Holaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Sorry sorry sorry if I'm late with the update, but I had a lot to do. Next month will be full of exams. heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelp! However, here is the last chapter. let me know what you think, suggestions, and everything else. I hope you have enjoyed the story, and I hope you will read other stories of mine when I write them. For now, I will write the epilogue to my other story "Pretending" and I will post it asap. please, REVIEWWWWWWWW!

Thanks for reviewing and for your support during the development of this story! See you soon!

Arthur was sitting on a chair at one side of the cot. The cot where his best friend had been laying, unconscious, for the last four days. During this time he had never left his friend's side, barely eating or sleeping. He was afraid of closing his eyes. He was afraid that when he woke up his friend would be gone.

Looking now at the Warlock's face, he could only think about what he had almost lost. At what he had almost destroyed. Now his body was recovering, but his mind? Could he forgive Arthur for what his supposed friend had made him go through? Arthur hoped so. But he knew that he would never forgive himself.

In his hand he held Merlin's red diary. They had all read it, they had all read about their amazing friend and his absolute loyalty to his King. If they had listened, if he had listened, this would not have happened. Because reading about the magic, the enchantments, the Dragons, Morgana, the monsters, the dangers, Merlin… there was no way he would have condemned his servant. But him being him, it took Death knocking at his door to open his eyes and confront the truth. He looked at the book. During the reading there had been anger, sadness, joy, cheerfulness, and shame. From his part mostly. All the times he had accused the other to be useless, to be a coward… he was the bravest of them all. And he hadn't known.

That was why he was angry now. At first it had been the magic, now it was the lies. The lies that forced the person he loved like a brother to suffer alone, to hide his pain from the world…

And he didn't know if he was angrier with Merlin or with himself.

Because he had pushed his friend away, day by day, year by year. Their friendship strengthened while Merlin's soul grew more hollow. He was forced to smile and to act as if nothing was wrong when actually he was slowly dying inside.

He had read of Will, the courageous peasant who had died to protect a man that his friend was sure would become a great King, and had confessed to sorcery in order to protect his friend one last time. He read of the Questing Beast and Nimueh, of the price his friend was ready to pay to save a prat of a Prince. He read of Mordred, the young Druid who was destined to kill him. He read of Morgana, her treachery, and cringed at the thought of how long she had been already gone before her evil was showed for the world to see. He read of the Dragon, Kilgharrah, his release and his banishment by Merlin's voice. He read of Lancelot, the most honorable Knight, whose soul and body had been profaned by Morgana to destroy Gwen. He read of Dragoon the Great, his appearances when Merlin needed to use his magic freely, he read of the enchanted pendant that ended his father's life, and the grief his friend felt at Uther's death, at the fading of the last possibility for Arthur to accept magic. He read of Freya, the cursed Druid girl his friend had loved and lost, lost by the sword of a man who dared to call himself friend. He read of Balinor, the Last Dragonlord, Merlin's father, of his sacrifice, and remembered his insensitive words "no man is worth your tears". He read of his sword, Excalibur, how it was burnished in Dragon's breath, the most powerful weapon in the world, created for his hand only. He read of Morgause, and the truth that his mother's spirit had told, he read of Merlin's decision to save a King he hated to save Arthur from himself. He read of Valiant, Mary Collins, Cornelius Sigan, Sophia, the Afanc, the Griffin, Edwin, the Troll and many many more, the other hundred of times Merlin had saved him or Camelot.

He read of Emrys, the most powerful warlock to ever walk the Earth, who chose to humble himself to the position of a servant, in order to better protect his Once and Future King. He read of the Druids, who revered him as their King, and the Catha, the most powerful order of magic-users, whose leader had sworn allegiance to him. He read of the prophecy of the Golden Age of Albion, of his destiny as High King of all Albion, and he shuddered at the thought and at the possibility for something like that to really happen.

And he read of Merlin, unbelievably humble, unbelievably loyal, simply Merlin. His love for Camelot, for Gaius, Hunith, Gwen, Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, Percival… Arthur. Particularly Arthur. His King, his friend, his brother, the other side of the coin. Whom he protected not for a prophecy thousands of years old, but because he was Arthur, the man he believed in. The man he had helped to create, because, and Arthur knew this from the bottom of his heart, he wouldn't be how he was now if he hadn't stumbled in that idiot all those years ago.

