A/N: Wow. There seemed to be some strong opinions on either side of the issue so I've prepared a bit of a compromise: I wrote two chapters today so those vehemently opposed to Merlin's POV may go ahead and skip to the next- though I suspect the main objection was in the delaying of said chapter. Either way, I hope you've all been appeased ;)


Merlin had spent the majority of the waiting time in slumber, only waking to relieve himself and force a few sips of broth or water down his scratchy throat.

The power emanating from the Cauldron of Arianrhod was a constant soothing presence that provided great support in his efforts to heal himself. He avoided speaking for the time being, but was reasonably confident he would be able to once the time came.

His vision was also beginning to return to a usable level- only a slight fog and occasional dimming remained to hinder him- not that he could see much with the hood of his cloak up (in case Arthur should appear).

The warlock's physical strength, not being a priority at the time, hadn't improved much and he found himself spending even his waking hours confined to blankets for the most part.

Daegal had been an invaluable companion during this time- preparing meals, keeping a fire going, and just generally looking after Merlin.

The last vestiges of hero worship developed into friendship as the two spent moments discussing their magic and its possible future in Camelot- along with more mundane subjects.

The morning of the third day the servant reluctantly closed his eyes, anxious about Arthur's imminent arrival.

"Just rest, Emrys."
Merlin had not been able to convince him to stop using that name when they were in private.
"I will be sure to wake you when they arrive and you need every bit of sleep you can catch."

The older man nodded in reply, resettling the blankets about his shoulders.


Daegal saw the king as soon as he crested the mountain rise, but remained in place until the royal had also noticed his own presence.

Trying to appear as non-threatening as possible, he was about to greet the sovereign when it occurred to him that he probably shouldn't act familiar with the man.

"Are you the king?"

His vocal chords, having received conflicting signals, fumbled through his amateur attempt at disguising his voice to rather... unstable results.

No help for it now.

After a few more traded words, the boy fulfilled his promise to his companion.

"Emrys."

Merlin jerked awake at Daegal's mental wake-up call, sitting straight as possible and putting aside the blankets as the druid led Arthur's small party down the hill.
He whispered experimentally into his hand, grinning at the success of both being able to speak and burying his familiar tones in a quieter and deeper version of his 'dragonlord voice'.

Mordred seemed a bit suspicious- understandable when faced with a strange sorcerer in a place far from home.
"Why do you not rise for your king?"

Well, he can't say he hadn't expected the question.
"I cannot."

He was proud at the lack of ill-feeling in the words, though it did nothing to reduce the looks of slight horror now worn by the two knights.

Mordred apologized, but there truly was no need- it would have had to be addressed sooner or later.

Then Arthur asked if he was the sorcerer they had been sent to find.

And, really, why would anyone be camped out on this barren rocky shore if they weren't meeting someone?
The thought of what must go on in the king's brain brought a grin to his face and a harsh chuckle escaped his lips.

"Why else would I be here?"

The grin widened at the monarch's sudden defensive stance.
"Who am I to understand the mind of a sorcerer?"

Merlin almost laughed again.
Still haven't fathomed me out, old friend?

The thought was both satisfying and saddening.

Then Arthur asked for his name and he froze.
What should he say?

Well, why not?

"I am called Emrys."
He said the words boldly, almost daring the king to recognize the name; uncertain if he was disappointed when it seemed to garner no special reaction aside from Mordred's.

"Merlin?" The druid-turned-knight asked incredulously.
"You should be in bed! How did you even get here?"

"Another time, Mordred- the queen is waking up."

Aloud he said, "she will wake soon- be aware that she must walk into the water of her own free will. If you beguile her or use force she will be forever lost. Do not despair- the love between you is stronger than Morgana's dark magic- you can reach her."

He's certain of it. There is little in this world that surpasses the power of love, and dark magic did not hold that claim.

The curly-haired youth schooled his features back to something resembling neutral as Arthur set his wife down, both of them backing away as she stirred.

Merlin watched the scene unfold as Arthur pleaded with his beloved- only interrupting to remind the king of the danger in pushing too far.
He saw the very moment Gwen broke through the enchantment, tears appearing on her face.

"Help me up?"

Daegal was quick to comply and reluctant to let the man stand on his own, even braced against the rock as he was.

"It'll be okay- until it's over, at least."

He sent a quick summons to Kilgharrah, informing the dragon he would be needed in a few hours.

Better to do it while I can...

The warlock took a deep breath, rooting himself in the natural magic of his location and beginning his invocation.
He raised his arms, wincing at the pain in his injured shoulder.

"Yfel gæst ga þu fram þisse lichaman. Biþ hire mod eft freo. Ar ond-"
His breath caught and he slid down the rock face slightly before regaining his footing and continuing- reaching out with soul and magic to the White Goddess.
"...heofontungol sceal þurhswiþan!"

He didn't need to see the bright light to know the spell had worked- a good thing since every ounce of his strength and magic had been put into his efforts, leaving him blind once more. The fact that he was blacking out may also have had something to do with it.

It's not that it hurt, exactly, but the feeling of complete emptiness unnerved him.
Merlin wasn't even aware of his body toppling to the ground, nor of the concern projected by Daegal and Mordred as they saw him fall.
His ears detected their voices and the vague sense that he was fading washed over him.

He should probably be worried about that- maybe even do something about it.
Unfortunately, there was aught he could do.

He had given everything for this, leaving nothing for himself.

Nothing.