Dragon Fire.

Arthur stared up at the ceiling and tried to ignore the annoying ticking of the wall clock. As if he needed to be reminded of the time every second. It was 12:57pm, soon 12:58pm, and each tick felt needlessly self-celebratory. His neck craned back a little too far but he liked how tight and stretched it made his throat feel. The ceiling tiles were made of a boring white material and had little holes that held some purpose he didn't understand. The Commissioner's office was underwhelming, the chair uncomfortable, and Arthur couldn't decide how he felt. Irritation was dominant, and a man in his position knew that he should feel quite happy, relaxed, given last night, but Morgana's keen stare had snipped off any of those nicely budding flowers.

Merlin's disappearance while he slept hadn't helped either. Waking up alone was the last thing he'd expected, especially given how much what they had done meant to him. Anxiety at whether it meant anything to Merlin had come, settled, and burrowed deep into his head and chest. At that point he was nauseous with the fear and confusion.

'Not going to talk to me?' she asked, perfectly at ease in spite of the officer posted outside the door as a guard. The handcuffs waited with them as well. Arthur's heart had twinged a little when he saw her walk in bound by the metal, but he kept himself steeled by drilling in the memory of that gunshot during the Christmas holidays. His throat, some part of it, still felt raw with how he'd screamed out Merlin's name. It had all gotten so fucked up, he felt and thought about that all the time, and he just wanted to be done with it. He wanted to know where he stood, where they all stood.

He dropped his head back down to face forward. 'Nope.'

'Is Merlin's coming?'

'Should be.'

'Arthur.' The weight she put behind his name almost threw him back to the years before he left for university and the academy. How he'd play the music too loudly while he trained in the mansion's gym and she'd storm in with her frown, her hands on hips, to complain. Always, always, he'd turn it down at her request. Now, though, he doubted he'd even care. They weren't teenagers anymore. They weren't those people anymore. 'I'm trying to help.'

He looked at her at last. 'I wish you wouldn't. It'd make things simpler.'

The door clicked open and Arthur got to his feet as the Commissioner entered.

'DS Pendragon,' the older man acknowledged with a nod of his head. 'Miss La Fey.'

'Commissioner,' she said as she stood.

'Please, sit down, this shouldn't take too long. I've asked you here for clarification more than anything. The last year has been tumultuous, to say the least, and the Metropolitan Police need to remain a united front. The protection of our citizens is the priority, and we shouldn't be running around in confusion or mistrust because of our own people.'

Arthur settled down, prepared for the speech.

'Now, Morgana, you will be facing court in a few weeks time, and as the proceedings go ahead you will be held on remand in HM Prison Holloway, but given recent accusations and its inevitable closure you will likely be relocated once the court comes to a ruling.'

'Sorry if I sound insulting, Commissioner,' she said and Arthur narrowed his eyes at her, 'but why are you involved in this? It's below your station and your pay grade.'

'That should tell you something, shouldn't it? We can't afford for this to continue. You are perhaps the greatest embarrassment our police force has experienced in this century, and I want to make the situation clear,' he said. Arthur composed himself and hid the flinch when those brown eyes rested on him with the word embarrassment. 'You will be held in Holloway until further notice. As for you DS Pendragon, my hands are tied. You will either hand over your resignation letter, find yourself transferred out of the CID or take an extended, perhaps permanent, leave until another solution can be found. The public's trust, and my trust, in you has wavered too much in the last few weeks. The absence of your partner in crime is a statement to my cause for concern. Have any idea where DS Emrys is?'

'No,' Arthur said and pressed his lips together. He could still feel the heat of Merlin's breath in his ear, against his neck, the way he'd traced his fingers across his warm skin. It was softer than anything he'd felt before, and he owned Egyptian cotton sheets, so he was downright offended that Merlin left. He knew where Merlin had been. Now he was left clueless just like before.

'Your team was the best, Arthur, the best this city had seen in decades. Whatever changed that, I hope you can address it and present me with something to rectify this mess. Now, the Home Secretary has decided to drop their investigation into DS Emrys, and Bayard has been reassigned at my request. Think of it as a trust exercise. Operation Nova is no longer your responsibility and if you keep yourselves together and prove my concerns unnecessary I will do my best to keep you all in Scotland Yard.'

'Thank you, Commissioner.'

'You and DS Emrys will be given unpaid leave, starting next week and the rest of your team will be designated to the work forces that need them most. We're stretched thin as ever,' the Commissioner continued with a fixed and hard stare.

'Thank you for not letting my actions impact my team,' Arthur said, the words stiff even though his gratitude was genuine.

