Epilogue

That same day

Arthur had been King for years, a Knight for even longer, and a Prince for his entire life. He had been extensively trained in all military traditions and tactics, and the art of war had been so thoroughly drilled into him that even in his dreams he was going over battle maneuvers and difficult combat scenarios. He had led his Knights on many a quest through the years, across dense forest and blistering desert, and he was proud to have so many experiences under his belt. Whether it was defeating some magical monster that was terrorizing the people, knocking sense into an errant lord, or even just clamping down on overzealous bandits, Arthur had always been in the forefront, and he had nearly always succeeded. Why, it would be easier for the fair-haired King to list those missions where something went irrevocably wrong than to tick off those in which he had emerged successful. His prowess was without question, and his the list of his deeds was long and impressive.

So why, then, was he unable to keep one person safe? Even someone so idiotic and clumsy as Merlin? How many times had his manservant been attacked, captured, poisoned, taken hostage, or tortured now? He didn't want to count them, and his stomach seemed to boil just by thinking about it. But really, with all his Knightly prowess and Kingly powers, shouldn't he be able to protect someone better? Couldn't he point his royal finger at his raven-haired manservant and put a bubble around him, shielding him from all things in the world that might do him harm? Arthur snorted; that bubble would need restraints if it were to protect him, because the warrior was sure that Merlin would always find a way to get himself into trouble.

That was the problem, though, wasn't it? It wasn't that Arthur was a bad protector, it was that his idiotic, clumsy, foolish, loyal manservant kept repeatedly flinging himself in harms way in stupid-but-brave attempts to keep Arthur safe. Arthur felt like groaning at the very thought. Merlin always felt like he had some sort of duty to keep his liege safe when things really should be working the other way around. Arthur was the one who's body was a killing machine, trained since birth in the formidable art of snuffing out the lives of his enemies. Arthur was the one with noble blood, blood that his dearly departed Father had insisted was the thing that made people worthwhile. Arthur was the one supposed to be risking his life for others' safety; that was what being a Knight meant. But for some inexplicable reason, his peasant of a servant felt that he was absolutely required to sacrifice himself for everyone around him. Arthur felt like smashing something- couldn't he just accept his place, stand back, and let Arthur handle everything? Couldn't he stay safe for ten minutes and let Arthur smoothly step in, like he should, and easily conquer every adversary? Why did he keep having to overstep his bounds and throw himself in harm's way? Couldn't he just... not?

But then, he wouldn't be Merlin if he did 'just not.' Ever since that first day so long ago, the raven-haired boy had been sticking his skinny neck out for everyone else, sidelining his own safety and nearly killing himself every time he did. The boy had had no sense of self-preservation then, and he clearly didn't have any now. But that was what made him Merlin; that and the infuriating, ever-present smile, the annoying wake-up calls, and the insolent back-chat that would've had any other noble toss him in the dungeons to stew over the social hierarchy. If Merlin did ever step back and let other people help those in need like Arthur wished, he wouldn't be Merlin anymore.

Not that this particular situation was entirely his manservant's fault. He could hardly help being sick, and it wasn't like he'd asked to be kidnapped. Although, Arthur was sure that if he could scrutinize every moment of Merlin's life for the past few days, he would be able to find some reason why this was all Merlin's fault. He'd probably done something stupid while Arthur had his back turned. Nothing unusual there; he had a habit of sneaking off and getting himself into trouble. Maybe Arthur would tie a bell around his neck. The thought made the monarch grin- it would make a nice addition to his neckerchief. The idea of the look on his manservant's face when Arthur presented to him his new accessory was enough to make the King chuckle out loud.

"What is it?" It was a soft voice, a woman's. Arthur looked over to his left to see a pair of warm brown eyes looking curiously over at him.

"Oh," he said, still grinning, "just thinking that Merlin would look nice with a bell around his neck."

Mithian laughed, pulling her white horse closer to Arthur's to make conversation easier. "He would," she said, her eyes twinkling, "but I don't think he'd agree!"

"No," Arthur said, his mouth twitching with mirth, "no he wouldn't. Tell you what; I'll hold him down, and you tie it to his neckerchief."

"Sounds like a plan," Mithian said. She paused for a moment, their two horses riding together through the dark forest. "You're not angry with him," she said softly, "are you?"

Arthur considered the question for a second, then shook his head. "He can't help being an idiot," he said. "It's like being angry at a puppy for yapping or for chasing its tail."

