Author's Note: Oh wow. Look at the time...it does fly when you're having fun...or when your source material has been cancelled and left you heartbroken and devoid of feelings...No. Seriously. Sorry about the delay, I wasn't sure where to go from the last chapter, and it'd been so long since I watched the season that this takes place...consider everything AU.

On with the show! Reviews are better than cookies!


Merlin couldn't tell what was real anymore. And of the things he knew were real…he couldn't tell which of the two visions was real. And everything was doubled. Four unconscious or likely dead sorceresses on the ground. Two open doors out of the ruined cellar. Two Arthurs pulling him along through the trees even as he stumbled over what felt like two left feet, though he was pretty okay with the idea of two Arthurs. It was better than that horrible, terrible emptiness at the thought of there being none at all.

A horrible thought swept over him. Maybe he was imagining all of it. Maybe they were still in the dungeon. Or on the battlefield? Was Arthur alive but imprisoned? Or was he dead, lying somewhere behind him on the field? The arms holding him up were suddenly not supporting him but entrapping him, dragging him away from Arthur. Arthur, who needed his help. He could save him. Not even death could take his king away. Merlin started to struggle against the hands on his arm and under his shoulder, trying desperately to pull away.

He had to get back to Arthur. He had to.

"Merlin! What the hell are you doing? There's nothing back there!"

Merlin shook his head. There was something back there. The most important person in the world was back there, and he had to save him. "Arthur!" he called, pulling against the restraining hands, trying to slip out of their grip. But they kept pulling him forwards.

"What? I'm right here, Merlin!" The hands suddenly spun him around and the world kept spinning at an alarming speed. He could see red and gold but it didn't seem real. Not when Arthur was behind him…this was another trick.

"No…Arthur!" he pulled against the hands again, but the spinning world threw his balance off, and he felt himself start to fall.

"Not again…"

He heard someone sigh, and he was gently lowered to the ground. His head pounded, and he couldn't see straight, the world a bleeding wall of colors he couldn't tell apart.

Someone put both hands on either side of his face, forcing him to turn towards them. Blue eyes stared back at him from a familiar face.

"We've been over this, Merlin. I'm fine. You saved me. Everything else was just a trick by Morgause and Morgana. And I'm really, really sorry that I hit you."

Merlin blinked. "Arthur?"

The person, while still blurry and mostly looking like two people trying to merge as one, smiled crookedly. "Yes, Merlin. It's me. You with me?"

Merlin nodded, and immediately regretted it. He stomach rolled uneasily, and he turned to his side as he heaved.

Almost nothing came up, but whatever did tasted coppery and vile, and Merlin heard Arthur swear under his breath.

"Dammit, you're still coughing up blood. Merlin, please, please tell me you know healing magic," Arthur said, gently rolling him back. Merlin could feel Arthur's fingers ghost over his rib cage and flinched away when he brushed against his side.

"Merlin, focus. Come on, open your eyes."

Merlin blinked. When did he close them? Arthur was looking concerned. That was never a good sign. Maybe it was because of that nasty head wound from back at Fyrien when he accidentally knocked him out…he should've fixed that sooner.

"Sorry," he mumbled, one hand raising up touch Arthur's cheek.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Sorry? What for?"

He could feel the soft tendrils of magic in the Earth, and he could feel the sudden rush of it through his fingers, knowing his eyes flashed briefly gold. Merlin willed away the head injury, watching the bruising recede into nothingness, and tried to ignore the slight flinch from Arthur. "There. All better."

Arthur touched the side of his face, and first his eyes widened in awe, then immediately narrowed. "Merlin! You idiot!"

Merlin flinched away. He thought he'd fixed it. Did it make it worse? He reached up a hand again, but this time Arthur slapped his hand away.

His addled brain tried to scramble for an answer, a reason why his friend would be upset. He asked about healing magic, and Merlin healed him. Was that not what he wanted? Was it wrong?

The realization hit like a physical blow, and Merlin jerked his hands back, twisting away from Arthur's supporting grip.

Arthur hated magic.

Arthur hated him.


Arthur tried to keep calm, but the reaction had been instinctual. Merlin was wasting energy trying to heal him of a couple superficial cuts and bruises while he was slowly bleeding to death on the ground. Every time he managed magic, he got a little paler, a little weaker. He was starting to hallucinate, unable to remember where they were or what they were doing for any period of time. Half the time he allowed Arthur to drag him along, stumbling alongside him as he tried to keep upright and mostly failing, while the other half of the time he spent trying to fight against him, convinced that he wasn't really alive, or really there, but instead somewhere behind them in the ruins.

It was scary enough the first time. The further they got from the ruins the worse he seemed to get. Arthur didn't know if it was the residual truth potion, or if it was injury or even whatever Morgana did to him to make him think Arthur was dead that still clung to him. Every time Arthur tried to convince Merlin to use magic, Merlin misunderstood what he was asking, and instead of healing himself, or somehow signaling for help, Merlin healed Arthur. Arthur now felt better than he had in months, but Merlin was fading fast and Arthur had no idea how to help him.

