Author's Note: Annnnnnnndddd I'm back. Sorry for the long, long, long delay. I have been running around like a mad woman and trying to work on all the ideas flying around in my head. That and I went surfing over the weekend and when I got home I was POOPED. Merlini, please, please, please don't be mad at me for taking so long. Congrats on Berkeley, by the way. She'll love it. I will reply to you ASAP. Anyways, here is the next chapter. PLEASE REVIEW and ENJOY!

Arthur remembered the day of his coronation like it was yesterday. It hadn't really been that long since he'd donned his father's crown. Two years, in fact, but with everything that had happened since then two years seemed like ten. In those days all he'd wanted was to make his father proud, to prove that Uther's hope for a land without magic was not a fool's dream. Of course, that had all been before Arthur's world had been ripped apart by a certain warlock with a knack for trouble.

The day he took his father's crown had been the most nerve-wracking day of his short life. His fingers has trembled as he'd fastened the button on his ceremonial cloak and he'd had to ask for so many cups of water to moisten his bone dry mouth that Merlin had eventually just stood there with the jug in his hands, unusually quiet and reserved. The young servant had been a pillar of strength that day and although Arthur would never admit it he seriously doubted he would have made it without him.

It wasn't like Merlin had done anything particularly special or even anything he hadn't done on a daily basis. In those days, Merlin's strength hadn't been his magic, but his kindness and his loyalty. He had spoken very little to Arthur in the few hours they had together before he'd taken his last steps as prince of Camelot, but somehow he'd managed to calm Arthur's nerves in a way that only Merlin could.

"Your hands are shaking," he'd said quietly, watching Arthur attempt to button up his shirt. "Let me help."

"I've got it, Merlin."

It didn't take him long to realize, however, that he did not have it. Every time he tried to fasten his buttons his shaking, sweaty fingers slipped on the shiny glass beads. In a fit of nervous energy, grief and frustration he ripped the buttons from his shirt and threw them to the floor as if they were the ones responsible for his current predicament. He expected a biting remark from his servant, but the young man remained silent as if waiting for the prince to rip him into pieces as well.

"Don't say a word," Arthur growled needlessly, aching for something to say.

"I wasn't going to," Merlin replied quietly, bending down to pick the buttons off the floor.

"How am I supposed to do this, Merlin?"

"Button your shirt? I think that is sort of a moot point now, sire."

"No, you idiot. How am I supposed to be king? I can't even button a shirt properly."

"That's ridiculous, Arthur. I've seen you button your own shirt loads of times."

"Don't be cute, Merlin."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sire."

"What am I going to do?" Arthur groaned, sitting down dejectedly in a chair by the hearth.

"I imagine you'll find a new shirt."

"That isn't what I meant," Arthur said.

"I know," Merlin replied, turning to dig through Arthur's drawers to find a clean tunic without buttons. "Arthur, you are going to do exactly what you were born to do and you were born to be a king. A great king."

"You think so?" Arthur whispered.

"I know so. The world is ready for you, Arthur Pendragon. The question is…are you man enough to face it?"

Arthur swallowed hard and glanced over at his servant. Spontaneous gestures of affection and loyalty always seemed so easy for him, but for Arthur it was a constant struggle to find the words to express himself. There were a million things he wanted to say to Merlin in that moment, a million things he wanted to express, but his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth.

He often wondered how or why Merlin had put up with him for so long. It wasn't like he'd ever been particularly kind to the peculiar young man. When he'd first met Merlin he'd wanted to pummel the insolence out of him and to this day he wasn't sure what had stopped him. Of course, as the years had gone by Arthur quickly learned that what he had first mistook for insolence was in actuality a strong moral center, a belief that human beings should be treated with respect and dignity regardless of who they were or where they came from. Merlin cared very little that Arthur was a prince nor was he afraid to make his sentiments known to his master.

Arthur was about to open his mouth and say something meaningful, but right when he did so Geoffrey opened the door and stuck his head in. Both prince and servant looked up at the elderly man, but neither said a word.

"Sire," Geoffrey murmured. "You're not dressed?"

"No," Arthur said uncomfortably, glancing down at his shirtless chest with mild consternation. "I—uh—I had a mishap with—with the buttons."

