AN: Umm…hi? Don't shoot! I won't be gone so long again!

I'd like to thank Marcus for all of his betaing on short notice.

Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin

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A Broken Coin 1:

Chapter 7

It hurt.

The knowledge that Arthur was going to be happier without him stung beyond words.

Nearly seven years of facing danger together, making sacrifices for him, fighting for him, had amounted to nothing.

And if Arthur was happy then he'd never lift the ban on magic, and Uther's death had turned him against it forever.

I mean nothing to him...

Although learning this was a painful blow to Merlin, he felt that it would have hurt more if he'd been faced with this reality years later. Turning his pained gaze away from Camelot, Merlin began walking south in the predawn darkness, glancing back occasionally and feeling the pang all over again.

Of the images he'd seen in the crystal last night, Gwaine becoming a knight of Nemeth had him surprised and confused, but right now Merlin needed a friend and Gwaine and Gilli were riding south last he knew.

Gilli...training to kill. I thought he knew better. How could he become a killer so easily? Is history repeating itself? The tournament but worse?

The winded picked up suddenly, but he soon had his answer. "I see you have gazed upon the crystal once again, Merlin. In the wrong hands this is dangerous. Even In the right hands this is burdensome." Landing in front of him was Kilgharrah's massive form, his eyes upon the Crystal of Neahtid for it wasn't fully concealed by the pouch. "Last time your intervention only drove the event."

Coming from Kilgharrah it wasn't all that surprising, but Merlin couldn't help gaping in horror at the millennia-old dragon. "What do you suppose I do? Nothing?"

The dragon smiled. "Precisely."

Unable to stand still he proceeded to pace back and forth in front of the bronze dragon, trying to wrap his head around what Kilgharrah was asking him to do. He couldn't do it and came to a stop, staring Kilgharrah straight in the eye. "I can't stand by and let people suffer, Kilgharrah." Kilgharrah extended his foreleg and didn't say a word and once Merlin was secure, took flight.

Raising an eyebrow at the cryptic dragon's behaviour, Merlin returned his mind to the matter at hand. "The world thinks I'm dead, and I know what will happen. There has to be something I can do." Glancing down towards Camelot, Merlin saw a party of knights in the distance riding towards the city and couldn't help but feel that pang again.

Kilgharrah banked a hard left and Camelot disappear from sight. "You tried to stop the witch Morgana, yet the event from your vision still unfolded before you." Merlin didn't need the reminder of his failure and would have teleported from the dragon's back if he knew how. "The destiny of Arthur as The Once and Future King has all but perished. The destiny of Emrys can still be salvaged."

That snippet of information made Merlin straighten sharply from his slouched form. "What are you saying? You told me we were a coin. That Arthur needed me."

I've been living under that impression for years…Has he been lying to me all this time?

"I did," replied the dragon, slowly descending from the clouds that'd concealed them. "It was your best chance to succeed, but with guidance from the right person freedom is still possible."

Trust the cryptic dragon to be cryptic at a time like this…

Paying attention to their whereabouts and noticing their general direction, Merlin started growing restless at the sight of a clear blue body of water. "Where are we going?" he questioned in a wary tone.

The dragon didn't look back when they continued to descend, the Isle of the Blessed in the centre becoming increasingly visible. "To a man with knowledge that can only be taught, not given as I have in the past." Merlin could see the ruins of the castle, and Lancelot's death came to mind. Kilgharrah's commanding voice broke through his thoughts. "I knew you would not listen to me, so I sought out the one who desires freedom as much as, if not more so, than you do."

Merlin didn't like the undertone of Kilgharrah's voice. It sounded fixated and as though The Isle of the Blessed would get Kilgharrah what he wanted. But what did he want? Kilgharrah had said it himself that the destiny of the Once and Future King was in tatters, so that prophecy couldn't be it, could it? If so, what did it matter anyway? Arthur was going to be happy without him and never free magic. The questions, the doubts, the vague answers made Merlin finally ask. "Why are you taking me here?"

Kilgharrah didn't answer, instead, he landed in the expansive courtyard where Lancelot had died, and Merlin quickly dismounted and joined Alator who was standing off to the side near a large doorway. Looking to the bald priest, Merlin watched as Alator came forward and held something in front of Kilgharrah. Walking over to the man to get a closer look, Merlin saw that it had a number of engraved runes, none of which he understood.

"It is done," Alator informed Kilgharrah. Everything going on around him told him nothing and made him shift on his feet.

"Good. Set it on the ground."

Alator backed away upon placing the crystal before Kilgharrah and Merlin mimicked him until there was much space between them and the dragon. Magic started gathering towards the dragon. The magic within his own body started reacting to the pull, surprising Merlin when he stumbled forward for a moment. Kilgharrah took a deep breath and unleashed a torrent of white fire upon the crystal. He heard a sharp intake from Alator and the man dropped to his knee as though in respect.

Paying closer attention to what was happening, Merlin noticed there was more than just Kilgharrah's fire touching the crystal. A white spirit was interacting with the runes and proceeded to rise from the ground with the crystal. Copying the priest, Merlin dropped to his knee beside Alator and noticed that Kilgharrah was nowhere to be seen. Looking back to the spirit he witnessed the explosion of the crystal, a near-blinding light spreading over the water around the island like a dome before fading out of sight.

"It has been blessed by The Lady," Alator spoke vaguely, rising to his feet and turning to Merlin. "We begin."

"Begin? Begin what?"

Setting his bag and the Sidhe staff down by the doorway of the ruins, Merlin noticed that the inside looked as though it'd been made livable and consisted of many books. Hearing Alator come up beside him, Merlin looked to the man and tried to read the blank expression. A quick glance at the sky told him it was dawn.

"You are powerful, Emrys, but you're in much need of training." The bald man clarified before going over to the nearest of the castle ruins and standing before a piece of debris. "Lift this stone and hold it in place with your mind only."

And that was the beginning of many days.

He wouldn't have stayed if he'd had the choice, in fact, he'd tried to escape on more than one occasion, It went against his very nature to do nothing, but alas Merlin had no means of leaving The Isle of the Blessed to prevent the horrors he'd seen. Not even his strongest spells could free him from this prison.

