Brushstrokes.

Merlin gagged, curled on his side. His throat was raw, dry and persistent with its scratching whenever her tried to swallow. He squinted at the new surroundings but the objects and colours were roughly distorted as if painted with manic brushstrokes.

'You thought I wouldn't realise?' Nimueh spat at him. She was a blur of gloomy shades, towering over him as he did his best to stand up. 'A grave mistake. It took a lot of effort, Merlin. It hurt. Now it needs to be redone. For that, you now need to hurt. It'll make me feel a lot better.'

His clothes, skin, it all felt rough, enveloped in a shroud of metallic powder. Words were swollen, thick, too thick to escape his throbbing throat or mouth. His shoulder splintered against the wall she threw him against. The pain shot up his neck and arm as he sank to the ground, dragging the numbing pain down with him. The heat in his veins refused to leave, his bones no longer imbued with its strength. It sat there, mingling with his blood, useless and heavy. Merlin tried to use the magic again when it crashed into his chest, winding him. It was nameless, faceless, bodiless. It rejected his attempt to use the power.

Vision still hazy he realised Nimueh's approach too late. Her claw yanked him up again. He couldn't speak. Couldn't see properly. His magic kept refusing use. Stumbling backwards Nimueh hastened his inevitable fall with a blow to the cheek. His coccyx throbbed with the harsh impact. More cruelly dashed and jagged figures entered the room. Their polluted colours made it even harder to get a clear idea of how many, how tall, what gender. Retorts itched to get out, but his throat burned, dry and itching with the powder that stuck to it like grains of desert sand.

A heel drove into his gut. The pain cut into him, sharp and sudden. A strange shout of pain shot out of him. Mixed with a deep groan, a forced exhalation and coarse with the ruined state of his throat it took a disjointed shape in the murky world. A hollow ache flooded the area a moment later. He coughed, tears summoned by his body's natural pain threshold. Another blow to his back and he was lying on his stomach, trying to stand, to fight, but each time he tried to use his magic the pressure on increased. Suffocating. The hits came again and again. They formed a sadistic beat like that for the marching pace of soldiers heading to war. To his legs, his head, his chest. Someone slammed down onto his arm. The break was audible. Merlin was distantly aware of what was happening, aware of the different kinds of pain testing and probing his body. Playing it to see what sounds it would make. Sharp, dull, hot or numbing. His mind was in the forest though. In the warm, unbelievable green forest where he ran. Chased someone. The filtered light crossed his skin like fingers giving him warm encouragement. He came to the tree line, and Camelot rose up in front of him, stoic and enduring. He closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar air, the berries and summer which infused the breeze and stained it with an intoxicating wine.

.

A long, aggressive honk drilled Merlin back into reality. He woke up. It was wet. Really wet. The drops bursting on the tarmac splashed back onto his face. While it took him a minute or two, Merlin got up to his feet. The air was cooled by the rain, the sun hiding on the other side of Earth to leave him in the moon and star's hands. How long had it been since he and Mordred had postponed Nimueh's plans? It took a lot of effort, Merlin. The irritation in her voice brought a smile to his face, which creased the cut and bruised skin painfully. The distant awareness of violence and the patchwork of wounds now breathed against his ear and embraced him like a lover. The rain helped numb his skin as he began to walk, those sore limbs clinging around him with an enduring passion he wanted dead and gone.

The powder became a grainy sludge on his clothing, hands, neck. He rubbed it off as thoughts fought for dominance. Arthur loved him. Nimueh hated him. Mordred still had to lie to Morgana. Where was Aredian? Why hadn't his magic worked? It was brutal and undignified. They battered each other, pulled hair, rammed shields and cut throats without mercy.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin prepared to Vanish back to his flat. One step. Still raining, still cold. A second step. Cars and buses still charged along the street ahead. A third step. The pressure against his chest came close to knocking him out with the shock of the pain. Running to the side of the road he threw up. His throat burned with the natural acids and he wiped his mouth. Rain washed it away, taking it down into a gutter.

