A/N: I'm sorry I couldn't get this up earlier. My internet chose to die last night (was up late again...sigh). I really wanted to be able to put this chapter up earlier in the week, but I unfortunately wasn't able to finish writing it as quickly as I thought despite having the scene entirely played out. This was another one of those things that I knew I wanted to have happen, but I had to be careful while writing it to make sure I covered everything. It's also a chapter heavy with thoughts and emotions (at least it's supposed to be), and sometimes it's hard to find the right words. Hopefully I managed to convey everything I meant :) And hopefully everyone is still in character. This was another difficult situation to put them all in.

Loved Saturday's episode probably more than I should have. There were just a whole lot of small things in it that made me extremely happy :)

Title: Healing Spells
Author: BeyondTheStorm
Rating: T for violence and bloodshed.
Characters/pairings: Only friendship here :) Lots of Merlin and Arthur, and quite a bit of Gwen too, with some Morgana and some Gaius.
Spoilers: Um...lets just say everything up through 2x07, just to be safe.
Warnings: Self-harm (though just mentions of it from now on), violence, and blood.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of any real value other than my car. Merlin belongs to BBC and Shine. I'm only playing with it.

Thank you so much though for all the wonderful comments, they totally make my week, and I'm glad so many people are reading so much into things. It's good to know all my foreshadowing worked :) But don't jump to too many conclusions quite yet. I believe I still have a few tricks up my sleeve :)

CHAPTER 20

His mind was racing. For a moment it felt like everything just stopped, as if time itself were frozen even though he could feel his blood pounding, hear it rushing in his ears. He couldn't remember ever being hit so hard by just a few words. It was like he'd been slapped only this was far worse, as if someone had slammed into him, sent him crashing to the ground. He couldn't hear anything over his churning thoughts as everything that had occurred recently ran through his mind. In a little more than a week, it would be two months since he'd found out about Merlin. It was almost two months since that day in the woods where his servant had killed that sorcerer.

Almost two months since the illness started spreading.

Almost two months since Linneth's father died.

It can't be…there's no way…

"Arthur?"

The prince blinked, registering for the first time in what felt like hours that he was still sitting in the infirmary with Gaius. The physician was watching him, curiosity and concern written clearly on his face.

"Are you alright, sire?"

"Gaius…" He needed to figure this out. He had to know for sure, because there were too many coincidences, too many things that had to add up no matter how badly he wished they wouldn't. "What you said about Linneth's father…she said that he left."

"He did leave," said Gaius, still watching him with that same look, as if the physician was trying to read his mind. It wouldn't do any good. His thoughts were nothing short of frantic. "He set out nearly two months ago for Camelot. Unfortunately, he was killed before he could reach the city."

His heart stopped, his breath catching on the lump in his throat.

No…

Two stories. There were two stories, the sorcerer's and Linneth's, and his mind put them together, adding them up, because the connection was there. The two of them were similar, and they always had been, but he just hadn't been paying enough attention, hadn't seen it before, because he had never even thought to entertain the idea of everything leading back to that day and leading up to this.

"I watched my youngest daughter burn at the stake, unable to save her! She was innocent, unable to perform even the simplest of spells, and yet she was accused of sorcery, found guilty simply because the king claimed it to be so! I have lost everything to the laws of Camelot!"

His "youngest daughter." That implied that there was another, that there was more than one, someone older, and then there was Linneth's sister…

"She had come to Camelot with her mother and ended up being accused of sorcery. Uther found her guilty and sentenced her to burn. Her father and Linneth arrived too late to save her. Her mother claimed she was innocent, that the child had no magic, but it made no difference. No one would listen to her."

A father who had lost his youngest daughter, and a young woman who had lost her little sister. Lives destroyed by ignorance, giving birth to anger and vengeance and unbearable, all-consuming heartache…the kind of heartache that kills.

Linneth lost her sister, her mother, and then her father…her father who left her and headed for Camelot, who died before ever reaching the city.

A sorcerer who was killed in the forests just outside of Camelot.

An illness born from magic, spreading through the outlying villages, centered around the area where Linneth lived.

Two months…

There was no denying it, no way of pretending that it was all nothing more than a coincidence. It was true that loss because of magic was common in Camelot, but the underlying fact was that Linneth was familiar. He and Merlin had both felt that there was something they recognized, something about her that they'd both seen before, something he should have noticed sooner, and there was.

A pair of dark eyes, bright and intelligent, filled to the brim with determination and a quiet kind of pride mixed with hatred.

