A/N: His Duty is a one-shot separated into two parts.

I'd like to dedicate this story to Merlyn Pyndragon, whose writing and profile had indirectly led me to discovering Merlin and introduced to me the benefits of having a beta-reader. Without her, I would've never dared step out of my comfort zone.

Big, big thanks to wryter501, who helped me fix a lot of things. Without wryter, this story would still be one big, unreadable mess.

His Duty

A good king is formed from the values he learned as a boy and practices as a man. A wise king understands that he is as much of a servant to his kingdom as his people are to his words. But most importantly, when the time comes, a great king must always do what's best for the future of his kingdom and people.

Desperation clawed at his throat, terror blinded him, and only the thinnest strand of restraint held it all back. Adrenaline moved him, kept him moving. It was important to keep moving; there were reasons why, but they'd blurred as the overwhelming need to get away, to someplace safe, overrode all clearer logic. He no longer held a rationale for moving, only the feeling that he must.

Left, right, left, right, one foot after the other. The mechanical march of armies, the primal, basic instinct that kept him anchored.

Everything will be alright. Everything will turn out right… like always.

One leg gave out under the weight of his heavy burden, sliding and buckling as he fell onto his knee. The shock jarred his entire body and rattled his teeth but he halted just in time, his arms pulling taught to prevent the man on his back from sliding off.

A shudder ran up his spine at the close fall, and his grip tightened further around his unconscious companion as he shifted the man more fully onto his back. A breathless bubble of hysteria escaped chapped lips at their ridiculous situation. He, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, stooped to perform the menial task of a servant.

With a puff of exertion, he regained his feet, the low thunder of pursuing enemy footsteps a faint echo behind them. There was no time for rest; he couldn't stop now, not after the brave sacrifices of his knights to ensure his escape from the unexpected attack. Their only chance at survival in the face of such a large group of Odin's men was retreat; and as much as his heart roared at the injustice, he had to escape to honor the chance his knights had given them. And he must survive because he was the king, the future of their kin. He must survive.

One of them had to make it back to the citadel to warn the others; that was only logic. Arthur had to make it back alive for them all.

But to do so, he was beginning to realize that he faced a sacrifice also.

His foot caught on a root and Arthur fell, but this time he couldn't catch himself quickly enough. The frustrated cry that tore from his lips had less to do with the pain of hitting the ground than the realization of his failures.

As King, he was not required to go on patrols. But the weight of his duties had been slowly piling up and Arthur often found himself craving the vast expanse of the forest. The patrol had been his escape, but what had begun as a simple patrol along their borders turned sour quickly when they stumbled across a hidden campsite in the middle of the forest.

A large group of armed knights bearing the sigil of a growling wolf's head. King Odin's coat-of-arms. The other monarch had sent mercenaries and assassins before, but men wearing his livery could only mean one thing.

Odin's army prepared to march on Camelot.

And now, he had little chance of making it back to the citadel. Odin's men would overtake them soon, torment and murder them before continuing unopposed to Camelot. Arthur couldn't let that happen.

He had to make it back to warn the rest of the kingdom of the invasion. He wanted to save Merlin.

He couldn't do both.

Not in this state. Not while struggling under the weight of an unconscious man. With every second he lost the enemies closed the distance between them. Arthur would have to abandon him, to save himself, his kingdom.

"Why…" A breathless choked cry, as he pounded the ground, half trapped and pinned by his burden as he tried to shift his weight. His hands reached for bony shoulders, digging into flesh as he tried to rouse his unconscious companion.

Their border patrol of eight had been no match for a band of thirty armed knights. And though the enemy had been taken by surprise as well, the archers among them recovered swiftly. Too swiftly.

His knights reacted instantly, swords drawn to cover his retreat. Which might have been accomplished, if not for the slip of his foot. But if he hadn't stumbled just then, the arrow might have found its target in his body. Instead there had been a muffled grunt, painfully clear to him despite the noise of the battle raging desperately behind, and he lifted his head to see Merlin, one arm thrown out towards him – the other hand clutching a feathered shaft in his side. His eyes had glazed with pain, before he tilted over.

Arthur had reacted instinctively, lunging forward to catch his servant's body over his shoulder, careful of the damning shaft impaling his friend. Forced to move or risk being caught, Arthur closed his ears to Merlin's cries for respite and simply kept going, at as fast a pace he could manage.

He would never forget the look on Merlin's face, the first time he'd stumbled, and the younger man had flopped to his back on the forest floor. Merlin's hand was still on the arrow, and before Arthur could help or hinder, he'd drawn it out himself in one quick movement. His body arched off the ground in agony, jaws snapping shut with an audible crack in effort to hold in his cry. His pupils were wide, dilated in pain as his trembling hands brought the bloodied arrowhead closer for study.

