Hi everyone! This was just a little plot bunny that needed to come out before I could go back to writing my other story Finding Destiny. It's only meant to be a one-shot. I hope you guys enjoy it for what it is. :) Reviews are always appreciated!

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin

A Friend Like None Other

The warm rays of the summer sun drifted through slightly shuddering leaves in an evergreen forest, bathing the morbid scene below in a false sense of cheer. Dead men littered the well-trod path, their bodies inflicted with sword wounds and arrows. Their attire claimed them as being nothing but brigands, fallen men who craved the common coin rather than honor. Why else would they, a number of ten, attack a party of two unawares? The would-be victims had proven more than the bandits had bargained for, rewarding them not with gold but with death upon the ground. A casual observer would think the two victorious until further inspection proved that the one clad in chainmail was now holding his simply dressed companion in despair.

Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, gazed down in horror at his servant, Merlin. The pallid features of his faithful friend were ghostly white as blue eyes riddled with pain looked up into the face of their king. The cause of the sovereign's anguish was the thin strip of wood reaching for the heavens from the cavity of Merlin's chest. His lung had been punctured by an attacker's arrow when he'd stepped foolishly in front of the king to deflect the blow.

"You idiot," Arthur gasped, his throat constricted with emotion. "Why did you try to deflect it? You had nothing to protect yourself!"

Merlin choked as he attempted to answer through a pain-filled smile. "Didn't think… prat…"

"Obviously," Arthur retorted, his eyes pooling with unshed tears.

In all his years as a knight, Arthur had gained plenty of experience watching comrades fade from the living as wounds claimed their souls. He'd lost countless knights and while each passing was a blow to his heart, this wound would be the death of it. For lying in his arms was a man he had grown to love, a man who had done more for him than he could ever know, a friend like none other.

Merlin may have started out as the worst servant to be employed in his service but as the days had turned into months and the months into years, the relationship he had built with Arthur has blossomed from mere master and servant to the greatest of friends. Some would say the two even possessed a bond similar to that of brothers.

"There must be something I can do," Arthur whispered in desperation as he searched Merlin's eyes.

His friend minutely shook his head, a grimace on his face as his eyes closed tight. "There really isn't, Arthur. I'm a dead man," he whispered quietly.

"Don't talk like that!" the king snapped. "You're a physician! Surely there's something Gaius taught you that we can use!"

Merlin's pain-filled eyes opened to stare at his king incredulously. "I think the arrow grazed my heart… Even if you pulled it out… it would do more harm than good… Sorry… There's no cure for this..."

Merlin began to cough and, to Arthur's horror, blood stained his lips. The servant's body started to shake, his breathing becoming more labored. Strangled gasps sucked their way out of his mouth before a weird gurgling sound took hold. Merlin's eyes started to close and the shaking of his limbs began to weaken.

"Merlin?" Arthur cried. "No. Please, no!"

The king tightened his hold, unconsciously believing he could keep Merlin's spirit from leaving his body by the gesture alone. Tears started to freely fall down his face as he felt the side of Merlin's neck for any sign of a pulse. There! It was weak but the small thump of a heartbeat proved him not yet to be lost.

"Listen to me, you idiot," Arthur desperately whispered, "You're not allowed to die. I forbid it!"

But no cheeky response escaped the dying man's lips. Arthur's whole world began to crumble.

"Merlin?" he called out desperately.

No response.

"MERLIN!" he shouted, unconsciously shaking his manservant by the shoulders.

The action was done out of pure fear, the king temporarily forgetting that the movement would jar the wound responsible for his friend's current state. A sharp intake of pain followed by Merlin's eyes flying open caused Arthur's hands to still.

"What the heck, Arthur?" he weakly complained, glaring blurrily up at the king.

Arthur looked apologetic as he explained, "It's your own fault! I wouldn't have had to shake you if you'd simply responded!"

"Sorry," Merlin ground out, his eyes filling with tears.

