As the last of the fog rose like a spiral of golden motes into the morning sky, Arthur heard Merlin's familiar shout of joy. It was a sound he knew instinctively, he had heard it so many times. It was relief and joy. It was the sound that let him know that victory was in his hand. It was the sound that lifted his heart in the most desperate of battles. It was the burst of pride as he disarmed his opponent with a clever hit in the joust. It was a sound he knew so well, that even though it made no sense, he whirled to look for his servant.

"Merlin," he cried, like a fool. But there was no answer and none to hear. Only the silent darkness of the well that marked the center of the shrine remained, it's stones darkened by a mighty blast. He wondered what the Druids had contained here, what terrible magic. The very stones were darkened by the explosion that had probably cost his friend his life.

The thought angered him. Perhaps fate reasoned he needed a reminder of his failure in the midst of his victory, thought Arthur. Bitter and angry, the moment paled in the reality of the larger fight. Merlin was injured by magic. He did not want to think about what he might find.

The Druids were safe, he reminded himself. The women and children were safe; the old couples and the young men were all safe, beginning a peaceful day. They would never know the terrible fate that had been avoided. But he could not smile. As the physical fog lifted, as the spell dissipated, the sound of Merlin's voice faded as well.

A fog fell on Arthur. He moved and walked, but he felt a disconnect. Everything seemed somehow different, more still, colors muted. He shoved Excalibur back into it's scabbard with a curse,and heaved himself along, thinking to find Merlin. But it was quickly apparent that he was helpless in knowing how to find him in the unfamiliar territory. He wandered in the shadows of the green forest, now desolate and eerie in its familiarity and its emptiness. His lungs were not on fire as they had been the last time he had struggled up these ravines and hills; now his eyes burned instead. He felt lost, as lost as he had been in the cloying fog.

Frustrated with his fruitless wandering, Arthur simply began to climb upwards, just as he had the last time. Thinking to take the lay of the land, he climbed to a point where he could look down, unimpeded into the area below, trying to place himself. As he turned away from the view at last, still feeling numb and trying to reason, the golden light of the morning caught on a flash of red, just above his line of sight, to the right on another hill, on the other side of an outcropping of stone. A flash of red. Merlin.

Arthur found himself running. It had to be Merlin. Stones scattered under his boots as he climbed. It had to be. The flash of red was Merlin. He could see him now. The details were coming into view as he came closer. He ran harder, barely looking where he was going, except to keep his eyes trained on that flash of red. Merlin was almost sitting, half leaning, braced against the tree, just as Arthur had left him. But now his head was drooping to the side, and he was tightly wrapped in Arthur's cloak. He skidded to stop; the clatter of stones showered Merlin's boots, but he didn't move.

Arthur wasted no time. He slid one arm under the friend and turned him towards himself. His face was covered in dried blood.

"Merlin," Arthur called loudly, feeling infinite relief at the warmth of Merlin's body in his arms. The boy moaned weakly and Arthur's heart danced. His friend was wet with perspiration. There were beads of sweat still gathering and streaming down his face.

"Merlin", Arthur said again, more softly. "Try to wake up, Merlin. I'm back."

He tugged at the cloak that now tightly wrapped his friend, but the fabric resisted. Arthur found it was knotted tightly into Merlin's clenched fists. He loosened the fabric with a pang, smoothing it from Merlin's stiffened fingers. He wiped his face dry and patted his cheek gently. His servant moaned again at his touch, a shudder of sound that Arthur knew he never would have heard from Merlin had he been conscious. It betrayed a pain so deep, that Arthur was struck anew by the same realization he had earlier.

It was impossible to know if Merlin was regaining awareness or if he was dying. The lack of any physical damage did not equate with Merlin's reactions, so he had no way to judge. He recalled his friend's initial stillness and how he roused into a state of extreme weakness. The bloody coughing and the waves of agony that had gripped his servant had gone. Perhaps that meant he was getting better, but logic told him it could also be a signal of a final decline. Arthur tried to steel himself, to hide the pain of uncertainty that was now building in his heart. He hoped the destruction of the source of the fog might benefit Merlin, but he had no way to gauge what was actually happening. He was at a loss.

Merlin moaned again, stirring this time. His heaved weakly and a whisper of sound that might have been Arthur's name escaped his lips.

"Merlin," the king called again. "Merlin!"

For a moment his hopes were high, but now despite Arthur's renewed attempts to rouse him, there was no response and his friend remained unconscious in his arms. Devastated, Arthur simply didn't know what to do, nor could he formulate a plan in that moment. He thought about the knights. They must be looking for them; he could go in search of help. But he found he couldn't leave his friend again. While he prayed desperately to any god who would listen that Merlin would awaken; reason could not deny the possibility that his loyal idiot of a servant, his only friend, might be dying. He wanted to weep, but he knew he did not dare. It would be the end of him. A deeper and more terrible wisdom bade him simply hold his friend.

"Don't make me drop you on your head again, Merlin," the king said at last because he could not bear the outrage of his thoughts in the silence. He gave the servant a firm shake, and finding no response again, he held him close for a long moment. His arms tightened almost convulsively. Arthur knew he could never bear to let Merlin go. Never.

"The village is safe," said Arthur softly, trying to make some kind of sense. Unfathomable emotions pierced him as he looked at his friend. "I hope you can hear me, Merlin. The Druid village is safe. Excalibur stopped the fog. I don't know how you knew that would work, but you did. There was a lot of thunder, you know. I... I thought I heard you. Crazy, huh? But I want you to know the village is safe. " His voice caught in his throat and he couldn't go on for a moment.

"You told me how to save all those people, Merlin. If it hadn't been for you..."

To his surprise, Merlin began to move slightly in his arms. His servant took a breath and his eyes fluttered open. A tremulous awareness lit his face, even though his gaze was still unfocused.

"Druids.." he whispered.

"The Druids are safe, Merlin," said Arthur, even more gently. His blazing smile belied the quietness of his words. "The fog is gone. Everyone is safe..."

But Merlin was not soothed. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"Druids," he repeated weakly again, and his lips twitched as he tried to smile. His eyes flashed to the side and Arthur looked up.

Druids.