Their eyes were the same. It had just taken him longer to notice because Linneth was different. There was pride and intelligence, determination, but there was a great deal of compassion, guilt, and a desperate need to help that was so great it hid the sense of anger and hate, buried it in uncertainty. However, it was still there, even if it was nothing more than a spark.

And sparks could be ignited.

That man they had met so many weeks ago was Linneth's father, her last remaining family after the laws of Camelot saw her sister burn and may just as well have killed her mother. Her father left in hatred and revenge, and he met his end just outside of Camelot, met his end at the hands of Merlin.

His heart stopped once more, eyes wide as a sharp pain erupted in his chest, and before he knew it, he was on his feet with the sound of blood rushing in his ears, drowning out everything, every single thought and notion aside from one.

Linneth's father was dead, killed by Merlin.

Merlin.

Merlin was with Linneth.

"Is this it?"

"I'm afraid not. The shape is similar, but they're not quite the same. Plus, the flowers should be either white or pink, not purple."

Merlin sighed and stood up from where he'd been crouching next to a plant, one he'd been hoping was valerian, which was what they were currently looking for. He hadn't even known such an herb existed (Gaius had certainly never sent him to find it before). Apparently Linneth liked using it. He had asked her about it earlier, and she had told him it was a personal choice and that she wasn't all that surprised that Gaius didn't normally use it.

Valerian was a plant that helped with pain but was also used to treat coughing and calm people down. Apparently the illness made it difficult for a person to truly sleep, and a potion made with valerian helped with that. Genuine rest was a good way to fight most illnesses, perhaps even some magical ones. Plus, the potion helped to ease their suffering, and since they still couldn't cure them, it was the least they could do.

"Does Gaius often ask you to fetch herbs?" asked Linneth, drawing his attention away from the plant that unfortunately hadn't been valerian.

"Sometimes," he said. "He usually goes and buys the less common ones, but he'll send me out for the rest if I'm not busy. I've gotten pretty used to doing it, and I've certainly learned a lot."

He turned around and walked off, spying another plant that sort of looked like the one Linneth had shown him. They had ended up going rather deep into the forest, and so far they hadn't found much. Most of the areas Linneth usually got the herb from had already been picked through (she had had to do this a lot in the past weeks, apparently).

When Gaius had asked if he would help fetch the herbs they needed, he had rather jumped at the chance to be useful. The physician had intended to go with him, but Linneth had offered to go instead. He had been surprised at first, but he had accepted her company in the end. Even though there was something just a bit unsettling about her, he couldn't actually think of a reason not to accept her help. Besides, perhaps if he spent some time with her, he'd be able to figure out why he and Arthur felt like they recognized her. There was something there that he knew he had seen before, something in those dark eyes of hers that made her seem familiar. It felt like the answer was right there in front of him, but he just couldn't quite grasp it, and it would continue to bother him until he finally did.

He reasoned that the best way to figure it out would be to get to know the girl better, and this outing gave him the perfect opportunity.

"What about you?" he asked. "Do you do this a lot?"

"I have to," she answered. "There isn't anyone else who can. I'm afraid I don't have an assistant…not anymore."

"So you used to?"

"…My father."

Merlin bent down to examine the plant in front of him, trying to hide the guilty wince as he realized he had unknowingly brought up a painful topic. He hadn't meant to. The last thing he had wanted was to make this an uncomfortable trip.

"He used to go and find whatever I needed. Even if he was in the middle of his work, he'd drop everything just to help me. He was the only one I could rely on."

I miss him. She didn't need to say it. He could hear it in her voice. He didn't understand how her father could just leave like that. After losing so much, how could he leave his only family behind? What could drive a person to do that? What reason could there possibly have been?

There was something else there, something in her voice that he couldn't quite place. It seemed that no matter what he tried to talk to her about and no matter how hard he listened, he was still always missing something. There was still just the slightest sense of hollowness to her tone, like something that should have been there wasn't. He just couldn't place it, but he suddenly felt closer than ever to finding out why she was familiar. Perhaps talking about her father was the key to that.

"I can't claim to understand why he left," the warlock began, hoping to at least console her a bit, "but I'm sure he had a good reason. Even if he couldn't handle living simply like this, I'm certain he didn't intend to leave you forever."

"He said he wanted to make a better life for me," was her soft reply, and once more it seemed like her words carried a second meaning, as if they meant something more than what they were.

And it was strange, but…he could've sworn there was just a touch of bitterness in those words, though for the life of him he couldn't understand why.

"Then I'm sure he'll come back for you." After all, why wouldn't he? He was her father, after all.

