The throne room buzzed with hushed whispers. Gwaine, Percival, Leon, and Mordred huddled in a tight circle, their voices barely above a murmur. Eira and Isaac stood a few paces away, soothing a fretful Simon.

Merlin, deep in thought, nearly jumped when Simon suddenly commanded "Up, up!", his arms outstretched in the universal child demand. Merlin chuckled despite his worry and obliged, hoisting him effortlessly.

Simon's brow furrowed in concentration as he pressed a hand to Merlin's chest. A tingle, almost like a laugh, danced through Merlin's magic. Merlin smothered a chuckle, saying, "That tickles!"

Glancing around quickly to be sure no one was watching, Merlin poked Simon playfully in return, sending a small wave of warmth through the boy. Simon giggled, shivering slightly, and Merlin couldn't help but smile, though doubt gnawed at him.

"Do you like your magic?" Simon asked in a soft voice. "I like it, but it makes Mama sad. Is your Mama sad?"

Merlin's smile faltered, his gaze darting nervously around the room. Guinevere, having just emerged from the council room, was deep in conversation with Eira, oblivious. The knights seemed oddly preoccupied, still engaged in a hushed but intense discussion. Memories of his mother's tight brave expression flickered at the edges of Merlin's mind. "Most of the time I like it," Merlin admitted, his voice low. "Sometimes it scares me, too. But your Mama… she's just worried, like all mamas and papas are about their children."

Simon looked thoughtful. "Because the bad men will take me away?"

Merlin winced, torn between honesty and the need to protect. "The King knows you have magic, and he doesn't care," he said gently. "But it will take a while for everyone to understand. One day it will be safe for us, I promise." Yet the certainty in his voice felt like a fragile mask.

Simon looked contemplative, a seriousness beyond his years in his eyes. Merlin, feeling a surge of protectiveness for the little boy, ruffled his hair affectionately. "Does the King like your magic?" Simon asked, staring at Merlin intently.

Merlin's breath caught in his throat. He blinked, unprepared for such candid curiosity coming from the little boy. "He… he doesn't even know," Merlin murmured, his words trailing off as if meant more for his own ears than for Simon's. His voice wavered with the weight of uncertainty as he admitted, almost in a whisper, "He'd be furious with me. He might not want me around anymore." His forehead creased deeply as he reconsidered the dangerous plan of confessing his magical abilities to Arthur.

Suddenly, Gwaine's voice interjected, startling Merlin so badly he nearly dropped Simon. "Don't you think it's time you told him and found out?" Gwaine challenged, his tone both teasing and unwavering.

The room fell silent. Merlin stared at Gwaine, his heart hammering in his chest. Before he could stammer out a reply, Guinevere spoke up, her voice soft but firm.

"He needs you, Merlin," she said. "And you need him. It won't be easy, but you'll get through it together."

Merlin's mind reeled. How? When? Did everyone know? He felt like a cornered stag, his eyes darting from one face to the next. The knights all wore expressions of understanding, sympathy even. Eira, sensing the tension, subtly grabbed Simon from Merlin over Simon's protests.

Percival scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I overheard you and Lancelot talking about a magical threat," he confessed.

Mordred, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips, said cryptically, "You know how I know." Gwaine looked at him with a narrowed gaze.

Leon chuckled dryly. "Branches only fall and enemies only drop their swords when you're around. In all honesty, it took some time to accept, but once I did, everything made sense… you made sense."

Guinevere placed a sympathetic hand on Merlin's shoulder. "You gave Arthur my father's sword, Merlin. Only the next time I saw it, it was embedded in stone and is now clearly otherwordly. That, along with your other... oddities, it wasn't hard to piece together. And you did say you were in disguise."

Gwaine chimed in. "The dwarf at the bridge to the Perilous Lands called me Strength. He said we needed Courage, Strength, and Magic to complete the quest. Clearly, Arthur wasn't Magic," he said with a laugh. Gwaine landed a playful punch on Merlin's arm. "Besides, my friend, you're not exactly subtle about it."

A surge of panic gripped Merlin as his greatest secret—the one he'd safeguarded so fiercely—suddenly seemed to hover openly between them. He scoured his memories, trying to pinpoint when they each found out. "I need to sit down," he mumbled, collapsing onto the cool, worn stones of the throne room floor.

