~~~Part One~~~

There's a small division between being brave and being an utter clotpole.

Arthur teetered on that very fine line.

Merlin firmly believed that Arthur was completely oblivious to this concept. This was an assumption that was proved when a villager from Camelot's outer border requested an audience with the King, pleading to him on her knees, begging for his help. Her village had been ransacked by a lone bandit, one who had reportedly killed over twenty people- her son, included, a boy of only four years. She begged Arthur for justice, and he accepted her quest.

Rather than send some guards to capture the bandit, though, Arthur held a meeting with the knights where he confidently stated that he would go after the criminal, himself, leaving no room for protests or argument. He said it would be dangerous to lower Camelot's guard when Morgana was out there waiting to strike. Arthur ordered those in the meeting to keep his absence secret, for word of his leave could prove fatal for the kingdom.

Later on, Merlin quite vocally complained that having the King of Camelot go out on a reckless mission was just as dangerous as sending a few knights.

Of course, though, Arthur ignored him, sheathing his sword into its scabbard as he prepared himself within the walls of his chambers, where Merlin had been trying to convince him to send a knight or two on his crazed quest.

"So are you coming or not?" Arthur had finally asked, looking up and eyeing Merlin.

It was hardly a question, really.

Although what Arthur was doing could be seen as admirable, Merlin opted to simply call him a dollophead.

Merlin tried to give his king some credit, though- it was his duty to protect his kingdom, and sending a group of knights to take care of the plentiful amount of situations that arose could be deemed as cowardly. And though Arthur was many, many things, he was not a coward.

Just very, very stupid.

However, Merlin supposed he, himself, was just as stupid. Because although Arthur went on many dangerous and idiotic quests to defend Camelot, Merlin always found himself trotting not too far behind on a blasted palace horse, his bum sore from hours of relentless riding through uneven forest terrain.

"It's getting dark," Merlin spoke up. They hadn't spoken for hours. Arthur was in one of his moods.

"I can see that," Arthur grumbled back. He was absolutely irate, having followed a trail that seemed to never end. At this point, they both wanted to go back to Camelot and sleep in a nice, warm bed. Merlin knew that was not about to happen, though. For Arthur's stubbornness was an unconquerable feat.

Merlin tried to ease into his next comment, waiting for the tension to settle just the slightest bit before he spoke, again, "The trail will be lost soon, Sire. It would be best if we stop and make camp now, lest we wind up following a blind lead."

Arthur sighed, and Merlin could feel him relent. "I'm the king, Merlin, I give the orders," he retaliated. But Merlin had grown to know Arthur, and he could recognize the give in his voice, disguised by instinctive snark.

They made camp a half hour later (under Arthur's command), when the sun had long set behind the trees and the sky was a purple mass gradually taken over by a dark blue cloak. Stars dotted the sky, and the moon was nearly full, peeking at the servant and King from behind bare-branched trees.

It was getting colder earlier in the year, Merlin noted as he tightened his jacket around him. The sky had been gray with heavy clouds for weeks, and Merlin had a feeling they were ready to unleash their contents. He suddenly wished he had more than his feeble, awfully thin clothes to wrap himself in.

Dismissing the thought, the warlock finished his kindling for the fire, and glanced around to make sure that Arthur was still off hunting before he lit it with nothing more than a twitch of his fingers and the thought of a flame in his head.

He fed the fire as he waited for Arthur, busying himself with the task. It wasn't long before Arthur arrived, one meager rabbit in hand. A scrawny one, at that. He caught Merlin's amused look, and scoffed.

"The forest is barren," he explained.

Merlin hid his smirk. "Or perhaps you're out of practice."

That got a smile out of the king, although he tried to hide it. Instead, he raised his eyebrows, giving Merlin a challenging look. "What was that?"

Merlin raised his hands in defense, walking over to the king and taking the rabbit so he could begin preparing it. "Oh, nothing, nothing," he replied. "Shall I put aside what fat there is, Sire? Wouldn't want another hole in that belt, and all."

Arthur made an incredulous noise. "I am not fat!" he retorted.

"Of course not."

A wooden bowl flew towards Merlin's head, and he dodged it instinctively. He heard the barest hint of Arthur's chuckle, and found himself smiling at the sound.

It had been weeks since he heard Arthur laugh.