Merlin was almost ninety-nine percent certain that the plant he had found wasn't the right one (the flowers on this one were blue), but it was safer to check with Linneth than to just dismiss it. He was about to ask, still studying the plant, when four small words delivered in a voice like ice killed any sound he could have made.

"…He won't come back."

Just four words followed by a sudden, all-consuming silence.

The warlock swallowed hard, because something had suddenly changed. He could feel it in the air around them, heavy and uncertain. He wanted to move, wanted to turn around so he could see Linneth, but his body wouldn't listen to him, and he couldn't understand why he was suddenly so hesitant or what he was afraid of seeing. Something felt wrong.

"My father didn't just leave, Merlin. He was killed."

Killed? But…

He wanted to say something. Wanted to but couldn't. How…?

"It's been nearly two months now," she continued, her voice unreadable, but there was an underlying tone, cold and knowing, and a feeling very much like dread began to wash over him though he couldn't understand why. "He was heading for Camelot. He told me that he was going to create a place for us, a place where we'd be safe and where my skills could be acknowledged for what they are. However, he never reached the city. My father died in the forests just outside of Camelot. He met his end at the hands of a young warlock."

His breath caught, eyes going wide as everything suddenly fell deathly still around him.

No…

He couldn't speak, couldn't think; he could barely even breathe. It all came crashing down on him, heavy and oppressive, the air around him growing thicker by the second. Frozen wasn't even the proper word for it. Shock didn't do it any justice either. It was a mixture of confusion, terror, and dawning realization as his mind blocked out everything that didn't matter, that didn't lead back to that day.

That day, almost two months ago, he had killed a sorcerer in the forests just outside of Camelot.

There was such a thing as coincidence, but not like this.

His mind was frantic, trying to piece everything together, to reconcile what he knew and what he'd been told, because a part of him didn't want to believe it was true, couldn't understand how it could all come down to this.

He wanted desperately to pretend that none of this was happening, because it meant that she knew about him, knew what he was and what he had done. He wanted to deny it all, to tell her he knew nothing about it (his frantic, delusional mind was quick to inform him that she hadn't actually accused him outright, hadn't claimed that he was the warlock), but Linneth quickly put an end to any further doubts, leaving him with nothing but the cold and bitter truth.

"My father was a rather powerful sorcerer, but in the end it seems that his magic was no match for yours, was it Merlin?"

He wasn't sure if it was fear that gripped his heart, but it certainly felt like it.

In the silence that stretched between them, encompassing everything other than his shifting thoughts, he knew that he couldn't keep denying what was fact. That man who had tried to kill Arthur, who instigated the revealing of Merlin's magic, and who ultimately was killed because of it had been Linneth's father.

He had killed her father, a man who had sought revenge for the destruction of his family.

Was she seeking it as well?

There was no escaping this. He couldn't run from it. Something had to be done, and so he slowly stood up, uncertainty as well as determination forcing his body upright. He couldn't read her from her tone or her words, one hollow and the other full. He needed to face her, because despite everything that had happened on that day, it didn't change the fact that he had taken her father from her.

He turned around to face her, feeling wary but not wanting to stop. She was standing there, her arms crossed and her lips pursed. She was staring right at him, her eyes meeting his defiantly and without fear, and there, there it was. That look—the same look—the one he had seen in so many people so many times before. They had the same eyes, bright and intelligent, filled with determination and a hate born from loss and vengeance. There was also pride, and that more than anything was why he had thought of her as familiar. It was the same inborn pride he had seen in the eyes of all those who were self-righteous and in possession of magic, a strength that was hidden and underestimated but so very dangerous.

Linneth had magic.

Suddenly everything made a lot more sense.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" she asked him, her expression unchanging.

He swallowed hard, his throat and mouth feeling unbelievably dry. He wasn't sure what to say to her. There weren't words to express the guilt and pity over what had happened, because given the chance to go back, he wouldn't have done anything differently. He never would have allowed that man to kill Arthur, and her father would never have left without first seeing the prince die. He had done what was necessary to save Arthur's life, and that was something he could never regret.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he knew the apology was weak and meaningless, but something had to be said. He hadn't even considered lying or pretending that it hadn't been him. There was no point in denying what both of them knew to be true even if he couldn't quite figure out how she could possibly have found out about that battle. "I had no choice. He was going to kill Arthur, and I couldn't let him."

"You would kill a fellow sorcerer in order to save a Pendragon, someone who would see us dead?"

