AN: Well my friends... the day you've all been waiting for has come. THE MID HIATUS UPDATE! :D

You may know if you read my ANs that today also marks the 2nd year since I started this long story. So here is your celebratory chapter.

However... this chapter is also here to celebrate a not-at-all-insignificant event in the life of its extremely hyperactive author. And if you're a frequent reader of my AN rants... you might have a guess at just what I'm excited about today.

Yes, yes and yes. I have been accepted to one of the universities I applied to. And not just accepted but offered a funding package that puts all of my undergrad scholarships to shame. I am being offered five years completely debt free to pursue my PhD in Classics!

I pretty much lost my mind when I got the letter. My classmate & friend sat me down and told me I seriously needed to breathe. :P But in all honesty, it's difficult for me to tell you in words just how much this offer means to me. It's been my dream for many years to become a professor in my field, and I still can't quite believe that it's really going to happen. And of course... I wouldn't be at this incredible place in my life if it were not for the many, many people-friends, family, professors, scholarship donors, and many others-who have inspired, encouraged, and supported me. All I can say is, I'm a very fortunate young woman. I am so very, very grateful right now.

And for the record, no it wasn't one of the Ivy leagues, though it's a well acclaimed school in California with faculty I am completely thrilled to meet! Of course... my Harvard graduate professor is still holding out hope for an offer from his alma mater... we shall see. ^^

My academic life aside, I've also got a small surprise for you guys! Chapter 18 grew into a monster of 10,000+ words. So as a result, I split it in half, and you will now get not one but TWO chapters during my supposed hiatus. I don't exactly know when I'll post C19. Some time in March, but I'm not sure when I'll have time between my thesis work and all. I'm thinking it'll be during my spring break (23-29th).

I know I'm repeating myself, but as ever, thank you all for reading this product of my overactive imagination. And thank you also for your enthusiasm and encouragement in the course of the last two years. Like all of my friends, you people seemed to have a lot more faith in the promise of my future than I did.

Anyways, I'm quite finished rambling for now. Enjoy the chapter, and please do review if you have time!

There had been no gunfire. No panic and no screams. Nothing at all, indeed, until the shattering glass from the adjoining building. The invasion had run smoothly—as smoothly as they could have hoped up until that point. The General and most of his forces had retreated quickly when they'd realized the base was overtaken, but they were never the target of the tack.

Arthur and his contingent slipped quietly off the base, thinking they'd gotten away, while all the time they were under close monitoring. They would have been taken, if it hadn't been for the little firestorm on the second floor of the office building—distraction and chaos enough for them to lose track of the man. As quickly as the storm started, it was gone, leaving death in its wake and clearing a path for Arthur to slip away undetected. That most of all angered her. It was the second time that her carefully orchestrated plans had fallen through by an incident as unlikely as it was seemingly impossible.

But perhaps it hadn't all been for nothing. She had at least one answer to the slew of questions surrounding the elusive Arthur Pendragon. The Druids' 'legendary' guardian—the one they claimed was destined to stand at Arthur's side and restore peace between the peoples: it seemed they had at last found him.

The Druid prophecy was troubling. If Druid allegiance transferred to a Pendragon, everything might be lost. She'd kept tabs on them so far—fostered some alliances with smaller members of the Druid organization and begun to build bridges and learn which of them would back her. But this guardian of Arthur Pendragon's was the wild-card. Far too many of them would rally to Arthur if the young man played his cards right. Her only consolation was that for now Arthur didn't know that and wouldn't willingly choose an alliance with Druids. Nonetheless, the Druids had once before defended the non-magical community against their fellow sorcerers who sought freedom. She couldn't afford that this time. She had to put Arthur out of the picture—either cripple him in the eyes of the Druids or destroy him. Yet Arthur's silent bodyguard had curtailed Nimueh's plans each time… and it was he that the Druids called Emrys—the greatest warlock ever to walk the earth. Now, at the cost of the former priestess's life, it seemed that now at last the masked traitor of sorcerers was revealed.