They ate in silence, sitting side by side as they dined on the stew Merlin had prepared and the bread they had packed. Merlin tried to ignore the mold that had gathered on his own crust of bread, and dunked it in his stew to mask its appearance and hopefully soften its brick-like composition.

Arthur, Merlin noticed, hardly touched his food. Instead, he stared sullenly at the bowl in his hands, his mind elsewhere.

"Why this one?" Merlin asked, shocking Arthur from his reverie.

Arthur gave Merlin a dismissive look, and sighed. "What are you on about?"

Merlin adjusted his position on the fallen log they were both sat on. He faced Arthur. "This bandit. This village. This woman. What's different about their predicament than any of the other people that request your audience, day after day?"

Arthur was silent. It almost seemed like he'd been surprised by Merlin's perception, but the sorcerer assumed it was a trick of the light, for his face resumed its aforementioned gloom.

"She looked like… bah, nevermind it," Arthur decided, retreating once more behind his emotional barrier. "I've already told you, I need the knights defending Camelot. I will not risk the safety of my kingdom."

"You're doing so right now," Merlin protested, eyes hard.

Arthur looked at him incredulously, then shook his head, gazing at the fire. "Honestly, Merlin, do you ever realize who you're speaking to?"

Merlin smiled at that. "A pompous prat."

He dodged another object.

"Why I keep you around, I've no idea," Arthur murmured, fiddling with the pommel of his sword.

"Because nobody else would be able to keep up with your ridiculous antics while keeping your royal arse alive."

Arthur snorted. "You. Keeping me alive?"

Merlin let the conversation drop. If only you knew, he thought.

The fire crackled, filling the silence. "We should rest," Arthur spoke, lying down, now. "We move on at first light."


The next day brought weather colder than the last. Merlin had taken a moment that morning to glance nervously at the clouds, whose contents seemed heavier and matter was greyer than before. The two men did not waste any time, both wanting to head home and into their warm beds as soon as possible. So, at first light, they packed their things and rode on uphill, where Merlin knew they'd end up at a cliff that overlooked a river they had passed, earlier. He hoped the bandit was hiding there so they could catch him and go home.

In Arthur's determination not to lose any time, they both wound up eating breakfast on horseback. Breakfast consisted of bread that was nearly rock hard, and as dry as Arthur's sense of humor.

Merlin caught hiccups after his first bite, and they remained with him hours into their search.

It agitated Arthur to no end.

"Hic!"

"Merlin…"

"Wh-hic-at?"

"Could you not do that?"

"Well I can hardly-hic- help it- HIC- ow."

Arthur gave him an annoyed glance.

"Then drink some water, you loon, you're going to alarm every bandit to ever exist of our presence!" he lectured in a harsh murmur.

Merlin hiccuped, again, before taking a swig from his waterskin. "If anything tips off our location it would be your enormous head. I'm sure it can be seen from miles off."

"Mer-"

But before he could finish his sentence, an arrow whizzed past them, and buried itself in a tree. Their horses backtracked, letting out panicked neighs. The two men calmed the beasts down before surveying their surroundings.

"Damnit," Arthur cursed, leaping off his horse. Merlin did the same as the two friends were suddenly rounded in by a group of bandits. This bunch obviously wasn't the lone bandit Arthur had been tracking, and Merlin cursed their luck.

"Get behind me, Merlin," Arthur ordered as they were closed in.

"Oh my, I feel so safe," Merlin managed to joke, despite the situation.

Before Arthur could reprimand him, the bandits began their ambush, charging with mighty yells and flinging their weapons about, raising swords and maces as they drew closer.

Arthur managed to slay two bandits, and Merlin made a branch fall on an unsuspecting man with just a glance and golding of his eyes. He surveyed the chaos, keeping his eyes on Arthur and using his magic to assist in any small way, whether it was to make a bandit's grasp slip on a hilt, or to raise a tree's root for a convenient trip and fall.

However, just as Merlin was beginning to think things were going very much their way, an arrow found itself lodged into his shoulder. Merlin yelped, caught off guard by the assault, and fell back from the force of the blow before landing onto a very burly object behind him.

It turned out it was a bandit he had fallen into, and the stranger wrapped a muscled arm around Merlin's neck, putting a hand on his mouth to muffle his protests as he picked him up with zero effort and swept him into the forest behind them.