Merlin gulped down the fear and carried on walking. The path turned left, a main road ahead with a row of stores across the traffic, their lights warming the darkness. A bus pulled up to a lettered stop and let on the group who'd been sheltering from the rain. The wheels of vans and cars, some bikes even, all threw up small sprays of water and made the air that much wetter. He recognised the area. Gwen had shown him around when he'd been looking for a place to stay, but it didn't resonate with him. Bermondsey. He shifted to the side of the pavement for the passersby. They didn't bat an eye at him, their laughs and conversations merging with the sounds of traffic. Merlin checked his pocket, felt the bump of his phone. Hope, warm and welcomed, flashed in his mind, but the screen was cracked, main body dented, and it refused to wake up. Ruined. He stuffed it back out of the rain.

Every swallow went down with effort, painful and dry. He headed to the quieter path on the right, keeping to the edge, away from the road and the people. His feet dragged, muscles infused with a dull ache and bones brittle. An exposed nerve cell. Movement, the wind, it all hurt. Merlin kept his head down, letting the cracks and bumps of the pavement disappear from from view with each step. His lids were heavy, getting heavier. They drooped.

A high-pitched squeak forced his eyes open again. The fallen bags were orange, their contents being adorned with a growing number of raindrops. After a string of apologies he bent down, ignoring the ache, and started packing the groceries back into their shelters.

'Bad time to visit Sainsbury's, don't you think?' he said through chattering teeth, the sound of his own voice foreign in its roughness. Merlin looked up at the woman he'd walked into and recognised the sweet brown eyes instantly.

Gwen gasped, the embarrassed grin falling instantly. 'Merlin? What happened to you?'

She crouched down, hands reaching for his face. He leaned away, worried by the ugly horror which claimed her face. He ached. He was wet. He couldn't remember what had happened, besides the pain. It told him enough to shy away from probing that mental line of inquiry further. She tucked a curl back under her parka's hood and helped him when he returned to packing up the spilled goods.

'We need to get you out of this rain,' she went on once they were done and he'd stood back up with two of the bags. 'My place is five minutes away, come on.'

She didn't wait for him, leaving him with her shopping and the obligation to follow. The rain kept conversation to a minimum, as did her looks of concern. They came to the wall before the Thames where Gwen turned right and led him into one of the attached houses. It was peaceful, and inside was free from the noise of traffic which had polluted the air several streets back. She turned on the lights, dropping her lot of bags on the kitchen's work surface before shedding the coat.

Merlin had just put his own down when Gwen started to lift his shirt's hem. A surprised chuckle escaped him and he stopped her.

'I can do that myself,' he said, hating how the words scraped in his throat.

'Of course, I know you can,' Gwen said, folding her arms. Her eyes darted from him to the staircase. 'Uhm, Lance keeps some clothes here. I'm sure he won't mind if you borrow a few things. Do you want to change in the bedroom?'

She left without an answer, leaving him with the obligation once again. Merlin followed, his movements slow as his body came to fully acknowledge whatever had injured it. She laid out some clothes on the bed, closing the dresser drawer and walking over to where he waited in the doorway.

'They might be a bit big,' she said. 'But, well, you've bulked up and they could have a better fit. All those visits to the gym paid off.'

Her warm smile couldn't hide that look in her eyes, and the ache in his body spread into his mind. It throbbed in time to his heartbeat.

'I should go,' he breathed, the headache beating his thoughts bloody.

'Merlin,' she started and grabbed his hand to stop him walking away. 'Let's catch up. Once you've changed. Oh, and I need to go pack away the shopping.'

Gwen pulled him into the room and then left, closing the door to give him privacy. Controlling his breathing, Merlin shut his eyes and concentrated on the temperature in the room. The smells. His stomach dove with nausea. No colours. Gwen didn't have any colours. No one had. He looked at the grey shirt and jeans she'd set out. There was nothing else to see. Fibres, discrepancies in their colours, bronze buttons and zip on the jeans. Everyday details but nothing magical.