"Merlin's a puppy now?" Mithian's voice trembled, like she was on the verge of laughing again.

"A stupid one," Arthur said. "With really floppy ears, too. One of those tiny dogs that barks and growls at everything bigger than it."

"His ears aren't that bad," Mithian said, and there was something in her voice that Arthur couldn't quite place. "Big, but not bad."

"Eh, I suppose," Arthur said, scratching the back of his neck and shrugging.

"Are you worried about him?" Mithian's eyes glinted, and Arthur scowled. She already knew the answer- or, at least, she thought she did. She'd been telling him ever since Merlin caught sick that he was freaking out too much, stressing over something quite manageable, and she was of the opinion that he actually cared for his raven-haired manservant. She was probably just playing the same old game, trying to get him to admit something that wasn't true. Arthur groaned internally; what wasit with the women in his life? Always pushing for Arthur to admit that Merlin was more than a manservant to him- Gwen did it, Morgana used to do it, Mithian was doing it right now; heck, even Gwaine did it!

"No," he snapped, feeling a vicious sense of satisfaction at the way she blinked and flinched back every so slightly at the unexpected ire in his voice. "No, I'm not worried. I'm angry that the idiot has gotten himself into trouble again." He didn't miss the tiny smirk she gave as he contradicted what he'd just said not thirty seconds before. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment. "Stupid forest," he cursed, glaring all around at the obscuring trunks, bushy leaves, and twisting branches of the trees all around them. "How hard can it be to find one manservant?"

Mithian was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was wary. "Arthur," she said, "it's getting late." Yes, the sky had been darkening steadily for the last few hours. Arthur wanted to snap a retort back at her- thank you, Mithian, he hadn't at all noticed that it was getting harder and harder to see. He knew, though, that this sort of comment would be taken badly by anyone who wasn't a certain raven-haired, blue-eyed manservant, so he stayed quiet. "We've searched all the nearby villages," none of which had actually yielded anything but a wasted handful of hours, "and he wasn't in any of them."

Really? They hadn't found Merlin? That was so surprising- and here Arthur thought that they were just riding through the woods on a whim! What a fount of information this one was! What would she be telling him next, he wondered? That they were in a forest? No, Mithian, really? "Arthur, I know you want to find him as soon as possible, but..." On some level, Arthur knew he shouldn't be insulting her, even in his mind. Deep down, he felt ashamed at his thoughts, but that was only deep down somewhere inside. The rest of him was viciously lambasting her and enjoying every second of it. "I think it's time we set up camp for the night."

"We're not stopping." His voice was firm, and there was such heat in his words that he was surprised when she didn't flinch again. He sometimes forgot that this wasn't a typical noblewoman; this was a strong ruler, a huntress, a warrior who commanded Arthur's respect.

"Arthur." There was that tone. That 'be reasonable' tone that always infuriated him. He wasn't a child, he was a King! Nobody should use that tone with him; not Merlin, not the lords in the council, not even Mithian. His Father had always treated him like a child, rarely listening to his son's words and never giving him the respect, the proud compliments, Arthur so desperately needed to hear. Like a man dying of thirst, he had drank up every scrap of praise he could get, but there was never enough; his Father never stopped patronizing him and acting like he was still a pre-pubescent boy. Whenever someone used that tone with him now, even years after his Father's death, he felt the same pain and anger that he had then.

"We can't help Merlin if we're too tired to fight," she said. Arthur huffed, but she continued resolutely on. "Think about it, Arthur!" He had thought about it; what did she think he was, stupid? It was Merlin's job to not-think, not his. "This is a sorcerer we're dealing with," she said, and Arthur felt the familiar tingle of dread, of hate, shoot down his spine at the word. "He broke into the castle and stole him from my citadel with barely any effort; this isn't some bandit you can cut down, Arthur, this is serious!"

"I know!" It wasn't a hiss, a quiet proclamation, or a serene statement. It was a shout, a yell that sent some animals crashing through the bushes in fearful flight. "You think I don't know that? Of course it's dangerous! But what else can we do? I have to find him, Mithian- I can't not look for him. This isn't a ransom; there's no reason for this sorcerer to keep him alive!"

"Arthur-"

"Either he's the typical mage who wants revenge for the Purge or he's connected to the slave caravan I wiped out- the only thing we've really done since coming to Nemeth. Either way, there's no motivation for keeping Merlin alive. He's taunting me, Mithian, pulling me in so he can try and kill me, but Merlin's life doesn't factor in. If he finds Merlin too annoying, which the idiot definitely is, he'll have no reason not to kill him. He could be already dead, for all we know, but I'm not going to stop looking until I find him."

