This little nugget of angst is dedicated to my friend Sahba, because she loves a happy ending ... and Happy (belated) New Year to all my fellow Merlin fans and writers!

"Merlin, please," whispered Arthur.

The dark haired boy lay silently in the huge expanse of Arthur's own bed. He was breathing shallowly but steadily. Arthur cursed the familiarity of this scene and pleaded with the powers that governed fate, to let his friend return to him once more.

After the battle with Morgana, in the overwhelming chaos of the celebration, Merlin had gotten separated from him. Looking around, once he reached the throne room, he had realized his friend's absence. Gwen and Leon had grown alarmed as well, just as Gawaine had burst in, his eyes hollow. Then had come the words that had frozen his heart.

"It's Merlin. Come quickly." Through the crowded corridors he had found his way, twisting and turning from the puzzled faces and cries of alarm that followed him as he ran. With victory in his hand, he had felt it all crumble into ash, as he fought his way through the celebratory crowd. It had been so surreal, that even now, in his memory, it had the sinister quality of a vision from hell.

He remembered the darkened room, the crowded boxes and barrels looming in the corners. Gaius had been holding Merlin, frantic and despairing, and the warlock, drained and panting, barely conscious, clearly at the end of his strength, was speaking an incantation. He recognized it from the sweeping feel of his heart, even as grief told him there would be no happy end to what was happening. The spell was binding him, taking him away, consuming the last of his strength.

And then Merlin had looked at him; he had looked straight into his heart as only Merlin could. With immediate terrifying understanding, Arthur knew what his friend was trying to do. Time had run out. Paralyzed with fear, still hoping for a miracle. he had watched as Merlin faded at the end of the spell.

And then, incredibly, his friend had fought his eyes open for a few precious seconds as he heard the king call his name. The look of complete joy on his face at that moment, as he recognized Arthur, and then slowly slipped away into utter stillness would haunt his nightmares forever. Gaius' anguished cry had echoed in the blackness that had leaped up and seized Arthur's heart. He felt as if he was dying as well. The pain had gutted him.

He tried to turn his mind from what had happened next. All that mattered was that Merlin had lived. He could hardly bear to remember and perhaps it was better that way.

Gaius had assured him that Merlin was recovering, his strength growing bit by bit as he slept after his shocking healing. Arthur was relieved and in his mind, he knew Merlin was recovering. He also had eyes to see. His friend had not moved for five days. The king had sat with him for hours, telling stories and silly jokes and anything else he could think of, just as he had when Merlin was first injured. But now, his servant no longer responded. Merlin was still just barely breathing, hardly able to swallow sips of water, as the old physician tended to him. Both Gaius and Alice assured him that Merlin was recovering, and that he only needed more rest and care. He would awaken when his life force, when his magic, was strong enough to support him. The idea made his head spin. Merlin needed his magic, in the same way that Arthur needed his blood to keep coursing through his veins and arteries and his heart. It made intuitive sense, even if he really didn't understand.

He had crept from his bedroom, from Guinevere's side, to keep watch over Merlin yet again. So Merlin would not feel so alone, he told himself. But to be completely honest, he was the one who felt alone. Merlin was watched over constantly by his friends. There had been no stopping the procession of knights and fellow servants, who sat with him, comforting him, encouraging him, praying he would come back to them soon.

The people of Camelot had felt the same. Arthur had been shocked when he saw the people gathering at the setting of the sun, candles flaring in the settling darkness as the people kept vigil along with Arthur. The sight had broken his heart. The trauma of Merlin's injury after Morgana's initial attack and the following battle had underlined Arthur's kinship with his loyal friend. His servant.

Unashamed of his fear, of the terrible reality of losing Merlin, he reached down to touch his hand. But he stopped himself. The last time he had touched his friend, he had saved his life, but the cost had been torturous. Closing his eyes, he could still feel the shuddering gasps of Merlin's agony as he held him tight. Magic. He still wasn't sure of what had happened. But he could not risk touching him again. He looked so frail. Arthur shoved his hands through his hair, rubbing his face as he collapsed ungracefully beside the bed. Merlin didn't move.

"He's better when you're here," said a soft, direct voice. He whirled to see Alice smiling from the dark recesses of the room. He had been consumed by his thoughts and had not seen her. He must have looked stunned because she came around the bed and put her arm around the king. He stiffened,but Alice did not move and suddenly, Arthur's fears crashed in on him. He felt tears sting his eyes as he took Alice's hand in his.

"He just looks, so.. so.." the king couldn't bring himself to go on. She regarded him keenly.

