Close Your Eyes.

'Stop it,' Arthur hissed and came back to his side.

'I can't,' Merlin said and frowned at the reflection. The colours weren't quite the same, distorted by the greys reflected from the metal and marble of the foyer, but the gold burned perfectly. He dragged in a tight breath. Everything was hot, his skin, the air, his clothes.

Arthur's face was inches from his. 'What do you mean you can't?'

Merlin looked at him and tried to control his panicked breaths. Why was breathing suddenly so hard? 'I don't know why it's happening.'

Arthur flickered out of view. Merlin blinked and then he was back again only fainter. Something translucent and dark spread its roots over his skin as if time had sped up and let something dig down through the dirt of the air to reach into him. He blinked again, hoped it would go away, but the fine brownish roots stuck against him, crawled around the curve of his jaw, pressed the soft skin down as it moved up to his ear and inched inside. Merlin stepped away breathless and Arthur flickered again. He returned as normal, staring at him with a frown, and unaware that something had tried to grow into him like it would a corpse.

'Merlin, you need to stop it before people see,' Arthur urged again, closed the gap between them again, and put a hand on his shoulder. The touch made his stomach turn in on itself painfully. Queasiness washed through him stickily, hotly.

'I think I'm seeing things. Hearing things' Merlin whispered, his heartbeat thumping erratically. Arthur was normal, they were in the Exchange House, they were at the scene of a murder. 'Something's wrong.'

Arthur seemed to take in his fear and understand part of it, the hand on his shoulder squeezing gently. 'Let's just get you out of here, okay?'

Emrys.

Merlin spun around when the voice, the sensation of breath, brushed itself over the back of his head. The sharp motion caught Arthur off guard and several suited women and men looked at him strangely. There was nothing behind him. It lasted two seconds. A pause of confusion.

One second and the glass cracked.

Merlin tried to use his magic, tried to see what caused the sudden eruption of fine fissures that run through the glass white and brightly like lightning, knew people were staring at him and his eyes, knew that everyone had fallen silent just to be sure they were actually hearing the deep cracking of the walls, the glass of doors.

Two seconds and it all blew inwards.

First the glass then the metal when it screeched and warped itself at each connection. Blinding static filled the air and wiped out any colour. Merlin hit the ground. Arthur pushed him down further, pressed his chest to the marble, and covered them both with his coat as glass fell.

The building moaned with the strange contortion of its metal skeleton. Broken glass rushed down and fine dust cushioned the deeper sound. Once the shower had stopped people moved, shouted 'Is everyone okay?', asked what was going on, ran for the exits.

Merlin pushed himself up slightly, hands pressed into the white dust and small glass pieces. It looked like some of it had been pulverised. Arthur's chest stopped him from getting up fully, the sudden heat comforting, but he had to go. He could see his eyes in a shard that had landed a foot away from his face. They were what he'd seen in Aredian, in himself, in his death, that lake. It was more than magic. Looking into them made him panic and calm at the same time, like the strange void at Christmas.

Merlin forced himself up with more momentum, forced Arthur to stand and stumble back. The pressure caused several stinging sensation to erupt over his palms and fingers, cut into finely, shining pieces trapped in the skin. He ignored it and pushed his way out of the building, each step crunching. Arthur's hand touched his arm but he slipped into a group of suits that blocked his access as they squeezed through the main doors.

'Merlin! Wait!'

He hurried through their empty frames, down black stairs, through more doors, reception, stairs, cold air.

Glass littered the dark grey concrete outside and faces pressed against the windows of Broadgate Tower opposite, every surrounding building watching in shock. The Exchange House looked like someone had done the equivalent of scrunching up a sheet of paper. Its thick foundations kept it upright in its malformed state, and the press lined up on Primrose Street came out from the shelter they'd taken. Merlin watched a young cameraman cradle his head in his hands, blood from a cut somewhere rubbed over his fingers. Other people had various cuts, bleeding wounds, mostly the ones running past him, running into him. Merlin took it in through his frown and blinked slowly.

Arthur swore when he caught up with him.