A low chuckle escaped his lips that chilled Arthur to his bones and in a tone that was beyond his years, exhausted and filled with another emotion that he only realized later was wonderment. "Poisoned."

"Please." His eyes burned. "Merlin. Wake up." He already knew it was useless; the dark-haired man had long since lost consciousness under the influence of the poison in his bloodstream.

It could have been avoided; he shouldn't have had to choose. He wouldn't have to choose if he hadn't surrendered his duties in the citadel to indulge his desire to escape them.

"I'm sorry, Merlin." He was past the point of letting pride tie his tongue. He had been so foolish.

Merlin, silly, foolish Merlin, who tried to muffle his cry of agony, as if he believed that going down silently meant Arthur wouldn't notice and instead continue on his escape. The thought stung; at Merlin's lack of faith in him and their friendship, but worst of all, it terrified him. It terrified Arthur to witness just how much Merlin was willing to sacrifice for him.

It was one thing knowing about the servant's undying loyalty, another to watch it happen right before his eyes. It wasn't right. It wasn't right at all.

Leave me.

He couldn't. He still can't.

Run.

Arthur clutched his head, shaking it to get rid of Merlin's haunting voice - even when delirious with poison the servant thought only of protecting him. Run, Merlin had told him moments before he fell unconscious, struggling to breathe through his own froth and blood. I'm fine you must ru-

"I can't!" The king roared his agony to the skies, his hands fisting as he pulled Merlin close, crushing the scrawny figure to his chest.

All the teachings of the past, the lessons he learned, the aspiration of becoming a great king for the sake of his people urged him to let go of the burden. Without a leader Camelot would fall. It would never survive another war so soon after the battle with Morgana. Hundreds, thousands of innocents would die and Camelot would be ripped apart, set aflame and burned until bitter ashes were all that remained of a glorious kingdom.

Merlin shuddered.

Immediately Arthur pulled back, surprise and the wildest spark of hope igniting, his name dancing on the tip of his tongue. "Mer-"

He barely caught his servant in time as the raven haired man seized violently, a horrid gasping sound torn from his throat.

"Merlin!" A spray of fresh blood met his cry and suddenly Merlin was struggling to breathe.

Oh gods no. He held the manservant down as a brutal spasm ran through his body, muscles and limbs jerking in awkward positions. No… Even unconscious Merlin was still in pain. Arthur choked back on a sob as his unconscious friend thrashed and twitched on the ground fighting a battle he couldn't join - not this time. Let it be over please, he prayed.

After several watery coughs, full of phlegm and blood, Merlin's body contracted suddenly and Arthur knew what was coming next. He turned the injured man to the side just in time as Merlin retched.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," he sobbed as he rubbed his friend's back, hating the painful sounds coming from Merlin's lips. "I'm so sorry."

The enemies were closing in. Camelot was in danger. Merlin was in pain… Merlin was dying.

The choice was simple.

It always had been.

He couldn't leave Merlin, not like this. Even if he never regained consciousness to recognize his own pain and Arthur's abandonment of him, even if Odin's men never laid one hand on him before he had gone beyond their reach. He couldn't leave Merlin to die alone and in prolonged agony. Or to be captured and subjected to who-knew-what torture for information, before the poison proved too much. There would be no time for rescue; Odin's men would be on him too soon. But Merlin would suffer and die and Arthur would be responsible.

He couldn't wait, either. Not for Merlin's death, or his own capture.

Slowly, painfully, Arthur's fingers grazed over the hilt of a small hunting knife hidden in his boot. The short silver weapon gleamed maliciously under the sun as he reached to cradle Merlin's head gently.

"Camelot needs me," he whispered. Was that his voice? Deep and choked with grief and resignation? Was that the voice of the King of Camelot? "I'm so sorry, Merlin, please forgive me. I'm so sorry," he sobbed, brushing aside raven hair.

He was sorry he'd been such a terrible friend. He was sorry he couldn't do more. He was sorry for his selfishness, that he'd rather Merlin died quickly by his hand than slowly to the poison within his bloodstream.

He was sorry he ever had to choose.

At least there was one thing he could do, for his friend.

"I," he began softly, lifting the blade. Please. "Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, hereby release you.. " His voice cracked as his arms shook. Merlin. "From your service as my manservant. You pledged your loyalty and offered yourself to serve me and now…" Wake up.

"You are free."

With a strangled cry of anguish and sorrow, Arthur brought the blade down and the heavens and earth shook and roared alongside him.

x x x

The heavens and earth were not roaring with him but at him. Before he could react - before he could finish the deed - he was sent flying before a strong blast of wind, the lethal weapon in his hand spinning away into the darkness of the forest.