'The interviews will go ahead, and you and Merlin will be called in when your turn comes,' he said, paused, and Arthur saw something cross over the Commissioner's face. 'Have any of you seen or heard from DC Leir?'

'Mordred?'

'Yes, he was supposed to give a full report on the Old Religion case yesterday.'

'No, I haven't, but I'm sure he's just taking time to work through what happened.'

The Commissioner hummed in response.

'Is there anything else, sir?'

'No, you're excused,' he said and got up to knock at the door. The guard posted there came in and gestured to Morgana to get up. Arthur decided to wait for her to leave, but when he stood and stepped out of the way for the proceedings to go ahead he frowned.

'What is it, Morgana?'

Her eyes were blown wide when she looked at him with her eyebrows pushing into each other angrily.

'Morgana?' he said again when she failed to move, speak, blink.

A strange choked-off breath escaped at last. 'Merlin-'

'What about him?'

'He's,' she started but her eyes grew distant and a tongue of golden light lashed out in her eyes to then wrap around her irises and choke out the green-blue. Arthur shifted quickly to hide it from the guard and the Commissioner. He leaned forward over her.

'DS Pendragon,' he heard the Commissioner start but he cut him off the only way he could think to.

'She's having a panic attack.'

'She's what?'

'She's having a panic attack,' he snapped and tried to hide the wince at his own lie. 'Get out. Now.'

'Arthur.'

'Either you leave or I leave with her,' he snapped and faced the older man. 'Which would you prefer, sir?'

'Officer Hanbury,' the Commissioner said, the guard nodding and heading away. Arthur turned back to Morgana and heard the office door click shut. The far away look consumed her face, and when he put his hand against her cheek it was sticky with cold sweat.

'Morgana, talk to me. What's happening?'

'Merlin,' she hissed, tears welling up in her eyes. Arthur's stomach dropped and his hands turned cold.

'What about him, Morgana?' he asked, sternly and controlled.

She looked at him with her burning eyes. 'I think he's dying.'

The gunshot sounded off in his head and Arthur couldn't breathe with the weight that crashed into it. Was he having a panic attack now? Before he could ask her anything else she shot up and forced him to jump backwards. Morgana ran to the door and he followed her, tried to grab her when she threw the door open but she was too fast. Hanbury, the Commissioner, none of them caught her as she spritned to the stairwell. Arthur took the lead in chasing her down, convinced she was using magic to stop the officers from successfully grabbing her.

His feet hit the steps with too much force, the vibrations running painfully up his calves as he jumped whole sections of stairs at a time. Once he used his shoulder to hit open the emergency exit into the open air he was panting hard and could hear a barrage of policemen following close behind. He saw her turn ahead out of the side car park and he followed, almost running into her when he rounded the corner. She caught him, balanced him, eyes panicked and soaking wet. Arthur followed Morgana's stare, forgot how to breathe for a second time, then ran forward.

.

.

.

Merlin's gaze grew unfocused. The black letters and numbers on the bright screen blurred. Odd patterns emerged between the lines of text: Spaces aligned diagonally with more spaces, vowels rounded off with other vowels, consonants that cut through the soft and rounded consistency of the vowels. The texts made his stomach twist with the strange familiarity, and then the current time made it twist with a sadistic intention.

12:58pm.

It all looked the same as when he texted Gwen, Arthur, Gwaine. Only he hadn't had the chance to talk to them on Arthur's gifted phone, so the only conversation the mobile would remember would be those with the reporter, the Witchfinder, hunter. That and the texts Arthur had sent him that morning, the ones he hadn't responded to.

Aredian Carr: Scotland Yard. 1pm. Pleased to see you've made the right decision. Don't be late.

Sent at 11:37pm.

He could have been arranging a coffee meeting, an interview, hell the meeting with the Commissioner, or something equally mundane. Instead it was his . . . his what? Sacrifice, murder, suicide, defeat, acceptance, death, fate, destiny . . . Nothing suited it. Words didn't work like they should anymore, and Merlin's throat was too dry no matter how many times he swallowed. It wasn't enough. He didn't want to. He wanted to crawl back into that bed with Arthur, his King, his detective, and curl up next to him and sleep. Merlin wanted to wake up and make scrambled eggs and coffee with him. He didn't want to leave before the six o'clock alarm, sneak on his clothes and leave the Kensington flat to write out his best attempt at a will and testament, his best attempt at a confession. An apology. God, he had no idea what it was, but the most important thing was an explanation for Arthur and the Knights. He'd left it on the counter in his kitchen, so they'd find it when they cleared out his flat.

