wells up from the pit of your belly and stretches your face so wide it aches.

"Alright, then. I'll take that tea."

A half-hour later, Merlin finished the last dredges of his second drink. Savoring the lingering taste of peppermint, he cradled the pleasantly warm cup in his palms. He was entertaining the idea of a third, this time maybe even with extra honey, when there came a banging on the door.

Gaius stood from where he'd been perched on the foot of Merlin's cot. Before he could answer, Arthur himself shouldered his way inside.

The king breathed hard, as if he'd been running. He was dressed in full mail, a padded red gambeson underneath damp from the day's exertions. Wide eyes locked on Merlin's, and, for an instant, the world stopped.

Glancing between them Gaius hesitated, then bowed. "I'll give you two the room."

Arthur nodded stiffly, uncharacteristically formal, stepping aside for the physician to pass.

"Sire," said Merlin as the door clicked shut again, the eye contact abruptly unbearable to him. He looked away under the pretense of setting his empty mug on the ground before moving to stand.

Arthur made an odd lurching motion towards him, raising one hand, interrupting.

"No, stay, there's no need. How are you feeling?" Pulling the stool Leon had occupied over to the bed, he perched on it.

"Tired, and stiff," answered Merlin with cautious optimism. This was exactly what he had thought to avoid by dying.

"Understandable, considering… everything," said Arthur.

On another day, in another time, Merlin would have embraced the man. Arthur would have tolerated it, briefly, before shoving him off. Likely some good-natured ribbing would have followed in which his lord insulted him just to emphasize how much he definitely didn't care. Neither of them had the heart to joke about this. Not now, with this uncertainty between them and so much unspoken.

Mail rustled as the King crossed his arms, angled slightly away from his companion. He spoke in a rush, all at once, as though the words had been building up inside and were now tumbling out.

"I thought you were dead. Before, I mean, in the forest when we were captured. Gaius says they must have used some kind of body magic to impersonate you. But then on the field..." There was a long hesitation, "Merlin, you died for me."

"I knew I might," he answered, quietly.

"But still, you fought."

"Yes."

Silence fell. Merlin's racing thoughts threw themselves against the inside of his skull. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, brown eyes flicked up to meet blue. For a time, each young man was caught, suspended in a weighty silence full of doubt, hopes, and unanswered questions.

"You have magic."

The words crashed through the moment like a cavalry at full charge. This was a reckoning they had been hurtling toward since the moment their lives had become intertwined. Merlin's fingers found and tugged at a stray thread on his blanket, unraveling it determinedly.

"I was born with it."

This time it was the King who looked away. Exhaling a rough breath, Arthur closed his eyes. His fingers clenched his biceps so tightly his nails beds went white. "So you've had magic this whole time."

Merlin's heart plummeted. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, Arthur, but—"

Holding his hands out to stop him, Arthur opened flaming eyes, "What excuse could you possibly have to justify not telling me? You had… so many chances. So many years!" Seeming to realize his voice had risen to an angry shout he jerked his face away, taking a deep, shaky breath. "I thought that you were— that we were friends."

The words carried the force of a slap, and Merlin took it. Instinctively he reached over to touch Arthur's arm before thinking better of it, withdrawing. He did not think Arthur would approve of his touching him. There were things he could say, reasons he'd compiled over time. He had miles and miles of words that would make perfect sense of it. But now the moment had come, each one tumbled inadequately into silence before he could speak them.

"You would have chopped my head off," he managed in a small voice.

Arthur's cheek jumped as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. "There are many on my council who want you executed in accordance with the laws of Camelot. They saw how powerful you are; it scares them. They don't want to give you an opportunity to turn against us."

Fingers trembled and Merlin tucked them away, folding his hands tightly around the edge of his blanket. "I knew the risks I was taking. I won't try to run, whatever decision you make."

A flash of hurt flickered over Arthur's face, tightening the corners of his eyes. "You really think that I would ever…" he looked down, "You really have such a low opinion of me?"

Startled, Merlin shook his head. "No! No that's not what-" he sighed. "Arthur, for years I've heard you, seen the way you feel about magic. I- I didn't want to make you choose."

