A hand slapped at Arthur's face just as Gwen was leaning in for another kiss. Well, it felt like a slap, though no fists were visible. Arthur jerked back none the less, a hazy sense of confusion floating to the surface of his brain. He pushed the odd sensation away, unwilling to let anything spoil this moment, and trying very hard not to think. He'd been doing that a lot, recently. Turning from the small things that didn't quite add up, that were just a little off. What did it matter that there hasn't been a cloudy day in months, that there had been no sightings of any sort of beast, bandit or monster for as long as Arthur could remember?

These were good things. He told himself. No problems. But, truth be told, Arthur was bored. Although he would never admit it, he missed it: the feel of a sword in his hand; the adrenaline in his veins: slaying whatever fearsome monster dared breach Camelot's borders. Although he hunted often, to occupy his frustrated thoughts, it just wasn't the same. It was as if he summoned the deer by pure willpower, as whenever he drew back his crossbow, a buck appeared as if it had been conjured from the air around him.

He missed the homecoming- trotting proudly through the gates, with eager towns people crowded around his horse, his father saying well done, but you could do better. Not that that could happen: all Uther gave him nowadays was praise. Arthur never thought he would miss his father's surliness, but he did. And when Arthur had come in from yet another peaceful training session, on yet another beautiful day, Merlin would help him with his armour, and chat incessantly in his ear. An image flickered in Arthur's mind then- the first real, tangible thought he'd had in a very long time.

Merlin, conjuring a dragon from sparks.

Merlin, throwing back two bandits with just a raised hand.

Merlin, as a stooped, desperately lonely old man.

Merlin, with magic.

If Arthur wasn't kissing Gwen in that moment, he would have burst out laughing. Merlin, a sorcerer? When fish flew.

His fingers itched- he was thinking of magic more than ever now; if his deadened, sluggish ponderings could be called that. He was completely at peace with the druids of course- they didn't bother him, he didn't bother them. It was treason to even consider it, but Arthur couldn't help but want something: anything to happen, to break this dragging monotony. His mind longed for the distraction, as his blood hungered for the hunt.

Another blow struck his face, and he staggered away from Gwen's concern, clamping a hand across his cheekbone as it smarted. The pain focused, intensified, until it was all he could feel, as if was the only thing anchoring him to this earth. For the first time, he experienced something beyond the distant senselessness that had enveloped him. A voice reached him, forcing its way through the veil of shadows surrounding him.

"Arthur! Please Arthur, wake up. I need you to be here. I need you to be real. Oh please be real, Arthur. Wake up! Please clotpole! We have to get out, we have to go! Arthur you ass! Don't you dare go and leave me! Oh for-" there was a brief pause, a quiet scuffle, then another blow connected with his face, twice as hard as the first.

Arthur's body lurched upward without his permission, his hand already flashing out to intercept the next fist heading rapidly towards his face. He caught it in his open palm, then clenched it, tight.

He slowly took in his surroundings- the darkness and compression of a small tunnel, Merlin kneeling beside him, his face drawn with loss, and his hand caught in Arthur's.

"Don't ever try that again." Arthur said simply, shoving his fist away, and scrambling to his feet. A fierce smile spread across Merlin's face.

"Then don't black out me then!" His words were solid Merlin, but there was a hollowness behind them, as if the pure white wood from the heart of the tree had been torn away, leaving only the crumbling bark, encompassing a gaping nothingness. Merlin didn't give Arthur time to consider it, as he had already grabbed his arm, and was dragging him at a run through the tunnels. Arthur stumbled, but kept his feet and darted after his friend, not knowing the destination or purpose, but seeing the fear and loss manipulating Merlin's features. It was clear he was trying to keep a lid on it, but every so often, as they bolted through tunnels, his face twitched, revealing the torment beneath.

"Where are we going?" Arthur huffed, from just behind Merlin, who was running as if hell itself was after him.

"Out."

"But what about the monster?"

"Its too- it's too strong. I can't kill it. I don't know how." There's was shame in his voice then, as if he felt he'd let Arthur down. Arthur wanted to reply, to reassure him that he hadn't, but just then they burst into the sunlight, the labyrinth of the underground finally releasing them.

"Horses!" Merlin gasped out, not slowing his pace as he staggered in a loose circle. Arthur saw them, above the rise and entrance of the cave. He pointed them out, then leapt lightly onto his. Merlin followed suit, then kicked his into action. Arthur had already nudged the animal when he noticed the third horse; the empty saddle.

Arthur took in the sight of the abandoned house, and all its connotations in one horrified moment, then caught up to Merlin, already knowing the answer, but needing to ask the question anyway

"Where's Alaric? Where the hell is he?"

Merlin didn't look at Arthur, just spurred his horse on faster with a viciousness that didn't belong to the clumsy manservant Arthur remembered.

"Merlin? Merlin! Answer me God dammit!"

Merlin brought his horse round to face Arthur, and he didn't look like Merlin in that moment. He didn't even look human.

"He's gone!" He cried, nearly screaming the words. "He's dead, he's worse than dead, and there's nothing you, I or anyone else can do about it!"