Merlin turned left and walked quickly. He folded his arms against the cold wind, ignored the heat on his right wrist, probably a deeper cut, and headed left again at the end of the street. Each motion made him oddly aware of the fine glass pieces caught in his hair, suspended there and feeling out of place.

Arthur ran a little to keep up. 'What's going on, Merlin? Did you do that?'

Merlin pressed his lips together, swallowed the urge to cry, took deep breaths. He crossed the street quickly. Traffic had stopped entirely as people investigated what they probably thought was another bombing.

'I don't know,' he finally said and aimed for somewhere with less people, less witnesses, less noise. They headed into Pindar Street. A redbrick compound stuck up on the right, another faceless glass tower on the left, and no people between the two. Once they'd gone far enough to lose sight of either end, the point where it was just them, brick, glass and the increasingly violent wind, Merlin stopped.

The gold shifting in his eyes flashed in the glass of the window opposite the street. He couldn't make it go away. He tried, blinked hard, willed it, swore at it, but it didn't.

Arthur watched him silently. 'Merlin-'

'I don't know, Arthur,' he snapped and ran his hands over his head. He turned on the spot, movement and awareness of the world distracting him. His hands kept stinging, the shock of red against his pale wrist struck him for a second but he didn't care. 'I don't know why we're here. I don't know why I thought you'd understand. I don't know why I can't just die. I'd stop it if I could, alright?'

He sucked in another breath, realised his cheeks were so cold because they were wet, and stopped turning to stare at Arthur.

'I'd stop it if I could,' he said again.

'Merlin,' Arthur said and walked towards him. 'We need to go somewhere. Back to your flat, or mine, just not here.'

He knew he was on the edge of hysteria and nodded even though he hated Arthur, hated him and himself and everything that was happening.

A car turned around the curved edge of the street and Merlin turned away quickly to hide his eyes. Arthur stood next to him, helped block any view of the strange gold, and they waited for it go past.

The car didn't drive on. It parked, cut the engine, and several doors opened and slammed shut.

Merlin frowned at Arthur, they shared the confusion, then he looked over Arthur's shoulders to see the strangers. Hoods, illegal military grade guns, no licence plate. His hysteria grew considerably calm with the realisation, and his frown melted away with resolution. Arthur seemed to have the same conclusion when he moved in front of him, but Merlin tugged him out of the way and lifted an arm, willing his magic towards them. It burned hot when it ran through his forearm to his palm.

A gloved hand snatched at his wrist, dug into the wound there, and twisted him backwards before he could stop it. The forceful yank brought him centimetres away from the thick black cloth that stretched over their nose, their fast breaths, and their light brown eyes. Sharp pain in his abdomen made him look down. Their free hand was wrapped tightly around something. They'd pushed it into him. Through his shirt, skin, and deeper. It was inside him, cold and hot like the lake water, only this was real. This wasn't fire.

They shoved him back into the wall. His head hit it sharply and the knife, dark with his blood, disappeared quickly when his attacker put it back into his pocket and stepped away.

Merlin's back willingly rested against the bricks and he let his legs give way, coat shifting awkwardly with the friction as he moved down. The strangers watched him, watched Arthur when he realised what had happened and sank to his knees beside him.

'Oh my god,' he breathed, leaned over him and stared at the place Merlin knew he had been stabbed. It felt strange. It hurt, he knew it hurt, his body was telling him not to move and to run simultaneously with adrenaline, but it was strange. 'Heal it, Merlin, you have to heal.'

Merlin pushed himself back a little so he could lean against bricks properly, some pieces of cold dirt sticking to his sore palms as he did. The concrete was cold too, but his coat was a good extra layer.

'Why aren't you healing?' Arthur yelled and Merlin looked at him. His eyebrows pushed the skin between them up into little mounds of concern, blue eyes even bluer somehow, wetter. He didn't know why he wasn't healing, why his eyes kept glowing gold, why the building had broken. When he looked past his King he saw them, the hooded strangers as they stood watching for something.