Every time Merlin went to sleep he left a scratch on the wall, and every time he got up the sun was almost in the same position as it had been since the beginning of this continuous training. It took thirty-one scratches until the sun's position told him it was an hour since dawn. Or would have been an hour in a normal situation. A full month on the Isle of the Blessed..A full month on this accursed rock...

Today was day Thirty-two and there was much change to the courtyard. Gone was the debris, replaced by green grass and now-thriving plants. Instead of crumbled and decaying walls, they were now a bright white and looked as though the stone had been fused together to make one continuous piece of stone. It had taken Merlin a month to restore the courtyard to its former glory according to Alator.

The priest had been relentless in all manners of his training. Each time he woke it began with a theory on basic runes, followed by phrasing spells, before finishing off with an endless period of time mentally strengthening his magical ability by repairing the courtyard to a flawless state and carrying out as much spellwork simultaneously as possible.

Splitting his focus with such intensity left Merlin exhausted by the time Alator deemed the session over each day. The fact that Alator wasn't doing this alongside was probably the only reason the priest was being so brutal, but Merlin had learnt not to comment on it or the priest would push him harder until the end to their current session of training.

Wandering around the rest of the Isle of the Blessed, Merlin stood on a crumbling bridge that overlooked much of the island. He glanced at the courtyard before turning to the rest of the ruined castle. The contrast between the two made him gulp and continue walking until he was inside. Going down a repaired hall, the warlock took little notice of anything due to a headache and today was no different to the last thirty days. He'd had no chance to properly look over the Isle of the Blessed, either being too mentally exhausted or attempting to escape once again, but he'd given up on that course and admitted defeat long ago.

I will be free once the Triple Goddess deems me ready for magic's future.

That's what Alator had told him at least.

Entering his lavish chambers and heading straight for the tub, he pulled off the grey cloak and fine dark blue shirt Alator had given him. The high-quality, black trousers followed soon after, leaving a trail on the stone floor but Merlin didn't give it a second glance.

Using only his gaze to heat the clear water, Merlin sighed and rested against the side of the tub and allowing his aches from training that day to be alleviated by the heat. When his eyes fell upon the books stacked on his desk he groaned at the blasted things before getting out and wasting no time climbing into the bed that seemed to calling to him.

The cycle went on for another thirty-one days, and the sun now looked as though it was two hours past dawn. However, it had been two months for Merlin but had yet to see the moon since coming here.

Despite the fact that he wasn't by himself here, Merlin felt depressed from the lack of social interaction. Alator was his teacher and nothing more. Over the last sixty-two days here, Merlin had begun to understand Alator as a person, but it didn't make the loneliness any less bearable for Merlin since the time Alator spent with him was only in relation to training and nothing more.

Grudgingly dragging himself out of the bed for the beginning of more training, thankfully not as brutal as it used to be, Merlin proceeded to dress before looking out the window in longing. Across the body of water and many leagues away was Gwaine, Gilli and Aithusa.

Aithusa!...Why didn't I think of it before?

Racing outside breakfast of porridge forgotten, Merlin looked to the sky and roared. "O Aithusa, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes!"

"Summoning a dragon will not help you leave here," Alator informed him with a look of pity in the courtyard near the final portion of wall needing repair. It'd taken Merlin a month to convince the man to stop calling him Emrys, now he didn't call Merlin anything. Coming to Merlin's side, the priest clasped his shoulder. "It has not escaped my notice why you desire company."

Turning to the man, Merlin gave him his full attention. "Can you blame me? You've been brutal, Alator, and I feel like a soldier. Do you have to train me like this?"

"Yes," confirmed Alator, glancing at the courtyard wall and the building Merlin had completed restoring yesterday. "Without the help of the Triple Goddess, the magic around us wouldn't be possible. I don't know when it will expire, but it will."

Looking away for a moment he shook his head. "Well. Could you possibly treat me more like a human?" Letting out a sigh, Merlin leant on the stone table. "It hasn't been the nicest experience."

Alator didn't say a word for a while, gazing at Merlin with a critical eye. "Since the beginning, your efforts have been minimal at best. Dedicate more of your focus to the training, then yes, I can…Merlin."

Biting his lip and looking in the directions of future events he was determined to stop, Merlin took a breath and closed his eyes. "I know I haven't been paying a lot of attention, but it's hard knowing what will happen and being stuck here."

"The future is shaped by our actions, Merlin. To change the future is to change yourself," Alator imparted, guiding Merlin out of the courtyard and to the interior of the citadel. "Sometimes changing yourself will not alter the future entirely. Not every event a person witnesses in visions or crystals will be affected by the person themselves."

The answer made Merlin want to groan, but he fought the urge, for he didn't want to destroy the little truce Alator and himself had come to. There was one thing he couldn't hold back from saying. "I thought you believed in prophecies?"

"I do," confirmed the priest, stopping at the end of a hall blocked by debris. Merlin knew what to do and cleared the debris to one side and fused it back into place with the rest of the stone. Stopping what he was doing, he curiously watched Alator use magic to create runes on the wall. "However I acknowledge when they are void and proceed to help the next likely prophecy come to be."

Interest piqued by this answer, Merlin stopped working on the hallway altogether. "And what's that?"

"You will learn in time."

He's worse than Kilgharrah!

Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, he turned away and healed it while pretending to repair the interior. "Why are we even doing this when we're normally surrounded by your tomes, Alator?"

Directing Merlin over to the cluster of runes on the wall, Alator steps aside and said nothing. It wasn't the first time the priest hadn't said what he wanted Merlin to do. Huffing, the warlock looked at each of the runes individually before proceeding to read them together like a sentence. A jumbled sentence. Staring at the circle of runes and scratching his head, Merlin stopped when Alator handed him a journal he recognised and writing utensils.

"My tomes have nothing left to teach you. It's time that your knowledge of runes and magic be put into practice." Accepting his notes from the last two months of theory and opening a blank page, Merlin copied the rune cluster down and began breaking it into parts.

