A/N: Hello again ^^ So, I forgot to mention a little info about the whole seven/five years bit in the last chapter. My story takes place a few years after the fourth season ended, so I figure Merlin has been in Camelot for about seven years now, and since Morgana turned on them in the second/third season, I'd say she's been trying to kill them all for around five years. Make sense? Good. Anyway, I'll stop talking now. Enjoy.

Edit: I lied. I'm still talking. Just wanted to tell you guys that I pulled a little scene from the show back in season 2 (The Nightmare Begins), just in case you get confused.

Now I'm done.

Gwen's heart clenched as she watched her husband ride out of the safety of the castle walls.

Just hours ago, Gwen wasn't sure if Arthur was stable enough to fully dress himself. Now, he was riding off on a rescue mission. A possibly suicidal one, at that.

Not for the first time, she prayed that the king's sudden change in attitude was not the result of some kind of emotional breakdown. It was clear that Mordred's betrayal had taken a toll on him. That much would be expected of any man in Arthur's position. But how much had he been affected? Gwen couldn't be sure.

Arthur had recovered quickly enough—or seemed to have, at least. In an instant, he was as regal and confident as his typical, kingly self. He spoke firmly, and gave his orders swiftly. He no longer sat hunched over in his chair, but instead stood tall, his shoulders back and his chin held resolutely in the air. He looked, well, like a king should. And still, Gwen was not convinced.

And neither were his knights.

Because despite all of Arthur's supposed confidence, there was an air about him that was… off. It wasn't just his all-too-sudden transition from a grief-ridden man into a stern king. Nor was it his secretive attitude with Gaius, which presumably had something to do with the currently missing Merlin. No, it was a bit of both of those things, combined with the fact that Arthur's plan—the plan he and his knights were currently carrying out—was certifiably crazy.

When the king suggested his idea, all eyes fell on him. It was so unlike Arthur, so completely reckless and uncertain. Even Gwaine, who had been adamant about going after Merlin, looked at the king as if he'd grown a second head. After a few beats of shocked silence, the room promptly erupted.

Leon and Elyan were the first to try and dissuade Arthur, pointing out the strategic faults of his plan. Gwen didn't attempt to hide her concerns, the worry clearly written on her face. Even Percival, as soundless as he usually was, voiced his uncertainty. Only Gwaine and Gaius stayed quiet, choosing to watch on in silence.

And yet, Arthur wouldn't budge. He was completely set in his goal—and every soul in that room knew that when Arthur Pendragon made up his mind, it would be hell to get him to change it.

And so, there Gwen stood, watching her husband ride off on another one of his risky missions. And still, she couldn't help the ghost of a smile that formed on her lips.

Because despite everything—despite the king's recklessness and the dangers of the overall situation—Arthur was just being… well, Arthur. No other king would ever take the risks that he did—and for a servant, no less.

He may be reckless, but if Arthur was one thing, he was certainly courageous. And Gwen wouldn't have him any other way.

Morgana sat in one of the vast empty rooms that now served as her residence. She occupied what she assumed was a throne chair—or the relics of one, at least—which was now splintered and falling apart.

Her ruined surroundings didn't discourage her, though. Morgana was well aware of the fact that one day soon, she would have her own castle. One that was not rotting away and abandoned. One that was rightfully hers to begin with. The witch gritted her teeth when her thoughts wandered back to the reason why she didn't already have it in her grasp.

Merlin.

It had been three days since the warlock's capture. When she learned of his identity—his real identity—Morgana was consumed with rage. Not even Mordred could calm her down. She told herself capturing him was the logical thing to do. After so many years of being plagued by the curse named Emrys, how could she give up the opportunity to strike him down? But if she was honest with herself—something she chose not to do, at the time—she knew deep down what her ambush was about.

"Then you believe me?" Came Morgana's shaky question. Her mouth quivered as she stared pleadingly at the man who stood before her.

She had gone to Merlin when the… "incidents" started. She didn't want to believe it was magic, but she couldn't deny it any longer.

