All rights belong to their respective owners. Set after 5x02.

Pain.

It was not a pleasant sensation to awaken to. Unfortunately, it was not an unfamiliar one either. Even as a soft groan escaped him, Arthur kept his attention turned inwards, pinpointing where the pain was coming from and what he had done to warrant it this time.

There was a consistent pounding at the back of his head, waves of nausea washing through him with every beat of his heart. It sent sharp stabs of pain lancing through his skull and he only opened his eyes a crack to know it was a bad idea.

But that was secondary to the white-hot agony in his side. Instinctively, his hand went to the source of the pain and his searching fingers met a thick wad of bandages. That gave him some relief: whatever had happened, he wasn't alone.

"My Lord?"

His eyes opened, then screwed up as the bright reflection from the snow intensified everything. But that wasn't the voice he was expected; wasn't the voice he was used to when returning to consciousness. How Merlin managed to blend concern and exasperation in such a way, he had no idea, but this tone was wrong. It was concerned, but it was also polite, respectful and completely unfamiliar.

This time, he managed to keep his eyes open. A face swam before his vision: dark hair, bright eyes…but it wasn't Merlin. As Arthur blinked, Mordred's face came into focus and a relieved grin spread, making him look even younger.

"He's awake," he called and Arthur could make out a flurry of movement behind him.

Putting one hand on the ground, Arthur forced himself to sit up. The movement stole his breath and dots danced in his vision but he blinked them away, adamant he wasn't going to pass out again.

"What happened?" he muttered, leaning back on what felt like a rock behind him. They were still out in the wilderness – the icy tundra stretched as far as he could see. But his men had scraped some of the snow aside and managed to get a fire lit, keeping the cold at bay.

"You were stabbed and then knocked out. Or knocked out then stabbed, the details are blurry."

For someone who had been missing for weeks, beaten and worked to within an inch of his life, Gwaine sounded far too cheerful.

"Here," another voice cut in. Forcing himself to focus, Arthur managed to take the cup Percival was offering him. Steam rose from it and he cradled it for a moment before taking a sip. He almost spat it back out again.

"I had to used dried plants from the stores," Percival said, apologetically, "but they should still help."

Arthur managed to drink a little more and the pungent taste helped ground him back in reality. Events were starting to make themselves known: the caves, the dragon, Morgana and her knife.

"Where's Merlin?" Arthur said. He expected his servant to already be fussing around, acting as if it had all been Arthur's fault but watching him closely nonetheless.

He was alert enough to witness the look between Gwaine and Percival.

"He hasn't found us yet," Percival said.

"Mordred brought you out alone," Gwaine continued, "haven't seen Merlin since he went after that dragon. Figured he'd found his own way out."

"He was there," Arthur muttered, "Morgana hurt him…" He trailed off, remembering begging his sister, although he never thought about what he was going to ask her. To spare Merlin? To not hurt him? To let the servant go when so many of his men had remained her prisoners for so long?

"We found you," Percival said, "and got out of there."

Arthur shook his head. He rested one hand on the rock behind him and lurched up, feeling the world spin as he did so.

"We have to go back."

"Back? Princess, we only just got out of there."

"Merlin's hurt," Arthur argued, "we need to find him."

For once, Gwaine didn't protest but was already reaching for his cloak. Arthur wondered where they had found their armour, which then made him wonder how long he had been unconscious for.

"My Lord, I-," Mordred stepped forward, but couldn't hold Arthur's gaze. He was the only other person who knew Merlin had been in the cave with them but Arthur couldn't blame him. It was every knight's duty to protect their king – and even if Mordred wasn't a knight, he had shown the same valour standing up to Morgana.

"We need to find him," Arthur said shortly.

His mission was complete: he was surrounded by his knights. But a greater sense of urgency pushed down on him now. The fortress would still be crawling with Morgana's men, even if some had been incapacitated during the escape. His sister was still out there, as was that dragon.

But exposure and the cold would get to Merlin even if their enemies didn't.

"Let's move." He led the way, painfully aware of his struggles moving. When he stumbled for the third time, Gwaine caught his arm, holding him up.

"You're no good to us if you faint," he said. Arthur shrugged out of the hold, glaring at him.

"You're no good, period," he snapped, "but you're still here. Let's go."

He knew he shouldn't take his temper out on one of the men he had come so far to rescue. He also knew Gwaine could take it; he'd be feeling the same concern Arthur currently was. Merlin had come for them more than once: it was time to return the favour.

"Spread out," he ordered. He took a deep breath and the frigid air helped clear his head. He stood up a little straighter, hoping he looked better than he felt. "I want him found before nightfall."

Gwaine and Percival shared a look. Then Gwaine beckoned Mordred closer.

"Stay with the king," he said before catching Arthur's eye. "We'll move faster without you."

Arthur hated that Gwaine was speaking sense. But he nodded.

"Find him," he said. As his men nodded and started spreading out, he only hoped his last words had been the stern order he wanted them to be, not a plea.