That surprised him a bit, because it meant that whatever she knew about that battle, she wasn't aware that Arthur knew about him. Otherwise she wouldn't have used the word "us," implying that she believed Arthur wouldn't protect him. He was suddenly curious as to how she had found out, but the answer came to him rather easily as he recalled what he'd seen earlier, back in her house. Apparently that bowl really had been used for scrying. There was no other explanation for how she knew.

But just how much of that battle had she seen?

"Arthur isn't like his father," he said. "He's different. I know him. He doesn't hate magic like Uther does."

He was well-aware of how this could all eventually end, and he was going to do everything he could to stop it, to convince her otherwise. The argument was similar to the one he'd made when talking to her father, and even though he hadn't listened to the warlock, maybe Linneth would. There was something different about her, something calmer and more reasonable, more uncertain. Her anger wasn't all-consuming, stemming more from sorrow than vengeance. Even now he could see it in those eyes. She hadn't completely made up her mind yet, despite the confidence that surrounded her.

"And yet he has stood by countless times and watched our kind die. He has been taught all his life that magic is evil, that those who possess it cannot be trusted. How am I supposed to believe what you say when there is so much that claims otherwise?"

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to explain to her that Arthur knew about him and had chosen to do nothing, that the prince no longer believed that all magic was evil. He wanted to make her understand, but she didn't give him the chance. Before he could even open his mouth, she cut him off.

"I have lost everything to the laws of Camelot. My father intended to end it all, to make this kingdom safe for our kind, but you killed him. You took my only family from me."

"I…" What could he possibly say? There was nothing he could say to that. It was true, after all. Telling her that he hadn't had a choice wouldn't help any. Apologizing would likely just make things worse.

"No more excuses. I'm tired of this."

She uncrossed her arms, letting them hang at her sides, her attention still entirely on him, unwavering.

"I really wanted to be wrong about you, you know. I never thought I'd meet my father's murderer here, that Gaius would bring you of all people in to help us. I knew who you were from the beginning, but I wanted to leave no room for doubt. I had to be certain."

She extended her arm, fingers splayed and pointing directly at him.

"You spent all that time trying to get to know me, yet you never even realized that I was doing the same, and you gave so much away without even realizing it."

He saw her whole body tense, and he knew she was about to do something. He prepared himself, a number of spells on the tip of his tongue, ready to be used depending on what she chose to do, but nothing could have prepared him for the words that left her mouth.

There was no wash of power, no flash, no nothing, but the moment the words stopped, a sharp pain erupted in his hand. He gasped, grabbing at his right hand to try and ease the sudden throbbing. He stared at it with wide eyes, his mind racing, trying to understand what had just happened. It didn't take long for the answer to come crashing down. Beneath the bandages he wore, he could feel something seeping through, turning the cloth from white to pink. It wasn't long before the middle was soaked through, stained red with blood.

His wound had reopened. Every bit of magic he had put into it was being forced out.

He turned towards Linneth, eyes wide with both shock and fear, because she knew. She knew exactly what he had done.

"How…?" How did you find out? How do you know that spell? He didn't need to ask. She already knew what he meant.

"I'm a physician," she began, "as well as a sorceress, and there's a reason why I'm good at what I do. I know injuries just as thoroughly as I know healing magic. I know what to look for."

She gave him no time to respond. The words came again, and this time it was his left shoulder, the wound ripping back open far more easily than it had closed. It felt like he had been shot all over again.

He bit his lip to keep from crying out, doing all he could to reign in his thoughts and focus. Gaius had told him that if he could just concentrate on the wounds and his magic that he should be able to keep it from being redirected. His magic belonged to him. He just needed to focus.

He was no expert when it came to healing. Linneth was probably miles ahead of him when it came to this kind of magic, but it didn't matter. He wasn't about to go down without a fight.

Where the hell are they?

The forest passed by him in a blur as Arthur ran, dodging trees and branches. He was scanning everything around him even if he wasn't truly seeing it, focused only on finding Merlin or Linneth, preferably both. He wasn't sure how long he had been running through the woods, but so far he had found nothing to indicate where they were or what path they had taken. He was a skilled tracker, but there was nothing for him to go on.

In hindsight, he should have asked Gaius. He should have calmed down and asked the physician where they were. He should have explained things, but instead he had run from the infirmary, stopping only to retrieve his sword before heading into the forest. Even now it was hard to calm down, because his instincts were screaming at him, telling him he had to find Merlin now before something happened.

