/written in response to the second episode of season 4. I just wanted to try writing what was going through their heads. Sorry if I messed up dialogue and whatnot. *goes to rewatch it to check for errors...* ;D

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

Also, Spoiler Alert.

Merlin's skin is ice against my fingers.

I hear myself telling the others that we're going back. This is the only option, of course. We can't go on without him. The idea is simply preposterous. Why on earth would we even consider continuing without Merlin?

I mean, he may not be a good fighter, or fearless like me, or pretty, like Gwen, but he's much, much more important than a silly quest.

Right?

I hear the knights telling me that I must continue. That Lancelot will take Merlin back to Camelot. How can he make such an inane proposition? If anyone's going back, it should be me! Merlin was hurt protecting me, the idiotic twat. If anyone is going to help him now-

Then I remember my quest. My Quest. The one I embarked on, the one that isn't finished, the one the knights have pledged themselves to see through. I can't abandon it after all, can I? I owe Merlin... I owe him that much. He's near death, and it was all so that I could continue. So I have to keep moving.

"Alright." I give Lancelot a slight nod, silently begging for him to move fast, faster than he's ever moved before, to be careful, to be safe. I help lift Merlin onto his horse - Lord, he's heavy, I'm going to have to start scolding him for stealing my food, the little prat - and then he speaks.

"Take me with you. Please."

It almost crushes me. The begging - I don't think I've ever heard Merlin ask for anything before, ever. Not like this.

"You'll die, Merlin," is all I can say, all I can think, the only thing that matters.

He makes a joke, of course, just like he always does, and the tightness in my chest unwinds slightly. He can still make jokes. That's a good sign, right? I mean, his brain is working (as well as it ever does, I mean). He can talk. He can laugh, even if it's cold and halfhearted.

God, I miss his smile already.

A hollow, empty feeling settles firmly in the pit of my stomach as I watch Lancelot trot off with Merlin in tow, draped pathetically over his horse's neck, looking as though he might fall off at any moment. It takes all of my willpower to resist the urge to follow, to help him sit straight, to support him. I watch him until he disappears into the woods, the hollow feeling in my stomach growing, consuming the organs that are supposed to be there, and all I can think about is his hand on my arm, pulling me back, leaping out in front of the Dorocha before I knew what was happening, and how I should've known, should've guessed he'd be his usual idiotic self and why didn't I see it coming why did he-

I turn to follow the knights, but the quest doesn't seem nearly as important as it did a couple of days ago when I left Camelot.

I'm very, very cold. Shivering uncontrollably. That's about all I know.

I remember asking to go with Arthur. Where is he now? Why aren't I with him?

Oh, that's right. It's because of the cold. The damned ice that has turned my body into a prison, rendering me completely useless. As if I wasn't useless enough already.

And now, because of me, Lancelot is taking me back to Camelot. Lancelot, who should be protecting Arthur.

I should be protecting Arthur.

The forest flashes in and out of my awareness. I cling to the horse, desperate to make sure I don't waste any time, don't slow Lancelot down. I have to recover. I have to get back to Arthur.

I try to protest when Lancelot sets me down on the forest floor by the water, but I can't move. I have no strength. It's bloody cold.

Then I feel the water.

It soothes and melts and caresses my skin, and a strange coolness - much softer than the cold, and bright, somehow - dulls my senses further, and I drift off to sleep before I can demand that Lancelot to take me back to Arthur because I'm fine.

When I wake up, Lancelot is dead asleep. I frown in frustration - we need to move - but I realize that we have a long ride ahead of us, especially if we want to have a prayer of catching up to Arthur, so instead I wander around until I spot a long stick and set about finding some breakfast for when he finally wakes up.

He still wants me to go back, of course, but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard and I feel fine. I'm not really sure how - all I remember is the cool sensation on my skin, melting the ice - but I don't care. We need to find Arthur. Lancelot can come, or he can go back to Camelot. It doesn't really matter which.

But it doesn't surprise at all me when he gives up fairly easily, and follows behind me as I ride as fast as possible to catch up with the Prince, who is probably getting himself into serious trouble right about now.

I push my horse a little faster, and Lancelot follows after me, never far behind.