Title: Edge: Prologue
Author: hermitknut
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG at the moment, might become PG-13 or even 15 at a later date.
Warnings: Slash (duh).
Summary: King Uther is dead; Long Live King Arthur! But it's not quite that simple. The interregnum – the time between the death of one king and the coronation of the next – is proving to be more complex than it would seem. Two old friends return; but have the last five years changed one of them beyond repair?
Disclaimer: If it were mine… Merlin and Arthur would make out in almost every episode :D

A/N: This is the sequel to "Heads and Tales" [links to all chapters here]. You can probably make sense of this without reading that if you like. This story has not been finished yet so I don't know how long it will be, but I should be posting every Sunday. I suspect it will be shorter than its prequel, though :) Please review, it really makes my day!

"You can't go."

Emrys did not look up from packing his bag, and nor did he answer. Jethar stared at him.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "How can you go running back to him, after what he did to you? How can you still trust him?" He paused, before adding, "You owe him nothing."

Emrys straightened up, his bag across his shoulders.

"It's not about owing anyone," he said quietly, still not looking at Jethar. "This is bigger that either of us, I cannot base my decision on what is over."

He took a few steps towards the mouth of the tent, but Jethar was in his way.

"Over?" the younger man asked, incredulously. "You know it's not – anyone can see that you still –"

"It is my duty. My destiny." Emrys' words were final, spoken without any hesitation. "I should have been able to stay, but fate worked against me. Now that Uther is dying, I can return."

Jethar swallowed as Emrys walked past him out into the night, then turned and followed him.

"He betrayed you!" Jethar called out as Emrys reached the edge of camp. "He doesn't deserve your protection!"

Emrys turned and looked straight at Jethar for the first time, the raw pain in his eyes betraying his next words.

"That does not matter."

He vanished into the surrounding woods. Jethar knew better than to try and follow, but he stood there alone and silent for some time.

The room was dark and still. The only movement came from a figure sitting on an ornate chair beside the bed, his blinking and breathing the only signs of life.

Arthur gazed upon his father's face. Uther Pendragon looked peaceful in death; far more peaceful that he had in dying. However, the illness had been swift and unforgiving, and his father was no longer a young enough man to fight it off. He had taken his last breath only minutes ago.

Arthur knew that Gaius was waiting outside, that the castle was full of knights and nobles and servants awaiting his orders, awaiting news of their ill king – but he could not bring himself to move. His mind was in numb turmoil, his thoughts frantic and complex but somehow without any emotion. He supposed, oddly calmly, that it would hit him hard when the loss of his father finally sunk in, but for the moment he did not know how to feel.

I should be crying, he thought. Unexpectedly, a memory flashed to the forefront of his mind – watching Merlin cry over the father he had only just met and telling him that no man was worth his tears. This memory was accompanied, as all memories of his old servant were, by an aching loss and the sting of guilt. Where had Merlin gone? The young sorcerer seemed to have disappeared completely. Arthur had searched as much as he had dared to without arousing his father's suspicions, going hunting alone frequently and returning several days later, without news of Merlin. He knew that Gwen was worried about him as well; they all were. But it had been four years since his last message had got to Merlin, and he had received no response.

Arthur leant back into his chair, Merlin's brilliant blue eyes seared into the forefront of his mind. The unafraid, sarcastic Merlin he had met for the first time outside the castle. The frightened, stumbling Merlin he had set running in the opposite direction, the day of the firestorm. Arthur's hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly. He had been terrified that the knights and the guards would catch up with Merlin, but they had followed the two horses instead. When they found Arthur alone, several hours later – Arthur was both proud of himself for evading them that long and disappointed that they weren't good enough to catch him faster – the rain had washed away any tracks or scent that Merlin might have left. He had been taken back to the castle, fully expecting his father's fury and prepared to deal with whatever consequences – but Uther had barely said a word on the matter and Arthur had spent a sleepless night worrying over the dawn. His father had never spoken of it again, although in the following years the security measures surrounding Camelot began to increase with what Arthur began to recognise as Uther's own paranoia. He began to see enemies and spies everywhere and soon Arthur had no choice but to travel with a group of knights or stay within the castle's walls, alone.

Without Morgana, and with Gaius buried in his work, Arthur took to confiding in Gwen, the only other person in the castle who was still a friend to Merlin.

Oh, Guinevere. Arthur had always known that he would have to marry – he had to have an heir, and a legitimate one, to ensure the kingdom's security. And since he and Merlin had fallen for each other he had known that he could never marry for love; only for the kingdom. He had wondered if anyone would ever understand; if he could ever bring himself to ask the obscene, to marry someone and not love them. But Gwen understood. It helped that her heart also belonged to another – but Lancelot had been easy to find and meet with in secret before their wedding was announced, he understood that Gwen was not betraying him by marrying Arthur. Arthur had tried to find Merlin for the same reason; but in the end he had had to resort to leaving him a letter and waiting for his response.

The response that had never come.

Arthur finally stirred, and, taking one long look at his father he left the room and began his duties with a heavy heart.

The night following the eve of Uther's death was misty, and two men travelled to Camelot. One, riding hard with his dark hair flying behind him, rode clear along the pathways until he reached the city as the sun set. The second arrived within the city walls well after nightfall, hooded in the dull green of the woodland druids and cloaked by the mist itself, an oddly unearthly figure walking along the city roads.

Their minds are different; their moods are different; their skills and talents almost in opposition. But they are both returning.