"He breathes deeper when you are near. Watch." She pushed Arthur away from the bed, taking his place by Merlin's side. Arthur saw no change, but he kept silent. Alice had saved the warlock once before. His faith was not lightly given, so he waited.

"Move forward now and watch his chest." She stepped back, exchanging her place with Arthur again. She was right! Merlin's chest was moving more strongly. He looked up at Alice in shock, a smile flooding his face with hope.

But in the storeroom Alice. My smallest touch caused him agony. What is happening? I can't believe that I...

"You don't have magic!" She said it lightly, almost laughing, but with such authority that Arthur felt his anxiety recede a bit.

"I don't?"

"Didn't you believe me the first time, Sire?" Her voice was kind though her words were direct. "You and Merlin are linked by a shared destiny. His magic is strong, so strong my dear King, that we must be prepared for some wonders. I can see the evidence of his change in your presence, but I cannot explain why it happens." She wandered away to the window as she continued speaking, glancing back at the King from time to time. "But as it stands, a healer must admit the efficacy of a treatment when the results are undeniable. I have been watching for days. At first the difference was so minute, that it was barely observable. Then I began to see changes in his heart rate when you were with him. He grows stronger when you are present, Sire. I am reluctant to raise everyone's hopes in these uncharted waters, but the evidence is clear. " She paused. "I could not bring myself to say anything to Gaius... " Her voice trailed off.

Arthur was silent, his mind racing as he turned once more to the bed where Merlin still lay silently. He could not even begin to speak. The silence was long between them, but Arthur felt only the steady warmth of her comforting presence.

"I don't know what to do."

"Until I arrived in Camelot a few days ago, the only relief from the pain of Morgana's enchantment was your presence Arthur. Your voice, your touch. Nothing has really changed."

Nothing had really changed.

With those words, Arthur's understanding was complete. His eyes blazed and the healer bowed slightly as she smiled gently. The door closed quietly behind her.

Arthur could hardly bear it. Five days had been an eternity. Merlin had been silent and unmoving for five days. There was no hint of the humor, the keen wit and quick intelligence of his gaze. No mocking respect to distract him from the task at hand. He missed his servant's voice. There had been no obnoxious morning greetings, no complicated excuses, no long stories without a point.

Merlin's hand lay half curled, palm up on the blanket. The king recalled how that very hand had stopped a fireball, summoned a dragon in a battle of enchantments, and sworn allegiance to him. The index finger was stained with ink. It had sunk into the cuticle and the edges of his nail, and Arthur realized this same hand washed his socks and wrote his speeches, and cut holes in his belt behind his back, when he gained a pound or two. It was the hand of a farm boy, rough with work, his palms as calloused as any warrior. This hand sharpened his sword, readied him for battle, mucked his stables and handed him his shirt every morning and told him to get going. It was the hand of his dearest friend, his servant.

In so many ways, he did not understand why Merlin served him. The most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth, Merlin, his friend, worked tirelessly as if he was a ordinary servant. Maybe it was for the sake of Camelot, for their friendship. No, it was deeper than that, reasoned Arthur. They served the same master, their dream of a better world, a more just kingdom. Merlin had accomplished more in the shadows, than any sorcerer could have in the brutal light of Camelot. This was the dream he had heard sweeping him along in Merlin's final spell. He might never know what the words meant, but he really did not need to know. He had felt them. Camelot.

With a surety Arthur had seldom felt, he knew he could not bear the burden of that destiny alone. The Camelot of their imaginings could not exist, would never exist unless both he and Merlin brought it into reality.

Arthur hoped that Merlin would forgive him. He wondered if he would be able to forgive himself. Fearing the worst, steeling himself for a jerk of pain, he slipped his hand into Merlin's, placing his other hand on top. Arthur's heart sank immediately, for Merlin's reaction was far worse than he could ever had imagined, far worse than anything he had dreaded. Nothing happened.

Merlin's hand was bonelessly limp and it frightened Arthur more than he could say. This was somehow different. Even when Merlin had been trapped in the enchantment, as Arthur had urged him to hang on, he had not felt so lifeless, so impossibly lost to him. It unsettled him so badly, his sight wavered. He couldn't even judge if Merlin was gaining color or breathing better, or if he remained the same. He held on tighter. He wouldn't lose faith now. Moments stretched into minutes.

"Merlin, please," pleaded Arthur. He called again.

"Merlin!"

His dark eyelashes fluttered. After a long breathless moment, his servant fought his eyes open as he heard the king call his name. He looked stunned at first, his eyes unfocused until he caught sight of his friend. The look of complete joy on his face at that moment, as he recognized Arthur, as he awoke to a new world, would fill the king's heart with hope forever.

His servant, his friend, had returned.