His back crashed against an old oak and the air in his lungs was knocked out; he fell to the ground gasping in pain. Though Arthur never was happier to be sent flying away.

It was as if a storm had suddenly descended upon the area - the forest that had been quiet and calm just a few moments ago was now being ravaged by winds so strong trees were bending sideways. Darkness enveloped the area and Arthur instinctively looked up to find the sky covered, dominated by a creature he thought deceased.

Even though years had passed since their last encounter, the great - supposedly dead - dragon was still as magnificent and terrifying as before.

With one great sweep of its wings, trees around the area felled, upended from the ground. The roar that echoed through the area shook the ground itself before the ancient creature landed with a crash, sending clouds of dust and debris into the air.

Coughing and shielding his eyes, his heart leapt to his throat when Arthur realized just how close the dragon was to crushing his friend's immobile body. In the silence that reigned for seconds that lasted too long for him, their eyes met, glowing amber against murky blue and for a terrifying moment the dragon almost seemed contemplative.

But the moment of fragile peace was broken as the dragon's maws opened and Arthur's cry of anguish was swallowed up by the roar of flames that erupted from the monster.

He was thrown to the ground as it shook with the beast's howl and waves of heat rolled and pressed against him. He knocked his head on something and a flash of pain ripped through the side of his temple. The world slowed before his eyes and he watched a parade of Pendragon colors blaze to life, dancing proudly amidst greens and blues. Shaking his head, the king managed to get up on his elbows, the effort sending lashes of pain tearing through his consciousness.

The tears on his face remained refreshingly cool and wet against the breath of the dragon now unleashed on the forest. A ceremony of fiery colors leaped in his vision, slowly eating away his surroundings. Softly, hauntingly, echoes rose from the inferno, an eerie song of death building up in crescendo. They were screams, he recognized, belonging to the enemies that had been chasing them. Now burning.

Yet despite the destruction around him, not a single hair on his body was singed. The fire had miraculously missed them both.

As his vision cleared, he witnessed what could only be explained by the use of magic. The forest had turned into a sea of flames - he swallowed down bile as he made out several flailing figures falling to the inferno - but fierce as the fire roared around them, it never crossed a certain line. An invisible barrier held it back, forming a clean circle around them, keeping those within safe from the dragon's wrath.

Before he could wonder at the miracle, the great creature began to move, turning its attention towards the prone body by its curled claws. Terror like no other gripped his heart, pushing him into action as he ran, unsheathing his sword in one smooth move to stand over his friend.

"No!" he yelled, hovering over his unconscious servant, his sword angled defensively towards the massive creature. "Leave him alone!"

What was he doing? What could one sword hope to do against a hide that had once withstood hundreds of Camelot's best? The creature wouldn't understand him and even if it did, why would it cooperate? This was the same magical beast that brought chaos down on Camelot in the past and had easily done again to his enemies this day. If it so pleased, it could crush them with one foot.

The great dragon lowered its massive head, slitted pupils narrowing at him. There it was again, an expression of sorts crossing its face. But that wasn't possible. Monsters didn't feel. He retreated closer to Merlin, watching with a sinking heart as its lips peeled back, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

"Leave him?" The dragon's words boomed around the area over the roar of the flames, shocking the king from his trepidation.

Looking up, he came eye to eye with the dragon as its breath washed against him, hot and dry. Arthur swallowed thickly, buckling under the judgment in the creature's eyes, but unable to look away. But instead of fear and anguish, it was hope that suddenly swelled within him at a sudden understanding.

It speaks.

A hysterical laugh slipped from his lips, as Arthur bowed under the overwhelming sense of relief washing over him. If their situation was not so dire, he would've thought himself mad. The joy of hearing words from the creature's lips meant one thing. It didn't matter that this creature was supposed to be dead. It didn't matter said creature had diminished his enemies in one breath and could easily do that again to them. At that moment, one thing and only one thing mattered to him. The dragon speaks.

That meant it could be reasoned with.

His grip tightened on his sword. The fire had missed them. Where their enemies burned they survived; it must be a sign that they still had a chance. He snuck a glance at Merlin's pale face, fighting down the futility clawing up his throat. If he could stall the dragon's fury he could still make sure his friend died a dignified death. He would not let Merlin fall into Odin's hands alive, nor would he prolong his agony. Somewhere within him he discovered strength again, and the King found himself straightening, lifting his head he addressed the magical beast.

"Your grievance is with me, great dragon," he announced and a flicker of elation passed through him when the dragon paused, listening. "My father and I have wronged you in the past." Images of flames and wreckage leaped to his mind. Arthur swallowed slowly, glancing at Merlin's weakening breaths, "However, Merlin here is innocent, and he's dying." His voice broke slightly as he blinked away the tears threatening to flow again. "Exact whatever revenge you want from me, my only request is that you'll leave Merlin alone."

