Swathed in darkness in the silence of his room, his only companion was the stream of moonlight trickling in from open windows and the fading sounds of celebration echoing in the air.

Camelot was safe.

A larger contingent of knights had found them not long after Arthur passed out, having been sent to search for the king when the return of his patrol was delayed. Upon regaining consciousness and the safety of the citadel, the King sent out another force to sweep the area of the dragon's attack, making sure none of Odin's men were left – and none were forthcoming to continue an invasion, either.

Camelot was victorious. The kingdom was thrown into celebration, honoring the lives that were lost and praising the king's wisdom that had saved them again.

It sickened him. The irony didn't escape him, either, that their victory was in large part due to the dragon's intervention. The enemy of my enemy, he supposed. So he had abandoned the celebrations that only dug into his conscience over and over again, retiring to his room alone.

The chamber door opened and closed softly, causing Arthur to look up from his position with his head in his hands. In the darkness it was hard to see who his visitor was but he had a hunch. There was only one person who would enter a King's room without knocking after all.

Arthur straightened slowly in his seat, taking in the sight of his servant as he approached.

Merlin still looked horrible. The glow from the candle he carried emphasized the dark bruises under his eyes, and his sunken cheeks. His skin had lost its healthy tint, now pallid and bloodless. The dragon had eliminated the poison from his bloodstream, but the ordeal had taken a lot out of Arthur's servant. It had been touch-and-go on their journey home; Merlin had stopped breathing once, but a thump on the back had him coughing and gasping again, much to the relief of the patrol and Arthur. But he'd remained unconscious and unmoving for a few days, until his fever finally broke. He really should've been resting in bed, not here smiling at Arthur.

"I hope you're not attempting to think again, I don't think your thick skull can handle it." Merlin smirked softly, turning to light the lamp at his side.

Arthur kept silent, watching as Merlin went around illuminating his room by sharing the fire in his hand. He noticed how Merlin favored his left side, where the arrow had wounded him. "You should be resting." His voice was tense.

Merlin blinked, a picture of perfect innocence were it not for the pained grimace he couldn't quite hide. "I'd never thought I'd hear you complain about me doing my job," he scoffed lightly, blowing out the candle. He reached for a discarded tunic on the floor, but a soft grunt left his lips as the motion pulled on his stitches. Without pause he straightened, abandoning the shirt and opting to fluff out a pillow instead.

Arthur frowned. "Go back to your room, Merlin." It was not a request.

"When have I ever listened to you?"

"Merlin."

"Arthur."

"I'm serious, Merlin."

"You're always so serious it's a wonder anyone likes you, least of all Guinevere. Honestly-"

"Merlin!" Without stopping to think about a motion so instinctive, he threw the empty goblet from his table at the servant, a second before regret and horror hit him.

Merlin's gasp of pain was like a knife through his heart, and the king bolted up from his seat at the table, crossing with two strides to support Merlin gently by his arms. "Merlin?" Apprehension laced his voice as he tried to gauge his servant's expression, silently cursing himself for his thoughtlessness.

"I think I know my name, sire," came Merlin's reply, weak and breathless. Guilt coursed through the king and he closed his eyes to compose himself.

"Come on," he said softly, and with surprising gentleness led the servant to his bed and sat him down on it. He waited as the pain and disorientation cleared from Merlin's eyes before slowly releasing his steadying grip.

"It's alright, I'm feeling fine now."

Arthur's expression clearly told what he thought of that statement. He assessed Merlin just as he felt Merlin do the same. There was no irregularity in his breathing; though tired, his eyes were clear, not glazed with agony or delirium. Alive, breathing, a little worse for wear but not dead. Arthur couldn't quite suppress the shudder and looked away.

"Arthur?"

The King stiffened, standing up as he walked to his table. "Go back to your room."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Haven't we been through this already?"

His hands clenched by his side, he whirled around to pin his servant with his best menacing glare. Many foes had quaked and quailed under this gaze but Merlin sat unfazed, blue eyes calm as if he knew despite Arthur's moods, he would never truly hurt him.

Merlin's devotion and confidence hurt.

Sensing Arthur wasn't going to say anything soon, Merlin spoke, leveling him with a look that he didn't understand. "You've been acting weird ever since we came back."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Arthur said dryly, through clenched teeth, turning away once more.

