Chapter 2

Giaus held his vigil at Merlin's bedside, only having been able to catch a few moments of sleep at a time and too worried to eat much. As the day slid into night, Merlin's moments of semi-awareness came fewer and further between, the former delirious but audible words fading to pained murmurs during those brief bouts of wakefulness.

The old physician found himself caught between something like gratitude and grief as Merlin's aimless struggles stilled, knowing that his ward was slipping further from the pain of the poison wracking his body… and closer to death. Air rattled in the boy's chest with each breath, fluid starting to build up in his lungs. Were he aware, the slow drowning would be both agonizing and terrifying, and Giaus was grateful Merlin was spared that… but his own fear that the antidote would arrive too late grew with each passing hour.

Merlin jerked on the patient-bed, arching up briefly with a choked gasp, eyes half-open but unseeing as he tossed his head to the side as though searching for something. His voice was thick and wet, edging on a cough that wouldn't come as he began to speak.

"…dark… so dark…"

Gaius' heart clenched. If Merlin saw only darkness—even through the fever, light should register. His eyes were open. Even should he have the antidote within moments… no. "Fight, Merlin," he whispered, heart breaking for the boy struggling to live.

"… rthr…"

If he could cause the poison to slow, even if only a little… yet he knew he had nothing to combat the viciousness of the Morteaus flower that would not have to be brought to deadly doses. Nothing that would be certain not to interfere with the antidote if Arthur returned in time.

Merlin stirred again, restless in his fever, the pained murmur of his voice switching to a language that Gaius recognized by tone, but he couldn't make out the words. What he could make out was a sudden increase in the light in the room, the brightness coming from beneath the blanket at Merlin's side.

"Merlin?" he found himself whispering, caught between awe and horror as he drew back the cover to show a swirling ball of silvery light. That Merlin even could preform such a feat while dying was beyond belief. That he was doing so… he was focusing energy he could scarce afford to spare into a spell that Gaius could see no reason for. "What are you doing?"

xxxx

Arthur blinked, suddenly able to see. A quick glance showed a ball of silvery slight, swirling as though made of mist, and his first response was anger and defiance.

"What are you waiting for!?"

When the light did nothing but drift higher, he hauled himself onto the next ledge, tentatively accepting the offered aid. Hopefully, whatever was causing the light was not the woman who'd left him here to die.

The light flitted higher again, drawing his attention upwards, but he caught a glimpse of the flower he had come for where light met shadow. He redirected his climb, the light shivering as it followed in fitful little jerks, clearly trying to lead him up.

He could almost hear his manservant's voice, urging him to leave the flowers behind.

"Sorry, Merlin," Arthur murmured, "I can't do that."

xxxx

Gaius started, moving closer to the bed when the words he heard switched to a language he understood far better than that of the Old Religion.

"No, Arthur, leave them!"

The sharp cry caused Gaius to start back, and he suddenly wondered if Merlin was Scrying, without tools and only partially conscious at best. He knew it was—in theory—possible for those with the talent and experience to Scry without any of the usual tools. But while half-conscious and wracked with pain?

Surely not.

"Go," softer now, the light in Merlin's hand swirled smaller, less bright. "Follow the light."

xxxx

Arthur could see the light he followed flicker and shrink, but it kept with him, never too far ahead but clearly guiding. It began to move a little faster, only slowing again when he could no longer keep up. Whoever had sent it… was genuinely trying to help.

Suddenly he found his fingers touching crumbling earth and strong roots, pulling himself up into the forest from a neatly hidden crack beneath an ancient tree. The light hovered by him for a moment, wavering, and somehow that light had equated itself with Merlin in Arthur's mind.

He knew it was foolish, but he reached out and cupped the flickering, misty globe in both hands.

It was warm, gentle, protective… but weakening. And so, so fragile.

"Hold on, Merlin," he murmured, whether to himself or the light that flickered and faded he didn't know. "I'm coming."

xxxx

Leaving the forest was slow going, with Arthur's horse constantly stopping to look over his shoulder for his herd-leader, and neither Leon nor Gavin had the heart to try and push for speed.

