To all of you who followed me, subscribed to me, commented, betad, encouraged, and constantly checked for updates: Thank you. Without you, I assure you, this would not have been finished. From the bottom of my heart. I have the greatest appreciation and gratitude toward you. You are far more patient than I, and I can think of no one better with which to share this, the culmination of 18 months of work, the longest story I have ever written.

So far.

The plodding of many tired feet seemed to surround him, invade him, drive him like it was the beating of his own heart, the momentum carrying him forward even though he too exhausted to continue.

Beneath him, his sore feet were cold and wet. Upon his back, the weight of tents, pans, blankets and all the days he'd lived with a collar on his neck were stuffed into his pack. They'd been walking at least eight hours, as near as Merlin could tell. The sun, which had begun to watch them when it was new and fresh from sleep, still stared unblinking at them, now more than halfway done its journey through the sky.

It wasn't the first time they'd walked like this: packed up camp and just left. Merlin knew only that they were headed west, and since he had no idea where they were, nevermind where Camelot was, this wasn't very useful.

Fortunately for Merlin, he had an informant who was never wrong in telling him what direction they were headed in: Merrick. Or rather, his temper, once he stepped off the battlefield.

Today Merlin's back and the tops of his thighs protested sorely with each step. His lip was swollen, his left eye puffy and black, and the skin on his forearm had been broken through where he himself bit down on it to keep from screaming.

Today, they retreated.

With all the strife moving caused, at least it kept him away from Merrick. Overseeing the carts and men and horses, he was far too busy to bother with any sort of interaction with Merlin.

...Thank goodness.

So even though each breath cause his ribs to ache, Merlin was determined to enjoy it. It was going to be a good day.

There were shouts from the front, and everyone game to a gradual stop, rolling their eyes to each other.

Another hold up.

Unlike the others, Merlin didn't mind these stops. He was in no hurry to get where they were going. He let his pack drop to the ground and stretched out his arms. This could be a while. He took in a deep breath and was pleasantly surprised to smell salt. Now that his eyes were opened, he could feel the briney moisture in the air.

The source was to his right, a sharp end to the earth, a one way journey to the last bath you'd ever take.

It'd been so long since Merlin had a bath.

He inched closer to the edge, peering into the dark waters below. They swirled bitterly, beating against the rocks again and again and again, until Merlin found himself quite sympathetic to their plight. White foam splashed up from the impact like angry, shaking fists, like tangible pieces of determination ever so slowly chipping away before fading into the great emptiness of the sea.

Infinitely, this timeless dance would go on… long after everything Merlin knew was dead and gone. It would go on forever, and all that choose to be a part of it would as well.

This was how, Merlin recalled, Merrick's last slave had died. Yes, hadn't it been one of the very first things Merrick had said to him? 'I've been ever so lonely since my last one jumped off the cliff.' Well, Merlin couldn't hardly blame him.

It didn't seem a half bad way to go, considering. Quick, painless… if a little cold, but then you could just float forever, apart of something much bigger than man could ever hope to be.

How many times had he thought himself better off dead? How many times had he wished it? Here was his chance, and he was balking. The wind ruffled his hair as if to comfort him, and Merlin pulled his arms closer around himself.

His feet tingled, the muscles in his calves tensing, knowing they might be called upon at any moment to spring. He was so close to the edge, his toes wiggling freely in thin shoes over the space between him and oblivion.

It would be cold. A rush of air… and then.. what? Would he feel the impact? Blinding pain? Or would it be fast like he was falling asleep? Would he be able to count the seconds as he fell, whisper his goodbyes? Or would it be more like missing a step going down the stairs, your hearts in your throat and then its over.

And what was over, anyway?

Merlin wasn't sure what he believed would happen to him once he died, and there were many people he'd regret never getting to say goodbye to. But even if he chose to live he'd never see them anyway. Besides, what he was doing could hardly be classified as living. He'd rather do it by his own hand, go willingly, then be dragged kicking and screaming. He had to let them go. They'd want this for him, they'd

want him to sleep in peace than live in agony that much he was sure of.

It's alright, Merlin, he could hear Gaius now.

You've fought very bravely. added Arthur.

It's time to rest. Gwen's voice was sweet, gentle.

I love you. He wanted to hear his mother's voice so badly, he felt if he just concentrated hard enough, he could will it into existence. The memory of her brought hot tears to his eyes. He missed her so much. If he could just talk to her one last time...

But she would want this for him, he reminded himself, she would understand.

He'd be able to see Freya again. This, too, he felt sure of. Where she had gone, he would follow.

Come home, Merlin. She was waiting for him.

Slowly, he unfurled his arms from around his body, holding them out by his sides like wings. He felt the cool fingers of the wind tickle his sides, giving him a friendly push.

In this position, he almost felt like he could soar, fly right off the edge and away... Away from this imitation of life, this puppet he'd become, this used and tired version of himself that he so hated.

He closed his eyes, and slowly let gravity take over this body.

Everything seemed so precious now: the fresh air, the hot sun on his face, the miracle of his life, as short and painful as his had been.

Had things been different... There was no use for that line of thought.