-x-

He had to find Aithusa. It was the only thing he could think about through the splitting headache and his vision weaving. It didn't matter that he couldn't see straight – there was nothing but whiteness in either direction.

He had heard the men take Arthur; his king was safe. No one had come back for him though and Merlin had no idea how much time he had lost, drifting in and out of consciousness even after speaking with the Diamair. The caves were silent when consciousness had returned – Arthur and the knights were gone. So was Morgana and Mordred, although Merlin had a hazy recollection of Mordred turning on Morgana. The thought that Mordred was still with Arthur had caused him to lurch from the caves, before a more worrying concern hit him.

Aithusa.

He had no idea what had befallen the young dragon but he felt responsible. It was his duty to protect the dragons and he had failed. He should have kept a closer eye on him after he had hatched; should have made sure Kilgarrah was looking after him. He knew little of dragons other than what his heritage taught him, but he did know something had gone wrong with Aithusa's growth.

Violent shivers wracked his body and Merlin wrapped his arms around himself. Mumbling a spell, he sighed as the warmth rushed through him, but it faded as quickly as it had come. He didn't have the strength or the focus to maintain a warming spell and instead, he just pulled his hands into his sleeves and trudged through the snow, head down and trying to ignore he was soaked to the knees.

"Have to find him," he muttered to himself, teeth chattering. All he could hear was the wind whistling across the vast open space and the sound of his voice was small and weak in comparison. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to summon the dragon, but the icy air made him cough. This place could still be crawling with Morgana's men and shouting would draw attention.

Squinting against the afternoon light, Merlin kept walking without direction. The fortress fell behind and it wasn't long before white surrounded him. He couldn't go back if he wanted to as the wind covered his footprints and blurred the landscape.

"Where are you, Aithusa?" he whispered, needing to hear something, anything. A white dragon might be a beacon of hope for Albion, but made it pretty hopeless at trying to locate him when surrounded by snow and ice. Aithusa could be a few feet away and Merlin wouldn't know.

The thought made him lift his head, squinting into the snowy horizon. For a wild second, he thought he saw movement, a patch of white slightly different to the rest, but when he blinked, the movement disappeared again.

Cupping his hands, Merlin brought them to his mouth.

"Forbearnan," he whispered, taking comfort from both the light and heat of the small flame. The colour was soothing compared to the dazzling snow and he felt his eyes relax as he stared at it, drawing strength as well as heat. As his vision focused, he looked at the horizon again but whatever had been there – if, indeed, it hadn't just been the wind moving drifts of snow – it was gone.

Turning sharply, Merlin felt the temperature drop even further as he realised his predicament. Aithusa had been the only thing on his mind when he had stumbled from the caves but he had to accept he was never going to find the dragon out here, not unless Aithusa wanted to be found. He couldn't call the creature to him without risking everyone else finding them – friend and foe alike would be dangerous to the young dragon.

But he couldn't find his way back.

"Hello?" he called, but his voice didn't offer any comfort this time. It just reminded him of how small, and how alone, he currently was. Swallowing, he squinted into the snow, picking a direction at random and hoping it was the way back.

Head down; arms wrapped around his body; feet sinking into the snow, he trudged in what he hoped was the right direction. He had to find Arthur, especially if Mordred was with him. He shouldn't have come out here but he also didn't regret his decision.

He looked up periodically to see if he could see the smudge that would reveal the fortress. The cold didn't feel as penetrating any longer, his shivers starting to ease as exhaustion took over and it became a fight to keep his eyes open.

Don't stop.

The voice wasn't his. It sounded like Arthur. Or Gaius. Or a disapproving mixture of the two that meant Merlin kept walking even though he wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep.

His head was pounding with greater intensity and his eyes were streaming against the cold wind. He didn't know how long he had walked for when he became convinced he could hear something. It wasn't just the wind this time: there were voices, faint but audible.

Lifting his head, Merlin squinted. The wind made the voices swirl around him, tormenting him about which way to go. He closed his eyes, listening hard, but it made no difference. Ignoring his senses, he turned to his magic, following a tug somewhere between his stomach and his heart that told him to keep going, keep putting one foot in front of the other.

It was harder than it should have been, though. His strength was fading; the lack of sleep, head wound and walking around in the snow had sapped what little strength that fear over Arthur and Mordred had left.

He didn't feel himself fall until the snow was soaking through his shirt. But he wasn't cold any longer. All he needed was a few moments…

There was a dark shape moving towards him. Someone was coming…but Merlin didn't know if they were friend or enemy. Before they were close enough to identify themselves, sleep rushed over him, dragging him back to the darkness.

-x-

"What's wrong with him?"

Despite Mordred's attempts to get him to rest, Arthur had insisted on continuing the search as well. He might not have the speed of his knights right now, but he wasn't going to sit doing nothing. It was too cold, and if he froze to death while waiting for Merlin to turn up, he was going to kill his servant himself.

