Merlin 1. Prologue: Nothing

**An: **Two things posted in one day? Am I going mad? Yes.

So, this is something I've had on my computer for a while but completely forgot about. This is the prologue, though it will remain as a one shot for now and I will warn you now that updates will probably be slow if I continue.

Please tell me if you think I should continue this. If I get at least five (positive) reviews, I will. Fair enough?

Enjoy!

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><p>Water roared in his ears, spray wet his face. The cave walls rushed past in a blur, and he shivered uncontrollably. His hands grasped uselessly at the stone, trying to get a grip, but failing. His hair was plastered to his scalp, but he didn't notice, focusing on just trying to keep his head above the water.<p>

"Arthur!" he yelled.

Listening for a reply, none forthcoming. A sinking feeling clutched his heart, mixed with a twisted hope. The prince could be safe, could have got away - _which means I'm alone - _or he might have drowned at the beginning, and be lying on the river bed, pale and dead. _With no help to come; alone._

Still he was kept moving, the river whisking him on, never stopping, never halting. Would it ever end? A cry was torn from his lips as he was bashed against unseen rocks, a pain starting in his leg. His ribs were already bruised, from the pummelling water, and the bandit attack - oh, he was getting too old for this.

God! Would it end?

"Arthur!" he called out again, desperately.

His shout echoed against the walls, uselessly repeating the name, over and over, loud enough to be heard even over the water. Abruptly, his attention was snatched as he saw light. Light! An end to this torment, an end to this pain. Where would it lead?

All thoughts were temporarily stopped as he was pulled under the water, and he battled just to surface again, to breathe again. When he did, the light was much closer and he could see out of the hole.

He strained his eyes, trying to see where he would come to rest, shaking his head and blinking his eyes when he didn't see what he should. Instead of seeing grass, and a river bed, all he could see was valleys in the distance. What did it mean?

He knew, but refused to acknowledge.

The story's were true, this proved it. But they weren't, couldn't be. He wouldn't allow it to be. Something cold touched his arm, and he flinched away, reaching for a sword that he didn't have with him.

It was a hand, a cold, pale, lifeless, hand. Long, slender fingers that looked almost like Morgana's. A cry of anguish tore from his lips as the rest of the body floated past - was this his fate? _No, I won't let it be._

Still he was pushed onwards, the hole of light coming ever nearer. Belatedly, he tried to turn away, to escape this inevitable end. Uselessly trying to swim, his face contorting into animal like features. He snarled, grunted, gasped, legs kicking, arms clawing. All the time trying to breathe, just to stay alive.

The hole was next to him now, he was near the end, and he was forced to acknowledge the truth of the story's.

A hole in the world; with no bottom, no end. Just water and death.

A cliff, with a river down it's side. The end of all things.

There was a pause as he reached the edge, a moment of clarity. His eyes were opened for the first time in years as he looked down, over the edge. The last cry that left his mouth was not for Arthur, not for Morgana, nor his deceased wife. He did not plead to the gods for his life, or ask why. He did not call for his father, nor his mother. It was not for someone, nor something.

His last thought; if this really was the end of the world, he was about to fall into it.

"Kilgarrah!"

LoLoLoL

Not many would mourn the kings passing. A literal handful of people including Arthur, Sir Leon and Gaius. The people would pretend to mourn, to appease the young prince in this dark time, but none would truly feel sorry. The proper respects would be paid, a new age would begin. A new era of light and hope, peace and happiness.

Indeed, more people would mourn for the prince's manservant, who passed on the same fateful day. He had been well liked by those around him, and it was hard to say who would mourn him the most. Arthur, Hunith, Gwen, or Gaius.

They would soon find out. But first, Prince Arthur, the only survivor of a deadly skirmish, would have to reach home. Alone, wearied, and hurt.

His story for the world to see, his scars to remain forever.

Destiny had a cruel way of concluding events, for the golden age would still begin, Albion would still be reunited, and magic would be free once again.

King and manservant would be gone, passed away in their own horrific ways.

Or would they?


	2. Dead Man Walking

**An:** Wow, you say, is it true? Is this possible? Can Sagebush _really_ have updated this story? As unbelievable as this is guys, it's true!

First off, I've realised that the characters in this are totally mucked up... as in I have all the knights such as Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, etcetera, but Morgana is good. **Here that, y'all? Morgana is good!** So, it's going to be classed as an** AU** because of that. - The capitals is for the people who don't read AN's.