Hell, he would even bet the view was beautiful, had he been brave enough to open his eyes. But as much as he was going to enjoy these last few seconds, he was okay with them ending. Like a beautiful piece of music, it is the silence after that makes it so enjoyable.

He was tilting now, and soon he'd be unbalanced, unable to stop it even if he wanted. His heart thundered rapidly.

He was afraid.

Goodbye, he thought, his loved ones sharply focused in his minds eye, because he didn't want to leave this world alone. Goodbye, I love you, please... Remember me.

There was a jolt as his feet slipped, and he lurched, but in quite the wrong direction.

Backwards he fell, and was dragged still over several yards, dirt and stones cutting into his back.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream until his throat bled and body gave out. He wanted to rip out his hair, claw his skin to shreds, gouge out his eyes and throw himself upon the ground... But he had not the energy.

Tears salty as the sea he'd been about to throw himself in streamed from him, from the empty shell of his body. This was the second time, the second time they'd saved him- no. This was the second time they'd killed him.

Ryker, the foul man who'd brought him here, looked down at him, his head framed by the darkening clouds.

"Almost too late.." His voice was annoyed, "Merrick would have been be so very disappointed… Another slave off the cliff."

Merlin could not bare it.

Ryker continued on. "Frankly, I don't give a shit if he cuts off your arm and fucks you with it in front of everyone, you're staying until he's done with you. Then you can jump off all the cliffs you want. Shit I'll even give you a push. But until then... You keep him happy. And that keeps everyone happy, understand?" the last world was a curling growl.

Merlin wasn't convinced he hadn't already jumped, died, and gone straight to eternal torment.

"Here's your pack," it was pressed roughly to his chest, just as people began to move forward once more, "You walk next to me now."

88

Merlin only felt a little bad about sneaking off in the middle of the night. He knew Arthur would probably panic once he woke up and discovered Merlin gone, but he couldn't help himself. Everything was so much more accessible with magic. It was as if he had done everything up to this point one handed with bags of sand strapped to his ankles and was just now released from his burdens.

With a wave of his hand, the guard outside their door suddenly remembered an urgent business that needed attending to on the other side of the castle, and Merlin was free to slip away unnoticed. All he had to do was make sure the door didn't slam behind him. Arthur was, as it turned out, a very light sleeper. Merlin found this rather odd as before he left he remembered finding Arthur very hard to rouse in the morning.

He hadn't been able to sleep, and not only because of the blonde mop of air sleeping peacefully on the pillow next to him (because Merlin had taken the liberty of turning his hair brown sometime around midnight). Something else was bothering him, something that had been nagging him ever since he'd arrived in Camelot. Now that he had his magic returned to him it was a good a time as any to find his answers. He'd be back before anyone missed him.

Even with Arthur's cloak pulled around his shoulders the air was chilly for the warm breath of dawn had not even begun to color the sky. Despite his four year absence, he had no trouble finding their old meeting place, though it was a much further walk than he had remembered. He wasn't sure if it was going to work, without his voice. He was pleased to find that he could do all his spells mentally if he concentrated hard enough (being the most powerful wizard in existence had to have its perks after all) but this was different. However, he had to try, and experimenting with magic was anything but a chore.

So in his mind he let the enchantment roar, until it echoed through his body until it seemed the very air around him hummed it… or was it just his imagination? It was very early, after all.

But if Kilgarrah hadn't heard that, then there was simply nothing he could do about it. He settled himself in to do perhaps one of life's hardest tasks: wait.

The sky was beginning to lighten, and he would soon be missed. He'd almost given up when it happened: a dark shape growing impossibly bigger on the horizon, and the beating of great wings.

He closed his eyes as Kilgarrah came near, letting the wind ruffle the locks of his hair and swirl the magic in his chest. He landed with a softer thud than should be possible for a creature his size and Merlin felt a hot breeze run through him. His brilliant golden face loomed close to Merlin's own when Kilgarrah opened his eyes, inspecting him with a gentle scrutiny that he was unused to from the dragon.

"Much has changed since our last meeting." It was like hearing the voice of an old friend, and Merlin's heart buzzed. How many nights had he dreamed of escape on Kilgarrah's mighty back?

Much. He agreed.

"I expected to hear your call many times before: when Camelot declared war, when its first defences fell, and again when it seemed all was lost and yet you remained silent. I thought perhaps you had no more need of me."

I doubt that will ever be true, Kilgarrah, you've forgotten more than I'll ever know.

"And yet, even dragons make mistakes. Perhaps I was not as in touch with events in Camelot as I thought I was."

What makes you say that?

He wasn't wrong, though. Maybe if Kilgarrah had paid more attention, he would have noticed Merlin was missing from Camelot. Maybe he would have tried to find him, and maybe…

But it wasn't the task of dragons to manage the human world any more than it had been the task of Uther to exterminate dragons.

"I see there has been a great change in you since we last spoke, Warlock. You have seen much pain and suffering."

We all have, Merlin pointed out, The land's just been at war.

"Yes," he conceded, "But not as you have. You speak differently now."

Merlin squirmed slightly. It was this part he really couldn't stand: the explaining. This constant reopening of wounds, this rousing of graves. It shone blinding light into every better forgotten corner of his mind.