Pointing a rigid finger at Merlin the king's voice was uneven, "So instead you took away my choice. You've lied to me." There was a pause as he rested a trembling fist against lips that were tight with anger. "You thought you could keep it a secret forever?"

For a few moments, the stoic king who bore the weight of a kingdom without faltering vanished. Vulnerability glistened in his blue eyes, the depths of his sense of betrayal clear to Merlin's discerning gaze. Lost for words, the warlock could only manage another, "I'm sorry."

"You said that."

"What would you have had me do?"

"I would have had you trust me!" Arthur roared, exploding in a surge of movement to his feet. Merlin recoiled, shrinking away from the sudden unbridled rage.

Neither man took much notice of the stool clattering to the ground behind the king.

Heat seemed to pour from him in waves, bitter words leaking out like infection welling from a wound. His fists shook at his sides. "The same way I've trusted you! Would you have ever told me if you hadn't been exposed? What else have you lied about? I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, yet I cannot understand how you've been so comfortable being right beside me and actively deceiving me for so long! You'd rather create a whole other persona to use like a puppet against me, rather than just… be honest! The lengths to which you went to hide your lies, how deep do I need to go before finding anything true about you? Was any of it real?"

The tirade was a torrent of pure emotion bursting free, leaving each of them stunned in its wake. In it, Merlin glimpsed the true nature behind Arthur's anger— and it was pain. Shame, regret, sadness. And in that last pleading question, hurled like an accusation, immense fear. All honed like arrow points and aimed decidedly in one direction.

Merlin gaped, open mouthed. He had nothing.

Again, a weighty silence slammed down. Sovereign and servant stared at each other across a space that felt far greater than the few feet that separated them. A chasm yawning, preparing to swallow them both whole.

Arthur wasn't done, Merlin knew. But he could see a blemish of embarrassment crawling up his neck. In the tension of Arthur's shoulders and the way he took carefully measured breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists, he watched his friend claw back the wild and unchecked emotions he'd just unleashed.

Arthur gestured wildly; face flushed as a bright edge of regret glinted in his eyes. "I don't... I can't."

Face falling Merlin swiped at the moisture that gathered in his own eyes before it could escape.

The sight of his tears seemed to have a calming effect on Arthur who took a deep, slow breath. When his king next spoke, the tremor which had accompanied the loss of control was gone.

"I'm sorry- look, I'm glad you're back. I am. I just, I need to be somewhere else. I can't do this right now, I'm not ready."

Almost in spite of himself a flicker of hope rekindled inside of Merlin. Would he be allowed to stay? "So, you're not banishing me?"

Shaking his head Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, standing near the window on the other side of the room. "I don't know."

"But... you're not executing me?" Merlin clarified, hesitantly.

"No." Arthur gazed out across the city, deliberately not looking at Merlin. "But the law is the law whether I like it or not. The law must be applied. And it was all much simpler to do that when you were dead."

Merlin flinched. Arthur had every right to be angry, and Merlin had no right to hold it against him.

He did anyway.

Arthur drew in a breath as if to speak, to take back the harsh words, then stopped. He drew his hands down his face, exhaling against his palms. The man who re-emerged was colder, closed off. Shutting Merlin out.

"I have asked George to take over your duties," the King said, finally.

Acutely aware that he hadn't said exactly how long George was to be taking over his duties, Merlin didn't dare ask.

The next thing either of them knew the door banged open and Gwaine burst inside, followed closely by Percival, Elyan, and finally, a trailing Leon. "Welcome back to the world of the living!" announced Gwaine.

The knight's jovial expression froze, his steps drawing up short as he surveyed the scene they'd walked in on.

Turning from the window, Arthur avoided looking at Merlin, his face an expressionless mask. "Get your rest; I'll visit you again once I've... sorted things out." There was an odd blankness about him, a flatness to his inflection like a poor actor reading from a script. Or the parroting of words in a language he was imitating but did not comprehend.

Things between them were different now. They both sensed it, and Merlin wasn't sure if there was any way to fix it. Did their lives still fit together?