"Arthur-"

"You can sleep if you want to," Arthur said, his blue eyes burning into the forest trail directly before him, "but I'm going on ahead."

"Arthur, look!" Arthur looked up. There was a bright orange light shining through the trees, illuminating the sky and obscuring the stars with a black pillar of smoke. Fire. Merlin? Without another word, the two of them sped off towards the light, the guards and Knights they'd brought with trailing behind them.

Arthur glanced to his left. Mithian was riding quickly through the trees, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "You're coming with, then?" He shouldn't have said it, he knew, but his tongue reflected the angry haze still covering his thoughts.

Mithian glared at him, and he regretted saying anything. "You're not the only one who cares about Merlin," she said, irritation barely showing in her voice. She looked back to the path, returning her attention to the difficult job of speeding through a wild forest.

Arthur let the silence spin on awkwardly, wanting to say something to patch things up between them but not sure what the words were he was supposed to say. He couldn't- wouldn't- say she was right earlier, because she wasn't. He would keep searching until he found Merlin or his horse was forced to a stop. Under normal circumstances, he would've said that resting was extremely important, but this wasn't a normal circumstance. This was a hostage situation where the kidnapper had no reason to keep his captive alive. Time was of the essence, and if he waited for a night, there may not be a Merlin for him to find.

The very idea of Merlin lying cold and bloody on the forest floor nearly stopped Arthur's heart. He refused to dwell on the image rapidly taking shape in his mind, focusing entirely on spurring his horse forward. His eyes were trained on the burning orange light in the distance, on the black pillar of smoke so large and so near that it covered the night sky and blotted out the stars.

"What do you think it is?" Mithian called over to him, her white horse flecked with sweat as she pushed its tired body on to newer and greater speeds. "A forest fire?"

He narrowed his eyes, and though it hurt to stare at such a bright light so late at night, he kept his gaze focused on it as long as he could. "No," he said finally, ducking under a tree branch that would've unhorsed him, "it's stationary, as far as I can see."

"A house, then?"

"Here? In the middle of the woods?" Arthur had scarcely said it when realization crashed into him with all the force of a great thunderclap. He reeled back and cursed as his brain put two and two together. "The slave caravan, of course! If he really wanted revenge for the raid, what better place to go? God, I'm so stupid!" He brought his heels down against the horse's sides. "Hiya!"

They burst through the trees. There it was, burning brightly against the dark backdrop of the ancient trees and timeless sky. The caravan's safe-house was burning. Bright orange tongues of flame climbed up the walls and licked up at the stars, spitting thousands of burning embers up into the sky and spewing an enormous column of black smoke into the sky. Red whips lashed all along the building's surface, tearing down the roof and ripping bits of wall to the ground. And the noise! Such a cacophony of hisses, cracks, snaps, and crashes Arthur had seldom heard. It brought back memories, dark memories, of when an ancient dragon had flown through the night sky and set nearly all of Camelot ablaze.

"Arthur, look!" Mithian was already leaping from her saddle, running towards the fire. Arthur looked and saw a dark shape huddled in the grass, lying still before the great bonfire that roared so close by.

"Merlin!" The cry was at once relieved and terrified. Arthur was already moving, dismounting his horse and sprinting across the grass to where his manservant lay. He skidded to a halt and knelt down, grabbing the raven-haired boy's shoulders and shaking him roughly. "Merlin! Merlin!"

Those few seconds Arthur spent shaking him seemed the longest of his life. All he could see was the boy's lolling head, his closed eyes, and his still form. His breath hitched, and his heart seemed to pound so fast and so hard that he was amazed it didn't burst out of his chest.

Then Merlin groaned, and Arthur nearly cried from relief. Two eyelids cranked open, bloodshot blue eyes staring up at him. "What?" His voice was groggy, his words slurred, but he was alive. And that was all Arthur cared about. "Arthur?"

"You idiot!" Arthur exclaimed, shaking Merlin's shoulders one more time and pushing him onto the grass. "You are by far the stupidest person I've ever met in my life! What on earth were you thinking?"

"What are you talking about?" Merlin's voice was bleary and fogged, like he was talking from a long way off. "Thinking, what?"

Arthur huffed. "Exactly," he said, "you weren't thinking at all!"

