#i beg someone with actual knowledge on the subject either confirm or deny any of the above

[david-talks-sw]

The fact that Dave Filoni called Anakin “the greatest Jedi ever” is proof that he’s bias AF. His anti-Jedi rhetoric is bupkis.

I wonder if he means "the greatest" in terms of in-universe fame...?

Dunno if this is the case in Canon (then again Dave Filoni blatantly ignores any *non-motion* transmedia elements in Canon so meh), but in Legends he's:

"Anakin Skywalker, the Hero with no Fear™, handsome, dashing, the face of the Republic's army during the Clone War, the only Jedi who tried to resist the nefarious Order's coup and was treacherously murdered for it".

And I seem to remember that, in Canon, he's like the Jedi Temple's superstar anyway, every Jedi recognizes him on sight. I mean, that line from Baylon about "Anakin speaking highly of Ahsoka" must have some meaning beyond artificial personal stakes.

So from a fame and a "power level" standpoint... sure.

He's the greatest.

I'm giving Filoni the benefit of the doubt.

While I've talked about why Filoni's entire headcanon about the Jedi doesn't track with what George Lucas' intended narrative, I think it's worth acknowledging that Filoni's bias comes from part of his duties while directing The Clone Wars was.

One of the goals of TCW was humanizing Anakin, expanding upon his character make him go from "a character whose only purposes is to embody the themes presented in three movies based on the matinee serial format" to a relatable person, a good man, the hero Ben mentions to Luke in A New Hope.

I think it's normal that he'll see Anakin in a more positive light.

Also (and full disclosure this is just me theorizing I am no authority on any of this so if turns out I'm wrong just come right out and say so)...

I'm pretty sure that Filoni, Lesley Headland and most of the recent Star Wars authors are all Gen X, raised by baby boomers forced to conform to society, obey authority and have proper decorum (boys don't cry!) all of which they strove to rebel against. Add to that the corruption they witnessed growing up and coming out of high school, and you see a kind of jadedness emerge. "The rules aren't as black and white, the world is grey."

So while most of them and the boomers despised the Prequels upon release, a few of them projected a more individualistic headcanon onto those movies that fit with where their head was, at the time.

As such: Anakin isn't interpreted by them as a cautionary tale about what happens when you're greedy. He's a misunderstood rebel, a non-conformist who has his flaws but is ultimately good at heart. Which isn't entirely inaccurate, but it is very clearly an embellishment of a character who will one day become a space nazi.

The fact is... the Prequels were made by a boomer. One with very liberal values and who was himself a rebel, but a boomer all the same. The whole point of his story is...

"we all must come together and fight as one, if push comes to shove; we must all be compassionate and selfless if we are to survive; don't be greedy, let people go when it's their time to leave".

And then he makes the Jedi say that, making them beacons of truth and good and compassion in his fairy tale, now aimed at Gen Z kids.

Gen X-ers hear/read that and project all the boomer BS they had been told onto the Jedi...

"oh, so the Jedi are saying you shouldn't love yourself, you shouldn't be yourself, you should give up on what makes you an individual to fit in, you shouldn't feel any emotions"

Because nobody is that good, realistically, right?

This happened in other mediums. The one that comes to mind on the spot is the relationship between Mufasa and Scar.

In The Lion King, Mufasa is strong and noble, Scar is weak and conniving. Simple enough. Around that same time, in A Tale of Two Brothers, young Mufasa is shown to be pretty nice with Taka (Scar), who is framed as a spoiled brat to begin with.

Skip to the 2019 remake, and it's hinted Mufasa gave Scar his wound, and in The Lion Guard they explain that Scar got his nickname from Mufasa mocking him for a misadventure.

He went from being a noble king to a bully who had it coming, Scar is an underdog who got picked on. Because again: nobody is that pure, right? Fairytales be-damned.

Nothing is black and white, it's all grey.

So yeah, long story short I do think that Filoni being part of the generation that wasn't the target demographic but was old enough to retcon the crap out of the Prequels also plays a role into his view of Anakin.

[skylights422]

Seed of a Memory

Here is my piece for @arowrimo! This features D&D iterations of my novel characters, and there’s a lot more to both of these characters’ stories, but hopefully this serves as a nice introduction to them.

Title: Seed of a Memory

Language: English

Category: Short Story (Theme: Subverting Romantic Tropes, Fantasy)

Prompt: Friendship

Genre: Fantasy, Drama

Word count: 1907

Content warnings: Brief mentions of racism and arophobia.

Summary: Fiera Casales takes a stroll with her pretend boyfriend and ponders the importance of things like love and memory.

Cold. Distant. That’s what the others had always called her, in whispers that faded down the corridors, in offhand remarks that begged judgement be met with indifference. Ever since she had awoken surrounded by cold ruins, vague images and feelings telling her that whoever she had been, she had been unwanted, and decided to become an anthropologist. They admired her skill in spell casting and dedication to her cause, but questioned her work, and refrained from getting too close. They doubted a high elf lacking the famed fair complexion could advance at such a rate without deception. They thought it undignified to spend so much time studying the cultures of ‘lesser’ species.

But it was well enough that they did not want to spend time with her. She did not very much want to spend time with them either. They were narrow minded and could tell her nothing of her missing past. They gossiped about her ‘lack of love’ despite their own callous indifference towards her.  It was enough to simply know how they thought, and how to best maneuver them to make her life easier.

It was also, she had to admit, more convenient for her current study that she not have much to lose in regards to relationships, as she was currently committing an unwritten social taboo simply to see what changes it might or might not have in the long run: she was ‘dating’ a drow elf.

The bitter, hated enemy of her people, so often described as ruthless killers and amoral abominations, as nature’s greatest mistake. She had often wondered if the drow were half as vile as the stories told, but after having met one it seemed more likely the hatred came from an old grudge allowed to fester, the separation of their countries making outlandish exaggerations difficult to disprove. A high elf being a partner to a drow elf was unheard of, and she had just enough status to see the effects of such a scandal.

The drow elf in question, who now lead her down a street gently by the arm, was a fellow by the name of Kadri. They had met quite by chance at a library, when she was knocked down a staircase and nearly took him down with her. Things were sorted out, and she had immediately wanted to interview him despite her own nervousness once realizing what he was. It took some persuasion, and the promise to make the interview a two-way one (she felt she was enormously fortunate that the first person from her sworn enemy’s country was a scholar such as herself), but she got to spend the day conversing with him. Despite the clear distrust he held towards her and his barely concealed agitation, it proved to be one of the more amiable and fascinating conversations she’d ever had. He answered questions thoroughly and with a frank wryness, and asked thoughtful questions in return.