"How many were killed in the collapse?" Morgause's voice was clipped. She stepped over a piece of concrete and stopped, regarding the hallway, littered as it was with twisted metal, drywall, and the furnishings what was once an office. Close beside her, Morgana's eyes surveyed the damage actively, searching. The brown-haired sorcerer leading the way bowed his head.

"Five, including Nimueh Hierea," he answered. "We found her body in the wreckage. We left Emrys for you." Morgause's lips thinned. It was difficult to make out the shapes of the scene's debris following the maelstrom of earlier—even with the pale glow of Alvarr's conjured light.

"Emrys?" she scoffed. "You still believe in those children's tales, do you, Alvarr?" Alvarr's light flickered, reflecting his muted annoyance. It was so easy to read other sorcerers' fragile emotions in their spell lights. Morgause could see the discernable stiffening of his shoulders at the jibe just as she could see the dancing light before him.

"No… not per se, but the other Druids call him that," the man answered.

"Powerful he may be, but his luck has run out." Morgause brushed past him and knelt down beside the barely discernable head of dark hair, visible over the edge of a large piece of wall. "How the mighty have fallen," she mused. Morgana came to stand at her shoulder, looking down at the warlock's pale face.

"Will you kill him?" Alvarr asked. Morgause's fingers tipped Merlin's head back and she looked thoughtfully at the ashen skin and tiny rise-and-fall of his chest.

"No." Morgause turned Merlin's head with her hand and smiled. "Best that we divest the Druids of their false beliefs first. They've used the Emrys myth to keep the magical community in suppression for years—waiting for their imaginary savior. And now they've put their faith in a boy." She turned her head. "Morgana." Morgana stepped over the rubble in her path and crouched beside her sister. There was still a tension in Morgana's movements—reluctance. She was learning, gradually but very slowly. Morgause knew to take her time with the young woman. There was fire in Morgana's heart, and it would serve her well in their cause, but it had to be encouraged. "Are you ready?" she asked quietly. Morgause nodded jerkily. Her eyes shone with a trace of apprehension. Morgause squeezed her sister's hand. "Do you think…" Morgana's voice was small and uncertain. Her gray-green eyes flitted to Merlin's face. "Did he know… did he have magic—back when he learned about mine?" Something in Morgana's voice was pleading with her. Morgause touched her fingers to the still form's chest. "I think," she said quietly, "He has always known." Warlocks were a rare sort. Merlin had surely known of his magic almost before he knew how to talk. It was such a unique gift… It was almost a shame to damage him. He was truly the purest source of magic she had ever encountered. It was no wonder the Druids thought him their prophesied savior if they had met him and felt his power…
Morgana's jaw tightened, but she finally inclined her head in tacit consent, and Morgause guided her hand flat against the young man's chest. She rested her own hand over it. "Ádéeþone drýcræft. Hé wære lama." She closed her eyes as the slim lines of light twined round Merlin's chest, and she felt him stir and shiver underneath her fingers. It was his only reaction before he went still again, breathing thin and shallow breaths, eyes roving restlessly under closed eyelids. Morgause rose to her feet.

"Leave the old man," she instructed Alvarr. "He'll make sure his precious Emrys doesn't die." Alvarr nodded and left through the way they came to rejoin the others. Morgause put her hand on Morgana's shoulder as she turned to go as well. "Come." Morgana tore her eyes from the still figure.

"What happens now?" A faint smile tugged at Morgause's lips.

"Now we go back, and we wait." Morgana's troubled eyes darted up to her sister's face. "We won't need to seek out Arthur," Morgause explained. "It will not be long before he walks into our hands. Without 'Emrys', he is vulnerable. And he doesn't even know it."

Arthur leaned on the counter, shoulders hunched, listening to the shuffling of feet and rustling clothes behind him. No one was speaking. Not a single damn word. He clenched his hands into fists.

"We have to go back."

"Arthur." The gentle, sympathetic tone of his uncle's voice grated on Arthur's already frayed nerves. He bit back a snarl and uncurled his fist to grip the edge of the counter.