Arthur felt guilt consume him. In his desperation he had increased Merlin's pain. The king gently cradled his friend's head, gently rubbing his gloved thumb across the servant's cheek to stop a stray tear from falling.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," he brokenly whispered, "I shouldn't have done that."

Merlin shook his head. "It's alright – Arthur," he gasped between heavy breaths, "I don't have much time left."

"Don't say that!" the king weakly commanded, his heart breaking all over again.

"There's something… I need to tell you…"

"What?" Arthur muttered, leaning in close.

"I use it for you, Arthur," the servant began to ramble, "Only for you."

"You're not making any sense, Merlin."

Merlin took a ragged breath. "Ma–gic," he coughed out.

"What?"

"I'm a sorcerer," Merlin mumbled, his eyes closing. "I have… magic."

The world seemed to still as the servant's chest fell for the last time with this final admonition. The last bit of air in Merlin's lungs released from his stained lips and Arthur's grip slackened, his eyes widening in pure shock. The sun disappeared behind a cloud and the vibrant colors of the forest dimmed in their own semblance of mourning, the scenery reflecting the inward emotions wrestling within the king's heart.

Arthur's whole world had tipped upside down in a matter of seconds. Merlin still lay in his arms but the king made no attempt to move him so great was his stupor. The confessions of a dying man could always be counted as truth but never in his life would Arthur have thought to hear such a declaration escape the mouth of his friend.

Merlin was a sorcerer.

I use it for you, Arthur… only for you.

Those words echoed through the king's mind and all of a sudden frustration, anger, and most of all, hurt raced through Arthur's heart like a raging boar.

What in the name of Albion had Merlin been thinking, practicing magic?! Why would he feel the need to dabble in an art that corrupted every person who touched it? And why, why had he not felt the need to tell him? Arthur was supposed to be his friend! He told Merlin everything! Every secret, every insecurity, every hope the king had, he'd shared. But apparently it took death for the idiot to open up to him! Arthur froze as the realization hit him.

Death.

Merlin.

An indescribable, heart-wrenching pain slammed into his heart and before he knew it, the King of Camelot was sobbing.

"You IDIOT!" he screamed in anguish, holding Merlin close to his chest. "What would possess you to practice magic? It brings nothing but suffering! Why would you feel the need to involve yourself with it? Why didn't you tell me?! Why did you wait until you were dying to tell me?!" The king's heart broke as the anger and frustration were overcome with tragic pain. Resting his forehead against Merlin's, he brokenly whispered the hardest question of all, "Why did you have to leave me?"

Time passed without the king's notice, Arthur holding his traitorous friend while his tears fell continually down his cheeks. His body trembled with constant sobs as he eventually took hold of the arrow and slowly pulled it from Merlin's chest. Throwing the cruel object aside, Arthur ignored the flow of blood pouring from the wound as he gathered Merlin against his chest, holding the dead sorcerer in his arms.

"I would have forgiven you," he whispered to the empty air through his tears. "If only we'd had more time… you could have explained yourself… I would have listened. I could never have…"

Arthur shook his head, unable to say aloud that he would never have executed his dearest friend. For now it did not matter. Merlin was gone and nothing that he said at this point could bring him back. He should leave – he'd already been gone from Camelot longer than he should have been – but he couldn't bring himself to move. If he did, he would truly have to accept that Merlin was never coming back.

"Why did you leave me?" he repeated, tilting Merlin back so his head rested in the crook of his arm. "I need you, Merlin," he confessed, his tears redoubling at the exclamation of truth. "I can't be the king I'm supposed to be without you. Please… come back…"

It was a hopeless request. The dead could not return. Arthur's eyes closed as despair took hold, drowning his entire soul in an empty void – a pit of darkness that seemed to go on forever, where no light could ever possibly shine.

After a time, Arthur forced himself to start gathering the strength needed in order to move, to begin the trek back to a castle that would never be the same for him again. It was then that the impossible occurred: the wound in Merlin's chest began to glow.