During the next two weeks they met up every day to talk more, and typically ended up conversing for hours on end. They were both frank with their prejudices, though she felt them growing more at ease as time went on. She learned Kadri was a warlock, sworn to serve the demon Kir’giren after they saved his life when he was a child, and was disappointed but unsurprised to learn he had suffered several times at the hands of her people. She told him about her fractured memories, and of her time spent with the sea elves.

By the time Kadri had to depart to serve his master on some quest, she was surprised to find that she was missing his company. She didn’t tend to miss people, if anything she felt more at ease when she alone in her house. Usually the only feelings of longing she felt were in connection to her mangled memories, the faces she could recall but not quite put into context. She definitely couldn’t call the feeling she had love, if she had to guess she probably missed the intellectual challenge of working with someone so different and so on edge.

Regardless of the cause, she determined that if ever they crossed paths again, they would speak at length. That was when she realized that he would actually be perfect for an experiment that she had had in mind for some time, if he could be persuaded. Suffice to say, they did cross paths again, she did manage to persuade him to fake being her partner for up to six months, and they had now been living together and pretending to date for a little over a month. And the initial reaction of her people was horrified confusion as she and Kadri had expected, but over the weeks, opinions started to become more varied. Some applauded their bravery, others thought Kadri had cruelly put her under an enchantment, and some thought this was the final proof that she was a willful traitor and could never be trusted.

Just walking down the street as they were now, people were glancing and glaring at them, some people hurried to get out of their presence, others stared and whispered to their neighbors. They were walking through the city square, browsing some shops before looking for a place to eat.

“Are your thoughts happy, Fiera?” Kadri asked, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Huh? Oh, I was just reminiscing a bit. So perhaps bittersweet is a better descriptor. Why, did I look happy?” she asked.

“You looked contemplative. Are your contemplations ones you’d wish to share?” he said. Fiera turned to look at him properly. Even now he insisted on keeping his hood up in public, and his eyes were watchful, but underneath the wariness he did seem genuinely curious.

“I suppose…if I may ask, what do you think of love? I promise it’s relevant,” she said. Kadri seemed only slightly taken aback by the question; one of the first things she had told him before agreeing to the experiment was that she would never love him, and if he fell in love with her then that was his own problem to deal with alone, so he already knew the subject was one she had given thought to. He gave the question a moment of thought before answering.

“If anything, I think it is something I understand very poorly. I claim only to love Kir’giren, but that is truthfully a wild oversimplification. I know it drives others in equal parts to great acts of generosity and great acts of cruelty. I know there is very little agreement, between individuals or between groups, what exactly ‘true’ love is, and yet they at the same time take for granted that people will recognize it with ease and react accordingly. I have read enough to have some idea what most people see as loving actions, and to know that it is associated with attachment. But that is where my knowledge ends, I’m afraid.”  He said.

“Then you don’t know much more than myself,” Fiera sighed. “I was wondering about the nature of feelings, and the nature of relationships, and how they relate to memory. You have all your memories intact, and have, I believe, had crushes before, so I hoped you might be able to offer some insight. You don’t suppose emotions can be born of memories, do you?” Kadri looked quizzical.

“Crushes? I would hardly relate those to love…ah, but to answer your question, not exactly. I think it more accurate to say emotions are associated with memories. We do feel things in the present, after all.” He said.

“True…then I ask you instead, are there any memories you would forget if you could? Would you still be you if you had different memories?” she said. She knew she was prying at what was both purely a hypothetical and quite possibly personal, but the possibility of losing more memories, or of not being who she used to be, were ones she considered often. If she asked too personal a question Kadri would just tell her that.

“Hmm… I believe it may be more truthful to say there are many things I wish had never happened to me in the first place. But they did happen, so I would not let go of them.” He said. Then he chuckled to himself. “But then, I am an incredibly miserable person often stuck in the past. Surely, if I had different memories, the essence of me would be the same, but I would see the world in a different light.” Fiera thought about that. Without her old memories, she had been forced to grow new ones, and she wasn’t discontent with them…

“That is fair. I suppose I just wonder if my old memories have truly withered away or not. It can feel strange to be ‘moving on’ when that is not certain.” She said.

“Well, I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to in any way judge…” Then his expression grew slightly softer. “Truly, Fiera, you are not lacking in any respect. You are exceptionally driven and kind, and brilliant beyond compare. I do not doubt you will find joy and peace in your own way, no matter the circumstances of your memories or your relationship with that nebulous thing called ‘love’.”  Fiera smiled at that. Kadri would sometimes just say stuff like that, about her or about some of his old travel companions, and yet still denied having friends or attachments in this world outside of his master. Though she did sometimes wonder if he simply idolized anyone who wasn’t cruel to him. Either way, it was an appreciated statement even if she yearned to be able to confirm its truth in a more concrete way.

“You are kind to say so. I have a similar faith in you.” She said, and she did believe it. Kadri gave a laugh, and the thinly veiled pain in his eyes made it clear that he didn’t.

“Truly, you are too generous. Ah, but here we are, I don’t think I’ve been to this place before. Can you tell me of it?” he said. Fiera silently noted the quick change of subject, and then went on to tell him whatever she could of the little restaurant they had come upon.

She had always been called ‘cold’ and ‘distant’. And even now, she knew she was not in love. But she didn’t feel cold, or distant, when she was chasing her memories or spending time with Kadri. She wasn’t sure why he seemed to be an exception, perhaps it was simply because he had no expectations of her other than to fulfill her side of their agreements without mocking or betraying him, which was easy enough to do since he always did the same on his end. No, the feeling wasn’t love, but it was a warm kind of feeling. She wondered if they were friends, or only amiable business partners, or if it really made a difference. Certainly, if she called him her friend to his face, he’d probably find some excuse to go away and never return. But privately, she would like to think of him as a friend. She didn’t know what her past would reveal, about herself or about those she must have known, but there was always the present, and a dream for the future.

Perhaps the memory of joy and peace could still be grown in some other way.  