A nameless buzzing panic rose, filling his chest, his ears, redoubling with every step Arthur took towards the door. Arthur's hand was on the handle, pulling the door open before Merlin called out. "I do have magic! But I-"

The words, they wouldn't come. They stuck in his throat, choking him, so many of them he couldn't pick out individual sounds from the screaming mass. There was so much more he needed to say, and he didn't know how to begin. The certainty settled on him that, if he let Arthur just walk out that door, something would remain broken between them forever. It was desperation that thrust his hand out in a closed fist towards Arthur.

At the sudden movement towards their king, the knights responded. Perfectly honed reflexive instinct did what it had been trained for. Hands went to weapons, swords half relieved from sheathes before anyone comprehended what was happening.

Each and every one of them, with the singular exception of Gwaine, had moved as if to defend Arthur from an attack.

Freezing, the pulsing of his heart hammered in Merlin's throat; ears and cheeks burning. A flood of confusion and embarrassment washed across several of the faces around him. This, above all else perhaps, drove home how things had changed. Whatever their minds believed— their instincts told them he was a threat.

Slowly, very slowly, he raised his other hand palm open in a gesture of submission. They may as well have plunged their swords into him; it would have hurt less.

Arthur held up a hand to stay any further action, expression grieved. Only at that gesture did the knights relax again.

After a pause as he gathered himself, Merlin opened his fist. Blinking back tears he whispered, "Hine on ylde eft gewunigen wilgesibas, bonne wig cume."

Heat rushed through his body, flaring in his eyes. A revolving orb of blue light, its surface as pearlescent as a soap bubble coalesced in his palm. Arthur's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and, as Merlin had hoped, there was a flicker of recognition.

"I use it for you, Arthur; always for you."

The weight of every gaze in the room rested squarely on the young sorcerer but kept his own eyes fixed on Arthur alone. After a long moment, the king pulled open the door and walked out, brushing past Gaius without a word. Leon followed close on his heels, throwing an almost guilty look back into the room before the door closed after them both.

The light in Merlin's hand slowly faded. He was left sitting in bed, staring forlornly at the spot where Arthur had been moments before. He let his arm drop, the effort of having kept it raised for so long draining the limited stamina he'd regained.

"Merlin, we didn't, I don't…" Elyan trailed off, lost for words, not wanting to lie.

Forcing a smile Merlin shrugged, as though his heart weren't broken. "You don't need to apologize for being a loyal Knight, Elyan."

Although the sight had cut to the bone, he wasn't lying. He wouldn't hold it against them.

"You saved me."

Everyone looked to Percival. A man of few words, his voice was the last anyone expected to cut through such a terrible moment.

"On the field," The gruff man continued, brows furrowed. "You didn't realize it would be me, you just… knew someone would get hurt."

Flashing back to the seemingly insignificant moment in the battle with Morgana, Merlin nodded slowly. As he'd snatched Morgana's fire spell from careening into Camelot's ranks his eyes had met Percival's, recognizing him. "I guess."

The strongest of Camelot's knights stepped forward before going down onto his left knee, placing the fingertips of one hand over his heart. "Thank you."

Merlin's face flamed. It was a gesture of such profound respect that his eyes welled with tears as he swallowed, hard. Unable to speak past the knot in his throat he smiled. It was small, but it was a smile he felt.

Gwaine clapped Percival on the back, "Don't get too serious, now, he might start to think he's dying… again."

The long-haired knight's eyes sparkled in a gaunt face.

From behind them both, Elyan let out an exclamation of dawning realization, "You were always the old man!"

"What?" Merlin blinked, struggling to follow the rapid shift in both subject and tone.

Gwaine lunged and Merlin yelped in alarm, unsuccessfully trying to pull away as his friend trapped him in a playful headlock.

"Dragoon the Great? Really?"

"Well, I had to find some way to actually get things done around here!" Merlin exclaimed indignantly through a startled laugh. Although he had rather enjoyed tormenting the knights, he decided best not to mention it.

"Yeah? Well it seemed to come pretty naturally," growled Gwaine, smirking.

Elyan's face split in a rueful grin, helping Percival back to his feet.

Gwaine relaxed his hold enough that Merlin, even pitifully weak as he still was, was finally able to pull away. Laughter echoed off the high ceiling.