Also, as before, I'm going to ask for five reviews. This is something I'm going to do for each chapter of this story as it is not a high priority at the moment with all my others. No reviews, no update. Just so we're clear.

Anyway, on with the story, please read and review (Galaxy Cookie Crumble if you do – or plain, whatever you prefer)!

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><p>Chapter One<p>

When he woke, he couldn't remember who or where he was. His cheek was pressed into mud, the wind was chilling his back and at least one insect was crawling over his back. Slowly, he sat up, clutching at his head as he did so, grimacing in pain.

He was by a lake, one side of which lapped against a sheer wall of rock. How had he gotten here? Straining his memories, he could remember glimpses of armour, yelling and shouting, confusion and pain, water and death. Groaning, he looked further, towards the trees that lay in the far distance and the barren landscape that was in between. As he turned once more, his eyes caught on something much closer to home.

Only about five feet away was someone else, sprawled in the dirt, blood soaking the area about them.

With a cry, he started forwards, towards this man, this boy that was with him. Something about the neckerchief around his neck was familiar to him, and all of a sudden the walls broke and memories filled him.

He fell to the floor, once more clutching his head and moaning in pain. Flashes of a whole lifetime broke across his consciousness and when it had finished, he was almost surprised to find himself staring at the sky, panting on the ground. With a new wonder, he discovered himself and found himself satisfactory.

_I am Uther Pendragon,_ he thought. _I am the king._ And more importantly; _I know who I am._

He recognised the figure in the dirt now, knew it to be Merlin, his son's manservant. A cry was torn from his lips as he realised that he knew not his son's fate and he struggled towards the serving boy with a new fervour. He looked barely alive; nay, he looked dead, but there was a chance that he knew – and failing that, he might know where they were.

He reached the spot and shook the boy's shoulders, flinching at the cold skin. The boy's head lolled to the side uselessly, lips parting with the movement.

Fear bolted through Uther and he leant closer, head above the boys mouth, trying to feel if he was alive. For he must be, had to be.

Still, he felt nothing and leant closer still, wishing he had his sword to check the boy's fate with mist against the steel. And there! He felt it, a faint flutter against his cheek. Relief flooded through him, sweet relief that coursed through him pleasantly.

"Boy," he cried and lifted a hand, slapping it against the servant's cheek, praying for a response. Still there was none. He tried again, then said, "Merlin!" This gained a slight response as the boy stirred slightly.

If he had smelling salts, they may have worked, but he had none. He could feel tiredness beginning to creep in and for the first time wondered what the times was and how long it had been since the ambush. The first question was answered by looking at the sun; mid afternoon sometime, but the second could have no answer yet.

Raising his hands, he started massaging his head in an attempt to alleviate the headache he felt coming on. To his horror, as he reached the place just above his left ear, the skin tore and blood poured free. The tiredness swept over him once more and he couldn't help himself as he slumped into unconsciousness.

Whispers On The Wind :: Whispers On The Wind

When he next awoke, it was in a different place. The wound on his head no longer hurt so much and a quick exploration with his fingers revealed a dressing. Astonished, he looked around and found that he had been dragged to the shelter of the cliff and that the serving boy, Merlin, was on the floor in front of him, obviously heading towards the water.

It didn't take long to work out what had happened. While he had been unconscious, the boy had woken and cared for him as much as he was able. On the way back to the lake, for whatever reason, he had collapsed once more.

Briefly, Uther though what Gaius would say to him if he ever found out and allowed himself a small wince.

He felt better than the last time he had woken and stood up, using the cliff as support. Slowly, he staggered to the lake and knelt by it's edge, cupping water in his hands and letting it trickle down his throat. Ah, how good it felt! Like sun on a winter day, like food to a starving man!

When he had finished, he gazed at his reflection, examining his face as if seeking to find a story written there. The left side of his face was caked with mud, his right stained red from blood. His eyes had purple bruises under and myriad of cuts were etched upon his face. The dressing on his head, now he examined it, was the servant's neckerchief.

How clean was it, he wondered, before it was placed upon his head?

He shivered at the thought of infection and Gaius's face hovered in his mind for a moment. Then he tilted his head and thought how strange it looked without the heavy crown on top.

His chin held several days worth of stubble. Dismayed, he realised that despite the time passed, no one had yet found them and that they likely never would. He stood up once more and weaved over to the boy, pausing to examine him. Undoubtedly he looked healthier than when Uther had first woken, and yet he wondered how. Certainly through no administration of his own. Casting the thought from his mind he realised that as much of a fool as the boy may have seemed in the past, he was Uther's only hope of getting back to civilization.