[elisaphoenix13]

Trigger The Light (Ch.6)

Nothing went further than the steamy makeout sessions, and they did eventually return to their room in the compound, but Scott obviously had a lot on his mind. He tossed and turned in his bed while in the throes of a nightmare, and Quill had woken up when Scott cried out in his sleep. He ignored the impulse to get up and wake Scott from his nightmare, but if it got too severe, he would. But he waited. The tossing and turning didn't escalate at first, but then it did, and just as Quill was about to get up, Scott woke and sat up in his bed. The pirate relaxes back into his bed with the knowledge that the younger thief was finally free of his nightmare, but then he felt a dip in the mattress. Scott must have needed the security of having someone closer than a few feet away and that was fine. It wasn't the first time they slept in the same bed. Back at the lake house, they constantly fell asleep watching movies, whether it was on the couch or either of their bedrooms, and this was really no different.

The only thing different was that Scott came to his bed for comfort from a nightmare instead of falling asleep on it because of convenience during a movie. That was still fine though. If crawling into bed next to Quill helped Scott sleep, the pirate wouldn't deprive him of that comfort. As he tried to go back to sleep, the tossing and turning continued on Scott's end, until finally he settled down and got comfortable. Wishful thinking. Quill could feel the tension and stress coming off of Scott in waves and there was no way Scott was falling asleep like that. So he threw caution to the wind as he turned onto his side to face Scott, curled his arm around the younger's waist, and pulled him against his chest. They may have slept in the same bed multiple times, but they never cuddled. They always stayed on their respective sides.

But it was obviously what Scott needed, because he relaxed almost instantly. Maybe the weight of Quill's arm helped anchor Scott to reality and chased away the last of his nightmare. Whatever the reason, he wasn't moving away or complaining so Quill was finally able to fall back asleep now that Scott was taken care of.

"Quill." Quill grunts tiredly. "I can't get up Spaceman. Let me go."

Now Scott was complaining? He seemed perfectly content just a minute ago. Quill releases him though and turns onto his stomach to bury his face into his pillow and crush it in a tight hug, and Scott gently jostles his shoulder.

"Come on. We'll miss breakfast."

Breakfast? Was Scott insane? It was the middle of the--

Quill lifts his upper body and looks around the room blearily, and the light streaming through the window was proof enough that Scott was not crazy. He just unfortunately had the kind of sleep where it felt like he just blinked, and he couldn't even enjoy spooning Scott. Who knew when that would happen again? This whole time heist they would be going on in just a couple of hours could be the end of everything, or one of them...a thought that had Quill tensing in realization. Maybe that was the subject of Scott's nightmares.

"Quill!"

"Alright, alright." The older man grouses and throws the sheets off before getting up and shoving Scott. "Hope you like cold water."

He locks himself into the bathroom before Scott can react and sniggers when the thief mumbles something along the lines of "bastard" as he sits to wait for his turn in the shower. Even though Quill had threatened cold water, it was nearly impossible to actually use all the hot water for the compound. He could take a shower for hours and the water would still run hot. Quill made it quick anyway because he very much wanted bacon as part of his breakfast and wouldn't put it past any of the others to eat it all before he and Scott even made it to the kitchen. Once clean, dry, and dressed, Quill heads out of the room and to the dining area and immediately piles food onto his plate before joining the rest of the team at the table.

"After you finish eating, suit up and meet at the tunnel. The sooner we get this over with the better." Tony says to everyone once Scott finally walks in. "I can't believe--" The engineer stops his fork halfway to his mouth when Scott sits down in the empty seat beside Quill.

"Scott...did you get mauled by a raccoon?" Steve asks.

Oh this was an opportunity that Quill was not going to pass up. "Rocket! I thought we talked about this! I told you not to attack people for no reason!"

"WHAT?! I didn't do that!" Rocket screams as he motions toward the very large bruise on Scott's neck and shoulder.

Quill may have gotten carried away yesterday.

"Steve said it was a raccoon-"

"I'm not a raccoon!"

"Sorry. Trash panda." Quill corrects sarcastically.

"Is this because I called you Starmunch?"

"Now it is."

"Hey!" Tony yells. "Cool it! Most of us know that Thumbelina is notorious for tripping over his own feet."

Scott pouts. "Hey, now."

"Don't deny it. Now eat and go get ready!"

When the attention is drawn away from Scott (and Quill) the two look at each other out of the corner of their eyes and hide smirks from the others by looking down at their plates. Once breakfast was consumed, Quill and Scott returned to their room to suit up and it was then they realized that they had never seen the other wearing their battle gear. It was always casual clothes and pajamas, and for a few minutes, the time suit that Scott wore. Quill's gear was still on the casual side with a black shirt, red leather jacket and pants, and his jet boots (and of course the necklaces the girls gave him), and Scott's suit was similar to the time suit.

After hooking his guns to his pants, they headed out to the back and Quill points to the bigger ship. Scott nods and takes one of his shrinking disks out of his belt, throws it at the ship, and they watch as it shrinks to a much more portable size. Quill walks over to it and picks it up, and they return back inside to join the rest of the team at the tunnel.

"You better bring this back the same way I'm giving it to you." Quill threatens Clint and the archer scoffs.

"Yeah. Sure. You got it big guy."

"That's reassuring." Quill gripes sarcastically as he takes his place between Scott and Rocket.

After everyone is in position, Steve gives a motivating speech and then they all activate their time suits before Bruce activates the tunnel and they're thrown into the Quantum Realm. Quill follows Tony, Steve, Scott, and Bruce through a branch of time and they all soon find themselves in New York during the Chitauri invasion. They barely find their footing when Past Hulk passes by the alley they landed in, smashing stray aliens, and they look at Bruce who covers his face in embarrassment.

"You're not going to do that to me are you?" The pirate asks.

"No. The Hulk and I...have an understanding." Bruce replies with a fading blush.

"Alright. Porcupine and Banner will go after the Time Stone. The rest of us will get the Space and Mind Stones." Tony confirms and they nod before splitting up.

Bruce allows the Hulk to take over and Quill follows him downtown to the Sanctum on Bleeker Street. They land on the roof of the Sanctum and head toward the door until a woman speaks up from a few feet beside them.

"I'd be careful going that way. We just had the floors waxed."

Quill and Bruce turn toward the Ancient one and walk a little closer to her before Bruce speaks up. "We're looking for Doctor Strange."

"You're about five years too early. Stephen Strange is currently performing surgery about twenty blocks that way." She points in the opposite direction and then looks back at them. "What do you want from him?"

Quill notices the familiar necklace around the woman's neck and points at it. "That, actually."

The Ancient One looks down at the Eye of Agamotto. "Ah! I'm afraid not."

"Sorry...but we weren't asking."