No! Merlin tried to yell, kicking and flailing his good arm, trying to pry the man's grip off of him and return to his friend. Arthur!

But the King vanished from his sight, and Merlin was dragged through the forest and to a clearing.

A clearing that overlooked a cliff.

"You're of magic," a deep voice growled into his ear, filled with disgust. "I saw what you did, how your eyes flashed gold."

The bandit removed his hand from Merlin's mouth, and instead used it to drive the arrow further through his shoulder. Merlin let out a pained cry, struggling in the man's grasp. "A sorcerer killed my wife and daughter," the man spat, turning Merlin to face him now as he used one hand to lean him over the cliff's edge, balled into his tunic, and another to hold a knife to his throat. "Your kind are scum- a plague to this land and the people of it!"

Merlin stared hard into the man's eyes, his eyes watered with pain and hands grasping onto the wrist of the hand fisted into his shirt. "You know nothing about me," he gasped, and then tried to think of a spell to send the man flying into a tree.

But he couldn't.

When his eyes widened with shock, the man unleashed a mocking laugh from a foul-smelling mouth. "No use trying your witchcraft, Sorcerer. That is not a normal arrow. I had it enchanted, carved with runes that block magic," he taunted. Merlin gazed into the man's eyes with panic before the bandit reached for the arrow, and snapped the shaft. He then used his knife to shove the arrowhead further in, making Merlin cry out once more with pain, his throat raw and legs buckling as he felt the arrowhead tear through muscle. "Good luck retrieving that without losin' yer arm. You can never use sorcery for your wicked purposes, again."

Merlin was panicked, now, and he grabbed tight onto the arm that was balled into his shirt. He was furious, and he needed to go make sure Arthur was alright. "I don't use it for evil! I've only ever used my magic to help people!"

The knife pressed tighter against his throat, drawing blood. "Tell that to my men you just helped your King slay."

"You'd have murdered us!"

"For you're in our territory! Breathing our air!" the man retaliated, eyes fire. "But not for long."

Before he could deliver his final blow, Merlin heard Arthur yell after him, then saw him emerge from the forest, blade drawn and covered in blood that also splattered the King's clothes and face and hands. "Merlin!" his frantic voice yelled when he saw the condition of his manservant.

"Arth-"

A blade sliced hot across his abdomen, and the fist in his shirt let go.

"Merlin!"

Merlin plummeted down the cliff, but did not have long to register it before he met an excruciatingly icy cold, submerged within a strong current of running water.

The sorcerer struggled to breach the surface of the river for a breath, but he was tossed around like a rag doll, bleeding and powerless against the strength of the water.

When he did manage to pop his head above the river for air, he was simply drowned, once more, flailing his arms as he searched for purchase, his heart beating a rapid staccato in his pained breast.

He remained like this- thrashing and fighting the river until his strength was leeched from him, and when he had lost count of how many times he had reached his head up for a quick breath, he heard Arthur.

"Merlin!"

Merlin tried to find the source of Arthur's voice as water splashed at his face, and found him to his right, at the bank of the river.

"Arthur!" Merlin gasped, choking when he swallowed a mouthful of river water.

Arthur had something in his arms, and he was trying to show Merlin.

Rope.

Understanding, Merlin reached out a hand, and Arthur threw one end of the rope to him. It took three tries before Merlin finally caught it in his hands. He resurfaced when he began to drown, gasping for air.

"Tie it around your waist!" Arthur instructed, voice filled with authority and hard determination.

Merlin nodded quickly, and tried his hardest to tie the rope around him. It was damned harder than it sounded- the current of the water made his hands slip multiple times, and he almost lost his grip on the rope, completely.

But he finally got it on his fifth try, and gave an astounded laugh. "Got it!"

Arthur managed to smile with relief, and he strengthened his grip. "Alright, hold on tight!"

Merlin did as he was told, and then looked up at Arthur.

He nearly gasped.

"Arthur! Behind you!" Merlin shouted with fright.

A badly bloodied bandit ambushed Arthur, and the King had to let go of the rope for a quick second, holding it with just one of his hands, now. Merlin could see that the strength of the river was nearly pulling Arthur in, himself.

The King reached for his sword, and battled the bandit one-handed. Once he managed to down his opponent, his grip loosened in the slightest before tightening again.

It sent Merlin flying back, where he met a boulder with a sharp smack!

