Double trouble, might as well make it a proper come-back!

I do not own Merlin. All rights and ideas belong to the BBC.

Chapter 13

Merlin wakes with a start, yelling sharply as the remnants of his dream linger around him.

The press of heavy fingertips at his neck.

Close by a pheasant startles, its panicked cries echoing through the dull morning as it flaps into the canopy.

The warlock blinks, suddenly alert and looking about warily. His small camp was silent, safe. The fire had died out in the night, the remnants still smoking gently into the morning sky. Merlin starts towards it anxiously, summoning water to douse the remaining embers.

"Stupid" he murmurs to himself, only too aware of how visible he will now be. He hisses in pain as the wound on his arm pulls tenderly. Wearily he plants himself back on the floor, groaning gently. He is tired, the constant ache of his wounds an exhaustion. He never had been good at healing his own injuries, it was like his magic was fighting itself. Gaius had always been there to help him in the past…

Merlin's head drops at the thought of his mentor, of Camelot and his friends. He had always felt separate, solitary in his gifts, in his secrecy. But he has never felt truly alone, not until this moment.

The manservant sits silently in his meagre camp, mind lost to his memories. He stares blankly at the ashes of the fire, the time passing now meaningless to him. He has no home, nowhere to be. No purpose.

The stillness is broken as distant yells sound through the trees. Merlin's head snaps up sharply, blue eyes re-focusing to the world around him. His skin itches as his magic begins to pulse in his chest, speaking to him.

Sorcery.

Merlin can feel it pulling at the earth, the energy of it floating in the air, the scent of it.

Someone is using magic. Powerful magic.

Rising to his feet Merlin stows his pack where it won't be found, his eyes flashing gold as he erases any signs of his home for the night. He turns towards the source of the power as it hums through the air, and unsteadily begins to make his way through the trees.

Gwaine barely had time to process what was happening before he felt his arms bound tightly by the sorceress' ropes, his shoulders screaming at being wrenched into such an unnatural position. Still he continued to struggle, the last thing he saw being Arthur dragged towards his sister across the floor, before all went dark.

When he wakes his eyes open to the forest canopy above him, the dull light filtering through the leaves. His mind is sluggish and unfocused, the noises around him gradually creeping back into his awareness. He can hear raised voices; a woman hissing and shouting.

Morgana... - Arthur!

Gwaine turns his head to view the scene in front of him, stilling when he sees his king bound at the sorceress' feet, a thin line of blood snaking its way down his neck.

The knight blinks, trying to clear his mind to the danger. He can feel another body brushing against his, and spots of Camelot red in his periphery – his comrades, all silent and still. Arthur is alone, and without protection. Gwaine feels duty swell in his chest as he prepares himself to move to his friend's aid. Even bound and defenceless as he is, he will give all that he can to save his king. He tries to move his limbs, but they do not obey him. His body is slow and heavy, as though weighed down by rocks. He struggles against the enchantment determinedly.

His movements have not been noticed by the pair in front of him, and they continue their dialogue unaware of their audience.

"You want him dead..."

Gwaine's breath stills in his chest as he listens to the siblings confront each other.

Awareness dims for a moment, and suddenly Arthur is choking, his body straining up and off of the ground as though pulled by an invisible force. Gwaine panics, watching his King struggle against the magic. Arthur must not die. He tenses as he tries to move his body to fight, but he cannot move. It's as though his legs are pinned to the floor. The knight almost growls with frustration at his powerlessness, and can only watch as Morgana approaches his king, words hissing from her mouth like a viper.

"It was you who turned him against me! His love of you - his loyalty. He has denied what he truly is; abandoned his people, his friends. All for the sake of his mighty king."

Gwaine's curiosity piques as the sorceress continues to speak, her green eyes flashing with ire as she takes in her brother before her.

"If you knew even half of what he was capable of. If you knew what he has done to protect you; even protect our father and all of his cruelty. Do you have any idea what he has lost? What he has suffered and mourned in silence and secrecy just to stay by your side?"

Arthur's struggles are beginning to weaken as he desperately tries to draw breath. Gwaine frantically urges his body to move in response. His legs twitch against the forest floor.

"I do. I have felt the same pain, suffered the same injustices. Only I had the sense to break free; to embrace what I am and use it as my weapon, my strength. But Merlin… you were his weakness, Arthur."

Gwaine's eyes snap back to the high priestess at her words.

Merlin? The knight's fogged head pounds as he tries to piece his thoughts together… Merlin... does she have him? Is he… is he dead? Ealdor….

His thoughts for Merlin are interrupted when the knight sees Morgana's dagger aim itself at Arthur's chest.

No!

With a final burst of strength Gwaine feels his legs finally bend themselves beneath him, and he screams as he launches himself towards his King.

But he is too late, and the despairing knight can only look on in horror as the blade drives itself into his king's heart.

Arthur drops to the forest floor with a sickening thud, unmoving. Gwaine's breaths pant out of him as he desperately tries to reach his king. Body crawling across the floor, his arms still bound behind him.

"Arthur. Arthur!"

To the left of him Morgana cackles gleefully. Gwaine turns to face her, snarling like a wolf protecting its cubs.

The sorceress sneers at the man below her, and with a flash of her eyes he is thrown across the wooded clearing. She smiles, satisfied, as his bones crack against the unforgiving trees.

"Pathetic" she scorns. "Camelot is mine".

With one last glance around her Morgana turns back to the forest, vanishing in a swirl of black robes and fallen leaves. They flutter gently to the ground as all around them falls silent.

Moments pass. Across the clearing a twig snaps sharply, the sound ringing through the bushes. A man limps gingerly out, his blue eyes flashing with disbelief and horror as he takes in the scene before him. His hesitant steps pick up speed as he moves towards the fallen knights, eyes darting about him cautiously as he moves into the open.

Stopping in front of the fallen king the man sinks to his knees.

A gasp chokes in his throat as he reaches out a shaking hand, fingers fluttering to find a pulse.

"Arthur?"