Bruce approaches the sorcerer and reaches out to take the necklace, but she shoves her hand against the Hulk's chest, shoving Bruce's astral form out of his body. Quill shouts out in surprise and holds his hands up toward the woman in a placating motion in the hopes that she wouldn't do the same to him. She thankfully seemed content to place Hulk's body on a nearby lawn chair before she turns back to Bruce in his astral form and Quill.

"Let's start over, shall we?"

Getting the Time Stone from the Ancient One was like pulling teeth. Bruce even resorted to begging and when she mentioned that handing the stone over would doom her timeline, Quill left it to the scientist to try and convince her to part with it. Bruce understood time travel and timelines so he folded his arms and let them argue over the consequences of what they were trying to do. They already knew for the most part, and Bruce even gave her a solution to branching realities. Their survivability was the next thing to be questioned and Bruce promised that too. That someone would return the stones.

"It is the duty of the Sorcerer Supreme to protect the Time Stone." The Ancient One says and Quill's head snaps up as he unfolds his arms.

"Then why the hell did Strange give it away?!" The pirate asks.

The sorcerer looks over at him. "What did you say?"

"He gave it away. To Thanos. I was there."

"Willingly?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Quill snorts. "Hell if I know. He looked into over fourteen million futures, but maybe he made a mistake."

The Ancient One stares at him for a few moments. "...or I did."

She pulls Hulk's body back toward Bruce, rejoining the two, and opens the Eye of Agamotto to hand the Time Stone over to him. She and Bruce exchange a few more words, and she emphasizes the fact that all of the realities they take the stones from are counting on them to survive. To return them to their rightful places when they're done. Bruce simply nods and turns toward Quill so they can meet up with the others, but the Ancient One calls out to the pirate.

"Mr. Quill...I sense a great power from you."

He shrugs. "Maybe in the past, but those powers are gone now."

"I wouldn't be so sure. You were not given your powers. You were born with them. I think with the right motivation, you could unlock them again." She says and Quill stares at her.

"But they disappeared when I killed my father!"

"No. They went dormant. You focused on his light, when in reality you have your own. You just need to find out how to reawaken those abilities. Find a trigger."

Quill glances between his hands and the woman, and nods before leaving with Bruce to meet back with the other three. When they got back to the alley though, they only found Scott looking agitated and holding a scepter.

"Where are Steve and Tony?" Bruce asks after he returns to normal.

"We screwed up. Then Tony got an idea and they went further back in time!" Scott snarks. "Tony said there's a place to get the Tesseract and more particles and they took that risk-"

"Scott." Quill interrupts the thief's panicked ranting. "Breathe."

Scott huffs and Bruce rubs his eyes. "We can't do anything about it now. Let's just sync up and get back to the compound with the stones we have."

Scott grunts in frustration but nods and they reactivate their time suits so they can press the button that will return them to their original time. They travel through the Quantum Realm again to get back to the compound, and when they get back, everyone (including Tony and Steve) appears with them at the same time and they look at each other with grins.

"Are you saying this actually worked?" Rhodey asks.

The happy victory was short-lived though when Clint fell to his knees in despair. Quill didn't need to look around to realize that they were missing one person.

Natasha didn't come back.

"Clint...where's Nat?" Bruce asks.

That night was quieter than usual as everyone grieved in their own way over their friend. Their family. For Quill, it was Gamora all over again. He lost another friend to the Soul Stone and for a minute, he wondered if this was all worth it. When the original Avengers came back from outside, they all reluctantly agreed that Nat wouldn't want them to give up now. That it would be an insult to her and her sacrifice if they didn't finish what they started. So while Tony, Bruce, and Rocket built a gauntlet to hold the infinity stones, everyone else went to bed with heavy hearts.

Quill wasn't even surprised when Scott slipped into bed next to him. He just pulled him close as he did the night before, and when the younger thief fell asleep, he carefully pried himself from Scott and sat up to look at his hands. He wondered if he really did still have his Celestial powers and tried focusing on the inner light the sorcerer said he had...but nothing. Not even a flicker. Maybe it was a false hope and she was mistaken. It didn't matter either way, he's lived this long without them and could fight just fine.

With that acceptance, Quill laid back down and fell asleep with his arm back around the younger thief at his side.

[winglesscrows]

a drop of truth

AO3 I Patreon I FF.net

Merlin (BBC) I G I Merlin & Arthur I 5k 

Arthur has a truth serum, Merlin lies more than he tells the truth. Who else would Arthur use it on?

Read on AO3 I Patreon I FF.net or under cut

A single drop of the water-like potion will make the victim tell the truth. The effects will last an hour, and once the victim slept, they would remember nothing as they woke. Arthur had come into possession of such a potion, but knew not how to use it or, rather, who to use it on. The vial which held the potion contained roughly ten drops, and while Arthur could think of many uses this potion may have, he felt honor bound to never use it. Who was he to force the truth from an enemy, and what friend would lie to him? He contemplated gifting it to his father, but decided against it in fear that he would abuse its powers. Morgana likely kept many secrets that his father benefited from being ignorant of. So Arthur kept the vial for himself, letting no one know he possessed it, waiting for an opportunity to arise.

When Merlin became his manservant, Arthur thought of using it on him to ask why he was here, and why he was the way he was, but the boy seemed honest and straightforward, so Arthur saw no use for it. Until he did. Merlin drank poison for him. He didn't say how he knew – refused even – and was rather adamant about drinking the poison in Arthur's stead, being the only one in the room believing that it would kill him. He almost died for him, but would tell no one how he had acquired the information. Merlin was not an enemy, but he wasn't quite a friend either. Arthur didn't feel guilty about wanting to force the truth from his servant.

Two weeks later, Arthur put a single drop of the truth potion into Merlin's water-skin as they were out hunting and watched as Merlin drank it without being any the wiser.

Arthur waited awhile, not knowing how long it would take for the potion to take effect. After five minutes he asked a question to test its effects.

“Why were you late this morning?”

“I overslept,” Merlin answered, not sticking to the lie about helping Gaius with some herbs, which he had told that morning, as he had stumbled into his chambers with breakfast. The potion was working and Merlin would remember nothing of the next hour when he woke up in the morning.

“Why did you drink the poison?” Arthur asked casually.

“To save you,” Merlin answered without hesitation. Arthur thought that perhaps that was one of the effects. The victims would answer immediately with the truth. Of course, saying the truth didn't necessarily give Arthur the answers he actually wanted, because Merlin had answered the question truthfully, but remained as elusive as ever.

“Do you know who was responsible for poisoning the chalice?” He tried instead, hoping it would get him closer to getting some answers.

“No.” Interesting.

