Starless.

Merlin waited outside Scotland Yard's new base in Embankment while Arthur finished questioning the victims' supervisor. Why did the dangerous mind-game-playing criminals always find him? The games, the way they looked at him, into him. Aredian was a monster, he'd almost destroyed everything, but at least he hadn't pretended to be something else. Unlike Nix. Alvarr. Unlike Alvarr. He didn't remember that past life, but that's who he was. Just like himself and Arthur, the knights, even Kilgharrah. Alvarr was pretending to be some kind of friend, someone who understood him when no one else could, and it made him want to scream. It all made him want to scream, shout yell, get the emotion out, force the continuous pressure in his chest to go away.

He sighed heavily and looked up at the snow. It was blurrier and lit up by the street lamps and string lights in the otherwise dark air. In the hours he'd been inside with Arthur and the others the rain had frozen and dusted and flurried into snowfall. It was heavy, a white blur, with flakes twirling around before they landed. It was collecting on the pavement, the road, the branches of the tall trees which loomed up in a line just before everything opened up with the Thames, traffic stretching across Westminster bridge, the London Eye a mountain of pink light in the night. It was a nicer view than their old building, but they hadn't finished the move yet. Most of the shift had happened while he'd been in hospital. He hadn't really been to the new building until today. God it was cold.

Merlin folded his arms tighter across his chest, dipped his chin into the scarf he'd double wrapped around his neck, and glanced back at the glass-filled neoclassical building. New Scotland Yard was stuck across the front in letters lit up white. It was brighter, sharper, and more exposed. Everything seemed to change.

'There you are.'

He turned around to see Arthur walking towards him, expression tired and withdrawn.

'Anything?' he asked.

'No real enemies, and no suspects yet,' Arthur said, his stare darting away as he took in the snow. 'This weather's connected to the Dorocha isn't it?'

'Might be.'

Hesitation flickered across Arthur's face. 'Look, we've got to talk.'

'About?' Merlin asked, suspicion perked up in his observations. They honed themselves in on Arthur's body language and intonation instinctually. It was bad, obviously, but more than that. Arthur didn't have that kingly stoic control over whatever it was. That meant it was personal . . .

His next heart beat thumped out heavily and the warmth drained from his hands. 'Is it Gwaine?'

Arthur shook his head. 'No, no.'

'Is it about Nix?'

'We do need to talk about that, but not right now. Come inside?'

Merlin didn't budge. 'Arthur.'

They shared a look of challenge and resistance. Arthur's poor facade of general concern and professional severity faltered. He didn't try to fix it up again.

'Kilgharrah and I had a word about something, and it's time you were involved,' he explained.

Merlin frowned. 'Why wasn't I involved from the start?'

'The start was only this morning for one, so it's not that bad, and for two you've been through enough.'

Irritation spiked through his chest. 'I'm just like you, Arthur. I'm not some precious flower. You don't need to protect me from anything.'

That was a lie. Merlin wanted Arthur to protect him from the Cailleach, from himself, from Nix. He wished he didn't want it. He was just like Arthur so far as they were reincarnated and detectives and dealt with terrible things on an almost daily basis. Nix was right on that front. Arthur would never know what it felt like to have magic, or what that meant.

'We're in trouble,' Arthur said, clouds of his breath floating up with each word.

'I know we are.'

Arthur gave him a pointed look. 'You really want to talk about this outside? It's freezing.'

'Talk.'

Sirens started up somewhere near by, drawing closer as they headed towards St Thomas' Hospital. It was surreal to be so close to it now after being there for so long. He couldn't shake what had happened no matter how hard he tried.

'Please,' Merlin added, softer now. It was late enough that foot traffic was minimal, and no one passed by close enough to overhear. Arthur regarded him with a look he could almost call hurt, which made his stomach twist.

'Someone saw us when we found Phoebe,' Arthur said, controlled tone and voice.

No. Please, no.

Merlin tried to keep his expression neutral and voice level. 'And?'

'They have a video.'

Please.

'They're blackmailing us,' Arthur continued. 'We think.'