The nightmares—visions, more like, for they always came true—that tormented her while she slept. Her curtains catching on fire, with no stimulus whatsoever. And that feeling. That feeling that spread through her like the warmth of a hot drink during the coldest of nights.

She looked up at the servant, her eyes wide in fear. He looked hesitant, but something about his expression told Morgana that he did believe her, that she wasn't just making this up.

"You think it's magic, too." He said nothing, but the look in his eyes was confirmation enough. "Please, Merlin, I just need to hear someone say it so I don't have to keep feeling like I'm imagining it."

She was so afraid. She didn't know what to do. If anyone found out about this… if Uther found out about this, she'd surely be killed. She just needed someone—anyone—to see her for who she really was, and not look at her like she was some sort of monster. If anyone would do that, it was Merlin… right?

But the welcoming embrace that Merlin's eyes usually held was not there. Instead, it was replaced by a guarded look, one filled with doubt and suspicion.

"I really wish there were something I could say."

And that was that. It was an end to the conversation, she realized. He was shutting her out.

If Merlin couldn't trust her, who would?

Grief in her eyes, Morgana turned and left.

She hated him. With every ounce of being in her body, she hated him.

He could have said so many things at that moment that would have made it better. He could have trusted her, the way she trusted him, with the truth. He could have told her.

But he didn't. He said nothing.

In a sick sort of way, it was funny, really. Everyone called her a traitor—a betrayer of her kin. But if anyone was the traitor, it was Merlin. He betrayed his own kind—men and women he related to, who suffered the same way he did—for an arrogant fool of a king. Merlin had an enormous supply of magical energy somewhere in that skinny rail of a body, and he used it to protect Arthur Pendragon, the son of a man who persecuted their people, slaughtering them like animals.

As inexcusable as it was, Morgana forced herself to calm down. Camelot would not be Arthur's for much longer, anyway.

The witch was pulled from her musings when a burly looking man—one of the many henchmen she'd acquired—came stalking up to her. When he inclined his head, she waved him off, giving him her silent permission to speak.

"My lady," he seemed a bit nervous, shifting a bit in his place. But really, that wasn't too strange, considering who sat before him. "I have come to inform you of a… visitor."

Morgana narrowed her eyes. "Well? Get on with it. I don't have all day."

The man swallowed. "It seems your council has been requested… by the king of Camelot."

For the second time in the past week, Morgana's mind completely blanked. It was as if the men in her life were trying to confuse her. First, Mordred tells her that Arthur's idiot of a manservant was actually Emrys, an almighty warlock of prophecies. Now, her most valuable rival to the throne showed up on her doorstep.

"… He's here? At this very castle?"

"Yes, my lady."

It had to be a hoax, a trick of some kind. No man in his right mind would come to her here, in her own territory, especially not Arthur Pendragon. Surely her brother wasn't that stupid. But as the room's great doors opened, and Morgana spotted the familiar red and gold cloaks of a Camelot convoy, she was forced to reconsider.

Apparently, he was that stupid.

As Arthur's party reached her, they slowed to a stop in the center of the large room, faces serious but alert. Morgana herself had an amusing look on her face. Her mouth was open slightly, gaping, but the corners of her lips still turned up in a sort of smirk. Her eyes narrowed, as if questioning what she was seeing, and her head was quirked to the side.

For a moment, all was quiet.

But Morgana couldn't pass up this wondrous opportunity to prod at her bother. "Tell me something, Arthur." She spoke slowly, her voice full of malicious delight. "Are you completely mad?"

"We've been wondering the same thing." A knight—Gwaine, she assumed—muttered from behind him. Arthur shot him a half-hearted glare, and then refocused his attention on his sister.

"It has come to my attention that my useless manservant has gone missing."

Morgana raised a dark eyebrow. "I hardly see how that has anything to do with me, Arthur."

"It has everything to do with you." The king's eyes narrowed, and for the first time Morgana saw the hostility in them. "I know you have him, Morgana. I've come to you today to demand his release."