He knew that there was a good chance that he was overreacting, that Linneth wouldn't try anything. There was always the possibility that she didn't even know that it was Merlin who had killed her father, because how could she? There had been no evidence. Also, if she did try anything, Merlin had his magic to protect himself. Even though he was still healing, he wasn't someone to take lightly. However, there was also the chance that Linneth had magic as well, considering who her father had been. It would make sense, and it certainly would explain a lot.

If Linneth really did have magic, then perhaps it was possible that she was behind everything. He couldn't help but entertain the possibility, because all of it lined up. The illness started around the same time that her father died. What if she had created it? What if everything up until now—the concern, the caring, all the help she had given—was nothing more than an act? What if it was all a lie? She had lost her family because of his father's laws, and that kind of pain was unbearable. It could turn a person bitter and spiteful and had done so countless times before. What if she was no different?

He wanted to listen to the rational part of his mind, the part that was telling him that everything was fine, that he was over-thinking this. Logic was telling him that Linneth wouldn't try anything, because why wait for so long if she had known from the beginning who Merlin was? Why bother with the whole elaborate charade? It was also reminding him that Merlin was powerful, capable of taking care of himself when it mattered. Even if Linneth did have magic and did try something, surely he could handle it given how many others he had managed to take down.

However, the last time his mind had traveled that path, the last time he had convinced himself that Merlin didn't need his help, he had almost lost him to the blade of a common bandit. He had almost arrived too late to save the warlock, and he had vowed to never let something like that happen again.

So even if it was irrational, and even if he was overreacting, he wasn't going to stop searching until he found Merlin. He would much rather take the risk of embarrassing himself if he were to find the boy unharmed than risk losing his friend. He had to find Merlin, and until he did, nothing else mattered.

Merlin was doing all he could to focus on his magic, trying to pull it back into his wounds (and making sure to hold it in place in regards to his stomach wound lest she try to open that one as well), and bit by bit he was managing to succeed. All the while he kept his attention on Linneth, watching just in case she tried something. From the look on her face, she knew exactly what he was doing, but she wasn't giving up or changing tactics. This was a test of will, each one of them pulling in a different direction, waiting for the other to slip up or gain the advantage.

He knew he was winning, could feel the pain receding, and with the lack of pain came greater concentration. He could focus on what he was doing without being distracted. Every bit he gained back made a huge difference, and soon he'd be able to come up with a way to counter the spell and hopefully find some way to put this all to an end.

Their eyes were locked, staring each other down, but suddenly Linneth's gaze shifted. It was the briefest glance, and if he hadn't been watching so intently he would have probably missed it. The moment her eyes returned to his, something changed. The determination hardened, and before he could figure out why she suddenly seemed so confident, those same words rolled off her tongue again. He wasn't at all prepared for what followed.

A sharp, stabbing pain erupted in his head. He was suddenly both dizzy and nauseous, forced to close his eyes against the agony, and that was all it took to completely shatter his concentration. The pain in both his hand and shoulder came back instantly, and it took everything he had just to remain standing. He couldn't focus at all while his head was throbbing, and he was vaguely aware that the wound on his left temple was bleeding (Gaius had told him many times before that head wounds tended to bleed rather heavily). He could feel it running down the side of his face, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. His right hand and his left shoulder hurt just as much, both wounds torn completely back open and bleeding freely, rendering both arms rather useless.

He had to do something, had to think of a way to stop her, because if he didn't, he would eventually bleed out. Each wound wasn't fatal on its own, but together they were enough to put his life in danger. He needed to try and focus, to push back the pain, because he was going to die if he didn't. He had to find a way to put an end to this, because there was one more wound that she could tear back open, and if she did…

If she did, his fate would be sealed.

He racked his brain for a solution, tried to think of a spell he could use, one he was capable of casting despite his condition, but he couldn't think of anything she wouldn't see through. She was still watching him, her stare steady and calculating, waiting for just the slightest change.

Perhaps the blood loss and the dizziness were starting to get to him, because he could swear there was something uncertain in her gaze, something almost guilty and sympathetic, but that wasn't possible. There was no reason for it. It had to be the pain and the blood loss. He was probably starting to hallucinate.

He was also probably hallucinating that voice that kept calling his name.

Merlin.

It was strange, because that voice sounded familiar.

Merlin!

Well, he supposed it wasn't really that strange to be hallucinating Arthur's voice. His was the one that the warlock heard the most often, after all.

"…Merlin!"

He froze, his situation briefly forgotten as he suddenly realized that that voice wasn't just in his head. It was very much real, and he could hear the crunching of leaves behind him, growing louder with each passing second. He glanced back and watched as the prince himself, the real Arthur—not fake, not an hallucination—ran towards him.

