A/N: YAY! I managed to update this week! I'm sorry it took so long . . . and I hope it's good. Tell me if it's not. I've read a lot of scenes like this, but whether or not I got it right . . . well, we'll see.

This chapter is dedicated to NBrokenShacklesN for reading & reviewing! :)

I don't own Merlin, which, considering this story, is a good thing.

And here's your weekly reminder to R&R! I really REALLY hope you like this chapter . . .

Arthur POV

The council meeting hadn't quite gone as planned. He didn't really want to execute the girl . . . banishing her was the worst that could have been done were she just a typical cow-thief. The problem was that she was not. The laws his father made still stood, and, to be honest, Arthur wasn't sure he was ready to repeal them. Magic was evil, just look at what it had done to Morgana. She'd become a monster, an enemy of Camelot. And yet . . . he had trouble seeing that young girl down in the dungeons as a monster.

Suddenly, Arthur noticed that his feet weren't taking him to his chamber, but rather toward the dungeon. He stopped, lurching a little as he realized this. Why would he be going down to the dungeons? Unless . . . he supposed that Yara at least deserved to know what was going to happen to her, and when. He continued walking.

He passed the guards, who bowed as he passed. He nodded back, his feet still carrying him forward. Something was drawing him towards the girl. Something like . . . magic. For some reason, this did not alarm him as much as it should.

The girl looked up when he stopped in front of the cell, her face tear-streaked. "What . . ."

"You are to be executed by hanging in three days' time," Arthur said, and even to him, his voice sounded tired.

He could tell the girl was trying not to sob, as silent tears fell from her blue eyes. "Then please," she said quietly. "Take these words as the last request of a dead girl. Find Merlin. Please."

Find . . . what? Why would she tell him to find Merlin? She sounded almost scared, though why a sorcerer would be scared for his manservant was beyond him. She must have seen the confusion on his face, for the girl spoke again, quickly, almost spitting the words at him. "He has a kind heart, unlike you! He will not take well to this!"

"You want me to comfort a servant?" he asked incredulously. What was this girl getting at?

"If you don't, you'll be sorry." There was something in the way she said the words, not threatening, but tired, scared, and pitying. She was pleading with him to listen to her. "Please . . . the final request of a dead girl," she said.

With a sigh, Arthur stood. "Alright. But you have now made you last request on behalf of my manservant."

"I think I can live with that for my remaining days," was the girl's response.

Arthur turned and left, and whatever force it was that had been compelling him to go to the girl was gone. He supposed that it would do no harm to find Merlin. He needed his chamber cleaned anyways.

But when he'd checked the armory, his chambers, the kitchens, and even the council rooms, and found no trace of Merlin, he started to get worried. Gwaine didn't know where Merlin was either, and was all too willing to search the taverns for his elusive friend. As Arthur rounded a corner, heading towards Gaius' chambers, he almost ran into Lancelot.

"Have you seen Merlin?" he asked quickly, trying not to sound as worried as he felt. For some reason, the slight annoyance that was usually present when he couldn't find his manservant had morphed into a worry a little too close to fear.

"No Sire, in fact, I've been looking for him too, since Gwaine told me how he'd gotten permission to go off to the taverns in the middle of the day."

"Have you checked Gaius'?" Arthur asked, indicating the direction from which the knight had come.

"No one was in the main room, but Merlin's door was closed. I didn't hear anyone inside though, and I thought it best not to snoop in Merlin's room."

"Probably," Arthur said, thinking of the disaster area Merlin's room had been the last time he'd seen it.

"He wasn't in the stables or laundry room, I was just about to check the armory . . ."

"I've checked, he's not there. Or in the kitchens, or my chambers . . ." Arthur trailed off. "Maybe we'd better check his room."

Lancelot turned, and Arthur followed him to the physician's chambers. As Lancelot had said, the main room was deserted, Gaius' bag gone, indicating that he was perhaps making rounds in the lower town. The door to Merlin's room was closed, but the handle turned easily when Lancelot gripped it. The knight pulled the door open, and froze in the doorway.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, moving from the table he was leaned against to Merlin's doorway. And froze himself. Because this wasn't real. This wasn't happening. There was no way in Hell . . . . Then the scent of the blood hit him, and Arthur ran with Lancelot to the corner of the room where Merlin was huddled, surrounded by a pool of blood. Gods, the blood. It was everywhere. The bed, the floor, Merlin's legs, his feet, his hands, his arms, the knife . . . wait . . . knife? Arthur's mind was muddled, he couldn't think. Dimly, he supposed he must be going into shock.

Lancelot was speaking, something about bandages; to stop the bleeding, Arthur supposed. He pressed shaking hands to the wounds . . . gods, what wounds. All over his arm, cuts still oozing blood, spilling Merlin's life around Arthur's trembling fingers. And Merlin shouldn't be bleeding like this. No living thing should have this much blood inside it, let alone lose it all.

Lancelot grabbed his shoulder, and Arthur was jerked from his daze. Lancelot held Merlin's neckerchief in his hand, and Arthur moved so Lancelot could wrap it around Merlin's left wrist, where the bleeding was heaviest. But it wasn't just the wrist. The whole arm was covered in blood, as if someone had painted it with red paint. Lancelot took the knife from Merlin's limp fingers, and Arthur didn't even want to think of why the hilt of the blade had been resting in Merlin's palm.

Arthur's fingers fumbled with the hem of his tunic, tearing off the bottom inch and wrapping the rest of the arm in the red cloth. It didn't help his helplessness that the shade quickly darkened to a near-black. "Find Gaius," he said, and he didn't care that his voice was hoarse, thick with as yet unshed tears. Something in his tone must have brooked no argument, for Lancelot didn't argue as he left, stumbling a little himself.

Quickly, Arthur grabbed a blanket from the bed, tearing it into strips and not caring that it, too, was stained with blood. No time to be picky right now, not while Merlin was dying . . . . And Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat. Quickly, he bandaged Merlin's other wrist, and put his fingers to Merlin's neck, searching for a pulse, 'cause he couldn't be gone yet. The idiot still had to clean his chambers and muck out the stables and tell him he was a prat and DAMN IT ALL, HE COULDN'T LOSE MERLIN!

The pulse beneath his blood-soaked fingers was unsteady, weakly keeping Merlin alive, and Arthur's own heart skipped a beat when Merlin's did. And Merlin's skin was so cold. Quickly, Arthur gathered his servant- no, friend- no, more than that . . . his brother- into his arms. He pulled Merlin up onto the bed, wrapping his arms around him to get him to WARM UP! Please gods, don't let Merlin die.

"Don't you dare die, Merlin, don't you dare. If you die, I swear, I will bring you back from the dead just to put you in the stocks for a month!" He sobbed into Merlin's hair, and he didn't care if anyone were to walk in at that moment. His brother was hurt, was cold as . . . as . . . no. Arthur refused to entertain that thought at all. It was too frightening, particularly with Merlin actually so close to the edge.

Blood soaked through the makeshift bandages, and Arthur tore more of the sheet into strips, difficult with Merlin situated leaning back against his chest. Eventually, Arthur gave up trying to get his trembling fingers to tear the cloth, simply bundling Merlin closer to him, holding him resolutely, because Merlin WOULD NOT DIE. He wouldn't, because Merlin was Merlin, and he was too stubborn to die . . . right?

A/N: Oh dear . . . I . . . just . . . I'm sorry. WHY DO I DO THIS!? Review? :) (hopeful expression)