Now Arthur was downright terrified that Merlin was letting himself die every time he used magic to heal Arthur instead of himself. When Merlin reached for his face a second time, only minutes after coughing up blood, Arthur couldn't stop himself from slapping the warlock's hand away.

From the terrified look in Merlin's eyes, though, it'd been the wrong move.

"Merlin, I'm sorry!" he said, trying to keep Merlin from twisting away. "I'm not angry at you!" Well, yes, he was, but not for using magic. Just for using it on the wrong person.

Merlin was the living embodiment of the phrase 'loyal to a fault.'

"Merlin!" he tried again, but Merlin refused to meet his gaze, looking everywhere but at him, pushing weakly against his hands as he tried to get away.

Where was Gwen when he needed her? She was a much more soothing presence. Maybe Merlin would respond to her, or at least not act like she was trying to kill him. It was starting to get dark, and soon they would have to make camp. There was no sign of any of Cenred's men or Gwen and her brother, but Arthur was reluctant to start a fire. They were still too close to enemy territory to risk it, but Merlin was starting to feel cold to the touch, minute tremors shaking his frame.

Dammit. Dammit all to hell.

"I'm sorry," Merlin mumbled, head turned away. "I can't help it."

"Can't help what?" Arthur asked tiredly.

"Magic." The choked word sounded more like a sob, and in the fading light of the sunset, Arthur could see the faint track of tears across Merlin's cheeks.

Arthur sighed, running an affectionate hand through Merlin's hair, wincing at the lump he felt on the back of his head. "I know, Merlin. I don't blame you, and I'm not angry. I just wish…I wish you would try and save yourself instead of me for once."

Either Merlin didn't hear or didn't believe him, and instead he tried to curl in on himself, crying out against the shift of broken and bruised ribs.

Arthur would never admit it, but he was feeling at wit's end. His friend was dying in front of him, thinking that he hated him for something he couldn't help, when it couldn't be further from the truth.

"Merlin?" Arthur said, waiting for Merlin to at least look in his direction. It took longer than he would've liked, but Merlin finally turned wide, reddened eyes towards him. "Merlin, answer truly. Do you trust me?"

Merlin nodded almost immediately, and Arthur couldn't help the awe at the idea that ever after all this, even in his fever addled and poisoned mind, Merlin trusted him. He had no idea what he'd done to deserve it, but he swore he'd never take it for granted again.

"Then please, please believe me when I say I don't hate you. I could never hate you. I don't care what others have told me about magic, because you are all I need to know. You are the kindest person I have ever met, and you are my only friend. You've gone above and beyond anything I had a right to ask of you, but I must ask you one more favor. Will you do that for me?" Arthur asked. He pretended like his voice wasn't shaking.

Merlin fought to keep his eyes open, but he nodded once more. "Anything," he mumbled.

"Please, please help yourself. You've done your duty. You've done your job. You saved my life, Merlin. Now please, for the love of God, save yourself." Arthur swiped furiously at his eyes as his vision blurred.

Merlin's face crumbled, and Arthur felt his heart sink.

"I can't…" Merlin protested.

Arthur slammed an open hand against the ground. "Why not?!" he shouted angrily. "Just once in your damned life, Merlin, do as you're told!"

Merlin's arms shot up as if to ward off an attack.

"Please, Merlin! You're dying and I can't help you! I don't know what to do!" Arthur pleaded. He didn't care that he was dangerously close to crying. He didn't care how helpless he sounded. "You've done it at least a dozen times to me, so why can't you do it for yourself?"

"I don't…" Merlin gasped, breath coming shallowly and uneven. "I don't know…"

"Don't know what Merlin?" Arthur demanded.

Merlin's hands dropped, covering his face and Arthur barely heard the words.

"I don't know how…"

And Arthur felt the last of his resolve give out, his shoulders slumping as he raised his face to the sky. It was a cruel world for kind things, he thought bitterly recalling something his father once told him.

"You must've been injured before, Merlin. We fought dragons and sorcerers and trolls…you couldn't have done this all on your own. Didn't anyone help you?" Arthur asked. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. It was entirely too easy to imagine Merlin struggling alone against insurmountable odds. Maybe that was why he smiles had become thinner and thinner, or why he'd begun to always look run down and weary.

"Kilgarrah," Merlin breathed, before his head lolled forwards, unconscious once more.

The word meant nothing to him. Was that a person? Magic? Complete nonsense?

A shadow passed over him, and Arthur opened his eyes to see what it was. His heart stuttered even before he felt the ground shake around him.

"Well now, young Prince. It's time we finally met under favorable terms…" The voice rumbled, like the roll of thunder, reverberating in Arthur's very bones.

The Great Dragon perched, not ten yards away from the two young men, looking smug and surprisingly solemn.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, then cracked one open.

The dragon was still there.

Arthur's head dropped to his chest. "And to think...I didn't think this day could possibly get worse…"


So I realized it ends on an almost comical note compared to the seriousness of the chapter, but I couldn't help it. I could just picture Arthur reacting that way. Hopefully it lives up to expectations (I'm still a little iffy on it - feels rushed?). Let me know what you think, and hopefully people still read this. Reviews help to spur the muse into not taking another ::cough cough:: YEAR to update...good thing for New Year's Resolutions, right? Right?