"Arthur…"

He was equal parts grateful and terrified to see him. He wanted to ask for his help just as greatly as he wanted to tell him to run, but in the end he was prevented from doing either. Linneth was speaking again.

He could practically hear the sound of his wound being torn open, but it paled in comparison to feeling it. Everything that came before was nothing compared to this. He wondered briefly if this was what it felt like to be stabbed before the pain exploded. He instinctively wrapped his right arm across his stomach, pressing down, trying to apply pressure and stop the pain, but it was too much. Everything hurt, and he couldn't focus on anything but the pain. He was dizzy and tired, couldn't concentrate or think. He was only vaguely aware that he was falling before his mind shut down completely.

"Merlin!"

Arthur pushed himself faster, covering the last few yards just in time to prevent his friend from crashing to the forest floor, falling to his knees next to him. He was aware that Linneth was close by, could see her out of the corner of his eye, but Merlin was his main concern. The boy was panting, fast and shallow, and his skin was far too pale. The left side of his face was covered in blood, as was his right hand. There was blood soaking through his tunic and jacket around his left shoulder, and the warlock had his right arm pressed against his stomach.

"Merlin," he called, but the boy didn't seem to hear him, his eyes closed tightly against the pain, his breathing erratic. Terrified and furious, he turned towards Linneth. "What have you done to him?"

She didn't say anything, only stared at him in an odd mixture of indifference and curiosity, her arm outstretched, fingers splayed. It was a stance he was familiar with, one he had seen before. Both her father and Merlin had stood like that while casting spells. He had been right in assuming that Linneth had magic.

She had used magic on Merlin.

"…Arthur."

A sense of dread washed over him, and he quickly turned back to the warlock. Merlin was trying to say something to him, but his voice couldn't seem to form the words, his body seizing in pain. The arm that had been across his waist was now lying limply next to him.

The blue of his tunic was growing darker, the color spreading rapidly.

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath as the reality of it all hit him, his heart stopping for a brief moment before his pulse shot up rapidly as the desperation and panic set in.

He no longer needed to ask Linneth what she'd done.

Arthur reached for the hem of Merlin's tunic, pushing it up to the boy's ribs. Despite every bit of proof staring him right in the face, he had still been praying that he was wrong, but there it was. That stab wound, a wound Merlin shouldn't have had to begin with—all for Arthur's sake, damn it—was torn open and cut deep, blood spilling from it in streams.

For the briefest of moments, his mind blanked, watching the red of Merlin's blood contrast so sharply with his pale skin, growing paler by the second, and suddenly a fear unlike any he had ever known shot through him, spurring him into action.

"Damn it!"

He dropped his sword and placed both hands over the wound. He pressed down, trying to stop the blood from pouring out, earning him a cry followed by a soft whimper from his heavily wounded servant. The sound made his heart clench, but it was a good reaction. It meant that Merlin was still aware, still alive.

"Merlin, you have to focus," he said, his voice firm, and it was a struggle to keep it that way, to keep from letting the fear rule him. "You need to heal yourself."

Those blue eyes, fogged over with pain, met his for a moment, trying to convey something that Arthur didn't want to see nor hear.

"Don't you dare say you can't. Don't you dare apologize, Merlin!"

He could only watch as the warlock tried to stay awake, but he was obviously in too much pain and there was so much blood. In the end his eyes slipped closed as his body continued to seize in agony, his chest rising and falling erratically.

"Merlin!"

It was no good. His friend could no longer hear him.

"You won't die. I won't let you die."

He had to do something. He had to save Merlin. Nothing else mattered, and he would do whatever it took. There weren't many options, as he was certain that if he tried to attack Linneth, she would simply defend herself with magic. He wouldn't be able to get close enough to kill her, to stop her from redirecting all of Merlin's healing spells.

The blood was still flowing. His hands were covered in it, but he didn't care. Merlin's life was very much in his hands, and he would sooner die than let him down.

He tossed everything aside—his pride, his reserve, every shred of dignity, because none of it would save Merlin—leaving only the raw fear and desperation. Nothing else mattered.

He pressed down harder and then turned to Linneth, his voice, his eyes, everything pleading.

"Stop! Please, just stop! Undo this!"

She just stared at him, her eyes wide, because she likely hadn't been expecting that. He knew he was begging, that it was unseemly. It went against so much of his upbringing, but if showing humility was what it took to save Merlin, then he would do so willingly. Merlin was always throwing himself between Arthur and death, willing to give his life without a second thought. This was nothing in comparison.

