AN: GUYS! It's a new post just five days after my last one. :O It's a miracle! I know, I know... very punny. :P It's past midnight... don't mind me. ^^ Buuuut, I'm hoping to update once a week, at least until the summer ends. Or until GRE study and my thesis advisor get after me for being delinquent!

SO, enjoy the chapter, and please do leave a review! And expect a chapter before the 27th!

Cheers!
~Sandyy

Merlin Astur was not the first person Lancelot had ever stopped to help at the scene of an accident, though he'd rarely been there to witness said accident. He'd managed to haul Merlin out of the road before he met the same unfortunate end as his bicycle, and once the younger student was composed enough to attempt walking, Lance helped him back to his flat, limping heavily. He had stayed to see Merlin's ankle wrapped neatly and settle the younger man on his couch with the injured foot elevated.

He hadn't expected to see the dark haired young man again after the incident, but Merlin didn't forget. He'd kept up cheerful conversation with the pre-med student while his injured ankle was being wrapped and sought him out later. Lance had become fast friends with the amiable young student of history, and through Merlin's uncle, Gaius Wilson, Lance had been put in touch with several doctors he could shadow to gather experience for his resume and medical school application.

So in a roundabout sort of way, Merlin was the reason that Lancelot stood where he was today, notebook tucked under his arm as he stood, listening to Arthur's diagnosis. He kept half a step behind the doctor he was shadowing—Doctor Collins—out of the way of Uther Pendragon's pacing. The politician hadn't left Arthur's side since arriving at the hospital, although his attention was less than helpful under the circumstances.

"I was promised he would receive the best care here." Uther's tone was sharp, angry. "Perhaps I should have Gaius take over the case."

"Uther, Doctor Collins and I attended medical school together. I have complete faith in her. Arthur is receiving the best care available," Gaius interrupted quietly, inclining his head to Lance's mentor. Doctor Collins, a long time friend of Uther's personal physician, was a short, middle-aged woman with keen grayish eyes like Gaius, long blond hair sprinkled with stray silver hairs, and an even temperament. She displayed an abundance of patience for the difficult man, no doubt born of years negotiating with family and friends of intensive care patients, but Collins was equally as straightforward and blunt as she was understanding.

"The antibiotics need some time to kick into his system before we will see significant change," she explained. "His condition is stable for the moment…" Stable might be a touch optimistic. Lance shifted his attention past Uther to look at the prime minister's son. Arthur had been in poor shape when he arrived, desperately in need of fluids and running a fever so high that he was delirious. He'd improved after the doctors administered antibiotics for what they assumed was a bacterial infection and Paracetamol to reduce the pain and fever. By the time Lance arrived in the evening to shadow Doctor Collins in the intensive care unit, Arthur's condition had deteriorated again. Shortly after mid-day, his oxygen saturation plummeted dramatically, forcing them to administer oxygen to prevent any damage to essential organs. The clear oxygen tube was only one of several running from the bed to the myriad of machines around it. It was strange to see Arthur like this now, his hand decorated with a hospital bracelet and bright plastic IV line and a thin oxygen cannula across his face, his chest rising and falling with tiny, shallow breaths aided by the airflow from the tank. When the Lance passed Merlin and Arthur's apartments on his way catch a bus to the medical campus, he was accustomed to seeing Arthur there—one of the few people awake as early as Lance—lacing his brightly colored trainers for a morning jog. It would be weeks before Arthur would be in any shape to go running again… assuming he didn't deteriorate any further in the next couple of days. Lance knew how cases like this usually progressed. It was rare that patients recovering from meningitis left the hospital without some lasting damage, especially those as far advanced as Arthur already was.

"You're Lance, aren't you?" Lance looked up, surprised to be addressed. He'd lost the thread of conversation between Collins and Uther Pendragon, but this voice was closer to his ear and didn't sound like his mentor. A woman with piercing eyes and raven black hair stood beside him, inspecting him with her sharp look. Lance looked back at her in undisguised surprise. There was only one person other than Uther who would be allowed in for a visit at the intensive care unit.

"And you must be Morgana," he replied. This day was simply full of surprises. From what Gwen had told him, Lance hadn't expected to see Morgana Cornwall anywhere in the same two-mile radius as Uther Pendragon. She inclined her head gracefully. "Are the others still waiting downstairs?" he couldn't help asking, his brow furrowing with concern.

"I said I'd let them know how Arthur was doing," Morgana said, confirming his question with a nod. Her gaze strayed to the hospital bed. "May I sit with him?"