It is the only way I can speak now. If he could have spoken the words, it would have been through gritted teeth.

The dragon blinked his calm, orb-like eyes. "You were captured by Morgana."

It was not a question, so Merlin felt no need to explain that while he'd ended up slave to Morgana's army, he'd not started there.

"I know you are are pure of heart, Warlock, but surely even you would not hesitate to use magic to escape… or at least to call to me. Despite our disagreements do not doubt I would have gladly come to your aid."

Merlin let out a shaky breath. I could not: they took my magic.

At these words, Kilgarrah flung his head back and sent a jet of fire into the air that was all at once magnificent and terrifying.

"Despicable humans!" He roared.

Shh… someone will hear you! Merlin hissed, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected guards to be running toward them. The ban on magic had been repealed, but the idea of someone stumbling upon him as he chatted amiably with a dragon was not ideal.

"Wretches!" He stamped his mighty foot on the ground and the trees nearby shivered, sending birds flying and shrieking.

"A fate most foul! Akin to taking flight from a bird, or fins from a fish!" He huffed out a puff of black smoke and it curled angrily around his snout. "They fiddle with that which they do not understand. It is a sin against your nature. I am most sorry."

As am I, Merlin hastened to add, eager to get the dragon to calm down, and move on to what he really wanted to know. But there's nothing to be done about it now. I've a question for you.

"I did not doubt that you did."

The prophecy! Merlin could not help the anger that edged deeper into his voice the longer he talked. The one you spoke of! You said- you said Arthur was the one true King to unite the land of Albion. You said that I would be at his side! Helping! Protecting! He felt a lump forming in his throat, and thought for a moment that, had he been able to speak, his voice would be shaking.

"What is your question, Warlock?"

Well why wasn't I? I might as well not have come to Camelot at all for all the good I did! I wasn't needed was I? Arthur did it all on his own. And… and if that's true… everything I went through… it means it was all for nothing.

"Alas, small one, there are some things even I do not know. But do not question your importance. These things are rarely wrong, and never straightforward. Arthur is indeed creating lasting peace by uniting Albion, but I do not doubt that without you it would not be possible." He flapped his great wings and Merlin had to clutch Arthur's clock around him so that it would not be torn from his shoulders.

"If you were not there in person, perhaps you were there in spirit, or in the minds of those who loved you. Take heart, warlock, you did not suffer in vain. You are where you should be. You are home."

Merlin sniffled with these new words, and wiped a tear impatiently from his cool cheek. "It's getting light. I should go." Indeed, the sky was dangerously bright, the sun beginning to rise into the sky, the birth of a new day. People would soon be looking for him if they weren't already.

"Then I bid you farewell, warlock. Our paths will cross again."

"One more thing," he said with a clearing of his throat, for even though he could not use it, it still felt as if there was something stuck there. "You used to call me young warlock."

The great dragon unfurled his wings to their tremendous length and raised his head into the sky, preparing for flight. "You used to be young."

And with a wind so powerful that Merlin had to shield his eyes against it, Kilgarrah was gone.

Once he found the love of his life, he was going to kill him, Arthur decided as he sped down what was yet another Merlin-less corridor. George was annoyingly determined to keep pace with him, brandishing a tunic between panting breaths, ("Please Sire... it'll only... take a moment! It's undignified!") for Arthur had not bothered to get properly dressed that morning once he found Merlin was missing. But he paid George no mind.

How could Merlin do this to him? He had to know what his absence would do to him. He knew Merlin was probably fine somewhere in the back of his head, but it didn't help. Wild scenarios kept tormenting his mind: Merlin, kidnapped again by the remaining supporters of Morgana's army, Merlin, dead in a ditch, eyes empty and cold, Merlin, run away as far as he could because he just couldn't stand looking at Arthurs face for one more minute…

Well this wasn't going to be like last time, Arthur thought viciously as servants hastened to scramble out of his war path. He wasn't going to sit around and wait for twenty-four hours, convinced Merlin had just wandered off somewhere. He wasn't going to just let others convince him Merlin was perfectly fine, and then later, perfectly dead.

He was on his way to alert the Knights now. He'd have the whole kingdom searching all day if that's what it took. If Merlin was in trouble, so help him, they would find him. And if he had really run away… then he at the very least owed Arthur an explanation.

He was so set on his goal that he didn't see Gwen rounding the corner until it was too late. They collided, Arthur grabbed at the wall to stay upright but it was no use, and they were soon on the floor, Arthur nursing a tender spot on his head.

"Arthur!" Gwen squawked, "Your hair!"

"What about it!" Arthur snapped venomously.

By the look on her face and the widening of her eyes it was obvious she was taken aback by his stinging response, but Arthur could not summon any sympathy for her.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Far too smart to be left wondering, Gwen scrambled to her feet, concern gleaming in her eyes.

"Merlin's missing," he bit at her, anger lacing his voice like poison.

"Missing?" She was as appalled as he, yet Arthur's anger was not abated. If anything, it grew.

"Yes, missing! And it's your fault!"

