It was dark.
The sorcerer who had stood at the top of the rock canyon and obliterated any of the enemy soldiers who'd gotten close to his king and friend carefully made his way down the large boulders, now restored to his younger, dark-haired self.
He'd changed back into his classic tunic and neckerchief, determined not to let his king know that his servant and friend was truly a sorcerer if he could help it.
The sorcerer's keen blue eyes scanned the scene before him as it came into his view. Hundreds of still bodies littered the canyon floor, an occasional groan from a dying man breaking the horrible silence. Small fires that had been caused by dropped torches bloomed in the few patches of rough, dry grass.
The sorcerer's eyes grew wide and slightly moist at the enormous amount of death before him; his very being repelled against the violence and the probability that many of his friends were dead. But he had to find his king, who had assuredly fought in the battle. So the sorcerer kept making his way down the gigantic rocks, until he finally made it to the canyon floor.
It was worse when the sorcerer made it to the hard stone floor.
Here, he could smell the putrid odour of flesh that was beginning to rot and he could see the faces of the fallen.
Many of the knights the sorcerer had grown close to lie dead, their eyes open in death, the horror and pain in the clouded irises practically screaming at the sorcerer. He closed his bright blue eyes at that, knowing in his gut that he had no time to close the eyes of all of the fallen. So the sorcerer steeled himself and continued walking, trying his hardest not to glance down at his fallen comrades, a knot in his chest.
Eventually, the sorcerer reached his destination, though it seemed to have taken lifetimes of seeing dead friend and foe alike to get him there.
The sorcerer saw his best friend from four yards away. He wasn't sure how, though, because his king was dressed in the same chain mail and red cloaks as the rest of his knights. He couldn't have stood out. Yet, the sorcerer knew it was him.
The sorcerer felt disbelief and anger and sorrow settle into his heart before he was suddenly breaking into a run, the sound of his brown boots on the stone the only sound in the entire canyon, now.
And then he was kneeling by his friend and king's side, trying to staunch the flow of crimson blood running down the king's side.
The king's blonde head swivelled slightly, his blue eyes meeting those of his friend's.
The king's face was a deathly pallor and his hair was a matted blonde mess.
Excalibur lay by his side, and a few metres away Mordred lie dead, a gaping hole in his armour where his heart was.
Tears threatened in the sorcerer's eyes as he took in the state of his friend. The king was going to die unless the sorcerer cured him with magic.
The king's blue-green eyes were going out of focus now. The sorcerer began to panic. He gently slapped the king, who quickly focused on his friend.
"Merlin!" The king complained sleepily, but the sorcerer, Merlin, could see it in his king's eyes: he was very grateful.
Merlin took a deep breath. "Arthur, I am going to try something. But you have to promise me that you won't freak out or try to stop me."
Arthur's pale brows furrowed, and his pallor became paler but he somehow found the strength to nod.
Merlin swallowed the bile rising in his throat and steadied himself, placing his hands over the ragged wound in his king's armour and took a deep breath.
"Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare mid þam sundorcræftas þære ealdaþ æ!" He chanted, his eyes glowing gold. Arthur's blue eyes flashed with surprise, but much to Merlin's shock, the king didn't look angry or repulsed.
But the blood did not cease seeping from the ugly gash, either.
Merlin felt the blood drain from his face and he looked at Arthur, his king and friend.
"That was one of the most powerful healing spells ever," he whispered. "I used it to cure Morgana's broken cranium when she fell down the stairs." Merlin was terrified now, and truth be told, that didn't really boost the dying king's confidence.
"You cured Morgana?" Arthur managed to get out, a pained laugh spewing from his mouth. Merlin's mouth quivered into a teeny smile.
"Yeah. And I'm gonna cure you too, Arthur, just hold on."
But the sorcerer's confidence in himself was fading fast. The great dragon himself had had to give Merlin the incantation to cure the ward. What could be more powerful?
"Who stabbed you?" Merlin's voice quivered on the second word. "And with what?"
Arthur lifted a shaking hand and pointed towards the prone, lifeless form of Mordred and Merlin rose quietly to his feet, jogging the few metres to the Druid's body.
His dark blue eyes scanned the body until they caught the faint gleam of a sword.
Merlin pulled it out of Mordred's sword sheath and quickly examined it, placing a pale hand on the flat of the blade. Merlin almost dropped it in surprise.
"Forged in a dragon's breath," he muttered, the last of his confidence leaving him.