And yet for that, the boy had to heal first.

With a weary sigh, Uther settled his back against the wall and prepared himself for a long wait.

In the next day, the boy stirred only once. Uther realised eventually that he was going to have to move, if only to find something to eat. Merlin obviously hadn't thought of that when he was awake and so it was down to Uther to find some food. If only he knew how when he had no wood and no crossbow.

A thorough search of the area revealed nothing except for a couple of sticks, a lot of mud and water and not a lot else. Stomach still rumbling, he returned to his vigil next to the boy just as night closed in.

Wherever he was, it was cold and the constant chill kept him awake long after he would have been asleep in Camelot. The insects that flew constantly in the moons light played their part too and soon he was left wondering if he would have an inch of skin left unbitten when the night ended, Eventually, as he knew they must, his thoughts turned to the ambush.

They had been travelling Escetia on a biannual royal visit that had happened ever since he was a little boy. Arthur had had to come to, just as he had with his father, and the knights and servants that accompanied them were essential on such visits. He had thought they were safe. He had thought nothing could happen. He had thought wrong.

They had come out of nowhere, with no warning. A brief flash of metal, a blur in the corner of his vision and the air was full of yells and cries of pain. Arthur, like the noble fool he was had dived in front of his father, defending him at all costs.

Uther remembered the feeling of blind panic as his son was struck once on the shoulder, then again on the leg, so consumed in his son that he hardly noticed the blow that killed his horse and sent him tumbling down the bank into the river below. He remembered hitting the water, the air knocked out of him, sinking and then rising again, struggling frantically against the strongest enemy he had ever known.

The rest was a blur.

The night darkened further still and memory's still flashing across his vision, sleep gently rose to claim him.

Whispers On The Wind :: Whispers On The Wind

"Arthur? Arthur can you hear me?"

Arthur Pendragon opened his eyes and saw the vague shape of Gaius peering down at him concernedly. He blinked and the world came into clearer focus. Now he could see Morgana standing next to the physician, her normally clear face pressed into a frown, and just behind her, Gwen, her hands twisting her dress nervously.  
>He opened his mouth to ask something – probably, 'what happened?' - but the movement pained him and it took all his effort not to cry out.<p>

"Arthur, I need to know if you can hear me. Nod for me if you can hear me."

Slowly, painfully, Arthur nodded.

"Good, sire, very good," Gaius said in relief. "I want you to drink this for me -" a bottle appeared in front of Arthur "- it'll lessen the pain."

He gritted his teeth and tried to reach for the bottle but pain overtook him and this time he did cry out, unable to keep it in. Dimly, he was aware of people gasping, frantic cries, but then he knew no more.

It must have only been a moment later that he came back into consciousness because some foul liquid was being poured down his throat and Morgana and Gwen were still there.

"What _is_ that?" he rasped once he had swallowed it all.

Gaius smiled tightly.

"I doubt you would want to know, sire." He placed the bottle down on a nearby table. "Now, if you can, I want you to tell me where it hurts and how much."

"Everywhere," Arthur said. "Mainly my shoulder and hip. And every time I breathe-" he winced. "And generally every time I move," he finished.

"Yes, thank you sire." Gaius looked as if he had heard exactly what he had expected to hear as he took a seat on a stool next to Arthur's head. "I'm afraid I shall have to ask you if you remember what happened."

"What-" Arthur struggled to bring his thoughts together and a moment later he was struggling, trying to rise.

""Sire, no!" Gaius cried, alarmed. A hand pressed down on his shoulder and Arthur cried out in pain again, slumping back onto the bed. "Sire, you must rest."

"But, the ambush!" Arthur cried. "There was an ambush, my father, is he all right?"

The three occupants of the room exchanged glances.

"Where is he? What's wrong, I demand you tell me!"

"Arthur," Morgana said finally. "We don't know what happened. Only that you set off for Escetia one week ago, and you returned alone two days ago."

"What?" Arthur could hear his voice getting fainter. "He- he's _dead_?"

"Not necessarily, sire-"

"But you think so." Arthur closed his eyes, feeling the burning sensation and willing it to stop. "Wait, what about Merlin? What happened to him?"

The pause was longer this time and a heavy sensation settled in his stomach, almost like lead. He felt the sudden urge to throw up.