There was no need, now. They had been unable to acquire the cure and Arthur was lost.

When Arthur's stallion stopped again, ears pricked as he turned his head to the side, Leon and Gavin stopped their mounts as well. To their surprise, the horse suddenly tossed his head, yanking the reins from Gavin's hand, and took off trotting.

Sound from the brush, an armored body drawing close at a light run.

From the horse's reaction… it couldn't be…

And Arthur, a little worse for wear but clearly both alive and caught between triumph and worry, holding up a hand to forestall questions, barely pausing long enough to vault onto his horse's back. "I'll explain on the way. We must make haste!"

xxxx

Nearly a day later, Arthur and the two knights thundered into Camelot on the spare horses that had met them, the animals on the brink of exhaustion. Ordinarily, Arthur would never have treated any horse so, but better the loss of good horses than Merlin.

He dismounted before the his horse had slowed past a trot, tossing the reins to Leon, "See to it that the horses get to the stables and report to my father," he called, already running.

He barely heard the acknowledgement, halfway up the castle steps.

"Gaius!" Startled, Arthur almost ran over the old man making his way down the hall, carrying an empty bucket.

"Sire!" the hope in Gaius' voice was unmistakable, "Do you have—"

"Here," Arthur fumbled in his belt-pouch for the Morteaus, passing it over quickly. "Why aren't you with Merlin?"

"I need more water," Gaius admitted, "and I sent Gwen home an hour ago. Poor girl exhausted herself over the last few days." He didn't say that he hadn't wanted her to be there to watch Merlin die. He didn't say he could only hope the cure wasn't too late.

Arthur took the bucket, "I'll meet you in your quarters," he assured, turning to get the water himself. "Just get started on that antidote."

xxxx

Gaius looked around after quickly preparing the base of the antidote, listening intently for footsteps on the stairs. Hearing nothing, he quickly whispered the incantation to increase the antidote's potency to counteract the magic used to make the poison so vicious.

Not twenty seconds later, Arthur stepped into the room, carefully balancing a bucket of fresh water despite his quick pace.

Gaius grabbed a ladle and added some of the water to the sludge-thick base, making in liquid enough for Merlin to swallow, then carefully poured the mixture into a vial and made his way towards the bed, noting worriedly that Merlin's breathing was even more labored.

"Hold his nose," Gaius instructed, moving to pry open his ward's mouth.

Arthur didn't question. In the whole of the kingdom, the only one to command him was his father—but in the Court Physician's chambers, if Gaius told you to do something, you did it.

"Swallow, Merlin," Gaius murmured after pouring the greenish liquid into the manservant's mouth and pinning his jaw shut. "Swallow!"

Merlin's throat worked briefly and Gaius stepped back, gesturing for Arthur to do the same.

"Now what?" Arthur asked.

"Now we wait," Gaius replied, "Wait and hope. He is very weak."

Seconds slid by with no visible response, then a short shudder ran through Merlin's lanky frame before he went utterly still.

Arthur took a sharp step towards the bed, "Gaius, he's not breathing!"

Already the physician was moving towards his ward, kneeling down to listen to his heart for several moments.

Arthur's chest tightened as Gaius' expression… crumpled. "His heart has stopped," the old man looked every one of his years as he slowly straightened, grief and hopelessness written in every line of his body.

Arthur bowed his head, letting out a shaky breath. He found himself kneeling next to the bed, reaching out a hand to touch above Merlin's heart, whether to verify the physician's finding or contest it, he didn't know.

A second passed in stillness, then another. Arthur's eyes slid closed as of their own accord, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek.

He didn't wipe it away.

xxxx

Come on, people. My writing's not that bad, is it? The only two reviews I have are from RL friends! I know I'm out of practice… so I would appreciate some constructive criticism. Trying to get back into writing-mode, here! (No, that is not a threat to end the story. It will be updated regardless, though updating SPEED may be effected.)