It wasn't, and Arthur knew it. He also knew he was much too old to be blaming others for his problems. Had Merlin been around, no doubt he would call Arthur some silly yet somehow insulting name. But Merlin wasn't here, and Arthur felt no more capable of reining in his anger than he did sprouting wings and taking flight. Fire ran through his veins.

"What?" Gwen was clearly shocked, and rightfully so.

"Yes!" Arthur accused wildly, flecks of saliva flying from his mouth,"Yes! If you weren't leaving he'd still be here! You're practically abandoning him! He can't take it! That's why he left!"

Her eyes filled with tears, and Arthur instantly regretted his harsh words. "Gwenevere, I-"

"Sire!" It was George again, red in the face with his hands on his knees, tunic clamped limply in one hand. "If you'll...just allow… me to…"

Gwen cut him off. "Arthur, that's- thats a horrible thing to say! I thought Merlin was dead- we all did! I- I have to go back my- my whole life's there! My work, my husband- I want to move back now that Merlin's here, of course I do, but I can't just go around giving out false hope that I'm returning without so much as talking to my husband first. Merlin- Merlin knows how much I care about him, he knows I'm not abandoning him…"

She lowered her head, better to hide her face as she surreptitiously wiped at damp cheeks. Arthur was coated in guilt.

"I- you're right, of course you are, I- I'm sorry, Gwenevere, I'm just… worried." He wasn't very good at apologizing, but he thought Gwen understood. After all, she had to be just as panicked as he was. "It would be… amazing if you could come to Camelot permanently," he continued "I know that Merlin would be ecstatic; he's lost so much. But no one expects that of you. You've done wonders just visiting. I don't think he'd be able to make so much progress without you, Gwen. You two have a special connection and- and truth be told I'm quite jealous."

Gwen chuckled softly. "Arthur, you two could talk with your minds long before you couldn't with your tongues."

Arthurs stomach churned inside his body. Every second they wasted here in this corridor was another that Merlin could be getting farther and farther away from him. He could practically feel the distance between them growing like a sixth sense, and he hated it.

"This isn't going to be like before," he said in a reserved voice as he wiped sweaty palms on his trousers, "I'm going to get my horse ready. Go and alert the rest of the Knights, have them join me outside the castle walls, alright? Let the servants know, too. Maybe someone in the castle has seen him… we'll have the whole Kingdom out searching for him if that's what it takes."

She nodded. "I'm sure he's alright, Arthur. Try not to worry. We'll find him." Arthur nodded too, but his stomach felt like rock in his torso, and he had trouble swallowing, even as she rounded the corner.

"Sire…" George sounded uncertain, and Arthur waved him off impatiently. "Sire, please…"

"

What, George?" Arthur asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Arthur…?

Thank you. Was Arthur's only thought before he turned. Merlin stood there rather sheepishly, as if he knew all the trouble he'd caused, taking up more room in the corridor than seemed possible with his small frame. He had at least had the decency to take Arthur's traveling cloak to fend against the chilly morning air.

"Merlin!" Arthur strode to embrace him, "You complete oaf! I was worried sick you know!" His voice took a heavier tone and his next words were muttered directly into Merlin's ear, "Not so much as a note… I could hardly breathe from fear…"

I'm sorry, Arthur. I was just visiting an old friend. I thought I'd be back before anyone would notice…

"You should have told me Merlin!"

You'd have wanted to come. He kissed Arthur cheek gently, I just wanted to be alone for a bit. I'm sorry.

"It doesn't matter now. I'm just glad you're here."

Arthur… Merlin started, stepping out of Arthurs embrace to see his face, while I was missing, did you… think about me much?

Arthur was surprised, not only by the question, but by the timing of it. Honestly, he wasn't sure it was the best time to be having such a conversation- after all, they were in the middle of the hallway, but (besides George) they were alone, and Arthur could see how the importance of the question rang in Merlin's eyes. So, quickly, he tried to put together an appropriate response.

"I- um, at first, to be honest Merlin, at first… I tried not to. It- it hurt too much, knowing that you were gone. I avoided the parts of the castle that reminded me of you, and I avoided… well, everything actually. But those memories- I realized they were the only thing of you that I had left. And then I began thinking of you quite often. Everyday, really."

He looked off, as if remembering those darker and lonelier days. His next words came with a light chuckle and pink cheeks. "Its stupid, really, looking back, but every time I had to make a decision I'd hear your voice in my head, and I'd think, 'what would Merlin say to this?' and every time I did something wrong I knew you'd be so disappointed and… it made me feel shame. You always knew what to say. It's as if you have wisdom beyond your years that I'll- I'll never understand it. There are times that I suspect I'd not be half so great a King if not for your influence. But, I think I missed you most when my father passed. You seemed to be the only one who could understand how I felt. I guess I was just as in love with you then as I am now… I was just too stupid to realize."

He touched Merlin's cheek lightly, who gazed back at him unsteadily. Arthur, I've - I love you. I have. Almost since our first meeting…Merlin hand rose to catch Arthur's.

"I know," Arthur said cooly, leaning in to claim his lips.

"Merlin!"

Arthur cursed silently before turning. Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Leon, and two other Knights were skidding to a halt before them, all in various stages of readiness: Leon had on full armour, Percy was still fumbling with his mail, and Gwaine only had his sword.