"I see," Geoffrey said awkwardly.

"He should be ready in just a moment," Merlin called to him, head burrowed in Arthur's wardrobe as if searching for buried treasure. "I just have to find—AhHa!" He reappeared, cheeks flushed, holding a brown tunic in the air triumphantly. "You really need to organize your things, Arthur. Why do I spend all the time folding your clothes and putting them away neatly if all you are going to do is muss them all up again?"

There was no real heat in his rebuke, but Arthur hadn't expected any. In all the years the young man had been serving him he couldn't remember a time that Merlin had been truly, unforgivingly angry with him even though he'd probably deserved it more times than not. He'd seen Merlin frustrated with him, annoyed with him, hurt by him and even scared by him, but never furious with him. To be honest, Arthur wasn't even sure Merlin had the capacity to be angry and if he did he was sure the young servant wouldn't be able to stay that way for very long.

"I would hate to deprive you of something to do," Arthur replied instinctually. "You get into trouble when you're bored, Merlin."

"Believe me," Merlin deadpanned. "Life as your servant is never boring, sire. Don't exert yourself on my account."

Geoffrey glanced between the two men with an expression Arthur had grown used to seeing plastered firmly on his face. It was a common look among people who were not used to his and Merlin's unusual relationship, as if they weren't sure how to react. Half confusion, quarter shock, and quarter amusement. At first, Arthur had been offended by it, but now viewed it as an amusing sign of their strange and unorthodox friendship.

"Tell the court I'll be ready in a moment," Arthur said to Geoffrey. "Tell them my servant was running particularly slow today and apologize for my tardiness."

"Yes sire," Geoffrey murmured, exiting and shutting the door quickly behind him.

"Why do you always have to blame it on me?" Merlin asked, staring at the door the old man had just left through. "Do you know that half the court believes me to be a lazy idiot and the other half believes I was dropped on my head as a child?"

"I would have thought you'd learned by now," Arthur said, grabbing the shirt from Merlin's fists. "Its always the servant's fault. A prince can do no wrong."

"A king," Merlin corrected softly. "You're a king now, Arthur."

"A title doesn't make me a king, Merlin. I was born into this…I didn't earn it."

"And you call me the idiot," Merlin sighed theatrically.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you really this stupid? Or do you truly believe you aren't ready for this? That you don't deserve it?"

"Watch how you speak to me, Merlin."

"Arthur," Merlin said softly. "There is a time for everything and everyone. This is your time, sire. Don't be a prat and waste it on self doubt."

"I don't…I'm not…when are you going to learn that you can't speak to me that way, Merlin?"

"The moment you learn how important you are to this kingdom. Uther was their ruler…but you? You're their king, Arthur. You're the one they trust and always have trusted."

"My father was a great king," Arthur growled. "You pass him off like he was nothing and it—"

"Uther was a great king," Merlin amended. "But…but a cold one."

"You didn't know him," Arthur spat, tugging his shirt over his head so he wouldn't have to look at his servant's face. "You have no idea how much he cared about his people, Merlin."

"Yes, I do. Uther cared about his people as a whole, Arthur. You care about them as individuals…as men and women with lives and stories and futures. Can't you see the difference?"

"Why are you telling me all of this? Nobody asked for your opinion, Merlin. You speak to me as if your council is welcome. Remember your place."

Arthur instantly regretted his words and tried to ignore the flash of hurt on his servant's face. Instead of acknowledging his friend, he turned his back on him and gruffly fastened his belt around his waist. Why did Merlin have to analyze everything? His father had only been dead a day and already his servant was belittling his reign. He knew his father was a good king and nothing Merlin said to him would change his mind. Except, the more Arthur thought about it the more he realized that Merlin hadn't actually said anything bad about his father. He'd only pointed out the differences between them.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment," Merlin said so softly Arthur could barely hear him. "What this means to me, Arthur."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked, turning to face his servant in confusion.

Merlin glanced up at him sharply and Arthur realized his servant hadn't meant for his master to hear his words. There was a brief flash of panic across his face, but the young man quickly covered it up with his signature goofy smile. It hadn't taken Arthur long to realize what Merlin was doing when he flashed him that particular grin. His servant was about to lie to him, but for what purpose he did not know.

