"You don't have to do this, you know." I tell Arthur quietly. We stand in a loose semi circle around the bookshelf, everyone jostling to get closer; to see. Me and Arthur are a little apart at the front.

"Maybe this is my destiny." He says, half joking. "You always were so fond to tell me about that. I was going to be a great king, you said. I was going to unite albion." He gives a small pitying laugh, which lacks any humour.

"You did." I say passionately. "You did, and you can do it again."

He claps a hand on my shoulder, and looks down. "Yeah." He says. "Yeah maybe." I know that he is only saying it to placate me, that he has no hope at all of staying beside me in this world.

"Thanks, you know, for waiting." He says, squeezing my shoulder. He meets my eyes, and gives me one last smile, just a small hint of one. I realize that instead of worrying about himself, he pities me. Then without even taking a deep breath, he reaches toward the shelf, and grabs a book at random. The silence that surrounds us is so deep, so complete, it has its own sound: a sort of hum composed of the tension hanging so heavily in the air. I can feel the council members holding their breath. Terror cascades through my veins in white fire. Arthur, oh so slowly, peels back the first page, and stares at it for a moment, his expression shocked. We all wait with baited breath. He glances up at us, and shrugs.

"Well that was an anti climax."

And then he collapses.

I move to rush to him, his name already spilling hopelessly from my mouth, but Alaric's grip on my arm prevents me. In his eyes glints a wicked happiness.

"It's working!" He hisses, struggling a little to restrain me. "You musn't interfere Emrys. His soul remains intact, you must let the goddess convey her message." I know, somewhere, logically, that he is right, and that part of me is dancing up and down in happiness and relief. But all I see is Arthur, lying motionless on the ground before me, blood on his chainmail, a fragment of a blade working its way to his heart, something I've never said to you before, thankyou... silence, no pulse, a bed of rushes, an empty room, oh god, make it stop, please god make it stop, no, don't leave me, god don't leave me, not alone, please not alone... I blast away Alaric's presence beside me, uncaring in my desperation.

I barrel past the other councillors, and skid on my knees to Arthur's side, already sobbing the prayer of his name, my shaking fingers scrambling for a pulse. The world ascends from my shoulders as I feel the butterfly pressure against my fingertips.

"Thank god." I mumble. "Thank god." I close my eyes and focus on the life pumping through him. He's still here. He hasn't left me. I run a hand over his forehead, trying to sense the depth of the damage, the physical stuff, at least. I find nothing.

Arthur's P.O.V

"Well that was an anticlimax." Arthur said, shrugging. He wasn't quite sure what the council had expected to happen.   Without warning vertigo seized him, and he toppled foward, pulled by an irresistible force. His vision blurred into darkness. Oh. He managed to think before he fell into unconsciousness. That.

When he came to, what felt like hours later, he didn't recognise his surroundings. It was a world of white, with gentle mist enveloping him, and a tiled white floor beneath his body.  He groaned, stretching slightly, before getting to his feet. He scratched at his sleeve- this stupid shirt that Merlin had given him was incredibly annoying. What was wrong with a good tunic? Letting out a yawn, he turned around to examine his surroundings. And froze, still mid yawn, his hand hovering an inch away from his mouth.

Before him, stood a majestic figure, at least ten feet tall. Its features seemed to be a made of dozens of mirrors, with dozens of people looking at them: its face was old, young, male, female, somehow all at once. Somehow, Arthur could only stare. Gathering his wits, Arthur scrambled away from the... thing, already reaching for his sword. His frantic fingers encountered only air. He glanced down with dawning horror: Excalibur was absent from its sheath, its empty scabbard the only sign it had existed at all.

He backed away from the creature, fists up, ready to fight.

"Calm yourself, young Pendragon." Arthur wasn't sure where the voice came from, but it wasn't the monsters mouth. It seemed to emanate from everywhere at once, swiftly reverberating through the air.

"Who are you?" He called, not relaxing his defensive position. "What are you?"

The figure spread its arms. "I am a messenger, from the White Goddess herself."

