A/N: By request, I have returned with a continuation of 'The Meaning of Loyalty'! It took me a while to figure out how to go about this, and I will admit it feels like a bit of a stretch even in magic (I can only pretend to have mastery over life and death =P). But I like to think that if destiny has any say, special rules apply in Merlin's case ^-^ Enjoy!

Despite the open windows of the hall Arthur walked, his surroundings felt particularly airless. He knew he had been avoiding this path since the funeral. Three weeks. In three weeks no one else had had the heart to face what he was about to…not even Gaius. It was a wonder the old court physician could still function, living adjacent to the room nobody wanted to disturb. But it was time, and someone had to.

Arthur had encountered few reasons to enter the back room of the infirmary, even for the several years during which his former manservant had occupied it. Royalty simply didn't visit their servants' quarters. He was a little apprehensive as to what he would find. What did Merlin hold dear in this home away from home (if he could call it that after so long)?

Gaius was absent from the cluttered chambers; probably keeping himself busy with rounds. An invisible weight settled onto Arthur's shoulders as he crossed the space to the rickety door at the far end. The very rooms seemed to feel the emptiness left by their treasured friend. And Merlin had been treasured, Arthur realized, by everyone he had touched.

The little room was sparse but messy, which wasn't unexpected. Arthur didn't exactly give his personal servants much spare time, and Merlin in particular carried out duties for Gaius as well as his king. He had apparently done laundry shortly before the attack on Camelot, as most of his clothes were hastily folded into the small cupboard. His winter overcoat and old traveling pack occupied the corner on the other side of the door. The bed was unmade, bedclothes left carelessly, not knowing their owner would not return. A horrible knot formed in Arthur's throat the more he saw of his manservant's private world.

Not willing to let these feelings get the better of him, Arthur snatched the pack from its hook. It had carried all of Merlin's possessions here to Camelot, and he didn't seem to have collected much since. The well-worn clothes crammed easily into the bag. A few letters from his mother, as well as one he had obviously intended to send, lay on the bed table. They went in a little more gently. Hunith would want what memories were left of her son.

A flutter, not quite a chill, swept across Arthur's shoulders as he worked. The feeling left him unsettled. As if what he was doing was somehow unwelcome. No, maybe not…it didn't feel malevolent, but neither was it entirely comforting. More like just another reminder of the loss he had suffered. Would he never be able to get the image of Merlin dying, burning out of his mind?

Get a hold of yourself!

He sank to the floor, his knees folding toward his chest with his back to the simple bedframe. This was a mistake. He thought he could handle this task, but it rang with a greater note of finality than the moment he lit his friend's pyre. Back then, in the midst of his grief, he at least felt like he was somehow freeing Merlin. The young man would no longer have to suffer or worry. Arthur remembered the trick of the flames, how he could imagine a majestic dragon within them. The thought was strangely peaceful. He pictured his family's emblem coming to life, wrapping warm wings around his own stony shoulders. Of course, real dragons were supposed to be evil magical creatures; odd that he sought comfort in the image now.

He braced his hands on the wood floor to shift into a more relaxed position. To his surprise, his fingers discovered a gap under the bed, made by a loose board on one side. So, Merlin had a hiding space…

Whatever Arthur might have expected to find, he certainly wasn't prepared for what was actually there. A decorated walking staff barely fit in the cubby hole. It was familiar—years ago, when the two of them had rescued that mysterious father and daughter. Multiple people had eventually told him they had been sorcerers bent on killing him. Why would Merlin steal this?

Next to the staff was an old leather-bound book. Hidden with a magical object, Arthur's stomach plummeted. He had let adrenaline push away suspicions of Merlin's capabilities down in the dungeon, even though his knights had brought the subject up. No way had Merlin really practiced magic. He knew the laws of Camelot! The servant was barely capable of walking without tripping over his own feet, let alone commanding powerful, evil forces!

And yet, as Arthur ran his fingers across the tome's cover, the not-chill returned more firmly at his back. Almost like a ghostly push. He opened the book on the disheveled bed. The unfamiliar verses immediately put him on guard. This was the old tongue, words few dared to speak, with good reason. And it had been in Merlin's possession?!

He flipped through the pages. Some spells were accompanied by illustrations of plants or objects. Arthur recognized the bracelet Morgana had given him for his quest for the Fisherking's trident. Others had readable explanations of how to manipulate elements such as fire and wind (both of which had behaved mysteriously with Merlin present, if memory served him well). There were passages about healing, about changing one's appearance, about tricking other people's thoughts. An entire section was devoted to dragons, with even more bizarre incantations. The more Arthur saw, the more he feared his heart would give out from shock. This didn't make sense! He wouldn't let himself think it possible. Merlin couldn't be this hidden persona under Arthur's nose for so many years. The lowly servant had been closer than just about anyone was permitted to be with the prince-turned-king. Arthur wouldn't let himself consider the outcomes that could have happened.

A door creaked open and shut, though he didn't register its meaning. He sat frozen on the floor until Gaius appeared right next to him.

"Sire! What brings you—oh my." The physician's expression melded from surprise to anxiety as he realized what the king was holding. Arthur met his gaze with a tortured look of his own.