Arthur's singed jacket lay across the nearest chair, a reminder of yet another in a slew of ridiculously lucky escapes. He was beginning to wonder if any of them had really been his own luck or if this was all just one great game of cat-and-mouse—Morgause manipulating him through each new hoop, smiling as she watched him scramble for safety. And with each escape, he left behind another person—another life spent in protection of his own. It made him feel sick. And he already felt unsteady.

"We can't just leave him there!" Arthur rounded on his silent audience with flashing eyes. No one responded. He put out a hand and leaned heavily on the counter again, taking a breath. "You dragged me out of there. Why the hell didn't someone go back for Merlin? He could be badly hurt!" he snapped.

"Arthur, please sit down." Arthur's head swung about, and he froze, confronted not by a challenge or demand but by Gwen's tear-stained face. He locked eyes with her for a moment, and some of the anger drained out of him. In subdued silence, he released the counter and sank onto a tall stool beside it. He wanted to put his head down on it and close his eyes, but he couldn't. Something was itching at his mind relentlessly. If he let this go now, he'd never forgive himself.

"We can't go back either," Leon said. "You know we were attacked by a sorcerer. No ordinary person can bring down a building like that without an explosion of considerable size. The danger to your person would be too great, and we cannot risk leading them back to Agravaine's home should anyone else go looking."

"Right. Because I'm so damn important," Arthur muttered, putting his aching head in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. Merlin was in the middle of the collapse. He couldn't have survived that." Elyan's voice was taut. "If I'd thought there was any chance, I would go back myself." Arthur dug his fingers into his hair, and the action sent a stab of pain through his left temple where some of the debris hand caught him on his way out. He wasn't the only one. The others were bruised, sore, and tired as well, and everyone shell-shocked from the narrow brush with death in the crumbling building, and a run-in with a clearly powerful sorcerer who might still be at large… Whom Merlin had faced down. Alone. He gritted his teeth over a sharp intake of breath.

"Arthur," Gwaine started. Arthur surged to his feet. He couldn't listen to this anymore—not from Gwaine.

"Yes, yes, I get it," he snapped and turned on his heel to stalk out of the room. The American was always the most optimistic of them. Listening to him agree with the others would be like a death sentence. It had been over a year since Arthur last visited his uncle's home. He didn't really know where he was going—just anywhere to get out of that room with five pairs of sympathetic eyes on him and placating voices trying to comfort him… tell him there was nothing he could have done… Trying to tell him that Merlin was gone.

Agravaine's flat was blessedly large enough for him to get away from the others—far enough at least that their voices faded into a murmur beyond the walls of a hallway. Several faces stared at him from photographs on the wall along the way—one familiar, though Arthur only ever saw it at his uncle's home. Perhaps now, he reflected, he knew why. Even if the divorce was never finalized, Ygraine had wanted out at the end… like as not, Uther didn't want to be reminded. But he would never get answers to that question. Not now.

At the end of a hallway, Arthur trekked into an empty bedroom, nudged the door halfway shut with his foot, and laid down on the bed where he could bury his face in the pillow and shut out light and sound for a moment. The fabric felt rough against his temple. Stiff, dried blood crusted his forehead where a piece of debris caught him while they tried to get out of the building. His head ached still.

Silence was no better than the several voices around him, though. It left his own thoughts running through his restless mind. Nothing seemed to make sense for the moment—what had happened to Lance, how Cenred had tracked them so quickly into the building, how Merlin had known the attack was coming seconds before it happened… why the sorceress had targeted Merlin… And that was what he kept coming back to, conjuring up every image of the collapse. Of Merlin, white-faced, sinking to the ground, his fingers smeared with read, clutching at his leg where he'd been shot, his other hand reaching for the wall, trying to drag himself to his feet before the fire flared to life between them. And Arthur had left him to die. He'd watched his father die just a scant few days ago. He'd left Gwen in Morgause and Morgana's hands. He'd let Gaius and Lance stay behind on the base. And now Merlin… he could add Merlin to the growing list of people he'd failed. If he'd been faster… if they'd been more careful… if Merlin hadn't been such a damned idiot and followed him into the mouth of hell…

The bed dipped. Arthur turned onto his side and wrapped an arm around his head.

