Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

Chapter Twelve

Merlin opened his eyes to darkness. Not the shadowy darkness of a room at night, but the absolute darkness found in the depths of a cave with no torches.

But he could hear it. The soft pad of footsteps. The gentle rumbling growl.

He braced himself, trying to pinpoint the direction the noise came from. He didn't realize he had a sword in his hand until he felt his grip instinctively tighten on it.

"Leoht," he whispered quietly, and a sphere of light appeared. He repeated the spell until several lights drifted around him. He pushed them out tentatively, searching for the creature.

And then, to his left, three of the lights went out, and he knew the darkness of the nightmare had consumed them.

"Ástríce!" he yelled, and the darkness pulled back long enough for Merlin to turn and face it, bracing himself. "Folge min bebod!"

He heard a roar of anger, and then the darkness lunged.

He couldn't make out the shape of it until it was nearly on him, and then he saw the claws extended, reaching for his chest. Ducking quickly, he swung Arthur's sword up, slicing the belly of the maera and earning another shriek of rage.

But had it done anything? The knights had landed multiple blows that should have been fatal without even hindering the beast.

Quickly, Merlin summoned more balls of light, trying to rob the creature of its advantage of darkness.

Then he heard a rumble behind him. He spun, but not quickly enough, and the creature crashed into him. He felt the slice of the claws running across his back as he fell.

Merlin was clearly asleep, his head resting back against the tree, but his face did not look peaceful in the firelight. It was tightly drawn, and he twitched frequently, occasionally letting out a small gasp. Arthur and the knights watched in silence, waiting.

Arthur had never felt more helpless. Battles were supposed to be the one place in life where he never felt helpless.

Then, unexpectedly, Merlin gave out a cry, his body jerking before sliding to the ground. In horror, Arthur watched as blood began to seep through the back of his shirt. He froze for a moment in shock before scrambling over, Leon immediately following behind.

"Roll him over," Arthur ordered, and they pushed him so that he was lying on his stomach.

"He's on the sword," Arthur muttered, reaching to take it before they accidentally sliced his stomach open. But to his surprise, Merlin's grip on the sword was tight, so he settled for rearranging it while Leon used his own sword to slice the shirt open.

Arthur swore as he saw the gashes. "We need to treat the wounds," he said. "Quick, grab Merlin's bag."

"Will treating the wounds here do anything to help him?" Percival asked worriedly, grabbing the bag and handing it over. "He's in a dream."

Arthur didn't answer.

Somehow, Merlin managed not to drop the sword as he fell. Stumbling to his feet again, he looked around until he spotted the creature. He saw with grim satisfaction that it moved slower, hobbling, and the lights around it no longer went out. So his blow had done something after all. Taking the sword in two hands, he braced himself for the next blow. The lion's head was the most dangerous, so that's where he would focus.

The creature charged again and Merlin stood his ground, forcing himself not to dodge or retreat. It was only a few yards away.

A few feet.

Merlin thrust the sword upwards, digging it into the side of the lion's throat. The creature gave a terrible howl, and Merlin turned to watch the lion's head thrashing in agony before it went limp, the dragon's head staring at him wrathfully.

It took him a moment to realize that the maera had gotten its own blow in, this time across his chest. Wincing, he pressed his hand against the wound, looking at the blood as he pulled it away. Between that and his back, he was losing a lot of blood, and he had lost his sword.

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head to clear it, and braced himself again. Now it was just him and his magic.

The bandage wasn't perfect, but it was there, and it would hopefully slow the bleeding. But no sooner had Arthur fastened it than Elyan gasped.

"Arthur, his chest!" It was barely visible with Merlin lying on his stomach, but sure enough, there was another gash across Merlin's front, beginning at his shoulder.

Arthur swore again, carefully rolling Merlin over. He didn't want to have him lie on top of his wounds, but he had no choice. This time when he rolled him, the sword fell out of his hands. Arthur prayed it was a coincidence and not a sign of how the battle was going. Maybe he had just gripped the sword before out of reflex against the pain?

