When he was next aware, the world was hazy. There was noises all around, but he wasn't really listening. He could hear them, he just wasn't listening. People were near, beside him, talking. He hoped they would let him sleep. After all, he'd had a rough couple of days and he really rather needed it. His one desire after everything he'd been through was just to keep his eyes shut and slip away back into peaceful oblivion.

The voices came closer. Merlin wondered if they would leave him alone if he just lay still enough…

"Ow!" The exclamation was out of his lips before he could stop it, and his eyes flared open in shock at the sudden pain. Gwaine was hunched over him, a big smile on his handsome face.

"Oh so you are alive then," he smirked. "I was beginning to wonder." He went back to prodding at Merlin as the warlock allowed the world to settle around him like dust.

"Ow!" he protested again, alertness creeping back with the sensation of pain. "Would you stop doing that!"

"You may have broken your collar bone," Gwaine said, his face serious for once.

"Then should you really be poking it? Merlin complained and batted Gwaine's hand away from his shoulder.

"I'm just checking you out for injuries," the knight told him. "You had half a wall land on you. It's amazing you're alive at all!"

"Yes, well I have quite the talent for surviving," Merlin sighed, dropping his head back down and allowing his eyes to close again, raising his right hand to his forehead. His skin felt hot to his own touch, but he allowed his fingers to settle over the contours of his brow, blocking out the light and bringing an oddly comforting sensation.

"You've were lucky though," Gwaine was continuing with his prodding and his commentary of said prodding. "Those rocks would have been enough to kill most people, and I don't think your arm is – "

"Ow!" this cry was the loudest of them all. He ripped his hand away from his face, and used it to try and struggle upwards in a vain attempt to stop Gwaine from manhandling any more of his injuries.

Seeing his glare, Gwaine backed off quickly. "Or maybe it is," he conceded.

Merlin was cradling his injured limb now, which actually hurt more than what Gwaine had been doing, but at least he was causing his own pain. He fought off the slight urge he had to scream at the horrendous sensation of things moving in his arm that shouldn't have been able to move, and focussed his attention instead on the knight in front of him. "Gwaine, seriously!" he exclaimed. "The physician's trade isn't for you!"

Gwaine just grinned again, glad to see him more upright. "I'll go find something to splint that with," he said, and got to his feet.

"Wait," something occurred to the warlock. "What happened? Where's – where's Arthur?"

"He's unconscious," Gwaine said, indicating with his chin where the blonde king lay. The warlock followed his gaze, just in time for a loud moan of pain to emanate from the same general direction. "Mostly," Gwaine added. "But he's okay. Managed to avoid most of the rocks, as you did. You're both extraordinarily lucky if you ask me. Bit of a cut on that kingly noggin of his, that's all."

"Yeah I can see that," Merlin told him, eying up the blood that marred his friend's face. He hoped he wasn't hurt too seriously.

"Hard head," Gwaine said, nodding. "I'll go find that splint," and he turned to go. But he'd only taken about 5 steps when he abruptly stopped, and turned back. "Merlin?"

"Hm?" Merlin turned towards him, still barely aware.

Gwaine was smiling again. He retraced his steps to the warlock. Merlin followed him with his eyes, frowning slightly, confused. Gwaine crouched down right in front of him, and Merlin could see that he was blood stained on the front of his chain mail armour. He was also covered in dust, presumably from the wall. They must have been searching for them through the rubble. He wondered how long they'd been buried.

"Merlin," Gwaine said again, his smile still broad. "Can you see?"

Merlin blinked, suddenly aware of why the world had appeared so dramatically different. A smile found his lips too. "I guess I can," he admitted

Gwaine shook his head a little. "How?"

"I don't – I'm not sure," Merlin admitted, blinking. "Maybe because I used the power the dragon gave me."

"Your eyes aren't glowing anymore."

"No?"

Gwaine shook his head once more. "No. You look like yourself again. I mean – you need a bath."