Merlin nodded a little, tightened his arms across his chest as a sick caved-in feeling pulsed in his chest.

'What's on the video?' he asked.

'We are. Her too. You attacking her with magic. That's how it looks anyway.'

'Do the others know?'

'No, not yet.'

Merlin clenched his teeth together for a second, a burning tightness having crawled its way up to his throat. 'He wants to tell them?'

'Of course he does,' Arthur said, a flash of a sad smile crossing his face before it was sucked back into stern control. 'We should have told them about it when it happened, Merlin.'

'But we didn't.'

'Kilgharrah can't make this go away.'

No. Why now? Why now?

'What do they want?' Merlin asked and swallowed to lessen the pain in his throat. 'You said they were blackmailing us.'

Arthur frowned at him and shook his head. 'That's not how this works. We're the good guys.'

'So we won't give into their demands?' Merlin continued to be sure. He knew that they wouldn't give in to any demands, but the part of him that had survival instincts rebelled against the idea of doing anything different.

'No.'

'He's throwing us under the bus, isn't he?'

'He hasn't decided. I don't know. This won't end well for us, no matter what happens, not with the internal affairs investigation in the summer on our track record. I honestly don't think Bayard ever let go of the noose around our necks.'

'My neck. He thought I was a killer, Arthur, not you. Which I am, by the way. I'm now a killer,' Merlin said, the verbal confession making it hard to breathe. 'I'm so sorry.'

'What—'

'You're going to lose your job because of me. We'll probably got to prison, Arthur. Prison.'

Arthur stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. 'No, Merlin, we don't know anything yet. Until we do we can't freak out, we can't afford to.'

'Fuck,' he huffed and swallowed again, the lump there now painful as it pushed heat up behind his eyes. 'Fuck.'

'Merlin,' Arthur said and moved a hand to rest against his hip, moving even closer. The sensation was warm, comforting, made him think of their time together in the morning, how he'd almost lost it all when he stepped off the balcony. Reminded him that he had stepped off the balcony. It had been a choice. He'd thought he'd made the right one then, but he hadn't. It had been so wrong and he hadn't realised until after. Footsteps to the side sounded and Merlin pulled back from Arthur quickly, his hand dropping away as they tried to stand casually. 'This is going to be hard. Pretending not to be— You know.'

Merlin brushed past him and started toward the building. 'We have to. Let's get this over with.'

He waited for Arthur to catch up and they headed into the light, uniformed officers passing by as they walked to the lifts next to the long reception desk. Five minutes later and Arthur led him into Kilgharrah's new office.

Merlin copied him and sat down on one of the delicately carved metal chairs. Kilgharrah sat opposite, mouth set into a hard line. The office was spacious, glass-filled as well, and minimalistic with the recent move. Papers were piling up on the one side of the desk, a lamp on the other, and a large pot plant of some sort dominated one corner of the room.

'DS Emrys, I assume DS Pendragon has updated you on the situation. I'll be letting the rest of the Murder Team know tomorrow,' the DCI said, and Merlin felt Arthur tense up a little next to him. What would they think? They already knew he wasn't exactly alright, not with his behaviour in the summer, but this implicated Arthur as well. 'For tonight I thought it best to leave you all to process the news of Gwaine's condition.'

Merlin nodded. 'What do you think of what happened?'

'I think you protected your friend. I think you saved the life of your king,' he said and took a sip from his dark mug. Maybe it was herbal tea. 'There's something else bothering you.'

He blinked, breathed, and stared at the light wood of the table. Damn him and his instincts. 'No. There's nothing.'

'You're sure?'

'I—' he paused and looked into Kilgharrah's aged, watery eyes. He had the feeling they saw more than he ever could. Then he glanced to his side where Arthur sat, jaw set and blue eyes sharp with thoughts. His hair wasn't as long as it had been back in Camelot. Then he remembered the pink water, the glint of the razor blades. Why had it been such a long day? He felt like too much had happened for only a handful of hours allotted to one day. He didn't want to tell Kilgharrah about everything that was bothering. He'd tried therapy and that hadn't exactly worked and like hell was he about top open up to his DCI, ex-dragon or not. But, as much as he hated the idea, he knew that if anyone could help it would be an ex-dragon, who just happened to be his DCI. Merlin took a deep breath, licked his dry lips, and decided to tell him: 'I saw the Cailleach. She— She spoke to me.'