If only Aredian could fall out of a tower again. That would make his day.

'Emrys.'

The low and controlled voice dragged his gaze up from the phone. He tucked it into his pocket.

'Aredian,' he said, trying to keep his face composed, to keep his heart rate calm. It didn't work. The exhaustion from his connection to Mordred did wonders to make him seem tired and bored at least, although more ill than he'd like to appear. The film of sweat that clung to his skin was cold and hot at the same time, and the sunlight, while filtered through a heavy layer of clouds, still felt to invasive and sharp. Like the too strong coffee Arthur made for him and the Knights when they worked late. He'd never taste it again. Merlin frowned at the thought.

'No second thoughts, I hope?'

He focused on Aredian again, how smartly the man was dressed. That suit was designer, and tailored. The term 'underdressed' couldn't cover the odd sensation that passed through Merlin. He'd worn jeans and a button-up shirt, nothing grand. He didn't know how to feel or how to think. 'None. You leave them all alone and alive. You leave London.'

'Agreed,' Aredian said with a closed-lip smile and held out his hand. Merlin took it and held it for a second before he let go. A breeze passed between them and shifted the hair on his forehead, tickled him slightly, and Aredian's grey eyes remained locked on him. 'You don't mind my choice of location or time?'

'I'm missing a meeting with the Commissioner right now. Nothing important,' he replied, unsure why he bothered to tell him at all. Merlin checked his watch. 'It started two minutes ago. As for location, well, you said you liked spectacle.'

They were in front of the square building, right by the large New Scotland Yard sign. Traffic and passers by surrounded them. Merlin didn't want to think too hard on what Aredian's plan was or how he expected to kill him with such a large and varied audience. A small twisted curiosity couldn't help but want to find out, to know. The curiosity that always spurred him along in murder investigations.

'Fascinating,' Aredian said, almost mumbled.

'What is?'

'You.'

Merlin's frown deepened.

'Just do it,' he finally said, impatient, angry, scared.

Aredian smiled. 'Eager are we?'

'Do,' he said, slowly and clearly, 'It.'

Aredian stepped up to him and Merlin's limbs became airy with nerves and feather-light cold fear. He held his ground though, considered texting Arthur something, but he couldn't. He wouldn't do that to Arthur, wouldn't be that person. Who the fuck texts the person they love right before the die? Arthur knew he loved him. He'd understand why he had to do this. He had to.

Merlin felt Aredian's hands reach up and grab hold of his neck. They were cold, smooth, and tightened around his throat, a thumb digging into each side.

No one batted an eye. At least a hundred people around and they did nothing. Maybe this was another side to Witchfinder powers? Merlin couldn't look anywhere except into Aredian's hard glare. The void, the iciness, creeped into him again and made him shiver. His breaths grew faster and he pressed his lips together when Aredian's hold of him tightened and his breaths laboured against the sudden constriction. Blood felt hotter, his face burned, and when his breaths couldn't scrape through anymore the heat sparked in his chest. Merlin's hands went up to grab Aredian's forearms, knuckles white with the strain as his body was hit wave by wave with heat, blood pounding in his ears and behind his eyes.

Aredian didn't say anything when Merlin tried to push him away, he just tightened his hold. No one cared. He could see them walk by on their phones, talking to each other, some even glanced over, and no one cared. Aredian's hands started to feel like knives around his neck, their grip tight and sharp as they cut into him. The hot pain made his eyes tear up and his eyebrows dug down across to try and reach each other in a frown of panic.

He'd wanted to do this, he'd wanted to save them all, but he couldn't. He didn't want to die. Not now. Not yet. Not again.

Merlin wasn't strong enough to pull away though, and when he struck out at Aredian it felt like a python twisting around him, thick and coiled and relentless. The twisting broke through whatever protection his body had, like throwing a spear through the thin sheet of ice which covered a frozen over lake in winter. It sent cracks through his surface and the void latched onto his magic, the pain that followed making him want to scream only no sound came out.

Merlin hated them all. Hated everyone who didn't seem to care that he was being killed. He wanted Arthur to live, but he didn't want to die. He shifted his body weight, tried to drop to the ground, kicked, scratched, but Aredian didn't let go and the spear had gone into him, had gone into the water and hit him.

Merlin's vision swam, this time not from tears, and black blotches sprung up like those dark and slimy fish in the lake, down where no one was supposed to go. They crossed his vision, obscured Aredian's poised and unflinching features, and grew larger as his limbs grew numb. The water was around him, pressed against him, slipped cold and burning into his mouth, up his nose and soaked through his skin. His heartbeat was getting lazier, worn out by the panicked pace it had kept up until then. Heavy and languid its beats came a second later each time.