The witch watched her brother, her smirk never once faltering. After a moment of tense silence, Morgana spoke. "I have to say, I'm surprised that you care so much. He's just a servant, after all… so why go through all the trouble?"

There was a small smile on Arthur's face then, but his voice held no humor. "Someone has to clean my dirty socks."

"Yes, but I'm sure there are plenty of other rats in that castle who are just as incompetent and useless as Merlin. So I'll ask you again," her eyes narrowed, a thought already forming in her mind, "why do you care so much for one lowly servant?"

The two siblings stared at each other then, neither backing down in their silent battle.

Finally, Morgana sighed. "Fine. I don't really care either way. There is a more important question that should be answered first, isn't there?" Her smile widened then, the mischief clearly written on her face. "How exactly do you plan on getting him back?"

Arthur didn't miss a beat. "By force, if necessary."

Morgana actually laughed out loud at that. "By force? Have you learned absolutely nothing from our past battles?" She rose from her chair then, her chin held high in defiance. "There is only one force here, Arthur, and you're looking at her."

Morgana pointed towards the knights, five or six of them, who stood behind their king. "Is this the entirety of your convoy?" Arthur said nothing, which Morgana took as confirmation. "Then you and I both know that I could take you down in a heartbeat."

Morgana's spite didn't stop there. "But why get my hands dirty when I have my own pawns to do it for me?" She twisted her head to the side. "Guards!"

At her call, at least twenty men came bursting through the door, surrounding the king and his entourage on either side.

"… I think she has a few more goons than you realized, princess."

Arthur huffed. "Thank you, Gwaine." He managed to look both annoyed and wary at the same time. "I figured that part out on my own."

"And there's more where that came from, so don't think for a moment that you have a chance." With a snap of her fingers, Morgana had the men restrained. "Really, Arthur. What did you think would happen?"

Arthur watched his sister, the look on his face a mixture of contempt and sadness. As one final taunt, she leaned in towards her brother. "I hope you taught that queen of yours a thing or two about warfare, brother. She's going to need it."

And with that, the knights were led out of the room and towards the dungeon cells.

Morgana knew taking over Camelot would be easy with Merlin out of the way, but she had no idea her idiot brother would make it this easy. She could see her future clearly, now—in more ways than one. Her dreams were becoming reality.

What the gleeful witch didn't see, however, was her brother's hand snatch a key off an unsuspecting guard's belt.

Merlin was weak.

The warlock sat against the cold stone, drifting in and out of consciousness. The seals on the rocky walls were effective enough—extremely so. They were designed to block a sorcerer's magic—that much was clear—but he suspected that not even Morgana knew what the wretched markings did to him.

A normal sorcerer would only be rendered unable to use his magic, but then again, Merlin was no normal sorcerer. His magic was a part of him—an extension of his being—and so the seals not only stopped his magic, but slowly absorbed it.

It was killing him.

He wondered if he should tell Morgana the next time he saw her, but quickly dismissed the thought. It was quite likely she would be thrilled to hear of what the "specially made" cell was doing to him. She'd probably just rub it in his face with more of her snarky insults while she watched him die. And if she didn't—if for some reason she didn't want the cage to kill him—it would be because she had other plans in store for him. And Morgana's plans were never a good thing.

He could either have Morgana keep him barely alive in constant torment, or Merlin could choose to escape her grasp of his own volition.

For Merlin, it really wasn't that difficult a decision.

At that thought, a sad smile played on the warlock's lips. What he didn't know was that in a few short seconds, that resolve would crash and burn, replaced with the familiar panic he got whenever his own life wasn't the only one on the line.

Shuffled footsteps echoed throughout the damp cave, and to Merlin's surprise, they stopped at his cell door. Huh, thought Merlin. Maybe Morgana's actually going to feed me today.

When his barred door finally creaked open, Merlin half opened his eyes, not yet caring about his visitor. But when he saw that the guard was holding a man, and not his dinner, his interest peaked, and he chose to put forth the extra effort to open his eyes the rest of the way. Interest soon turned to horror as Merlin realized he recognized the man's golden head and authoritative posture.