He blacked out.


Arthur panicked at the sight of his friend sinking under the current of the water. He used both his sore arms to pull hard at the rope, putting all his strength into bringing Merlin to him.

The river was strong, fighting his will and nearly overcoming him. But Arthur thought of blue eyes and a goofy smile and enormous ears, and he thought of losing the imbecile forever and he couldn't bear it, using that horrid thought to summon up strength deep within him, pulling harder and harder on the rope until he saw a mop of dark hair emerge from the water. He did not waste time to celebrate, though, and instead pulled more and more until Merlin was dragged out of the river, his mouth slack and eyes closed and skin white as death.

"No! No, no, Merlin, not like this! Wake up!" Arthur shouted as he let go of the rope now and put his arms underneath Merlin's, hauling his friend onto the muddy riverbank, lying him on his back. "Snap out of it! Wake up!" he shouted, shaking the boy's shoulders. His lips were pale, skin pallor.

He put a gloved hand on Merlin's cheek, tears gathering in his eyes and his voice catching in his throat. He shook his head, then shook Merlin, some more.

"Merlin- I order you to wake up right-"

Before he could finish his ridiculous command, Merlin coughed, and Arthur let out a heavy sigh of relief, tilting Merlin to his side as the boy spat out water, hacking it up from his lungs, hands clawing desperately at wet soil.

"It's alright," Arthur reassured, holding his friend close, supporting Merlin's weight as the boy coughed and spat. "You're alright, you're safe, I've got you. I've got you."


Merlin shuddered as he gasped wetly, coming back to Earth and instantly wishing he hadn't. His entire being ached, and he couldn't locate his magic to bring him comfort, instead relying on the hand that went to his back, Arthur's hand, as it patted gently, another hand going to his side where it gripped in a worried manner. His arms were shaky beneath him, his injured arm hardly holding him up and instead hanging limp.

"When I told you to drink water I did not mean drown yourself in it, you buffoon."

Suddenly, the boy turned to face Arthur, his blue eyes bright and panicked.

"-rthur," he gasped. His voice was frantic. "Are you alright?" he managed to ask as he observed his friend, looking for any injuries.

Arthur looked taken aback by the question. "Yes, I'm bloody alright! You're the one who nearly died!" Arthur looked around them, cursing to himself. "You're bleeding, and our medical supplies are in your pack. We need to get back to the horses, if they're still where we left them… it isn't far- can you walk?"

Merlin nodded weakly, and Arthur gently grasped him, helping him on his feet.

He put Merlin's wet arm around his shoulder, hauling them both uphill and towards where they had been ambushed. Merlin shivered the whole way, the cold of the river and frigidness of the air sucking any heat that warranted its presence in his body. He could see Arthur glance at him with worry every now and then, and Merlin would have stopped his shivering to alleviate the King's worries, if he could.

They reached the site of the ambush in only a few minutes, and Merlin's heart ached at what he found.

His horse was lying on the ground and letting out pained noises. A pool of blood surrounded her- five arrows launched in her brown-haired chest, and another in her leg. Arthur's horse was nowhere to be found.

Merlin raced the fastest he could towards his horse, collapsing before it on his knees, and putting a bloodied and wet hand on her muzzle. The horse gasped a pained breath, letting out a terrified whinny before Merlin soothed her with words from the Ancient Language.

"I'm so sorry, my friend," he whispered, tears gathering in his eyes.

Arthur approached him, silent in his stride. "Let's put her out of her misery," he spoke, his voice solemn.

Merlin wiped his tears and nodded once, not trusting himself to speak as he turned his head away. He only barely caught the sight of Arthur's raised sword, and closed his eyes as it made its descent.

He kept his hand over his horse's heart, wishing he had his magic so he could have eased her pain.

His entire being shook.

A hand grasped his arm. "Come," Arthur beckoned. "We need to bind your wounds before they worsen. I can't have you fainting on me, again." There was no teasing tone in Arthur's voice, just unbridled worry for his friend.

Merlin nodded, letting Arthur lead him to an ivy-covered rock. Merlin sat upon it, and Arthur brought Merlin's medical pack over.

He lifted Merlin's shirt, not giving the warlock a chance to do so, himself, and let Merlin hold it still as he brought out a jar that Merlin instructed him to, covering the wound in the herbal paste inside the container, and proceeding to bind him expertly.

