Guess who's back. Back again. Hello! A new (and long) one for you. I cannot tell you how many times I re-wrote this and how much I hated writing it. It definitely shows, but I'm giving it to you anyway – for better or for worse! Enjoy!

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

Chapter 14

Merlin's progress is slow as he makes his way through the forest with laboured steps. His injured arm hangs limply at his side, the other clutching at his painfully shifting ribs.

The humming is still calling to him, he is close. Up ahead of him there are voices; panicked, shouting. He tries to increase his pace, leaning against the trees for support as he continues his march forwards.

Suddenly all falls silent. The humming stops, cutting off like a snapped string. Merlin halts, panting softly as he listens. The forest is quiet.

Ahead he sees a clearing through the underbrush and hesitates, reluctant to move into the open. A twig snaps under his feet and the warlock tenses. Silence.

Carefully Merlin continues forwards, heart pounding nervously as he abandons his cover and steps out into the open. What he sees lances horror through his chest, and all thoughts for his own safety leave him as he moves towards the men in front of him. Not just men – knights – Camelot knights, silent and unmoving on the ground.

Merlin's eyes cast around the clearing again anxiously, looking for the source of the danger. He feels his magic cast around him protectively, but it cannot find any threats.

It is not until his eyes land on the king, however, that Merlin feels truly afraid. He is lying apart from his men, arms bound behind his back. Around his neck dark bruises are beginning to form, and from his chest rises the golden handle of a dagger, the rubies in its hilt glinting in the dim light. He is pale and eerily still.

Merlin stares at the man before him numbly, the emotions coursing through him so great and so conflicting that he crumbles to his knees, hands shaking.

He can feel the ball of resentment in his chest hardening, solidifying into the burning anger that has been his only companion over these past weeks of fear and anguish and pain.

Leave him, it whispers. After all he abandoned you, left you…hates you…

But Merlin does not move. His blue eyes move over the king's face; the face of his greatest friend and now most devastating enemy, and the fire of his anger does not consume him. Instead, it is being swept away, brushed aside by waves of fear; by panic, concern, grief…. and love. It's a love so fierce and bitter; so dangerous, that Merlin can hardly breathe past it.

He cannot be dead.

The warlock's heart pounds in his chest, blue eyes shining with unshed tears. He gasps out a sob as his hands reach out to touch his king, fingers fumbling at the bruised neck, desperate to find a heartbeat there.

"Arthur?"

The thrum of a weak pulse beneath his hands is like oxygen to the manservant's failing lungs, and he drags in shaking gasps of relief at finding his king alive.

"Oh gods" he breathes, bending down to touch his forehead to Arthur's, finding comfort in the anchor point between them. Merlin can feel the king's own shallow breaths brushing against his cheek, and for the smallest moment there is peace between them.

The warlock snaps back up, eyes taking in the extent of the injuries. Though the bruising on Arthur's neck is severe, the king's soft breathing is proof that there will be no lasting damage. It is instead the glinting hilt of the knife, vulgar and conspicuous against the silver of the Camelot armour, which the warlock turns his attention to. He tries to focus on this, rather than the steady trail of crimson snaking its way from beneath the king's breastplate and into the forest floor.

There is no doubt that magic was used here, for such a weapon to be able to pierce through armour like this. He can sense traces of it still on the knife, fading gradually like breath on a windowpane. Merlin bristles at the thought of another sorcerer causing harm to the king.

Or sorceress, his mind supplies, Morgana's green eyes flashing through his thoughts. There is no one else who would rejoice at the King's death more.

He can feel his own magic stirring inside him in response to his anger. He lets it surface, pointing his palms down towards Arthur and channeling his energy. His eyes flash gold, but Arthur does not stir. His bruises have not faded.

The warlock frowns in confusion, had the magic not taken? He had felt it draw from him with the spell. He shakes his head as if to clear it, feeling the world spin slightly; perhaps after recent weeks he was weaker than he thought.

Taking a deep breath he reaches back into his core and directs his magic once again at his king, the ancient words rushing forcefully from his mouth. His eyes flare gold, but Arthur does not wake. There is a beat of silence, before Merlin feels a searing pain ripple through his chest, just to the right of his heart. It leaves him winded and doubled over, head resting on the king's shoulder.

Still Arthur does not move; his injuries unchanged. The dagger remains embedded in the king's chest, rubies sparkling brightly as if to mock the young warlock.