"I didn't say anything," Merlin lied, right on cue.

"Yes, you did. You said that I had no idea how long you've waited for this moment…that it meant something to you."

"Did I? I don't remember saying—"

"You said it, Merlin. Stop pretending you didn't. Why?"

"Well," Merlin said slowly, obviously thinking up another lie. "I've always secretly wanted to be a servant to a king, sire. This moment is sort of the fulfillment of a life long dream."

"Merlin, you don't have a subservient bone in your body."

"Sure I do. I've stuck around you, haven't I?"

"For your own nefarious purposes, I'm sure."

"Nefarious?"

"Yes, it means—"

"I know what it means. I just don't know when you learned to use big words like that, sire."

"I'm not an idiot, Merlin."

"Hmmm."

"You're trying to change the subject. Why did you say that?"

"Say what?"

"Merlin, I will hurt you if I have to."

"You could, but I hardly see how that would be beneficial to your cause."

"It probably wouldn't, but it would make me feel a whole lot better."

"Are all kings this prone to violence?"

"Merlin."

"Yes?"

"Please."

It was obvious that the servant already had a witty retort in mind because his mouth had already begun to open upon his master's reply. He seemed so surprised by Arthur's response that his mouth clicked shut and he shot his king a strange and calculating glance.

"Please," Arthur repeated softly.

"Why is it you choose this moment to actually listen to what I'm saying?" Merlin sighed.

"I listen to you all—"

"It was a rhetorical question, sire."

Arthur didn't say anything and waited patiently for his friend to become uncomfortable beneath his hard gaze. Knowing Merlin this could take a very long time, but it seemed fate was on his side that morning. The young man took a deep breath and blew it out reluctantly.

"I said it because I know you, Arthur. I spend every moment of every day by your side and in that time I've learned a few things about you."

"Just a few?" Arthur said with a small smile.

"For starters you're a prat," Merlin said smugly.

"Thanks, Merlin. You really know how to inspire a—"

"But beneath that," Merlin interrupted smoothly. "You're what I've always imagined a king would be. You're brave and loyal and honest. Honorable to a fault. You care about people. Not just their lives but their happiness. I haven't served you all these years because I felt obligated, Arthur. I've served you because I wanted to, because I knew that one day you would become a king worth serving, worth calling friend. You fulfilled half of that dream a long time ago and today you fulfill the other."

Arthur had never forgotten his servant's words and even in the dark years to come he called upon them when he felt his weakest. He remembered standing in front of the court, resplendent in his heavy ceremonial robes, speaking the oaths that would make him king. He remembered finding Merlin's face in the crowd and he knew then that no matter what happened to him in the coming days his friend would remain, steadfast and true, at his side. He knew Merlin wasn't telling him everything, although at the time he never would have guessed the nature of his servant's secret, but he found that he cared very little. Whatever the young man's secret was it could never change their friendship. Never make Arthur question his trust in him. At the time, he was sure that nothing could get between them.

Except something had. Arthur felt useless in its wake and he hated it. No, that wasn't right. He hated himself for being useless…for being blind…for being the cause of a hopeless quest…for believing his quest was hopeless…and for hating himself because of it. It seemed to him that he was stuck in a never-ending cycle of hate; a cycle that would release him only when its job was complete…only when he was dead.

He'd been stuck in cycles like this before, of course, but this time it was different. This time there was no bothersome servant to pull him out of it. This time there was no irritatingly perceptive warlock to shatter Arthur's doubt. This time there was no Merlin.

Arthur wanted to pretend he wasn't bothered by this fact. He wished he could tell himself that he would be better off without Merlin intervening in his life, but there was an emptiness in his chest that no amount of wishing could fill. He hated Merlin for making him feel that way, for making him so damn dependent on the warlock. Arthur smiled grimly. His little circle of hate seemed to be growing larger by the second.

"My lord," Sir Leon said quietly, interrupting Arthur from his thoughts. "Percival made lunch. I would be more than happy to dish you—"

"I'm not hungry," Arthur said listlessly.

"But, sire—"

"I said I'm not hungry," Arthur snapped. "Just…just leave me be, Leon."