'The Cailleach?' Kilgharrah asked and his stare grew fazed and distant. A frown carved itself into his old skin and he bore his watery eyes back into Merlin. 'You struck a deal with her?'

'No, I didn't,' he said quickly. Why would he ask that? 'Not with her anyway. I did make a deal with the spirits, the Dorocha I suppose, before I woke up from . . . wherever I was in the coma. I think that's why she's set on killing me. Making me want to commit suicide, actually.'

'To close the rift?'

'Yes.'

'Curious.'

'Why?'

'It's not possible.'

'What's not possible?'

Kilgharrah sipped the tea again. 'How is she set on making you kill yourself?'

Merlin leaned back on the chair. Something cold scraped across his scalp on the wrong side, within the bone, behind his eyes, beneath it all. Having Arthur with him helped stem the feeling, made it possible to mistake for another emotion like natural fear or maybe self-loathing. 'She's in my head. It's like this urge. It's screwed up. One second it makes sense, you know, and the next,' he paused and swallowed.

'The Cailleach is powerful, but she can't control or influence the free will of another being. Especially not one like yourself.'

Merlin scoffed. 'Evidently she can.'

'I have to disagree.'

'Then what? I imagined her appearing to me and making me jump off a rooftop?'

'Yes.'

'No. No,' he said and his body flushed with heat before the iciness washed it away. 'I'm not crazy.'

The last he said to Arthur, who remained relatively quiet and observant. He was frowning and caught Merlin's look. It was one moment, and Merlin wanted to stop the conversation there to assure him that Kilgharrah must be wrong, that it had happened the way he thought it had, but Kilgharrah continued before he could.

'It might not be about being crazy. You remember how things worsened in July and August time. Your magic might be the cause,' he reasoned. 'Merlin, you clearly crossed a barrier you were meant to when you came back. Fate tied you to Arthur and so long as he lives it's in your heart to live as well. The power required to tear a rift without communing with the Cailleach is immense, but with your age and your inheritance the Dragonlord's magic it's entirely possible. What is uncertain is the affect that kind of transition has on a mind.'

He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

'I don't mean to scare you,' he added, softer now. 'There's no way the Cailleach could make you commit suicide. If there is that wish, that will, it's your own. Your body may have held onto what nature intended. You were going to die, Merlin. A normal man would have. Your magic stopped it, but there is a dichotomy of sorts you will struggle with. I struggle with it myself.'

Arthur shifted in his chair. 'What dichotomy?'

'The mortal and the immortal. Psychologically speaking we are quite unique and that leaves us isolated. Merlin lived an immortal life and discarded it only to be summoned back to the living world. The body, the soul, or heart or mind, whatever you wish to blame, can only be put through so much until it,' he paused. 'Until it fades.'

'Which means I imagined the Cailleach? I'm imagining this feeling?'

'I'm not sure. She may have tried to push you to death in that first instance, but any lingering urge is yours. Maybe a part of you has begun to fade. That part might be pushing you to want to die.'

Arthur cleared his throat. 'Wait, I don't—'

'He doesn't have to let it take the rest of him,' Kilgharrah cut in. 'You have options, Merlin. You can give in to what you're feeling and diminish, ultimately leaving the living world permanently. Another is to let the fading part leave you while you yourself remain, but what will be left— I can't say. You can then also resist it all completely. To not give in or let any part of yourself leave. That will either save you or destroy you completely. The choice is yours.'

Merlin held his gaze.

'What do you mean by fade?' Arthur asked, leaning forward. 'None of this sounds real.'

Kilgharrah regarded him with sympathy. 'It isn't as physical as losing a limb. He could lose his memories, parts of his personality, he might lose his ability to care for other people, or his moods could be drastically altered to the extremes or complete lack thereof.'

'How do you know?' Arthur pressed. 'How can you know all of this when Merlin only just mentioned seeing the Cailleach? How can you be sure?'