He then inspected Merlin's shoulder.

"It's still in there," Merlin gasped as Arthur gently prodded the sore area. It was inflamed and irritated from Merlin's struggle in the water, and he felt as though he'd rather have no arm at all than continue to endure this pain.

Arthur's fingers tugged the collar of Merlin's tunic aside, tearing it slightly so he could inspect it easily. "The bastard dug it in further. I cannot remove it, I will only infect it. We must take you to Gauis. For now, I will apply the herbs and bind it. Don't move."

Merlin nodded, his breathing advancing as Arthur smeared the medicine on his wound. He whimpered in pain, flattening his lips into a line as he resisted the urge to scream. Afterwards Arthur carefully wrapped Merlin's shoulder, his fingers brushing gently against the boy's skin as he worked to bind the wound. At the end of it all, Merlin had worked up a sweat from his efforts to keep back his cries, although he was still shivering so vigorously that his teeth chattered together loudly.

"Remove your coat and shirt," Arthur instructed, noticing his friend's worrisome state. When Merlin gave him a look, Arthur snapped impatiently, "Now! Unless you'd rather freeze to death!"

Before Merlin could comply, however, it began snowing.

With the seconds it took them to gather themselves in their new situation, the snow picked up and fell heavily.

Arthur cursed. "Damn it all," he spoke as he hauled Merlin up. "We need to find shelter and build a fire. You can't travel in your condition."

Merlin felt weak on his feet, and he had to agree with the King, for once. "We passed a cave on our way here. Downhill, and past the gathering of rock, a mile south of the base of the hill. It was hidden by trees."

Arthur nodded, seeming impressed with Merlin's observation skills. He didn't comment on it, though, instead opting for, "Let's go, then."


It took ages to get back to the base of the tall hill, and it was sunset by the time they managed to find shelter. Merlin's condition had only worsened, and he could have sworn he was starting to lose feeling in his feet and hands. He had stopped shivering ages ago, and that worried Arthur to no end, making him pick up the pace of their stride.

When they found the cave, Arthur had laughed with relief, letting out a praise of joy before bringing them to the mouth of the cavern.

"Wait here," he told Merlin, carefully sitting him by the entrance. "I need to make sure it's safe."

Merlin nodded, panting as he put a numb hand on his abdomen, grasping the wound there. He waited for Arthur, and it felt like hours before the King returned, picking up his manservant and practically carrying him into the cave.

When they were quite far into the cave, Arthur leaned Merlin against the rocky wall, and the warlock rested boneless there, his eyes falling shut.

"Merlin, wake up!" Arthur panicked, patting Merlin's cheek until the boy groaned, opening his eyes to glare at Arthur. The King kept his gloved hand on Merlin's cheek, meeting his eyes. "Don't sleep, we have to warm you, first."

Merlin grumbled something incoherent, letting Arthur shed him of his coat and tunic. He was so tired he did not care for his own state of nudity, letting the King put the articles of clothing to the side. He removed his trousers next, but kept his shorts on for modesty. Merlin tried to ignore the way Arthur's fingers had fumbled with his belt, brushing dangerously against a region a King's fingers shouldn't brush.

Arthur took a moment to observe Merlin in his nakedness, his eyes lingering on the wound on his stomach, which was bleeding through the bandages, now. He looked at it almost guiltily, and Merlin didn't say a word.

Shaking his head, Arthur removed his red over-tunic, putting the fairly thick material on Merlin, then removing his cloak and wrapping the servant in it.

"You should take off your shoes and socks, too," Arthur instructed.

Merlin shied his gaze to the floor. "I can't really… use my fingers, as of this moment."

Arthur looked worried at that, and he chose to put the issue on the side for now as he removed Merlin's shoes and socks for him, wrapping his feet in a blanket he found in Merlin's pack. Then he removed his gloves, and took Merlin's hands with his own warm ones.

Merlin found himself entranced with the fashion in which Arthur's hands slotted easily into his own, the way their fingers laced as Arthur rubbed warmth into Merlin's digits. He rubbed hard and fast, working to get blood back into his friend's fingers. Merlin's hands tingled as the numbness trickled away, leaving a burning sensation.

Arthur's hands looked nice, Merlin noticed.

Once Arthur had been at this task for a good few minutes, he took his gloves from the cave floor and put them on Merlin. He then stood up, giving his friend a once-over. "I'm going to go gather some wood for a fire. Stay here, and stay quiet. I'll be back, shortly."