He felt humbled by the great power his friend possessed, a power that would have corrupted any other man but Merlin, who was the epitome of all that was good and pure in the world. A power that his friend had put at the service of a King who despised his kind.

But once he finished to read that diary, a conviction had settled in his heart, a confidence he had already accepted when he was in the forest holding his barely alive servant and infused in the golden light. Magic was not evil. His father was wrong.

By the end of the reading he had decided that he had to amend his father's mistakes, and make it right again. It was the least he could do. Merlin, more than anybody else in the world, deserved to live and to be free.

He looked at his friend's arms, at the slight scars that were still visible on the pale skin. He could as well had inflicted them himself. Even if it wasn't his the hand that had held the knife, he could clearly feel the blood on his hands.

He thought of when they had come back from the forest, riding through Camelot as if the dogs of hell were at their tail with Merlin on the horse with him. He remembered the time that took for arrive in the centre of the courtyard, less than thirty minutes, but as long as a lifetime. He remembered Guinevere, anxiously pacing on the steps of the castle waiting for their return, and her expression, the tears glistening on her cheeks but a glint of hope in her eyes. And he remembered their rush for the infirmary, the strange scene the inhabitants of the castle must have witnessed: four Knights, the Queen and the King, who held in his arms his apparently dying servant, all running towards the physician's chambers. And then Gaius…

They burst into the infirmary and almost collided with a very confused Gaius. He had been called back by a soldier, who, after telling him that the King needed his presence in Camelot in that exact moment, had put him on his worse with him and rode hastily towards the city. No time for questions nor for collecting his belongings. No explanations. The soldier had helped him to dismount and escorted him to his quarters, dropping him there and ordering to wait for the King.

Gaius was about to ask Arthur what the problem was when he saw his unconscious ward held like a doll in the King's arms. He didn't lose time to question what happened, but immediately entered in physician's mode and examined the boy. It lasted forever. The other people in the room were holding their breath waiting for Gaius's verdict.

The most horrible moment had been when Gaius had cut open Merlin's shirt, just to reveal red, flamed skin, bleeding scratches all over his chest, the nails' shape clearly visible. And then the arms.

God, his arms.

They were covered in cuts, all different lengths, some were scabbed over, others just red angry lines, and others fresh, evidence that they had been inflicted that day, one, deep and very near to the left wrist, still bleeding… there wasn't a single patch of skin left untouched.

Arthur hobbled to a corner and threw up again. The others seemed about to get sick too, but they managed to contain themselves. Also because they weren't as responsible as Arthur was. What had he done!? He could feel each one of those wounds on his heart, heavy and bleeding at the knowledge that his best friend had to turn to self harm in order to survive.

Gaius had been silent all the time. He administered some potions to his ward and then sat on a bench next the cot and asked calmly:

"What happened?". He wanted answers. He wasn't a fool. Some of the cuts were clearly older than a week, but like everybody else neither him had noticed.

The Knights and the Queen looked at Arthur. He knew that he was the one who had to explain. His fault. His responsibility. So, in a tiny and hesitant voice, he told the events of the last month, from the reveal to their plan to Merlin's diary to their search. Gaius kept looking at the sleeping boy, apparently in control, but there was something in his eyes that spoke of fury and anger. When the King finished, there was silence. For more than three minutes nobody spoke a word.