"We just ran into Gwen," Leon said, looking back and forth between Merlin and Arthur, "She said… Merlin was missing."

"Ah. Yes." Arthur cleared his throat. "...He has since been found."

Gwaine had a hand over his chest, "You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack, Arthur! I thought he'd been kidnapped!"

Leon glanced behind him, "I'd best go tell everyone not to get dressed."

"Don't bother. We can have an impromptu training session."

"Arthur!" Elyan exclaimed.

"The new recruits could use an extra training session." Arthur said, annoyed that his orders were being protested.

"No, your hair!"

Arthur immediately rose his hand to inspect it, suddenly self-conscious. "What? What's wrong with it?" he asked as Merlin grew pink.

"It's...brown!"

Arthur, too, blushed at these words. "Yes. Of course. Easily Explainable, Elyan. It's simply… If you just… Ah. Yes. Merlin, a quick work, please? I'll meet everyone on the field in ten minutes." He glanced sideways at Merlin. "Actually, make that twenty. Carry on then."

88

One day, Merlin was charged with the task of cleaning Merrick's armour, and looking after his sword. It was a chore that never failed to stir up old emotions and memories, no matter how hard he tried to repress them. But it was at least a job he knew how to do well. He could shut his brain off, let his arms work, and try not to think of A… anything.

One day, Merlin was sharpening Merrick's sword, hardly blinking as sparks from the whetstone flew past his eyes. He'd be here forever. He'd be here forever. He'd be here forever, until he died. Or until someone else did.

One day, a most un-Merlin-like thought slipped into Merlin's head and he found it to be unshakable. Where it came from, he knew not. Desperation? Rebellion? A sense of danger and adventure he'd shared long ago with very different blonde man, or a black corner of his heart filled with bitter darkness and frost? He supposed it hardly mattered. He couldn't tell the difference between all the different bits of himself anymore.

One day, Merrick's sword was most incorrectly sharpened. It's edge had been roughly dragged over the stone till it was dull and useless; until it could scarcely cut through cheese, nevermind armour.

One day, Merrick came into his tent where Merlin was. He was a rage of wind and power and anger, with murder in his eyes. His side and shoulder were heavily bandaged, his face badly cut and trickling blood. He'd never looked more injured, or more threatening.

One day, the entire camp heard Merrick screaming. "How dare you tamper with my sword! After everything I've done for you! I Ought to kill you now! I ought to have you executed! Ungrateful filth! Fucking slave! If I die, you're going to die with me! I own you! You are mine! You want to leave? You want to die?! I'll help you along!"

One day, Merlin was beaten within an inch of his life, beaten until it hurt to breath, until it hurt to think, until it hurt to exist. Dried blood from his scalp matted into his now long hair, caking it crusty brown. It trailed down to two black eyes, which might have hindered his sight were his eyes not already swollen shut.

One day, Merlin's forearms and wrists told pitiful tales of when he had tried fruitlessly to protect himself, to soften the relentless blows. His ribs felt broken; he couldn't move without gasping at the sharp pain, like his bones had been replaced with barbed wire that snagged at his skin and made his insides bleed.

One day, Merlin's chest was filled with bruises. His body was a testament to the pain he'd endured, a shattered image of a man dragged into hell. Merlin was bedridden for three days, and when he was inevitable yanked to his feet with half-healed injuries, a few hours of work left him drenched in sweat and wheezing for air. These were the type of injuries that stayed with you for years. These were the type of injuries that never quite healed. These injuries were always to be a reminder, and Merlin, so close to giving in, had no way of knowing that his time was almost up.

88

The day that Gwen left was a sad day for everyone. Elyan was obviously unenthusiastic to see the back of her, spending the last few days trying to squeeze out every second of her time he possibly could. Gwaine made her promise to write more often; Percy said he would miss her "calming presence." Even Arthur hated to see her go, their newly repaired friendship seemed just now to be reemerging from the ashes of their past.

But Merlin was the worst. Having lost nearly everyone, Arthur understood his reluctance to let Gwen go, but it was simply painful to watch them together in the days leading up to her departure.

One moment everything would be great: Merlin and Gwen sniggering into their potatoes with a childish abandon that shot a spike of jealousy through Arthur. He knew he was being petty- he should be glad at Merlin and Gwen's solid friendship, and things between himself and Merlin were wonderful- but he couldn't suppress the feeling. Communicating magically, as much as Arthur loved and appreciated it, kept him from hearing their conversation. They could have enlightened him, of course, but Arthur feared they wouldn't want to. He had the distinct feeling that this particular joke was about him and his talents in the bedroom, judging by the way the pair of them were blushing and sneaking glances at him.

But Merlin's mood could change between forkfuls. The next moment, Merlin would have Gwen's hand in a vice grip, his face pinched in grief. He had no need to hear their conversation now, for Gwen spoke enough for both of them, her voice thick and eyes brimming.

"I can't Merlin, you know I can't, please stop asking…" It never turned out well.

The morning of her departure found Arthur awake, alone, and staring at his ceiling. He was wondering exactly how they were going to make it through this day, when a small thought occurred to him.