"Arthur," Mithian interjected, "it's not his fault. He was sick; he couldn't help being kidnapped. You said yourself that Merlin wasn't to blame."

"It's not important right now," Arthur said, blustering as Merlin's blue eyes turned back to him, "where's the sorcerer?" The Knights and guards were drawing near, now, setting up a protective circle around the three of them. Their swords were up, looking out into the bright night, waiting for the one who'd broke into the citadel and assaulted their Princess to show himself.

"Gone," Merlin mumbled, "gone."

"Gone?" Arthur's voice was stretched, and he shook Merlin's shoulders again in frustration. He felt both a flash of regret and satisfaction as the raven-haired manservant groaned at the uncomfortable movement. "What do you mean, gone?"

"Gone," Merlin repeated, "gone like the wind. Wooshing through the valley, haha." He rolled his eyes up to Mithian and grinned, his unfocused blue eyes staring into her brown ones. "Fire," he said, "burning, burning, burning fire."

"Delusional," Mithian said, her voice unsteady as she ripped her gaze away to focus on Arthur. "He must still be sick. This whole thing can't have been good for him; we have to get him back to the citadel."

"Right," Arthur said, gathering Merlin in his arms (ignoring his giggly "whee"). The mumbling manservant didn't shut up, though, and Arthur had to resist the temptation to shake him. "Merlin," he said, "which way did the sorcerer go?"

"Got a girl's name," Merlin said, giggling, "I gave it to him, you know, Arthur."

"That's nice, Merlin," Arthur said impatiently, "now which way did he go?"

Merlin shrugged and waved his arm vaguely, taking in the whole of the forest in the gesture. "'E went that-a-way," he said, and he began to laugh, coughing with every breath. "But he's, he's, he's," he pulled on the top of Arthur's armor, trying to pull the blonde's head nearer. "He's fine now, Arthur," he said, each word slurred as if he'd had one too many tankards of ale, "fine! Spirits came, and he apologized, and-"

"Merlin," Arthur said, cutting across his delusional mumblings, "shut up."

"Fan out," the Princess ordered, and the assembled warriors immediately broke off into the woods to search for the sorcerer's trail. "This doesn't make sense," she said to Arthur, "why would he burn his own safe-house?"

Arthur shrugged, standing up and holding Merlin tightly in his arms. "Maybe he didn't want us to find something, or maybe it's some kind of twisted memorial."

"But where is he? And why leave Merlin alive?" Mithian walked with Arthur back to the horses, her warm brown eyes glinting in confusion. "You said it yourself, he had every reason to kill him. If he wanted to kill you, or even just hurt you, why did we find Merlin alive?"

"Sorry," Merlin grumbled, his voice a little muffled by Arthur's armor, "I'll have them stab me next time."

"No, Merlin," she laughed, darting near and tousling his hair. A part of her wondered why she did that, why she felt the need to establish contact with the raven-haired manservant, but the rest of her quashed it down and attributed it to simple relief and camaraderie. "You know what I mean," she said to Arthur.

"Yes," he said, "you're right. It doesn't make sense. But for now, all we can do is go back to Nemeth and help Merlin." Strangely enough, he didn't sound all too concerned about the sorcerer's motives, nor did he seem interested in pursuing him through the night.

Mithian noticed the change from his dogged, unceasing perseverance to his easy acceptance and grinned. She quickly schooled her face into a serious expression and nodded to the limp form in the King's arms. "I could have one of the Knights bring Merlin back," she said, fighting her facial muscles to keep them from breaking out into a smirk, "so you could track this sorcerer yourself."

"Absolutely not," Arthur said swiftly, and she nearly laughed out loud.

"Got what you came for," she said slyly, "eh, Arthur?"

"Shut up, Mithian."

By the following day, the physician had completely cleared Merlin. No fevered shaking, no delusional mutterings, and (though he didn't say it) no turning the King into a blonde storm of hyperactive anxiety. This event mysteriously coincided with a feast Mithian suddenly decided to throw in Arthur's honor. Never before had the blonde monarch seen servants so happily prepare a feast than the ones in the citadel. When he'd asked the Princess why they were so cheerful, she had just laughed and said that they were happy Merlin was well. Arthur didn't understand why they cared, but, like so many things in his life, he decided to take it in his stride.