Leon muttered a reply and Arthur felt him disappear from his side. He instantly felt guilty for snapping at the knight. Arthur was angry, but he shouldn't be taking it out on his friends. He imagined that his row with Merlin put them in an awkward position and the least he could do was be respectful of that fact. They were still Merlin's friends, after all.

Arthur frowned. They were still Merlin's friends, but what did that make him? He'd told Merlin that he wanted him gone, but had he meant it? At the time it seemed like he had, but now that it was all said and done he wondered where the words had actually come from. Up until that moment the thought of Merlin leaving his side brought fear bubbling up from some black space deep inside him. He needed him, didn't he? Needed his friendship, his wisdom, his witticisms and insults. The man had kept him grounded and sane for almost a decade, had seen him through times of sorrow and loss, had fought bravely by his side for no other reason but that he cared enough to do so. So why? Why in the name of the gods had he sent him away? Arthur put his head in his hands and groaned. Warlocks made everything so damn complicated.

"Has it hit you yet?" Awen asked suddenly, appearing beside him like a ghost from the fog. Arthur didn't jump though. No, Arthur didn't jump at all.

He grimaced. Awen was the last person he wanted to talk to at the moment. Perhaps because she was the only person, besides Merlin and Gwaine, who cared very little for his title and wouldn't bother sparing his feelings.

"Has what hit me?" Arthur asked flatly, wishing he could order her to go away.

"How out of your depth you are. Merlin's gone and so is your ticket into Avalon."

He'd already thought of that. He didn't need her to remind him and he thought about telling her so…rudely. He kept his mouth shut though. Maybe if he didn't say anything she would lose interest and go away. He highly doubted it, but one could wish.

"What are you going to do about it?" Awen asked, dashing Arthur's hopes of solitude.

"I'm not going to do anything," Arthur said stonily. "I'm the king, Awen. If he wants to run I'm not going to stop him."

"You're acting like a child, Arthur."

"Like he's innocent in all this," Arthur snarled. "He's the one who left."

"Because you told him to!"

"If I told Merlin to jump off a cliff, would he do it?"

"What?"

"Just answer yes or no. If I told him to jump off a cliff would he jump?"

"Of course not."

"Then there goes your theory that Merlin does things just because I tell him to."

"Arthur," Awen pleaded. "It has to be you that finds him. It has to be you that brings him back."

"You bring him back," Arthur snapped. "He's not my problem anymore."

"I tried to bring him back, Arthur. He wouldn't listen to me."

"Well," Arthur said nastily. "You must not have tried very hard then. There seems to be a pattern in there somewhere. Merlin goes away and you fail to bring him back with you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Awen said angrily.

"What do you think it means? You tried to bring him back during the Demon War and you failed. You tried to bring him back today and you failed. Maybe it's not me that sends Merlin packing. Maybe it's you."

"Take that back," Awen hissed, voice ice cold. "Take it back right now, Arthur Pendragon."

"Why? Scared it might be true?"

Where was this coming from, Arthur wondered. And why the hell couldn't he stop? He and Awen had always gotten along just fine, but now all Arthur wanted to do was blame her for what he knew was his fault. He didn't want to admit that he might have lost his best friend forever. Hurting Awen was easier even though, in the long run, he knew it was only making his situation worse. In that moment, he was glad he was blind because the expression on her face must have been something to behold.

"You've never forgiven me for that, have you?" Awen asked quietly.

"What?" Arthur barked, surprised. He had expected anger, a retaliation of some sort. Not this. This only made him feel worse.

"You've never forgiven me for giving up on him," Awen repeated.

"That has nothing to do with this," Arthur said lamely.

"Then why say it?"

To hurt you, Arthur thought. Instead, he whispered, "I don't know."

"Sure," Awen replied. "Sure you don't."

"Awen—"

"I think about it everyday, you know. I replay the whole thing in my mind over and over again and try to understand why I froze. Why I panicked."

"I shouldn't have brought it up," Arthur began. "There is no need to expl—"

"And I think I've finally figured it out. I froze because I love him, Arthur. The thought of him going where I couldn't follow makes me sick to my stomach. But, you know what?"

Arthur didn't say anything. He felt like an ass and almost wished Merlin were there to turn him into one.