"Merlin has not returned either," Gaius said heavily. "You are the only person to have returned."

Arthur almost did throw up then, but instead of anything coming out, he just dry retched. Gwen appeared with a bucket just in case.

"But Merlin always-" Arthur said. "Even with the dragon-" he retched again and felt the burning sensation in his eyes getting larger. "It's _Merl_in, he's always fine."

Gaius looked away, his voice almost a whisper.

"Not this time."

Whispers On The Wind :: Whispers On The Wind

It took a few days for Arthur to recover enough from his wounds – both mental and physical – so that he could walk about. Everywhere he went, pitying eyes accompanied him and wished more than ever that Merlin was at his side.

Merlin! How he had taken the boy for granted, how he had always expected him to be just _there_, and now he was _gone_. Gone, away, for it was unlikely that anyone survived the ambush and if they did, they would have made their way home by now. Arthur didn't know exactly when Merlin became an irreplaceable part of his life, didn't know when he had come to care for the boy so, only that now he was gone there was huge whole in his heart, his mind and his life.

Oh, fate was cruel.

There were plenty of other mourners, yet some of them refused to believe the news until they knew for certain. These people were most prominently Gwaine, Gwen, Lancelot, Elyan, Percival and all the others. At times, he agreed with them as he refused to accept his loss, but at others he knew with cold certainty that there was no coming back from this blow.

He was dead. They were dead. Both of them. Merlin and his father.

Sometimes, he wondered who had meant more to him, but soon gave up as he realised he didn't know.

Against Gaius's orders, he made plans for a search party the next day. They argued but eventually the physician realised that Arthur wouldn't take no for an answer and gave him a variety of potions to stop the pain and infection. Gratefully, he thanked the man before asking a servant to prepare everything that they needed.

It was no surprise to him when the next morning, all of the Knights of the Round Table turned up. He had counted on it.

The journey took two days, quicker than before due to their fewer numbers and more urgent quest. When they reached the sight of the ambush, Arthur almost wished he had never come. Images of Merlin and his father lying broken on the ground invaded his mind at every opportunity.

They spread out to search for any survivors, all on the look out for a certain raven haired boy.

None was found.

That night, a depressive mood fell on them all and there was little talk. Gwaine supplied the alcohol that they so desperately need to distract themselves and the laughter that filled the air afterwards was not their own.

The next morning, they started burying the bodies, noting down the names of the dead. They finished in anger as still no Merlin or Uther was found and their search was spread wider. That evening, they were forced to give up as their supplies only allowed them to stay for so long.

As they travelled home the next day, two of Arthur's wounds reopened but he ignored them. They were not important. They could be fixed by Gaius; the other two pains, the ones that encompassed him so greatly, could never be healed.

Camelot came into sight, yet none of them felt any joy. Gaius, Gwen, Morgana and the rest of the knights were revealed to be waiting for them as they road into the courtyard. One look at their faces should have been enough confirmation, but Morgana still asked and turned away to hide the grief at the answer she got.

Arthur dismounted and threw the reins at a servant, striding up the steps and finding his way to his chambers. The doors slammed shut behind him, but Gwen slipped in a moment later.

"Why are you so angry?" she asked and he turned to face her, not hiding the tears that ran down his face.

"They're dead," he said. "All of them. You heard."

Still, she pressed him for an answer and eventually he broke, eyes bloodshot and hands clenched by his side.

"Do you want to know?"

"Yes, " she whispered.

"I couldn't find them!"

"Who?"

Need she ask?

"My father, or Merlin. They weren't there!" He swore, using a word he had never uttered in a ladies present before.

She wrapped her arms around him and all of a sudden, he couldn't hold it in any more. The tears broke free and he howled and wept and shouted in equal measures such as he had not done for years, not since he was a little child. When he had finished, he collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.

Gwen took one last look at him, shaking with repressed emotions as she refused to cry in front of him, and exited the room quietly. In one last attempt to escape the pain, Arthur closed his eyes and wished he was dead.

Whispers On The Wind :: Whispers On The Wind

Hundreds of miles away, a raven haired boy snapped his eyes open and the man hunched next to him stirred in relief.


	3. Exit Wounds

**An: **So, you thought the last update was a while in coming. Sorry. It turns out that me and life don't get on very well. On the other hand, at least you know that this hasn't been abandoned, right?

