It takes both the woman's husband and Leon, who had been on his own path to the lower town that morning when the incident occurred, to carry the woman to the physician's chambers. She moaned and cried and screamed the whole way from the courtyard.

While the two struggled to take the woman from the grounds, Merlin grabbed a servant boy by the arm and gave him quick, quiet instructions to collect Heda and Amanda and take them somewhere quiet before sending the other servant scurrying off ahead of the trio.

Then Merlin busies himself calming the children for a while before an elderly matron collects them from him to take to Gaius's chambers. Arthur spends the time interviewing the bystanders. Only two had witnessed the woman come in through the gates, and only one had seen what happened prior to her screaming.

According to his account, the woman was listening happily to her children and walking toward the castle when she had trailed to a stop. The man remembers her looking in his direction–it kept his attention, after all–but she seemed to be looking through him rather than at him.

He said her children had tugged at her sleeves. Her husband had patted her shoulder, trying to get her to keep moving until they were out of the thin snow. But the woman hadn't moved.

The husband tried again to get her attention while her children giggled about her feet. Then, the husband stepped in front of her and shook her shoulders. Still, she didn't move. Her husband's voice became more insistent, then more concerned. With his change of tone, the children quieted.

Her screaming shattered the air mere moments later. People all around the courtyard stopped in their tracks. The woman finally moved, but only to stumble backward until her back hit the stones of the keep walls. Then she slid slowly toward until she was sitting, screaming, still staring in his direction without actually seeing anything.

Arthur sends off the last straggler from the group of witnesses and turns to Merlin, who looks at him with tired eyes placed in a drawn face.

"We should go talk to the husband," Merlin says.

The manservant turns to go inside. Arthur curses and starts after Merlin, grabbing the younger man by the wrist to stop him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Arthur hisses.

"To Gaius's," Merlin replies simply. "To talk to the husband."

"You're still covered in blood, Merlin," Arthur tells him, tugging him up the stairs and toward a servant's passage.

Merlin's simple, "Oh," is all the reply Arthur gets to that astute observation.

The king pulls Merlin on a quick and blessedly bystander-less path to the chambers. Arthur opens the door and pushes Merlin inside quickly, then mutters to the man on the left, "Have someone up to draw me a bath."

The guard nods and sets off down the hall to find a different servant. Arthur follows Merlin quickly, pacing into his rooms and shutting the door behind him. Merlin turns to look at him and crosses his arms, eyebrow raised.

"What am I meant to do here?" Merlin asks him. "It's not as if I keep spare clothes of mine in your chambers."

"You know where everything is," Arthur tells him, waving a hand in the air. "Find something old that I don't use anymore."

Merlin chooses not to toss a barb Arthur's way about how the clothes will be both comically large and too short on his frame. Instead, he crosses the room and searches for clothes. When he goes to the dressing screen, Arthur shakes his head.

"No. You're having a bath. I can't have you walking around like that," Arthur tells him.

"Don't want people to see your manservant bloodied?"

"People will talk," Arthur says.

"I'm sure."

"I'm going to go make some arrangements," Arthur says, "and try talking to the husband. Clean yourself up and meet me at Gaius's chambers in two candle marks."

Merlin simply nods and leans heavily against the table. Arthur opens his mouth to say something more, then closes it and exits the room.

Alone now, Merlin waits. Before too long, a trio of other servants arrive at the door with pails of heated water. He lets them in, assures them that he is fine, really, it just looks like a lot, and helps them empty the buckets into the bath. When they leave, he undresses and sinks into the bath.

The warmth of the water seems to seep into his bones. His eyelids become heavier. He allows himself a few minutes to sit in the warmth before using a rag to begin wiping off the blood that had soaked through his shirt and jacket to smear on his neck and back.

He's dressed in some of Arthur's old winter clothes–much too fine to be comfortable but hopefully worn enough to be inconspicuous–and back at Gaius's with plenty of time to spare. But he is not met by just Arthur. Instead, Gaius and Leon are gathered outside the physician's chambers with the king. A little further down the hallway, the same kindly woman from earlier sits on the floor with the children in her lap, telling them some kind of story.

All three men's faces are carved from granite.

As Merlin approaches, he can hear the sound of desperate sobs coming from in the physician's chambers. Merlin slows to a stop and looks at each of them in turn.

"What happened?" Merlin asks, voice low.

"She died," Gaius says.

"Of her–her wounds?" Merlin asks.

"I don't…" Gaius begins, then trails off. "I have never seen anything like it before."

"She never stopped screaming and crying," Leon says, his gaze on the ground. "The whole way here, and up until a few minutes after Arthur arrived."

"Then she went perfectly still," Arthur adds. "And she said, 'Please.' Then a spot of blood appeared on her chest, just above her heart. It started growing."