"Gaius…please…tell me this is somehow a mistake…M-Merlin…"

Gaius let out a heavy sigh, and took a seat on the unkempt bed. "Sire, there is so much Merlin intended to tell you. He just wasn't sure how…"

"He knew, he deliberately ignored the laws of Camelot, and dared to serve me all this time while he did it! All the times I defended him, convinced my father he had nothing to do with suspected magical activity…but I was protecting a liar. How could he…?" Arthur's knuckles were turning white, he gripped the edges of the book so hard.

"Arthur, hear me out. He was nothing like the previous sorcerers you and your father have encountered," Gaius practically begged. The subject was tearing him apart just as much as it tore at Arthur. "The truth was always there for anyone who looked for it. Regardless of his secrets, you did know the real Merlin."

"Did I?!"

"Did you not have a servant who sacrificed himself—without magic, mind you—in order to prove your goblet had been poisoned? Who followed you into battles and crises regardless of his own safety just to try to ensure yours? Who listened to you and told you what you needed to hear—not always what you wanted to hear—whether or not it would benefit his own position? Who got up every day for year after year just to clean and mend and polish for the man he truly believed would be a great king? Sire, even if he never revealed his nature to you, he did everything he could to show that you had at least one unshakeable ally in this miserable world. Any other man would be lofted as a champion!"

The old man huffed for breath in lieu of this lecture. Arthur was left stunned, suddenly back to being a child who complained his father was being unfair. No one had chastised him so in years! And though he wanted to just let his righteous anger carry him past what Gaius said, he could not block out the memories that surfaced.

Barely a few weeks into his service, Merlin had stumbled upon a plot to poison Arthur. He staked everything, in front of a room full of nobles and their entourages, to bring the truth to light. Arthur himself had outright defied his father in the quest to save Merlin from that same poison. He had been so quick then to believe his servant had the purest intentions, simply by that selfless act…

The hapless young man hated anything to do with violence, but followed Arthur nonetheless on quests, scouting trips, hunts, and into battles. He stood by Arthur as the king himself nearly ruined all relations with Queen Annis. Never wavered in the struggle to repair those relations. He took up a sword despite obvious fear when Arthur had agreed to help the villagers in Ealdor. In fact, Merlin had very nearly faced his own death when magic saved the battle that day. Arthur had demanded who did it; Merlin's childhood friend Will had stepped up to take the blame, dying already from personally saving the prince.

Apparently, Arthur's storm of emotions showed on his face, because Gaius' expression softened considerably. Arthur tried to find words for what he felt. "I…I…so he really did have magic?"

"He did his best to serve you without using it—in fact, I insisted on it, for his own safety. But there have been moments of…well, desperation, when something more was needed. Sometimes he was the only one who could give us a chance. However, he only ever thought of the well-being of those he cared about. Perhaps too much, at times," the wearied physician sighed.

"He was a sorcerer, then…"

"There is a rare distinction that few ordinary people these days understand. Your father's conviction blurred out a few crucial details. Anyone willing to study enough and practice can learn magic, to an extent. These we know as sorcerers," Gaius explained tentatively. "But every so often, fate gifts the world with a person who is born with magic. A magical creature in and of themselves. Such a person needs no teaching, or even necessarily words to touch the forces of the world. They already know.

"The druids foretold of a warlock more powerful than any before or to come, who would accompany the once and future king into a golden age of the kingdoms. Through these two men, Camelot would give birth to the united land of Albion."

A spike of incredulity managed to work past Arthur's frozen state. "And you think…Merlin was this warlock?"

"He could move objects with his mind before he could talk."

Arthur pondered this. Gaius had once consorted with sorcerers, though he renounced those ways during the Great Purge and had since been nothing but loyal to the Pendragon family. He was devoted to science and learning, often providing insight into mysterious circumstances. Arthur had yet to believe in a reason to doubt the old counselor.

Gaius apparently took his silence as allowance to continue. "Those who still follow the Old Religion knew him as Emrys, a being of incredible power, but also one of compassion and wisdom. A man as connected to the people as he was, technically, beyond them. Ultimately, however, he would still be only human. I daresay we can't blame Merlin for not being perfect, under such circumstances. He tried to do what he thought was best for everyone. You certainly knew that side of him."

Arthur's hands slipped from the book to the floorboards on either side of him. This was too much to take in at once. The void Merlin left behind was difficult enough to deal with. How could Arthur also absorb such a drastic overhaul of the man he thought he knew? Yes, some base level that wouldn't be silenced told him Gaius could be right. Merlin had passed up too many chances to bring down the kingdom if he had indeed been what a sorcerer 'should' be, according to Uther's belief. Or had the little sneak just not deemed the time right? Did Merlin possess the wiles to nurse a plan for so long? Arthur couldn't bring himself to embrace change just because he hoped it to be true.

"Don't get me wrong, Gaius…I just…I need time to think about this," he concluded, almost groaning. The whole ordeal exhausted him more than he wanted to admit. Without finishing the task he had started, Arthur left the vacuous chambers.