As usual, I'd like five reviews before continuing. Which, y'know, I will. Eventually. As one reviewer pointed out, I'm behind on my one chapter per year! Also, thanks to Ryne42 who pointed out that Arthur seemed more upset about Merlin's death than Uther's. I've tried to rectify that in this chapter, but you can probably tell that I may like Merlin just a _tiny_ bit more than Uther.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

It crept up on Arthur slowly, sneaking up until he wasn't sure for how long he had been aware of it, just that he had.

_Uther is gone. My _father _is gone._

It would hit him while he was working by the fire, the soft warmth and crackles bringing back memories that would leave him shaking as he tried to repress his emotions. Sometimes he would be talking to someone, listening to the problem and think that they should see the King, not him. Then he realised he _was_ the King. It hurt like nothing else, except, maybe, Merlin - but no, even that was different.

Arthur had felt the loss of his best friend immediately, purely because he was always there, even when he wasn't supposed to be. A constant part of his life for the past five years, Merlin had been a irritating, incompetent buffoon, but somehow, he'd wound his way into Arthur's heart.

Uther's role in his life, on the other hand, had been from a distance, a fact he had resented since he was a toddler. He'd had to request an audience just to speak to him, for goodness sake, and then there was all the times he'd been thrown in the dungeons for simply daring to speak to him as to a father.

But for all his faults, Uther had been the only father Arthur had ever known, and although it took longer than with Merlin, the loss hit him just as hard.

Gwen was a rock in these times. She was there with words of sympathy whenever he felt the world was conspiring against him, visions of the future for when every second was a struggle, and a kiss and an embrace to help fill in the dark abyss left by the absence of the two most important people in his life.

Most importantly, however, she was there when Gaius came into his chambers one afternoon, armed with a heavy tome and a grim look.

"What is it?" Arthur had asked wearily. He hadn't got much sleep the night before due to dreams full of corpses that looked suspiciously like his father and manservant, and it had left him in a dark mood.

"It's about Merlin, sire," the physician replied.

For a brief, wonderful, glorious moment, Arthur felt a burst of hope, for if it was about Merlin, then it must mean there was news, and if that were so, then it meant Merlin was alive! His hopes fell as soon as they rose, however; Gaius would not look so troubled if that was the case.

"What about Merlin?" he asked warily.

"I - it's hard to say, sire. It's something he wanted to tell you very much, but felt he couldn't. I thought that since - since he's not with us anymore, I should let you know."

"Gaius, what do you mean?"

"You might want to sit down. You too, Gwen."

Arthur shared a glance with his lover, then sat down in a stiff, wooden chair obediently. "What is it?" he repeated.

"Merlin had a secret," Gaius said after a large, hefty sigh. "He used it to save your life, Arthur, you have to understand that. That was the point, and it wasn't even as if he had much choice about the matter-"

"You're babbling," Arthur said bluntly and took note of the way the old man seemed to sag slightly, as though there was no longer any place to run or hide. Then, finally, he came out with it.

"Merlin had magic."

Whispers On The Wind :: Whispers On The Wind

The first thing Merlin thought when awoke was; _I'm alive_. It was a surprise. Last time he'd been conscious, there had been no strength in his bones and his mind was sluggish and unresponsive. He'd barely had the good sense to use his neckerchief as a bandage on Uther's - well, he was pretty sure it was Uther - head wound. Perhaps his magic had something to do with it.

"You're awake, then."

Ah. That was definitely Uther. Slowly, Merlin sat up, glancing around to gather his bearings, his back twinging with a painful reminder of the rock that had cut him when he fell in the river. "Yes, sire," he said quickly, seeing the King sat with his back against the cliff. "Uh, if you don't mind me asking, where are we?"

"Hell. At least, that's Hell's Mouth over there. There is no name for these parts."

Merlin followed Uther's nod to where the river exited the cliff in a large free fall. Now that he thought about it, that must be what the great thundering sound was, where it hit the lake at the bottom. He'd assumed it was something to do with a concussion.

"I've never seen a waterfall so large," he murmured in wonder. "It's a miracle we survived."

"We won't if we don't find something to eat soon," Uther said pointedly.

Merlin took the hint and started to stand up, swaying on the spot before he managed to gain some balance. The pain in his back was much more prominent now and he started to probe the area with his fingers, finding plenty of blood. He grimaced. It would be difficult to bandage accurately, but it needed to be done - at some point at least. Right now, the King was looking at him with something akin to a glare and he didn't need any prompting to get moving.