“Who told you that it was laced with poison?” Arthur pressed, remembering that Merlin had said that someone had seen it being done.

“A servant girl from Mercia, but I think Gaius suspects that she was in disguise,” Merlin said, finally giving a good answer. Arthur nodded as he thought of his next question with the new information in mind.

“Why would she tell you? It could have been her doing.”

“Perhaps,” Merlin agreed. Even with the truth potion in effect, it didn't really stop them from having a real conversation, it only meant that Arthur could be certain that Merlin wasn't lying to him – not that that was normally a concern, “Maybe she wanted Bayard to drink it? He did offer.”

Arthur was silent for a moment. Merlin knew less than he had hoped (he didn't even know what he had hoped would come from this conversation), but the potion was still in effect, so he should take advantage of that.

“What do you think of me?” Arthur asked then, a little smirk on his lips as he eyed Merlin. He saw Merlin smiled before he answered.

“Arrogant,” he said, almost laughed, “A prat, but not as much as I first thought.”

Okay, so Merlin didn't like him that much. Arthur kind of knew that already. But that begged the question.

“Then why did you save me?”

“It is my destiny.”

Arthur asked no questions after that.

In the following year, there were many instances where Arthur thought of using the truth potion on Merlin, but Arthur waited, keeping a list of things he would like to ask him. The truth about Sophia (he was certain that Merlin could not have knocked him out with a lump of wood and done it so forcefully that Arthur literally forgot about it), how his father had slain the wraith of his uncle (Merlin might not have been directly involved, but Gaius probably knew, so maybe Merlin knew as well) and Merlin had tried to tell him something back in Ealdor, which had begun to bug Arthur.

But then came the Question Beast, its bite a fatal one, which Arthur miraculously survived. Arthur had to use it. He didn't even know if Merlin had been involved, but he needed answers and Merlin was the only one whom he could use the potion on without him finding out. And it wasn't that he hadn't thought of just asking Merlin without the help of a truth potion, he had, but in the past year he had learned a couple of things about his strange manservant. Most importantly he had learned that Merlin rarely lied, but that he kept secrets. Merlin was very good at serving Arthur half-truths, or changing the subject when there was something he didn't want to talk about. He could lie, and despite what he had claimed, Merlin could lie quite well too, but Arthur also knew that Merlin didn't like to lie. At his core, he was an honest person, and Arthur believed that Merlin had a reason for keeping secrets.

But Arthur needed the truth about this. Anything Merlin had to offer, he needed.

“How did I survive?” He asked, still bedridden with Merlin tending to him.

“I made a deal,” Merlin merely spoke, and Arthur wasn't quite following.

“What kind of deal?”

“A life for a life.” So magic.

“Whose life did you bargain?” Arthur asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mine.”

“That's why you said goodbye.”

“Yes.”

Arthur bit his lip before he continued. Getting answers had been easier than he had anticipated, since Merlin was the reason he was alive, but he was starting to regret having this knowledge.

“Why are still alive then?” Arthur asked sadly, “Will I lose you?”

“Nimueh didn't honor the deal,” Merlin explained, “She tried to take my mother's life instead. Magic was angry with her and took her life instead.” Merlin spoke as if magic was entity, as if it was a person. It puzzled Arthur, but then again, what did Arthur know of magic? Even studying it was outlawed.

“So you won't die?”

“No.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't want you to blame yourself for my death,” Merlin answered sincerely.

Arthur bit his lip, another question on his tongue, “What do you think of me?”

Merlin smiled, perhaps happy to change the topic, “Arrogant,” He said again, “A prat, but not as much as I first thought. You are also stupidly brave.”

Arthur smiled at the addition, and repeated another question: “Why did you save me?”

“Because you are my king.”

Arthur didn't question it. He didn't think he would like the answer.

Arthur felt like a bad friend for continuing to use the truth potion, but it seemed to be the only way to make Merlin tell him a whole truth. After Morgause, Arthur wasn't seeking information, but rather an opinion that he knew Merlin wouldn't give him without being forced to.

“Do you think she told the truth?” Arthur asked. It had been a day since he had attacked his father, and Merlin had stopped him by saying Morgause had been lying. Only after Arthur had calmed down had it crossed his mind that Merlin could have been lying to make him stop, knowing he wouldn't listen to anything else. It had also occurred to him that his father had never actually denied Arthur's accusations.

“Yes,” Merlin said, confirming Arthur's suspicions.

“Do you know if she said the truth?”

“No, not for certain.”

“Why did you tell me she lied, if you believed it to be true?”

“You were going to kill your father. I had to stop you.” Merlin talked as if he is a knight on a mission. Perhaps he was. How many times had he saved Arthur now? He truly didn't know the answer.

“Don't you think he deserves it?” Arthur asked sharply. His anger at his father resurfacing, but no longer thinking of striking him down with a sword. He thought that it was Merlin's calming presence that was keeping him grounded. Keeping him from making a mistake.

“Perhaps,” Merlin said slowly, something akin to hatred bubbling to the surface, before it was calmed and he looked kindly at Arthur, “But you don't.”

Arthur didn't think too much about the answer, too focused on Merlin's kind eyes. He asked a familiar question instead.

“What do you think of me?”

Merlin didn't smile as he answered this time: “Arrogant.” He said for the third time, “Stupidly brave and just. You don't always listen when you should.” Arthur noted how Merlin no longer thought he was a prat. He still called him that though, so maybe it just wasn't important. Or perhaps the nickname had merely turned endearing now that they were friends.

“Why do you stay?” Arthur asked this time. Merlin could have left so many times. Arthur sometimes thought he would. Every time Merlin told him a truth he didn't believe. Every time Arthur's anger got unjustly turned on his servant, merely because he was close by. Every time Arthur gave him extra chores because he made one small mistake. Every time Merlin had almost died.

“You are my king and my friend. I would never leave.”

Arthur hoped that would remain true. He had gotten too used to Merlin's presence to want to be rid of it. He found it hard to imagine a future where Merlin wasn't by his side, supporting him through trying times and cheering him up with stupid jokes.

Friends shouldn't force each other to do things they wouldn't want to do, but Arthur justified slipping another drop of the potion into Merlin's drink with the belief that friends shouldn't lie to each other anyway. And Arthur knew that Merlin must have lied. How could he have killed a dragon and not remembered? It didn't make much sense.

“How did I kill the dragon?” He asked a couple of nights after it had happened... or not happened. Whatever it was.