"Don't," he muttered between his teeth. She shifted. "Please, Gwen," he added in a feeble attempt to mitigate the sharp enjoinder. He hated the raw edge to his voice. But where Guinevere was concerned, he had ever been an open book. It did little good to try anyways.

Gwen didn't say anything. She reached out quietly and rubbed his arm and shoulder, tracing the lines of tension there. Her hand traced the line from his shoulder to his temple where she gently brushed the scabbing there, and her fingers stilled there. In the quiet room, he heard the tiny hitch in her breath.

A lump formed in Arthur's throat. He sat up, reaching for her in the semi-darkness.

"Guinevere?" Just for a moment, Merlin was driven out of his mind with one look at her shaking form, and he silently cursed his own insensitivity. Brilliant, determined, gentle Guinevere who had risked her life to send information about Morgause's location, escaped by her own cleverness, walked nearly halfway to Camelot on her own without money, food, or help… How much she'd been through in the last week, and yet she'd never complained once—only assured him again and again that she was fine. The first thing she'd asked was whether he was alright. She'd lost a friend too in Morgana… and not only one friend, but three now.

Gwen shook her head, turning her face aside from him a little.

"Arthur, he was shot. I… I saw him. Merlin—"

"I know," Arthur said hoarsely, brushing away the tear at the corner of her eye with his thumb. His throat felt tight. She blinked rapidly.

"I'm sorry… I'm s-sorry." Her fingers brushed the dried blood on his temple, tears shining in her eyes. He'd seen the same look in her eyes as well when they left Lance and Gaius behind on the base. But Merlin… He knew it had to hurt her as much as it did him to leave Merlin behind. Neither of them had meant to. Arthur gathered her in his arms, and she huddled against him, drawing a shuddering breath.

"No. No, no… you have nothing to be sorry for," he whispered. Gwen didn't respond. She buried her face against his shoulder with a sob. He cupped the back of her head with his hand and wrapped his arm around her almost too tight.

After a time, Arthur gently pulled her down with him and laid on his side on the bed, his nose buried in Gwen's dark curls. He carded his fingers silently through her hair, trying to comfort her, though he had closed his eyes long ago to keep the sting in them from forming into tears. Neither of them moved, wrapped in one another's space, taking comfort in being near each other.

She was tired. She had to be. Arthur held her as he felt her breathing even out. Much as he wanted to sleep, he couldn't. He twined the end of a stray curl round his finger and reached around Gwen's ear to tenderly tuck it dashed a sleeve across his own eyes hurriedly. At least—at the very least—she was still here safe and well. He didn't think he could have coped if both she and Merlin had been stripped away from him so soon after…

No… He tucked his head against her shoulder, shutting out the thought.

Her face seemed troubled, even in sleep. She deserved better than this—better than him. Everywhere he went, trouble followed him like a shadow. She'd been there to watch him sick to the point of death, to see her own home burned amidst the dragon's attack on Camelot. She'd been there throughout his turmoil over the Druids. She had suffered Morgana's betrayal and been captured herself. He'd seen her grief over Lance's possession… and now Merlin—Merlin who had been one of her dearest friends since they were teenagers in the sheltered little neighborhood Uther created for them.

Even now, a stray thought—impulse even—nagged at back of Arthur's mind insistently. And the lingering thought that Gwen would be safer here without him drove him to act on it. He very gently disentangled himself from Gwen then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hair, and for a moment he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. His hand withdrew from her face and padded quietly out of the room.

Arthur's uncle was a man of habit. That worked to Arthur's advantage for today. He found Agravaine's keys exactly where they'd always been when he visited his uncle in years past. The house was quiet now. Somewhere in a back room he could hear Agravaine speaking with someone—it sounded like Leon's voice—no doubt negotiating reestablishment of contact with the military. He wouldn't have long before someone would be looking for him. But he wouldn't be gone long either.