Merlin was suffering because of him. If it was destined that neither was going to make it out of the forest alive, then the least Arthur could do for his friend was to make sure he'd still have an un-mutilated body to be found and buried.

"It is not me, Pendragon, he needs protection from."

It was as if the dragon had taken a spear and rammed it through his chest with the words it uttered; the irony was devastating. Arthur hung his head, thoughts of what he had been about to do, what he had almost done, flashed vividly through his mind. His throat closed and his stomach twisted with nausea as he recalled the determination, the resolve, how close he had been to-

"It was for him." He whispered, his words landing on deaf ears. In the end, he hadn't been able to complete the act. As much as Arthur wanted an end to Merlin's suffering, he was perversely glad the dragon came and interrupted when it did.

"Him or yourself?"

The question burned him and Arthur blinked back his tears angrily as his jaw worked. For Camelot. The obvious answer rose to but never left his lips as his shoulders trembled with the effort of holding in his emotions. Always. Always for Camelot.

"Both." He breathed. "Both."

He had lifted the blade for Merlin, to end his torment, though a dark part of him would always wonder how much was because he couldn't bear to listen to Merlin's sounds of agony anymore.

But it was also true that he had lifted the blade to murder, to save himself and Camelot. Even though he knew, the moment the knife pierces through Merlin's heart, some part of him, will irrevocably die with his friend. He had chosen his people. The weight of his role had never been more devastating, his crown never harder to bear.

The ground rumbled with the dragon's inhalation, and Arthur's breath hitched roughly in his throat. He never should've left the castle, he thought again, as the faces of those he left behind flashed before his eyes. He was exhausted and his heart was so, so sore. The world narrowed to the crackling of the dying forest in the background and Merlin's fluttering breath.

"Please." His voice shook as the dragon's jaws parted. "Please."

Heat surrounded him as the dragon breathed out. Pain radiated from his body, but to his surprise the burning was not as agonizing as he'd expected it to be. The discomfort seemed centered around his knees and palms, the places he'd fallen most often when he had been carrying Merlin's weight through the forest. Then it came to him, why the feeling felt so familiar. It was the slow ache of healing.

Dazed, he blinked through his tears to witness a cut on his hand slowly scab over, peel and disappear altogether. The flames - if they could still be called that truly - settled over them like fog, translucent and light. It did not carry the burn of real fire nor devastate the living. It passed through healthy flesh as if passing through air, and seeped into wounds to close and heal them.

Numbed with shock and confusion, Arthur turned his attention to Merlin. He watched as the ghostly pallor that had clung to Merlin's features for so long, slowly lifted away, returning color to the gaunt face. Merlin's labored breaths slowly eased into a slow, even rhythm, no longer plagued with illness. Blindly, he crouched, reaching for Merlin's pulse - just in case - and found it steady, though soft. Safe.

The emotional storm within was blown away, leaving him bone-wearied and tired but soothed by an immense sense of relief and joy. Merlin was going to survive.

"Why?" he whispered.

The golden eyes regarding him were stern and strict, and held not a single trace of kindness or generosity reflecting the miracle it had performed. When the dragon spoke, its voice was dry and dark. "Do not be mistaken, it was not for your sake."

Arthur's throat worked dryly, swallowing past the lump of emotions as he held onto Merlin's pulse like a lifeline.

"Thank you," he rasped. Because even though mortals like him could never hope to understand the motives of the mystical, the great dragon chose to spare them today and that was enough.

The ground rumbled as the dragon shifted, spreading its massive wings like an opening canvas. "There are still many things you do not understand young King. I have waited a thousand years for Albion to rise, I will not let your negligence ruin it." It paused, looking at Arthur.

"One day, you will acknowledge your other half. Only then, will the kingdom truly prosper."

Without another word the great dragon took to the air. The action unleashed gale winds sweeping through the forest, extinguishing the flames, the magical fire snuffed out like blown out candles.

Arthur watched as the creature became all but a dot in the sky and disappeared completely. Then he sat.

He sat, at the abandoned clearing, fallen trees and enemies surrounding them, Merlin still unconscious by his side. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, looking at Merlin, feeling the pulse grow steadily stronger under his fingertips. Feeling his breathing even out and deepen.

Safe. They were safe.

After all they'd been through, no one could blame the king when he finally dropped to the side, giving into exhaustion under gentle birdsong weaving through the air.

So... I'd love to hear your opinion on the one-shot so far! :D I would blab a lot more here but I guess I'll leave it for later!

The second part will be posted within two days, until then, stay happy!

~IOD