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The woods were quiet and very few druids stirred given the early hours of the morning. But amongst the handful awake was Mordred, sitting with three young druids and having a quiet conversation. Upon his return from the Crystal Cave the druid had felt out of place and unsure of what to do. Considered a murderer-to-be by his own kind and unable to be himself around those who weren't, Mordred had little idea of what to do aside from returning to Iseldir's clan and seeking advice. The advice he had yet to find, but in his search, he'd drawn the attention of Jared, Nicole and Alvina; three open-minded fellow druids that saw him for who he was.

A person.

The four of them were all seated on a fallen log, keeping their voices low or risk awakening more than one unpleasant person. Namely Beatrice, a pregnant druid who was obnoxious enough with her moods being erratic. Nicole leant toward Mordred with her brown locks shaping her face. "I don't know why you stay here, Mordred. Most of them are fixated on the prophecy." The blonde, Jared, nodding beside her.

The remark made him squirm for a moment before a sharp pine surprised him. Alvina muffling her laugh with a fisted hand, but the laughter shone clearly in the redhead's eyes. "I feel trusted here. A little," he admitted, not sure what his real answer was. Seeing Alvina take the hand away, he took caution when adjusting himself on the log again, but all humour was gone from their faces.

Jared rubbed his hands together to fight off the morning chill Mordred himself could feel. "Well, I was going to do it sooner or later, but…I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" Nicole and Alvina echoed, while Mordred quietly watched Jared.

Jared nodded with conviction, strangely calm about the whole thing. "Why not? There's word the Fisher King is gone and The Perilous Lands are healing. And no tyrant to hide from like Camelot." Rising from the log, the blonde raised an eyebrow in disbelief before nodding towards the camp. "And that."

Following the gaze of Jared, Mordred could see many clan members with expressions of lost hope. Walking over to the blonde and hearing Nicole go to Jared's other side, Alvina to Mordred's right, the raven turned to Jared. "What is it?"

The reply came from the opposite side of Mordred. "The Once and Future King prophecy is over."

What? Am I free?

Alvina continued as they all turned to her. "Arthur Pendragon is alive, but he is no longer the Once and Future King."

Mordred glanced down at the rest of the clan, the elders leaving the centre of the clearing and going out of sight. "Are you sure?"

The redhead shrugged. "As sure as they are, Jared and I can read their lips. They kept saying 'Is Emrys dead?' and arguing that it's impossible," she reasoned, leading the way down to the tents and taking theirs apart. Nicole and Jared helped her pack while Mordred stood still processing this.

To have the reason for his life's grief dead was almost incomprehensible, a feeling of numbness spreading throughout his body when he knelt down and lent a hand. Forgiving Merlin was far from his mind for what had happened in the past, but over time Mordred had come to suspect Merlin had been as afraid of destiny and fate as he was.

Consumed with thought and blindly carrying out the task at hand, Mordred almost fell over when a hand touched his shoulder. Jared smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Mordred. I guess all this is a bit of a shock to you." The brunette could only let out a single humourless laugh in response. That was an understatement. "Let's go."

The commotion within the clan camp allowed them to exit quickly, the group of four heading north by foot with only their bags as luggage. Dropping back to give himself a chance to think, Mordred looked in the direction of Camelot and wondered what would happen there now. He remembered Tysun had been tasked with protecting Arthur with Aithusa's help. Would they still do it or abandon it?

He trailed behind Nicole, Jared and Alvina for a time while lost in his thoughts. Was he free from the grasps of the prophecy? Would magic be more widely accepted in the kingdoms in the future? How could Merlin have died? What if they were mistaken? Were they mistaken?

Sighing and looking to the three who accepted him for who he was, Mordred realised he could have a life without having to be alone. He'd been in the guise of being part of the clan, but in truth, he was just a fly that hovered around the clan's ears. Closing the gap between himself and the others, and that of a free future, Mordred saw Alvina nod to him and it felt right to nod back.

Glancing up at the sound of wings, Mordred saw Aithusa rapidly flying south-west towards the City of Camelot with no indication of slowing down.

"Aithusa!"

"Mordred? Are you alright?"

"Yes, bu-"

"I'm sorry. I have to keep going. Something's wrong."

Watching the dragon go beyond the city and disappear from sight, the raven druid frowned and fidgeted with the side of his trousers before looking up at the sound of Nicole's voice. Speeding up to close the gap between them, he continued with the three towards The Perilous Lands. With a final glance in Aithusa's direction, he hoped that everything would be alright and that the clan elders had simply been mistaken.

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Entering the City of Camelot in the quiet company of his knights, Arthur looked up towards the citadel and felt the pain of Merlin's death all over again. It would never be the same again. The abrupt awakenings of sunlight hitting his eyes and the annoyingly chirpy "Rise and Shine" from Merlin. Bantering that he'd never had with another manservant. The bravery he'd witnessed from Merlin on more occasions than he could count on both hands. Wise words that would come from the man in a sporadic manner. The loyalty that never faltered.

But it was the loss of his friend that mattered most.

'Friend' was something he'd said only a few times over the years that Merlin had been in his service, and it was now that he wished he'd spoken it more.

"You're the only friend I have, and I couldn't bear to lose you."

His grip on the reins tightened and remained that way until they had entered the square, where he handed them to a stable hand after dismounting. Going inside, Arthur walked the halls with one place in mind; becoming blind to all around him except for where he wanted to go. Climbing the stairs and opening the single wooden door, he went inside and saw that he was alone. Taking caution not to damage anything inside the Physician Chambers, the blonde walked over to the door of Merlin's chambers and hesitated. His hand was on the door handle but after a moment he finally opened it and saw the unnatural tidiness of the room.

Arthur couldn't remember a time where it had been so clean. The foreign concept clashed with the memories of clothes strewn everywhere and an unmade bed. Walking into Merlin's chambers in a daze, Arthur took a few uneasy steps into the room and looked around before his eyes fell on the bed. The king seated himself, still in full armour, and grasped the edge of the bed. His body shook with bottled grief as he sat on that bed, eyes on the wooden planks, some of them too small for their spaces but one of them appeared to have something under it.

Getting off the bed,curiosity driving him forward, Arthur removed one of them and picked up what could only have been a journal, which fell open in his hand to an entry about their return from the Dorocha and giving Gwen Arthur's sigil, as per his friend's request, although Arthur had survived their journey. The last portion of the page spoke of how he'd intended to take Arthur's place at the veil.