"Arthur hasn't executed a sorcerer without just cause. He's reaching out to the druids. He's changing. If you wait any longer, the trust between you two may be irreparably broken," Percival said with a grimace.

"We all care about you, Merlin," Guinevere added, her gaze sweeping over the others who nodded in unison. "We wouldn't dream of forcing you, but know that we're behind you."

Merlin felt tears prick his eyes. The knowledge that his friends had accepted him, magic and all, was a bittersweet comfort. He had lived in fear for so long, the weight of his secret a constant burden. Now, the burden remained, but it felt lighter, shared amongst those who cared for him. "Thank you," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. He looked up at them, his gaze sweeping over each face. "I was planning on telling him. Seeing the fear in Simon's parents' eyes... it mirrored my own mother's fear. I held back for so long, afraid he'd think I manipulated him... that he'd hate me." A pained expression crossed his face. "But I also think I did him a disservice. Maybe he would've learned, and Simon wouldn't have been dragged in like this."

Gwaine spoke up. "You did what you thought was best, Merlin. No one can ask for more than that. And on top of that, you've saved our lives countless times. We appreciate you, my friend."

Percival and Leon nodded in agreement, offering encouraging smiles.

"He'll be hurt, Merlin," Guinevere warned gently. "You know him, better than anyone, even me. It'll come out as anger. But you two are practically brothers, the way you care about each other. He's been betrayed too much and I know it'll sting. But you haven't betrayed him, Merlin, and eventually he'll realize that."

"I don't think he'd ever truly hate you," Leon said. The rest of the knights nodded in agreement. "He'll get over the initial anger. He might ask you to leave for a while, to give him some space, and that might not be a bad thing for either of you. But you'll find your way back."

Merlin took a deep breath, his resolve solidifying. He started to stand up when Percival, ever the gentle giant, grabbed him by the arm and effortlessly hoisted him to his feet. Merlin looked at his friends, a watery smile gracing his lips.

"Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for not hating me, for not turning me in."

The knights responded with a playful punch to his shoulder and Guinevere with a warm smile.

Merlin felt a mental nudge, a quick and familiar sensation that signaled Mordred was pushing a thought into his head. "Do you mind if I tell them about my magic? I don't mean to take the focus away from you."

"Please take the focus," Merlin projected back at Mordred, a hint of desperation tinged with humor lacing his thoughts.

Mordred seemed to catch the humor, a flicker of a smile ghosting across his lips before he cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Ummm... I have something to tell you," Mordred announced, his voice tight.

The room fell silent once more. Heads swiveled towards Mordred, brows furrowed in confusion. Gwaine, ever the blunt one, blurted out the question first. "You have magic, too?" he asked, disbelief coloring his voice.

Mordred blinked, momentarily taken aback by the blunt question. "Ah, yes," Mordred replied, attempting a nonchalant shrug that failed to disguise his tension. "That sums it up, I suppose."

Guinevere swatted Gwaine playfully on the arm, a small smile playing on her lips. "Honestly, Gwaine," she chided, "let Mordred have his moment."

Mordred stood rigidly under the scrutiny of his companions. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling a heat rise to his cheeks that had nothing to do with magic.

"Well, I did not see that coming," Percival finally said with a hearty laugh, breaking the silence.

Mordred visibly relaxed at Percival's lightheartedness, though a slight grimace remained on his face. "I'm going to tell Arthur, too," he announced, his voice firmer now.

Merlin winced. Sharing his secret was one thing, but seeing Mordred follow suit, perhaps feeling pressured by his actions, filled him with a pang of guilt. "Are you sure?" he projected at Mordred, concern lacing his thoughts. "Don't feel pressured to just because I've lost my mind."

Mordred laughed, more a nervous chuckle than anything else. "I'm sure," he projected back, his resolve seeming to solidify with each passing moment.

Another round of playful punches and smiles broke out, this time for Mordred.

Gwaine then threw his arm around Mordred's shoulders and asked jovially, "So, can you do something about this pink tunic?" Mordred blinked owlishly and burst out laughing, he hadn't even noticed Simon's handiwork.