“You didn't,” Merlin answered, quite as expected, but Arthur was still disappointed. It would have looked good on the list of his accomplishments. Arthur Pendragon, the dragon-slayer. Or maybe not. The dragon was his family crest. Maybe he should kill them.

“Who did?” Arthur asked, because the attacks had stopped, so someone must have killed the dragon. Was it Merlin? Arthur knew his manservant was capable of more than he let on, but he doubted that he had the ability to slay dragons.

“No one,” Merlin answered, and Arthur took a deep breath. Great. The dragon was still alive (or at least Merlin believed it to be).

“It lives?” Arthur asked, just to be safe.

“Yes.”

“Why did it stop attacking?”

“I commanded it to stop,” Merlin answered casually, Arthur having to do a double take on that. If it wasn't for the truth potion, he would have thought Merlin was joking.

“How could you do that?”

“I am the last dragonlord.” The statement was spoken with pride. Arthur would have been proud too.

“Then why did we search for Balinor?”

“He was my father. When he died, I inherited his gifts.”

Arthur swallowed the information like he would one of Gaius' nasty potions. A truth he didn't want to know. A truth Merlin hadn't wanted him to know. A truth he should know. A truth Merlin shouldn't have carried alone. A truth which Merlin would carry alone as soon as morning came.

“I'm sorry,” Arthur said, at a loss for words, feeling bad for how he looked down on Merlin for crying over Balinor's death.

“Don't be,” Merlin said as if he was comforting him.

“Would you ever tell me about your powers?” Arthur asked, almost dreading the answer.

“No.”

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“But not with the truth?”

“No.”

Arthur sighed. One day he would ask Merlin for the truth and he would give it to him. No truth potion needed.

“What do you think of me?” Arthur asked again. It hadn't been long since he had asked last, but a lot of things had happened. Perhaps Arthur had changed. Perhaps Merlin thought differently of him once again.

“Arrogant,” he repeated. Arthur thought Merlin would always think that of him, “Stupidly brave and just. You are kind-hearted. Sometimes, I think you are too kind.”

“Why do you stay?” he asked again.

“You are my king and my friend. I would never leave.”

“Uther is your king,” Arthur corrected, but Merlin looked him in the eyes, and spoke without hesitation.

“Uther is no king of mine.”

Arthur didn't use the potion for another two years. There were many reasons for that. He felt guilty for making his friend tell him a secret that could get him killed should the wrong people find out (Arthur decided to ignore the fact that those wrong people were mainly his father). Being a dragonlord was simply considered too close to having magic in Camelot – hence why there were no dragonlords left. They had all been killed, except for Balinor, who had been forced out of the kingdom, and even when beyond the border, he had been hunted again, forced to leave his pregnant lover behind. All because of the king's madness.

And now that Uther believed that the dragons were no more, he would not hesitate to kill Merlin. Merlin who was good and kind and under Arthur's care and protection. Arthur trusted Merlin with his life and he wouldn't betray that trust. If he did, he could never earn Merlin's truth. And that was the other reason why he didn't use the potion. He wanted Merlin to tell him his secrets on his own terms. Arthur couldn't keep forcing his hand, especially when his servant was none the wiser.

But then Morgana betrayed them and Merlin acted like he had known it would happen all along. Arthur didn't have time to find out the truth until after they have taken back Camelot, and that ordeal had brought its own bag of questions. One drop of the potion reminded Arthur that Merlin's truth must be treasured, yet he did not hold back with the questions.

“Did you know about Morgana?” Arthur asked immediately, but Merlin merely smirked.

“Be specific,” he teased, still trying to cheer Arthur up despite being under the influence of a powerful potion.

“Her betrayal,” Arthur clarified, and Merlin bit his lip.

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” Arthur asked through gritted teeth. Only his faith in Merlin held him back from doing something he would later regret.

“You wouldn't have believed me,” Merlin answered sadly, and Arthur hated that it was the truth.

“How long have you known?”

“Since we found her,” Merlin said, the truth clearly upsetting him. They had been friends too.

“How did you find out?”

“I followed her as she met with Morgause and she tried to kill me.”

That surprised Arthur. Morgana had tried to kill him, yet Arthur had never noticed. He felt a pang of guilt knowing that Merlin had likely been hurt and Arthur would have only made it worse by complaining about Merlin not doing his job properly.

“How did you survive?” Arthur asked instead of asking something that would make him feel worse about how he had treated him in the past.

“I am dragonlord,” Merlin confessed, unaware that Arthur already knew  of his powers (Arthur was surprised that Merlin didn't make much of a deal of it being revealed), “I called Kilgharrah for help,” Arthur assumed that Kilgharrah was the name of the Great Dragon, and that Merlin was using his name to cover up from the fact that he wasn't dead as best he could under the influence of the potion. Arthur wondered if Merlin had figured out that he had been drugged.

“Did you ever try to stop her?” Arthur asked, not knowing if there had been anything to stop, but Morgana being Morgana, there likely would have been many times where she would have schemed something.

“Yes. I almost killed her,” Merlin confessed again, and shun away from Arthur, ashamed of the truth. Merlin was no murderer.

“Explain,” Arthur demanded. He needed to hear this story. Merlin was unlikely to give it to him willingly no matter the circumstance.

“I was shown a vision of her killing the king. I tried to prevent it, but she fell down the stairs as I tried to stop her.”

Arthur didn't question the bit about visions, and continued with Morgana.

“How did she survive?”

“I asked Kilgharrah to help heal her,” Arthur nodded as he began to see a pattern of the dragon healing people. Arthur had no idea dragons could do that.

“If you knew she would betray us, why did you save her?” Arthur asked puzzled. He would have let her die, he was certain.

“Because you would have been hurt,” Merlin said sincerely and looked at Arthur for the first time since the topic of Morgana's almost death had begun. He looked at Arthur so kindly that the prince couldn't understand what he had ever done to be looked at like that. He changed the topic.

“What did you and Lancelot do when you took off by yourselves?”

“We went for the cup of life,” Merlin explained, and Arthur presumed that that had made a lot of sense. But the cup would have been well-guarded by immortal soldiers. Not even Lancelot would have been good enough to get past all of them.

“How did you get past an immortal army?”

“I used Excalibur,” Merlin said, as if Arthur had any idea what that was.

“What is Excalibur?”

“A sword forged in a dragon's breath with the power to slay the dead,” Merlin said, his eyes marveling, “A sword forged for you.” The fact that Merlin had probably made it went unsaid.

“Then why don't I wield it?”

“You will,” Merlin smiled, “When you are ready.”