Of all times Merlin could have chosen to be observant, it had to be now. The conversation was steering towards dangerous territories, uncovering bitter memories he had put in chains in the deepest, darkest vaults of his consciousness. The king would never admit it out loud, but Merlin's near-death experience had scared him. His nights back at Camelot had been restless at best; too often did he wake with a silent scream stuck in his throat, believing his hands were coated in Merlin's lifeblood, rather than his own sweat.

His dreams showed different events from the past playing over and over again. However, the dreams all seem to share one thing in common - no matter what Arthur did he would always somehow end up causing or quickening Merlin's death.

Arthur couldn't just sit and wait for his fears to be realized. He knew he must prevent them from landing in the same situation ever again because he knew in his heart, if he was forced to choose between his best friend and his kingdom again, the result would be the same.

In the end it had all came back to this. Arthur could no longer trust himself around Merlin. Merlin was a good man but too stubborn for his own good. Many times had he proven his worth and loyalty equal to that of a knight's - unfortunately, it was sorely misplaced. And as long as it stayed misplaced, Merlin would be dragged into all kinds of trouble and his luck would run out eventually.

Arthur swallowed the lump of emotions in his throat, gripping the edge of the writing desk for support. He couldn't simply wait for that day to come. He wouldn't.

"You're fired." The crisp words sliced through the air, cutting the silence like a sharpened sword. He realized, belatedly, that in the end it didn't matter. He had already released Merlin from his service that day in the forest, whether the man himself remembered it or not.

There was a second's pause.

"What?" Merlin's incredulous tone would've been amusing any other day but Arthur couldn't afford to waver, not this time. "I didn't even do anything!"

No, you didn't, he thought wryly. Not this time.

He shook his head. "You're better off serving another master." His tone was clipped and impassive, bordering on cold. He would send his friend away, if only to protect Merlin from himself. As much as he valued Merlin's friendship, the thought of his friend's death was unbearable.

"No."

Arthur turned around, mouth parting angrily, but before he could get a word in he was interrupted by Merlin again.

"I will not leave." Merlin was standing, staring defiantly at him. "Even though you can be a condescending, supercilious, ungrateful, arrogant, pompous clotpole…" Merlin heaved, as if his rant had taken his remaining breath - it probably had. "I trust you."

I trust you.

"Trust?" Arthur repeated hollowly, dazed.

Stupid, clumsy, loyal, self-sacrificing Merlin.

Arthur's thin restraint snapped as fear-induced rage bubbled to the surface, control of his volume slacking. "Well, you can forget all about that! You shouldn't trust me, you can't trust me!"

"What are you talking about-"

He threw up his hands. "Are you really mentally impaired Merlin?" He relished the flicker of frustration that passed through Merlin's eyes, boosting his confidence as he pushed on. "Or are you really that stupid? I'm King, I have a kingdom to mind! I don't have the time nor can I afford to give my trust to anyone, least of all a mere servant!" His guilt drove him forward, his words tossed out to hurt, his anger there to intimidate and scare.

"Now tell me, Merlin," he growled as he stood face to face with his servant. "Would you still trust someone who would willingly kill you to save himself?"

That's it. Merlin should understand now. Why he should run as fast and far away as possible. He's not safe. Not with Arthur.

But instead of the fear, uncertainty, or even hesitation he was expecting, Merlin's expression slowly relaxed as understanding crossed his eyes. His expression turned serious and Arthur stepped back unintentionally.

"I have." Merlin said softly, blue eyes never leaving his, speaking volumes. "And I still do."

The truth dawned on him and Arthur staggered, his back hitting the edge of his table as his eyes widened in disbelief. A range of emotions passed over his face. Shock, horror, fear. "What?" he choked hoarsely, shaking his head in denial.

Was Merlin saying what Arthur thought he was? Arthur's eyes frantically searched his friend's expression, desperate for something to prove him wrong.

Lords no. Please. Don't let it be true.

Merlin held his gaze steadily and answered calmly. "The poison was strong but there were moments when I was conscious."

The blood from Arthur's face drained away and he swayed in place. "W-why didn't you say anything? When.." Merlin had been conscious. When had he been conscious and how long had he stayed that way? How much did he know what Arthur had been about to do?