The ground seemed to move underneath him with every step and a couple of times, Merlin almost fell, only just managing to right himself in time. There were a couple of sticks lying on the ground. They were long dead and would break quite easily but Merlin picked them up anyway; there were the only thing to hand.

He staggered over to the waters edge and picked up a pebble. He wondered what had happened to Arthur - the ambush had been a blur and he vaguely remembered incapacitating a few men with some well concealed magic before a stray horse that was out of it's mind with panic had knocked him over headfirst into the river. Presumably the knights had fought the bandits off but still, Arthur was a magnet for trouble. Who knew what had happened to him?

Thumping the pebble on the ground quickly broke it into several pieces, and if there was a tiny bit of magic involved, no one would ever know. Merlin took the largest of these and broke it again, this time more strategically, to make a sharp point.

Next, he needed a strip of cloth. He'd already used his neckerchief to bandage Uther's wound, so he worked at his shirt instead, eventually managing to rip a piece off that was large enough to do the job. A dizzy spell hit him as he moved for the wood which he'd placed next to him. Black dots swam across his vision and his arms jerked, the pointed shard shooting out of his hands.

As quickly as it came, it passed, leaving Merlin wondering what on Earth had just happened. It didn't matter; he needed to finish this job quickly, so he could deal with the cut on his back. He had no energy to walk so he crawled over to the shard of stone, taking the wood and cloth with him, tying them all together until he had a makeshift spear. He was feeling tired now, the toll of his injuries and the ambush showing, sucking his energy persistently. _Don't stop now, _he told himself, _Uther's right. If you don't eat something soon, then surviving this long will have been pointless._

He stood up slowly. The water lapped at his bare feet - he must have lost his boots somewhere along the line, which was a shame, because he'd liked those - and he took a hesitant step forward, then a few more. He waited for the water to still from this disturbance.

There! Something glided into sight under water and, quick as a snake, Merlin stabbed downwards with his homemade spear, striking it with the first hit. He flicked it onto the shore then had to wait ten minutes for another to come by. He speared it with one strike but had to stab it again before it was dead. The dead stick shattered on the second blow.

Now they had two fish but nothing to cook them on. It was better than nothing he supposed, but his stomach was aching _now _and he had nothing to fill it with.

When Merlin returned to the cliff-side Uther was asleep, his head lolling against his chest. It occurred to the young man that this was the longest he'd ever been alone with the King. Before, Arthur had always been there - annoying, prattish Arthur who may or may not be alive - acting as a buffer between them. Now he'd have to look after himself for however long it took to get back to Camelot. His secret had never been this dangerous, especially if they were both going to get back to Camelot alive.

Alive. Being alive would be a good start, and while they both were for the moment, they wouldn't stay that way for long without food and water.

Food, which required fire - for heaven's sake, why couldn't he concentrate? _Concussion_, he reminded himself.

Right. Fire. Well, there was no wood about and any plants in the lake would be soaked through, making them completely useless. There wasn't even any grass, he realised, glancing around in desperation. There was nothing else for it. Reluctantly, he pulled off his shirt, the red one that he liked so much, and laid it on the ground. It looked forlorn, lying there by itself, crumpled in a heap like that.

_Merlin, it's a shirt,_ said a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Arthur.

He scowled. Yes, it was a shirt, but it was _favourite_ shirt - and that made all the difference. Oh well, he told himself, and with a furtive glance at Uther to make sure he was still asleep, he allowed his eyes to flash gold, once, no, twice. A flame leapt up immediately, pleasantly warm on his face. Without further ado, Merlin held the two fish above it and settled down for a wait.

.

With a little bit of magic to speed the process of cooking up, the fish was soon done. Merlin poked it just to make sure, then headed over to the still sleeping Uther.

"Sire?" he called cautiously, wondering what the correct procedure was for waking royalty. Somehow, he didn't think that a, 'Let's have you, lazy Daisy' was part of it.

It seemed to work. The king stirred and raised his head, eyes instantly narrowing on the food. "Finally," he drawled.

Merlin resisted the urge to snap - 'like you did any better' - and handed him a fish. "My lord." He bowed, then backed away so he could eat in peace.

Whatever type of fish it was, it tasted like heaven. Its natural juices exploded in his mouth and seemed to melt on his tongue. His stomach, finally realising that there was food around, growled in response and reminded him of just how hungry he really was.

It was Uther that interrupted him, just as he started to rip into the meat properly with his teeth, spitting out tiny bones as he came across them.

"You're missing your shirt," the King observed, his voice clipped.