Panic begins to take seed in Merlin's stomach, remembering his powerlessness to help at Ealdor. Groaning he forces himself back onto his knees, his thin frame trembling from the exertion. There is no time, he must save Arthur. Think logically.

The knife must be enchanted… the servant thinks to himself…. Remove it.

Leaning forwards purposefully he grabs the hilt of the dagger, only to recoil screaming in pain. He clutches at his hand, sobs of agony ripping from his throat. Emblazoned into his palm are three red welts, the skin hissing and spitting quietly as though burned by a poker. Feebly the warlock casts a water spell at his hand, trying in vain to stop the fire exploding up his arm. But it is no use, he never had been good at healing his own wounds.

The warlock kneels there wretchedly, battling through the pain and bringing his breathing back under control. Merlin returns his gaze to the knife, seeing that the fresh marks on his hand mirror the three glowing rubies encrusted in its hilt. The more that the warlock stares at the jewels the more he sees just how they unnatural they truly look, glittering and glistening even without any light to catch them; almost as though they were alive.

Cursed... Merlin's mind whispers to him, the panic fully taking root as he realises that he won't be able to help Arthur until he can destroy the knife. The same knife that just seared holes into his hand.

Determination grips him. Despite the pain that may come, he has to try. Merlin channels into his magic again, drawing deep into the earth for his power like a tree burrowing its roots. Perhaps if he can dig deep enough it will overcome whatever enchantment has been used. The air bends around him and his injured hand burns as magic flies from his fingertips. He barely draws breath before the pain hits, lancing violently through his thin frame. Merlin screams hoarsely, biting down on his fist desperately as the agony rocks through him.

Long moments pass, the only sounds in the dim clearing those of the manservant's harsh panting as he battles through the pain. Head still bowed to the floor he reaches out a trembling hand to the king's throat, feeling for the weak pulse.

Please, Arthur, hold on. Keep breathing.

Gwaine is drifting in a haze, mind unfocused and grasping at sounds and knowledge he can't quite reach. It isn't until pain reaches him, fierce and throbbing, that he begins to surface back to awareness.

It's silent, save for the birds calling and the soft breeze in the canopy above him. The knight can smell the damp air and soil, aches of agony rolling through his body as he establishes his current position on the floor. Limbs sprawled out around him, his leg twisted grotesquely. He moans brokenly at seeing the glistening bone spearing through the skin of his shin. He knows how this will cripple him. Many men have died from less.

It isn't until he tries to pull himself up into a seated position that he then realises the numbness in his arm, and the odd level of his shoulder.

Gods that hurts...

Slumping back against a tree behind him Gwaine blinks fiercely, breathing heavily through the discomfort as he tries to recall how he came to be there.

It's only moments before he starts in panic, remembering. All other thoughts vanish as the knight's mind is consumed by concern for his king, head swinging around to locate him in the clearing through the trees. He can see the red and silver of his brothers-in-arms, still unmoving on the floor….and there, his king, with Merlin by his side.

Merlin?!...

Blinking through hazy eyes Gwaine looks again. It is Merlin, his head bowed low next to Arthur, a pale hand on the King's neck. Gwaine would recognise his friend anywhere, even from this vantage and injured as he was. The servant's long fingers begin to creep up to the King's face, moving to push gently into golden hair. Thin shoulders shudder harshly, and a quiet sob reaches Gwaine's ears.

Dread squeezes his lungs. Was Arthur dead? The knight pulls in a breath and calls out as loudly as he can.

"Merlin!"

The servant freezes, head tilting up to reveal wary eyes behind a raven fringe. They meet Gwaine's and hold his gaze. The knight sees, rather than hears Merlin mouthing his name softly.

"Merlin" The knight tries again. "It's Gwaine". Agitated for news of his king, Gwaine's eyes move down to the prone body of Arthur. He swallows thickly. "Is he dead?".

He holds his breath as he watches Merlin's eyes follow his own to the body below him. Something desperate crosses the boy's face. The raven head shakes slowly.

"Alive" is croaked back to him, and the knight huffs out a wave of relief, his body slipping further down the tree trunk as he slumps. The movement puts pressure on his leg, and Gwaine cries out, hand moving to grip at his thigh uselessly, ears ringing.

Before the knight can process it happening, a thin hand is covering his own and squeezing tightly. Glancing up, Gwaine fully takes in his friend's face for the first time in weeks. Gaunt, dirty and disheveled, but definitely him.