Good gods, thought Merlin. Even as he's being shoved around by a thug, he still walks like he owns the place. Prat.

But this couldn't be right. There's no way. It had to be a trick of some kind. Morgana was just playing with him—messing with his mind in another one of her cruel games. There was no possible way in hell that it was—

"Arthur?"

The thuggish man threw his king in the cell, whose hands were cuffed behind him. As the barred doors once again slammed shut and the guard stalked away, Arthur shuffled his way over to the opposite wall to Merlin and sat down against it.

Merlin stared at his king. His mind was still trying to process the fact that he was here, as well as the implications that came with it. The two watched each other in silence, neither saying a word. Unbeknownst to the both of them, the two men were replaying their last meeting in their minds, and the emotions that came with it.

Finally, Merlin spoke.

"You came."

Arthur's eyelids flickered slightly, but he otherwise stayed completely still.

"I did."

Another long pause. Merlin wondered how much longer the king would look at him like that. It made his heart hurt, though he didn't know why.

"Well, no offense, Sire," Merlin started again, in a sad attempt to lighten the mood, "but if this is a rescue mission, you're doing a fairly poor job at it."

Arthur smiled at that, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Don't count me out just yet, Merlin."

At that, the warlock raised an eyebrow at his friend, but said nothing. As the silence stretched on, Merlin was reminded of how much he missed background noises—the scuffling of the servants who ran about the castle, or Gaius's mumblings to himself as he worked. Anything but this silence, this quiet that pierced Merlin's heart.

"I'm sorry, Arthur." He had to say it. He had to say it before the silence killed him. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be in this mess."

Arthur stared at him, his face almost blank with apathy. Which was why Merlin was surprised to hear a joking tone in his king's voice.

"You have given me a lot of trouble these past few months, haven't you?" Again, there was the sad attempt at humor. They really had to stop it, Merlin decided. It was only making things more awkward. Looking at Arthur, you could tell he was troubled. Merlin wondered if the king even had a plan, coming here to Morgana's territory, seemingly alone and without backup.

Merlin took a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry." He said again. "For everything. For all of the lies—" Arthur turned away then, the hurt finally showing through that mask that had never fooled Merlin to begin with. "I know that's what hurt you the most, more than anything else. I've always known."

It was true. Somewhere during the years that Merlin served Arthur, he realized that—should Arthur choose not to forgive him—it would ultimately be because of the lies. Arthur's relationships were built on trust. It was a fundamental element for him, something that could not be left out.

"But those lies—however hurtful—are the reason you are alive today." Merlin's eyes were intense, pleading with a king who wasn't even looking at him. "And I will never apologize for that."

Arthur's eyebrows were furrowed, and the corners of his mouth turned down. It wasn't a look of anger, as one might expect, but one of pain.

They sat like that for several minutes, thinking about trust and truths and other matters that were far too troubling for there own good. As Merlin tried to stay conscious, he was surprised to realize that his guilt was slowly turning into another emotion—one less dejected and more hostile.

Anger. He was angry.

It wasn't full blown—more like an itching irritation. What surprised him was not the fact that he was irritated, but rather who he was irritated at.

What was the bloody prat doing here in the first place? Didn't he realize that this is the last place Merlin wanted him? Maybe that was Arthur's goal, then. To irritate him, as revenge for keeping his magic secret. But that wasn't right, either. Even before Arthur found out about his magic, it was like the man knew instinctively that it was Merlin's job to protect him, and therefore had to make it that much harder by nearly getting himself killed.

Didn't Arthur realize he was far too important to Merlin to die?

"Really, Arthur." The king seemed surprise when Merlin broke the silence, especially considering the warlock's tone. "Did you even have a plan?"

Merlin had wanted to sound bothered—angry, even—but for some reason he ended up smiling instead.

"Don't you ever listen, Merlin?" Arthur met Merlin's smile with his own, and Merlin was happy to see that, this time, it reached his eyes as well. "I told you not to count me out just yet."