"And what is that message?" Arthur asked, refusing to be daunted by the imposing creature before him.

"You wish to save Emrys." It wasn't a question, but Arthur replied anyway.

"I have been sent here to bring back and save magic-"

"But Emrys is magic, and magic is Merlin." The thing interrupted. "They are all one and the same."

Bemused, and unsure of his next move, Arthur nodded. The creature, in one lightening fast move, flicks out a hand. Arthur jerked back, but all the creature did was press a finger to his forehead. Arthur yanked himself out of arms reach, then threw himself into a fighting position. Before he could react, though, the creature vanished. There one moment, gone the next.

Completely nonplussed, Arthur spun around, only to see the white mist dissipating, pulled away by some unseen force. The tiles beneath his feet were falling away, one by one, leaving only darkness in their wake.

Yelling, Arthur tried to dodge and avoid the rapidly disappearing tiles, but one gave out underneath his foot. Pointlessly thrashing, attempting to grab a handhold, he fell into darkness.

A stab of pain jolted through him, screaming agony as he slammed back into his body.

He could hear Merlin, crying out his name. Arthur tried to respond, he really did, to reassure his friend that he hadn't deserted him, but words would not come.

A willpower that was not his own forced his body into a sitting position, and manipulated his eyes into opening. Merlin gasped from right next to him, and Arthur tried- tried and failed- to move a hand to his shoulder. Before Arthur could move, however, unknown pressure twisted the shape of his lips, and without his consent, words spilt from him.

The Pendragon, Emrys's bane
Is arisen once more
An end of Emrys's pain
A gift given fore.

A foe diminished again
The end of Silence shall forever ring
Magic, finally lies slain
And the crownless again shall be king.

Exhausted, Arthur slumped to the ground, gasping like a landed fish. He could sense the councillors murmuring around him, but all he was really conscious of was Merlin, the only recognisable, solid thing left in this crazy world.

"Arthur, are you ok? Can you hear me?" Of course Merlin wouldn't care about what I'd said. Arthur thought with a rush of warmth. Stupid idiot. Loyal to the end.

"Am I dead?" Arthur muttered. "Cuz I feel pretty dead."

A choked laugh escaped his companion. "Unfortunately, you're still very much alive. C'mon." Slipping Arthur's arm around his shoulders, Merlin half- carried, half dragged Arthur, past the curious stares of the councillors, past the not dead body that he'd actually forgotten about, and into a small room adjacent to the chambers.

Arthur was laid down on a bed, much like the one he had before, back in Camelot. Back at home. He tried to keep his eyes open, but they seemed to be invisibly weighted, and the task was impossible.

"Go to sleep." Merlin murmured, pulling a loose duvet over him. Arthur wanted to protest, wanted to jump up and stop being so damn useless, but unconsciousness had already claimed him.

~~~~~~~
The prophecy is actually inspired by a Tolkien poem, so all dues to him there.

(Sorry about all the flip flopping changing of viewyness)
~~~~~~~
Merlin's P.O.V

Once Arthur is asleep, and I've triple checked his pulse, once again only partly reassured by the continuous thump- thump against my fingers, I reluctantly leave him. Five minutes. I promise myself. Just five minutes.

I hurry back into the council chambers, to witness the waves leftover from the splash Arthur made. I rush to Alaric's side, panic and guilt surging through me as I see the burns he nurses.

"Surprisingly," he says good naturedly. "That didn't hurt at all." I examine his palm, and sickness rises up within me. The flesh is black where I singed him in my rush to get to Arthur: black, ringed with an angry red. I know why it didn't hurt him. Along with cooking his flesh, I've destroyed all his nerve endings. Hurt him so badly he no longer has the capacity to feel the pain.

I did this to him. Me, with my selfishness, and refusal to listen. Me. Self hatred pools like acid in my stomach.

"I'm so sorry." I get out through numb lips. "I'm so sorry." As gently as humanly possible, I touch a hand to the wound, but he does not even inhale sharply- he can no longer feel anything at all. My helpless rage and guilt pours out of me in the form of magic. I will make this right. I will.