"As long as you move back if any alarms start," Lance said. She smiled gratefully at him and swept past the doctor and Uther, ignoring her guardian's presence, despite the surprised look that followed her to Arthur's bedside. Lance watched in silence while she pulled up a chair, careful not to bump the bed, and slowly put her hand over Arthur's: a light, unobtrusive touch.

"Arthur?" His eyes fluttered open halfway and focused on her face.

"Morgana," he breathed. This time at least, he seemed to recognize his visitor. A faint spark returned to his pain-dulled blue eyes. "Am I… dying?" The question surprised Lance, and apparently the addressee as well. Her eyes narrowed.

"Of course you're not dying, Arthur. Don't be such a wimp." Her voice didn't sound quite as confident as her words, and the tips of her fingers curled around his hand.

"Ah…" His eyes flickered shut briefly and sought out her face again. "Thought… that's why you came to visit."

"Nope. Just came to annoy you," Morgana said firmly.

"You mean… you'd be nice to me if I was dying?" Arthur managed in a breathless voice. Morgana scoffed.

"Oh no. I'll always be there to annoy you, Arthur Pendragon. Even on your deathbed," she promised, a gentle lilt of mock-solemnity in her voice. A weak smile tugged at Arthur's lips. His hand shifted under hers, though he seemed to have not even the strength to lift it.

"Wow… Thanks, Morgana. I'm touched," he murmured. His eyes squeezed shut and his mouth turned down in a grimace, and Morgana gently slid her hand under his and squeezed. Lance looked away. Shadowing in the intensive care ward, he often felt as though he was privy to conversations not meant for his ears, but it was all the stranger for the fact that Arthur was a friend. It seemed somehow wrong to be listening.

Uther's voice had gone silent several seconds ago. Lance backed away from the hospital bed and moved closer to his mentor. He was meant to stay out of the way—to watch and not get involved—and he knew that was all he could do for Arthur right now: not get in the way of his treatment. But it was difficult to watch, more than he would have imagined. Uther had stopped pacing and turned his eyes on Doctor Collins again, clasping his hands behind his back.

"What are you saying?" His voice had dropped considerably, and the steel was gone from his light gray eyes. The tone sent a jolt of cold fear through Lance's insides. He hadn't heard what Collins said the second before… and he realized with a sickening feeling that he'd missed something gravely important.

"Your son is in a lot of pain," said Collins, her voice low, mainly meant for Uther's ears, though Lance saw Morgana perk up and direct her attention towards them. "And the Paracetamol is not doing an effective job. We're going to use some stronger drugs to sedate him and spare him the suffering until we can bring his fever down. If you want a chance to speak with your son before we put him under, I suggest you do so now before the worst of the pain returns."

"Do what you need to. I will speak with him when he's feeling better," Uther replied.

"Mr. Pendragon, I can't promise that you will have another chance to speak with him."

There was a moment of silence which seemed to stretch into hours. A ball of ice settled in Lance's chest. He clutched his notebook tighter and felt the spiral binding dig into his hand.

"There…" Uther's eyes darted from Wilson to Collins. "No, there must be something you can do. Any treatment you have, I will willingly pay for it."

"Uther," Gaius' voice was soft. "This is not a matter of treatment or cost… If it had been caught sooner, perhaps there would have been more we could do. For now, we can only wait and see."

"I'm sorry," Collins said quietly.

"No. No, he's my son. My only son. He can't…" Uther fumbled for the wall with one hand, but when Gaius tried to offer support, he brushed it off and stepped past the two doctors. Lance had heard many less than kind things about Uther from Gwen, but he still felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Uther's eyes were locked on the two children he'd raised, there amidst the forest of medical machinery—one who had turned her back on him and the other dying. His family was crumbling before his very eyes. As if to emphasize the poignancy of the situation, Morgana, upon noting his attention, rose from her place on the other side of the bed and backed away. Uther straightened up, pale, with a haunted expression in his eyes. "Morgana?" She turned away, her expression hard and cold, and before he could say anything further, she turned and stalked from the room. Lance watched her until she was out of sight, swallowing over the tight feeling in his throat. A hand lit on his shoulder.

"Lance." Doctor Collins said quietly. "Go talk to your friends. You can catch up with me in half an hour." He didn't need telling twice.

"Thank you," he whispered, and before he could catch any more of Uther's broken words as he turned to Gaius, Lance hurried out the door after Morgana.

Gwen was sitting in an aged looking leather chair, watching the rivulets of water run down the window beside her. Her head turned and she sprang up when Morgana and Lance arrived together, eyes wide with evident distress.