Closing it with care, the king placed it on the bedside table and felt moisture staining his face.

"You idiot…"

And that was all it took for the memory of Nefeir to rise to the surface.

Gwaine's shout over the din. "Merlin! No! It's too late!"

Shutting his eyes to block out Merlin's cry of pain that followed, he failed and flinched as the memory insisted on running its course. Picking up the journal from the bedside table, Arthur slowly milled around the room and settled against the desk as the past faintly replayed itself in front of his eyes.

The feeling of parchment against his fingers snapped him out of the everyday memories; he realised he'd been crying as he'd visualised the only friend he no longer had. The king turned and saw a thick piece of folded parchment protruding from one of the drawers of the desk. Carefully opening it and removing the parchment, Arthur blinked upon seeing it was addressed to him before a thick portion fell out onto the desk. Still gripping the original one, he frowned at the name in Gwaine's scrawl.

Pendragon

Opening the letter he began.

It's funny what you do for a friend.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

I would nowadays. And you didn't deserve Merlin's loyalty, you never did.

He was the only reason I remained a Knight of Camelot for the last year and a half and if you're reading this now, then I've left your 'noble' arse with no regrets but one.

I didn't get Merlin away from your ungrateful hide to a place where he wouldn't be miserable and mentally degraded to a second-class citizen.

Arthur's lips parted as he reread that line.

That's right.

He was bloody miserable after the original Round Table and YOU failed to notice that. For years.

He was your personal manservant, gods above, how dense could you be?

But all 'nobles' never think beyond themselves. And that's what constantly aggravates me. You never followed through on your oath for equality unless it served some personal purpose, for you.

My brothers-in-arms? You needed some fighters. They were all a friend or mutual friend of Merlin's. Funny that.

The lifted persecution of druids, but not magic? You had a guilty conscience and the threat of death hanging over your head.

Gwen? So you could marry her.

There's more, but the one that matters the most…

Not once was Merlin seated at a Camelot Round Table meeting. He was at your beck and call like a servant who didn't matter!

Why the hell didn't I punch you after the third false meeting in Camelot?

Oh yeah, Merlin saw my anger and asked me not to.

You're a lying bastard, Arthur Pendragon.

He's done too much for you.

He couldn't believe his eyes and gaping at Gwaine's clear loathing of him.

You claimed that Merlin matters. Yet, you never bloody showed it.

You laughed off his advice.

YOU FAILED to notice his misery.

You always listened to pure strangers, but not to Merlin.

He believed, to this day, that you saw him as nothing more than a bumbling fool!

An idiot -Your favourite.

He was so much more than that.

He would have died for you, or perhaps he did if you're sniffing around in his chambers, and he damn well shouldn't have!

(He doesn't know I added this letter, but I knew he'd written one.)

You never deserved his loyalty!

He suffered more than you know.

FOR YOU!

You're not worth the ink on this page, Noble.

The blows Gwaine intended to deliver clearly hit their mark and Arthur had to put the letter down. Gripping the edge of the desk and looking up, the king wondered just how much of that was true for all of his Round Table knights.

Did they all think of him this way?

Glancing at the thick piece of parchment on the desk, he noticed it was addressed with 'Sire' instead of 'Arthur', much like Gwaine's derogative use of 'noble' within his, giving him the feeling that reading Merlin's would only bring more dread.

Merlin never called him 'Sire' unless Arthur was acting in a way he deemed wrong.

Was Gwaine right? Had Merlin truly been miserable enough to call him 'Sire' instead of 'Arthur' in his final words to him?

The thought made him hesitant to pick it up, but pushing those feelings aside and the sting of Gwaine to the back of his mind, he did it anyway.

Sire,

I've always been by your side, but as the years have passed, Gwaine's comments and my own experiences have made me question myself, but never acting on it.

'Why did I stay to fix something I could never change?'

At first, being your manservant was just an arrangement neither of us wanted, but over time it became more than that. You listened to me about Valiant, the Afanc and more. Seeing you become a greater person than the bullying prince you were when I came to Camelot made me proud to be your manservant and, hopefully, your friend as station came to mean less to you. You are becoming the Once and Future King, and I am proud of that.

It is your destiny.

To be a king who cares about the people and stands up to do what is right no matter how difficult. A prosperous king, to bring the kingdoms of Albion together and create a time of peace.

It was my destiny to help you become that king, but in one aspect, I failed.

There are people in this kingdom who still hide because they must. And it's my fault.

You were inconsolable. Couldn't be calmed down, and almost murdered your own father.

I had to lie.

He blinked and read on.

To prevent a regret that would haunt you forever, I had to lie.

It really was your mother that night and no illusion crafted by Morgause. I wrongly hardened your heart towards magic.

Stunned, he sat on the bed and stared at the words willing them to change. They didn't.

Rising from the bed and closing the door, he paced the small and disturbingly clean chambers, and battled the internal conflict he was faced with by Merlin's words. Never had he imagined such a scenario as this. It had been nearly five years since going to Morgause and all that followed. He didn't know if he could have brought himself to have done what Merlin had. To tell a falsehood that would impact an entire people for the sake of one man.

To learn that his distrust towards magic had been reinforced by the lie Merlin told to protect his father brought the memory to the front of his mind.

He had his father at sword point, trapped sitting in the throne in the council chambers; seconds from a swift death.

"Arthur! Don't! I know you don't want to do this!"

"My mother is dead because of him!"

"Killing your father won't bring her back. You've lost one parent. Do you really want to lose another? Arthur, please, put the sword down."

"You heard what my mother said! After everything he has done, do you believe he deserves to live?! He executes those who use magic, and yet he has used it himself! You have caused so much suffering and pain! I will put an end to that!"

"Morgause…is lying…," Merlin tapered off before a pregnant pause. "She's an enchantress…She tricked you. That was not your mother you saw. That was an illusion. Everything...everything your mother said to you...those were Morgause's words."

Going over to the nearest wall, Arthur punched it with his spare hand and wordlessly shouted.

His mind was hazed with rage that night, but recalling it now he knew it had been a lie.