Merlin's smile grew wider. "We won," he said, slightly in awe.

"Yeah," Gwaine reached out to pat him on his good shoulder. "We did. You did."

Merlin blushed. "Had a little help," he said.

"True. My bow work from the battlements was particularly impressive. But I don't think any of us would be here right now without you." He patted him again. "Wait here," he said. "I'll be right back."

When he was gone, Merlin looked around, realising for the first time how much he'd missed seeing the world, the colours, the beauty of it. The sun looked low in the sky, almost on the point of setting. It was glorious, hazy.

Arthur groaned again. Merlin looked in his direction, and then rolled himself cautiously over, gasping as he jostled his arm and thinking briefly that this was a really bad idea, before struggling to his feet and staggering the few steps to where the King lay. He used what remained of the wall to help himself back down, ignoring the way the world blurred a little around the edges as pain throbbed angrily up and down his left side.

"How is he?" he gasped out to distract himself.

Elyan glanced over from where he was tending the King. He grinned. "I think he'll be just fine, my little sorcerer," he said. "Though he's not really woken yet. Quite the head wound. Might need some stitches."

"I can do that," Merlin said, sounding drunk in his own ears. "I'm very good at stitches."

He didn't want to shut out the beauty of the world, but his eyes were so tired. If he just closed them for a second, he promised himself he would open them again soon and never shut them again.

Another pain in his arm brought him back to reality. Gwaine was bending over him.

"Lean forward," he said.

"Hm?"

"Couldn't find a splint. I'll just bandage you up and get you to Gaius. Lean forward so I can wrap this around."

Merlin did as he was told, watching in a slightly detached way, as Arthur was loaded onto a stretcher by four knights. Around them stood quite the group of bystanders.

Great, he thought. We've become a spectator sport.

"There we are," Gwaine said, finishing tying off his rather untidy but functionally adequate sling. "Just try not to move around too much and you'll be fine. Up you get."

He wrapped his arm around Merlin's right side and pulled him upwards.

"Okay?"

At Merlin's nod, they started the walk back to the citadel. They walked in silence at first, Merlin concentrating on keeping upright and Gwaine concentrating on helping him to keep upright. But as they passed through the lower town and up towards the keep, they saw destruction all around, saw people crouched over bodies, some crying.

"Are there many dead?" Merlin wondered.

"A few," Gwaine admitted. "Our friend the demon was tossing lumps of rock around as though they weighed nothing. A few people got caught in the crossfire as it were. Some of the refugees were crushed in the hall they were in when part of the ceiling collapsed."

"Is there much damage?"

"Quite a bit," Gwaine said. "But nothing we can't fix. Place was due a lick of paint anyway. This'll be a chance for Arthur to remodel if he wants to."

They passed through the second ruined gatehouse.

"But what about Morgana's men?" Merlin wondered, suddenly remembering the threat with a stab of fear. "If we're weak, if the citadel is unprotected…"

"Don't you worry your head about that," Gwaine said. "You've done your bit for today. Let others take up the fight now, yeah?"

Merlin would have protested, but to be honest, he didn't have the strength. His arm was really hurting now, and he couldn't help but move it as they walked. He needed to sleep. He needed to recover. Whatever the rest of the day brought, it would just have to bring it without him. Gwaine was right. He'd done his part.

They reached Gaius' chambers, and Gwaine reached out to open the door.

It was Guinevere that first caught Merlin's attention. Or rather, it was her face. He didn't think he'd seen her face full of such misery and woe since her father had died all that time ago. He frowned, curious as to what could have upset her so much.

Then she looked up at him. "Oh Merlin!" she said.

She was sitting on the floor cradling Gaius' head in her lap. Merlin hadn't even noticed his uncle at first, his brain having erased that bit of the scene from his sight. But at Gwen's pain filled cry, his brain seemed to wake up and take everything in.

He stumbled forward, pushing Gwaine away from him.