"Have you seen him?"

"Gwen—" Morgana's voice shook the tiniest bit, and Lance saw Gwen's shoulders drop and her face crumple in dismay.

"Oh no… no." Morgana wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulders, and Gwen buried her face against her friend's shoulder. Lance hovered half a foot away with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. This meant so much more to Gwen—to all of the other three—than he could even begin to understand. And of the relationship between Gwen and Arthur, he had only picked up bits and pieces from the three of them, but he knew there was more to it than he'd seen.

Lance had been as surprised as Merlin to see Arthur brush Gwen's concerns off the way he had the day before. Now that he thought of it, though, Arthur had probably been in more pain than he let on at that point. In the past, there had been some sharp words between Arthur and Guinevere—unresolved troubles that both had struggled with in their relationship. Arthur had concerns about publicity and his father's disapproval. Often as not, their disagreements were over Morgana and her burgeoning quarrel with Arthur's father. But for all that, there was never a question in Lance's mind: Arthur loved Gwen. He was always quick to apologize if he felt that he'd hurt her, and anyone could see the look in his eyes when he saw her. Had Lance not seen Arthur as he was around Gwen, he might have thought what everyone else thought of the prime minister's son: that Arthur was confident, arrogant even, and steered by his father's maxims. But there was something about Gwen that drew out a different side of Arthur Pendragon—a more cautious, introspective side. The façade of defensive confidence fell away, and Arthur showed himself an attentive listener and more conflicted than Lance would ever have guessed—a young man wrestling with his father's deeply ingrained worldview in an attempt to understand the changing world around him.

It was the sign of a healthy relationship that the two remained good friends although they were no longer dating. And in the end, Lance found that he couldn't resent it. Arthur was in a position of influence with a lot of pressure on him from many different sources. And it was a rare man indeed who could face his demons—the things he'd been taught to hate and fear all his life—and question the beliefs he'd built his entire world around. Gwen had seen that in Arthur.

Whether or not she loved him… whether or not she had truly moved past whatever relationship and feelings she had for Arthur… she would miss him, and it would hurt that the last words she exchanged with him were in anger. Any words of comfort Lance could offer right now would be as empty and useless as he felt.

"What's happened?" Merlin's voice broke into his thoughts. "Lance, what's going on?" He stood a foot to Lance's right, looking at Gwen and Morgana with deeply troubled blue eyes. Lance looked down.

"Merlin, you know I can't tell you anything about patients—"

"Morgana's going to tell me in a moment anyways," Merlin interrupted sharply. "It won't matter. Please, Lance… I need to know." Lance hesitated. Morgana's face was buried against Gwen's shoulder. He couldn't be sure whether she was crying. Gwen certainly was. Merlin though… He'd only stopped pacing when Lance and Morgana appeared, and even now as he stood still, his fingers tugged at the ends of his worn red scarf, an age old nervous habit that he had.

"They've… decided to sedate him so he won't be in pain," he admitted at last. "The treatment isn't working. We're hoping to see some improvement in the next couple of hours, but…" Merlin buried his fingers in his hair and turned his back with a shaky intake of breath. "Merlin, I'm sorry…" Lance put a hand on his shoulder and felt the wiry tension under his touch. He'd never seen Merlin so wound up over anything. The younger man sank into a chair by the wall, shaking his head.

"They have to let me in. I have to see him. I have to," he said hoarsely. Lance stole a glance at Gwen and Morgana and sat down quietly beside Merlin. All the things he wanted to say, every assurance he wanted to give, was a lie.

"They're doing everything they can for Arthur," he promised. Empty words when Arthur was slipping away more with each passing minute. And Merlin, head now buried in his hands, knew it. Arthur Pendragon was dying, and no amount of grief—no begging, no expense or treatment could save him.

It grew dark early as the storm clouds rolled in once more. The rain, which had poured off and on all day, brought with it a turmoil of thunder and lightning, and hospital staff drew a shade across the window, leaving Arthur's room lit only by the pale electric lights. Hospital staff moved with quiet efficiency inside the room, unobtrusive despite the many people within as they navigated around Uther and Gaius at the bedside to deftly change the fluid bag and check the dressings on Arthur's IV site.

"Uther, you've been here all day. Let Morgana stay with him a while," Gaius said. "You need some rest. She is willing to sit up with him tonight." Uther raised his head to look at Doctor Wilson. Some feet behind him, Doctor Collins stood in the doorway, on her last check before the end of her shift. She wouldn't stay much longer. Just as it had been for Lance with Merlin and Gwen, there was nothing more she could do for Arthur or his jaded father. Arthur's prognosis would not reassure him.