"Good-bye!" Gwen was wiggling her fingers from atop her feisty mare as beside her the guard that Arthur insisted be sent with her mounted up.

Her eyes met his, and they shared a secret look as her horse anxiously pawed at the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust. By spoken arrangement, they had decided not to tell Merlin about her possible relocation back to Camelot, as nothing was certain. Both had agreed that the one thing Merlin had yet to afford was dashed hopes.

But it turned out that they hardly needed to be so subtle about it, as Merlin had not even shown up to see Gwen off. He hadn't even spoken to Arthur when he'd knocked on his door, but had thrown some sort of object at the door… a shoe, Arthur guessed, by the sound of it. He supposed he'd deserved it, considering all the things he'd thrown at Merlin over the years, but it didn't put him in any better of a mood.

His attempts at reason and comfort were responded only with quiet sobs. Arthur's heart broke for Merlin, broke and bleed and smarted. However, when Merlin continued to ignore Arthur and his calm appeals to logic, there was nothing for him to do but go and say his own goodbyes to Gwen.

She was hurt, Arthur could tell, to look among her well-wishers and not seen his friendly grin, but in typical, wonderful, beautiful, generous, Gwen fashion, she did not feel angry or slighted, but understood and forgave. After everything Merlin had been through, it's not surprising that he had issues with saying good-bye.

"I'll send word," Gwen called from her mount, "Once I get settled. And letters to Merlin, of course."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

"You will tell him goodbye for me, won't you?"

She had already asked this three times, but Arthur was steadfast in his patience. He'd imagine being an equal wreck, leaving Merlin. "Of course."

She nodded, though didn't look at ease. "Alright, okay. Good- oh!" Gwen nearly leapt from her horse, and Arthur released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. His body relaxed, his muscles eased. He knew before he turned around. Merlin had shown up to say farewell after all.

He needed this Arthur thought. He couldn't let another person leave his life not on his own terms.

Gwen was squeezing a red and wet-faced Merlin, having what appeared to be a one-sided conversation, though Arthur knew better.

"Oh, Merlin, I'm so glad you came!... Of course not, Merlin, I understand, it's alright!... I'm going to miss you too, I can hardly bear it… of course he does… And I, you, Merlin…"

They seemed to embrace forever, until Arthur was sure that they were unable to part, that the heartstrings of one flowed directly into the other. In any case, it was long enough for her escort to sigh and fidget restlessly, eager to get on the road.

It seemed eerily final when the two separated, and Arthur had to remind himself that this was not so. Yet there definitely seemed to be piece of Merlin that rode away with Gwen, a vital part of him, a part that left a aching hole his chest.

He was left waving dejectedly until Gwen was out of sight. Everyone had long since trooped back inside the castle while fresh tears were still falling down pink cheeks, Merlins soft whimpers enough to melt the coldest man's heart.

Arthur placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder, after Gwen's horse was not even a speck on the horizon. "I want to show you something." He said gently. Merlin gave a soft sniffle and a nod before Arthur took his hand and led him away.

Deep into the woods they strolled, fingers interlocked, their pace meandering. There were things to do and people to see and orders to give, but all that melted away with Merlin by his side. If Arthur had learned anything through this ordeal, it was his priorities. And Merlin simply came first.

They walked until Merlins curiosity began to outweigh his grief, until the salty tears dried from his face, leaving him with pink and puffy-eyed. Arthur had led Merlin to a completely ordinary part of the forest. It unmemorable, no streams or particularly tall oaks. In fact, it was a wonder Arthur could find it, considering there were no rock faces or boulders or anything to distinguish it from the surrounding trees... except of course the grave marker.

Arthur blushed as Merlin bent to inspect it. The rock was no larger than the average book, and lent against the trunk of a tree. Upon its dappled gray surface was a crude and off center 'M.'

"Took me days to do that," Arthur admitted, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Originally it was going to say 'Merlin,' but ah, I ran out of room… and it was quite a bit of work, that."

Merlin ran his hand over it, his face revealing nothing. This is my grave. It was not a question.

"Yes. Well, sort-of. There's not body in it, obviously."

So what did you bury?

"Some clothes, a handkerchief, some flowers… just a couple of things that reminded me of you…"

Merlin looked at him, his face unreadable, and Arthur began to think that perhaps showing Merlin his own grave had been a bad idea, after all.

"Look," he said quickly, "I'm sorry if this is weird for you. When I stopped looking for you, I couldn't just let you go. I had to put you to rest. I had to know that you were at peace. I mean, now I know you weren't, but I wanted you to be. Not dead, of course, but at peace. I came down here, carved that rock, buried some things, said some words- no really, you would have been touched, Merlin- and I made a little home for you." He licked his lips, watching Merlin's face carefully before he continued.

"As selfish as it sounds, Merlin, it put me at ease thinking that you were okay, lying quietly in Camelot. I liked being able to make my sorrow tangible, somewhere I could visit, something I could see. Putting you here meant that your ghost no longer followed me everywhere I went. It was the only way I was able to move on, to be the ruler my people deserved. Of course by doing this, I also let you down, as a friend, and a King, and that is something I doubt I shall ever forgive myself for, however necessary it might have been."