Merlin's only chance was for Linneth to stop. This was the only option.

"Please, just end it! Spare him!"

Beneath his hands he could feel Merlin's whole body trembling.

"I'm begging you! Don't let him die!"

Linneth just stood there, staring at Arthur, prince Arthur, crown prince of Camelot and Uther's heir. She watched as he knelt by his servant—a peasant and a warlock—pressing down on his wound, trying to stop the bleeding, eyes wide and terrified and nothing short of frantic. His hands were covered in blood, but he didn't even seem to care. This image of him was so different from that of a prince, something she had never expected to see from any noble, least of all a Pendragon, but there he was, his sword lying forgotten on the ground and his desperation clear as day, concerned only for the life of his servant and nothing else.

It wasn't an act. The fear and the worry were real, as if letting Merlin die wasn't at all an option, as if the very thought was unfathomable.

She had noticed early on that their relationship was different, something closer to friendship than master and servant, but she had never thought it ran this deep to the point where Arthur would beg her to save Merlin.

Did it even register with him exactly what he was asking?

"Please, just end your spell!" he shouted. "Let him heal!"

Well, if she had been surprised before, it was nothing compared to now. She replayed the words, thinking she had heard wrong, that they couldn't mean what she thought they did, but in the end his words were what they were. Arthur knew exactly what she was doing, was completely aware of her magic, but it was more than that. He knew about Merlin. He knew his servant was a warlock.

The laws of Camelot were unforgiving. Magic was treason. Harboring a sorcerer, protecting one, withholding information about magic within the kingdom—all of it was treason. All of it was rewarded with severe punishment, ending more often than not in death. Every knight of Camelot was honor bound to uphold the laws, and that applied even more so to Camelot's prince, yet here he was, begging her—a sorceress—to save his servant who he knew had magic.

Had he lost his mind?

"Do you…do you even realize what you're asking?" she asked, completely confused by his actions, because none of this made any sense to her whatsoever. "That boy is a warlock. He has magic. By your father's laws, he should be killed."

Maybe he really didn't know. Maybe he was just confused…

"I don't care about that! It doesn't matter! Just save him!"

Did he truly understand what he was doing? Was Arthur Pendragon, crown prince of Camelot, actually willing to commit treason?

"Do you really understand what it is you're asking of me?" she began, because she had to be sure, needed to understand this, because it went against everything she knew, everything she had been told about the Pendragons. Arthur was supposed to be like his father, and yet he was thoroughly shattering every belief she had held about him. "You're asking me, a sorceress, to use magic to save the life of a warlock. Do you even realize how many ways you'd be committing treason?"

Consorting with users of magic, begging a sorceress for help, demanding that magic be used to save the life of a warlock, protecting said warlock…

If the laws of Camelot truly applied to everyone, then Arthur would be executed. The laws would see the prince dead for his actions. He was risking his very life, the kingdom's future, for the sake of one boy.

Beneath Arthur's hands, Merlin had fallen still, and that was what it took for the dam to break. Raw, unguarded emotion unlike any other erupted from the prince.

"I don't care!" he screamed, his eyes closed, arms trembling as he continued to press down. "I don't care that it's treason! I don't give a damn about the law or the magic or any of it! I'm not my father! Please, just save him! I'm begging you! Please!"

Arthur was beyond desperate. There was so much blood, so much being spilt onto the ground, too much. Merlin had lost consciousness, not even feeling the pain, his skin pale and cold, and it was just too damn much. His breathing was shallow, so much so that he could barely tell he was breathing at all. Merlin was dying. He was going to die. Arthur was going to lose the only real friend he had, the one person he trusted more than anyone else.

He hung his head, the threat of tears stinging his eyes. In the end, there wasn't anything he could do. He couldn't protect Merlin.

Something suddenly shifted underneath his hands, startling him. He looked down, watching as the blood that had been seeping out continuously came to a sudden stop. He carefully moved his hands away, watching in awe and disbelief as the wound closed up, scabbing over until it looked exactly like it had the last time Merlin had healed it. He looked to the other two visible wounds, watching as the gash on his head healed as well as the wound on his hand, both becoming nothing more than scabs. He quickly checked the arrow wound as well, pushing aside the boy's tunic, running a finger over the small puncture (not open, not bleeding).

Every last wound had healed, the magic having returned to where it belonged.

Merlin was still breathing, no longer losing blood. He was pale and cold, but he was breathing and alive. He was going to live.