The cut across his chest was shallower than the ones on his back, Arthur noted gratefully.

"We need water," he said tightly, and the moment the words were out of his mouth, Gwaine disappeared towards the nearby stream.

"Should we wake him?" Percival asked grimly. Arthur heard what he didn't say – Merlin's losing. He's dying.

"If cleaning and dressing the wounds didn't wake him, I doubt anything will," Arthur said, shaking his head. "Not unless we remove the Ainthia."

"No!" Elyan protested sharply, drawing the attention of the others. "I'm no expert on magic, but what if you take it and it removes whatever power it's providing Merlin, but it leaves him trapped in there with it?"

Arthur didn't know how likely that was. He knew almost nothing about magic. Was there anything he could do to save Merlin? But Elyan was right; he couldn't risk leaving Merlin trapped with that monster.

Cursing and praying, he began tending to the wound on his chest.

Merlin fought against the dizziness that made him unsteady on his feet. Strangely, his chest didn't seem to be bleeding anymore, but he didn't have time to wonder at it as the creature stalked towards him. The lion's head hung limply against its chest as it walked; it made the beast even more grotesque, but it meant one of the more lethal heads was no longer a threat.

It also confirmed beyond doubt that Merlin's blows were indeed harming it, unlike in the previous fights.

He directed his attention to the dragon's head and wondered if his dragonlord abilities would have any impact on it since it wasn't actually a dragon. He was so focused on the dragon that he almost missed the movement of the goat's head until the fire was mere inches away.

"Gecuman gedrye waeter!" he yelled, holding his hand up to block his face. From his hand came a burst of water, flowing out and creating a shield around him. The fire boiled the water, making it hot enough to scald him, but it was better than a blast of flames straight into his face.

Trying to keep half of his magic focused on maintaining the water shield, he pulled the other half to the fingertips on the other hand, pointing it at the maera and screaming, "Awendaþ eft wansæliga neat!"

To his relief, the creature flew backwards, landing on its side.

It was only a moment's reprieve, but a moment was all he needed. He didn't bother taking the time with a spell; he pulled every piece of magic he could reach into himself.

Arthur's stomach turned as he saw the skin of Merlin's face and chest blister with the burns. Looking down, he saw his right hand and arm blistering as well.

Was he just going to end up wrapping Merlin's entire body in bandages? Was it even doing any good?

Suddenly Merlin's entire body jerked, his arms and legs flying out, one arm hitting Arthur solidly across the face. Then a blinding ring of golden light flew from Merlin's body, knocking every one of them back several feet.

Arthur felt something give in his left shoulder as he landed hard, his head slamming into the ground. He laid there dazed for a moment, his ears ringing, his vision blurry. He couldn't breathe. His chest heaved, trying to bring in air, but nothing came. Just as panic began to take hold, he felt breath find its way into his lungs again.

The wind was just knocked out of him, he realized, sitting up and shaking his head, trying to clear it.

"Look," he heard Gwaine call urgently. Whipping back to look at Merlin again, he saw that his face was red, as though he'd had a bad sunburn, but the blisters were gone. Rushing back to his side, he pulled the bandage on his chest back. The cut was still there, but it looked weeks old; red and puckered, and it would most definitely scar, but the wound was closed.

"You should get back, sire," Leon said, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "There's nothing we can do for him right now, and it won't help anyone for you to get hit by another burst of magic." Arthur hesitated, but allowed his knight to pull him away. He sat down several yards from Merlin and watched him closely.

"Dragorn. Non didlkai. Kari miss, epsipass imalla krat. Katostar abore ceriss. Katicur. Me ta sentende divoless. Kar… krisass!" Merlin yelled the words as soon as the maera found its feet again. He was still weak with blood loss, but he could move much better now that he'd healed himself.

