"Do something for me, would you, Merlin?"

"Hm. . . ?" Merlin looked up from the ties of Arthur's hauberk to look over his shoulder, catching the King's gaze in the mirror. "What?"

Arthur rolled his eyes at the blank look on his servant's face. "It's been two weeks since the incident with the Druid girl in the dungeon. Samhain has come and gone peacefully, it's a new year, and the people are happy. The sun is shining, and yet you're still gloomy as an old rain cloud. Sometimes I think that if you died and were granted eternal happiness, you'd still find a way to be unhappy."

"Sorry," he muttered, tying off the hauberk's laces and turning to the pauldron on Arthur's shoulder. Under his fingers, the strap felt worn. It would need replacing soon. "It's just that it dredged up a lot of bad memories. They don't fade quickly. " The old memories of the burnings he had witnessed leaked into his dreams for a full week after, robbing him of sleep and forcing him to relive them, the events playing out until the moments- far too many of them- where he had reached out with his own magic and put the victims out of their misery. Some might call it mercy. It still felt like murder to him.

Murder. . .

He fumbled with the pauldron's strap, and the words slipped from his lips before he could stop them, "Arthur, there's something else I need to tell you about the day the Knights of Medhir attacked us."

"Oh? What's that? You didn't find any other dragons in the caverns, did you?" He did not miss the forced lightness in the King's tone. Arthur had forgiven him for that, Merlin knew, but that did not mean he didn't still harbor some bit of anger.

"No, nothing like that." Merlin licked his lips. "It's about Morgause's spell, the one that put everyone to sleep. I didn't tell you how it was broken." He quickly finished tightening the pauldron's strap against Arthur's back so his nervous fingers would not botch it up.

"You didn't, did you?" Arthur turned when he felt Merlin's hands drop away. "The bit about the dragon seemed rather more important at the time."

"Yeah," Merlin looked down at tugged at his sleeves. "I told you I had no good choices that day, and I didn't. Swear an oath or let Camelot fall, release the dragon or let my mother die. The third one still. . . It still feels like it was the worst of them." He trailed to a halt, suddenly unsure of what to say, or even if he wanted to go on. But he had begun, and Arthur was waiting for an answer. He had to keep going. "Part of the reason the spell was as strong as it was, was because Morgause had found a living vessel to carry it. She could have centered it on a rock or a horse, but it wouldn't have been as strong. It wouldn't have lasted so long. She needed someone to make it last, so she focused it on Morgana. That's why she wasn't affected. It's why she didn't fall asleep like everyone else."

"Why didn't you tell me this at the time?" Arthur's gaze was hard.

"How would I have explained knowing it? Told you I was a sorcerer then? Told you Morgana was developing her own powers? What would your father have done to us? I couldn't tell you how I knew." He shook his head, frustrated at where the conversation was trying to go. "The point is that when I spoke to Kilgharrah, and he told me what I needed to do to lift the spell. . . He- I had to kill the spell's vessel to end it." Merlin struggled to look at Arthur and not let his gaze fall away. He took a breath and forced himself to say the next words. "To save Camelot, I had to kill Morgana,"

Arthur's face emptied of expression. Merlin stepped back, trembling. "What did you do?"

"I. . . I poisoned her. Hemlock, in the water."

The King turned away. His fingers tightened into fists. Merlin was suddenly glad that it was a practice session they were preparing for, and not actual combat. The sheathed sword on the table was nothing more than a blunted practice sword. He kept silent and still, waiting for Arthur's anger to cool. "How did she survive?" he asked at last.

"M-Morgause came in. She must have felt what was happening to Morgana. . . I can still see her face," Merlin's voice dropped to a whisper, "When Morgana realized what I'd done, what was happening to her. She looked so scared. Then Morgause was there, demanding that I tell her what poison I'd used. I said I wouldn't unless she lifted the spell, told her Morgana would die with me if she killed me." His gaze dropped to the floor. He cleared his throat and continued, "She loved Morgana more than she wanted the throne, though. She lifted the spell, and I told her what I'd used. That's when you came back in." He picked at his fingernails. "I keep telling myself that I did it to save Camelot, that the kingdom and all the people in it were worth more than one life- no matter whose it was, or what she'd done. But. . . I still feel like a murderer sometimes."

The silence seemed to stretch on for hours before Arthur spoke again. "In times of war, men do things in the heat of the moment they would never consider doing any other day for the sake of their lands or family. That you still feel guilty about it tells me everything I need to know, Merlin," Arthur said. He reached for his gloves and pulled them on, each movement studied and deliberate, his eyes unfocused. For a moment, Merlin wished he could read the path of the King's thoughts. Then Arthur blinked and shook his head. "I wish you would have told me about her then, but. . . maybe I wouldn't have listened to you. My father certainly wouldn't have. He thought she could do no wrong. Was there anything we could have done to help her, keep her from the path she chose?"

"I don't know. I tried to help her, however I could, but everything I did seemed to turn back on me. Like Fate was working against me."

"I don't believe in Fate," Arthur declared, "We make our own choices. Morgana chose to do what she did. She made a choice, and it was to turn against Camelot All we can do about it now is to stop her in whatever way we can. I know she'll try to claim the throne again, sooner or later." He took up the practice sword from the table. A glint of light shone off the blunted blade into Merlin's eyes. An inexplicable chill ran down his spine. Arthur noticed. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Merlin said, "At least, nothing I can put my finger on. Just a feeling." He shrugged. "Magic doesn't always make sense."

"From what little I've seen of magic, I think it does make a certain bit of sense. But you, Merlin," Arthur shook his head but could not keep the impish grin off his face, "You don't make any sense at all. I might go as far as saying that you're completely non-sensical, bordering on ridiculous at times. Now come on, or I'll catch hell from Lucan about being late. And don't give me any guff about not wanting to go out in public. I keep telling you that not everyone hates you. More of a general disliking, I'd say, but definitely not hate," Arthur batted at Merlin's head with a gloved hand. "Besides. If you ever want your kind to be accepted, you're going to have to stop skulking in the shadows and show up once in a while." Without waiting for a response, he walked out the door, obviously expecting his servant to follow.

Merlin shook his head but could not keep the smile from spreading across his face. Arthur was right for once. If magic were to be accepted in Camelot once more, someone would have to put a face to it. Better that face was his own, and not Morgana's. "For a gilded prat, he does show a bit of wisdom now and then." Then he took his cloak from the back of a chair and followed his King into the late morning sunlight.

A/N: And now we've come to the end of another one. There will be a little delay before the next story, as real life is going to keep me very busy for the next couple of weeks. Keep an eye out for the next installment, "Nightfall in Winter".

Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, or commented on these stories. It feels wonderful to know that there are people out there who enjoy what I write. Until next time!