Author's note: It was brought to my attention that when this chapter was first published a couple of hours ago, it was coded (unbeknownst to me!). I did my best to fix it as quick as I could. Apologies, and if you see any residual codes, that's why. Again, so sorry. Note to self- always preview before posting!- X
"It's not far up ahead," Arthur was calling over his shoulder, when the sound of screaming broke out from somewhere in front of him. All traces of exhaustion left his body then. It wasn't Merlin's voice. It didn't even sound human. "We've got to hurry." He urged his horse to speed up and she protested, and not without reason; they had barely rested since leaving Camelot. There was foam flecked over her muzzle, and a quick look showed the same on the other three horses.
The scream cut off, and was replaced by Merlin's voice—too distant to make out the words, but not far enough to hide a panic that was contagious. And when the cries were followed by a stillness, Arthur began to kick at his horse's sides in a frenzy.
"Sire—" Gaius was protesting, and Arthur could sense his horse slowing down, and Merlin was close enough that Arthur could hear him sobbing, and he dismounted and began to run. There was a smell in the air—a hellish combination of sulfur and charcoal and copper. It smelled like someone was burning.
The odor grew stronger and Arthur burst through the last of the trees. A white dragon lifted a mangled body and flew away, just a few yards ahead, and it took him several moments to realize that the twisted, smoking form was Morgana. He tore his eyes away to find Merlin, slumped to the ground. The physician was already kneeling over him.
"Merlin?" Gaius was speaking softly, lifting one of the sorcerer's eyelids.
"How…" Arthur had been about to ask after his friend's welfare when he had caught sight of the bruises. Against the pale skin, they stood out with frightening clarity. There was a ring of green and blue about his neck, newly-formed, but this was almost eclipsed by the myriad of purples on his arms. Gaius lifted Merlin's shirt and sucked in a breath when he found his whole side to be the same. "Did Morgana do this?" he asked softly.
"I don't suspect so, sire. At least not all of it." The old man rested two fingers on Merlin's wrist, as if to take a pulse, and when he pulled away there were two rapidly darkening bruises. "His skin is like parchment."
"Why?" Percival stood a ways back, a look on his face that Arthur couldn't quite make out.
"What the king described to me sounded like something called emἀνæγρnσιc." Gaius motioned for Leon to bring him the pack he'd brought, whereupon he pulled out an old text. "I know very little about it. Even in the time of the Old Religion, this sort of thing was beyond rare." He began flipping through the pages until he alighted on one in particular. "It means resurrection. In the legends, a dragon could become attached to its dragonlord. If the dragonlord were to die, it was said that the dragon could save their life, but at a terrible cost."
"The dragon died," Arthur said quietly, and Gaius nodded.
"Such a sacrifice had to be made of the dragon's own free will. They could not be commanded to perform emἀνæγρnσιc—"
"Or commanded not to." Arthur remembered Merlin shouting at Kilgharrah.
"Or commanded not to," Gaius repeated, and a look of sadness shadowed his face. "The dragonlords became the emμοναχικόs. The lonely ones. Neither human nor dragon. They were doomed to outlive the people they loved, or worse, to be cast out by them in fear. It was as much a selfish curse as a gift, which was why it was so rarely bestowed. I cannot imagine why Kilgharrah—"
"For me," Arthur murmured, looking down at Merlin. A wave of guilt washed over him.
You will create the future you were destined to, Arthur Pendragon, but you cannot succeed without Merlin. It is his destiny to protect you.
"So what's going to happen to him?" Leon had apparently left to find kindling, as he returned to the clearing with his arms full of small sticks. Arthur realized it was dusk.
"I have no experience in this, sire," Gaius told the king lowly. "As I said, I have only the slightest knowledge of emἀνæγρnσιc. But as best I can tell, he's changing. I don't know how. I don't know why. I don't know what to do." There was an edge in the physician's voice that Arthur almost didn't recognize. It was helplessness. "The most we can hope for right now is to bring down his fever and make him comfortable. Beyond that… I'm afraid it's up to Merlin."