A/N: So, in doing research for this piece I have once again come to question if the Merlin writers ever researched at all or if they just assumed none of the viewers would notice or care. For instance, did they have any idea what a tincture actually is or did they just use it because it sounded sufficiently medicinal? Let's just copy the 'method of preparation' from Wikipedia, shall we?

1)Herbs are put in a container and a spirit of 40% or more ethanol is added, 80 proof Vodka or 190 proof Everclear, for example.
2)The jar is left to stand for 2–3 weeks and shaken occasionally in order to maximize extraction.

Clearly that happened during the episode. (Would someone grab my eye for me? It just rolled away...)
It also seems that creating a tincture out of such plants is rather likely to kill their effectiveness. Hrm.
Sadly, this does not overly effect my enjoyment of the episode so I guess I'm just proving them right.
I did have an inordinate amount of fun looking up poisons, however. Appropriately enough, I found the (nearly) perfect match in a list of archaic medical terms.

Right. Enough chit-chat. On with the whump!

Light filtered through the leaves overhead, dazzling Merlin's eyes as he struggled to make sense of his current position.

His mouth and throat burned a trail to his stomach which also felt aflame, forming an odd counterpoint to the cold feeling overtaking the rest of his body.
His heart seemed to be trying to batter its way through his ribs and his lungs were desperately trying to gain air despite his sore, swollen throat.

What happened to me?

He fought through the agony and his growing weakness to turn his stiff neck, the events of the morning coming back as he caught sight of Daegal lying next to him.

It took a great amount of effort and several attempts for him to make any sound, and what he did manage was nearly inaudible.
Giving up on traditional speech, he mind-spoke directly to the druid- hoping he would be able to hear despite his apparent unconsciousness.

"Daegal."

Simply speaking that one word sent a spike of agony through his head and he had to close his eyes as his vision swam. His throat was burning even more after his vain attempt at waking his companion and he tried swallowing some of the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth to lessen the pain, only succeeding in setting off a violent coughing fit.

Merlin could only be glad he had managed to turn his head, otherwise he likely would have choked on the blood that was currently spattering the leaves beside him.

After the coughing passed he began retching, the acrid vomit effervescing and forming an unpleasant crust where it had trailed down the side of his face- not that he could really feel it there over top of everything else.

A new, sharper pain made itself known and the servant fought to look down at his leg, forcing his arm to reach down and brush clammy fingers against the source of the discomfort. His limited strength ran out quickly and the arm fell back to his side, though he could now see dark red blood coating the fingertips.

Magic...

He cursed his own slowness and reached for his magic, body tensing with the strain.
Merlin could feel his power sparking slightly, eyes just barely flickering amber as he battled against pain, weakness, and his own fading alertness to save himself.

Feeling crushed by his failure, the warlock seemed to sink even further into the dirt as he ceased his struggling and fell back into blackness.

Sarrum and his entourage arrived with military precision, making Arthur grateful for his wife's assistance in getting him prepared in time.

They traded thinly veiled boasts and tested each other's mettle under the guise of diplomatic welcomes; Arthur inviting Sarrum to a feast that night, Sarrum suggesting a joint training session between the warriors of the two nations. Both offers graciously accepted, the King of Camelot gladly retired to his rooms to take care of day-to-day royal duties while the King of Amata settled into his guest chambers; the less important persons setting up the tents that would serve as their residence during the visit.

Arthur had only read through and signed a few documents before he was interrupted by knocking, followed by the entrance of a rather disturbed-looking Leon.

"Sir Leon, is there a problem?"

"Sire, a riderless horse has just returned to the stables."

A sneaking fear gripped the king's heart.
"Which horse?"

Leon avoided his monarch's gaze.
"It... it's the bay- the one Merlin usually rides."

He stepped forward and offered something to the king.
"This was attached to the saddle."

It was Merlin's satchel, still full of herbs and other medical supplies.

"Did anyone see where the beast came from?"

"Yes, Sire, it approached from the west."

Arthur nodded. "Gather a patrol, a half-dozen. We'll be heading out immediately. And-"
He hesitated a moment, but followed his instinct and continued "include Gaius."

"Yes, Sire." Leon bowed and quickly left to carry out his assignment.

Arthur absently collected his own gear, muttering to himself.
"What have you gotten yourself into this time, Merlin?"