Merlin tugged off the sopping shirt and left it in a bundle on the floor as he stripped down. His own jeans were torn, his blood staining them, just like the shirt. The plum coloured bruise glared at him from his reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Merlin stood in his underwear, staring. It was like a child had taken a permanent marker and shaded in half his abdomen, only to then have an angry mother throw her wine and darken the stain further. The bruises marked his legs, arms, with his skin broken over the point of his right collar bone, cheekbone. It was extensive. Ugly. Painful.

He saw what Gwen had and more. The black eye had already started to bloom and the split in his lip explained the stinging he'd felt. Gwen knocked at the door.

'Do you want some water?' she said through the wood. Merlin's eyes now burned as well and he swallowed down the aching lump in his throat. Why couldn't he remember? 'Merlin?'

The door opened and Gwen froze. 'Merlin, you need to go to a hospital.'

Merlin pushed his palm out to stop her renewed approach. 'I'm fine.'

She stopped, holding the glass of water in her hands while sincere eyes surveyed his injuries. 'What happened?'

'I don't know. I don't,' Merlin trailed off as Arthur's words smudged his thoughts in memory. Here to help. Could lose your job. Abolished. He let out a controlled breath and started pulling on Lance's, Lancelot's, spare jeans. 'I'm not sure. I'm fine though.'

'It must hurt. You could have internal bleeding.'

'Not really, and I don't. Trust me, I'm fine,' he said, covering most signs of an assault with the foreign clothing. The warm fibres of the jumper and the surprisingly soft jeans irritated his wounds and he promised to clean them magically whenever he returned them.

Gwen hovered behind him. 'Can't you use magic to heal yourself?'

There it was. Smart question. It made his stomach wrench. The crushing in his chest had all but disappeared but he wouldn't dare bring it back. Merlin did up the zipper, popped in the bronze button, picked up the wet clothes. She was still staring, the question strangled in the air by his silence.

'Vivian's come to terms with magic,' she said instead, holding the water out to him in exchange for the wet clothing. He accepted and followed her back to the kitchen where she bagged them. The water soothed his dry throat, a shiver running through him. 'It's wasted with Agravaine shutting everything down. If anything she's a liability. Not that she isn't a wonderful person . . . Actually she isn't very nice either.'

Merlin laughed, ribs sore and protesting against the act. Gwen smiled and continue to unpack the food. He helped in spite of the new tendrils of pain unfurling across his body.

'I'm pretty sure Arthur was drunk when he slept with her,' she said after balling up an empty bag, the plastic crinkling in her hand. Drunk and enchanted. History always repeats itself. Then again, he'd been with Arthur this time around. Until that had backfired. Maybe that was what fate wanted all along. A stupid concept but Merlin couldn't help but believe it existed. At that point he didn't have much choice.

Merlin breathed. 'Don't worry about any of that, okay?'

'How can I not? Arthur's my best friend. So are you, Merlin,' Gwen said, honest fingers touching his arm. 'At least you were.'

He chuckled, one second seeing Gwen the detective, the next seeing a servant, then a queen. 'How lucky am I for bumping into you of all people? The one with the kindest heart.'

The small furrow between her brows melted away. 'Have you had dinner yet?'

'What do you think?' he asked, pointing at his beaten face with grin which made his broken lip sear. 'I don't want to impose though, and there are things I need to check up on-'

'I just spent the day with Vivian Maclain, then helped control the chaos from a massive attack across London. I deserve dinner with a friend I miss. Especially when he's bleeding and concussed.'

'You're right,' he said. That's why he couldn't remember. Is that why he couldn't use his magic? Probably.

Gwen smiled and dropped the bag into a basket of its fellows. 'Help me cut the spring onions?'

'Love to.'

.

.

.