"Going somewhere, princess?" Arthur froze with his fingers on the key-ring hung beside the door.

"Just… outside to get some fresh air," he said slowly, his voice edged. He heard a quiet huff and turned around, chin up to look at the American.

"You're lucky it wasn't Leon who spotted you," Gwaine pointed out mildly. He wasn't alone either. Percival stood beside him, quiet but with a thoughtful look on his face. Arthur braced his shoulders.

"I'll only be a minute. I just need—"

"Don't think I believe that for a second." Gwaine's voice held a trace of amusement. Arthur tensed.

"Don't try to make me stay," he warned in a low voice. "I can't just sit here and accept that Merlin's gone—just… take their word for it. I won't rest until I at least try to find him." He curled the keys tightly into his fist, jaw set. Gwaine inclined his head, and a thin smile flitted across his features.

"What kind of friend do you think I am?" Arthur stared at him blankly for a moment then shifted his gaze in mute bewilderment to Percival.

"We left three people behind. That's three too many," Percival said quietly. "If there's any chance, I'm willing to try." Gwaine's smile changed to the roguish grin Arthur was accustomed to see on his features.

"We were gonna go without you, but best I figure it's best if you steal your uncle's car instead of us two, yeah?" A tiny smile twitched at Arthur's lips, and he held the car key up.

"We'll be quick. We can bring it back before he notices."

Arthur parked the car in an alley a couple buildings down from the site of the collapse.

"We haven't got long," Percival said brusquely. Arthur retrieved a torch from his uncle's glove compartment.

"Is anyone else there?" Percival shook his head.

"Damn," Gwaine swore softly. Arthur turned to look, and his stomach lurched. The building seemed to be leaning slightly, one floor almost folding in on itself. Yellow caution tape fluttered around the site of collapse and the possible damage zone in front of the leaning construction. That meant at least one good thing: Morgause was gone and the police or some form of law enforcement had been here to cordon the area off from the public. Arthur swallowed hard and steeled himself.

"Let's go," he said. "We can get up through the fire escape like we did before."

The window that Merlin had unlocked before was shattered. Arthur climbed through, avoiding the jutting glass shards, and Percival and Gwaine followed close behind. All three men climbed in through it, and Arthur stepped gingerly around the bent supports and toppled cubicle walls and office furniture in the room.

The far end of the hall was worse. Arthur found the charred, ash-strewn part of flooring where he'd seen the line of fire spring up that cut him and the others off from Merlin. By the wall, a still figure lay, dressed in dark uniform—a bullet-wound clearly visible in its chest. It made Arthur's insides churn with nausea. Nonetheless, he crouched and felt for a pulse. He didn't really need to check. The body was already cold. He silently retrieved the gun fallen from the stiff man's fingers.

Beyond the fallen soldier, the floor had caved in and sloped dramatically down to the ground level. There… somehow he felt that was where he was supposed to go. He crept to the edge and stopped there, peering down into the shadowy ground floor. Below his feet, he thought he heard something move. He shone the torch into it.

"Merlin?" No response. Arthur tucked the torch into his pocket after scoping out a spot to land and lowered himself down to the debris-strewn ground floor. "Merlin?" He shone the flashlight about him, turning in a circle, and his attention caught on a scrap of red. His breath caught. One of Merlin's ever present scarves, just visible pinned under the edge of a piece of wall, floor… he didn't know what. "Gwaine! Percival!" Arthur skirted the rest of the objects on the floor and dove for the scrap of red. The rubble scraped at his palms and fingers, but he tore feverishly at it, not stopping to register the pain.

"Arthur, where the hell are you?" Gwaine's voice called back.

"Down here! I found him!" He couldn't move the large piece. Panic stabbed at his chest. He dropped to his knees and shone the flashlight over Merlin's head and shoulders. He had moved… hadn't he?