Merlin nodded, watching as the King left. When he was alone, he rubbed warmth into his feet through the blanket that adorned him. He was shivering, once again, and it racked through his body until he had no control, anymore- shaking and spasming through his sore muscles.

He was so tired. He could hardly keep his eyes open, now, and did not even know if he wanted to, anymore.

His magic was gone. He couldn't touch it- couldn't find even a hint of it within his core. His soul was empty and hollow and he was alone.

It terrified him ever so much.

Magic was not just a part of Merlin- it was Merlin. Without his magic, he was nothing. He wasn't whole. He was an empty shell.

Merlin's hand grasped at his shoulder, and he resisted the urge to dig his fingers through skin until they happened upon his own personal poison- the rune-engraved arrow lodged deep in his flesh.

It felt like an intruder, one that he had to rid himself of that moment, lest he go insane.

Merlin gasped wetly, shaking and shivering- with panic or cold, he had no idea, anymore.

Soon Arthur returned, and he looked panicked with his friend's condition. He placed the wood on the floor, kneeling in front of Merlin.

"Are you alright?" he asked, blue eyes worried.

Merlin nodded, arms hugging himself. "Just c-c-cold," he murmured, feeling weaker and weaker the more the seconds passed by.

Arthur nodded at that, and set to making a fire, working diligently until he had flames roaring proudly in their last-minute shelter. When he had finished, he gently lifted Merlin, putting the warlock's arm around broad, strong shoulders, and brought him closer to the fire. Arthur sat down by Merlin, and let the magician lean heavily on him. Merlin tried not to blush as he felt Arthur's arm wind around his waist, fingers settling on his belly. He tuned into the pleasant sensation before Arthur shifted, squeezing Merlin assuringly before he got up to fetch the servant's tossed-aside clothes.

He wringed them of their water, and laid them by the fire to dry, frowning distastefully at them as he did so.

"These are so flimsy!" he exclaimed, taken aback by the quality of Merlin's clothes. "How did you expect this to keep you warm?"

Merlin found enough energy within him for sarcasm.

"I do hope you'll forgive me, Sire, but not all of us can afford extravagantly thick robes and fur-lined coats," he retorted.

Arthur looked taken aback. Then he recomposed himself. "Well, this just won't do. You're a servant to the King. When we return to Camelot I will see to it that you're dressed as such."

Merlin took it as Arthur's way of showing he cared for him. The warlock didn't know what to think about his observation.

Arthur returned to his place by Merlin's side, taking his face in his hand as he observed him. The feel of Arthur's hand on Merlin's cheek was pleasant- the King was calloused from his sword fighting, yet his touch was gentle and careful, fingers long and tickling Merlin's neck, and the warlock suddenly wished he'd keep his hand there forever.

He didn't know what to think about that, either.

The King spoke.

"Your skin is still blue… and your lips are purple," he murmured, almost to himself. "This isn't working."

Then Arthur seemed to have an idea, for he removed his hand and used it to unfasten his sword from his belt, setting it aside. He then ordered Merlin to lie down. The sorcerer obliged, taken by surprise from the resolve in Arthur's voice.

After he'd laid down by the fire, he felt Arthur's form lie down behind him, and the King pulled his servant close to him, wrapping his arm tight around him.

"What are you-"

"If you ever speak of this to anyone, I'll put you in the stocks for a week- no, a month," Arthur threatened, but he didn't remove his grasp. In fact, he only tightened it. "Body warmth is the most efficient form of retaining heat."

Merlin blushed, unable to help but notice the hard muscle of Arthur's chest against his back, and how his groin was very, very close to-

"Er, alright," Merlin squeaked, hoping that Arthur didn't notice the embarrassing voice alteration.

If he did, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he seemed to move closer, if possible.

"You can sleep," Arthur murmured, his voice low and warm and so very close to Merlin's ear.

I don't know if I can, now, Merlin thought, but didn't dare say aloud.

Instead, he hummed in concordance, not trusting his voice to speak without humiliating himself. So he closed his eyes, and focused on Arthur's heartbeat against his back- so in tune to his own.

Two sides of the same coin, the voice of Kilgharrah seemed to remind him in his head.

Blast that dragon. Blast him, and his bloody coin.