A/N This story begins at the very end of the Battle of Camlann. It's technically au, but I tried very hard to stay in character.

Warning: This is definitely not a fluffy fix-it. Please pay attention to genre categories before you decide to read this.

The men were charging forward with renewed determination, invigorated by the old sorcerer who was fighting, and winning, the battle for them. Arthur struggled to keep his concentration on the now-retreating army and not focus on the sorcerer that was saving their lives.

Why would he do that? Arthur desperately asked himself as he fought off two more of Morgana's men. Why would a sorcerer help Camelot of all places, the land notorious for its hatred of magic?

Perhaps it was some sort of politics among sorcerers, Arthur decided as he defeated yet another soldier, The enemy of your enemy is your friend...

Well, perhaps he would not go quite that far.

He was jolted out of his musings by the appearance of a dark figure, just a couple of feet in front of him. Unlike the rest of the fleeing army, this man strode confidently, fearlessly towards him. His dark blue eyes glinted with hatred, with murder. Mordred raised his sword, and Arthur did the same; his heart pounded with an overwhelming array of emotions: hatred, fury, betrayal, sadness, and perhaps a little fear. He had seen Mordred fight, and had thanked the heavens that he, Arthur, would never have to fight against him.

There was no time to ponder the irony of the situation; Mordred launched himself at Arthur, and Arthur barely had time to repel the attack. They exchanged several, savage blows when Mordred broke through Arthur's defenses. Arthur saw the blade hurtling towards his chest, but did not have time to react.

I'm sorry, Gwen, he thought, but then he felt himself being forced to the ground. Dazed, he looked up and saw an old man, a very familiar old man.

The sorcerer, he realized, How did he... but then Arthur saw the blade that was plunged into the old man's chest...the blade meant for him. "Too late, Emrys," Mordred hissed, and he pulled the blade out of the sorcerer's body with a sickening hiss. The sorcerer, Emrys, Arthur supposed, crumpled to the ground and Mordred began to turn back to Arthur.

He was ready this time; Arthur jumped to his feet and sank his blade into Mordred's heart. Mordred's eyes widened, and, for a moment, Arthur caught a fleeting glimpse of the scared, lonely little boy that Mordred always was, always would be. Then the boy fell, and Arthur could see in his blank eyes that he was dead.

Beating back an overwhelming wave of guilt and regret, Arthur turned his attention to the sorcerer. He needed to take him to Gaius to be treated; the old man deserved that, at least.

Except there was no sorcerer. Arthur's heart stopped. Instead of an ancient, white-haired stranger, a small, raven-haired young man lay in a crumpled heap at his feet.

"NO!" Arthur gasped, whirling around to see where the old sorcerer had gone, but there was no sign of him. Dizzy with confusion, Arthur turned back to the crumpled body: how had Merlin gotten there? he thought dizzily He had backed out, ran away, when I had needed him the most. He can't have been the sorcerer; that man was eighty at least, where Merlin is still in his twenties, but now Merlin is lying there, where the sorcerer had been, bleeding.

Merlin was bleeding.

The world stopped as Arthur's mind finally comprehended everything he was seeing. His previous thoughts forgotten, Arthur bent down and carefully scooped his best friend into his arms. Only one thing mattered now. Merlin was bleeding, and Arthur needed to help him.

Arthur strode through the battlefield, trying to rock the still-unconscious Merlin as little as possible. He could feel the servant's heartbeat pounding against his chest, faster than it should have been, but there. "Stay with me Merlin," Arthur murmured.

It was eerily quiet. There had been so much noise before; now everything was still save the birds in the trees, prattling on, unaware or indifferent to the carnage below them.

Don't die, Merlin. Arthur thought desperately, Don't die. Don't die. Don't die.

Eventually, Arthur began to encounter others; physicians caring for the wounded, knights slowly trudging back to camp, some on their own, some helping their injured brethren. They would turn as Arthur approached, and their faces would break out into identical grins, "The king!" they would cry, "King Arthur is here!" Then they would see who was cradled in Arthur's arms, and the smiles would fade, for of course they all knew the King's constant companion, "Call Gaius!" they'd bellow, "Merlin needs Gaius!" Down the battlefield the word traveled. Arthur could hear the shouts of the soldiers far ahead of him, "King Arthur! Merlin! Gaius!" until it seemed a single voice was repeating over and over, "King Arthur! Merlin! King Arthur! Merlin! Arthur! Merlin! Arthur!" It made sense, Arthur supposed, for they were one.

Gaius was waiting when they finally reached camp, "Put him in here," he said hurriedly, indicating the tent nearest him. Arthur entered and gently laid Merlin on an empty cot. The servant was pale and sweaty, and still he refused to wake. Gaius was already examining the wound, "What happened?" he asked.