"By the time she died, it looked like a broadsword had pierced her chest," Gaius finishes grimly. "The fabric of her dress had not been cut. Just her chest."

Merlin is quiet for a moment, then asks, "Gaius, the man who was hung–were his sleeves cut through?"

Arthur and Leon look at the younger man in surprise. Even Gaius gives him a slightly affronted look, that his ward could be thinking of such things in the wake of such a strange and horrible death.

"They were rolled up," Gaius answers.

"And Henry? What about his shirt?"

Gaius tilts his chin to the side, a thoughtful look coming over him. "Pulled up. By Heda herself, I believe."

"So what?" Arthur asks.

"Well, sire, it's… strange to say the least. Steel and claw alike must go through fabric to make such wounds. Based on what we have seen here today, whatever killed this woman almost… almost made her flesh wound itself," Gaius answers.

"Does that narrow it down any?" Arthur growls, his own frustration and exhaustion showing.

"I will need to look into it, sire," Gaius replies. "But for now, I have a patient."

Gaius excuses himself and shuffles back into his room. Arthur glances at Merlin.

"I'm having the detached antechambers prepared for you," the king tells him.

Merlin manages to look more surprised than tired at that information.

"Why?" the manservant asks.

"Because Amanda and Heda are still using your room," Arthur replies. "And I think this woman's husband will need to be treated for shock. You're out of a room for tonight, at least, so I thought I would house you."

"Oh," Merlin says, then ducks his head. "Thank you, sire."

Arthur nods. "Merlin… I'll need to ask you some questions.

"Okay," Merlin says. "Ask away."

"Not here," Arthur says. He takes them on a circuitous path that lands them near the grand entrance and the stairway that leads to Arthur's chambers and Merlin's new temporary room. He pulls all three to a stop in a quiet corner, turning his full attention to Merlin.

"Did you know her?"

"I'd never seen her before," Merlin answers promptly. "Which is strange, because I know most people in the castle."

"Do you know why she would know you?"

"Not on sight, no," Merlin says, sighing. "I've been thinking about that. How she recognized me. Maybe someone had pointed me out to her as the physician's apprentice or your manservant?"

"Do you know her husband? Children?"

"No," Merlin replies.

Arthur takes a deep breath, then asks, "Did you know Henry, Heda, or Amanda before we visited their house?"

"No," Merlin says, a frown tugging on his lips.

"What about Timothy?"

"No," Merlin says. "I didn't know any of them."

"Right," Arthur says, sighing. "Thank you, Merlin."

"Sure," Merlin replies, voice wary.

Arthur coughs, then says, "You should visit Geoffrey. See what books he will lend you for some research. I expect Gaius will be busy for a little while, but you could get a head start on things, right?"

"I can," Merlin says, the distrust not quite leaving his voice.

"Very good. I'll be lunching with Guinevere and going over guard schedules with Leon, so I won't need you until this evening."

"Very well," Merlin says, giving Arthur another one of his nod-bows and walking away toward the library.

Arthur and Leon watch him go.

Merlin pores through books until his eyes cross, but finds nothing. He serves Arthur and Gwen dinner, ignoring their concerned gazes and responding only briefly and politely to their attempts to engage him in conversation. He takes his leave not much longer, ghosting away from Arthur's door to go only a hundred paces down the hall.

The manservant's antechamber is a disused, yet familiar room. It's set up fairly simply: small bed, dresser, desk, closet, fireplace. It's larger than Merlin's room at Gaius's, draftier and emptier and less like home.

Merlin tries to read further, but can't get very far before the words swim in his vision. He gives up and goes to the fire, crouching in front of it and poking absently at the burning logs every once in a while.

Sleeplessness and the aftermath of adrenaline finally catch up to him. Only when he fears he may keel over head-first into the fire does he cross the room to get into bed.

It seems the moment his eyes close, the dreams start. Freya. Lancelot. Balinor. Morgana. Mordred. Arthur. Gaius. Merlin. Everyone else. And now, added in, is the swinging corpse and creaking ropes from Timothy's house, the pool of blood and crying widow of Henry's home, the gaping, missing eyes of the screaming woman from that morning.

Freya. Lancelot. Balinor. Morgana. Mordred. Arthur. Gaius. Merlin. Camelot. Timothy. Henry. Heda.

On and on and on.

Blood, death, tears, and cold water seep from his dreams into his bones. That strange leaden thing in his stomach grows with every inhale, settles with every exhale.

When he opens his eyes, the room is mostly dark. The fire has died out to a low burn, casting an orange, flickering light about the room. Something about the light on the wall catches his attention. He squints, blinks a few times.