The King of Camelot gasped and in terror he dropped Merlin's body before scrambling backward away from it. The golden glow around the wound started to fan out in three separate lines whose ends began to curl in the shape of a spiral. Despite his fear, Arthur hesitantly drew closer. The symbol forming on Merlin's chest was one he recognized as the standard one all druids carried: the Triskelion. Just when he was gathering his courage to touch the anomaly that had appeared on his friend, the ground beneath Arthur's feet began to quake. The wind picked up and the clouds overhead darkened. Arthur widened his stance so as not to fall over, fear nearly swallowing his tenacious valor over the obvious presence of unexplainable magic.

The glowing symbol on Merlin's chest intensified in a brilliant flash of light and then the sorcerer gasped, his eyelids flying open to expose a pair of golden irises. The amber color was brighter than any Arthur had ever seen from a practitioner of magic and a part of him couldn't help being fascinated at the sight. Merlin sat up, his chest heaving as he looked around wildly. The glow surrounding the symbol on his chest began to fade as did the color of his eyes. The ground ceased to quake and the wind descended its torrent to a gentle breeze. All the while the King of Camelot stood with his jaw dangling and his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

Long, slender fingers reached up and touched an area that had once been marred by an arrow, now replaced by a symbol of the Old Religion that would never fade. Merlin's eyes were wide with disbelief as they lifted from the mark to the man he'd nearly abandoned.

"Arthur?" he whispered, his blue eyes growing, if possible, even wider than before.

"Merlin," the king muttered, a question mixed in with his disbelieving tone.

The events of what had just occurred seemed to catch up with the sorcerer and he let out a gasp of fear. He dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together in a form of desperation.

"Arthur," he implored, "I'm so sorry! I wanted to tell you so many times. Please, sire, forgive me!"

Arthur blinked. Merlin was alive and was speaking to him. More so, he was on his knees, begging for forgiveness. It took a moment for Arthur to remember why since he was still caught up in the confusion of seeing his best friend return miraculously from the dead.

Oh. Right; he was a sorcerer.

"You lied to me," Arthur stated, surprised to hear there wasn't any bitterness in his tone.

"I know," Merlin brokenly answered, "and I am so sorry, sire."

"Stop calling me that," Arthur commanded, a heavy frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Sire?" Merlin questioned, flinching as Arthur drew closer.

The king stopped directly in front of his servant, staring down at a man who looked like he was about to be given the death sentence. Like Arthur could ever bring himself to do that! He'd just gotten Merlin back – how, he didn't know, but still! He wasn't about to order his execution! He had questions, questions that demanded answers. Like why Merlin had decided to become a sorcerer and how in the name of all that was holy was he even alive!

"Get up," he commanded, disgusted at the sight of his friend kneeling before him like any other servant would.

Merlin shakily returned to his feet, his head bowed in rare subservience. Arthur scowled.

"Look at me," he growled.

Fearful blue eyes did as asked and it pained Arthur to see Merlin looking at him in such a way. He was terrified, his form trembling, the fear of the king's judgment visible in every inch of his face. Arthur's heart broke.

"Don't look at me like that, Merlin," he implored, his tone softer than before. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Merlin's eyes widened in surprise. "You're not?"

Arthur scowled, anger flooding his veins. Did Merlin really think him so petty as to kill him because of what he was? "I am not my father, Merlin," he reminded.

The sorcerer winced, looking down at his feet shamefully. "Sorry, sire."

Arthur sighed in frustration. "I may not be my father but I am still king and as such I demand to know why in the name of Albion did you decide to practice magic and how in the world you're alive when you should be dead! And don't you dare call me sire again, Merlin, or I'll throw you in the dungeons for a year!"

Merlin winced again, swallowing painfully as he replied, "Sorry… Arthur." Lifting his gaze, he answered the fuming king, "I didn't decide to practice magic. I was born with it. And as to how I'm still alive… I'm not really sure."

Arthur stared before scowling angrily. Why was Merlin continuing to lie to him? Wasn't it time to tell the truth? "People aren't born with magic!" he snarled. "They choose to practice it!"