"I don't know," Arthur confessed, "I turned around, and there he was."

"He's been stabbed," Gaius said, still examining the wound, "The wound is very deep." He grabbed several potions and bandages from a table near the cot.

"Will he be alright?" Arthur demanded.

"It's too early to say," the physician confessed, and Arthur saw the pain in his eyes as he admitted it.

The king was too shocked to respond to this, and was spared the necessity of forming a coherent sentence when Gwen burst into the tent, looking dirty and haggard and so very beautiful, "Arthur!" she cried, throwing her arms around him. Arthur held his precious queen tightly to his chest and buried his face in her shoulder; she was alive, so very, very alive, and he loved her and she would fix this because she was Gwen, and Gwen fixed things. She had cared for Merlin even longer than Arthur had, and she would fix this and make Merlin alright.

"Arthur," Gwen whispered, low enough that no one else would hear, "What's wrong?"

"Merlin" Arthur breathed.

"What?" Gwen gasped, pulling a little away from him and looking around, "Merlin!" she cried and knelt by the cot. Arthur found he was unable to join her; his body refused to obey him. He could only stand there staring at his unconscious servant, his dying friend, and wonder how it had ever come to this.

"It's my fault," he said quietly.

"Don't be stupid Arthur," Gwen said, "You know it isn't."

"It is," Arthur said dully, "I goaded him into coming back. Before we left, when Merlin said he wasn't coming with me. I told him that I had always considered him one of the bravest men I had ever known, but that I had been wrong," Arthur remembered the hurt, the loneliness and betrayal that he consumed him that evening. Now he wished more than anything that Merlin had stayed away. "I made him feel guilty, and that's why he came back, and now..."

Gaius had looked up from Merlin's wound. He looked surprised, almost disbelieving, and even a little angry, "Pardon me, Sire," he said, "But that is utter nonsense."

His reaction caught Arthur off guard, "What do you mean?"

"Of course Merlin was going to come, no matter what you said," the old man snapped, "Did you think for a minute that Merlin would ever abandon you? Really? After all these years, after all the times he has followed you to hell and back again, you thought he would leave you now? Do you really think so little of him?"

Arthur stared blankly at the suddenly formidable old man, "Then why did he leave?"

Gaius sighed, "He had no choice. There was something he had to do."

"What?" Arthur demanded, trying desperately to think of what could be that important. Because Gaius was right. Merlin would never leave him. Not ever.

The physician glanced nervously at the still-unconscious young man, "It is not my place to say," he said finally.

For half a moment, Arthur considered pressing for more information, but decided against it, "That's alright," he murmured, "I'll just ask him," because of course he would be able to ask Merlin. There would be plenty of time to ask him, because Merlin was going to wake up. Arthur saw Gwen and Gaius exchange anxious glances, but he ignored that too, because they were worrying unnecessarily. Merlin was going to be fine. He always was.

"It was the sorcerer," he murmured, more to distract himself than anything.

"I'm sorry sir?" Gaius asked, as he returned his attention to Merlin's chest.

"The sorcerer. He was the one who attacked Merlin." Rage coursed through his veins; no matter what else the sorcerer had done, he would pay for this.

Gaius pursed his lips, but said nothing. Gwen, however, was incredulous, "The sorcerer who beat Morgana's army?" Gwen asked, "Arthur you can't be serious."

"I know what I saw," Arthur said, "I was fighting Mordred," both Gwen and Gaius gasped at this, but Arthur ignored them, "And he was about to kill me...then the sorcerer pushed me away, so Mordred stabbed Merlin instead." But that did not make sense, a little voice in the back of his head whispered, How did Merlin get there in the first place? Arthur closed his eyes, trying to sort the jumbled memory out. Mordred was about to kill him, but someone pushed him to the ground before he could. Was it Merlin? No, Arthur was certain he had seen the sorcerer standing there. Had the sorcerer pushed Merlin in front of Arthur, thinking that, because he was a servant, his life was somehow worth less? Had the sorcerer, Emrys, Arthur reminded himself. Yes, Mordred had definitely called him that. Had Emrys been helping Mordred, and Merlin saved Arthur, so Emrys stabbed Merlin in revenge? But the sorcerer had no sword, did he not need one? Yet he was sure he had seen Mordred stab the sorcerer, or had he?

It was all a blur. Arthur's eyes snapped open, "This is ridiculous," he muttered, striding over to Merlin. Merlin would tell him, if only the idiot would wake up. "Merlin!" he shouted, "Stop lazing about! Wake up!" Gwen was squeezing his hand, telling him to let Merlin sleep, but she did not understand. Merlin was just trying to get out of work again; he would wake up if Arthur shouted a bit, as he always did. "Merlin! I command you to wake up!"