"There... there must something." Arthur said numbly, unable to quite absorb the words.

"Being lost was the only thing he was scared of. More than dying, more than anything. He didn't want to come on this stupid quest, but I made him! I killed him. Oh god I killed him..." Merlin's face contorted, but instead of letting himself slow, letting himself feel the pain, he turned from Arthur and once again kicked his horse, this time with a tenderness not matching the savage pain and desperation on his face.

"Mer- wait- Merlin!" Arthur yelled after him, turning in a tight circle. His heart screamed at him to go back for Alaric- that he couldn't be beyond help, that Arthur'd woken up, why couldn't Alaric, but he didn't know how to defeat this monster without Merlin's help, and Merlin- Well, Merlin was the definition of loyal. If he'd left, that meant only one thing. Alaric was truly beyond saving. Swallowing his misgivings, and aching for Merlin's pain, Arthur followed him at a gallop.

~~~~~~

They rode for hours, in complete silence. Merlin rode with fierce concentration, not taking his eyes from the moorland beneath him, nor the failing attempt at apathy from his features. During this time, Arthur slowly came to terms with the truths denied to him by the Silence- Merlin had magic. Other memories came too, him saving Arthur, again and again, constant and selfless. In the first few moments, as his brain slowly tried to organise the facts in his mind, and he'd realized Merlin had magic, he'd gone through the same process he'd had the first time. Primarily, the shock, then the betrayal, but followed by grudging acceptance. He had Merlin's explanations turning through his head, and- well. How could he not forgive him?

Arthur mulled through all this in complete silence- he couldn't bear to intrude on Merlin's lament- he deserved time to mourn.

It was a long time before Arthur worked up the guts to break the silence. They had just reached the small grove they had made camp at at the night before, branches still bent to provide a little shelter, a small pile of ashes where they'd lit the fire.

"Merlin-" Arthur tried. His voice came out scratchy and choked- it had been hours since he'd last spoken.

"Merlin, we need to stop." His servant- no, his friend, whirled around to face him, incredulity painted across his every feature.

"What! No! Arthur we need to keep going, it's not safe, you're not far away enough!"

Arthur crossed his arms, hating the sensation of feeling like a petulant child. "Too bad. Where was that first body we found? Literally next to Avalon, way further than we could get in a night. There's shelter here, plus firewood. It doesn't matter where we go tonight, this thing is sprawling across Camelo- the country. It's random, so we're just as safe here as we would be as far away as we could get, until we just fall off the horses."

When Merlin didn't respond, Arthur dismounted and led his horse over to Merlin's, letting the animals playfully bite at each other, letting out soft whines as they did. Arthur ran a slow hand over Merlin's horses nose, and gently took ahold of the reins. He looked up: met Merlin's gaze, then spoke as softly as he could, as he would to a wounded animal. 

"We need to rest, Merlin. C'mon." Merlin nodded slowly, robotically, as if the life had been drained from him. He slipped from his saddle, then pulled his reins from Arthur's grasp, and led the horses to the spring, partially hidden by the trees. They worked in silence then, gathering firewood, and Arthur spent nearly ten frustrating minutes attempting to get a spark to catch.

Inside his head, he mentally rebuked Merlin for not using his magic, but in reality, he grudgingly continued with the flints, letting Merlin sit, resting against a tree trunk. He struck them again and again, each attempt gifting him a scatter of sparks, but none catching the tinder alight. He flicked the rocks together again, then stifled his cry as the jagged edge bit into his flesh. Merlin's head jerked up, his eyes snapping to the wound in Arthur's palm. Within seconds, he had placed a finger over the cut, and his skin knit together again.

"Ah, I'm sorry- I should have- sorry." Merlin mumbled, yet more self hatred pooling in his eyes. He glanced at the pyramid of twigs and kindling, his irises glowing a fiery gold. Flames roared in an upward rush, untamed and wild. Merlin flinched, then squeezed his eyes shut in a clearly concentrated effort, and the fire died down.

"Sorry-" He stumbled again, opening his eyes. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine." Arthur said shortly. He forced a water bottle- made of some weird flexible stuff- into Merlin's hand, then pushed him by the shoulders onto the ground next to the fire.

"Now." Arthur demanded. "Talk." It was undoubtedly a command, but with an edge of softness reserved only for Merlin.

"What-"

"Talk to me. Tell me what happened."

Merlin fumbled a slurp from the water bottle, tipping back his head to empty it. He swallowed, then placed the bottle back on the ground.

"Alright." He said. "I- I was like you, the moment we got into the cave. Under some sort of charm, or illusion. But some thing- someone woke me up."

Although Arthur had vowed he wouldn't interrupt, the questions rose to his lips unbidden.

"Who? How?"

Merlin's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I don't know how- by all rights, it should have been impossible. The only one with the power would have been... well, the white goddess, I suppose."

He cleared his throat, then continued with his story.

"When I woke up, we were surrounded. It wasn't just the silence though. There were these creature things. Soldiers, dressed in ragged army uniforms. But the skin on the faces... stretched, just a blank canvas, but with these reaching arms. They were in a circle around the entire room. They hadn't expected me to wake up- or you, when I hit you. What is lost- stays lost."