Overly slow.

Rapidly speeding up.

The pain in Merlin's tone of voice.

"Damn it all!"

Kicking the cupboard and dropping onto the chair, Arthur ran a hand through his hair and wondered why in the world Merlin did it. Fully aware of all the murder and pain carried out in his father's name.

For Merlin to have stood there, every day and witness the persecution to go on while his prince happily interacted with the one responsible for it all until the man died.

Arthur just couldn't wrap his head around it.

"Just…why, Merlin? Why would you do something like that?"

Because he was loyal to me. Loyal to a fault.

" 'To prevent a regret that would haunt you forever, I had to lie.' "

Rising from the chair with a heavy sense of guilt, Arthur shook his head and looked out the window and saw his reflection. And he realised.

He didn't want my father's murder to be on my conscience.

Merlin…

Roughly wiping away a stray tear and clutching the letter in both hands, Arthur read on.

I regret putting magic in an undeserved, negative light, but there was nothing else that would stop you. Since then I tried to fix things, but I failed at every opportunity, which made things worse for those I'd wronged.

Then as time went on, I earned myself the title of 'idiot'. You stopped listening to me like you used to; never took me seriously. I deserved it after what I'd done.

I wronged an entire kind of people for your sake and I couldn't fix it.

Because of me, the peaceful hide and the indignant fight back. And the latter is all you have seen because of me.

Magic didn't corrupt Morgana. It was fear.

Imagine it; inside the same guarded citadel as the very man who would execute you and your kind, day after day. Witch-hunters and consistent executions of innocent people for the possibility of having magic. Remember Gwen? Your father sentenced her to execution for sorcery after the healing poultice in her house and again when you fell for her.

If I hadn't lied, Morgana wouldn't have felt as though Camelot was a pyre just waiting to be lit.

She fled to Morgause, who was convinced you are the same as Uther after what she revealed to you.

A killer of her kind.

Morgana truly believes it.

Remember when you last spoke?

"What happened to you, Morgana? I thought we were friends."

"As did I, but alas we were both wrong."

She believed you approved of the Great Purge and all the death that followed for decades.

Because of me.

I tried to fix it. I swear I did.

The regret was so thick it was almost tangible from the letter. Arthur hung his head in memory of a friend, but the written begging tore at the king.

"I believe you, Merlin…"

But believe something long enough and it becomes reality. So it is for Morgana.

Being the idiot I am, I caused this. I'm the reason Morgana fights her perceived hunter.

You.

"And that was your reality, wasn't it, Merlin? You weren't an idiot, but you died thinking that…"

She's not blameless, but my actions drove her to what she is now.

I never told anyone but three people - one now dead - of what I'd done that made Morgana into what she is today. The shame of turning a friend into an enemy. One of my greatest regrets.

"Gaius and Gwaine," Arthur murmured, for who else would it be? One went without saying, while Gwaine's letter gave him away.

When she found out your father was on his deathbed, she struck with a pendant that reversed healing magic tenfold. Gaius told me.

Because of me, Dragoon was framed for murdering your father and lives on the run.

See where I'm going with this?

All this fear and death is linked to me because I couldn't right that one wrong, - that one lie - and it keeps piling up.

Hopefully, now that you know the truth, you will right this in my place.

If you will listen to me one last time, make it now.

Please, Arthur.

Arthur stared at the parchment in defeat. All of this guilt tearing away at Merlin's conscience and he hadn't noticed. Gwaine had been right, and that mental admission dragged the pain of Gwaine's loathe-filled short, sharp letter to the forefront to join the words Merlin's lengthy one.

Was he truly so oblivious not to realise something like this?

Taking out the sword that he'd pulled from the stone six months ago, Arthur laid it on the desk and wondered whether it truly belonged to him as Camelot's king. Only a true king of Camelot could have removed it, but now Arthur wasn't so sure. Had Merlin believed in him more than he really deserved? How could he carry such a special and symbolic weapon and say it belonged to him if he hadn't seen the struggles of his only friend?

The chamber door creaked and there Gaius stood with grim concern.

"Sire?" the physician uttered as he entered the room.

"Gaius," he replied attentively, sheathing his sword swiftly.

The single word acknowledgement earned Arthur a frown from Gaius before the physician walked over to stand beside his king. "There is no shame in grieving a friend, Arthur. You know what Merlin would say about the court if he saw you hiding here."

A new wave of guilt and grief washed over him. "'Damn the court', I imagine." Sitting on the table, Arthur looked to the aged physician. "But how did you know what happened?"

"Nothing specific, Sire, but Sir Leon took me aside in the Knight's wing and gave his condolences," Gaius replied calmly, before glancing at the parchment in Arthur's hand.

"Have you seen these, Gaius?" he asked, lifting them up and allowing the vulnerability from his doubt to show in that one moment. "What Merlin said…I don't know what to believe."

"I could hazard a guess of the content, Sire, but I respect Merlin's privacy."

Gaius seems to know…

"They were addressed to me. Gwaine's definitely had bite," he remarked, trying to mask his emotions.

Watching Gaius set himself on the bed and putting his medicine bag down, Arthur began to slowly pace. "He wasn't even supposed to be there, but there he was in Nefeir while it was under attack. He always survived incidents like these with nothing to defend himself…" the king slowed at the admission and realised such circumstances and repeatedly so was odd. "…and so he did this time. Or he would have, but a child was trapped in a burning cottage which had collapsed after he ran in. He never once hesitated."

Gaius sighed quietly and rested his hands together in his lap.

"I'm sorry, Gaius. I tried…everything."

The loyal physician rose to his feet and nodded. "I understand, Sire."

"Gaius?" The physician's expression was mournful but looked up. "If you could answer just one thing, there's something I must know...You must tell me."

"Yes?"

Standing in the doorway to Gaius' main chamber, Arthur chose his words carefully. "To what benefit would Merlin lie about my father's actions to protect him?"

He sighed and straightened a little. "You, Sire. And nothing less. You wouldn't be the king you are today if he hadn't." A silence passed between them. "If I could have some time?"