The sorcerer reached up a hand to cover his mouth, for sobs were building up in his chest.
There was no spell he knew that could heal a wound caused by a sword forged in a dragon's breath, he wasn't even sure if there was one.
But he did know exactly what would happen to Arthur.
The point of the enchanted sword blade would slowly make its way towards the king's heart and pierce it.
And there was nothing Merlin could do.
The fear and hopelessness must have shown on Merlin's face for the next thing he knew Arthur's gloved hand was resting on the sorcerer's shoulder and the king was looking far more concerned for his friend than himself.
"Merlin?" Arthur whispered before going in a hacking fit and coughing up a horrific amount of blood.
Merlin's eyes went impossibly wide and he tried desperately to help his friend whilst his mind frantically searched in the dusty corners of his brain for any spell that could help Arthur.
The king looked up, defeat in his blue-green eyes, fresh crimson blood drenching the bottom half of his face.
"Merlin," Arthur repeated, one hand desperately clutching the skinny sorcerer's shoulder, the other gripping his dark hair like a lifeline.
The sorcerer was crying now, two salty streams running down his cheeks as he realised how futile it was.
"I-I don't care that you're a s-sorcerer," Arthur gasped out. "Y-You're the most l-loyal friend I've ever had."
"Please, don't say goodbye," Merlin begged, a weak smile spreading across his features as he carefully cupped the king's cheek in his small, pale hand. Arthur smiled back weakly, the white of his teeth contrasting luridly with the red on his face.
Arthur's breaths were becoming shallow and his eyes were slowly losing focus.
Taking advantage of his hold on Arthur's face, Merlin carefully took the king's pulse. It barely fluttered under the sorcerer's fingertips.
Merlin's shoulders were shaking so hard now that Arthur had to tighten his grip to keep hold of his friend. Arthur's cloudy blue-green gaze drifted to meet Merlin's sharp, clear blue one.
Arthur smiled gently and inhaled sharply, painfully. "Thank you," he breathed, the beautiful blue-green eyes fluttering closed. The gloved hands became slack and fell from Merlin's raven locks and his shoulder and the king's blonde head lolled.
Merlin stared in disbelief. His king, his master, his best friend was lying dead in his arms. The sorcerer blinked several times and tapped Arthur's cheek gently.
"Arthur?" Merlin whispered, as though his king was merely sleeping. "Stay with me," he said.
The truth suddenly hit Merlin like a sucker punch to the gut. If he had been standing, the sorcerer would've surely stumbled and fallen over.
"Stay with me." Merlin said again, brokenly. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Arthur's and sobbed.
Merlin shot upward into a sitting position like a bolt of lightning, the scream dying on his lips.
The lower half of his body was seated in a high-backed chair, and going by the position he found himself in, it seemed he'd fallen asleep with his head on the table, waiting up the night to see if his king had awoken and needed anything or to restock the wood that fuelled Arthur's fire in the fireplace.
Merlin rubbed his eyes, half of his mind occupied with being slightly embarrassed that he'd fallen asleep, the other half worrying about the nightmare and if he'd screamed during it.
His fears were confirmed when the door cracked open and Arthur's sleep-mussed blonde head stuck into the room. The king glanced tiredly at Merlin.
"Are you all right?" The king asked, coming quietly into the room and closing the door behind him.
Thankfully, there was no sign of blood or wound on the man. That fact made Merlin's heart close to bursting with relief.
Merlin nodded wearily, "Yeah, fine."
"You screamed loud enough to wake the whole castle. Obviously not everything is alright."
Merlin flushed pink in embarrassment and muttered, "Sorry."
Arthur was now standing beside his manservant and friend, and gently placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder. That one movement was all it took to freeze the sorcerer in place.
"Tell me," Arthur said earnestly, his blue-green eyes full of concern.
Merlin sighed, not wanting to scare or worry his friend any further.
"It was nothing. Merely a silly nightmare."
Arthur frowned in disbelief but seemed to catch the underlying tone that Merlin did not want to speak any further on the subject.
"Okay. But do please know that if you want to talk about it, I am here." Arthur said.
Merlin nodded, not really paying attention to the words.
Arthur frowned again and ruffled his friend's hair, pressing a light kiss to his temple.
This surprised Merlin, but did not displease him. So he smiled at Arthur, who flushed and quickly left the room.
Only a silly nightmare. Arthur was alive and well. And Merlin was determined to keep him that way.
A/N: Merry Christmas and a happy New Year! :) Reviews are always greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!