A shadow caught in the corner of the room detaches from the rest of the darkness to move and play against the wall. It looks human. It looks familiar.

Merlin finds he can't move.

Merlin, a horrible voice croons.

Merlin wants nothing more than to get away from the voice. He can only twitch. His magic, too, is once again constrained and thrashing and panicked inside him.

What are you? Merlin demands.

You know me, the voice insists. I've been with you your whole life, Merlin.

Merlin tries again to use his magic, but it is as if there is a vice around it. He can feel his muscles straining and cramping with his efforts to move.

Let me go, Merlin says.

I'm sorry, the voice tells him. I can't.

The shadow moves again. Merlin watches as a spindly hand appears silhouetted on the wall. It reaches for him.

Merlin makes a last ditch effort.

Please, please come help, Merlin begs.

Something heavy presses into his shoulder. It is the right weight and pressure of a hand, but missing all the warmth of flesh. A shudder rips through Merlin's body.

Emrys? A distant voice calls to him.

This voice, this communication feels safer. Familiar. A brush against his mind, a question and answer of magic.

King's antechambers, Merlin calls. Run.

The hand presses more firmly against Merlin's shoulder. The warlock tries to roll his eyes to glimpse it, but finds he cannot make anything out in the dim light.

Who do you call for, Merlin? The intruder's voice asks. Who do you have left?

Flashes of the nightmare come to Merlin's mind unbidden. Freya, Lancelot, Balinor, Morgana, Mordred. He feels his body, feels his magic, straining for freedom, but simultaneously feels he is once again asleep.

The visions this time are too real, the senses too visceral: the scent of blood, the weight of a body in his hands, the cold of the air. The flashes of memory grow in speed and do not stop, cycling through each moment of horror and loss and shame and sorrow. Flashing from one face to the next until they almost blur, even in his mind's eye.

Look at what you have been through, Merlin, the voice tells him.

Distantly, Merlin hears what must be his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Each death tore through you like a blade, the voice says. And Merlin feels it, feels it all again, punching through his chest until he feels he can't breathe. Each loss as fresh as it had been the day they happened.

What is left of you, after all that death, the voice continues, but sorrow and misery?

Finally, the visions stop. Merlin can move. He heaves a huge breath in and pushes himself from the bed, gasping for air. He looks at the area behind his bed, searching for any sign of the intruder. He sees nothing.

When he finally looks to the door, however, he sees Mordred, dressed for guard duty, eyes shining and mouth slightly agape. His sword is drawn and he, too, is panting from exertion.

Behind him is Arthur, face wild and angry and confused as he often is after being woken up. He still wears his sleep clothes, but Excalibur is held in one hand, held out as if to fight someone.

"Sir Mordred," Arthur says finally, "what is the meaning of this? Why did you come trying to break down my servant's door in the middle of the night?"

"I–" Mordred says, looking from Merlin to the space next to his bed. Merlin narrows his eyes. "It was locked, sire."

"It was–" Arthur says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That still doesn't answer my question."

"It wasn't locked," Merlin interjects.

"It wouldn't open," Mordred says, brows furrowing.

"Why were you trying to get into his chambers if it was locked?" Arthur asks.

"It wasn't locked," Merlin insists. "That door doesn't have a lock."

Arthur raises and eyebrow, then turns to look at the door.

"No lock," Arthur says. "Then why all the banging and shouting?"

"I felt–did you not see the thing behind him?"

"You saw it?"

Merlin sits up straighter. Arthur looks from Merlin's hyper-focused gaze to Mordred's unsure one.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asks. No one present, even Arthur, is sure if he's speaking to the knight or the manservant, but the knight chooses to answer.

"I was on guard duty," Mordred says slowly. "And saw a fire in here. There's never anyone in here. So I came to investigate, and heard a shout… And there was this thing looking at Merlin when we first came in here, sire. Did you really not see it?"

"What did it look like?" Merlin asks.

"There was something in your room, looking at you," Arthur says slowly, "and you didn't see it?"

"I couldn't move," Merlin grinds out, attention solely focused on Mordred. "Gaius calls it sleep paralysis. Did you see it, Mordred?"

"Yes," Mordred answers. "But only for a moment before it just… disappeared."

"What did it look like?" Merlin asks.

"Like smoke," Mordred says softly. "Or dark, dark mist in the form of a man. And two glowing red eyes, like rubies."

Arthur looks at Merlin. The manservant has that damned impassive face on again, even with eyes red-rimmed and cheeks streaked with tears.

Arthur doesn't remember seeing Merlin properly scared since the Dorocha. Perhaps this is as close as the man gets anymore.

It's unnerving.

"Did it say anything to you?" Merlin asks.

"Yes," Mordred whispers. He swallows, then says, "It told me its name. Achlys."