Arthur was surprised at the jovial atmosphere as he opened the council room doors, especially in such contrast to the heavy atmosphere he left behind. Everyone seemed to be laughing and congratulating Mordred as if they had just returned from a triumphant hunt where Mordred had felled the grandest of stags. He frowned and made a mental note to ask about this bizarre celebration later. Setting aside that curiosity, Arthur turned to a nearby guard, his voice low but firm as he instructed him to fetch Isaac and Elyan into the room. His eyes scanned the gathering, searching for Gaius among the ripple of lively conversation, but the old healer was nowhere to be seen. With a frustrated sigh, Arthur decided that if Gaius emerged, he was to be summoned immediately. Gaius had appeared particularly worn-out after their previous exchange, his normally kind features shadowed and haggard, leaving Arthur with a gnawing concern.

"You wanted to see me, Pendragon?" Isaac's voice was clipped, his posture guarded.

Arthur, seated at the head of the table, leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. Internally he bristled at being called Pendragon in such a disrespectful manner, but he refused to give Isaac the satisfaction of getting angry. With a subtle beckon from his hand, he invited Isaac to sit. Arthur's voice emerged soft and unexpectedly warm as he began, "Isaac, I am beginning to understand that magic is not the evil I was raised to believe it is. I want to learn more."

Isaac's gaze snapped up, surprise flickering across his face. He searched Arthur's eyes, looking for any hint of deceit.

"I won't force you to answer," Arthur continued, "but I would be most grateful if you would be willing to provide information."

Isaac remained silent for a long moment, studying Arthur with a mixture of suspicion and a flicker of something that might have been hope. "What do you want to know?" he asked slowly.

Arthur leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "First, I intend to deliver your family somewhere safe." Isaac scoffed, but Arthur ignored him. "As much as it pains me to say it, even if I made magic legal tomorrow, Simon would not be safe here at the heart of Camelot."

Isaac's retort came laced with venom, "He's not safe anywhere. Uther's reach has been great. His words have infected not just all of this kingdom, but those around it." Arthur ignored the way Isaac spat the name 'Uther' like it was poison. He really couldn't blame the man. "Everywhere magic users go, we are in fear. Subject to distrust, whispers, and watchful eyes. We live in the shadows, hiding from those who would burn us at the stake." His voice grew thick with emotion. "Even in the most tolerant kingdoms, acceptance is a thin veneer. One wrong move, one accidental outburst of uncontrolled magic, and the mob mentality returns."

Arthur listened intently, his expression grim. "Is there nowhere safe then?" he asked, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice.

Isaac shook his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Not truly. And even if there were a safe haven, I wouldn't in good conscience share its location with you. Perhaps the Druids in their hidden groves, given your peace with them, but even they are not immune. It's a constant state of vigilance. Always ready to flee, to hide. Younger generations," he added, bitterness coloring his voice, "they have no memory of a time when magic wasn't demonized. Their parents, if they dare explain the truth, put them at terrible risk."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. "So much prejudice to overcome," he muttered, the enormity of the task sinking in.

"Indeed," Isaac replied, watching Arthur closely. "The path would be long and arduous, Pendragon. Prejudice is a deep-rooted weed. It won't be banished by a king's decree."

Arthur looked up, meeting Isaac's gaze directly. "Tell me, Isaac – what would it take for magic users to feel safe again?"

A bitter laugh escaped Isaac as he dismissed the term 'safe.' "Safe," Isaac scoffed, despite the sincerity he could detect in Arthur's voice. "I returned home from a hunt to find piles of charred bodies, my brother and nieces included, courtesy of your father." His voice cracked, and he looked away, clenching his fists. "For no reason other than how they were born." Isaac slammed his fist on the table in his anger and shame, the sound echoing in the chamber. At the loud noise Elyan's hand instinctively flew to the hilt of his sword, but Arthur quickly put his hand on Elyan's arm, a calming gesture. Isaac turned to look at them, his eyes haunted and wild. For his part, Arthur felt sick to his stomach. The image of innocent lives, cast aside, always haunted him.

Arthur nodded slowly. "I am deeply sorry for what you endured, Isaac. While I cannot pretend to fully comprehend your pain, I offer my sincere apologies, not just for myself but on behalf of my family. Though I cannot resurrect the lost, I pledge to forge a future where others like Simon might know peace and acceptance."

Isaac nodded, seeming defeated. Arthur waited with an earnest, expectant silence—trusting that Isaac would speak when ready. "You asked, what it would take for magic users to feel safe - time and teaching," he said finally, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "Time for fear to fade, for trust to rebuild. Time for a generation raised on fear to be taught and accept the truth."