If Merlin was honest, It all seemed a bit forced, a little too jovial. Yet, he appreciated the effort they were making to reclaim some normalcy. And it did genuinely seem the revelation of his identity was enough to reframe Dragoon's actions in each of their minds. As impossible as it had seemed only seconds before, as he laughed along with the knights the yawning pit inside seemed just a bit smaller.

For the manservant, the light-hearted moment passed all too quickly. His humor drained away as his mind turned to tomorrow. There was a tightness at the edges of Elyan's mouth, a stiffness in the way Percival held himself, that demonstrated a level of discomfort.

While there was no way to speak for the knights, Merlin remained keenly aware of the inherent conflict in their roles; he, an unlawful sorcerer, and them, the enforcers of Camelot's law. Together, the lot of them existed in the tension between their bond of friendship with Merlin, their brotherhood with Arthur, and their pledged fealty to the crown. In such an equation, Merlin was distinctly overmatched. Should Arthur order it, each man here would be duty-bound to arrest or even execute him. Of course, Merlin had always been aware of that. That it was now a mutual understanding made it somehow more difficult to ignore.

He forced his thoughts away from that dark path with a question, "How are you all recovering?"

"What?" asked Elyan, blankly.

Merlin shrugged. "I know very little about Queen Morcant beyond the fact that she conspired to have you killed. For all I know, she spent the duration of your captivity torturing you. Are you doing well? How are your fingernails, all still there?"

"You really mean that, don't you?" Said the youngest knight, mystified. "You died, and you're worrying about us having spent a week in a dungeon. That's just so... so typical."

Elyan said it with a laugh, but the comment wounded Merlin.

"I never pretended to care, Elyan. I know there's a lot of things I hid, but I never lied about any of that."

There was a very long and painful pause where nobody knew quite what to say. There had been a lot of those lately. Merlin buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry."

Gwaine didn't give the room a chance to decide if it would descend, yet again, into silence. He jumped up, clapping his hands together.

"Don't the lot of you have things you need to be doing? Honestly, the state of this Kingdom! No wonder, with our knights sitting about like toadstools on a log."

Before anyone knew quite what was happening Merlin watched through his fingers as Gwaine swept the knights from the room like a matron shooing naughty children from her clean linens. Percival grinned and Elyan tried to protest, but Gwaine spread an open palm over the younger knight's face, effectively stopping him.

"I'm the only one designated to assist Gaius today, so the rest of you can go. I can feel my befuddlement creeping back in with every second I share with you lot! Away with you!"

With varying degrees of cooperation, they went. Percival threw a troubled glance over his shoulder and Merlin covered his eyes. The door clicked, and then the bed sagged as somebody sat down next to him. He stayed silent, embarrassed by his outburst. It was probably best he just never said anything ever again.

"He will come around. Arthur, I mean. Give it time. Only someone who cares deeply would feel so hurt."

Turning his head, Merlin considered Gwaine, "And how do you feel about it?" The question slipped out and he promptly wanted to take it back. The not saying anything ever again approach hadn't lasted long.

Gwaine leaned back, bracing his hands on the cot and tipping his chin up. "As a liar myself, I believe there are two kinds of people who make excellent liars."

He held up two fingers, ticking them down as he spoke, "The monsters and those who are desperate. Monsters have no conscience; they lie simply because they see no reason not to. But those who become excellent liars from practice or necessity do so because they are deeply ashamed. I don't think you are a monster, Merlin."

What his friend offered was not absolution, neither was it blame. It felt more honest than either.

Gwaine wasn't finished. "You're the only one here who knows I come from noble blood. It's not easy keeping secrets— even ones you've had your whole life. You're never quite sure how others will react." He laid a hand on Merlin's shoulder and met his eyes, " Or… how much to say to someone when you find out their secrets."

Merlin nodded, studying the knight, not following.

Gwaine raised his eyebrows, waiting for the copper to drop.

Merlin's stomach somersaulted. "You knew!?"

Gwaine shrugged. "When we first set out to meet Dyfed on the field, I followed your tracks. I found the bodies of the people who'd taken you. If I'm honest I've suspected something was going on with you for a while. I kept trying to talk to you about it in camp, but you were avoiding me."

He reached over, putting one arm companionably around Merlin's shoulders. "We both have our reasons for the secrets we keep. Merlin, whether you have magic or not, isn't going to change the fact that you're my friend. Arthur knows that too, even if it's taking him a little longer to figure it out."