He cleared his throat roughly. They had already discussed that issue. "Now, I do apologize for its location. I know it's not a… remarkable part of the forest, but the thing was, you always found such incredible beauty in the simplest of things. I thought it appropriate. And you did enjoy nature so. Anyway, I'm not completely sure why I've shown you this, I supposed you just deserved to see."

Merlin stood and brushed his hands on his pants, taking a step back to admire it. It is a bit weird. he said softly, arms crossed as if against a chill. Not many men get to see their own grave. But I am glad that you showed me.

For a moment they stood in silence, letting the sun that filtered through the leaves cast golden shapes upon their skin. The wind blew gently, as if to nudge them, making sure they were still awake.

You know, it really is a grave, in some ways. I feel as if there is a part of me buried there. I'm not the same man I was before.

"No. Nor I," Arthur agreed. He nodded, looking down at the rock he'd carved what seemed a lifetime ago. "I don't want your past to haunt you, Merlin. I want you to be able to bury it. The past affects you, and changes you, and molds you… but don't let it consume you."

Merlin gave a small smile, his arm sliding around Arthur's waist. He let himself settle into the warm comfort of his body, his free hand cupping around Arthur's cheek so that their eyes met. I think I'll be alright, he said, his grin growing to overtake his whole face, brightening his eyes and lifting Arthur's spirit. As long as you stick around.

"Oh, well in that case," Arthur was smiling too now, savoring this sweet moment, pulling Merlin into his chest like a child unwilling to share, "You're going to be brilliant."

And when their lips pressed softly together, with all the pain and suffering of the past snapping at their feet, it felt as if they could conquer it all.

88

At first Merlin thought not being able to stand was the best thing that ever happened to him. He was unable to do chores, and meals were brought to him. He was kept indoors, he did not have to suffer the eyes of others. Lastly, and most important, war duties mostly kept Merrick away from him. During the day, at least. It was true that laying on his back and staring off into space could get boring, but he'd take boring over slave labor every day of the week.

Not to mention, lying motionlessly had proved very helpful in the eavesdropping area. Merlin caught glimpses of whispered conversations between discontent foot soldiers as they passed what they assumed to be an empty tent. He heard Merrick and his most trusted men discussing confidential information as they walked back from war meetings. He'd effectively become a fly on the wall of the encampment.

The war, it seemed, was going badly. This much, at least, was obvious. Encampments were falling to their right and left. Morgana was no where to be found. She had given her order and vanished, apparently with a great scheme that was going to bring Camelot to its knees- so long as everyone did their part.

But someone along the line must have screwed up because her directions were proving to be much more difficult than she had promised, and she wasn't exactly around to amend the plan.

They had retreated much more than had been expected. In fact, they hadn't been supposed to retreat at all. And now retreat wasn't even an option. Their backs were to a cliff face. There was no where else to go. They were cornered, and Camelot was expected to close in for the kill.

Now, whatever thoughts Merlin had about his injuries being in his favor died a painful death as soon as he was forced to stand again, three days later.

He had been so wrong.

Chores took twice as long, as if to make up for the time he'd had off. He had to stop every few minutes, to rest his sore muscles, and wipe a forehead that seemed impossibly coated in sweat. But he was no stranger to hard work.

Merrick also saw him fit for service again. Merlin was prone to being quietly snatched throughout the day, pulled aside where no one could see, so that Merrick could take out his 'frustrations' on him. And it seemed Merrick certainly had a lot of them.

He had been crouched in an empty tent when the end came.

Well, nearly empty. Merrick was there, of course, making savage use of Merlin's mouth in ways that caused drool to spill down his chin. His knees were beginning to smart painfully when the shouts rose from outside, voices growing as if one person had taken up the cry, and the others joined in. The shouting was indistinguishable, but clearly panicked and as sudden as lightning. Hurried footsteps ran in groups past their tent.

Cursing loudly, Merrick stuffed himself back into his pants. Sounds of fighting broke from outside, the vibrating tang of metal on metal filled the air.

The troops were tired, rundown. They'd spend days retreating. Many of them had fallen already. They were cornered. Morale was low. Food was low. They were unprepared. They would not win this fight.

"Fuck!" Merrick yelled, his eyes wild as he wheeled to the tent entrance and wrenched the flap open. "What happened to the goddamn lookouts?!" He reached for his sword, usually strapped round his waist, but his hand groped at air. He'd taken the belt off, better to enjoy himself. It lay at the opposite end of the tent.

Merlin half rose out of his crouch, unsure of what to do. Soldiers always went to the battle, the battle had never before come to them. Would he be expected to fight? To kill for the army that enslaved him? He'd rather die. Maybe he'd get his wish…

"You stay here!" Merrick growled with a leer as his sword swept gracefully from his scabbard, it's point just brushing the top of the grass, "I'll be coming back for you, my sweet."

Merlin sat down in on the ground to wait, but he did not have to wait very long. Merrick's silhouette was still visible on the tent wall when he was apprehended by three caped figures. The struggle was quite drawn out, considering the odds. But Merrick did not go quietly. He screamed as if he'd been impaled, writhing like a worm on a spike, making it impossible for his captors to keep their grip on him. A fifth man ran toward them, tackling one of the caped ones from behind, circling his arms around his neck and yanking him to the ground where the struggle continued in a confusing heap of limbs. Merrick's screams were cut off quite as suddenly as they had started.