'These attacks, Old Religion was behind it?'

'Yes,' Mordred said, keeping pressure on the tissues he held against his bleeding nose. Aglain had his arms folded, leaning against the hotel room's wall.

'And they did this to you?'

Mordred did his best to speak clearly. 'Knew I was an intelligence officer.'

'How,' Aglain started, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. 'Can you find any evidence?'

'I can,' he said, finally pulling the red tissues away and checking the flow of blood had finally stopped. 'Might not come back alive.'

His supervisor nodded. 'You've already risked enough. I'll send in one of the other operatives.'

Mordred scoffed, throwing the tissues into the bin under the table. 'They all die, remember?'

'Harsh.'

'I'll do it,' he said, rubbing the nape of his neck and wincing.

'You said it yourself. Coming back alive, with them knowing what you really are, has a slim to zero chance of happening,' Aglain said, undoing the buttons of his blazer before tucking the same hand into his pocket. 'Then again, you are the first to survive, and the best. I'd tell you to feel honoured, but with the beating they gave you?'

Mordred smiled, running his fingers over his swelling left wrist. 'There's no honour among thieves.'

'So you'll steal the required proof?'

'Why not? I stand the best chance. One of them, Edwin Muirden, I've seen him mixing powders. Traces of explosives could still be there.'

'Did today's attacks have anything to do with their plot to take over?'

'Can't tell. Could have,' Mordred said as another train roared past in the distance, a chip of the ceiling's paint shaken from its home. It spiralled and swirled down through the air to rest on his knee. He'd pretended at the train tracks that night. What would have stopped them from doing the same to him? Pretending was something magic-users had to be good at after all. World class liars the lot of them. 'They probably fed me false information.'

'When will you be able to get it?'

'The second I can move without wanting to throw up from the pain,' he said with a grin. Or was it a grimace?

'Whatever your past discretions, Mordred, this more than makes up for it,' Aglain told him with a look of admiration, respect. He hardly deserved it. Forgiven by Merlin, respected by his supervisor, none of it felt okay. Arthur's derision, that was what felt okay. 'Rest, then get the evidence. For Queen and country.'

Aglain shot him a smile of camaraderie and left him to sit alone on the bed in the hotel. He lowered his sore bones back against the covers, remembering the heat of Merlin's mouth, how stupid he had been to let that happen. Stupid. He groaned and blinked away any semblance of tears at the inability to soothe his pain. He couldn't heal. Couldn't Vanish. Couldn't do anything magical, and at the worst time of all. The mark on his chest had been burning more since he and Merlin had joined their powers earlier that day, and it seemed to thread angriness into the aching wounds. No magic, no healing, lots of pain. The powder which dusted his clothes, which clouded his memory of the attack, bore an irritating resemblance to the kind Edwin used. They left him defenceless, at least for now, but it would wear off. When it did he would get the proof and shut them down for good. Even if too late for the people who'd died from the bombs, like he almost had. For now Old Religion was safe, but not forever.

Not from him.

.

.

.

'How've you been? Besides the addition of the inspirational Dr Lance,' Merlin said, putting their cleared plates into the dishwasher. He'd devoured the simple curry in five minutes flat. Nothing to eat the whole day, and he didn't even notice until he took a bite of Gwen's divine cooking.

Gwen gave him a knowing look from the dining table. 'You mean my dad? I've been coping. Elyan's helped too. Lance has been my real life saver.'

'Good. You deserve someone wonderful,' he said, returning to the wooden chair beside hers.

'So do you, Merlin,' Gwen said with that familiar sweetness. Merlin sat down and heard the door click behind him. Gwen's face lit up. 'Lance.'

She jumped up and met him as he came in, still pulling off the light jacket when she kissed him. Merlin got up again, the intruder in their occasionally shared home, disturbing their domestic peace.

'Never thought that shirt could look good on anyone, but you make it look downright handsome. Glad to see you, Merlin,' Lance said once he'd planted another kiss on her cheek. His initial glance turned into a confused examination. 'What happened?'