"Then how?"

Merlin shrugged. "The white goddess, I think. I could feel it. A protection spell of some kind."

Arthur hated to say it, but it needed to be said.

"And... Alaric?"

Merlin's face twisted, and his voice was full of pain, and bitter amusement with no hint of humour.

"He wasn't the once and future king. He wasn't the listener. He wasn't the precious Emrys." His voice twisted on the word, no more than a disgusted sneer filled with bitterness.

"What did the white goddess owe him?" Merlin seemed to choke on the words, but managed to keep his face straight.

"Merlin... for what little its worth... I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "From the moment I woke up and saw him, I knew. I could sense it. He wasn't... there anymore."

"He was a good man, Merlin."

For some reason, this brought out a smile. A horribly distant, vague smile, but a smile none the less.

"I know." Merlin said simply. "He was one of the best."

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Merlin suddenly pulled something from a holster Arthur hadn't noticed before at his hip. It was a small, curved dagger, shaped like a tooth, and engraved with light grey runes. It was a deep black, as if it were carved from obsidian.

"He gave this to me." Merlin said, in a small voice. "When I stopped the war of the claw, and got promoted to a prince. I was the first ever prince not of the blood, so he gave me his dagger, so I might be bound." He quickly wiped away the tear trickling across his cheek, then the others that quickly followed.

"How long had you known him?" Arthur asked hesitantly.

"Um... nearly 400 years, I think."

"4- Oh, hell. I'm sorry." Arthur couldn't believe how calm Merlin was- admittedly he was just holding it together at the seams, but if Arthur had lost someone he'd known for nearly half a century, he would be a blubbering wreck.

Merlin gave a close lipped shake of his head. "Not your fault. I'm sorry, you know, about all this." He waved a hand around them, to indicate the storm at which they were in the centre of.

"Why?"

Merlin sighed. "You know, so many times I dreamed about your return. I figured it had to be something big- I mean, you slept through two world wars, for God's sake. But I thought, hey you're Arthur, I'm Merlin, we'll defeat the army or apocalypse or whatever, then everyone will come back, and we'll sort everything out, then all bundle up in my flat to watch Disney movies. We'd be normal. We'd all grow old together. We're not meant to be sat here- Alaric wasn't supposed to- he wasn't part of this. But we're here, and Alaric's not coming back."

"Merlin-"

"Goodnight, Arthur." Merlin rolled over on one side with his back to Arthur, and did not speak again. Sighing, Arthur gave up and lay down across from him, closing his eyes against the glow of the fire. Either Merlin didn't cry, or he did a very good job at hiding it.

About half an hour later, when Arthur's breaths were deep and even, and sleep threatened to take him, he heard the faint snap of twigs. Immediately alert, his hand flashed out to grab Excalibur hilt, and his eyes flashed open, expecting bandits, or, as Merlin called them 'muggers'. Instead, he saw only Merlin, creeping through the undergrowth. Arthur relaxed. He was probably going to the toilet or something. But then Arthur caught sight of the dagger, clutched tightly in one hand, and his inquisitiveness was piqued.

Instinct told him to call out to Merlin, but curiosity demanded he adopted the panther-like grace he hunted with, and he silently followed Merlin through the trees, to the small spring Merlin insisted was clean. A few paces away from the waters edge, beneath the tallest oak, Merlin knelt, almost reverentially. He began talking then, whispering really, as not to wake anyone. Arthur was too far away to hear anything, but he watched Merlin mouth words for ten, fifteen minutes. He was talking to Alaric. Arthur realized with a jolt. Paying his last respects.

Arthur began to creep away, feeling as if he was intruding on him. But just then, Merlin's voice rose, and in one fluid movement, he slashed the blade across his palm. A small spray of blood, and a small hiss of pain later, a cut at least four inches across had been carved into the meat below his thumb. Arthur lunged forward, but it was too late, and the damage was done. Luckily for him, Merlin was too out of it to notice the movement behind him.

"If you will not take my trade." Merlin said, with new strength in his voice. "Then take my vow." He turned the dagger in his hand, until the blade was coated in his blood. "On this blood I do swear, Alaric Tsraeyal, Prince of the Moon. I will not let your... death be in vain. I will vanquish this monster. I will. For you, brother mine. For you, brother." In one vicious movement, he drove the blade into the earth. Then he crumpled to the ground, put his head in his hands, and wept.

Arthur darted from his hiding place, immediately putting his arm around him, and ignoring the jolt of surprise that shot through Merlin's body, and the way he pulled away to look at him.

"It will be okay." Arthur said simply: fiercely. "It will be." Merlin tried to rearrange his features, but just gave way. He descended into sobs, then threw his arms around Arthur, fisting his hands in the stupid shirt he'd given him, clutching on for dear life. Arthur hugged him back, because In that moment he wasn't his servant, his friend or even the mighty Emrys.

In that moment, he was just a broken little boy who didn't want to be alone anymore.

~~~~~~~

Thankyouthankyouthankyou for 1k!!!!!!!!