"How long?" he shouted, ignoring Merlin's flinch.

Merlin's silence was all he needed to know the answer. Long enough.

Arthur felt sick and what little he'd managed to swallow at the feast was making a desperate bid for freedom. He staggered weakly to his chair and dropped into it. Merlin had been conscious. He had been aware of Arthur's struggles, he'd known when Arthur made the decision. Merlin had been awake when Arthur lifted his hunting knife ready to plunge it through his ribcage.

His thoughts whirled, but it wasn't until his vision blurred that the king realized he was crying. "Why didn't you tell me, why didn't you say anything?" He remembered the desperation and fear so clearly now. If he'd known Merlin was awake… If he'd checked…

"Because you would've hesitated had I alerted you." Merlin crossed to his side, kneeling to meet his lowered eyes, daring to touch him gently. "Your resolve would've crumbled."

Arthur knew this, he knew what Merlin said was the truth. But he hated it. He loathed it so much. He shrugged off Merlin's hands. "How could you! I was- I had been-"

"I know."

"No!" He grabbed Merlin's shirt, pulling him close, trying to make him see. "You don't know! I was about to plunge a knife in your heart! I was going to sacrifice you!"

"To end my suffering."

"To kill you!" Arthur yelled.

His servant gave him a sad look, his hands reaching up to gently pry the king's grip from his shirt. "Had your hesitation lasted longer the enemies would've been upon us, you would've been captured or worse and Camelot would've fallen. Compared to the hundreds and thousands of lives in Camelot I'm noth-"

"Don't say it!" Arthur hissed, "Don't you dare say it!"

Merlin's gaze softened. "Arthur," he said gently, as if lecturing a small child. "You are king, your duties to your kingdom will always come first, no matter what happens, and I accept that. If by staying silent I can help, I'll gladly accept it."

No. He won't acknowledge it, and he'll never accept it. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Your duty is to protect Camelot and my duty is to protect you," Merlin said simply.

Arthur laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You're not a knight, you're just a servant. You're not pledged to give your life for mine."

Merlin smiled. "Indeed, but as your friend I am."

The emotions closing his throat became too much, and Arthur couldn't dignify that with a proper response. He buckled, putting his head down in his hands as his shoulders began to shake with silent sobs, his breathing turned ragged and broken. Through it all, Merlin was there, kneeling with him, an anchor that centered him. That night he cried because of fear and guilt, and he cried because of relief. The King, Arthur Pendragon, Merlin's friend, cried - because in the end, Merlin lived.

It took a while before his sobs turned silent, and even longer for him to finally look up.

Merlin was there smiling that awful smile at him through his own tears. "I know you can't bear to part with your chair just yet, but my knees are starting to hurt."

Arthur sniffed, dry amusement that couldn't quite break the heaviness in his heart. He would never truly understand or accept Merlin's reckless selflessness, but he thanked whatever higher power there was watching over them that helped them through another difficult trial to see another day.

"You're such a girl's petticoat." The familiar insult was without its usual heat as Arthur stood, helping Merlin up at the same time.

He met Merlin's eyes seriously. "Thank you, Merlin."

The man blinked but it wasn't long before a pleased grin replaced the surprise. "For what?"

For helping me, saving me, being my friend. For surviving. "Nothing," Arthur said, hiding a small smile at Merlin's indignant expression.

It was a long while before the King of Camelot truly forgave himself, and even longer before his nightmares of the event ended. But despite the loud bickering that resumed, people in the castle knew the bond between the King and his servant had never been stronger.

End.

And that's it! It's done!

You wouldn't believe how long it took to get His Duty published here - not that the process of posting it on Fanfic itself is hard but the process of taking an idea that wouldn't stop bothering me for months and turn it into an acceptable written piece is harder than everything I've done so far! (Exaggeration... a bit maybe. But you get the point.) Especially when handling a one-shot with emotionally heavy scenes - writing them felt like I was pulling my own heart out each time.

I hope I did it justice though. And if the story worked and touched hearts the way it's supposed to, well, my mission is accomplished.

Once again, a big thank you to this story's beta-reader, wryter501, because otherwise you'd be reading a really boring oneshot.