I can't think of any spells: in fact, I can think of nothing at all besides my desire to heal him, so I don't bother, letting the pure power radiate from my fingertips. Willing him to get better. I close my eyes to best channel it, feeling the spark of magic dance between us, my power into his body. I know I'm asking the impossible: his hand is a dead thing now, beyond anyone's help. I have to try though. I didn't manage save Arthur, so I will do this.

After the event, the councillors told me that my hands held an orangish aura, light spilling from my palms, and my eyes glowed a fiercer gold than ever before, as if I called down the power of the heavens to heal their prince. I ignore their awe, and thank any god who listens that I was able to help him.

Alaric though, just gives me the usual thanks, and a slap on the arm, for which I am thankful. He owes me no gratitude; all I had done was fix my own hideous sins. If I had not been able to heal him, I don't know what I would have done. I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself, I know that for certain though.

I can still barely believe it. I had hurt him, someone who only wished me well and was trying to help me. Sickness doesn't describe it.

I can't worry about both Arthur and Alaric at the same time, so I pull Alaric into the spare room where Arthur is sleeping, then, after checking to make sure that Arthur still had a pulse, sit Alaric on the desk. His hand is a now a vicious red, so I concentrate on healing that. He rolls him eyes as I insist on taking all the colouring away.

"Alright, alright, aunty Emrys." He jokes, allowing me to take his hand. He seems to be watching me closely, all the humour now drained from his face.

"Or is it Merlin?"

I lean over my work, feeling the shame gnaw at me. I force an almost imperceptible nod, and feel the sheen of tears in my eyes.

"You're... You're him. You're really him." I want to run, to hide from the accusation and shock in his words, but all I can do is nod, and continue with my work.

"And him?" He asks, jerking a thumb in Arthur's direction.

This time I manage to find my voice. "I think you know that, old friend."

He swears, and scrambles to his feet, dodging the imploring hand I reach out.

"He's Arthur. Arthur Pendragon. High King of bloody Britain."

"Right in one, wolfboy." Arthur drawls from where he lies, dreary eyed on the bed.

"Arthur!" I whip to his side, worry and relief battling within. "How do you feel?"

"Like I was hit by your metal monster." He groans, stretching both arms above his head.

"Don't be such a drama queen." I say jokingly. "Arighty, probably a bit late, but let me make some introductions. Arthur, this is Alaric, good friend, and fellow prince of the moon. Alaric...  this is Arthur, equally good friend, and previous king of Camelot."

Arthur clearly wanted to say something very different, but ingrained politeness clearly won out, and he held out a grudging hand.

"Nice to meet you." He says slowly.

Alaric reluctantly grasps Arthurs hand. "Likewise." He gets out. He releases Arthur's palm the second he grabs it, as if to get as far away as possible.

"I think me and.. Merlin here need a word." Alaric growls, pulling me towards the door. I don't complain, mainly because he's right.

Once Alaric and I sort out our differences, and I roughly outline Arthur's past, skipping over his death, and have admitted who he is really destined to be: king once again, the uniter of Albion, Alaric calms down a little.

He kneads his forehead, exhaling. "I want aspirin." He mumbles as he sits beside Arthur on the bed. Instead, I cross over to him, and press a single finger to his temple, drawing out the pain. He manages to crack a grin a grin in my direction.

"Cheers. Em- Merlin." He stumbles, temporarily forgetting my real name. I feel his words though, like a punch in the gut.

"Please don't change who you are to me, Alaric." I say quietly. He nods.

"Alight, Em. So what we gonna do with what kingy here said? With all that prophecy jazz?"

I prepare to go to work, but, with a start, remember the body I'd dumped on their council floor. I blame it on the stress, to be honest. Because when I remembered that body, so casually leaning against the wall, the entire reason we were here today- we'd completely forgotten about it.

"Ah hell!"

"Merlin?"

"Emrys?"

I turn to Arthur. "We forgot about the guy."

He looks at me questioningly, until understanding slowly brightens his features.

"Um... oops?"