Merlin looked down at his skinny frame, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. "We needed a fire," was the only explanation he gave. It was bad enough that he was stuck in an unknown place with a man who stood against everything that he was, but now his body was exposed in a way he had hoped it never to be.

Uther nodded, and resumed eating. He made no further comment, but Merlin continue to feel his eyes on his skin and it was with great relief that he finished his meal and stood up, turning towards the lake.

The dirt and mud smeared onto his feet as he walked, stones pressing uncomfortably into skin. It was tedious that he had no shoes, especially if they would have to walk back to Camelot, but it was not the first time he had had to cope barefoot. Back in Ealdor, the materials needed to make shoes were expensive due to a lack of them in the area. Hunith did not have much money - life was hard for anyone in the outlying villages, more so for the mother of a bastard child - and what little they had was often spent on food and repairs for their house. The few times Merlin had managed to buy footwear was when traders passed through, which was not very often, and barter for some.

He reached the waters edge and started to strip off his remaining clothes, refusing to look behind him to where Uther was no doubt watching. He could almost pretend that he still had his dignity if he did not acknowledge the other's presence.

"What are you doing?"

Well, so much for that. Merlin straightened, laying out his clothes neatly next to him in the driest spot he could find. "Bathing," he replied as he turned to look at Uther. "I can't easily reach the cut on my back, and I'd rather not risk infection."

Uther nodded, but his face twisted uncomfortably. Whatever he was thinking, however, he kept to himself and resumed leaning against the cliff, picking his fingers idly. Satisfied that he would not watch nor interrupt, Merlin turned back to the water and waded in, closing his eyes and shivering as the cold seeped through his body. After acclimatising himself, he dived under and scooped some sand from the bottom of the lake, and rose back to the surface, treading water. Around him, the clear aqua was discoloured with a weak rusty brown as the dried blood from some of his wounds released its hold on his skin and washed away.

After taking a moment to relax, he began to scrub at his skin with the sand, twisting around awkwardly to get to some of the cuts until he felt he was clean enough. Then, he waded back out of the water and picked up his clothes. A wind had picked up while he was swimming and he allowed this to dry him off, shivering with his arms across his chest. He noted that Uther had moved further up the cliff in an effort to shelter himself more, and then dragged his clothes back on, glad for the little protection they offered.

Finally, he began to walk back to the hostile king, weariness clutching him as he wondered what they would do now.

Whispers On The Wind :: Whispers On The Wind

"Magic?" Arthur laughed hollowly, and it was only Gwen's hand on his arm that stopped him from rising to his feet. "If you're attempting to distract me from my grief, it's working, but please don't tell me falsehoods."

Gaius smiled grimly. "I'm not lying, Arthur. Merlin-" he sighed. "Merlin was complicated. He did not seek magic; it chose him. From the moment he was born, he could wield its power."

"You're wrong!" Arthur shouted, one hand balling into a fist, the other gripping Gwen's tightly. "Please. You have to be."

"I'm sorry, Arthur, but it's the truth."

Arthur hid his face in his hands, fingers pressing into his skull uncomfortably and his took pleasure in the pain, allowing it to sweep over him. "Not him," he whispered. "Anyone but him."

"I don't understand," Gwen murmured, her voice breaking, and it was only now that Arthur thought that perhaps she would need comforting too, that Merlin's betrayal would hurt her just as much. "What do you mean magic chose him? Are you saying he was born with it? How - how do you know about it?"

Gaius sighed again, and Arthur can see him in his mind's eye, closing his eyes, lips tightening. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor told him that the old man was taking a seat.

"I mean exactly that," he said finally. "Merlin had no choice in the matter. He was born with magic. He could no better held it than he could help having those ears of his."

"I didn't know that was possible," Gwen whispered.

"It doesn't happen often. I- Fie, I am not explaining this well at all. To explain this properly, I need to start at the beginning, back before the Purge. Before magic was outlawed."

Arthur raised his head briefly, made brief eye contact with the physician and then dropped it back down again when he realised that he lacked the strength to keep it there. "Magic is evil," he muttered to the floor.

"It was not always thought of that way," Gaius said. "Magic used to be celebrated. In fact, when it was found that Ygraine could not get pregnant, it was magic that Uther turned to."

"No," Arthur said. "No, I have heard this before. Morgouse, she told me this. But she lied!"