"I'm not lying to you, Arthur," Merlin sincerely stated. "I really was born with it. I was able to move objects before I could talk. Never in the history of the Old Religion has someone been born like me. While there are people who are born with magic, their powers manifest in their later years. Others have the ability to practice it if they so choose. Me, I'm different. Magic flows through me like blood flows through you. I guess you couldn't really call me a sorcerer since I'm technically a warlock. A person born with magic," he added under the king's questioning stare.

Arthur could hardly believe what he was hearing and yet he knew Merlin was telling the truth. He could always tell when the idiot was lying; he could never keep eye contact when he was hiding something from him. Arthur had never before pressured Merlin when such occasion arose because he never thought he'd be hiding something so significant. Well, how wrong he'd been!

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, unable to hide the hurt from his voice. "I tell you everything, Merlin! Why did you feel that you could not do the same?"

The shame in Merlin's face grew tenfold and his eyes fell to his well-worn boots. "I wanted to but… you would have chopped my head off."

"You can't know that!" Arthur snapped. "You never gave me the choice!"

Merlin looked up, defiance suddenly burning through his eyes. "Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't have? If I recall, neither of us was too fond of the other when we first met and even when we started to trust each other I still had your father and his law hanging over my head! I never wanted you to have to choose between me and your father, Arthur."

"What about after he died?" Arthur demanded. "You could have told me then!"

"Did you forget how he died?" Merlin snapped, equally frustrated now. "I tried to heal him with magic – yes, I was disguised as the old man! – but Morgana had your traitorous uncle place a cursed charm on him that twisted the healing magic so it killed him instead."

"The old man was you?" Arthur cried in surprise, temporarily forgetting the main point of this conversation. "You made me carry you!"

Merlin smiled sheepishly before coughing into his hand. "Um, yeah, I kind of did. But I didn't kill your father, Arthur. Morgana did – with magic. Do you remember what you told me after your father died?"

Arthur thought back on the conversation and winced. "I said that magic was purely evil and that I would never trust in it again."

Merlin's smile grew sad as he painfully muttered, "And you wonder why I kept the truth from you after that?"

Arthur looked down at his feet, ashamed. He couldn't find it in him to argue Merlin's point. He'd driven him into hiding the truth even more successfully than his father. "I'm sorry," he whispered, truly meaning it.

"I'm sorry too," Merlin said just as sincerely.

Feeling slightly awkward over how open this conversation had become, Arthur cleared his throat. "So, you have no idea how you're…" he waved his hand up and down in Merlin's direction.

Merlin frowned while shaking his head. He was about to open his mouth to answer when he froze, his eyes growing wide. Arthur was on full alert, spinning around while looking for any sign of danger. It was therefore puzzling to find the only thing on the road with them were the bodies of the bandits from before.

"Merlin?" he questioned, turning back to his servant.

Merlin shook his head as if to clear it. "Emrys," he whispered.

Arthur frowned. "Sorry?"

"It's what the druids call me," Merlin reluctantly explained. "It means immortal."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "The druids have a special name for you?"

Merlin looked both embarrassed and a little frustrated as he explained the prophecy of the Once and Future King and the role Emrys was meant to play by his side. It had taken him years to piece everything together from the cryptic words of Kilgharrah and the various meetings of druids he'd run into.

"So you're telling me that I'm supposedly this king that will help you restore magic to the land and then eventually rule over all of Albion?" Arthur said both shocked and doubtful that such a thing could be achieved.

"That's what the dragon told me."

"Right," Arthur scowled, "So everything you've done to make this prophecy happen is because some giant fire-breathing lizard told you that it was your destiny and you didn't have a choice?"

"Not entirely," Merlin clarified, "there have been plenty of druids that have told me much of the same thing."

"And these are also the people that say you're Emrys, a name that supposedly means immortal?" Arthur skeptically pointed out.

"Don't mock what you don't understand, Arthur," Merlin warned. "The prophecy is real. I've seen it unfolding over the years and you would do well not to scorn it."

Arthur frowned. "Merlin, countless others have tried and failed to unite the kingdoms. What makes you think that I can do it?"

"Because it's your destiny," Merlin said with absolute certainty.