Then Merlin's darkened tent was filled with blinding light as the three men stormed in, their red capes blazing as if they were on fire.

The shortest of the three advanced, sword drawn, face set.

A part of Merlin thought he shouldn't be afraid. These were his allies, after all. They would save him- he was on Camelot's side. But he was in the enemy's encampment, and he couldn't not talk to explain.

The man was strange, big, and sword-toting. He was a danger, and he certainly looked as if he had his mind made up about Merlin's fate. His sword was raised for the kill.

Merlin cowered, scooting backward on the grass, whimpering without realizing what he was doing. His insides squirmed, his body shaking. It was almost funny: Merrick letting him live so that Camelot could behead him.

"Jarin," the tallest said, with what could qualify as an exasperated tone, "He's just a slave."

"An enemy is an enemy!" The man- Jarin- spat, looking down on Merlin in disgust without lowering his sword. "He's still aiding Morgana."

Merlin shook his head violently, but they didn't take his vote into consideration, for some reason.

"We'll chain him up with his boss and the rest."

"He's of no use to the King, he doesn't know any valuable information… we might as well kill him here and save the executioner the trouble."

The middle man spoke up for the first time. "Oh, just let him kill him and let's get on with it. We don't have time to sit here and chit-chat!"

"King Arthur," said the tall man, walking inside and heaving Merlin up by the armpit, "is not like his father. He looks down upon unnecessary bloodshed. We'll chain him up with the others."

"How dare you insult King Uther in such manner! Such crime is a punishable offe-"

"Well, you be sure to let King Uther know, then." The tall man cut him off, dragging Merlin's limp form outside.

By the time twilight fell, both his feet and hands had been tightly shackled in line with several other men he knew by sight. Merrick and another man, when they woke, were chained behind him.

Camelot soldiers were busy ransacking the tents, setting up pots, and settling in for the night. Their voices floated to where Merlin sat with the others, away from the warmth and light of the fires, but close enough so they could not sneak off.

"This shit again?" One soldier complained. Merlin watched as he pushed at his food unhappily.

"Eat it," said his companion, "We've got a long journey back to Camelot."

Camelot. It looked like Merlin was headed home.

88

A pale dawn was creeping through the windows, its golden fingers brushing aside drapes, gliding over sleeping bodies and singing it's birdsong to a rousing castle.

Arthur and Merlin needed no such waking, however. Morning was here, but they had not done their fair share of sleeping.

They lay together now, hearts and hands entangled, white silk sheets tangled up in tan legs. The new day seemed to see them and sigh wistfully, sending a soft breeze fluttering through their open window.

Merlin's hand brushed through the hair on Arthur's broad chest, his lips returning the smile he received, eyes sparkling. He inched closer, pressing his nose into blonde-turned-chestnut hair. Arthur only had to turn his head to press their lips together in a heartbreakingly sweet kiss.

"Merlin," Arthur asked several minutes later in a low voice, so as to not break the spell of dawn, "Have you ever thought about… growing a new tongue? Through magic? Surely that's possible, is it not?"

Merlin looked thoughtful, pressing a kiss into his temple. Perhaps. I never looked for such a spell. I've never had the need.

"Wouldn't you want to? Surely the most powerful- wizard- on earth-," he nudged Merlin playfully on each word with his elbow, "Could find a way to do it."

I suppose… I don't know. I think it's sort of like you were saying earlier, at my grave. It's a physical scar of all I've been through… it makes everything tangible. It's almost as if if my tongue grows back I'm pretending it never happened.

"And you don't want to do that?"

"I couldn't if I tried. It's impossible."

Arthur nodded, "I understand." He gave their tangled fingers a squeeze, letting his free hand graze through Merlin's messy dark hair. Merlin leaned in and soon they were kissing again, Merlin scrambling up on Arthur's chest. Humming happily, he nibbled Arthur's top lip in a way that drove him crazy.

The room was bathed with golden light before the conversation resumed. Servants would be coming in any moment with breakfast- they'd learned long ago to bring two trays.

Maybe one day I will. Merlin said.

"What?" Arthur asked, panting slightly, one hand gripped tight around Merlin's back. "You'll do what?"

Merlin gave a breathy chuckle. Get a new tongue.

Arthur nodded. "Right. And one day-" He eyed Merlin carefully, gauging his reaction, "One day you'll tell me everything that happened to you?" It was a request, a plea, not a command.

Yes. Merlin said without pause. Yes, one day I will.

But it was the next question that made his eyes well up with tears, contemplating everything his future would hold: good things and bad things… all things he would face with Arthur standing by his side.

Right where he was meant to be.

"One day," Arthur said, his fingers running over the long scars the covered Merlin's back, "you'll be okay."

Merlin smiled, cupping Arthur's glowing face with both his hands, and leaning down to kiss him softly. I think, he whispered, I already am.

There you have it, that's the end. I hope you (at least some what) enjoyed this monster of a piece. Thank you for sticking with me, especially when the updates got slow(er).