Before Merlin could ask what the king meant, he heard the clank of metal cuffs hitting the stony ground. In an instant, he was off the floor, gesturing Merlin towards the door with the keys dangling in his hand. "Come on, it's time to go."

Merlin didn't argue. In a few seconds, the door was open, and both ex-captives were out of the holding cell. And gods, did it feel good to be out of there. Now that the seals weren't confining Merlin's magic, it flowed freely back through his body.

As they maneuvered through the foreign castle, Merlin felt his apprehension return. Even if they were out of their prison, and Merlin's energy was restored, it would still be difficult to escape the castle unseen. Through one of the… "conversations" that he'd had with Morgana, he learned that she'd acquired a dangerous arsenal of men from all over the lands. Particularly places that weren't too fond of King Arthur of Camelot.

"… Where are the others?" Came Merlin's tentative whisper. "Surely you didn't come alone."

"No, I didn't." There was a vague smirk hidden somewhere in his voice, which Merlin hoped was a good thing. "The knights were captured at the same time I was, but they should have been rescued by now."

Merlin's brow furrowed. "Rescued? What do you mean?"

In front of him, Arthur stopped. They'd made it to one of the outer halls, where the castle's decay was much more prominent. Arthur turned toward a large hole in the wall, and gestured to the clearing below. Merlin followed his king's gaze, and looked down.

At first, Merlin only saw Morgana's henchmen, running around like the castle was on fire. Looking closer, though, he saw that wasn't quite the case. They were battling. Someone was attacking the castle. But to Merlin's surprise, he didn't spot the familiar red cloaks of the knights. What he did see… were magic users.

Sorcerers.

And druids, too. Many, many druids. There had to be at least fifty of them, all wearing different styled clothing—they must not be from one camp, then, but from several camps spread throughout the entire kingdom. But how…

"Apparently, they consider Emrys an extremely valuable ally."

Merlin looked back at his king.

It was Arthur. Arthur did this. He must have gone from camp to camp, rounding up any help he could find. And it couldn't have been easy—the druids were a peaceful people, after all. He'd resorted to magic. And to find Merlin, of all people.

Merlin watched his king with a steady gaze.

"And you, Arthur?" The warlock took deep breaths, trying to keep his voice leveled. "Do you consider him a valuable ally?"

Arthur's eyebrows drew together, his gaze still cast down at the mayhem below. His lips were pressed together. After a pause, he spoke. "I don't know him well enough to answer that question."

Merlin quickly turned his head back towards the ongoing battle, if only to hide the wetness in his eyes. It's all right, he thought to himself, in a vain attempt to calm down. What else did you expect, really? At least he didn't leave you to die. Yes, it would be fine. He would be fine. Everything would be fine. He might gain Arthur's trust back eventually… right? It would just take some time—

"Now, Merlin, on the other hand," the king cut off his servant's inner ramblings, "he would be hard to live without."

Slowly, the warlock turned his head back towards Arthur. He felt the tears prickling at the back of his eyes even more now, but for an entirely different reason than before. Merlin wondered what his face looked like. If he had to guess, though, it was probably pretty comical, because when the king finally glanced over at him, his face turned pink.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Merlin," Arthur turned to walk down the hall again, sounding annoyed and a bit flustered. "You're still a complete idiot."

With a smile on his face, Merlin ran after his king.

A/N: Holy mother of… how did that happen? I fully expected this to be one of my shortest chapters yet, and somehow it turned into the longest. I don't even…

But anyway. So I think Morgana's POV was a tad bit scattered and choppy, but it was sort of intentional. I was going for the whole distraught, angry witch thing.

It turns out I did get this chapter in on time. Yay, me! But I'm sorry to say that the next one might be a little late. I'm going on vacation this week. Don't worry, I'll still try to get the chapter up as soon as I can. But yeah… dad gets angry when I ignore the beach for my computer—which happens every vacation—and then threatens to throw my laptop out of the window—which he says every vacation. Still, I worry one of these times he'll actually do it ;P Thanks for reading. You guys are the best.