A/N: Okay, so I need you all to keep in mind that this is my first Merlin fan fic, and the darkest fic I've written so far. So this may not be much good. I'd Love reviews. And, sad as it is, I don't own Merlin. (But then again, if I did, it would adhere more to the traditional legends, and therefore be not so fun. Oh well, it's better this way.) Please please PLEASE review! It'll let me know if you like it, 'cause I do have two other fanfics that need updating, but this was an idea.

MERLIN POV

It was just all so hard. Every day, all the time, he was reminded of his destiny. And almost every week it seemed, Arthur managed to get himself into some sort of trouble. Witches, some magical monster, or . . . other things. Things like Freya. Merlin knew he shouldn't still be dwelling on this, it had been over a year. But everything was just coming down around him. Though Uther was dead and Arthur had made the large step of making peasants into knights, his stance against magic did not seem to waver. Just yesterday, a man convicted of using sorcery had been executed. They didn't even know what he had used the magic for. At least it hadn't been the pyre. A beheading. But Merlin just couldn't take it anymore. Watching as Arthur had sentenced the terrified man, barely older than Merlin, to death.

Merlin was terrified. So scared, so very scared. And not just for his life. He was failing. Failing in his destiny. He had called to Kilghara, but the dragon had had little to say other than to be patient. As if he hadn't been patient for the last few years. He had tried to hide the depression slump he was getting into, and while it was getting easier to avoid Gaius, Arthur was nearly impossible. Merlin could avoid Gaius by leaving early (normally without breakfast) and coming back late (normally skipping lunch on the way). But Arthur . . . Merlin tried his best not to show that anything was wrong . . . but sometimes he could swear Arthur seemed concerned. Not that it would matter. Arthur wouldn't be concerned when he killed Merlin for having magic. But . . . would he? Yes, probably. Still, the large and irrational part of him that thought of Arthur as a friend was telling him that Arthur would at least hear him out. Not that Merlin was particularly interested in testing that theory. The fear stopped him every time.

He had found a few ways to deal with the fear and stress. Well, mostly two. One was working himself to exhaustion, so the nightmares wouldn't come. That he was and had been doing. The second hadn't been implemented quite yet. But . . . today seemed as good a day as any. It had been a bad day, what with the execution and all. And the tool needed was in his hand. Sharp and bright. The dagger Arthur had given him after the last time Morgana had attacked.

"Because you're useless with a sword, but too loyal to stay safe," Arthur had said, sounding almost annoyed, when Merlin had asked for the reason behind the gift. He kept it on the table next to the bed. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep it there now. He wouldn't let anyone see it.

He contemplated the blade as he pressed it into the pale skin on the inside of his wrist. He pressed harder and harder, until he felt the skin split. Blood welled up, dark and wet, and trickled down his wrist, and off his fingertips. He took a shuddering breath. Merlin knew that he had passed the place of no return. He made another cut. More blood welled, and Merlin could feel his thoughts turning fuzzy. In a moment of slight panic, he put the knife down. Then his thoughts cleared a bit again, and he understood what happened. The blood loss. He'd have to take it slowly, or risk passing out. Then he would certainly be discovered. Taking a strip of cloth off of the bandage roll he had smuggled into his room earlier, he tied it around the two cuts, which were still oozing blood. Hopefully, no-one would notice under his long-sleeved shirt.

Merlin leaned against the wall, legs splayed in front of him on the bed. His eyes were drawn to a color staining the creamy blanket. It took a little while for his slightly foggy eyes to discern that it was his own blood. Quickly, Merlin muttered a small spell under her breath to take it off, but his concentration was a little wandering. The stain faded so that it could have been nothing more than a dirt stain, and Merlin felt himself sag more into the wall. Before he went to sleep, Merlin stowed the knife, which had cleaned of blood much easier than the greedy sheets, under the mattress of the small bed. Then he fell into a restless, nightmarish sleep.

The heat was rising, Merlin could feel the fire, hungry, greedy fire, coming closer. He would not scream, he would not give him the satisfaction. Merlin's eyes were watering from the smoke, but through the tears, he could see the figures standing on the balcony. Wait. Figures? Arthur was standing there, with Gwen at his side. They were both looking down at him. Both wore expressions of disgust. Disgust for what he is, what he was, something he couldn't control. Merlin's beleaguered mind despaired at the fact that even Gwen, who had lost a father at Uther's hand, had been watching him burn and not shed a tear. His eyes found Arthur's, and he saw . . . nothing. There was nothing there.

Merlin bolted upright, breathing heavily. Everything spun around him, and he collapsed off the bed. Looking up, Merlin noticed that there was a faint light shining through his window. He might as well get started if he wanted to avoid Gaius and any questions about his pale appearance, if his shaking hands were anything to go by. Hands . . . quickly, Melin pulled back the sleeve of his tunic to glance at the bandages. They were covered in dried blood. Quickly, he unwound them, hoping the fabric wouldn't have adhered to the cuts. It hadn't, that was good. And even better, the magic in his system had already closed them, so all that remained was an angry red scar. Quickly stuffing the used bandages under the mattress (he'd probably burn them later), he left the room.

A/N: Review? (Yeah, maybe I'm nagging, but I want to know what you think!)