"Can I help you with something?" Geoffrey said hurriedly, straightening in his seat as Merlin entered. The old librarian's eyes were red-rimmed, and his rigid expression fell away when he recognized Gaius's ward. "Merlin. I was so sorry to hear—"

"Do you have the Triple Goddess texts?" Merlin asked, his voice quiet.

"Triple..?" Geoffrey faltered. "I-I'm certain there's a copy in the back somewhere, but what on earth—"

"Please," Merlin interjected again, and something about his gaze gave the librarian pause.

"Give me a moment," he whispered, and retreated behind a shelf.

Merlin could hear him shuffling down the row, muttering to himself as he pulled out and replaced several tomes. At that moment Arthur entered the chamber, apparently out of breath.

"What in the hell was that all about?" He asked lowly, watching for Geoffrey. "You know Likmus?"

"I need him gone," Merlin said, and Arthur glanced over to see the normally amiable face drawn and hard. "After all this is over."

"Why did you call him Arbos?"

"Because…" Merlin trailed off as Geoffrey emerged, clasping a book bound in dark leather. He handed it to Merlin, nodding to Arthur, but he looked unspeakably frightened.

"That book ought to have been destroyed," he whispered, and Arthur frowned. "Merlin… please. Be safe."

Morgana sat up in bed, and in the trees just beyond her hut, Aithusa stirred. Outside, there was chaos. She felt Merlin first. It was grief unlike anything she had ever experienced and she gasped, feeling tears roll down her face even despite her hatred for the boy. She knew instantly that Gaius had died.

At the same moment there was an impact in the west, a motion so powerful it sent shockwaves rippling through the hearts and minds of every Druid in a massive radius. Morgana jumped, recognizing at once the woman who had called out to her and Aithusa.

Hello, Morgana, she said, as clearly as if she was in the same room. It's time for you to join me, pet.

Aithusa shuddered, standing and looking in the direction of Nimueh's ruins. There was a terrible smell emanating from there, even at such a distance. It was the smell of death, bloodless and heavy.

"Join you?"

We are the last of the Priestesses, sister. I want you by my side when I crush Camelot, and Merlin along with it. Your dragon will know where to find me. We must prepare.

"She's not coming," Merlin said. His voice sounded distant as he gazed through the window, towards the White Mountains and beyond.

"What?" Arthur roused himself from where he'd been slumped, half-asleep, at the Round Table. Merlin had been reading from Geoffrey's book, but the language was foreign, and after a while the king had started to doze off.

"She's waiting for something."

"More soldiers?" Arthur waved over a herald, who had been weaving slightly on his feet by the door. "Alert the guards. I want patrol parties traveling as far as the edge of the woods. If her army moves, I need to hear about it."

"At once, sire!" The herald bowed deeply.

"And… get some sleep, would you?" The boy's apparent tiredness had not been lost on the king, and Arthur smirked as he left. The smirk died away as he turned back to his companion, bent low over the texts again. "Merlin?"

"I haven't found anything yet." He didn't lift his eyes from the page.

"Merlin."

This time, he did look up, and Arthur sighed. He looked terrible.

"Nimueh's not on her way yet." He cleared his throat. "So… we have time."

"All the time in the world won't matter if I can't find out how to stop that army," Merlin returned to his reading, and Arthur reached out and closed the book.

"Merlin, we have to talk about…" He cleared his throat again, but it still felt terribly tight. "Gaius needs a funeral."

All the life seemed to ebb right out of Merlin's demeanor. It was like watching him crumple into himself. He looked years older and somehow he seemed smaller, too—no longer a sorcerer, or a dragon. He was a boy who had just lost the closest thing he had to a family, and he hadn't yet given himself time to mourn.

"Is he still…" Merlin looked away at a harsh angle, doing his best to hide his face, but Arthur could still see it contorting. "Is he still… in his… ch-ch…" He broke off and his bony shoulders started to shake.

"He's in his bed," Arthur said quietly. "We wanted him to be comfortable."

Merlin nodded, still facing the wall, one hand gripping the lower half of his face like he was trying to keep something in. It seemed to escape anyways because Arthur could hear sobs.

Arthur didn't know what to say. I'm sorry felt too small. Too powerless. So he did the only thing he could think of. He stood and approached Merlin's seat, paused, and then drew him into a hug. It felt awkward—more like a mother holding her child than a man comforting his friend.

(So stupid, this is so awkward, I'm a king, for God's sake, and we're both grown men—)

And suddenly Merlin twisted into him, crying into his chest. Arthur's own eyes burned and he didn't speak. At some point his gaze drifted to the doorway, and he caught a glimpse of Gwen standing in the doorway in her nightgown. There were tears glittering on her cheeks and when she caught Arthur's eye, she gave him a wavering smile and kissed two fingertips gently—one for her husband, and one for her friend. She retreated, and Arthur felt a guilty surge of warmth in his chest knowing that she would be up waiting for him, to comfort him, and that he wouldn't be alone. Not like Merlin.

Arthur held Merlin for a while longer. He didn't want to be the first to pull away and so he waited until the sorcerer finally leaned back, wiping his eyes. They were as red as flame.

"I'm okay," he said, with a smile that was more like a grimace. "We can... Tomorrow. We'll bury him tomorrow."

Arthur nodded, and made to sit back down.

"Get out of here." Merlin's smile looked a little more natural now as he waved the king away. "I saw you sleeping earlier. Go get some rest. I'll work on this a little more."

Arthur left with little protest.