Merlin knew how badly he wanted to believe that. On an average day, the word goofy could accurately describe Gwaine. Maybe that was the reason Merlin had so sincerely underestimated him.

What a terrible realization that was to have about the way you thought of a friend.

"You sure that knock on your head didn't scramble your brain?"

"Who'd notice if it did?" Said Gwaine with a wink.

Ruffling Merlin's hair fondly the knight stood up, "Today may be dreadful, but tomorrow is always a chance to try again. Now, you really should rest."

Nodding, Merlin watched as Gwaine walked to the door. "Hey, Gwaine?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

The knight paused and looked back when he reached the doorway.

"It'll work out."

And with that, Merlin was left alone.

Uncertain of what else to do, he stood, unsteady. Merlin shifted from one foot to the other, feeling unwanted and out of place but with nowhere to go either. He was exhausted, hurt, and angry. He edged towards the window with the glacial speed of someone with no sense of purpose.

Clinging to the windowsill, breathing hard from even the short walk across the room, he pressed his forehead against the cool glass and stared outside. Sun high, townsfolk milling about, a midday queue forming at the water pump. He saw a world that looked, on the outside, the same as it had before.

Overcome by weakness, Merlin sank to the floor, turning to sit against the wall under the window. Was it a world he just didn't fit into anymore? If he were being honest with himself… had he ever? Or in the background of his mind, had it always felt like there was a division; a pane of glass, between himself and everyone else. Present, but try as he might never be part of things. Not really. Despite that, he'd found himself a purpose, as misplaced as he was. Would Arthur allow him to continue to serve him?

The question lanced through his mind like a spike of ice. The next breath came a searing wave of anger. Shame and indignation flushed Merlin's cheeks— had he not proved himself time and again? Had he not always been the model of loyalty and steadfast devotion, and this was the thanks he got? The gal of the man!

Merlin's heart seemed to be twisting, was Gaius certain he'd been fully healed? His lungs didn't seem to be working properly either.

The memory of what it was to feel a blade ripping through muscle and organ rose in his flesh. The airy light-headed sensation of the body's heat spilling out across the skin. The certainty and confidence he'd felt even as he'd given his life. Would nothing he'd do ever be good enough to prove himself to that prat!?

Could he ever be enough?

He couldn't seem to get enough air; he was suffocating. They'd missed something. His lungs still weren't right. Anger blotted out his vision, heat concentrating tight on his forehead. Hands touched him and he thrashed, surprised.

Gaius. The man was trying to pull him upright, his lips were moving but Merlin had to blink a few times before he heard anything over the roar of blood in his ears.

Merlin shoved his hands away, "Don't help me!"

"Nonsense, we need to get you back to—"

"Gaius, haven't you realized I've likely cost you your position? I've taken everything from you. Stop, I don't deserve it!"

Gaius didn't stop. He didn't leave. He hesitated, then pulled his robes around himself, and lowered his old frame down to the floor next to Merlin. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

The words crumpled something inside Merlin and the rage buckled.

In the sudden absence of an imminent threat, the mental and physical toll of having been kidnapped and beaten, of fearing for the lives of his friends, and of being exposed as a sorcerer before then killing Morgana and dying himself welled up. All of that was before today had pulled him in so many directions his emotions seemed torn to bloody ribbons.

It laid him bare. He had nothing left to give or to put forward. Like porcelain dropped on a stone floor, he shattered.

He was too tired.

Chest heaving Merlin bent forward, pressing his forehead to his raised knees. There was screaming in his mind. It tried to force its way from his lips. One cry escaped before he clamped his mouth shut. If the screaming started, he didn't think it would ever stop. His teeth ached from the efforts of crushing the noise, their crescendo built heavy in his bones. It was going to shake him apart. He couldn't make sense of the tangle of the debris that so recently had been his life.

Gaius's hand was warm, his touch grounding, resting on his back as Merlin silently wept his grief.

Eventually, the tears ceased, trailing off into sheer exhaustion. And then, as any good father would, Gaius gently guided him back to bed where he brought him a warm bowl of grain and a cup of honeyed milk. And he even made sure there was extra honey.