The relief crashed into him like a wave, and he likely would have fallen to his knees had he not already been kneeling. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. His hands were bloody and he was still trembling, his whole demeanor completely inappropriate for someone of his status, but he didn't much care. Merlin was alive. He hadn't lost his best friend.

He took a moment to let his mind settle and reign in everything that was no longer needed. He needed to try and compose himself at least a little, because this wasn't over yet. Linneth was still standing there, watching and waiting, and he had a lot he needed to say to her, and it would be easier to speak as soon as he calmed down. First and foremost though was something very simple, requiring no effort at all. It simply needed to be said.

"Thank you," he said, the words nothing more than a sigh.

"…Why?"

He took one more deep breath and turned to face her. She was watching him in confusion and guilt, one arm wrapped around herself in a manner that was ashamed and uncertain, nervous and just a bit afraid.

"Why are you thanking me?"

"Because you could have killed him, but you chose to stop, and I'm grateful for that."

It wasn't a lie. He really was grateful that she had listened, that she had chosen to spare Merlin, the person who had killed her father. Revenge was a vicious cycle, never-ending, but she had made the choice to stop.

Despite his thanks, he honestly wasn't sure if he could ever truly forgive her for this, but if things were going to change, it had to start with him. He had to make the effort to fix things, to ease the pain. Linneth's story was just one of many. So many families had been destroyed, so many innocents killed, giving birth to hate and vengeance, pushing both sides of his father's endless war further and further apart. It would eventually get to the point where the damage would be irreparable, and he couldn't let that happen. He had to make the first move.

It wasn't a matter of trying to prove that they could trust him. It was about proving that he was willing to trust them.

Merlin was the beginning, and this was his chance to take the next step. He needed to understand things before he could come to any sort of rational conclusion about Linneth, one based on who she was, not what.

"Why did you listen to me?" he asked, because he wanted to know what had compelled her to spare Merlin when she could just as easily have ignored his pleading and killed them both.

"…Because I was wrong about you," she said, looking off to the side, avoiding his gaze. "I thought you would be just like your father, but you're different. You genuinely wanted to save him, despite what he is. You're willing to commit treason for his sake. Merlin was telling the truth when he said you don't hate magic, and if that's the case, then I have no quarrel with you…either of you."

"Even though we're the ones responsible for your father's death?"

"If your views on magic truly are what they seem to be, then my father was wrong to attack you like that. Uther was the one who destroyed our family. You had nothing to do with it, and you shouldn't have to pay for someone else's sin."

She lowered her head in a submissive bow, and it was the first time where the respect was genuine, nothing fake, nothing hollow.

"I'm sorry for what I've put you both through. I'll accept whatever punishment you deem necessary."

Arthur didn't say anything at first. Instead he looked down at Merlin and simply watched the boy breathe for a moment, reveling in the fact that all of them were alive, that despite everything that had happened, the result was something they could all be proud of. For the first time he truly believed what Merlin was always telling him, that one day he would be able to change things, make Camelot better.

"I don't intend to punish you," he said. She had suffered enough. There was no reason to hurt her further. He was certain Merlin would agree.

"But…"

"All I want from you is the truth."

He sat down, propping himself up against a nearby tree. They were probably going to be here for a little while at least, because it would likely be unwise to move Merlin right now, so he was going to make himself as comfortable as possible before asking his questions. He turned back to Linneth, meeting her nervous stare.

"Do you know how the illness started?" he asked, because that was the one thing he had left to figure out, the only unknown in all of this, and he was certain that Linneth knew more than she was letting on.

Apparently she hadn't been expecting that question, her eyes going wide before they softened into something guilty and a bit scared.

"…Yes."

"Do you know what's causing it?"

"Yes."

He didn't want to ask his next question, afraid of what the answer would be, but it had to be done.

"Are you the one responsible for it?"

There was no answer. Linneth simply wrapped her arms around herself and lowered her head, hunching forward as if the guilt she had been showing earlier was suddenly a physical, tangible weight pushing down on her shoulders. He knew what she was going to say before the word even left her mouth.

"…Y-yes."

He reined in his temper. There would be time for that later.

"Then put an end to it."

She simply collapsed further into herself, a sound very much like a sob escaping from her shuddering form.

"I can't…"

His eyes narrowed dangerously. He wasn't about to let this go without a full explanation.

"Why not?"

She finally raised her head, eyes glistening with unshed tears and a guilt so deep it looked like she would drown in it.

He had thought that they were finally close to ending this, that everything would fall into place, but in the end her answer changed nothing, and they were once more cast back into a hopeless situation with no answers and no solution.

"Because even though I am responsible for what happened…I wasn't the one who created it."