Arthur never would find out what exactly had happened that night. Unfortunately, when Merlin was fully recovered and finally dismissed by a very relieved physician, he was unable to tell Arthur what had happened between him and the sorcerer. Frogface, whose nick-name which was rapidly catching on all throughout the citadel, told the blonde monarch that it wasn't uncommon for delusional, feverish patients to not remember their episodes. Nothing could be done for it; the sorcerer would have to live another day. Arthur had been frustrated by his manservant's ignorance, calling him an idiot and storming off, but secretly he was just glad that the oaf was alright. The escape of the kidnapper was a small price to pay for Merlin's life.

Merlin did seem a little more pensive than usual after that night; sometimes Arthur caught him staring out their room's window, his eyes deep and his face haunting. Arthur didn't know what that was all about, but then, Merlin got like this sometimes. And anyway, it must be disconcerting to lose a whole night of your life. Arthur imagined it to be like a giant black hole in Merlin's mind, impossible to look away from and hopelessly incomprehensible.

With Merlin's recovery came the time to leave Nemeth. Arthur didn't want to say goodbye to Mithian, with whom he enjoyed a friendship and camaraderie that he usually only experienced with his Knights. Their friendship was a strange blend of girly warmth and manly contest; the latter was all too familiar to Arthur, and he gladly fell into the welcome patterns of teasing and competition, but the former was very strange. The only people with whom he shared that kind of bond were Gwen and Merlin- but only when Arthur really needed someone to talk to, of course. It was alien, and Arthur didn't know what to do with it, but he enjoyed it nevertheless. He was sad to have to bid her farewell, but they both promised to keep in touch and to visit whenever their royal schedules allowed it.

As they rode out of Nemeth's citadel, the castle servants cheering and waving goodbye, Arthur felt a warmth begin to spread in his chest that had nothing to do with the sunshine. He looked to his right, where Merlin rode beside him, chattering away about something or another. Arthur wasn't really listening to what he was saying; he'd begun tuning him out once they'd mounted their horses. He would never admit it to anyone- not to Mithian and certainly not to Merlin- but he liked his manservant, and he was glad that the big-eared idiot was safe. His stomach churned, almost as if this silent admittance wasn't enough, but he ignored it.

Something wet splashed his face, and Arthur reeled back, sputtering as water dripped down his jaw. He looked over to see Merlin laughing on his horse, pointing a full skin of water at his liege. "Are you awake now?"

"Merlin!" Arthur swore, wiping the water from his face and glaring at his raven-haired manservant. "What was that for?"

Merlin leaned forward, his blue eyes glinting mischievously. "For not listening to me, prat."

Arthur scowled. "I don't listen to you because you're an idiot," he said, "idiot."

Merlin opened his mouth to respond and gagged as a stream of water soared through the air and dove down his throat. Arthur had snaked his hand down to his own pack, grabbing his waterskin and waiting for just the right to moment to strike.

"Bulls-eye," he said, smirking with satisfaction.

"Oh," Merlin said once he had finished gagging, "this means war."

Blue met blue. Their two gazes locked, neither daring to breathe. One second... two seconds... then, both at exactly the same time, they brought their waterskins up and squeezed.

(-o_o-)

Well, there it is, the last chapter! This has been a really instructive experience for me; not only did I break out of my comfort zone by beginning a multi-fic, but I also learned a few things about myself and about writing along the way. I had never realized just how good it felt to end a chaptered story and completely wrap up a plot. Writing this chapter, being able to put together a happy ending that had bits from all the chapters woven into it, felt really good. I would say that this was my favorite chapter to write, but I honestly enjoyed the last chapter just as much, and I probably enjoyed the one before that too. That's the real secret to success, I think; not only having the dedication to keep writing, but also to always have in mind the enjoyment, the interest, and the love of just writing that initially made me post the first chapter.

Thanks for sticking with me through this and posting reviews! If you could leave any constructive criticism, it would be much appreciated. You won't see any other fics from me for a while: my summer's going to be largely internet-less. I've got a half-completed modern multific with Merlin, Freya, and Morgana ready and waiting on my computer for when I get back, though, so keep an eye out.

Again, anything you could leave me would be great. Did you like the chapter? I hope it was as satisfying an ending for you as it was for me. Thoughts, criticisms, anything- you're welcome to drop it off in the review box below. I hope you enjoyed this story, and I hope to see you all again! Thank you for taking the time to read, thank you to all of you reviewers, thank you if you're about to take a moment to type up a comment, and I hope you have a great day and a wonderful summer! Ciao!

-Quill