"That is what your father told you," Gaius said gently. "He was trying not to lose you. He didn't want to be accountable for what happened. Nimueh did cast the spell that allowed your mother fall pregnant, she did warn Uther of the price, and it is because of this that Yrgraine ultimately died. It is one of the most fundamental laws of magic; for every life given, one must be taken. When you were born, when Ygraine died, Uther realised what had happened. He went mad, tried to kill Nimueh but she ran and he was left with an all consuming hatred and guilt. Without being able to resolve the pain that he felt, he turned on all magic kind. That was when the Purge began."

Beside him, Gwen gasped. Arthur trembled, a tear leaking from his eyes. "But Merlin told me it was a trick," he said.

"You were going to kill your own father. It was the only way in which you would listen."

"Then he should have let me!" Arthur roared and he stood up, his chair scraping backwards as he slammed his palms against the table. Gwen jumped, her face pale. "Is it not enough that my mother was taken from me, that my father lied to me? How much more do I have to suffer?"

"Arthur, please," Gwen whispered.

"No! I am fed up of people hiding the truth! Is honesty too much to ask for?" His legs shook, and fell back into his chair before they gave up on him. "I- He was my _friend_."

"And he was yours." Gaius clasped his hands over the book he had brought with him. "Do not think even for a second, that although he had to hide from you, that he lied to you, that he did not love you as a brother. Everything he did was for you. His greatest dream was that one day, he would tell you, that he could live without fear for his life, that that there would be no secrets between you." Gaius's voice turned sharp. "And don't forget, for as long as your father was king, to reveal his secret to anyone would mean almost certain death."

"Do you think that that makes it any better?" Arthur demanded. "He had magic! Sorcery! Magic corrupts, it twists even the purest of hearts."

"No," Gaius corrected. "I used to practice magic, before the Purge. Would you consider me evil?"

"Of course not," Gwen said when Arthur didn't answer, although her voice now seemed uncertain.

"Please understand, when Merlin came to Camelot it was because he needed protecting. He had no control over his magic, had no training. Hunith was at her wit's end and this was the best solution she could think of. He came here Arthur, and he found a purpose - he found you. You see, there is a prophecy, one that the druids are very fond of." Gaius paused, then pushed the book forwards, flipping it open to a certain page, the crease in the spine suggesting it was often looked at. "Here, read it for yourself."

With shaking hands, Arthur pulled the book closer, blinking several times to clear his eyes so that he could focus properly. Next to him, Gwen shifted closer, her dark curls brushing against him. 'The Once and Future King' were the first words on the page, and he was sure he had heard them before some time, but his mind was in so much turmoil it would be useless to try and find the memory. He narrowed his eyes, one finger tracing underneath the words as he read of an all powerful warlock who assisted a king in uniting Albion and bringing about a golden age, where magic was accepted. He laughed.

"You can't be serious. What has this got to do with me?"

Gaius raised an eyebrow as if expecting Arthur to have worked it out by now, and perhaps he should have. "The druids believe that Merlin is - I mean, that Merlin was - Emrys. And he, in turn, believed that he had found the Once and Future King."

Arthur swallowed hard, trying to ignore the pain of hearing Merlin referred to in the past tense. The anger was rising again, the hurt never having left and he was overcome with so many emotions that he had never learnt how to deal with except when Merlin (_traitor_) was there. He clenches his jaw.

"I think you should leave," he said quietly, his voice low and dangerous.

"Arthur, please hear me out," Gaius continued, his voice tinged with a desperation that Arthur pretended not to hear.

"Leave!"

There was a moment of silence where Gwen looked at him with disapproval, where Gaius hunched over with pain etched into his features, and then the elderly physician stood up and shuffled out of the room with resignation.

"Arthur," Gwen murmured, reaching out to him. He didn't respond, knowing that if he spoke now, he would not be able to hold back the tidal wave of emotions that threatened to engulf him. He stood up, paced the room twice and then lay on his bed, curling up in an effort to feel more secure. A few moments later there was a dip in the mattress behind him. Arms slowly encircled him around his waist and that, it turned out, was the final straw.

Tears fell swiftly down his face as he sobbed, his only thoughts of _betrayaltraitormagic_ and could not separate them from either Merlin or Uther. A wetness at his back told him that Gwen was faring just as well, and this made it even worse as he realised the full extent of the repercussions of the knowledge he had just been given, and he could hardly breathe, couldn't think, could just feel _pain_.

They did not move for a few hours and simply lay there, crying.

Together.


End file.

Merlin, Adventure, Friendship