"Of course." Suddenly feeling as though he was intruding, the king left with the journal in hand and mindlessly made for his chambers. He entered silently before placing both letters and his sword on top of the paperwork on the desk and sitting on the windowsill. Turning the journal over in his hands, but feeling the urge to leave it closed, Arthur aimlessly looked out the window, struggling to wonder just what other lengths his only friend had gone for him.

He looked over where Guinevere kept his mother's sigil.

They were alone on night watch for the Dorocha near the end of their journey to the Isle of the Blessed. "I want you to do something for me, Merlin."

"You can do it yourself when we're back," was a quiet, witty retort.

Taking out his mother's sigil, he held it out to Merlin. "I want you to take this to Guinevere. It belonged to my mother and would be hers if we'd married."

"You've seen how clumsy I am. I wouldn't trust me with it."

He sighed at Merlin's clear intention to take his place at the veil. "I ask you not as my manservant, Merlin. I ask you as my friend."

Arthur saw a smile tugging at Merlin's lips before he'd turned melancholy. "One day you will become Camelot's greatest king. I think you can hold onto it a little longer."

"Take it. I'm entrusting the task to you," he reiterated. He wouldn't accept no for an answer.

Merlin finally took it but looked back up. "Things never turn out how you expect."

They hadn't then, and they hadn't now.

A creak from the door caught his attention. It was Guinevere. "Arthur? Is it true? What the knights are saying? Merlin.…is he?"

She stopped, the words dying on her lips, upon seeing the look on his face.

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Aithusa regretted that she couldn't stop and help the troubled druid, but she could feel the pull of the summoning. Although she could've resisted it for a time, the garbled manner of Merlin's words contributed to Aithusa's state of high alert. Three hours ago her connection to Merlin felt fragmented and weak as though something was interfering with it.

Of the time she's had to herself, Aithusa wondered if she truly was the last dragon to come into the world and if Kilgharrah was the only other dragon in existence. For Uther to have eradicated the entire dragon race apart from Kilgharrah seemed impossible. A word about her kind's murder would have gotten out and dragons weren't known to be wise creatures of magic for nothing. Her race wouldn't have flown to their deaths like moths to a flame, and how could humans know how many eggs were left in the world?

These thoughts yesterday resulted in Aithusa flying along the mountains near the northern coast of Mercia in search for answers. A search she would have continued for days hadn't she sensed a problem with her bond to Merlin.

The growing concern for her dragonlord drove Aithusa to thrash the wind in her haste, and soon she came upon the sight of The Isle of the Blessed. Nothing looked out of the ordinary from the outer perimeter, but something was abuzz within it. Landing near the platform for the ferry, Aithusa wrangled with the command as she willed herself to look at just what was happening on the island.

What used to be in ruins now resembled a half constructed castle, which was progressively continuing but Aithusa was unable to fix her eyes on the source of change. The darkening stone was now white and without moss. The vegetation was flourishing, the water was losing some of its murky quality.

The Isle of the Blessed was looking more like its namesake and less than its former appearance. However, there was something nearly transparent surrounding the perimeter.

Unable to delay her obedience any longer, Aithusa was forced to continue her approach and flew onward and immediately felt magic washing over her. The swift progression of the castle had slowed to almost a halt and there were two men in an expansive courtyard.

The first was older, bald and donned in all black as he appeared to be giving feedback and testing the walls with his magic.

The other she identified immediately from their bond, but his outer appearance was different to anything she'd seen before. Of the few times she'd seen him in her life, but more often recently, Merlin had a more, dare she think, imposing look. Hair was as it had always been with his ears protruding from it as usual but that was where the similarity stopped.

Instead of his threadbare clothing, suited to that of a servant, he was donned in a grey cloak with high-quality black trousers and a navy blue tunic which brought out his eyes. Overall, he had a humble but somehow formidable appearance with his wiry frame. His presence gave a more important impression than before –that of a lord. Her dragonlord.

Thankful for her small stature, Aithusa landed at the far end of the courtyard and watched Merlin work at the repair of the castle under the instruction of the bald one. Taking the time to rest from her hasty flight of many leagues she settled down, feeling sure that Merlin would explain everything about this island when they were both in a state to converse. Glancing his way one more time, she remembered how Merlin had acted surprised when she mentioned Mordred in the cave under the Camelot citadel.

Kilgharrah probably hammered into him that Mordred was not to be trusted.

But can't they see that befriending Mordred could make things better? To see Mordred in the Crystal Cave was bound to happen eventually and it lifted my heart when I saw that he still had hope and wished for a peaceful future. Not the bitter being Kilgharrah insists he will be.

If Merlin and Mordred trusted one another – and Merlin stops trying to get him killed – just how much could they achieve together?

I wonder just what is running through Merlin's mind about Mordred now that I've made Merlin see that the almighty Kilgharrah, the stubborn relic, is steering him away from freedom?

He left Camelot. Granted, not of choice, but I know he doubts the prophecy. Even if he isn't aware of acknowledging that just yet, even to himself.

Opening her eyes lazily, watching her dragonlord learning the ways of magic from the bald one, she crossed her paws and pondered her mentor.

Just how much of an effect did imprisonment have on you, Kilgharrah? Your obsession about the Once and Future King prophecy was all you cared about yet did little to contribute yourself. You told me your beliefs as though they were a law or something. Did every one of those twenty years convince you that you were right and anything else would fail?

A moment later, she frowned.

From all I've heard about and see of you and Merlin, you seemed to influence and pressure Merlin into carrying out your bidding. In time, it became his own trait, but now that he's away from Camelot and all that, will he become his old self? Once again do what he felt was right and not what you'd approve of?

She glanced at her paws for some time and back up to her dragonlord. "I promise to you, Merlin. We will be free as magical beings, and free as ourselves."

"Aithusa? Are you alright?"

She nodded before adjusting slightly so she could sleep. "Just exhausted, Merlin. I was in Mercia's north." The soft brushing against her scales lulled the hatchling to sleep. "You're more dragonlord now."

Aithusa thought she heard him sputter as she fell into a deep sleep, a soft smile gracing her maw.

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It seemed as though there was hardly a moment of silence within the camp, if it wasn't the ruckus of production during the day, the sounds of rustled parchment and muffled discussion came from within Alvarr's tent. Throughout the day he offered help when he saw it was needed, and Gilli mingled amongst the rebels so he would be mistaken for one of them. He spotted a stack of cauldrons about to tumble and raced over with his hand out.