Arthur nodded slowly, and asked his last two questions.

“What do you think of me?”

“Arrogant,” Merlin laughed, “Stupidly brave and just. You are kind. The kindest person I know.”

“Why do you stay?”

“You are my friend and I love you. I would never leave.”

Another year went by without Arthur using the potion, but then Lancelot died. Arthur felt guilty. Guinevere felt guilty. Merlin felt guilt. Arthur's hand shook as he put a drop in Merlin's drink.

“Why do you feel guilty?” Arthur asked, his voice sad. It had only been a couple of hours since Lancelot's funeral.

“It should have been me.”

“Why you?” Arthur asked. He didn't want to lose Merlin. He couldn't lose him. He wanted him to know that, but under the effect of the potion, the words would be empty. He wouldn't remember them.

“It is my destiny- no, I- I didn't want to lose you. I didn't want to lose him. I didn't want to lose anyone. It should have been me,” Merlin rambled, clearly not having sorted out his own emotions or truths. Merlin was in pain. Arthur wanted to know why he was suffering so much.

“Was Lancelot special to you?”

“Yes,” Merlin answered, holding back tears.

“Why?”

“He knew my secret,” Merlin's hands trembled. Arthur didn't know what secret he was referring to, but he was slightly hurt that Lancelot had known something Arthur either didn't know, or Merlin didn't know that he knew. Because Merlin had never told him, but somehow Lancelot knew. Arthur knew he was a possessive person, but it shouldn't have been right to ask for the secret merely out of jealousy. But Arthur did anyway.

“What secret?”

“I have magic.”

As soon as the words were out, Merlin slapped his hand over his mouth and took a few steps backwards, away from his prince – his king as he had claimed. His eyes remained locked on Arthur's shocked face, and he breathed heavily, tears forming in his eyes and spilling over, running down his cheeks and over his hand still keeping his mouth closed. Arthur couldn't move. He had thought that Merlin being a dragonlord was overwhelming, but this? He didn't know what to do with this knowledge.

Merlin's eyes tore away from Arthur, and found the goblet still on the table. His eyes went wide with realization as it dawned on him what Arthur had done – must have done for Merlin to so unwillingly spill his secret. He lowered his hand, trying to speak, but nothing came out at first, until he slowly whispered his name.

“Arthur...” Merlin sounded hurt, in disbelief and Arthur expected him to be angry with him, disappointed in him for using such methods against someone he claimed was his friend, “I'm sorry,” Merlin said and Arthur was shocked anew. This wasn't what Merlin was supposed to do, “I'm so sorry,” he repeated, the disbelief being replaced with fear. “I'm sorry. You couldn't trust me to be truthful so you... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“Merlin,” Arthur tried, wanting his servant to stop apologizing, but he didn't know what else to say. He tried to take a step towards him, but Merlin backed away from him, frightened, scared, scared of the man he called his king and friend. The man he had claimed to love.

“And now you know,” Merlin continued, “I'm sorry, Arthur, I'll- I'll do whatever you want. I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to find out like this.”

Merlin slid to the floor, still crying and mumbling his apologies, while Arthur was still frozen in place.

“If-” Merlin sobbed, struggling to speak against the tears, “If I meant anything to you, could you- could you grant me one favor?”

Arthur wanted to say 'yes, anything', but the words got stuck in his throat. He didn't know what to do. He wanted Merlin to stop crying. Stop apologizing. Stop acting like Arthur would suddenly hate him when Merlin was the best person he knew. He wanted everything to stop. He wished he had never asked.

“I don't want to burn,” Merlin sobbed, his hands shaking as hugged himself, the thought of fire being too much for him, “Will you kill me?”

Arthur felt like he could throw up as he heard the request. The plea for a painless death. A death Merlin expected, and accepted so easily that Arthur hadn't been able to keep up. Arthur didn't know what to say, but he slowly leaned down to embrace his crying servant. Once in his arms, he could feel just how much Merlin was shaking, but Arthur couldn't find the words of comfort he knew should be uttered. He returned to something familiar, holding his friend close, trying to convey that he would never hurt him.

“What do you think of me?”

“You are kind and brave and just,” Merlin sobbed, and Arthur wanted to say that that wasn't true. If he was kind and just, his crying friend wouldn't think that he would kill him, “You are the strongest person I know.”

Arthur wanted to shake his head. He wasn't strong at all.

“Will you leave?” Arthur asked. Merlin might not remember, but Arthur needed to know that Merlin at least had the sense to protect himself.

“I would rather burn.”

Arthur shed tears as he knocked Merlin out, holding his now unconscious manservant in his arms as he wept over the reality of this man, who had nothing but undying loyalty for a king he believed wanted him dead. He didn't deserve it.

The next morning, Arthur was woken by a bright and smiling Merlin who had no idea of what had aspired the night before. As Merlin smiled at him, going through his plans for the day, a frightening thought entered Arthur's head. For all his apologies, Merlin never once asked Arthur for forgiveness.

After the revelation of Merlin's magic, Arthur realized something about his servant. Something he should have realized long ago. Everything that Merlin did, he did for Arthur. Okay, so perhaps that bit was obvious, and Arthur had kind of known that for a while, but that wasn't exactly what Arthur had noticed. No, what he had noticed was that Merlin would often let Arthur come before what was right. He should have figured it out with Morgause. Merlin had lied to keep Arthur from killing his father, and while that had technically been the right thing to do, Merlin had put the blame on magic.

He should have figured it out with Morgana. Merlin had saved her life despite knowing that she was the enemy, all because Arthur was hurting. Arthur suspected that Merlin would gladly lay ruin to a kingdom if it would make Arthur happy for a week.

So when his father died, Arthur needed Merlin to be honest with him rather than trying to soothe his grief. Because in his grief, he had called magic evil and Merlin hadn't stopped him. In his grief, he had blamed the old man – whom he strongly suspected of being Merlin in disguise – for his father's death and Merlin had said nothing. Arthur needed council. Honest council.

“Is magic evil?”

“It is neither good nor evil. It merely is,” Merlin answered, honestly, wisely.

“Did magic kill my father?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, saddened.

“Whose magic?” Arthur hoped that Merlin wouldn't say his own.

“Morgana's, I suspect,” he said instead, Arthur being thrown for a loop.

“How is it her doing?”

“There was an amulet,” Merlin explained, “It reversed the effects of the healing, killing him instead. We didn't notice it in time,” Merlin looked full of regret. Of course he did. If it had worked, Merlin would have believed that he could open Arthur's mind about magic. Instead, it seemed to have resulted in the opposite.