"Merlin… come on, come on," he said hoarsely, leaning over the prone figure. Everything he'd ever learned about emergency care seemed to fly right out of his thoughts in that split second. He took a rapid breath and titled Merlin's head back, lowering his head to listen for breath, watch his chest… It was hard to see the faint rise-and-fall, but he felt the ghost of a breath on his hear. He inhaled shakily and sat back. He's breathing… That has to be a good sign. "Gwaine!" he shouted. And some feet away from where he crouched over Merlin's body, something… someone moved in the shadows. Arthur gently moved his hand from Merlin's head and scrambled to his feet. He wasn't alone. He raised the weapon he'd retrieved only moments ago and swung his light about to bear on the other person, heart pounding painfully hard in his chest. There was something familiar about the shape. "Don't move!" Arthur warned, cocking the handgun.

"Arthur?" The blond stiffened and his grip on the weapon faltered.

"Gaius?" he gasped. Into the pool of light from his torch stepped the physician—his father's oldest friend and advisor. It seemed to Arthur that he'd aged a decade in the day. The older man had something clutched under one arm and in the other a long metal pry bar—or something of the sort. His face was pale and drawn. Haunted, even… Arthur thought to himself. He opened his mouth and stared blankly back at Gaius.

"What are you doing here?" the physician breathed. Arthur lowered his weapon, snapping finally back into the moment.

"Doesn't matter. Gaius, he needs help!" Arthur urged, pointing with his torch at Merlin's prone form. Gaius hesitantly crossed the space between them, and Arthur laid the gun down flat on the ground before he snatched the pry bar once Gaius was in reach. He searched for some way to level it under the large piece of wall propped over Merlin's body.

"Arthur, you shouldn't have come back!" Gaius' voice was as shaken as Arthur felt, but Arthur ignored the enjoinder.

"What's wrong with Merlin? What happened?" the blond demanded. He looked up again fleetingly. Gaius' face was utterly pale, more so than even he had thought at first, and not just from the white-silver light of the torch. The elderly man shook his head.

"I don't know—"

"Arthur!" Gwaine's footsteps approached rapidly behind him. The American paused only a split second to register Gaius' presence before he was on his knees next to Arthur. "Is he breathing?" Gwaine demanded. Arthur nodded and turned away from Gaius to wedge the end of the pry bar under the debris.

"Come on. We need to move this off of him," he snarled through his teeth. His mind was racing, turning over all kinds of possibilities. Merlin's legs, his arm or shoulder crushed under it… perhaps he was already dying. He quashed another wave of nausea at the thought, and Gwaine moved in beside him to help. Moments later Percival had joined them, ducking down and putting his uninjured shoulder underneath it. The piece moved with a lurch, and Gwaine and Arthur hauled it back and off of the still figure. In a heartbeat, Arthur was on his knees again, skimming Merlin's body with a glance, searching for damage. He choked out a sort of strangled laugh. It looked like Merlin's luck hadn't quite run out yet. The debris from the ceiling had been propped on an overturned and nearly crushed shelf, creating a small alcove so the heavy object hadn't even been touching Merlin's body.

"Here." Arthur shoved his torch into Gwaine's hands and dropped to his knees, Gaius close by him. There, in the dust and dirt beneath it lay Merlin, all in one piece if pale and apparently unconscious. Gaius was turning his head gently. There were no visible marks of blows or damage save for the crusted blood on his leg where he'd been shot, but Gwaine, crouching by Merlin's head now, drew his hand back from the man's neck where he'd been feeling for a pulse, as if to reassure himself as well.

"Shit!" the American muttered. "He's freezing." Cold he certainly was, but Arthur felt almost faint with relief when he found a steady heartbeat under his hand where he laid it tentatively on Merlin's chest. Gwaine was already tearing his jacket off.

"Arthur, you should go. Morgause was here not so long ago," Gaius urged without looking up. He was prying one of Merlin's eyes gently open, checking for signs of concussion perhaps. Arthur gritted his teeth.

"I'm not leaving without him," he said. "What happened to Lance?" The gray-haired man shook his head grimly.