"I may have frozen, Arthur, but there was nothing left of him when I did. He was dead and I don't think anything I did changed that."

"What are you saying?" Arthur asked, heart beating painfully in his chest.

"I'm saying that I know there was more involved in this than Merlin is telling me. I'm saying that I know without a shadow of a doubt that Merlin was gone and maybe I brought him back from the edge, but somebody helped get him that far. And I think you know what Merlin isn't telling me and that is why you are so angry. I'm not asking you to tell me what it is. To be honest, I don't want to know if he doesn't want me to know. As hard as it is I've learned to trust his judgment on that. I just wanted you to know that I've come to terms with what happened that night and hope you will to."

Arthur didn't know what to say to that. He hadn't really meant to bring the subject up at all, partly because he already knew that Awen hadn't been able to bring him back, but also because he hated thinking about how he'd felt that night, how desperate and hurt he'd been. He'd wanted to hurt her, but he did so at the expense of himself.

"Do you really think he won't come back?" Arthur asked eventually. "It's Merlin, isn't it? He can't possibly stay furious with me forever."

"Not on his own he couldn't," Awen replied. "But, with black magic fueling his anger I'm not sure if even you will be able to get through to him."

"Black magic?"

"Arthur," Awen admonished. "You know Merlin. You know that there is nothing you could say to him that would make him abandon you. So why? Why did he walk away?"

"Because he was enchanted," Arthur whispered.

"It has to be. Arthur, no offense, but you have a temper. You react to what is said to you, but Merlin doesn't. He never has. He gets hurt, annoyed, frustrated even, but he never gets angry. Not like he did today. You said something to him and it ignited the flame that whoever is trying to control him was hoping for."

"Who would want to do something like this?" Arthur asked her. "The only person I can think of is in Camelot trapped in her own nightmares. I can't think of anyone who would—damn."

"What?"

"The god we're trying to steal from," Arthur said flatly. "Arawn. It has to be. He's a master at this sort of thing. Part of the reason my father loved him so much."

"Then we have to break whatever hold he has on him. Merlin wouldn't give up on you, Arthur. Don't give up on him."

"I never planned to," Arthur told her quietly. "I just needed a little push to get moving."

"Oh, I would have given you much more than a push. I still might."

"I'll have to watch my back then," Arthur laughed.

He liked the feel of it in his throat. It felt like he hadn't laughed in centuries. He stood, waving Awen's hand away when she tried to help him. He was going to have to get used to moving without being able to see one way or the other. Nothing was going to stop him from what accomplishing what he needed to, nothing was going to keep him from bringing Merlin back.

An ice-cold spasm of pain in his skull brought Arthur back to his knees again. He grit his teeth against it and tried to ignore the way Awen's voice pounded through his brain like tiny shards of ice. What the hell was going on now? He was going to pass out the pain was so bad. He wanted to scream, but he bit down on it and tried to ride it out. Wave after wave hit him and Arthur knew he was going to drop dead right where he was and then—and then…then it was gone. Quickly as it had come.

Arthur could breathe again and he did so with great enthusiasm.

"Arthur?" Awen was shouting. "Arthur, are you alright?"

"Yeah," Arthur said, blinking, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"What was that?" Gwain asked, striding towards them. "We heard the Princess screaming."

"I didn't scream," Arthur said distastefully, glancing over at Gwain.

"What happened, sire?" Leon asked quietly.

"I'm not sure," Arthur told him honestly. "But, I think it had something to do with my sudden ability to see."

Awen glanced at him sharply and he laughed. He could see and maybe it was the simple joy of having vision again but he thought the world seemed crisper than before. More vibrant.

"I don't understand what happened," Arthur told them. "One second I couldn't see my hand in front of my face and then the next—"

"You believed in yourself again," Elyan said quietly.

"What?"

"You found a purpose," Elyan said. "A reason to deny the future the banshee gave to you. I knew you would eventually. What brought on the sudden change?"

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "What else?"

"So," Gwain said slowly. "We're going to get him, right? Because I was considering mutiny, treason, the works if we didn't get moving soon."

"Yeah," Arthur replied. "Be ready to move out in five minutes. We've got a warlock to find."