Lost

Get. Out.

Two little words.

Two cold little words, angrily, hastily spoken. No, not spoken. Screamed.

He'd screamed them hatefully at Merlin, overridden his attempts at explanation or apology. Screamed at him in disgust and fury. The fear and pain had been too much in that moment. He hadn't been thinking clearly, recoiling and reacting like a wounded animal.

He must have drawn his sword. It was still in his hand.

His temper had come roiling to the surface when he'd realized the extent of Merlin's lies and he'd lashed out. Perhaps Merlin had been right not to trust him, after all. Throughout the quiet calm of the night, the King sat reflecting on the shared past and the shredded present.

Accidents and dangers miraculously averted and avoided. Magical threats inexplicably disintegrating. Incurable illnesses cured. And all those ever-so-helpful fortuitously dropped branches. Merlin. It was all Merlin. His pride was bruised and there was still an aftermath of pain from the battle in his heart between the beliefs of his youth and the truths of today. Magic, in itself, was not evil. Merlin was not evil. The stilted beliefs, drilled into him since childhood lay dead on the battlefield of his mind. It was excruciating; his father had been wrong, oh, so terribly wrong, and so many had suffered so much at his hand, including a certain black-haired manservant. And Arthur had been unthinkingly complicit.

The shock of learning the truth about Merlin's magic was deep but the greater pain lay in his friend's lack of faith and trust. All those years, Arthur had entrusted every detail of his heart to Merlin, excepting, of course, his own deep feelings of friendship for the man. Merlin being Merlin, however, had somehow known anyway, if Arthur had rightly read the brilliant grins and moments of silent, shared understanding. But therein lay the hurt. The depth of their friendship had been real to them both, but Merlin, even understanding Arthur as he had, had held back. His complete trust hadn't been reciprocated.

Betrayal was one of Arthur's greatest fears and the hurt screamed at him that he'd been betrayed, once again.

But, no, it wasn't betrayal, it was disappointment.

Merlin would never sell him out or turn on him. Arthur knew it. He would never use his magic or his personal relationships to harm either his friends or Camelot. His heart was true and his loyalty was boundless. Arthur could never question it. He would never experience betrayal at Merlin's hand.

The look on Merlin's face just before the king's outburst and his few pleading words - please, don't hate me - had revealed perhaps his greatest fear. Merlin's greatest fear wasn't death by the king's hand, it was rejection. And it had become real. Arthur had made it real. In one devastating moment, Merlin had experienced both his and Arthur's greatest fears. The look in those tender sea blue eyes as they'd registered the look in Arthur's.. Merlin knew rejection. Merlin knew betrayal by his best friend.

Arthur began to run.

The castle was silent. There was still more than an hour before the break of dawn, an awkward time for a visit, but this couldn't wait. He cautiously pushed the door open. Deep, elderly snoring emanated from behind the screen shielding Gaius' bed. Arthur meticulously picked his way across the room aided by scattered moonlight from the window. A pale piece of parchment on the table caught his eye. It was clearly labeled in Merlin's handwriting.

"Gaius"

Arthur's mind made connections more swiftly than a lightning strike. He dashed the last few steps toward Merlin's shabby little room and flung open the door. The empty room had never looked neater.

Gaius awoke to the weeping of the king.

*oOoOoOo*

Searched For

Apologies, begging for forgiveness, pledges of continued love and friendship, and mistaken acknowledgements that his company was undesirable. That was all that was written in the notes the warlock had left behind for Gaius, Guinevere and Gwaine. No clues as to where he could be found, not a hint of the direction he'd taken.

Gaius' note had contained, what was to Arthur, a rather cryptic line that had required explanation. An explanation that had only burdened the king's heart further.

"I won't forsake my Destiny, but I can protect from afar."

The note to Arthur had contained only one line.

"I am so sorry."

Sorry for what, Merlin? Sorry for making friends with a prat? Sorry for sacrificing yourself, body and soul, only to be rewarded with abuse? No, Merlin, I am sorry.

"We will bring him back, Gaius. I swear it."

"Sire, he is the greatest warlock ever to walk the earth. He will only be found if he allows it."

"And I am his counterpart, if you've told me correctly. I am this.. Once and Future King. He will be found. I demand it." He hesitated and amended, "He will be found because I will earn it."