He was pinned there by the spike jammed into his chest. He couldn't see anything, and the water wouldn't let him leave, swim away. It was killing him, drowning him, the spear that let his strength leak out like blood. It was darker than the water, Merlin could see it float up like ink around him, it was darker than the strange creatures there. He'd bleed out if he didn't drown first. He couldn't stop it, couldn't hold his breath anymore. He had to let the water in. Merlin closed his eyes, opened his mouth and breathed in the lake water. For a second nothing happened, something strained against his throat, but soon it came into his lungs and stomach like dragon fire, filled him to the brim and he spilled over with it. He connected it, the changed and hot fire water inside with the cold and bloodied lake water outside. He became them. No ending or beginning, he already had both and neither.

Merlin opened his eyes and saw himself there, hands around his neck, eyes golden and cut through by long irises. He looked into them, into himself, the moment caught in that lake like ice. The hole in chest still bled, the spear still made it feel oddly full and empty at the same time. He concentrated on that. On the invasion, on the pain in his core. Saw it in his eyes, in the expression, the wet cheeks. Saw it in the lake water that clung to his hair and the blood at the corner of his mouth. That mouth moved, revealed the blood coated teeth, and he heard himself say, slowly and clearly, 'Do it.'

The pain in his chest drew itself out, each inch left him gritting his teeth harder, and then he did it. He saw it. The spear filled his other chest, the chest of the other him who's grip around his neck slackened in response. He seemed bewildered, then the reptile eyes hazed over, and Merlin knew this version of himself could feel the water, the lake fire. He knew it was killing him, not saving him, as it left his own chest to enter the other, sucked out of him like the blood from a paper cut.

Those reptile eyes turned cold and grey, his bones shifted under the pale skin which darkened with years of sun he'd never been touched by. Aged and changed Merlin saw Aredian in front of him, bloody mouthed and dying. At last his hands left his throat and Merlin took in a breath of the warm air, coughing with it as his head pounded.

People gasped, pointed, took out their phones. Aredian crumpled down to the ground and Merlin's own legs gave way as his lungs fought and struggled to get oxygen again. Hands pulled at him and tugged him up against a chest, an arm secured around his own chest, the other on his head. Merlin let his head fall back against their shoulder and turned into their neck as his breaths started to finally come without the pain from before. It was still hard though, and his head spun with the oxygen deprivation.

'Are you okay?'

Merlin looked up at a slightly fuzzy Arthur, who's concerned look grew worse when he stared back.

'Your eyes, Merlin, they're-'

'I don't really care right now,' he said to cut him off, or tried to say. It sounded hoarse and he coughed too much to know if Arthur had really heard him, but it did shut him up. The pain in his chest was practically gone, and when he looked at the motionless body of the Witchfinder, the body a Uniform was currently prodding, he couldn't help but feel grateful. There weren't any spears, they were both bone dry, and there wasn't any blood. He would have been worried, if Arthur weren't holding him and telling him an ambulance is on the way. That made him want to laugh, but the pain around his throat was very real. He could heal it himself, the fire inside very alive and well, but they had a crowd at that point.

Merlin closed his eyes and took Arthur's hand, held it tightly, and tried not to break down with the shock of whatever the hell had just happened. The sirens soon arrived, and he was put on a stretcher. Arthur held his hand the whole time into the back of the ambulance. The fire, the magic, thrummed through his body the whole time.

Merlin?

The voice made him jerk a little, and a paramedic promptly kept him still and pulled an oxygen mask down over his face as he checked his neck and asked Arthur questions. The lights were fluorescent and when the back doors slammed shut sirens started up again and he felt the initial inertia.

Mordred? Where are you? Are you safe?

His thoughts were strangely clear, and the oxygen being forced into his lungs was a welcome relief that washed out the murk of the lake, whatever that had been. Merlin couldn't concentrate on the voices and sounds around him, so closed his eyes on the bright lights to experience the connection with Mordred again in peace.

Now I am. Whatever you did, my magic is coming back. I think it is anyway.

Mordred's voice was soothing, like putting on an old jumper you'd lost and then found years later.

Nimueh took you?

She's coming back soon. I don't think I can escape without one of us dying.

Merlin held Arthur's warm hand a little tighter, and he received a reassuring squeeze in return.

I know. It's okay, Mordred. Just get away and get here. Stay alive.

Don't plan on doing anything else, and you too.

Me too?

Stay alive, Merlin.

Always.