Ending 1:

Arthur struggled harder than he ever had before against the damned spell that held him, desperately trying to spare the life of his dearest friend. His finger inched slowly, steadily, toward the trigger. Arthur resisted, willed himself to avert his aim, to remove his finger, anything, so that this monstrosity did not occur. He prayed. He cursed. He offered the devil his soul.

But it was over before Arthur could even blink.

The weapon discharged, speeding straight for Merlin's heart—but it rebounded off a shimmering gold shield. If Arthur had had any control over himself he would have gaped. But it seemed that Arthur would be given that freedom, for with another flash of gold in his eyes, Merlin released the enchantment that bound him.

Arthur stumbled back, relieved to have his limbs again, but utterly shocked. Rather than lowering the crossbow, he more firmly adjusted his aim. Merlin did not seem to pay any attention to this. For a moment the servant sat where he was, breathing heavily, eyes scrunched shut. But then he slumped to one side. The king regarded him, refusing to lower the weapon in case it was some trick. But Merlin did not move.

Fainted.

A dizzying maelstrom of thoughts spun in Arthur's head. He couldn't decide whether to be relieved, to be angry, or even to be frightened. The king settled on a confused mixture of the three.

Why had Merlin waited so long to protect himself with that magic? Or was that magic even his?—It could be some trap, some illusion, devised by that malicious sorcerer. But what was the point? Nothing this sorcerer had done made any sense! He could have easily killed him, killed Merlin; he could have easily taken control of Arthur so as to capture Camelot. But no.

There was no sense in it.

Arthur lowered the crossbow, feeling ridiculous. There was no feasibility that Merlin had magic. The words didn't belong together. It was the sorcerer's trick, surely. Rather than forcing Arthur to kill his best friend, he was trying to trick him into willingly doing so. The king would have known if his servant practiced magic. They'd spent years together, after all. Arthur would have known.

He shoved the image of blue turning to gold to the back of his mind, shuddering. There was no need to dwell on such a nightmare. Merlin hadn't even raised his hand to conjure the shield. Sorcerers always directed their hand toward the object of their spell. Merlin didn't have magic.

Satisfied that he'd arrived at a logical conclusion, Arthur quickly went to his friend's aid, sure to keep the bow close at hand in case the sorcerer decided to make a reappearance. Merlin groaned weakly as Arthur shook him back to wakefulness. He felt bad for his coarse treatment in the wake of what had happened, but he was certain that Gaius had said a severely injured person should not be allowed to sleep.

"Merlin," Arthur said urgently, casting a fervent gaze about. "Wake up, you dolt."

"Pra…t…"

In any other situation the king would have found it hard not to laugh, but at the moment things were quite serious. He and Merlin needed to get back to Camelot immediately, where it was safe. Arthur's lips thinned and his brow furrowed, realizing that Merlin was not going to—or, more likely, wasn't able to—cooperate.

"You're such a girl's petticoat," Arthur griped, but his heart wasn't in it. His heart, as a matter of fact, was thundering hard in his chest, both out of grief and fear—grief for his friend's pain, and fear for the sorcerer's return. Casting another glance around, he set down the weapon and quickly hoisted Merlin onto his shoulder. Merlin mewled at the harshness of the sudden movement, despite Arthur's attempt to be gentle.

He snatched up the crossbow and hurried to the horses, back slightly bent under Merlin's weight. There was no time to dress Merlin's wounds or even to put out the dwindling fire. Their water skins would be left behind, as well as their pots and most of the hunting gear. Those were easily replaceable; Merlin was not—despite all Arthur's claims to the contrary.

Arthur slung Merlin over the saddle of his own horse, not trusting his dear friend to stay on his own. Paranoid, he looked over his shoulder as he untethered the mares. Though he saw no apparent danger his senses were abuzz, and the young king quickly mounted behind Merlin's limp form and kicked his horse into motion. Merlin's mare he led by her reigns.