Like a wildfire, word spread of changes in the laws of Camelot. The use of magic was permitted. Damage to persons or properties would be judged and punished according to the severity of the crime, not according to the manner in which damage was inflicted. Riders were sent out through all the villages of the realm proclaiming the changes and asking for any clue to the whereabouts of any man answering the description of the king's errant manservant. Peasants shook their heads, commenting, "The king's after him, eh. Why's he run off? What's he done, then?"

"Nothing wrong! The king searches for him in friendship and desires to reward him for his loyal service."

After a time, word came again from Ealdor. Hunith had now seen her son. The king himself rode out in great hopes of finding his best friend sheltering with his mother.

"Yes, Sire, I've seen him. It was a little over four days ago. He looked thin, well, ..thinner. He's quieter now. He came and stayed to help for a day or so and then left again but I don't know where he went next. He wouldn't tell me. He knows you're looking for him, Sire, but doesn't believe it's for any good reason."

"But, Hunith! He's surely heard by now that the ban on magic has been lifted and the laws revised."

"Yes, of course, he always had faith in your sense of fairness and justice and he's glad for the people's freedom. It was always one of his dreams. But then, .."

"Yes?" he prompted when she hesitated.

"But then, all this wasn't ever really about magic, was it, Sire."

It was painful to meet her understanding eyes, so like Merlin's, but he did and shook his head, lips tightly clamped.

"Magic's freedom was only one of his dreams. He had others. I believe his greatest was finding friendship where he was loved and accepted as he was. But, you see, he truly believes in your justice, that your anger was justified. He believes he's done enough wrong that he doesn't deserve friendship."

Stricken by his failure as a friend, the king dropped his head to hide his trembling chin. Soft arms encircled him and drew him close.

"He's given that up, but he still loves you. Find him, Arthur. Find him and save him."

Months long they searched. The kingdom was changing. By invitation, Druid clans cautiously returned to the forests close by the city itself and found themselves welcomed by the young king dressed in less conspicuous clothing, bearing gifts of supplies, eager to sit by their fires and learn of their customs, always with the question on his lips, had they seen Emrys?

"Never have we seen him, but signs of him abound, my king, if one has eyes to see," said Iseldir.

The king's heart accelerated.

"What do you mean? Where?"

"The great illness that was suddenly quelled in Houndwell."

"It wasn't a plague. The healer.."

"It was. There is no healer there besides our brothers. And they could do nothing."

"So he's at Houndwell!"

"No, Sire."

"The southern village threatened by the river's flood after the heavy rains.." put forth another druid elder.

"The flood was averted by their great ditch.."

"There was no ditch before the rains."

"So he's gone south?"

The elder druid shook his head.

"The assassin caught entering the citadel at Beltane," remarked Iseldir.

"That raving lunatic?" scoffed the king. At the druid's suggestive silence he demanded, "Tell me!"

"Did you not believe him when he said the steps to the tower had disappeared, trapping him until he was discovered?"

The young king sighed and dropped his head into his hands.

"So, he's everywhere and nowhere protecting the kingdom. Obviously, he's quite capable of disguising his appearance. Every messenger and patrol I sent found no one matching his description. There's been no sign of a single black hair, ridiculous boots or even his bloody neckerchief. I feared he had left the kingdom. How will I ever find him or know him?" He pulled at his hair.

The druid leader remained calm in the face of the king's frustration.

"Sire, there is something that marks him far more distinctively than his countenance or attire. Your souls share a bond. Think of him. Were you ever to be struck blind, would you know him?"

Arthur bowed his head to hide the sudden tears. Flashes of memories flooded him.

A cheeky grin. I don't really fancy it. Dollophead. Destinies are troublesome things.

I'd know him anywhere by his smart mouth, his wit, and his wisdom.

Rise and Shine! Thoroughly enjoyable, accidentally-on-purpose ruined hunting trips.

I'd know him by the way he loves the morning, nature and animals.

Tears over a downed unicorn. Understanding smiles. Slender hands carefully rewrapping bandages.

I'd know him by his goodness, by his gentle heart and his kindness.

A lanky man proudly holding up a massive jar of pickled eggs. A belt being surreptitiously 'enhanced'.

I'd recognize his care.

