As my blood poured out of me it scared me to think at how little I'd ever told Arthur.
Right now though, exactly when I couldn't, that was when a thousand things rushed through my head to tell him. I could barely move my mouth to form the words. He saw that I was trying though. He saw it as he held me in his arms, the look of fear painted plainly on his face.
"Don't speak Merlin," he said, pushing hard on the wound on my chest, the pain keeping me awake.
I tried anyway. Bubbles of blood just appeared at my lips instead- I could feel them. I could see them. I could taste them.
I wanted to kick myself for all the things I should have said. When I'd had the chance, when we'd joked, when we'd been serious. When we were master and servant and when we were friends.
I kicked myself. All of those times when I'd had the opportunity to tell him everything.
I hadn't told him because I was scared. I pictured the look on his face where he hated me and everything about me. When I told him of my magic and his lip curled in the cruellest blow a friend could have made to someone who'd betrayed him.
I never told him because I didn't want things to change. I was happy where I was, never having recognition nor accolade. I didn't need it because I was happy. He was too, just the way things were.
I never told him because things were just right as they were. Two sides of the coin, but one oblivious of the other- it wasn't easy, but it was right. I could do things without having to explain myself. Of course, that had always meant a lot of sneaking around and lies- white lies, but still lies- and such a small amount of sleep sometimes. I suppose it was the lack of sleep that had made me so clumsy half the time, but what I did was right. And I stand by all of the things that I did.
Except for not telling him. I should have trusted him sooner.
But I never told him because I didn't want his anger. I didn't want his hatred. I didn't want to hear the words and see the expression that would no doubt have been on his tongue and on his face. I think that would have destroyed me more than Morgana had ever tried to do. Or Nimueh. Or any animal, bandit, or magical creature had ever managed to.
But now I lay here, cradled by Arthur, my life blood flowing from me as Morgana had wanted and all I could see was Arthur with tears on his face crying out for help and all I could think was one thing:
I wish I had told him.