As he looked at the somber but earnest expression on Arthur's face, shame pricked at Isaac's conscience. He thought of the harsh words he'd thrown at Merlin, accusing him of failing as Emrys. Yet here was Arthur—apologetic and sincere—a stark contrast to the unyielding nature of his father. If this was truly as a result of Emrys's influence as the young knight would have him believe, perhaps the young man had not deserved his condemnation.

With a long, weary sigh, Arthur allowed the tension to ebb slightly. Isaac's answer made sense, but where to start? "Thank you, Isaac, for your counsel."

Isaac nodded, sensing the dismissal. He found himself oddly reluctant to leave, wishing he had some pearl of wisdom to impart that would hasten the return of magic and the safety of his son. At that moment Gaius entered, bowing to Arthur before taking his place at his side. Arthur murmured a few quiet words to Gaius before offering Isaac a small, almost imperceptible nod. Rising from his seat, Isaac turned to exit but paused as if wrestling with an unsaid thought. With measured caution, he suggested, "You might try finding a High Priest or Priestess. Although I doubt any would willingly converse with the son of Uther, if any still remain alive at all." A puzzled glance from Arthur prompted Isaac to continue, "The High Priests and Priestesses were pillars of the Old Religion, as Kings and Queens are pillars of their Kingdoms. It was typical for a King to have a High Priest or Priestess as court sorcerer, or just as a close advisor if the Priest wanted no official ties to any kingdom. Should you secure their support, the tide might very well turn."

"Did my father have a such a man?" Arthur asked, looking to Gaius.

"Nimueh, my Lord, but she's been dead for nearly a decade. You once met her, Sire," Gaius continued. The revelation sent ripples of shock through Arthur. "At the Caves of Balor. She was the sorceress who ambushed you."

A heavy sigh escaped Arthur as he pressed, "Are there any still living?"

Gaius hesitated ever so slightly, a flash of uncertainty crossing his usually steady expression. "There may be, Sire, although I only know of one myself."

At this revelation, Isaac tilted his head slightly, his eyes alight with a spark of realization as though the identity of the remaining High Priest had suddenly become crystal clear.

"Where can I find this High Priest?" Arthur pressed earnestly, his gaze flickering between Gaius and Isaac.

"I'm afraid that information isn't readily available, Sire," Gaius said, his voice firm.

"Because you don't know, or because you won't tell me?" Arthur demanded, irritation creeping into his voice.

Gaius met Arthur's gaze unflinchingly. "The latter, Sire."

Arthur was incredulous. He turned back to Isaac, who seemed amused by the situation. "You know who it is, too, don't you?" he asked slowly.

Isaac simply nodded.

Arthur, his tone clipped and his words straining in frustration, demanded, "Will you tell me?" His gritted teeth betrayed his internal conflict as he wondered what use were vague directions without a path to act upon them.

Isaac's expression hardened slightly as he answered, his voice firm yet gentle, "I would sooner lay down my life than risk endangering another magic user, Sire, no matter how eloquent your words may be." Behind his resolute tone lay an unexpected tenderness, a reluctant hope that perhaps Arthur's intentions were pure—yet the danger was too great a gamble.

Arthur considered reminding them he was king and could demand answers under threat of treason, but he knew that wouldn't win him any trust. "I don't mean to hurt him," he said quietly, wondering if that was why they were so hesitant to reveal the High Priest's identity.

"I know you don't, Arthur," Gaius explained gently. "But trust for magic users takes time to rebuild. I can tell him of your desire to meet, but if he chooses not to, I won't force his hand."

Arthur, though clearly frustrated, couldn't argue with Gaius's logic. "Very well," he sighed. "Thank you, Gaius."

A newfound respect bloomed in Isaac's heart for Arthur. He imagined how any other king might react to blatantly being denied information, and Arthur's restraint spoke volumes about his character. Isaac knew for sure, with a pang of guilt, that he owed Emrys an apology. This time when Arthur nodded, he bowed respectfully and left the room, his heart lighter than it had been in some time.

As Arthur emerged from the council room again, his eyes were drawn to Merlin. Merlin was crouched to Simon's level as Simon gesticulated excitedly, as if he were describing some masterpiece he wished to build. Merlin had a fond smile on his face and seemed perfectly at ease with Simon leaning cozily against his leg. Arthur's mind drifted back to darker memories - how Merlin had once prevented him from running his father through when he learned of his father's hypocrisy, and telling him not too long ago there was no place for magic in Camelot. And yet here Merlin was, chatting happily with a magical child. Then again, Merlin always did have a soft spot for children.