"Have you given up on him too?" There was a resigned bitterness in Uther's voice.

"He's not yet gone," Gaius replied.

"But he will not recover," said Uther. Gaius bowed his head and stepped aside to let the nurse finish adjusting Arthur's tubes.

"Not without a miracle," the physician said at last. Uther's response followed quick after his words.

"I don't believe in miracles." Lance wasn't sure he did either. He wished he could. Gaius knew a lost cause when he saw it. His hand rested briefly on Uther's shoulder before he left the room to consult with his colleague. Lance lingered by the door a couple of seconds and watched the thin green line on Arthur's heart monitor peak and dip, peak and dip, rising and falling irregularly as his heart struggled to support his failing system.

"Lance." At Collins' voice he tore his gaze away. Gaius was gone already down the hallway, as if on some urgent errand. But Collins paused to let Lance catch up with her in a few strides. "He's a good friend of yours." Her expression was kindly, as was her voice. Lance nodded, though he recognized that it wasn't really a question. "You did very well," Collins told him softly. Lance took a breath and nodded again, hoping it was enough to convey his gratitude.

"Is there any chance… any at all that he'll recover?" he asked. Collins looked back at the window into the room and shook her head.

"His symptoms are not what we would normally expect of a patient with meningitis. He was treatable when he arrived and should have responded to the antibiotics by now."

"So it's not meningitis?"

"There are no signs to indicate a different disease… If not, then I can't tell you what else it is." Collins sighed heavily. "There's something at work here that neither of us understands." Lance wasn't sure he understood her meaning. He rubbed his thumb on the edges of his notebook pages. "I'm sorry," Collins said at last. Lance nodded mutely again.

"I'll be alright," he said. He wished he could say the same for Gwen, Morgana, and Merlin. They were by far closer to Arthur than he…

"I know you will." Collins put a hand on his arm briefly. "Take care. I'll see you next week."

"Thank you," Lance replied. Collins strode away down the hall, leaving him to look back through the window to Arthur's room where Gaius remained. Uther had shrunk in on himself, left alone in the room now. He sat hunched over in the chair beside the bed where Morgana had been earlier in the day, and his head rested on the cover beside Arthur's shoulder. To all appearances he was asleep, strange as it seemed. Perhaps the emotional stress of the day had finally caught up with him.

Down at the end of the hall opposite Lance, the automatic doors hissed open. Lance shuffled back behind the corner, out of sight, keenly aware that he wasn't supposed to be here without Doctor Collins or another member of the hospital staff. He should have followed her out. But then again… He stopped himself and looked back around the corner fleetingly. Neither was he…

What is he doing? Lance took half a step forward. He had thought that everyone had gone home by now. It was getting late. But there was no mistaking the lanky figure making its way down the hall with brisk, determined step. Somehow, Merlin Astur had made his way right to the door of Arthur's hospital room, as if he'd known the hospital layout by heart and just what room Arthur was placed in. How, Lance didn't know. He was certain Merlin had never set foot in the intensive care unit before. He stepped out into the hall, tempted to call out and stop Merlin, but the words stuck in his throat. If he spoke now, he might disturb Uther… if Merlin could get in and out of the room without alerting him… he would far rather not get his friend in any trouble for this. So he stood, watching in bewilderment, while Merlin slipped into the room, leaving the door wide open behind him, and stepped to Arthur's bedside.

Merlin's hand looked a touch unsteady as he extended it, his fingertips very nearly brushing the hair atop Uther's head. Uther moved, just enough to tuck his head in the crook of his arm, resting on the pristine hospital cover beside Arthur's shoulder. Apparently satisfied, Merlin drew back and moved to the other side of the bed. What on earth…. Lance moved from behind the corner to get a clear view of the man, now that Merlin had his back turned to the door. Part of him grew anxious with every second that passed, waiting for someone to come down the hall and find Merlin here—or him for that matter, both out of place. But Merlin's distress had been almost tangible as he paced down in the lobby. He'd taken Arthur's illness hard, and odds were that this would be the last time he saw his friend. If Merlin was willing to face the possibility of being spotted by hospital staff, Uther, and anyone else… this must be deeply important to him. Lance couldn't take that from him. Merlin lingered by the bedside. Lance came another step closer, keeping half an eye out. He could at least give Merlin a couple extra seconds if anyone else came down the hall.

