Last chapter! I am both sad and satisfied. Thanks to all who added this to their alerts, all who favorited, and all who reviewed! Thank you, thank you, thank you! And now, I present to you the final chapter…

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin

It took Arthur for what seemed like years before he could reach Merlin. He felt as though he was struggling against a wall, pushing and shoving, but making no progress with each attempt. And Merlin was just lying there, motionless. Oh, God, what if it was too late? What if Merlin was already dead and gone, his fragile soul carried away to some distant land? Arthur threw himself down on to the harsh ground, ignoring the cries of protest from his knees. Arthur reached for Merlin, cradling his thin body in his arms. Merlin's eyes opened a fraction and Arthur cried out in joy, for just one moment.

"Merlin," Arthur said, his shaking hands rattling his friend's limp body. "What the hell were you doing?"

"Had to... follow you. Had to save you," Merlin coughed weakly, and to Arthur's horror, the blood stained Merlin's lips. He was down to the last stages of the illness.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "You have magic." Merlin coughed once more, and Arthur rallied himself to move. He dragged Merlin with all his strength towards the trickling spring set at the base of the mountain.

It was a beautiful place, serene and picturesque. The water was clear and sparkling blue, not unlike the startling hue of Merlin's eyes. It was a cool and calming place, a sort of haven or oasis in the middle of the dense and green forest. The mountain towered high above the ground, casting an eternal shadow over the little spring.

It was strange to Arthur, that so little and insignificant a place could have such power, the power to cure Merlin. Merlin, who was a warlock. Merlin, who had been lying to him this whole time. Merlin, the bravest and most selfless man he knew. Merlin, his best friend.

Without hesitation, Arthur parted Merlin's lips. He had no time to fetch a cup or anything like that, so scooped up the cool water with his bare hands. He carefully trickled the water down into Merlin's mouth, not wanting to spill the precious liquid. Merlin swallowed with difficulty. His eyes drifted shut and his body grew still.

"Come on, Merlin!" Arthur shook Merlin's shoulders wildly. "Merlin, wake up, now!"

Arthur watched in mingled relief and lingering fear as Merlin drew a shuddering cough. Arthur was surprised to feel cool tears trace down his cheeks, as Merlin blinked, his eyes darting around in confusion.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, the frantic tone in his voice receding. His hands hovered as Merlin sat up on his own.

"I feel…" Merlin wasn't sure what he felt. That last few hours were in a sort of blur. And yet, he distinctly remembered that familiar burn of magic leaving his body, and the prince's shocked face at the display. Merlin froze. Had he really used his magic in front of Arthur? Surely it must have been for a good reason, he wondered. Slowly, the events that had unfolded returned to him, filling in the spaces between Merlin leaving the Druids in a flurry of movement and agonizing pain, between Arthur kneeling over him, crying. Merlin stared as the drops of salty liquid racing down Arthur's cheeks. Only on rare occasions had he seen the prince cry. And now, he was crying over Merlin. "Fine." Merlin finished. "I… I feel fine," he repeated, as if to convince himself.

Arthur sat back on his heels. Merlin coughed again, and Arthur wordlessly passed the skein of water over to him. He drank quickly and greedily, soothing his raw throat. He handed the skein back and licked his lips nervously.

"We should take some of that water back to Camelot. Might be useful," Merlin said in a joking tone, nodding back to the trickling spring. Arthur simply stared at him, the scrutiny of his gaze making Merlin's skin crawl.

"Speaking of Camelot," Arthur said in a quiet voice. "We should return now that you're well enough." Merlin waited for something more, perhaps a snide comment about the state of the stables after such a long absence, or the armor that need to be polished by tomorrow. It was almost puzzling to Merlin when Arthur got to his feet and went over to the horses. Then Merlin remembered why Arthur was acting this way. The magic.

Arthur glanced back at Merlin's solitary figure.

"Do you need help getting up?" Arthur asked. There was no subtle tone of sarcasm under his words, no acidic innuendo in the offer. He was sincere. And that made Merlin worry.

Merlin shook his head, and went to his waiting horse. He couldn't help but watch Arthur out of the corner of his eye, studying his movements as he mounted his horse.

"What about the Druids?" Merlin asked in a rather timid voice, remembering the old man and the boy. Arthur glanced up.

"Oh," Arthur replied. "They should be all right." Arthur left it at that. Merlin still had more questions, but he fell silent instead.

They had reached an unspoken agreement not to discuss anything until they reached Camelot. And though it might have been wiser to talk about it in the open forest, far from prying ears, neither felt comfortable addressing it so soon. They both had to reflect on the repercussions of Merlin's secret. Yes, This could wait. Hell, it had waited for all these years, why not a bit longer, Arthur thought, a hint of bitterness and anger coloring this thought. As for Merlin, he was mentally preparing himself for the onslaught of questions, rebukes, and lectures from the clearly angry Arthur.

Merlin tried to quell the uneasiness churning in his stomach, but he was unsuccessful. He found himself constantly glancing at the prince's stiff and unyielding figure, trying to glean any emotion apart from the composed anger from Arthur's face. The words spilled from Merlin's mouth before he could help it.