"Ástynte!"

His hold on the cauldrons lasted for but a minute. A moment later all twelve fell down and he had to dive out of the way, but one rolled over a rock and changed course, harshly clipping him on the shoulder in the process. With a hand gripping the cut he witnessed the cauldrons rolling towards the centre of the camp.

The ruckus had drawn the attention of those on guard duty and one stopped the cauldrons' movements with a shouted incantation. Throwing a dirty look Gilli's way, the guards muttered darkly and returned to work.

Those sleeping in the camp weren't as kind and threw scathing comments before turning over in their bedrolls and tents.

Turning away from the irate fellow sorcerers, Gilli spotted movement coming from the pavilion where there'd been ongoing talk for the majority of the day. Filling with dread, he kept walking to a spare bedroll but noticed that his superior, Alvarr, hadn't taken his gaze from him.

Blood rushed to his cheeks in embarrassment and the warlock bedded down for the night avoiding eye contact with all others.

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It was well into the evening that Mithian, Connor and Gwaine arrived at Nemeth. By all logic, they should still have a day's travel left before reaching the city, as well as the fact she was dead in the saddle feeling sapped of all energy; not the normal result of prolonged riding. Glancing over at Gwaine she saw the former knight was far better off than herself, but a proper look at Connor told her a different story.

When they were in Painswick the sorcerer was fully rested before they'd mounted the horses for Nemeth at dawn; at the time Connor was looking well except for the cuts and bruises that discoloured his body. At the lack of burns from the sun, she smiled weakly in satisfaction that her cloak had done its job of protecting Connor. Now, however, he looked as exhausted as she felt.

Today was the second ride where she'd travelled faster than normal, but too exhausted to give it any further thought Mithian nudged her horse into a walk, the sound of hooves behind her telling Mithian that the men were doing the same. Leading the way through the lower town in her peasant disguise 'Thea', she noticed the three of them garnered a few curious glances and short muttered conversations from the townsfolk but nothing more.

Glancing up at the drawbridge ahead she sighed tiredly and dropped her gaze to the ground again before straightening her form to brace for the barrage of questions no doubt waiting for her ahead.

"Thea." Turning around in her saddle Mithian saw that it'd been Gwaine. "I'll find a tavern for the night. Your father would give me a rather cold reception and I don't want to test it."

The pair of them knew why King Rodor would be less than welcoming to Gwaine, and while she'd somewhat put Gwaine's transgression behind her, she doubted her father would be the same. Her father had yet to see that Gwaine was more than a scoundrel that breached his daughter's privacy in a drunken state. She hadn't fully forgiven the man but if he continued proving to her he was more than a mischievous drunkard that Mithian didn't doubt she would forgive and forget the incident eventually; as long as he didn't breathe a word of it.

"It would be unfair of me to expect otherwise, Sir Gwaine. Just don't start a brawl. Your reputation precedes you," she advised while handing the reins of her newly-acquired horse to the stable hand as Gwaine did the same with his mare, giving her a fond pat before parting with Blaze.

"Glad to hear it."

Looking to the night sky and shaking her head, she turned back towards the knight as she helped Connor out of his saddle. "I was hoping you wouldn't see it that way."

Connor was silent and had little energy, but her irritation appearing to be entertaining him although he said nothing.

Gwaine, on the other hand, was his chatty self. "Relax, dear princess. No need to fret about little old me. I know how to lay low."

Dead on her feet and not exactly eager to participate in whatever banter he'd throw her way, Mithian retrieved a few coins from her person and tossed them Gwaine's way. He caught them deftly. "See that you do. And don't flatter yourself."

Gwaine chuckled with a rogue-like smile and gave a sarcastic bow, turning away and heading towards the lower town to avoid the likely ire of her father.

"We need to get you to the physician." Her hands carefully grasped Connor's shoulders she guided him to her home.

Entering the citadel and supporting Connor, Mithian took a little time to reach Elijah's physician chambers. A soft orange glow framed the door and made her smile in knowing she wouldn't be waking him up at this hour, but at the same time wondering what could be having him up at such an hour. Considering the middle-aged man had no apprentice and needed to retrieve all herbs himself, Elijah, by all rights, should be asleep to prepare for the no doubt busy day to come.

"Thanks, Thea," Connor murmured as leant against the wall.

Nodding, she turned and rapped softly on the door.

There was rustling from within but the court physician door soon opened. "My lady? What happened to you? The court has been in a state for two days."

"It's not me that you should worry about," she argued as she gestured to Connor. "Please do your best for him, Elijah. If not for him I wouldn't be here."

Elijah needed no prompting upon spotting her companion in the darkness, opening the door further and leading the injured man inside. He seated him on the patient bed. "If you would indulge me with a story, Princess Mithian?" he remarked with intrigue. Gathering a few solutions and cloth and stood over Connor, now laying on the bed. "I dare say the event of your disappearance is one of mystery."

Coming over and assisting him where she could, Mithian began explaining her latest problem.

"There is an imposter with a fighting force, going around the kingdom in my name, stealing the money of villagers and selectively taking people with them," she started still conflicted about acknowledging whether she had magic or not.

"Selectively? Those with magic?"

"Yes," Mithian replied before biting her lip. Should I lie and hide the truth about myself?

"Interesting. It sounds like a rebellion. But I'd expect it in Camelot, not Nemeth." Elijah didn't look up until he finished retrieving the sleeping potion for Connor.

"Females who looked like me were also taken, hence my disappearance," she regrettably lied to her equivalent of an older brother. "Where are Sirs Leofric and Richard? I imagine they'd be quite concerned."

"They returned a day and a half ago but immediately left with a search party."

"I must stop them. They'll be slaughtered like cattle."

There was the sound of a throat being cleared behind them. The pair of them looked back to Connor who still held the potion in his hand, for he had clearly been listening. "I may be of help."

Mithian shook her head in confusion. "How? The state you're in, Connor, is one of crucial bedrest-" She faltered when he smiled. "What is it?"