"It's his heart," Gwen said, looking up, tears streaming down her face. "It was all just too much for him Merlin. Everything that's happened."

Merlin sank to his knees, ignoring the protests of his arm, blind to everything else around him in the room.

Gaius was on his back on the floor, face ashen, unmoving.

"Is he…" he heard Gwaine ask from behind him.

Gwen shook her head. "He's held on," she said, trying to smile at Merlin. "He's held on for you."

Merlin felt hot tears start behind his eyes. He reached out to take Gaius' hand. His fingers were tinged with blue. His skin was cold and grey.

"Gaius," he whispered. "I'm here." He stroked his hand gently.

Gaius' eyes flickered open. His gaze landed instantly on Merlin, and the ghost of a smile traced his lips.

"My boy," he muttered.

Merlin's vision clouded with tears at the term of endearment that had been uniquely his uncle's. He did nothing to stop the tears falling. "Yes, I'm here," he managed to get out.

"What happened – with the demon?" Gaius' words were slow, slurred.

"We defeated it," Merlin said firmly. "It's dead. It won't be coming back."

Gauis smiled again. "That's good," he said. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Merlin said, shaking his head. "I'm not hurt at all. I'm fine."

"That's good," Gaius said again. His eyes shut. "I'm tired."

Merlin looked up as more people came into the room suddenly, knights, some carrying Arthur between them. Gwaine turned quickly to them, and they fell silent instantly as they appreciated the scene before them.

Merlin's eyes flicked to Gwen, and his look of utter sorrow tore at her heart, bringing fresh tears to her face.

He looked back at his uncle. "Then you should sleep," he said in a choked voice. "I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere."

Gaius opened his eyes again. "I'm so proud of you, Merlin," he said. "So proud of what you've become."

"It's because of you," he got out. Tears were soaking the front of his tunic now. He felt them wet and hot as they stained the cloth. "I owe everything to you."

Gaius smiled at him. "My son," he said, and his eyes shut again.

Merlin didn't want to see anymore. He didn't want to hear anymore. He wasn't strong enough for this. Wasn't ready to be alone. He felt emotion welling up inside him threatening to burst out and sever his link with reality.

But then Gauis opened his eyes again. "So tired," he said.

"Can I – do anything for you," Merlin asked in a broken voice, grasping these last few seconds. "Is there anything you need, anything you want?"

Gaius' face crinkled a little as he thought. "Do you know," he said. "I wish I could have seen… Alice just one last time."

Merlin looked up at Gwen again, seeing her confused expression. His hands gripped tighter on his uncle's, and he closed his eyes.

"Onwreoh the frowan thes mannum he lufah," he murmured, opening his eyes again in time for Gwen to catch the golden flash glinting behind his tears.

Her eyes widened. And then they were both bathed in a soft glow. She looked away up and to her left. A vision had appeared in the air, a shape filled with the face of a woman, lined with age and wisdom, but still beautiful. Gwen gasped, and heard the knights exclaim in shock.

But Merlin looked only at Gaius, seeing his uncle smile at Alice's face before him, and then close his eyes, the smile still on his lips. He grasped his hand firmly as he felt it go slack, his fingers tightening reflexively as he tried to hold on, to stop him from going.

But he knew it was too late.

Behind him, the vision faded, the light dissipating into the semi-darkness as quickly as it had appeared. And only then did Merlin let go, not to the hand he was holding, but to the misery inside, his cry a keen of pure sorrow.

He remembered very little of the night after that. It might have been the bereavement, or his injuries, or some lingering impact of the dragon's powers, or all three together, but he lost himself somewhere, somewhere between the tears and the sympathy and the hard facts of life at its end. He didn't see things moving around him, didn't feel himself being moved. But he knew he must have been, because when he was brought to awareness by a sharp pain, he was sitting on his bed. There were candles lit in the dark room. A woman he only vaguely recognised was sitting before him wrapping his am in splints and bandages. She looked over at him as he winced, her face sympathetic. He wondered what her name was.