“So you tried your best to save him?” Arthur asked, trying to kill two birds with one stone.

“Yes, I-” Merlin's eyes widened, “How did you figure it out?” Shock and fear formed on his servant's face as he backed away from Arthur slowly.

“It's you eyes,” Arthur explained, “I would recognize them anywhere.”

“I'm sorry, Arthur,” Merlin cried, “I tried, I-”

“It's okay,” Arthur interrupted, and hugged him. He didn't want Merlin to be as scared as last time. This time he was prepared. This time he would react better. Be a better friend.

“Will you send me away?” Merlin asked frightened. Arthur knew that Merlin feared banishment more than death.

“No,” Arthur said and shook his head.

“Kill me?” Merlin trembled, his voice growing small.

“Never,” Arthur reassured, pulling Merlin in closer.

“I betrayed you,” Merlin sobbed, “Lied to you. Failed you.”

“You didn't fail me,” Arthur said, you never could, he didn't add, “You didn't betray me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“What do you think of me?”

“You are the best person I know,” Merlin said and hugged Arthur firmly, afraid of Arthur letting go.

“Would you ever leave?”

“I'd rather you burn me.”

Arthur held back tears as he realized that once again, Merlin never asked for forgiveness.

As king, Arthur always held a trial when someone committed a crime. Arthur stop the persecution of the druids. Arthur never burned a single person. Arthur saved magic users who had never caused any harm, and Arthur tried to clean up the mess his father had left him. Slowly, he rebuild his kingdom, hoping the land he had created was fairer than before.

Lifting the ban on magic was no easy task. Personally, he had a lot to overcome and, legally, his father had made the law hard to change. It was a slow process.

Two years after his father's death, Arthur faced the disir. They gave him a choice. It wouldn't be hard for to choose, yet he still asked for Merlin's advice, wanting to know what his wise servant had to say on the matter. Curious as to how Merlin would convince him to lift the ban.

“Magic has no place in Camelot,” Merlin said and Arthur was shocked. He wanted to ask him why he was lying about something as important and momentous as this, but he didn't. He waited until he had given him the potion.

“Why don't you want me to legalize magic?”

“I do.”

“Then why did you tell me not to?”

“I want Mordred dead,” Merlin's voice was cold as he spoke. Arthur didn't know what Mordred had done to deserve Merlin's hatred. Merlin hardly hated anybody.

“Why?”

“He is destined to kill you. Destiny has not been wrong yet,” Merlin's voice was still cold. He didn't look at Arthur as he spoke.

“Is he loyal to me?”

“For now.”

“If he has done nothing wrong, you shouldn't condemn him,” Arthur said, in disbelief that Merlin would do all of this just to ensure Mordred's death.

“I just want you to live,” Merlin said, his voice desperate and pained.

“You would choose me over magic? Over your own freedom?” Arthur asked slowly, the reality of Merlin's choice hitting him hard.

“Always,” Merlin spoke, his voice strong with loyalty and determination.

“It isn't right,” Arthur pleaded, and Merlin looked down, in shame.

“I'm not as good as you.” Arthur wanted to say that it wasn't true, but he could feel an argument coming. He closed the conversation.

“What do you think of me?”

“You are the best person I know. The kindest, the bravest and the fairest. I wish I was more like you.”

“Will you follow me?”

“Through hell and back.”

All Arthur asked of the disir was time to change the law.

The ban was lifted after a year, but Merlin didn't tell him about his magic. Arthur had just one drop of the potion left, and he was determined to use it. He invited Merlin into his chambers, made him sit down at the table, while Arthur remained standing, leaning over his chair, looking at Merlin.

“Do you know what this is?” He asked his servant, holding up the vial and his servant shook his head.

“It is a truth serum,” he explained and Merlin looked scared for a moment, “Whoever drinks it will tell the truth for one hour and will not remember anything after sleep.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Merlin asked slowly, and Arthur moved away from the table. He took two goblets from the cupboard and poured water in both. He gave Merlin one and put the rest of the serum in his own.

“Why...?” Merlin wondered out loud, but Arthur interrupted him.

“Now you know that I won't lie, and you can tell me anything you want, since I won't remember anything in the morning anyway,” Arthur drank it all before Merlin could interfere.

“I know about your magic and I don't blame you for hiding it from me,” Arthur said as soon as the potion entered his system. Merlin let his jaw drop, before composing himself and asking a question.

“How you do know?”

“You told me.”

The puzzle pieces fell in place slowly, before Merlin asked his next question.

“You've used it on me before?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Nine times.”

Merlin nodded slowly, coming to terms with what Arthur was telling him.

“When did I tell you about my magic?”

“After Lancelot died.”

“Why aren't you angry with me?” Merlin asked, almost frustrated, perhaps angry with himself on Arthur's behalf, “I lied to you. I lied to you, and you knew it.”

“You were scared,” Arthur said quietly, “You thought I was going to kill you.”

“What else did I tell you?”

“You are a dragonlord. The Great Dragon lives. You knew of Morgana's betrayal long before she revealed herself. You tried to save my father despite hating him. Destiny dictates that Mordred will kill me. Those are the biggest truths you have told me.”

Merlin shook his head in disbelief, “And you still kept me after all that,” he mumbled to himself, before turning his attention back to Arthur, “How could you know I was loyal to you? Did you ask?”

“I didn't have to.”

“Why?” Merlin breathed, more frustrated with the situation than Arthur had anticipated. Did he want to be punished so badly?

“You wanted to die for me. You said you would stay and follow me through hell. You said you loved me.”

Merlin snorted at the last part: “Truth-serum me must be very mushy.”

Arthur smiled: “I quite liked it.”

“Probably because you knew I wouldn't remember.”

“Probably,” Arthur agreed, he had never really thought about it.

“You don't believe Mordred will kill you?”

“No.” Arthur said simply, “You shouldn't listen to destiny.”

“Who then?” Merlin challenged.

“How about your king?” Arthur suggested cheekily and Merlin laughed.

“Sounds good.”

There was a moment of silence, Merlin smiling to himself, before he asked another question. A question that made Arthur laugh before answering.

“What do you think of me?”

“You are incredibly loyal. Braver than any knight and wiser than any scholar. You are the best person I know.”

“Would you ever make me leave?”

“Never. You are my friend and I love you.”

“Sappy,” Merlin commented, “Did you get that from me?”

“Yes,” Arthur confessed, “It is the truth though.”

“It is.”