He clenched his jaw against the hollow ache that rolled in his stomach, the way his head thought telling him about how painful it was would help. Merlin knew magic kept most of the pain away, but it wasn't doing anything else. He could feel the injury extended beyond his abdomen, circling around his lower back with an odd stiffness as muscles tensed and ached.

'Heal!'

One of the hoods came forward. Arthur stood to push them back. They hit him in the mouth. Momentum carried him to the ground just in front of Merlin's feet, and they stamped down against his head with their boot. A horrible crack came with the motion.

What he did know was how to kill them. Arthur pushed himself up to his elbows, spit out blood, and move back to rest on his heels.

'Who are you?' Arthur asked, voice rough and worryingly slow.

'No one,' the hood that had kicked him said. 'Currently hired to kill you two.'

Arthur tried to get to his feet and the same man kicked at his ankles. He hit the ground again, nose crunching against the concrete when he did. Merlin winced and pulled on his magic to help, but it kept pulling back. He sighed looked up at the grey sky, concentrated on the wind blowing over his face, wet eyes, his hair. It was too cold for August. It wasn't right.

'Aredian?' Arthur asked them and Merlin looked back down, saw that he'd gotten back to his hands and knees.

'You should have expected it,' a new hood said and turned towards Merlin. He marched forward and grabbed his shirt collar, scraped him back up the wall so they faced each other. His abdomen pulled, burned, told him not to move, and his head told him off too. 'He's an abomination after all.'

A gun, colder than the concrete, pressed against his temple. Merlin blinked at the man. He saw Arthur try to move too quickly, to get to him, but another hood snatched at his coat and threw him back down.

The trigger clicked.

A gunshot echoed down the street. It bounced off the glass and brick as it repeated and rolled, over and over and over. The hooded man dropped and Merlin fell back down. He shifted himself away from the dead body, ears ringing with the sound of the shot, and rested against a new part of the wall. He put his hand against the stab wound and closed his eyes, the high-pitched buzz filling his head. Blood was thick, warm, and spreading. It was part of him outside of him, which biology said wasn't a good thing. It hadn't been like this when he'd been shot. It hadn't been like this when Aredian strangled him. He let out a tired breath. It never felt so boring, so real, so calm, so strange.

When he opened his eyes again, the world muffled, he saw that Arthur's eyes had blown wide like the light of an exposed bulb. The remaining three, or was it four? Merlin decided it was three. The remaining three hoods were just as shocked as none of them did anything for a few long, pounding, seconds.

The shortest one moved first, reached for something in their jacket. Merlin took in a deep breath and held it. Wind blowed over his face. It knew what he needed it to do. The next breeze jerked away from him, sped up, grew, and rammed them all backwards through the air. He let the breath go again. They hit the ground with strange thudding noises. His head pounded in the new buzzing quiet.

Arthur crawled over to him. Merlin shifted his fingers in the heat above his belt and frowned at the way his shirt had soaked through so completely. He could see the wound on Arthur's head as the blonde struggled towards him. He could see the way his nose had broken in such an ugly way, wished he could fix it. Arthur's movements were slow, the tips of his shoes catching small pieces of gravel, coat hanging down at his sides and folding out and in strangely when he moved one knee forward then the next. Once he'd reached Merlin he rested his shoulder against the wall next to him and the breeze almost disappeared with his body there to block it.

'You have to heal, Merlin,' Arthur told him again, quieter this time, and reached up to hold his left cheek with his hand. The touch of his fingers didn't feel quite real. He wondered if that's what Arthur had felt on that bank at Avalon. Arthur was warm. Merlin turned his head to the side to look at him properly, the space between them windless. Arthur was warm and concussed. He could see it in the strange distance in his eyes. 'You used magic to stop them. Use it to save yourself. Please, Merlin.'

Arthur stroked his thumb against the skin just below his eye. Merlin saw the light against his fingernail, the way it curved up to the joint, breathed into their personal space. He wanted to tell Arthur that it wasn't working, that he didn't know why, or how. He just didn't know. He wanted to thank him for how warm his hand was. The wind had been making him too cold. He wanted to ask if Arthur could help him pull his legs up to his chest so they wouldn't be stretched out so uselessly, so exposed to the cold.