"Is it true that you and Arthur defeated the demon?" she asked him in a clandestine whisper. She had a strong accent.

His eyes wandered up to meet her gaze. Had they? It seemed a hundred years ago. "Yes," he answered quietly, not knowing what else to say.

Her voice lowered even further. "They say – in the lower town – they're saying you used magic."

His brow furrowed. Was that a bad thing? "Yes."

She smiled broadly. "Looks like magic will be coming back to the land," she said. "Never could abide Uther's law. I have a touch of magic myself, you know. Never used it of course, always too afraid. But maybe I'll start now. If it's okay again?"

She was looking at him as if asking his permission, but he didn't answer. He turned away as she continued to treat him. The dull ache faded.

When he opened his eyes, he'd been asleep. Certainly, he was lying on his bed under the covers. It was dark still, very early morning. A single candle had been left burning in his room like a vigil. He looked at it, watched its flame glow silently and still with barely a flicker. The air was warm and calm. It would be a fine day ahead.

He sat up, sleep suddenly far away. His arm and shoulder hurt, burned, but that was good. It was distracting. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The floor was cold under his feet. It felt hard. He looked around, dazed, and unsure what to do. What should he do? What was there to do? In the dark reaches of the night, all were asleep, and he was alone with this heavy misery that sat on his heart and threatened to crush him.

He collapsed onto the bed again and leaning down, struggled to get his boots on with only one hand. He realised that his dusty, blood and tear stained tunic was gone, replaced with the white one he normally slept in. He left that on, and looked around for his jacket, spotting it, but then changing his mind before he even moved to reach for it. It wasn't going to stay on right with one arm in a sling. He would just be cold.

Silently, numbly, he crossed the room and opened his door. Outside, the room was clear. There were no patients, no mess. Only Gwaine was there lying on what had been Gaius' bed, gentle snores coming from his mouth. Merlin passed him with barely a glance. He didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want to see anyone. He only wanted to be away.

He'd almost made it to the door, and in fact had pulled it open, when he spotted the green cloak. He paused, curious. It was sitting at the side on a stool with a bag resting on top of it. He wondered where it had come from, and crossed the room towards it. He felt the fabric in his hands, and picked it up. A cloak was easier than a jacket. He swung it on, almost crying out at the sharp pain caused by the jarring motion, but stifling it just in time.

Outside, there were no guards, he supposed there was no need, but he drew his hood up and cast the simplest hiding spell he could think of as he walked along. He wanted to leave, he didn't want to have to justify why to anyone.

He walked. He just walked. All around him were the results of the devastating attack, but little activity. It seemed that the energy had gone out of the castle somehow and most people were at peace in their beds. Only a few guards were to be seen. He wondered about Morgana's men, if they had attacked, what had happened. But he wondered about it only vaguely. It didn't matter. He didn't care about any of that any more.

He walked. Out the castle gates and away into a darkness that was greying slightly as the summer sun threatened to rise in the east. He ignored it, keeping his hood up and the cloak close around him. He walked. Into the forest, through the trees and forwards, walked and walked and walked, finding the energy from somewhere to keep his tired limbs moving.

By the time he reached the clearing, the sun had risen, and a pinky glow was stretching across the land, turning everything to soft pastel shades. The dragon was already there, waiting for him.

They stood in silence for a while, watching the sun rise, hearing the birds singing and the little forest beasts move around them. Then Merlin shifted, wincing and clutching at his arm, as if that action would bring relief.

"You are injured my lord," the dragon said. His tone was deeply respectful. "Would you like me to heal you?"

"No," Merlin said immediately.

The dragon seemed a little surprised. "You have broken bones," he said. "These are not injuries to be taken lightly."

"The pain is good," Merlin said, not looking at him. "I need it."

"As you wish."

Then Merlin did look, and saw his ancient face staring down on him with concern.

"You knew the cost of me taking your power was not the loss of my eyesight," he said.