'I don't. I'm guessing with my experience of magic, both old and new, and things I've read in books long lost to time and decay.'

'What about the rift, then? The Dorocha?'

Kilgharrah took a deep breath and shifted his gaze back to Merlin. 'Your death may well close the rift, if the Cailleach insisted it would, but it's not the only way. Your magic opened this rift so you could live. I'm sure your magic could close it so you don't have to die.'

'My magic is unreliable lately,' Merlin said lowly.

'Probably an effect of the fading I mentioned.'

'Great.'

Kilgharrah smiled. 'You are a Dragonlord and warlock, Merlin. Your existence can't be anything but complicated.'

None of them said anything for several seconds. His mind was reeling, drowning, and Arthur seemed the same with the way his lips were pursed ever-so-slightly, with an unfocused gaze. Kilgharrah just observed them both from behind the desk.

'I'm afraid I can't help you any further,' he said, breaking the silence a little too soon. 'I will say that your connection to Arthur and the others is remarkable, and if you need strength beyond your own you should look to them.'

Arthur ran his hand through his blond hair. 'As our superior, and as a, you know— With your experience, well, the people with magic now, can we actually stop it? Should we?'

'I'm not sure. You rose now of all times and it would make sense if you did because of this new magic,' Kilgharrah said, slowly and with thought. 'It marks a new age. An age where the old and new can blend in ways the world has yet to see. You and Merlin may be here to guide and to protect. You could build this new world together.'

Another beat of quiet passed through the three of them.

Kilgharrah leaned back in his chair. 'Now you should both get some sleep, especially you Merlin. You look quite terrible. A bit too thin, even.'

Merlin blushed at that, realised he hadn't eaten . . . In days, technically. He didn't feel like eating, and when he did it felt forced, and fake, and wrong.

'Give us a second, Arthur?'

Arthur, who'd stood up and started toward the door, paused. 'All right. I'll wait outside for you?'

He nodded and waited until Arthur had left before he said anything.

'Kilgharrah,' Merlin started and took a slow breath. 'I didn't want to kill her. I hope you know that.'

'I do.'

'If you can save Arthur's career by burning mine do it. Promise me.'

'I can't do that. Even keeping this from Internal Affairs is a crime, but the witness seems willing to keep to blackmailing us alone for now, and letting more people know would complicate matters and make them more dangerous.'

'How long do we have?'

'Not long I'm afraid. I'm sorry this is happening to you. I know how much being in the CID means to you.'

'Magic has a way of changing things,' Merlin trailed off, lost for a second in that smothering sensation of fear, of the unknown, of not knowing what to do anymore. 'Do you think—'

'Yes?'

'Do you think, with the magic, with your comment about protecting people,' he paused to straighten out the flicker of an idea. 'Could we, Arthur and I— Could we still work as detectives, just independently? Maybe investigating crimes which involve magic specifically, and help people who can't turn to the Met?'

'A private detective agency? You can certainly try,' Kilgharrah said with a slow smile. 'In fact, I think you should hold onto that idea. Granted neither of you are charged with murder, it would be a necessary service to London's public and police force.'

'Yeah,' Merlin said, and headed to the door where he paused, hand wrapped around the cool handle. He looked back at him. 'I'm not going crazy?'

Kilgharrah gave him a sad kind of smile. 'Like I said. That's entirely up to you.'

He'd just opened the door when Kilgharrah cleared his throat.

'I'll be retiring in the coming months. Before May I expect,' he added and Merlin froze.

'Why?' he asked and bit the inside of his cheek, pressed down until it hurt.

'I'm old and I feel it. It's time for me to leave. I don't make this decision lightly. I won't leave until this issue with the witness, and with Nix, is sorted out.'

'It's not going to get easier once you're gone,' he said.

'I know,' Kilgharrah paused. 'Agravaine will most likely take over as DCI, if you're still here to see it. I'd prefer to keep this between us. I thought you deserved to know before the others. Goodnight, young warlock.'