'He can't remember,' Gwen answered.

'Concussion?' Glance guessed with a confirmatory look to Gwen before he rushed over to Merlin, pushing him gently back onto the chair. 'Here, sit down. Let me take a look.'

Merlin tried to bat him away. 'I'm fi-'

'Who spent twelve years studying medicine?' Lance asked as he tilted Merlin's head to one side then the other. Merlin noted how clean Lance smelled, how fresh. Sharp jawline, thick hair, honest eyes like Gwen's. 'This was vicious. Why haven't you gone to a hospital?'

Gwen sighed. 'He refuses.'

'Merlin, they could have done some serious damage. In fact, they probably have,' Lance told him as he moved onto the marks on his neck. 'You need to go to the ER.'

'I'm fine, Lance,' Merlin said, stopping the examination and getting back to his feet. 'I heal fast.'

Lance looked him over, the stare clinical and scientific. 'Are there any other injuries?'

'Just a few bruises, that's all.'

'More than a few,' Gwen added.

Lance's frown was deep and filled with disbelief. 'How could anyone attack a police officer?'

'Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Gwen, and for the concern from you both,' Merlin said as he headed for the door, slipping on his shoes and snatching up the bag of wet clothes. 'I need to go home. I'll dry clean your things, Lance. Get them back to you as soon as possible.'

Their mouths opened to stop him, but he was out the door and breathing the warm night air before they could. The exhaustion snaked around him and tightened its hold, squeezing out a catlike yawn. The rain had finally spent itself and subsided, leaving him a dry journey to the tube. His wallet, somewhere in the bag of his wet things, held his oyster securely.

I love you. I need to help you. Stop. Stop. Act like it. Act.

Merlin wanted to ignore the words. Ignore the pain. See the colours. He only had the duller, darker and human view of the pavement, then lazy shifting waters of the Thames. More of the same when he entered a tube carriage and sped away on the long commute back to his new flat.

When he finally got back each step was searing and his left ankle had somehow twisted itself on the walk from Notting Hill Gate. He was too tired to remember how, only that it was a new injury he couldn't hope to fix without the unbearable pressure.

He guessed it was just after midnight, neighbours having quietened down and the streets calmer. The day's attacks had probably killed the party spirit inherent in a Friday night too.

The lights were still on and Merlin kept his footsteps light after putting the bag down by the front door. He edged through the foyer and checked the bathroom, kitchen, the courtyard through the kitchen's windows. Clear. He couldn't hear anything from the bedroom upstairs but left it on the checklist as he went to the living room.

The name left his lips like a hawk diving off a cliff. 'Arthur.'

He regretted it when the man shifted, probably failing to make the uncomfortable sleeping position any better. He was propped up against a stack of boxes, head hanging down to the side and a fine line of drool escaping the corner of his open mouth.

Merlin smiled and stifled his laughter. He grinned to himself for a minute more before hunting down a blanket and dragging it out of the box. He laid it over Arthur and he crouched down next to him. He brushed one of the blond hairs away from his face before standing and turning off the lights, locking up and climbing the winding stairs to the barren bedroom.

He tried lying on the ground, but it made his wounds burn. Burn and burn and burn. He had to get up. Calming his breathing he remembered to take off his shoes, and then he stood in the silence. In the darkness. His eyes were tired. He was tired and sore. Down. First step, another, a few more, then no more stairs. No colour, just the shadows. Merlin saw the dark shape of Arthur in the living room and sank to the wooden floor next to him, leaning in and making use of his shoulder as a pillow. Cherishing his warmth. Knees pulled up to his chest, Merlin closed his eyes. Breathed in Arthur as he had during their first months together in their new world. Modern world. He breathed in Arthur without magic. Humanly. It was wonderful and comforting. It was cruel to fall asleep with him like this. But he was so tired and sore. Arthur was so warm.

Arthur was home.