The dragon looked away briefly at the words, but it immediately turned back to Merlin and blew a stream of fire. Fortunately, it was far enough away this time that Merlin could conjure and push the water shield farther out to block the flames, sparing him from another round of burns.

So his dragonlord abilities were worthless with this particular dragon.

The fire ceased, and the maera circled him. It seemed more hesitant to attack now, limping from its wounds, the lion's head useless.

He could beat it. For the first time, he was sure he could beat it. Yes, he was weak and lightheaded, but his entire body buzzed with power.

The magic of this creature was nothing compared to his.

"Hleap on bæc!" he yelled, and the beast stumbled backwards, roaring in pain.

He needed to get closer. He could wound the beast from here, but if he wanted to kill it, he needed to be close enough for the force of the spells to be fatal.

Cautiously, he approached the beast, his hand outstretched, ready to cast the spell. The maera paced, not coming any nearer, but not withdrawing either.

Merlin stopped mere feet away. The maera faced him, but the dragon twisted back so that it could stare at Merlin. He kept his eyes on it; it wasn't close enough yet to attack with its teeth, but he knew how quickly the maera could move.

In the end, it was his focus on the dragon that gave the maera its opening. He wasn't ready when the creature lunged.

It landed squarely on his chest, the claws digging in deep. Merlin screamed in pain, falling to the ground. It wasn't a slice like the wounds on his back, or a graze like the previous wound on his chest. The claws sunk in and ripped.

Merlin had made small noises the entire time he'd been asleep – whimpers and grunts and gasps. But now he let out a scream that stole Arthur's breath.

And then the blood.

Merlin's shirt was off and the bandage only covered part of his chest, so they all had a clear view as the skin tore open.

Arthur ran to him, but found himself pulled back abruptly.

"Let us handle it," Leon demanded, gripping Arthur's shoulder tightly. "You need to stay back from him."

Leon had good intentions, but there was no way Arthur was going to hover in the background and watch. He pulled free, rushing to kneel at Merlin's side. There was no time to clean or treat these wounds; if they didn't slow the bleeding, he would die.

Arthur worked quickly, Percival by his side, handing him bandages, while Gwaine tried to keep pressure on the wounds until Arthur could get to them.

Arthur prayed for another burst of healing magic, but Merlin lay still.

He could just stay down. His vision was fuzzy, his body heavy. He could just lie down and let the darkness take him.

Except…the maera was badly hurt, but it wasn't dead. If Merlin died, would it recover? Would it return to Camelot, burning and killing?

Maybe not. Maybe it would slip away and die from its injuries. But Merlin couldn't risk it.

He placed his palms on the ground beneath him, struggling to push himself upright. He couldn't stand; there was no point trying.

He tried to remember a spell that might deliver a final killing blow, but his mind was blank. He couldn't remember any spells at all. He couldn't think at all.

So he did what he had done for so many years before he came to Camelot; he turned himself over to instinct.

He pushed his magic out and, with it, grabbed the two remaining heads of the maera. And with all of the magic he had left within himself, he pulled. There was a pained shriek, cut off abruptly as the beast tore apart, the two pieces flung from each other with such force that they disappeared into the blackness around them.

Then the lights Merlin had summoned went out. Or did his vision just fade? Merlin wasn't sure. All he knew is that it was dark.

And then he saw light again. Sunlight, he thought. And there was Arthur, kneeling in front of him with the knights behind him.

"Did you kill it? Arthur asked. His voice was cold, as it had been the night he'd sent Merlin to the dungeons.

Wearily, Merlin nodded his head. He didn't have the energy to speak.

"Good," Arthur said. "Then I guess we don't need you anymore." He stood, and Merlin barely had time to register the sword in Arthur's hand before he saw the flash of the blade coming towards him.

AN: Stick with me! I swear I haven't lost my damn mind. (I maybe laid enough hints to guess what's going on…or possibly such blatant hints that it's obvious? It's hard to tell in your own writing...)