Merlin closed the door and met Arthur in the corridor. He didn't ask what they had talked about. Instead he smiled at him. In spite of it all, of what Kilgharrah had said about his fading, their terrible situation, Arthur smiled at him. Merlin offered the best he could in return.

'Before heading back to mine I thought we could check on Gwaine,' Arthur said as they fell into stride together walking to the lift. Merlin looked at the time on his phone: 22:38. They'd need to use their warrant cards to get access that late. He resisted the urge to hold Arthur's hand once he put his phone away. It made something scratch under his skin. He wanted to tell him that Kilgharrah was leaving, but he couldn't. He might have to leave too. What was happening? Why was everything falling apart? Why did he feel like he was heading toward that cliff's edge and couldn't stop the fall? Fall. Just like Nix had said.

Once the lift doors slid shut Merlin swallowed down the anxiety and asked, 'You know it's not a coincidence that he's there from an overdose, right?'

Arthur scoffed. 'Not when we're investigating Nix and a ring of drug dealers selling to magic users who just happen to be killing people and under suspicion as well. There's no way. And it means we're targets too, especially when our prime suspect shows up at a murder scene that we'd only just heard about ourselves.'

Merlin wanted to laugh at the how impossibly ridiculous and insane everything Arthur had just said sounded. He wanted to laugh and maybe a cry at the knowledge that it was true. Fuck. The doors slid open and they walked out, again their steps in time.

'This is a lot, isn't it?' Arthur said as they went down the steps, shoes crunching a little against the gathered snow. It had stopped snowing now, but the silence in the air made him think it would start up again soon. Merlin nodded little distractedly. Part of him was hyperaware of his surroundings, the snow, the painful cold, Arthur's warmth beside him. The other part was picking apart what fading meant, what it would mean if he did lose his mind. 'No matter what happens we'll fight. Whether it's the Dorocha, or Internal Affairs, or drug dealers who can murder us with magic. We'll give them all hell. Oh, I'm getting a new car, by the way.'

He pulled himself back into the present with the sudden shift. 'You are?'

'Mhm. Haven't decided on whether it should be a Maclaren 750S or a Tesla 3.'

Merlin laughed. He'd almost forgotten that Arthur was stupidly rich and the sole benefactor of the Pendragon estate Uther had built. 'They're very different.'

'Which is why I haven't decided,' Arthur said with a genuinely frustrated frown. It was such a ridiculous, adorable, and handsome expression. 'But back to the point, we won't give up.'

Merlin's smile stretched further and he folded his arms against the cold, trying to reconcile how he felt happy and beneath that so horrible, and further inside happy again because he was with Arthur. They were together. Really, properly, together. Why couldn't he just feel one emotion at a time? He glanced up and wished he could see the stars like he could in childhood and camping back in Camelot.

Emrys.

Voices blew against his left ear and he looked down the bright halogen lamp-lit street. Quiet. There were a few other people walking around, but the lateness and snow had pushed most back inside. Then he saw the bodies. Faceless, legless, drifting in and out of view behind parked cars and motorbikes.

'What is it?'

Adrenaline thumped lazily, hotly, through his blood.

'Merlin?'

He walked after them, their forms only visible by the way they caught the light and emanated a strange dull grey-white glow. He heard Arthur follow him and held his hand out to press him back against his chest, keeping an eye on where they were heading.

'I'll meet you there,' Merlin murmured.

'Do you even know which hospital?'

Merlin shook his head and carried on walking toward them. No one else could apparently see them. 'Text me the address.'

'Merlin, what's going on?' Arthur pressed and walked by his side. 'I told you I wasn't going to leave you alone.'

'Fine, but stay back, okay? It's Dorocha,' he explained, his voice dipping into a rough whisper.

Arthur's frown cut into his face, darker with the shadows, as he looked ahead into the street. 'Where?'

Merlin followed his gaze, saw how he didn't fix it on the shapes moving. 'That fact you can't see them is a bad sign.'

'What,' Arthur looked back to him, a step closer, 'A bad sign that you're imagining it?'

That hurt. 'No. It means this is probably a trap.'

'And we're walking into it?'