But he hadn't gone far before Percival and Gwaine had hurried back, the former with something slung over his shoulder and the latter looking more concerned than Arthur had ever seen him.

It took a second of blinking before he realised it wasn't something Percival was carrying, but someone.

And that someone didn't appear to be moving.

"We take back the fortress," Arthur said, pushing himself upright. One hand hovered over the wound on his side while the other curled around the hilt of his sword.

"Sire-," Percival began, but Arthur lifted a hand.

"We need warmth and shelter," he said. "We also need to ensure we have enough provisions to get us back to Camelot."

He didn't blame the men for getting out of the fortress as quickly as possible earlier, especially as they had a semi-conscious king to protect. But Merlin was unconscious, and being out on the frozen plains without protection was going to get him – get them all – killed. Arthur hadn't come this far only to lose his men and his servant to exposure.

"Alright, lads," Gwaine said, looking around the rest of the men, "who wants to help me check for vermin?"

He disappeared with a handful of men. Arthur watched as Percival wrapped Merlin in his cloak. The man's face was pale, his lips chapped and dark bruises under his eyes. Arthur glanced away. He had done this to Merlin; dragged him out here, put him in danger…

No.

He had given him more than one chance to turn back. Merlin had done this to himself through sheer stubbornness and unwillingness to be left behind. One day - Arthur told himself - he was going to insist his servant stay behind.

One day…

"What'd you leave the fortress for?" Arthur scolded, nudging Merlin with his toe. "Idiot."

"I'm sorry," Percival said quietly, "we would never have left him. We didn't know-,"

"It's alright," Arthur said, holding up a hand. "We've found him, that's what counts."

The anger he had felt towards his men for leaving Merlin behind had kept him moving up until now. But it wasn't their fault: it was his. It was his duty to protect all of his subjects, even if they came in the form of annoying manservants who would go to the ends of known land and further for him.

He kept a close eye on his servant while Gwaine ensured the fortress was safe. Arthur knew he was doing it to protect Merlin, not his king, but he didn't care.

Finally, though, they were back behind stone walls with several fires lit. Colour trickled back into Merlin's face and Arthur glanced away when he saw that he was stirring, instead occupying himself with making sure there was a constant lookout in place, reminding the men that not only was there was a powerful witch around, there was also a fire-breathing dragon.

"Ar'ur?"

He hid his relieved smile behind a neutral expression, one eyebrow arched.

"Lazing around again, Merlin?"

"I couldn't find…" Merlin's teeth were chattering too much for him to speak properly and he was shivering. Arthur hoped that was a good sign as his body recognised the need for warmth.

"It's not your fault," Arthur said softly, crouching next to him. "They left you behind."

"S'not their fault," Merlin mumbled, drawing the cloak further over him, "they didn't know."

Arthur glanced away to poke another twig into the fire. They had used up nearly all the fuel already but it would be worth it for one night of warmth before they made the long trek home. The movement made him wince and he put a hand to his side.

"You're hurt." There was suddenly clarity in Merlin's expression and he sat up. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down again.

"And you're lucky you've only lost your senses and not any toes."

"I haven't lost my senses."

"No, true. You didn't have those in the first place." Despite his words, there was a small grin on his face and to his relief, Merlin returned it. They were both silent for a moment, staring into the flames. Arthur's head was still pounding and the glazed look on Merlin's face indicated he wasn't feeling much stronger.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"You did it," Merlin said softly, "you found your men, like you vowed."

Arthur snorted. "I can't believe you doubted it."

"I was more worried about the die trying part," Merlin muttered, finally unwrapping his hands from the cloak and holding them out towards the fire. A look of bliss momentarily crossed his face before he sighed. "Although you seem to have given it a good attempt."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Like you didn't try and stay true to your word of dying by my side," he muttered. "When Morgana threw you…"

He trailed off, shivering. He could still hear the thud his servant had made as he smashed into the rocks, still feel the fear of knowing there was nothing he could do to save him, that he had led him to his death, another friend lost in a pointless war…

"Hey," Merlin said, nudging him, "I'm okay."

"Did you just kick your king?"

"Nah," Merlin said and this time when Arthur looked at him, he was grinning, "I kicked an ass."

"I could have you executed for treason, you know."

"You could, but you won't."

"Why are you so sure about that?"

"You really want to travel all the way back to Camelot with Gwaine without me?"

"Good point."

Arthur looked over at the same time as Merlin glanced up and caught his eye. He nodded and a grin split over Merlin's face as he returned the gesture. He might be the worst servant in the five kingdoms, but no one else, not even Leon, had followed him across this icy wasteland to save his men.

They might have a long journey home. They might be injured and weak. Morgana had escaped again – and had a dragon in her arsenal as well as powerful magic.

But they had still thwarted her plans. There was still hope.

And as he flicked the corner of Merlin's cloak-turned-blanket away from the fire before his servant set himself alight in an attempt to get warm, that was good enough for Arthur.