Then Gaius said, still avoiding the others' eyes: "You know, even if Ealdor is in Cenred's Kingdom, Uther's hatred for magic has spread beyond the borders. Even there magic is distrusted and feared, instinctually rejected. So imagine, a boy born of magic growing up in such an atmosphere of closure and hate…" He shook his head, his audience captured by his tale. "When he was born, with his eyes glowing gold," everybody gasped, "his mother knew that she had to protect her son, for the world they lived in would not have mercy of a baby. So she taught him to fear, to keep the secret, to avoid the concept of trust, because, you see, in Merlin's world, trust could kill." Gwen felt her heart clench as she imagined his friend's life. "So Merlin grew up without trusting, without friends and with people scorning him. Nobody knew who his father was, and being a bastard son was already hard, but a lot of people also could… feel that something wasn't normal with him. They didn't know it was magic, but there was something about him…" Arthur realized that that had been his exact thought when he met Merlin. "So they isolated him. They called him freak, demon's child… monster was a favorite of theirs." The Knights gripped the hilts of their sword instinctively, in a wave of protectiveness for their friend. "Merlin was a child, and a child's mind is very fragile. Hearing others calling him monster made him believe that that was what he really was, and neither his mother's soothing convinced him otherwise. So when he was eight he decided to stop using magic. Because magic made him a monster and he didn't want to be a monster." Gaius's voice was dispassionate, as if he was telling a fairy tale. The others cringed at the thought of baby Merlin convinced to be evil. It was absolutely wrong. "He managed for ten days, before his mother guessed what was wrong. During that time, Merlin had lost his appetite, couldn't sleep at night and kept scratching his skin, because, as he said to his mother, his blood hitched. Hunith persuaded him to tell her the truth, desperate that her son would die, and, once hearing of Merlin's decision, she sneaked off in the middle of the night and led him far from the village. Once there, she asked him to let go of his magic. I suppose there is no need to describe to you what happened, right?" The others, still shocked, shook their heads slowly, even Gwen, whom Arthur had informed about the events in the forest.

Gaius kept explaining, and his next words broke their hearts: "That doubt has accompanied Merlin throughout all his life, and he never once has managed to shrug it off. Even in Camelot, barely some days after his arrival here, he asked me if he was a monster. And despite my words of reassurance, I could unmistakably see how it was not enough to comfort him. All the time he had been afraid of what his friends might think of him once the truth was out, and that was one of the reasons he never told any of you. It's not about trust anymore, he just… didn't want to lose you."

And they understood what the physician was implying. Their rejection had just strengthened Merlin's conviction that he was unworthy of their friendship. They felt ashamed, none more than Arthur.

Then the king took a chair, put it next to his brother and sat there, looking at the other's face. He didn't address the Knights nor his wife, and at the end they left him alone with the embodiment of his mistake there in front of him and the cursed red diary on his lap.

Actually he had left the room once, Guinevere had needed him for that, but then he had gone back to his friend's side, hoping for him to wake up. In the meanwhile he kept flicking through the book, reading again and again Merlin's memories, and after four days he almost knew everything by heart.

It was in the afternoon of the fourth day that the Warlock opened his eyes.

His sight was blurred, but he could clearly see the ceiling above him, a ceiling that look quite similarly to Gaius's chambers'. He blinked. But then he reminded himself that it wasn't possible. He was dead. He remembered exiting the city, stepping in the woods through the snowstorm and then falling on the ground, when his strength had abandoned him… then closing his eyes to cover from the pain and…

He internally frowned… voices… no, a voice. A very familiar warm voice. It had been only a whisper, his mind too blinded by the burning pain to distinguish the exact words. But he was so cold. The voice was warm instead. He wanted to reach it, to hold on it to resurface. And then…

Please, Merlin…

… don't die.

The kind voice had begged him not to die. And it was so sad and heartbreaking, and for some reason he had thought that he didn't want the owner of the voice to suffer, that he felt compelled to oblige, he just didn't want to disappoint the voice. Something inside of him snapped, and he felt a bright light invade him, easing the pain inside his body. He had felt the ice that surrounded him melt. Before drifting into oblivion he had felt two strong arms around his body and again the same voice…

… I will never let you go.

And that voice…

Arthur.

He widened his eyes. All the pieces clicked in his mind. Oh no… he had used magic. Nononono. He had made a Oath on his mother's life! God…

He tried to stand up. He had to find the King, because he had used magic and he had been there, and Merlin needed to apologize…

A strong hand kept him from lifting from the cot: "Lay down, you idiot!"

He turned his head and saw the blue eyes of the King. He seemed paler than usual though, and he had dark circles under his puffy eyes. He frowned, no way the King of Camelot had cried, right?