Sure enough, the servant stirred and slowly, slowly opened his eyes, "Do you need to shout?" he grumbled.

"Merlin!" Arthur cried, then controlled himself, "Well, if you weren't such a lazy clot, I wouldn't have to shout so loud."

Merlin chuckled, but the chuckle soon turned into a hacking cough. Gaius and Gwen immediately leaned forward to help, and Arthur instinctively moved closer to the bed. Laying a hand on Merlin's boot, the closest part of him the king could reach, he demanded, "Who did this to you?" the cold rage burned again in his veins.

His friend stared at him in surprise, no, shock, and, it seemed for reasons Arthur could not begin to comprehend, in fear, "You don't know?"

Suddenly feeling as if he was missing something incredibly obvious, Arthur shook his head, "No," he said, "Why should I?"

"Mordred," Merlin said.

"Yes," Arthur said, "I was fighting Mordred. I killed him. Did he...?"

"Mordred's dead?" Merlin interrupted, sitting up. The sudden movement made him moan in pain, and his skin grew, if possible, even paler.

"Merlin what are you thinking!" Arthur said furiously, "Lie down!" For once, his servant did not protest and allowed Gwen and Gaius to lay him back down on the cot, "But he's dead," Merlin gasped, "You're sure he's dead."

"Yes," Arthur said, "I killed him myself."

Heaving what seemed to be an enormous sigh of relief, Merlin closed his eyes, and for a panic-stricken moment, Arthur thought he had fallen unconscious again, "Merlin!" he commanded, "Stay with me Merlin!"

Obediently, Merlin opened his eyes, and Arthur was startled to see that they were brimming with tears.

"Merlin..." Arthur began slowly.

"You're safe, Arthur," Merlin whispered, and Arthur found himself bizarrely suspecting that he had never seen his servant so happy, "You're safe."

"Let's try to keep you that way too," Arthur murmured, once again feeling as if he was missing something very important.

Merlin shook his head, "Doesn't matter now."

"Stop being such a self-sacrificing idiot Merlin!" Arthur shouted. Gwen shot him a fierce glare, and Arthur forced himself to make his voice calm again, "Just tell us what happened...please," he added with quick glance at Gwen. She nodded her approval.

"Mordred was about to kill you," Merlin said, there were still tears in his eyes, "And I pushed you out of the way, and now he can't hurt you anymore."

Nothing was making sense: "I could have sworn I saw the old sorcerer push me out of the way," Arthur said.

Merlin stared at him for a long, long moment, and Arthur caught a glimpse of the ancientness that he sometimes saw in the servant's eyes, a wisdom and weariness beyond his years. His friend looked at Gaius, as if seeking confirmation. Gaius nodded almost imperceptibly, and Merlin looked back at Arthur, the wisdom and the weariness more pronounced than ever, "Like I said," he said slowly, carefully enunciating each word, "I pushed you out of the way."

Suddenly, the tent seemed as cold and quiet as death. Perhaps I am dead, Arthur reasoned, Which is why Gwen is looking at our best friend like she's seeing him for the first time, why Gaius is staring at the ground, looking resigned and scared, and why Merlin, Merlin of all people, sounds like he is claiming to be a sorcerer with the power to rout an entire army.

Arthur laughed, even though there was nothing funny at all about what was happening, "The wound's addled your brains a bit, Merlin. You'll feel better once you've rested."

The glee that had lit the young servant's face was gone now, "It's the truth, Arthur," he said solemnly, "I have magic. I've had magic from the day I was born."

The world was spinning; Arthur had the sudden, overwhelming urge to be sick. Merlin was wrong, he thought, trying hard not to panic, He was injured. He hit his head. That sorcerer addled his brains, and he is wrong.

"Merlin," he heard himself saying, as if the servant had forgotten to polish his armor again, "That sorcerer," he spat out the word, and Merlin flinched, "Was older than Gaius. He couldn't possibly be..."

Merlin lifted his hand and started speaking in a low, tremulous voice. Arthur did not understand a single word, but he did not have to. He recognized the language from hours of studying, of drilling, with Uther so he would be able to recognize magic...so he could eliminate it and everyone, anyone who practiced it. Then Merlin's blue eyes were not blue anymore, they were gold, and Merlin was not Merlin anymore, he was Emrys...and Emrys was holding an orb of light in the palm of his hand.

Thank you so much for reading. The rest of the fic is done, so updates should be pretty quick. Your thoughts are very much appreciated.