Arthur leaned in, rested his forehead against Merlin's, their noses nestled against each other, and stroked his cheek again. It was so warm. Merlin wanted to smile. He swallowed, fingers involuntarily twitching against his soaked shirt, both hand and stomach now covered by part of his coat. He blinked, the pain virtually gone. Now he was just warm, too cold, and tired.

'Don't close your eyes, Merlin. Please,' Arthur said. His voice was soft and just for him. The words touched his lips warmly with Arthur's breath. 'Please, for me. Don't close your eyes.'

.

.

.

Merlin closed them for just a second. The darkness was peaceful, like when he'd watch it rain outside while his aunt made dinner in winter. There hadn't been any sounds of city traffic or sirens blaring off. It had just been the rain on the grass and in the trees and on the patio, forming little puddles. If he'd been lucky Chester would watch it with him, add his purr to the sound of sizzling food and rain while he rubbed his soft cheeks over his fingers. The darkness was safe, but he forced himself to open his eyes again for Arthur. It took effort and time with how heavy they'd become. When he did, though, he didn't see Arthur.

He had no idea where he was.

It was deafening. The sound of the wind, the crashing waves below, the rain, they all merged together into a relentless clash. Merlin took in a sharp icy breath, shivered with the raindrops that pattered against his face, down the back of his neck, and looked down over the edge of the cliff. It was an ocean. The white foam splattered the cliff's base over and over again, each wave more violent and demanding than the last.

He felt for the stab wound but found no wet heat, no tear in the cloth, no pain. He was wearing the same shoes, currently squelching in the muddy grass. He was wearing the same trousers, same shirt, coat, with no stab wound, no blood, no London, no Arthur. A new sound filtered in through the wet white noise. It made his heartbeat change pace and his ears ached. The drumming, beating, ran through the air like an electric current, touching everything and changing everything when it did.

Merlin shivered again, goosebumps rose over his skin, and he stood as still as he could. Rain ran into him coldly, seeped through the shirt in a few seconds, made his skin numb. It was growing stronger, louder. Each beat shifted the angle of the wind and raindrops, urged them into his back more forcefully each time. It was terrifying.

The next beat through the air brought fire. Light blinded him for a moment, then he adapted and stared right into it. The strange current in the air ran through his body, his head, and the fog, rain, sound, it all disappeared when the fire flooded him.

Merlin involuntarily breathed in and let the heat ease itself over his tongue, between his teeth, down into his chest. It spread thickly and burned, painlessly, like running a finger through a candle flame. It consumed him, was inside him, he saw it, but it didn't hurt. He couldn't stop himself when he laughed. The sensation was unnerving, how the air and the fire ignored physics when he did. He laughed with and through fire before it rolled forward and disappeared.

Another heavy beat threw a fresh sheet of rain against him and the dim, he almost lost his balance, then the grey light disappeared with a shadow. Merlin looked up, blinked against the rain, and saw a dragon. It was dark, as large as the Shard, and drove on into the storm with that rhythm, the one he felt in his chest. He only saw its underside, any more detail obscured, but before it disappeared into the fog it turned its head.

That one eye, with the golden iris, knew him.

Merlin recognised it too, like he had recognised Arthur the first time he'd seen him. This ran deeper though, made the confusion in his head clear, not worse.

It turned its head forward again, its tail sliced the air in front of him, and the fog thickened.

The rain grew heavier and the drumming beat faded. Merlin stared at where it had disappeared, no longer shivering with the odd new warmth under his skin, until someone moved to stand next to him.

He turned, took in the dark hair, the soaked through green blouse, the calm blue eyes.

'You're dead,' he said, surprised his voice was so clear, so loud, over the noise.

Morgana looked at him. 'If I'm dead, what does that make you?'

(I hope the lack of real resolution doesn't bother you too much, but this isn't the end end, it just felt right to leave Drop of Fire here. I already have a plan/idea of what's coming next and will begin the final part of this series very soon :) It's a lot clearer on AO3, layout and series wise, if you want to look on there. Thank you so much for your commitment to my story :D I look forward to where this story will go and hope you do too ^_^)