'I'm walking into it with magic and we can't exactly ignore them.'

'Magic which hasn't been working lately.'

Merlin sighed and ignored the comment. It was true, but what could he do? Let them leave and kill someone, or several people? Let them taunt him like the Cailleach had? If she had . . .

Once he'd gotten within twenty feet of them he slowed, stayed low, and kept to the shadows, pulling Arthur with him. He pressed his finger to his lips and looked at Arthur, who pressed his lips together with an annoyed frown but nodded.

The Dorocha weren't acting like they used to, that was for certain. Three of them, moving down the road at a gentle pace one moment, abrupt and staggered the next. They weren't entering the buildings. When they came to a small stone monument they swept around to the left and slipped into the Whitehall gardens. Merlin dashed towards the wrought iron fence, ducked down low, and crept along until he could peer into the dark space between the twisting tree trunks and bushes.

There was another street light half way down the road but its orange glow dimmed and grew unsteadily until it blinked out entirely with the ones behind them. Darkness swallowed up the road.

Emrys.

He clenched his teeth against the shivering and vaulted over the fence. Arthur swore lowly behind him as he followed. His feet landed with a soft crush of snow and twigs. He couldn't see them anymore, but their voices had called out from the shadows, unnatural and too heavy.

'You called,' he said and walked towards them, out from the border of trees and bushes onto the path which circled around a tall stone and bronze statue which loomed up black and strange in the night. It took everything not to run away. He clenched his fists as the magic dripped down inside his arms and pooled in his chest around his thumping heart. It burned beneath his cold skin.

There was no reply. He was hidden in the darkness now as well with all the lights in the garden blown out. It pressed in around him as open space and the public area felt useless as protection. The gardens were locked up, no one would be able to see them, no one would think to check. It was darker and colder than anything he'd experienced. His heart stuttered at the similarity to the Labyrinth. Labyrinth? He let the memory grow and settle like ash from a long dead fire blown in by wind. It scattered itself through his mind as he circled around the stone further.

They were there. He thought he could hear what sounded like breaths. Faint, low, the rhythmic movement of air.

'Where is the tear?' he asked and stopped his approach six or so feet from the looming blackness. Arthur moved close behind him. His presence made Merlin's heart ache. This was dangerous. Really dangerous. 'The rift between our worlds. Tell me where it is.'

You want to return?

Their voices mixed and undulated in pitch like harsh whispers in the dark. Return where?

'Where is the tear?' he asked in a harsh, low voice.

Why, Emrys? Why tell?

'I'll hurt you if you don't.'

He heard what he assumed was laughter. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and goosebumps run down over his skin. Merlin closed his hand into a fist until he felt the ring, the connection. He knew Arthur was behind him, but for some reason he couldn't feel it.

We aren't living, Emrys. You cannot harm us.

He swallowed thickly and heard Arthur move closer. He bore his stare into the creatures. They'd led him here. Why?

'Tell me where the rift is.'

Can't you feel it?

Their voices hissed out high then low into breath. It spilled across his face with an otherwise still and motionless wind. He flinched back when they pulled themselves out from the heavy shadow. Two whipped up and down behind him. His heart hit him hard inside his chest. Bad sign. Danger. Run.

Each beat had a new weight, an urgency. The air seemed thinner, the gardens smaller with the trees and statue and fence all pushing in against him. Merlin glanced back and forth between the one that remained by the thick darkness and the other two who were now directly behind Arthur who didn't know. He hadn't reacted at all to them, but Merlin's looks had told him enough.

Their breaths puffed out white against the shadow. It was the same colour and substance of the Dorocha's strange forms. Fear rolled through him again. It started light on his skin, a buzz, and delved deep into his chest down to his stomach where it balled and stretched out. A convulsing weight that was either hot or cold, he couldn't tell. Could they kill him? Could they kill Arthur?

'What should I feel?' he asked, his voice tight and low. Should he let them? Wait. No.

Their answer came from the one left on its own. A whisper, Merlin couldn't hear it, couldn't understand the garbled words. He blinked and its form was suddenly pressed up to him. He stared into the hollows that carved out shapes of shadow. Shadow that merged with grey wisps, a breath of a former form.