Poisoned contents of a chalice swallowed. What is the life of a servant compared to that of a prince? A body flung into the path of the Dorocha.

I'd know him by his self-sacrificing nature.

Never more protection than a thin jacket. Are you really going to fight this dragon with me?

I'd recognize his bravery.

He smiled and looked up.

"Thank you."

The druids smiled. Emrys would be found.

*oOoOoOo*

Found

It was pure luck that the king's retinue had been passing and spotted the smoke. Raiders were attacking the village of Clayton, setting fire to homes and terrorizing the people before turning to plunder their harvest. The knights and king fought with righteous anger as the women fled to the woods with their screaming children. Some of the men assisted the knights, fighting with sturdy farm implements, while others worked to subdue the fires. It was chaos, but strangely fortunate chaos as the smoke and mud tormented the raiders more than the knights and one plucky older man with wispy brown hair even ended up tossing a bucket of muddy water directly into the face of the bandit fighting the king himself.

In the end, the village was a sodden, smoky, charred, muddy mess, but many of the buildings were still standing and the harvest remained intact. The two surviving bandits sat trussed beneath a tree. The strongest men carted away the robbers' corpses. The wounded were being seen to by a healer. The women and children had cautiously and tearfully returned to cook and assist in healing, delivering potions and clearing up.

The king lounged in the shade of the tree just beyond the main cooking fire, returning the smiles of the curious, listening to rumbled conversations and watching his people contemplatively. One small group of family and friends shed tears as they prepared a man's body for burial. In the trees behind him, older children already seemed to be recovering from the scare as they struck up a game to distract the younger ones away from their harried parents' arms or away from staring awestruck at the king. The grumpy man who'd tossed water in his opponent's face turned out to be the healer who was currently bossing people about, stopping every now and then to give especially gentle attention to a child who'd received burns to her arm. The king smiled as the man tucked a flower into the child's hair. The incredible goodness, bravery and hardiness of his people touched him.

A group of grumbling knights retreated from the medical area and made their way to join the retinue resting in the shade.

"You'd think there'd be a bit more respect and gratitude involved."

"I think sometimes healers consider themselves equal to us. Have you noticed?"

"I've noticed," whispered another voice, "but don't say that around Sir Leon. I've already heard his opinion on the matter."

"And what's that?" queried another.

"Knights fight the battles of Death. Physicians fight the battles of Life," quoted the king.

"Sire?" The knights seemed embarrassed at being overheard.

"I've heard Leon say it before, as well. What's more, I believe it to be true."

The men shifted uncomfortably. The king regarded them thoughtfully before continuing.

"Every person in this kingdom is equal in my sight. Everyone is of great worth and worthy of respect. What? Would you sacrifice your life to defend this kingdom if it were only trees and stones? It is our people we must value, cherish and defend. We fight for peace but what would that peace be if there were no farmers to grow crops, no tanners to make leather, no cooks to feed us, no servants who clean and aid us, no mothers, no children, no sorcerers to protect us where the sword fails? Never underestimate the contributions of the people around you, no matter how common the man."

"Your words ring true, Sire, but a knight who risked his life and received injury and may do so again should receive a bed before an ill farmer."

Another knight put in, "That impertinent healer gave the cot to a farmer while requiring Sir Edmund to rest on the ground!"

The king responded quietly, "He was right to do so. Sir Edmund received a painful injury, but the farmer is far worse off and the very survival of his family depends on his recovery."

"Perhaps so, Sire, but it wouldn't be amiss for him to address nobility properly," the knight returned respectfully although clearly still annoyed.

"I'm pleased to know that it is his impertinence that annoys you more than his actions, Sir James."

The king's eyes flicked to the pudgy old healer now passing to the fire and watched curiously as the man shook his head and smiled at the cook before taking the liberty of removing two detestable turnip halves from the king's plate.

"Madam," he addressed a nearby woman stirring a pot, "what is the healer's name?"

"I've not heard, my Lord. He's only just been in this area a short time. We haven't made acquaintance."

"Only a short time?"

"Yes, Sire. He arrived within a week of the time the raiders began to plague us."

The king smiled his thanks and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Interesting. He cast his mind back over the events of the battle. Very interesting indeed.

"You there! Healer! Come here a moment."

Reticence marked the man's movements and he hesitated, looking at the ground.