The ride was hard, and it was with no small amount of relief that Arthur spied the white turrets of the castle rising above the green trees. Merlin had, throughout the journey, remained somewhere between unconsciousness and the waking world. Occasionally he voiced his pain, keening and groaning after a particular jolt, but Arthur could not bring himself to stop until they reached the gates of the city.

"We're home," Arthur breathed. "We're safe."

Merlin did not comment.

He ordered one of the posted guards ahead of them to inform Gaius that his services were needed immediately, and another to tell the queen that he was not to meet her on the garden terrace as planned, and then to gather his Roundtable Knights in the council room. Arthur relinquished Merlin's mare to a stable hand, but rode his into the courtyard as fast as he dared. Peasants scrambled out of the way in alarm, openly staring after the horseback duo.

Arthur dismounted at the base of the castle steps, and carried Merlin up the tower steps to Gaius' chambers himself. He was huffing and puffing by the time of his arrival.

The guard had reached his destination only a moment before the king, so Gaius was rushing about, clearing the patient bed and gathering some supplies, already giving the soldier more orders: "Go and fetch some water—from the kitchens, of course! It's closer." The young man hurried to do his bidding, flustered enough to bow respectfully both to the old physician and to the king, who pushed past him to gently lay Merlin on the cot.

Gaius looked up, brow furrowed in alarm. "What's happened?" he exclaimed, immediately going to his surrogate son's side and taking in the damage. He opened both of Merlin's eyes to check for signs of internal injuries. The boy's pupils were of different diameters.

Arthur collapsed onto a stool, struggling to catch his breath and to find the words to explain. How could he tell Gaius that 'twas he who had done it? He had been enchanted, but it was still…his fault.

"I…He," he stuttered, unable to meet the old man's level gaze. He instead lowered his eyes to Merlin's form. "Sorcerer," he blurted quite eloquently, choosing a word that ought to explain everything.

Gaius regarded him solemnly, eyebrow arching. "I see," he murmured, also lowering his gaze. "And what will you do with him, Sire?"

"Execute him, of course!" Arthur asserted the obvious. "Gaius, I would never allow that bastard to get away with this." He ran a thumb over his bloodied knuckles, sorrow forming a thick lump in his throat.

The old physician lifted his chin, a sad look overcoming his features. Before he could say anything more, however, Arthur spoke: "Gaius, I must entrust Merlin's care to you. I have gathered the knights in the council room to form a hunting party to find that damned sorcerer who has caused this." With that, he swept regally out of the room, leaving the physician momentarily flabbergasted. A small sound from Merlin quickly transferred his attention, however, and he began his ministrations to his injured ward. He would have to ask after the details later.

King Arthur rapidly descended the winding staircase, footsteps echoing around him, intent on reaching the council chambers in as timely a manner as possible. His men had most likely all been gathered by then. It was important that they head out immediately, to catch the sorcerer. Of course, Arthur was well aware that the sorcerer had certainly had far too long of a head-start. He'd vanished in a flash of lightning once the spell had been completed, so he could be anywhere in the world at the moment. But it would not stop him from trying. Merlin deserved that much, at least.

His most trusted knights were indeed awaiting his presence, Gwaine and Elyan speaking between themselves. They silenced at his appearance, standing attentively alongside Sirs Percival and Leon. Merlin's absence, it was obvious, was immediately noticed, but did not yet cause alarm.

The calm did not last.

Once Arthur had tersely explained Merlin's condition and the cause of it—the sorcerer's enchantment—there was an outcry, particularly from Gwaine. The king had to shout to be heard over him and Elyan, the more passionate of his knights, and directed them to gather their gear and horses. "We've a witch hunt on our hands," Arthur announced.

"Aye," agreed Gwaine aggressively, moving before they had been dismissed. "Let's go, Princess!"

Arthur decided to let that compounded insult slide. Just that once.