'What did you say?' he asked and heard his own voice disappear, fade into a murmur and then become nothing more than cold air. The magic lulled in his chest, arms, and fear crept through his blood in its place.

He stared into it and watched, paralysed, breaths shallow and unsteady, as it lifted a long, clawed hand, and he could see. Blue, greyish skin, dead and rotten but frozen in time, stuck in death. Fingers came forward, up to his face.

He opened his mouth to yell at Arthur, tried to shout, 'Run!', when the breath of smoke which surrounded the creature lashed out at his skin.

Merlin's breath hitched and he jerked back. Survival kicked in again, but before he could wake up fully, shrug off the fear, the claw was around his mouth. It dug in, pressed beneath his skin cold and sharp, smothered him. Any noise he could make was cut off as it brought his head to the ground with an ugly crack, the cold branching through his teeth, molars, up to his eyes and down his throat.

He grunted at the pain, arm pushed backwards in an attempt to brace the fall, but his body wasn't responding fast enough. It shoved him down further with cold pressure. The other two wafted above and around them, light whiffs of smoke against the starless sky and dark air. God, he knew this. His heart rampaged, revolted, everything ached.

'Merlin?' Arthur asked, the panic making his voice sharp, low, and came forward when the two others rammed into him, their dead arms clawing him down to the ground next to him. Merlin watched Arthur struggle, only a foot away, watched him bat helplessly at the air, his voice gone with only a primal growl left in his throat.

Go on and scream, Emrys. Call for help. Try and stop us.

Any strength drained from him then as the ghostly hand pressed around his mouth harder. It drew blood inside when his cheeks cut against teeth. He couldn't breathe and his head pounded with the cold as shivers locked his muscles into place. He had to stop them. Magic, why wasn't it —

End this.

Its face drew closer at the others' hiss and he felt the Dorocha inside his head again. Without a voice. It was there in memories. Memories that weren't his. Echoes of conversations, smouldered and broken images of countryside trails, paths through cloud-topped mountains, around lakes, small isolated towns from thousands of years before. People long dead.

He struggled for a while, tugged and hit, but his weakened strikes moved through the air and found nothing solid. They were doing something to his strength, his fear, his magic, that part which wanted to fade away, which had to die, something. He almost cried when he heard Arthur make pained moaning sounds next to him.

It held him down harder and a part of him made it hurt to try and fight. Give in and diminish. Eventually he stopped as his lungs burned, as his head punished him with the acute comprehension of a coldness and pain he hadn't experienced ever before. Not when Aredian had hunted him, not when he fell from the cliff, not the bullet, not the knife. This was different. It was darker.

Kilgharrah's words dripped down through the cold. You don't have to die.

The ground was hard and icy beneath him and his vision started fail. Shadows grew around and reached towards him. The Dorocha's fingers, hand, arm, face, were all large and too close. It blocked the world with a body of faint breath, a ghost of a human being, and soon it began to turn dark as well.

You will never be alone. Promise to stay with me.

Merlin wanted to say his name. Arthur. He was dying. Were they both dying? He couldn't hear him anymore. He was right there, he'd seen him a second, before, close enough to touch if only he could move. He couldn't move his eyes to see him anymore. Arthur was next to him, wasn't he? Merlin was fading and he couldn't hear him anymore. His eyes watered as the pounding in his head grew. Thinking was difficult. Slow. The pain was in his chest, muscles, lungs, and there was pressure. Something cold around his heart which squeezed and burned like the snow.

It felt different. Then, it felt like nothing.

How much time passed he didn't know. Eventually the soft thin glow of the Dorocha spread until the bluish light darkened and bled into him. Until everything was pinched away by that dark light.

(Sorry for the wait and thank you for bearing with! xx

Playlist for Starless:

Dream by Bishop Briggs

Together Or Apart by Lissie

War of Hearts (Acoustic Version) by Ruelle

Be Somebody by Kings of Leon

St Jude by Florence + The Machine

The Mole by Hans Zimmer

Ancient Light by Allman Brown)