"Write a letter, Thea, with your seal. Ravens are fast messengers. I can summon you one."

Mentally feeling like scolding herself after the exposure to magic in the rebel camp, she gave his hand a light squeeze and went over to Elijah's desk and gathering some spare stationary.

Sirs Leofric, Richard, and company.

I have returned to Nemeth and received word from Elijah about your search party.

You must return to the city immediately, for I have crucial information.

If you're near the Northern Forest, I implore you to make haste for Nemeth.

The search party would be cut down like animals.

Return to Nemeth.

By my will.

Princess Mithian Duranhelm of Nemeth.

Blinking when hot wax entered her line of sight, Mithian looked up and saw Connor's amused smile with a jar in hand despite his exhausted state. "I thought you might need this."

Embarrassed she'd forgotten the key element to making her letter a genuine one, she felt the heat rise in her cheeks and looked down to fold the letter. "Indeed I do."

Connor swiftly moved towards the window and opened it as she poured the wax on and stamped it with the ring she'd concealed these past few days, Mithian rose with the fresh letter and handed it to Connor, who murmured an incantation and the names of her most trusted knights.

"I will rest easy knowing we've done our best for them."

"You're welcome, Thea."

Connor handed the letter to the raven that landed on the windowsill. A moment later it took to the night sky, and Mithian's prayer for her men went with the raven. Looking towards the man she owed so much to, Mithian helped Connor back onto the patient bed and picked up the sleeping potion. "You need rest, after everything you've done these past few days…thank you."

"No problem. If you want to ask anything, I'll help you."

Swallowing and looking away with a slow nod, for she knew what he meant, Mithian bid him good night and thank Elijah as she made to leave the room, but the shadow on the corridor wall made her turn around to see Elijah behind her,

"He matters to you, doesn't he?" the physician speculated, watching her casually.

Torn, Mithian struggled to articulate an answer. "I'm…grateful for what he has done. But…I'm sorry. Elijah, I…I don't know."

"No need to be flustered. I'm merely curious."

"Goodnight, Elijah. I appreciate your help."

"To you as well, Your Highness."

Feeling torn by the conversation at the physician's door, Mithian mindlessly made her way into her chambers and discovered her maidservant pacing and occasionally adjusting the decorations around the room. "Mithian!"

Feeling Lydia's contagious smile grace her own face, she braced herself for Lydia's hug as the woman rushed towards her. "It's good to be back," she remarked, returning the hug. "Please tell me that you haven't been worried sick the past two days?"

Sitting Mithian down on the end of the bed, Lydia gave her another relieved squeeze before giving a bit of space. "The court is one big gossip. Once Sirs Richard and Leofric arrived and left with more knights within an hour of their arrival, we knew something was wrong," the maidservant, but more importantly her friend explained while reluctant to let go of Mithian's hands as though she may slip away again.

"I'm alright, Lydia. You should go home and get some sleep," Mithian advised as she rose from the bed, a gentle grasp on the other woman's shoulders.

Most would have just nodded and gone on their way, but Lydia was a shrewd person. "I wouldn't say 'alright'," she remarked with a sharp eye. "Something is really bothering you, Mithian."

Nodding in admission, Mithian removed her cloak and put it into the washing basket by the door. "There are a lot of questions on my mind, but how is my father?"

"Restless like a caged bear," the woman said quietly, retrieving nightwear from the wardrobe. "He'll be awake again tonight, no doubt."

Mithian sighed after learning the stress the incident had inflicted upon her father.

"Go to him. I'll ready a bath for you," she encouraged, nodding at the door and taking the recurve bow from Mithian.

"Lydia, it's late-," Mithian protested, aware that Lydia was likely to be fatigued at this dark hour.

"Go," she insisted with a look, watching Mithian turn away to the door. "But don't think I've forgotten you changed the topic."

Smiling despite how tired she was, Mithian nodded in gratitude and left for her father's chambers.

In the darkness of night with the exception of the occasional bracket with a lit torch, Mithian kept her steps light and took the corners that were now committed to muscle memory after the many years as his daughter and heir.

She reached the final corridor and, as Lydia had told her, there was clear indication that her father was awake, from the light of candles peering out from under the frame to the sound of rustling from within. With all desire to end her father's worry, she made quick strides and rapped on the door, which halted the sound from inside.

"Enter," came the muffled permission.

Opening the door and closing it behind her quietly, Mithian turned around within her father's chambers and couldn't help the smile on her face at the sight of her father's happiness when he looked up from his desk.

"Mithian," he exclaimed, climbing out of his seat and rushing over.

Welcoming the embrace she rested against his shoulder. "I love you, Father," she murmured, relaxing into the tight but caring grasp of her father.

"And I, you, my daughter. I did everything in a king's power but still I feared the worst," he said quietly, loosening his hold to look at her face, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "To lose you would destroy me."

Looking up as he cupped her cheek, Mithian leant into it. "Let's see that it never happens."

"My heart wouldn't take the strain…You look exhausted, 'Thi," he uttered, embracing her fully once more.

"Very much so…"

She felt her father's gaze and meet his eyes. She barely noticed the hint of mischief until it was too late.

"Carry me?" she questioned indignantly before laughing. "We both know what happened last time."

King Rodor, her father, just smiled down at her as he held her bridal style. "Hmm…bit of an accident with all your tossing."

Deciding to humour him, she didn't fight it and leant into his chest to make it more manageable. Let the man have his fun after all the worry he's no doubt been through.

The fatigue was making her into a deadweight and almost lulled to sleep by motion, but when it stopped she blearily forced her eyes open and saw they were about halfway there.

"You'll need a strapping young knight nowadays, sweetheart," he confessed, lowering Mithian down onto her feet.

Smiling at her ageing father, she walked beside him the rest of the way. "You did well."

"You're too kind, Mithian, but we both know I'm an old man."

She couldn't protest that fact and it scared her.

"Mithian."

She looked up, and his expression became sympathetic.

"I love you, dearest." King Rodor gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Treasure what we have and fear not of the future."

A tear slid down her cheek. "You make it sound so simple."

"Let's not despair just yet, 'Thi. Would you spend the day beside me tomorrow?"

"Yes, Father. Of course I would."

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