"Thank you," Merlin said simply. He stared straight ahead of him, not meeting the prince's preoccupied stare.

"Thank you? What for?" Arthur was drawn out of his thoughts by Merlin's words. He looked around distractedly at his manservant, but Merlin was looking everywhere except at the prince.

"For saving me," Merlin explained. He swallowed hard, his mind at work as well. If Arthur wasn't making any cynical observations about Merlin's gratitude, it must mean that the prince was either really angry or very deep in thought. Merlin could handle the former. What he couldn't handle, though, was Arthur throwing out some heavily considered and revised argument at him. Because Merlin didn't really know what to say. And how could he explain to Arthur without starting from the beginning, the very beginning? Merlin could only imagine where that conversation would take them. He couldn't even start with his birth, but would have to go even farther and explain the trials of his father, Balinor. And then that would lead to another round of interrogation from Arthur, and Merlin didn't think he could take so much in one day. He had just been on his deathbed, after all. The last thing he needed was a fully aware Arthur on his best behavior and completely immersed in considering the secrets Merlin had been keeping.

But they had to talk about it sometime. That, Merlin was certain of. And so he waited in apprehension, his knuckles tight on the reins of his horse.

"Oh," Arthur said, taken off guard. "You're welcome." If this was meant to calm Merlin's growing distress, it achieved the opposite. It only made the young warlock begin to breath heavily, on the verge of hyperventilating. He knew he was overreacting, but his weak body and mind, racked by the illness, was susceptible to even the tiniest of triggers. In this case, Arthur's response was enough to set Merlin off. "I suppose I should say thank you, too."

Merlin twisted in his saddle to stare at Arthur. He studied the prince's face, looking for any sign of insincerity. It was only more disturbing to Merlin that he found none. Oh, God, Merlin thought. This is not going to be pleasant. It was Merlin's turn to say, "For what?"

"You know damn well what," Arthur growled, his anger seeping into his words, spoiling his otherwise thoroughly deliberated presentation. He had intended to deliver his speech in a calm and patient manner. However, he simply couldn't push his emotions far enough away from the logical side of his brain. Merlin nodded slightly, his attempt at feigning ignorance failing miserably under Arthur's scrutiny.

"Look," Merlin began, the words now tumbling hurriedly out of his mouth. "I am sorry. I kept a secret for all these years, and I'm sorry for that. But I can't help who I am, Arthur. I was born with magic, and even if I could change that, I wouldn't." Merlin stopped his horse and looked Arthur straight in the eye. In that moment, Arthur was once again struck by the power and knowledge in Merlin's eyes. It had been hidden for so many years, save for those few moments when Merlin said something wise and profound, and Arthur had only caught a glimpse of what lay underneath Merlin's mask. But now, it was there, written plainly on his face, and Arthur wondered what else Merlin had successfully kept hidden. And it worried Arthur to think that Merlin had wiped his face of emotion in the past. When the warlock was in pain, was struggling with some burden, but Arthur was too stupid and Merlin's concealment too clever, and so Arthur couldn't see. When Arthur could have helped him, could have been the friend he wanted to be.

And now, now what was he? A friend? Or, perhaps, a foe? A second troubling line of thought assaulted Arthur that he had not yet considered. Did Merlin blame him? Did he blame him for the persecution of the magical people, all of Merlin's people? People that Uther had killed, that Arthur had killed. An errant thought ran across Arthur's mind. I was just following orders, that tiny voice spoke up. Then a wave of anger swept over him. Was that any kind of excuse? No, he was responsible for his actions, and he alone. And now Arthur feared that Merlin would indeed hate him, blame him for everything. And Merlin had a right to, Arthur decided to himself.

"You must hate me," Arthur interrupted, accidentally speaking his mind. He hadn't meant to say that, but now Merlin raised his eyebrows in incredulity. He went on. "I let you down. I should have supported you, helped you. I should have been a better friend. You have every right to blame me for… for the horrors that occurred under my father's reign. You could have told me that you had magic, but you didn't. And I feel like that is my fault."

"No, Arthur. It wasn't your fault at all," Merlin replied. He could see the words bubbling on Arthur's lips and countered them before they fell. "It wasn't Uther's fault either," Merlin conceded. "I don't blame anyone. I just… I trust you, Arthur, but the time never felt… right." Arthur accepted this answer with a slight nod of his head. "And I could never hate you. You're my best friend. And nothing could ever change that. At least, for me," Merlin added on.

"For me, as well," Arthur said in a small yet serious statement. "You're my only friend Merlin." Arthur grew still in his saddle, still thinking. "Thank you, Merlin." He said again, this time in a completely sincere voice. Merlin flashed him a small smile, still testing the atmosphere. When Arthur urged on his horse, Merlin allowed his smile to grow. Arthur glanced back at him.

"Well?" Arthur called back. "Are you coming, or not?" Merlin was grinning now, and he hurried to catch up with the smiling prince.

The End

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Throughtherye