The atmosphere shifted instantly as every pair of eyes turned to Arthur when he began his approach. The jovial atmosphere that had filled the room moments before died down abruptly, replaced by a tense silence.

Arthur awkwardly fumbled for something to say, feeling more inadequate than he had since his father died. 'I hope you're having a pleasant stay,' certainly didn't seem the right place to start. 'Thank you for coming,' didn't seem right either, given the circumstances in which they were brought in. Gwaine's raised eyebrow finally snapped him out of his thoughts and he said, "I'm sorry for the ordeal you've had today and I'd still like to offer my assistance. I'm happy to provide you with provisions and an escort for your journey."

"An escort from Camelot would only put targets on our backs, Pendragon," Isaac said with a sad chuckle. Arthur noted that there was no venom in the way he said 'Pendragon' this time.

Arthur sighed. "Alright, provisions only then. Steward will have a cart and horses ready for you whenever you choose to leave."

Eira's nervous eyes flickered between Arthur and Isaac as she offered a timid, "We would be most grateful, Sire, thank you."

In not long at all, Steward arrived and they settled on a plan for the family to stay for the night at the castle and leave in the morning, with a letter from Arthur with his seal meant to guarantee their safety. "Elyan," Arthur addressed the knight, his voice carrying a forced firmness, "please show them to their chambers. They're to be given anything they need."

Elyan inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Of course, Sire."

Simon's lower lip trembled as he pouted. "I don't want to go!" he whined, stamping a tiny foot on the stone floor.

Eira knelt down and grasped his hand firmly. "Come on, Simon. The King has a nice room waiting for us. I suspect it even has a bed," she soothed, her tone warm and coaxing. Arthur, who was accustomed to far more luxurious accommodations, was a bit taken aback that simply having a bed was an attraction.

"But I want to stay with Merlin!" Simon persisted dramatically, yanking his hand away from his mother's grasp. Merlin was struggling to stifle a laugh.

"Simon!" Isaac said sternly, his voice leaving no room for argument. Simon's face fell. Then, in a moment of what he clearly thought was sheer brilliance, he piped up, "Can you come with us?" he asked Merlin excitedly. "Then you can show me more magic!"

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Guinevere, Gaius, and the knights exchanged panicked glances. This wasn't how they envisioned Merlin's magic being revealed. Their worried gazes flickered between Arthur and Merlin, silently bracing for the fallout.

Isaac, his face reddening with anger, grabbed Simon's arm. "Come on, now!" he hissed, ushering the boy towards Eira. Simon, clearly cowed, finally surrendered and allowed himself to be led away by his mother. Isaac, already burdened by guilt over his treatment of Emrys, felt a fresh wave of remorse wash over him.

Merlin stood stock-still, his gaze flitting towards Arthur from the corner of his eye. He slowly turned, meeting Arthur's fiery stare head-on. Merlin's heart hammered in his chest, his throat constricting with a sudden wave of nausea. The thought of confessing what he had long concealed—telling Arthur the truth—clashed with the terror of the consequences of such honesty.

"Something you'd like to tell me, Merlin?" Arthur inquired, his voice deceptively calm, yet laced with a dangerous undercurrent. "Learn any new hobbies lately?" The question was laced with sarcasm, the playful facade barely concealing a simmering anger. Surely this must be a joke, a misunderstanding. There was no way Merlin could have magic.

The knights and Gaius subtly shifted closer to Merlin, a silent show of support and protection. Guinevere moved towards Arthur, prepared to intervene if things escalated.

Merlin squared his shoulders. His voice, though trembling slightly, held a note of defiance. "I'm like Simon, Arthur," he confessed. "Only my magic manifested even earlier. I was born with the executioner's axe at my neck, and I've lived with that fear my entire life – not just for myself, but for anyone else who might find out." His gaze unconsciously darted towards the assembled Knights.

Arthur, following Merlin's line of sight, slowly scanned each Knight's face – Gwaine's defiance, Mordred's nervousness, Percival's placid acceptance, Leon's veiled guilt. Guinivere's empathy. Each expression added up to a horrifying truth – they all knew. The realization slammed into him with the force of a battering ram. He had been betrayed, kept in the dark by every single person in the room. The pain was excruciating.