"I wish to commend you on your exceptional skills," continued the king.

"Thank you, Your Majesty, but they are hardly exceptional," replied a gravelly voice.

"I beg to differ. Your aim with a bucket of water is formidable and your healing is a blessing. Did you ever study with Gaius, the Court Physician? The pain draught I received was certainly as efficacious and as nasty as his concoctions."

"Oh not that nasty, I'm sure, My Lord," grinned the man good-humoredly.

"Yes, I'm sure you're sure." Arthur's grin was almost predatory.

The healer cast a shifty glance of alarm at the king, and retrieved two cups of potions that had been heating beside the fire before heaving himself up.

"Sire, I have patients who need tending."

"True. I shall accompany you."

"That won't be necessary, Sire," the man replied, fumbling with the warm potions. "I will return."

The king narrowed his eyes.

"Forgive me, but, no, I don't believe you will."

"Sire?" He sounded nervous.

The king stood, skirted the fire and approached him swiftly. The man backed away. Knights' hands flew to their sword hilts as they picked up on the strange tension.

"Look at me."

Arthur watched the man shuffle uncomfortably.

"You're royalty, My Lord. It's not for the likes of me to.."

"Nonsense," interrupted the king.

The curmudgeonly old healer steadfastly refused to meet the king's eyes and stubbornly turned his back on the king who promptly gripped his shoulders and forcefully turned him back to face him. The healer's potions were knocked to the ground.

"Now look what you've.." Despite the asperity of the words, the aged face looked surprisingly emotional, two unmistakeable sea blue eyes panicking.

Arthur enveloped the man in a crushing embrace.

"Found you."

"A-Arthur.. Si.."

"Never leave me again," the king choked out. "Please. I'm so sorry, Merlin. I'm so sorry."

He refused to release the man in his arms, the force of his stifled sobs shaking them both.

To the astonishment of all around them, the old man began to weep openly and the glamour melted away revealing the tall slender form of the king's dark-haired former manservant.

In a watery voice between sniffs, Merlin asked, "How did you know it was me?"

Arthur pulled back just enough to gaze straight into his eyes with fierce fondness.

"Because it was."

Two little words.

Two warm little words whispered between tears in hopeful, heartfelt sincerity.

"Come back."

*oOoOoOo*

Epilogue

"I appreciate your suggestions and will take them under advisement, Merlin."

"Oh! And one more thing!"

The king rolled his eyes good-naturedly at his friend's exuberance. Merlin was certainly enjoying his first week as High Advisor to the King.

"Before the feast, there should be a feast for the servants. They never get to eat the best food and have to stand there for hours with stomachs rumbling and mouths drooling while the nobles sit and eat to their hearts' content."

"I see. And who would serve at this servants' banquet?" asked the king already guessing the answer.

Merlin smiled brightly. "You've always said that you're a servant of your people, Sire. But I don't believe I'd ever trust you with a loaded platter or a dish of gravy. It'd never make it to the table." He shook his head pityingly.

"Are you trying to be amusing by commenting on my appetite again, Merlin?"

"No, Sire! But, now that you mention it.."

Arthur raised his fist semi-threateningly.

The warlock rushed on, "No! It's just, I don't think you have the requisite coordination to carry, let alone serve from, loaded containers of food while moving and avoiding people's elbows and.."

"Hey! I have coordination!"

"Yes, but not as much as a servant. No, we'll simply have to use magic." He rubbed his hands gleefully, blue eyes gleaming in anticipation.

"I don't believe I ever sanctioned this proposed servants' feast, Merlin."

"Not yet you haven't, but I can tell you think it's a great idea."

The king sighed as his head dropped back to thunk against the back of his chair. With his eyes on the ceiling, he asked, "And which feast will you be attending, then, seeing as how you are now a noble as well?"

"Both of them, of course!" Merlin snorted as though it were a silly question.

"Why do you get to go to both?"

"Because I've got to do the magic and I've got to keep an eye on you. I know it's been a while since I had a look at your belts, Sire, but any more enhancements and we'll have to order new ones."

"Merlin!"

"Yes, Arthur?"

One look at those oh-so-innocent blue eyes and Arthur could only shake his head.

"Fine. We'll do it and you can go to both."

"Really?"

"Anything for you, my friend. Anything for you."