Then he managed to focus on the problem, fighting the slight fuzziness of his thoughts. Arthur.

He quickly regained his wits and his voice and started pleading, his panicky watery eyes buried in the King's: "I'm sorry Arthur, I didn't mean, I swear, I didn't want to use magic, please, give me another chance, I swear I won't do that again, just please, please, ple-"

He was cut off by two strong arms that clutched him to a tough chest; he felt his cheek pressed on the King's neck, and a tender voice in his ear that shushed him and soothed him, talking nonsense. For a moment he remained rigid, afraid of the proximity with his friend, but then, feeling those arms tightening around him and a hand stroking his hair, he simply broke down.

He didn't know how long he cried, but the tears kept spilling and spilling, those arms and that voice the only things that kept him grounded. He could feel the hold trembling sometimes, but regardless that, he never once let him go.

I will never let you go.

In the end his eyes dried and he just kept sobbing with his face buried in the King's shirt. When he managed to calm down, he disentangled himself from his friend, wiped his eyes with his sleeve and sniffed a bit, all the while avoiding the King's gaze.

"Merlin".

He closed his eyes, trembling like a leaf.

"Please, Merlin, look at me."

He hadn't ordered him to, and his voice was hesitant; he was not used to that tone of voice from Arthur, almost… vulnerable. He breathed deeply, embracing himself for what was to come and raised his eyes to meet the other's. Then he blinked. There wasn't anger there, nor fear or blame. Just sadness and, was that self-loathing?

"Arthur…"

"No" interrupted the other, "let me talk, ok?" Merlin nodded cautious and puzzled. Arthur hesitated for a moment and then began talking hastily, so much that Merlin had to concentrate a lot to keep up with what he was saying: "I'm sorry. I know it's not enough, but I wanted to say it. I'm sorry and I hope that you can forgive me. I was wrong, I let my fears and my prejudices blind me and abandon you. I know that you are not evil, you are the best person I know and I thank my good star everyday for having you as part of my life. I'm sorry for what you had to go through because of my prattishness, but I promise, no, I swear, that I will try to do better in the future, if you will let me…" He paused for a moment to gather his breath, but when was about to speak again the other stopped him gently putting his hand on his forearm.

Merlin tried to understand what was happening. Why the hell was he asking for forgiveness? He was the one who lied and deceived and betrayed… Arthur had nothing to be sorry for. And what changed his behavior so much? How long had he been unconscious?

Then the Warlock's eyes fell on the book, the red diary. Hisdiary. Arthur followed Merlin's gaze and explained awkwardly: "Yes, we… ehm… we… read it, I mean, that's how we knew where to find you and then… well… I was getting bored so… yes… I, mmh… read it… a… couple of times…"

"Oh."

"Yes."

"A… couple of times?"

"…"

"Arthur?"

"… Maybe more." He paused. "It's just that… I couldn't understand, Gaius explained a bit, but I wanted to know why you had done what you had done. I mean, the first time we met I was obviously a bully and you didn't like me, but you saved me anyway. Then, when we could almost be called friends I killed the love of your life, that's that kind of thing that destroys a friendship, you know, and yet you were always there. And then your father, and I didn't know who he was I'm sorry, I told you those cruel words, but you kept protecting me, and I kept calling you useless and hurting you, for all the times somebody you loved died for me, or you got hurt for me, or you had to stand my spiteful words towards your kind, or… heck, for all those times I threw goblets at you, and I couldn't understand why, because I don't deserve it… Why?" he eventually asked tiredly. "Why do you keep helping me and caring for me? Is it because of that stupid prophecy or…"

"ARTHUR!" Merlin whined loudly. "Is it really what you think of me? That I would let my life be commanded by a stupid prophecy? I care about you, Arthur. You are a great man, you are the best King Camelot will ever had, we are lucky to have you, without you Camelot is nothing. I help you because you are my friend, the best friend I could have had all these years. And it was not your fault, nothing of it…"

"Even now…" he whispered.

"What?" asked the sorcerer.

He spoke louder: "Even now do you consider me your best friend? After what I have forced you to go through for my stupidity?"