Guinevere, sensing his growing anger and despair, spoke up. "I found out accidentally, Arthur, we all did," she explained, her voice filled with concern. "And Merlin didn't even know we knew until today. He saved you, in so many ways, and I couldn't repay him by betraying his secret." Her voice softened further, "He planned to tell you today, but not like this."

Arthur stared ahead, his vision blurring at the edges. Merlin couldn't be a traitor. He was the bedrock, the constant in a world of chaos. And Guinevere, his love, held secrets, too?

The silence stretched, suffocating. Merlin blurted out, his voice laced with desperation, "I use it for good, Arthur, I swear it! To protect you, to protect Camelot. I won't claim I haven't made mistakes, but all I've done is for you."

Arthur's face remained a stoic mask, offering Merlin no comfort. Merlin's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, threatening to burst free.

"He speaks the truth, Sire," Leon interjected hesitantly, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. "Merlin's loyalty surpasses any knight's. He's saved your life countless times. All of our lives."

The Knights murmured their agreement, their words washing over Arthur like a distant wave. Arthur couldn't reconcile this image of a heroic sorcerer with the Merlin he knew. Confusion flickered across his face for a fleeting moment, then vanished as quickly as it appeared. "Show me," Arthur demanded. His tone was edged with a desperate incredulity; it couldn't be true. He needed Merlin by his side.

Merlin released a long, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of countless unresolved years, his expression shifting to one of solemn contemplation. Slowly, his mournful eyes brightened and transformed into a vivid, shimmering gold—a mesmerizing change that captured Arthur's attention. Arthur's gaze darted around the room as he tried to decipher the magic unfolding before him. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice rising with alarm.

"Nothing," Merlin replied softly. "This is who I am." His tone held a sadness that spoke of burdens too heavy to shrug off.

Mordred's breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide with shock and something akin to reverence. He managed a single word—a soft utterance that sounded like "ember"—that barely registered in Arthur's ears. Even Gaius, ever the composed elder, seemed visibly shaken, his features contorting in surprise and curiosity. Merlin offered Mordred a grim, almost sorrowful smile before his eyes reverted to their regular, unremarkable hue.

Arthur wrestled with conflicting emotions—curiosity clashed with burgeoning resentment—until finally, his voice emerged low and dangerous, fracturing the fragile hope that still clung to Merlin's heart. "You betrayed me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. The raw pain and anger in it were unmistakable.

"By being born?" Merlin shot back, his voice laced with a desperate defiance. "I have never betrayed you, Arthur."

But the seed of doubt had been sown. Arthur wasn't interested in excuses, not after everything that had transpired with Morgana and Aggravaine.

"You lied!" he roared, his voice echoing in the vast chamber. Guinevere flinched, startled by the sudden outburst.

"Yes," Merlin admitted, his voice devoid of remorse. "I lied to everyone. It was instilled in me from the moment I could understand, and for good reason. This lot," Merlin continued, gesturing vaguely about the room, "have figured it out themselves, but I have never confided in a single soul." Except Freya, he thought, but this wasn't the time for that revelation.

A flicker of surprise crossed Arthur's face. Merlin's blunt honesty was unexpected. He remembered the shame of his own recent actions, the harsh words against magic that had tumbled freely from his lips. Shame burned in his gut. Merlin must have absorbed every word, every insult over the years. Arthur's anger began to simmer down. The question he yearned to ask – why Merlin hadn't trusted him – felt too vulnerable to utter.

As if reading his mind, Merlin broke the silence. "You want to know why I didn't tell you?" His voice was laced with a bitterness that surprised even himself. He hadn't planned on airing his grievances.

Arthur started, momentarily caught off guard. Had he spoken aloud?

"I trust you with my life, Arthur," Merlin continued, "in all areas but this. Do you have any idea how many times you've threatened to throw me in the dungeons for warnings you didn't like? Warnings that turned out to be true time and again. Yet, it never mattered. You still never thought I was worth listening to."

Arthur stared at Merlin, the harsh truths hanging heavy in the air. Again shame tinged his anger, a bitter aftertaste of his own prejudices. He couldn't deny the truth in Merlin's words. How many times had he dismissed Merlin's warnings, his insights, simply because they came from his clumsy servant?