The dragon inclined his head. "I did," he responded. "It was merely a temporary side-effect. Human senses were not designed to absorb so much – stimulation." Merlin turned away again. The dragon watched him sadly. "Nor was the cost the death of Gaius," he said.

Merlin closed his eyes at the name and the memory.

"As you knew would happen," the dragon concluded.

When Merlin opened his eyes again there were tears on his cheeks. Had he known? He must have. He must have seen it and wiped it out like everything else, everything else that was too painful. Not that it would have made much difference. We live through pain whether we try to avoid it or not. Better to do it only once.

Broken hearts. Was that what the visions had been warning him all along?

"It was simply his time, Merlin," the dragon said gently. "He had lived a long life. All creatures have their time."

Merlin continued to stare steadfastly the other way, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"What is it?" he asked, sniffing.

"What?" the dragon was confused.

Merlin turned to him. "The cost," he said. "If it's not my eyesight, if it's not Gaius, what is the cost of this. What is still to come?"

The dragon softened. "You know what is to come."

"Tell me!" he demanded. "I need to hear it."

"Young warlock," the dragon began. "You must have wondered why it was that all the legends and the books that talk of Emrys, name him as the most powerful sorcerer to walk the land. And yet you were defeated by the chains of Morgause. One such as Alvarr was able to imprison you." Merlin was silent and waited. "The power," the dragon went on. "Has not left you."

He nodded, almost imperceptivity. He could feel it after all. The main bulk of what the dragon had bestowed on him that terrifying night had departed as he'd battled the demon, presumably enough to restore his eyesight. But inside something still bubbled, lapping gently at his soul, offering itself. He reached inside and touched it, feeling it flare as it connected with his magic, feeling the power.

"No," he said finally. "Not all of it."

"You are now," the dragon went on. "The most powerful warlock the world has ever known. No man can best you, no one rise against you. You have the power of the ancients, and the sight to see all times. You are a prophet and a warrior. You will be spoken of in words long written and words not yet written. You are Merlin, you are Emrys."

He allowed the words to die away.

"And that's the cost."

"Such power does not come easy."

Merlin shut his eyes. "What else?" he asked, knowing there was more.

His friend looked at him. "Dragons," he said. "Do not age the same way as other creatures of this world. We exist outside the bonds of time that ravage man and mountain alike. We are forever. We can be killed, we can fall sick, but we do not die, Merlin." He paused. "And now neither shall you. You shall be until time ends."

Merlin nodded, tears still falling. It seemed grotesque, when he was so close to death, to be so far from it. He wondered if this was how it would always be now, when his loved ones died around him. He would watch, and wait for his own death that would never come.

He raised a hand to wipe his cheeks, sick of crying, sick of everything.

"The cost is a high one, as I warned you," the dragon said gently. "But it is not more than you can bear. Your path may be lonely, but you will not be alone, for most of it."

Merlin opened his eyes and looked at the sun. It was higher now, burning bright.

He turned to the dragon. "You speak as though these things were always meant to be," he said in a broken voice. "And yet what Morgana did, and what I did to prevent it, were supposedly out of time. It wasn't supposed to happen this way."

The dragon smiled. "Fate is a flowing river as you know well, Merlin. Block it and it finds another route to the sea."

Merlin considered, thoughts and powers rising within him like a storm. This he must learn to control. This was his life now.

But there was still work to do.

"Will you come with me to Camelot?" he asked suddenly.

The dragon bowed his head. "I will, young warlock, if you command it."

"I do," Merlin nodded, and walking to the side of the beast as he lowered his head to the ground, used his magic to assist him in climbing on one handed. "It's time for Arthur to make his choice."

The dragon unfurled his wings, warming them in the sun. "And what if he makes the wrong choice?" he wondered.

Merlin took a firm grip. "There is no wrong choice," he said.

TBC

Sorry for the lack of warnings as to the angsty nature of this chapter, but I didn't want to spoil it. One more chapter to go...