Arthur had seen this confidence before and, hang it all, it was impossible not to believe Merlin when he was like this. There was a gleam in his eye that displayed the depth of conviction in his soul that the king just couldn't ignore. The warlock truly believed that Arthur would unite the lands and the king would be lying if he said this hadn't been his dream for several years.

"How can you know that?" he found himself asking.

Merlin's smile was kind as he rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Because I know you, Arthur. You were born to be the greatest king Albion has ever known and I was born to serve you. My magic has always been and will always be yours to do with as you see fit. I have used it to protect you in the shadows all these years and I will continue to do so for the rest of my life."

For the rest of his life… Arthur could hardly believe such loyalty, especially coming from a man who was a walking contradiction of all his father's teachings. Wait – for the rest of his…

"Merlin," he began slowly, a wary sort of dread starting to curl within his stomach, "you said your druidic name means immortal, right?"

Merlin hesitated before nodding, "That's correct."

"You died," Arthur said bluntly, "but then you came back."

Merlin swallowed, his fingers rubbing the mark now branded on his chest. "Yes, I did."

Arthur frowned. "No one can live forever," he scoffed, trying to cast off his suspicions. "Right?"

Merlin was staring down at his hands, a weight seeming to rest on his now stooping shoulders. "I don't know, Arthur," he whispered fearfully.

"Is there a way we can find out?" he hesitantly asked.

Merlin bit his lip. "We could ask Kilgharrah…"

"The dragon? But I thought I killed him!"

Merlin dug the toe of his boot into the forest floor. "Um, about that…"

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Merlin?" he prompted suspiciously.

The warlock rubbed the back of his head before letting out a bone weary sigh. "He's not dead."

"WHAT?!"

Merlin flinched before trying to placate the fuming king. "It's a long story, Arthur."

"Then you'd best get started," the king angrily commanded.

Merlin looked around wearily. "Arthur, I promise I'll tell you everything I've done since I arrived in Camelot but can we wait until we're back in the privacy of your own chambers? There's a lot I need to explain but I'd rather not share it all out in the open. Besides, we're surrounded by bodies and it's honestly starting to make me feel rather uncomfortable."

Arthur looked around at the dead bandits and decided that he had to agree with Merlin's request. "You'll tell me everything?" he stressed, looking pointedly at the warlock.

Merlin nodded. "You have my word."

"Then let's go," Arthur turned on his heel, marching off towards the castle. When he didn't hear Merlin following him, he turned around. The warlock stood still, his face filled with silent worry. "Merlin?"

Merlin jumped, looking up at his sovereign with guilty eyes. "Yes?"

"Are you going to come with me or do you prefer our present company?"

Merlin looked around at the dead before following in Arthur's footsteps. The king nodded in approval and set off again. The two men made it almost thirty paces when Merlin stopped again. Arthur groaned aloud before turning around.

"What now?" he demanded.

Merlin was looking at the king's feet. "Are you going to arrest me when we return to Camelot?"

Arthur stared at Merlin incredulously. "Do you want me to?"

Merlin looked up, surprised. "No."

"Then why are you even entertaining the idea?"

"I have magic."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, you've established that."

Merlin looked at him mystified. "But, magic is banned within Camelot."

Arthur sighed wearily. "Merlin, I'm not going to arrest you – although I might change my mind after you tell me why you let the bloody dragon live that nearly killed us all."

Merlin winced. "It's for good reason," he began.

Arthur cut him off. "Which I know you're going to explain – along with everything else you've been up to since the moment you set foot in Camelot. Now come on, I'm starving and you have a story to tell."

There was silence for half a beat before, "Must you always think of food, sire?"

The comment brought a smile to the king's face and not for the first time Arthur was glad he was in front of Merlin so the servant wouldn't see him grinning.

"Shut up, Merlin," he commanded.

The king stole a quick glance over his shoulder to find Merlin smiling happily. His eyes softened with fondness. Even though so much uncertainty lay ahead, Arthur knew then that the two of them would face whatever came their way like they always had: together.