Merlin's voice grew steadier, the bitterness morphing into a quiet, painful truth. "If merely giving you correct information is enough to land me in the dungeons, then what would telling you something highly illegal about myself result in? You think me nothing more than an amusing idiot, always available for you to unleash your frustrations on. Forgive me, but I have a difficult time placing my life in the hands of someone who believes I hold so little value." Merlin regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth, but he wasn't going to take them back.

The weight of Merlin's words hit Arthur like a physical blow. Was this truly how Merlin perceived him? A harsh master rather than a friend? The revelation was a bitter pill to swallow. Then again, hadn't he told Merlin more than once that they weren't and could never be friends?

Arthur's gaze hardened into an icy glare as he muttered his decision, one that seemed to seal the fate of their longstanding bond. "You will escort Isaac and Eira wherever they wish to go. And then you won't come back," he stated flatly, his voice devoid of any warmth or emotion.

Merlin's shoulders slumped in defeat. Leon's grim prediction had come true – banishment. A dull ache settled in his chest, but a strange sense of acceptance followed. He'd already begun processing this possibility, bracing himself for the potential rejection.

Guinevere intervened, her voice soft but firm. "Arthur, are you sure that's necessary? Perhaps you should take some time to consider."

Arthur turned to her, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "I've had enough of lies and betrayal," he said, his voice barely a whisper. Louder, he continued, "The laws against magic stand, for now. I can't make an exception for one man." Arthur chose to ignore the hypocrisy of his own words, knowing even just today he had let a magic user go free.

Merlin's jaw clenched as he fought back the surge of indignation. He hadn't betrayed Arthur. He would never betray him.

Suddenly, a new voice cut through the tense atmosphere. "I'm going with him, if Merlin will have me," Mordred declared boldly, his voice ringing with surprising defiance. Merlin's head snapped towards the young knight, his jaw slack with disbelief. "I… I have magic, too, Sire," Mordred continued. "Since I was a child, just like Merlin and Simon. You actually saved my life once when I was a child – the Druid boy you and Morgana hid and whisked away from the citadel."

Arthur stared at Mordred, shock etched on his face. The resemblance, previously unnoticed, now seemed glaringly obvious. The revelation felt like the floor collapsing beneath him. Could he trust no one? Mordred's public display of loyalty was all the more surprising considering Merlin's frosty demeanor towards the young knight. Their interactions had always been curt, laced with a subtle hostility on Merlin's part. Yet, here stood Mordred, putting his own head on the chopping block for a man who had never exactly welcomed him with open arms.

"I'm going, too," Gwaine declared, stepping forward to stand beside Merlin and Mordred. "No magic, here, but Merlin has saved my life countless times over. I can't repay that with scorn. He's a good man… the best actually." Gwaine's loyalty came as no surprise, yet the intensity of it stung Arthur nonetheless.

Percival gave them a nod of understanding. He yearned to follow them, but loyalty to Lancelot's memory kept him rooted to Arthur's side. Leon's heart ached for Merlin, but his loyalty remained with the king.

Arthur looked at his former friends, his knights, as if seeing them for the first time. "Fine," he conceded, his voice devoid of its usual power. "Mordred, Gwaine, you're both stripped of your knighthoods."

Merlin and Guinevere gasped in unison. "Arthur!" they exclaimed, their voices laced with shock and disapproval. Arthur, however, ignored their pleas.

Gwaine, hotheaded as ever, scoffed. Losing his knighthood meant little to him, a title he hadn't even sought in the first place. But Mordred, young and eager to please, took it harder. He looked down, hiding a welling tear, only to feel Gwaine's reassuring bump on his shoulder.

Merlin, his heart heavy, turned to Mordred and Gwaine. "Please," he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion, "you don't have to do this. I'm not worth it."

Gwaine met his gaze, his voice steady and unwavering. "Yes. You are." Mordred, despite his own hurt, offered a silent nod in agreement.

A bitter pang of jealousy surged through Arthur as he looked on—a sour taste rising from the depths of his own insecurities. Why was their loyalty so readily given to Merlin, a man who kept secrets, who practiced magic deemed forbidden? What was Merlin offering them that he, their King, wasn't?

"You can each take a horse from the stables and supplies enough for your journey," Arthur conceded, words laden with anger and finality. "After that… to hell with you." With that, he stormed out of the throne room, leaving behind a scene of shattered loyalty and unspoken pain.