"I don't give a damn," Merlin's voice broke the silence, startling Lance. "About prophecies or destiny or what any of those bloody media stations say about you. It's all a loud of rubbish… but I was starting to believe in you. You know that?" If the ward hadn't been dead silent save for the quiet beeping of the electronics, Lance might not have heard Merlin's voice, soft as it was. "I've just done something… you wouldn't believe. God…" His voice broke, and Lance heard a choked sob. "This has to work. You have to get better, Arthur. If you don't…" He trailed off with a shaky breath and extended both hands, trembling slightly. He placed them over Arthur's chest palms down. "You hear me, prat? I'm going to give you one more chance, alright? I need you back… everyone needs you back." The dark haired man bowed his head, hands resting over Arthur's heart. He's gone mad. The thought crossed Lance's mind seconds before Merlin spoke again, and now his voice rose in a strong, steady cadence. "Gelácne ádligne lybcræft*!" Lance froze, transfixed. There was no visible change in the room, nor even in Merlin or Arthur, but he could feel the shift in the air, as if he recognized it by instinct. My God. Lance drew in a sharp intake of breath. Merlin was standing mere inches from Uther Pendragon's head… For a while nothing moved. Uther had never once stirred, not even at Merlin's voice. Merlin's hands stayed pressed flat to Arthur's chest. At length, he let them fall to his sides and backed away one step. Then Lance noticed it. Over Merlin's shoulder, the number on the pulse oximeter was slowly creeping up towards a normal and healthy saturation. The green line on the monitor peaked, dipped, peaked, its rhythm smoothed out in regular beats once more. And Arthur stirred. He murmured something incomprehensible and shifted his head against the pillow. Merlin let out a tiny, shaky laugh and stepped back from the bed, burying his fingers in his hair. Lance let out a breath, scarcely daring to believe his eyes. Merlin laughed giddily again, spinning around on one heel, and in a split second the ear-to-ear grin vanished, and he blanched paper-white. He backed up a step, and his heels came up against the wheel of the hospital bed. And Lance realized with a jolt: Merlin was looking at him.

"It's not… Lance, this isn't what it looks like—"

"Merlin!" Lance interrupted him, holding up his hands in gesture of reassurance. "I know what it was. It's alright." Merlin stayed where he was, his mouth slightly open, staring at Lance. His chest was heaving, as if he were struggling to breathe. "You… you saw me…?"

"I saw you save a man's life," Lance finished for him. "Merlin, that was… it was incredible," he breathed. He'd heard tales of magic being used for great and terrible things—murder, destruction, fire, chaos… but here before him was the living proof of a man who walked among them, modest and quiet with no intent to harm. And all he could think was, what a brilliant world it would be if magic could be used to cure other patients like Arthur—how many more lives could be saved.

"You're… not going to turn me in?" Merlin faltered. Turn him in… Lance almost laughed. Someone would be in to check on Arthur soon enough… and there would be unanswered questions, but none of them mattered. Arthur was going to live, and even Uther wouldn't ask the rhyme and reason for that blessing. No… no one was going to turn Merlin in. Not if he had anything to say about it.

"Merlin, if it's a crime to save a man's life, you may as well report me too." A tentative smile broke across Merlin's face. They couldn't stand here any longer, though. Even now, Lance was aware that it couldn't be long before someone stopped by to check on Arthur's stats. He put a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "You look like you could use a stiff drink." Merlin laughed at that.

"I won't argue with that," he said, letting Lance steer him out through the door, although Lance followed his gaze back to the bed and its still occupant. He scanned the numbers on the machines once more, as if to assure himself they hadn't been his imagination. Merlin caught his eye. "He'll be alright," he promised. And Lance believed him. He nudged Merlin forward, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on. My treat." He closed the door noiselessly behind them, muffling the soft sound of the heart monitor, now chiming in tandem with a healthy heartbeat again. It was a shame, he reflected, as he led the way out of the hospital at last, that Uther Pendragon didn't believe in miracles, because at this moment there walked a living, breathing miracle at his side: a man who had just done Uther the greatest favor anyone possibly could. And Uther would never know it.

AN2: *Heal the corrupted magic.
-There are many words for magic/witchcraft in Old English. Lybcræft specifically refers to skill in the use of drugs, so I felt it was appropriate for this context. If anyone is ever curious bout the Old English I use, feel free to contact me. My knowledge of Old English is all self-taught, but I'm a scholar of ancient languages, and it was fairly straightforward to pick up! -

And also... I would be very curious to hear what you all think of Uther and Morgana in this chapter.

Reviews would be awesome as always! :D

~Sandyy