The dark could be strangely comforting, Arthur realized that night. While it obscured both untold dangers and potential saviors from one's sight, it also allowed a certain gift of isolation from the rest of the world. He couldn't see it—and it couldn't see him either. When in such a state of mind as he was presently, he welcomed this facet of darkness. He needed some time alone.

Not that he was completely separate from his surroundings. Only inches away, Gwen's easy breathing eased his tension as well. He often wondered how far he would have gotten if she hadn't returned. Especially after losing Merlin, they were each other's unmoving support. She was certainly stronger than most nobles Arthur had known in his life. He needed her as much as he needed the space to think for himself.

Most of the immediate impact of the day's revelations had worn off by now. His head wasn't swimming with anger, hurt, or betrayal. He had even given memory lane a go, scrutinizing his shared past with Merlin for signs of magic and that 'true loyalty' Gaius spoke of. The manservant had always shown more interest when magic was suspected. He was quite keen on the subject, if a little jumpy. But he made it clear to Arthur, Uther, and the court that he was the last person capable of subversive activity. Always ended up the fool, whether intended or not. And he usually made things worse with his efforts before the situation improved.

But that's what was endearing about Merlin. He cared, possibly more than anyone should. His duty to friends and kingdom came before everything else. He always looked for the best in people, stood up against the worst, and had this uncanny ability to lift drowning spirits. Something about his character simply was good. Could magic possibly be an asset in the hands of someone so purehearted?

At long last, Arthur managed to drift off to sleep. He found himself on a familiar landscape in his dreams—the training grounds. Even in imagination, he felt better having the chance to beat his frustration out on a dummy, or one-on-one combat. His most trusted knights surrounded him, awaiting the first round of exercises. Arthur was just about to give the orders, too, before a very unfamiliar visitor arrived.

He caught onto its approach by sound rather than sight. Wind, whistling along thin-stretched leather. Deep, rhythmic snorts in time with the even lower thrum of wingbeats. But when every indication told Arthur the creature should appear overhead…

It didn't.

Or at least, what he expected wasn't what appeared. No huge, fire-spitting lizard soared over the trees. Yet something flew above them. The knights scattered into defensive positions, trying to track a shimmering reddish form as it circled. Only, one by one on the creature's next pass, they disappeared. Just faded out of existence. Arthur was alone, but not in the comforting way.

"Who are you?" demanded the king. "What do you want?" The next moment he was crouching for cover as the unidentifiable attacker dove low. It didn't touch him, however. It made a tight circle around him once, and peeled off again. As far as he could tell, he hadn't vanished like the others. Still no pain or impact came. When Arthur ventured to look, the sight that met him felt like a physical blow, even within the dream.

The wounds were gone, the clothes undamaged. He might have just walked up to continue his duties as if nothing had happened, dark-haired and grinning cheekily. Well, Arthur could imagine the grin, anyway. This apparition of Merlin was unnervingly serious. He fixed Arthur with a stare that was almost desperate.

"Arthur…"

Arthur fought not to lose his thin composure. He knew he was being ridiculous; this was his dream, and he could see whatever he wanted to. Nonetheless, Merlin's appearance in a setting other than the replay of his death (a common feature in Arthur's dreams since the funeral) sent Arthur's heart upward like a firework. He took off toward his manservant with every intention of hugging the man. Social status be damned!

Except he didn't get any closer to Merlin. Arthur pumped his legs faster, but the space between them just elongated. Merlin seemed to recognize this as well. He stretched a begging hand out to Arthur.

"I had to warn you, Arthur…been trying to reach you…"

"I'm coming!" he shouted, fighting down growing panic. "Just hang in there—I can still get to you, I promise! I'll find a way!"

"There's not much time. For both our sakes…for everyone's…you have to break—"

Pain suddenly contorted his dead friend's face. Before Arthur's eyes, the shadows of every injury he had ever known Merlin to have received rose from beneath the pale skin. Arthur redoubled his efforts in unbridled fear. Merlin's body writhed from the echoes of past hurt. Deep red blossomed in a dozen places on his clothes. Darkness suddenly shot from the old wounds, snaking out and consuming what was left of him. His pleading eyes found Arthur one more time. He almost looked…defeated.

"Please…"

Arthur's torso jerked vertical so quickly it caused a muscle in his back to spasm in protest. He hissed with the shock. For a moment…he could have sworn he felt Merlin's pain like his own.

Gwen shifted beside him, at ease and without waking. Arthur rested a hand on her arm in attempt to calm himself. It was nothing but a dream. The grief, the renewed trauma of going through his servant's things and remembering everything they'd done together—that must have been the cause. Gaius had talked before about one's thoughts following them into sleep, especially if the thoughts were worrisome. Nothing to get carried away about.

And yet, the apparition's bid for help would not entirely leave his mind. He couldn't forget the odd feelings he'd had in Gaius' chambers the past day. Dream-Merlin had said he was trying to reach him. Arthur had faced tricks and sorcery too many times to outright dismiss anything unusual. Merlin was supposed to be more powerful than anyone, after all. Maybe it wasn't so much of a coincidence…