"I don't know. I was dragged away. Morgause… probably took him with her." Or killed him. The thought made Arthur's stomach turn again. He pushed it away. He could do nothing more for Lance, though he cursed himself for leaving the man in the first place. It wouldn't happen again.

"Can we carry Merlin? Is anything broken?" he demanded, returning quickly to the matter at hand.

"Merlin..." the physician moved from gently shaking Merlin's shoulder to patting his cheek, turning his face again as Gwaine tucked a jacket around his form. Arthur's throat constricted painfully with both relief and empathy when the dark-haired man slowly blinked a pair of pain-glazed blue eyes open.

"Gaius?" he slurred. His hand batted ineffectively at Gaius', trying to push his uncle away from his face.

"Merlin, look at me," Gaius insisted. He turned his nephew's face towards himself. "Can you move your arms and legs? Does anything hurt?"Merlin wasn't paying attention to his uncle any longer. His eyes focused on Arthur beside Gaius, and he blinked dazedly at him.

"N-no… Arthur y'have t' go. C-can't be here…" he said weakly. He turned his head and Arthur was immensely relieved to see him move his legs, just enough to try pulling his feet up under him. Merlin's face crumpled, and he let out a strangled cry of pain. Arthur winced. The leg wound looked like it would need cleaning. It was no longer bleeding but crusted reddish brown around the injury. Merlin reached feebly for it, eyes squeezed shut.

"We've got to get him to the car," Percival said. "We shouldn't stay here any longer." Arthur nodded. Merlin, clutching at his leg, struggled to push himself up with his other arm, shaking, though whether from cold, pain, or exhaustion Arthur didn't know. He put a hand over his friend's chest.

"Easy. You don't have to get up," he murmured. There was no way he could just throw Merlin over his shoulder like this. It would cause the man a world of pain. It would already hurt him enough to carry him with a gunshot wound in his leg. He eased an arm under Merlin's knees. "We're going to get you out of here, alright?"

"Careful," Gaius warned unnecessarily, reaching out to adjust the coat draped over Merlin.

"Arthur." Merlin's cold fingers wrapped around Arthur's wrist, and Arthur felt like the icy sensation crept straight through his body to wrap around his heart. His breath caught. "Leave me," Merlin rasped. Arthur retracted his hand from the man's weak grip and slid his other arm under Merlin's shoulders. I'm not going to leave you to die, you idiot.

"Now's not the time for jokes, Merlin."

"Please leave me."

"Sure. Whatever you say," Gwaine chimed in, completely deadpan.

"S-s'no good. Arthur… she cursed me. 'M dying." Merlin's eyes slipped closed. Arthur nearly stumbled trying to clamber to his feet carrying Merlin, and Gwaine steadied him.

"What?"

"Merlin." Gaius interrupted, placing a hand on Merlin's shoulder as Arthur balanced himself between Gwaine and Percival's support. "What happened? What are you talking about?"

"C-cold… S'cold." Arthur stared at him. The cold seemed to be creeping into his chest, wrapping itself like frost around his heart. Merlin was beginning to shiver, conscious and in pain now.

"What's cold, Merlin?" Gaius asked quietly. The look of pure distress in Merlin's eyes made Arthur feel sick.

"Magic."

AN2: I know. I'm the worst. Sorry. I've developed a fondness for cliffies...

Guest: the "M&M sisters" gave me a good laugh. And yes... Morgause is clearly a problem now that she knows who 'Emrys' is... This will have pretty serious repercussions for Merlin.

To all of you, if the next chapter doesn't catch you by surprise, I will eat my cap and gown (and those things were expensive)! So be prepared! :)

Anyway, tell me what you think! Guesses on what happened to Merlin here? How much of this Arthur understands? What he's going to do? And take note of where Arthur took refuge... and where he just left Gwen... I'm realizing this might've been a worse cliffhanger than I initially thought.

And on that note, I take my leave of you until March!

Wishing you all the very best!
Sandyy