Note: As a lot of other people no doubt preface their stories: please be gentle, I'm a newbie, and a scared one at that. Any sort of comments, criticism, thoughts, or what have you would be sorely appreciated.- X

He was light, lighter than Arthur had remembered, but at the same time there was a certain dead weight to his friend

friend? Was that still true?

that made his arms burn. After they'd lost the horses Merlin had tried walking alongside him for a ways but after Arthur had had to catch him for the third time he'd picked him up, trying to ignore the low, hollow moan at every step. At first he hadn't cared about the sound, enjoyed it even

how could he lie for so long? Everyone was a liar but not Merlin, never Merlin-

but even with the sour, burning taste of betrayal in his mouth he couldn't help but remember that the blade had been meant for him. It was probably another day's journey to Avalon and silently Arthur wondered if they'd even make it

maybe it's for the best. Then I don't have to-

because the dead weight was sinking into his shoulders like lead and every time he looked down the crimson was still there, still dark and wet even with the makeshift bandage wound as tightly as he'd been able. It was on his armor, too, glinting brightly in the evening sun. Merlin hadn't shifted in a while and vaguely Arthur wondered if he was dead. He hadn't decided how that would make him feel when, in answer, the pallid skin on his burden's face tightened in a grimace.

The sunset was slow, languid, like the day would stretch on forever as sweat ran down from Arthur's temples. There was a different kind of sweat on Merlin's face, a sickly sheen, and Arthur pretended not to notice. He stumbled a couple of times as he gazed ahead, staring down the interminable forest and still undecided as to whether or not he wanted to reach the lake's shore. Arthur couldn't decide on a lot of things, it seemed. He was too confused to feel angry (or maybe too tired), but he could sense a dull rage throbbing in his head.

Liar, liar, liar, liar, liar.

He didn't look down at the man he carried because the face was wrong. It had been a mask, a bright, familiar mask, all cheerful smiles and innocence and lies. The man he carried was evil, had to be, because magic was pure evil and he'd been using magic all along. It was the face of

Merlin, the sun pouring over his tired face as he said, "I didn't want you to feel that you were alone."

Merlin, jumping in front of the Dorocha and begging to stay with Arthur when he couldn't even sit up, let alone fight.

Merlin, telling him solemnly, "I'll be happy to serve you until the day I die."

a sorcerer.

The interminable day, Arthur realized as he tripped for the fifth time, was turning into an interminable night. There was a clearing not far ahead and he made for it, setting Merlin down with a gentleness that surprised even him. Still, the man cried out pitifully, and Arthur stood and turned away in disgust

for me or for him

and began to search for firewood. It had been almost warm that day but without the sun on their backs it was rapidly getting colder.

"Do you even know how to light that?"

The voice was unexpected and Arthur froze, still poised to start the fire. He turned to see that Merlin had propped himself up on one of the bags and was smiling tentatively, but there was no mistaking the fear and anxiety in his eyes even in the dark. Arthur felt a swell of gladness but quickly shoved it aside

it's not Merlin, it's a sorcerer, a liar

and fixed him with a hard stare. "I imagine it's easier when you're using magic."

The weak smile fell away and Arthur felt a fleeting pride even as he felt ashamed. Perhaps it was the latter of the two emotions that won out in that moment because then he heard his own voice, strangely calm.

"Go ahead."

"What?" Without the crooked smile to hide behind the fear and anxiety were even more plain now, etched into skin paled to a sickly white and in eyes that were a little too glassy.

"Use magic. That's why you're so good at lighting fires, isn't it?" There was a tense pause. "I'm not going to execute you, Merlin, just start the damn fire." As Arthur spoke he saw Merlin flinch and realized that he must have been expecting as much (although the idea of executing a man in the middle of the night in a forest was somewhat laughable). At the same moment Arthur also realized that he had no intention of executing his old friend-

friend?-

servant.

He didn't want to watch as Merlin raised his hand at the crude pit Arthur had made, and yet he couldn't look away. There was a word- an old word, a magic word- and the familiar blue eyes were blazing an eerie, inhuman gold and then there were flames, snapping and crackling as innocently as any other campfire Arthur had ever seen.

"How long?" he asked conversationally, sitting a little ways back from the fire and regarding it suspiciously.

"I was born with magic," Merlin stared sleepily into the flames, too, and Arthur cast a few him furtive looks. "It wasn't... I didn't choose it, if that's what you thought. And I've only ever used it for you, Arthur."

The words were biting. The same magic that had killed his parents and warped his half-sister had been used in his name for God knew how long.

"How could you never tell me?" There was an edge of petulance in his voice, like a child, and he winced inwardly.

"You would have chopped my head off." He laughed softly, like it was a joke, but Arthur knew it wasn't. "I wanted to tell you, Arthur. I tried once or twice, but I..." he swallowed, looking small. "I'm sorry." He paused again, turning to look at Arthur. "If I could do it all again I would."

"I don't understand. If you've always had magic, why would you come to Camelot?" Arthur didn't meet Merlin's searching gaze.

"It was my destiny." Merlin settled back on the pack, groaning slightly as he shifted but looking almost... content. "I was born to keep you safe, to ensure you could become king. The Once and Future King..." he was slurring a little, and his eyes were closed. The movement of his chest was shallow.

"We can't stay here." His voice sounded apologetic to his own ears. "Avalon's still a day's hike away

and Merlin can't make it that far, he won't last without the horses

and we can't waste much time."

"It doesn't matter," he thought he heard Merlin say.