"Arthur…"

"NO!" he shouted. "You almost died out there! We almost didn't find you in time! You were freezing, Merlin, I thought I had lost you, you were pale and bleeding, and you didn't wake up… I have never felt such a fear in my life…" he buried his face in his hands, deeply shaken.

Merlin was confused: "But… I have magic-"

Arthur moved his hands away and rolled his eyes: "Yes Merlin, I think we already established that."

"Then, what…"

"I don't care!" exclaimed the King. "I don't care that you have magic. It doesn't make you evil, now I know it. It doesn't change who you are…"

"And who am I?" asked shyly the Warlock.

Arthur smiled: "You are my bumbling manservant, the worst of the five Kingdoms." "Hey!" "You are an amazing loyal friend who would do anything for those he loves. You are a great protector of your friends and your home. You are my most trusted advisor, and I couldn't run this Kingdom without you…." He paused for a moment, then looking the other fixedly on his eyes he added: "You are my brother, and our bond is stronger than blood and will last for longer than our lives will…"

Merlin felt like cried again. His brother. Arthur considered him as his brother. He couldn't find the words, so he just enveloped the King in a crushing hug, trying to convey his gratitude and his returning feelings with his gesture. Arthur understood and hugged him back. Then he whispered in his hair: "So, would you show me some magic now?"

Merlin lifted his head, frowning: "You want to see…"

"Yes, why not?"

Merlin thought a bit, then held out his left hand and chanted: "Fromum feohgiftum on fæder bearme. Fromum feohgiftum."

A ball of blue light with silvery swirling strands appeared on his palm, lighting the room. It floated peacefully in front of them, and it seemed to represent everything that Merlin was: , purity, simplicity, brightness. All Merlin.

Arthur smiled, recognizing the orb from its other appearance in that cave all those years ago. Merlin smiled back, even if a little sheepishly and still cautious, but his grin grew wider upon seeing that Arthur was not afraid of him and that he had meant every word. Eventually he extinguished the glowing magic and waited for a reaction.

Arthur stood up and patted his shoulder: "Well, Merlin, it's good to see you finally awake. Now get better soon that you have a huge amount of work waiting for you…"

"Oh, come on!" protested indignantly the Warlock. "Give me a little of peace. I have just had a near-death experience. I think I deserve a bit of rest before getting back to wash your socks and polish your armor…"

Arthur, who was already heading for the door, turned his head and said, grinning with fake innocence: "Oh, didn't I tell you? George will take up your duties from now on…"

"You have fired me?!" Merlin cried out, feeling rather disappointed.

"Well yes, Merlin. I certainly couldn't keep the mighty Emrys, prophetic figure of the Druid's lore and Last Dragonlord, as my manservant. It wouldn't have been dignified. And I'm not sure the other magic-users would have agreed…"

"Which other magic-users?" Merlin was more and more confused.

"Seriously Merlin" said the King faking annoyance. "Of course those that arrived in Camelot after I lifted the ban on magic…"

"YOU DID WHAT!?" shouted Merlin, barely believing his ears. God god Arthur had really done that. "You lifted the ban?! When? How? Which are the new laws?" asked Merlin excited.

"Yes, Merlin" he said with a tone that resembled the one you could use to talk to a child. "I lifted it two days ago. As for the new laws, well… that is responsibility of the new Court Sorcerer…"

"We already have a Court Sorcerer?" asked the Warlock a bit disappointed.

"Of course. He hasn't been appointed officially yet, but we will need to take care of that as soon as possible…" he turned away and headed for the door. On the threshold he stopped a moment and glanced back at his friend, who was obviously rather sad, even if he was trying his best not to show it. He smiled mischievously: "The ceremony is tomorrow morning. Your new robes will be ready this afternoon. We can't have our new member of the court show up as a peasant, now, can we?" With that, he exited, leaving a stunned Warlock behind. A second after he came back and, from the doorstep, pointed his finger menacingly at Merlin. "And don't be late!"

Seeing the retreating back of his friend, the Court Sorcerer-to-be shook cheerfully his head and settled back on the cot, closing his eyes and drifting into sleep with a wide smile on his lips and a last word in his mind.

Prat.

THE END