Merlin shakes his head in disbeleif. He's been following the king by flanking him about fifty yards away. So far he's stopped two more wyverns, a strange leather skinned bird, and some sort of giant irridescent cat. Throughout it all, the king has been unfailingly oblivious. Only looking up occasionally when Merlin horse hit its hoof against stone or one of the creatures yowled.

Merlins ankle had begun to swell, and if he doesn't take off his shoe soon it could block his blood vessels and corogate his blood. If it were left like that he would have to amputate it. Just one more inconvenience. He sighs and puts his head in his hands. His shoulders sag under the weight of his actions. Now Arthur knows. Now he is no longer trusted. Now he must live as a darker shadow in fear of his best friend and other half. What kind of life could this possibly be.

He will have to hide, not only an aspect of himself, but his very existence from the whole of Camelot. He will be hunted by friend and foe alike, forced to flee at every turn, and somehow still accomplish his destiny. There is no chance. He couldn't survive and unite a kingdom. Why does this have to happen? Why couldn't he be born a farmer? He would be poor and only remembered by those he left behind, but he could be happy. It just isn't fair.

Some are born kings, some are born peasants, but he had somehow drawn the shortest straw that the universe had to offer. He was born a sorcerer. A warlock. And where does that leave him? Trudging after a king who would have him killed, having lost everything, with a plausibly broken ankle, less than stable mental state, extreme sleep and nourishment deprivation, and to top it all off, he has no where to go. No home. If he goes to ealdor, his mother will be in danger. Of he goes to Camelot, him and Gaius will be in danger. So now he's left injured and alone, homeless, hopeless, and utterly miserable. And for what? Following the directions given by a riddle spouting lizard with wings. That's what.

Merlin heaves a sigh of frustration and glares at the heavens. He's about to give up and start shouting profanities to the sky while leading Arthur right to him for an improvitory execution when something catches his eye. A dark tower of stone looming over the center of the valley. It resembles the hilt of a rusted dagger plunged deep into the heart of the earth itself, as if the gods have condemned her and left her for dead. Merlin feels that he and the earth have much in common from this point of view.

Arthur hears a small comotion about fifty yards to his right, but doesn't turn to investigate. He has his suspicions as to what (or who) it is. His attention is taken by the great column of stone in the center of the valley. Wyverns circle it, occasionally retreating to their roosts in its walls, but returning moments later to continue guarding the tower like a vulture guards its scavenge. He sighs in contempt. Even if everything else has gone to hell, at least he managed to find the place where his knights are kept. He spurs his horse on with increased fervor and disappears into the shadows of the looming canopy.

Merlin uses his magic to track him and follows after. He grits his teeth against the pain of jostling his ankle and rides through it. Even if it's all for naught, has not ready to give up on Arthur just yet. That would be like giving up on his reason to keep existing.

As he continues his chase after the king Merlin notices a strange lightness in his chest. After a moment he realizes that it's because he no longer has to hide who he is, Arthur knows. Even though Arthur doesn't except him, and probably wants his head on a stake, at least he knows. Despite the new weight and pain of Arthur's rejection that weighs discouragingly upon his heart, at least that old heavy shackle has been freed.

The two men ride through the forest with sorrow in their hearts and heavy thoughts cast on their minds, but with one clear message pounding in their skulls to the rythmic drumming of their hearts, it is time to fulfill their duty.