"Merlin" he breathes, his own hand gripping back as if to convince himself that his friend is really there. He is here, the knight can feel him. He smiles crookedly. A tiny crack of a replying smile creeps onto the side of the servant's face as he regards Gwaine.

It's the first time that Merlin has heard his name in weeks, a small spark of joy flickering through him at seeing his friend again. Gwaine's eyes are regarding him closely, tight with pain but alert, and thick with concern.

"Gwaine" he croaks back to the knight, "long time no see". Gesturing his head at the state of the knight's injuries the servant continues "still getting into trouble I see".

Gwaine huffs out a bark of laughter. "Well, you know me" he replies, wincing. "Anyway, this is nothing, you should have seen me last week". The knight groans as another wave of pain lances through his leg, head falling back against the tree.

"Stay still" the warlock soothes as he moves to examine the broken leg. "What happened?"

Gwaine's face steels as he spits out his reply. "Morgana". A pause, "I couldn't stop her"

Merlin's heart sinks into his stomach at the mention of Morgana. Of course this was her doing, and Merlin hadn't been here to stop it. Guilt and regret surge through him at the thought.

I shouldn't have strayed so far...

He reaches out a shaking hand to grasp his friend's. "This is not your fault, Gwaine"

It's mine...

Gwaine is frowning as he watches the warlock. "Merlin" he murmurs again. "Merlin are you… what are you… where have you b…"

"Shhh" Panic floods the warlock as he cuts off the knight. He cannot face his questioning, not now. Not when everything is still so raw. Not while Arthur is…

Oh gods.

"We need to get you out of here." He says to Gwaine, trembling hands hovering over the knight's wounds. He hesitates, fear lancing through him as he contemplates his options, mind still foggy from the aftershocks of the earlier pain. If he can heal Gwaine then together they can try and help Arthur. Arthur needs help. Merlin needs help, he can't do this alone. Gwaine is his friend. More importantly, Arthur is Gwaine's king, and Merlin knows that he would do anything to keep his king alive, even if that meant keeping him alive hand-in-hand with a sorcerer.

Taking a shuddering breath Merlin resolves himself to his decision. "I'm going to try something" he tells Gwaine, glancing up at him nervously.

"What do you mean?" the knight replies warily. Merlin doesn't answer him, he just draws himself up slightly higher to perch on his knees. He looks at Gwaine searchingly, anxiousness and hope pumping through him as he regards his friend.

"Please. Do not hate me" he whispers, as he feels his magic rushing forward to greet him. His eyes flash, and barely a moment passes before the corresponding agony once again courses through the warlock. Screaming Merlin falls onto his side, landing on his bad arm as he shakes through the waves of pain.

What is happening? What is this magic?... Distantly he can hear Gwaine calling his name and a warm hand shaking him.

"-lin! Merlin! Gods Merlin what did you do? Merlin!"

The warlock pants softly as awareness creeps back in. His injured arm is throbbing insistently, and he can feel the familiar warmth of blood as it begins to trickle its way beneath his tunic.

Hopeless... his mind whispers, despair rocking through him at the realisation that his magic has failed again. He cannot help them. He cannot help the people that he loves. What is the point of him if he cannot even save them? What destiny can this possibly be?

"I can't" he moans, tears stinging at his eyes, blue orbs wild and despairing. "I can't" he repeats, stumbling up and retching weakly behind a tree.

"Merlin?" Gwaine calls again, voice bewildered. Merlin feels like he wants to scream.

"I'm sorry Gwaine" he mutters, voice slurring, "I can't, it won't work. The dagger, I…what can I do? Why won't it work? I need help, I don't know… Gaius would know, I need Gaius I…."

Gaius

The warlock swallows thickly, the taste of bile bitter and acrid on his tongue. He can feel Gwaine watching him carefully, eyes confused.

"Gaius" the manservant murmurs, his listless face lighting with a new purpose. "We need Gaius". Staggering back into the clearing Merlin makes his way over to the still-unconscious knights. Gwaine can only look on anxiously.

Merlin can hear Gwaine calling after him, but he ignores it. There is no time to explain, if this can work then Arthur can be saved. Arthur can live.

Please, please, please...

With renewed strength the warlock calls on his magic, hand reaching out to cast a simple spell. He almost collapses with relief when he opens his eyes to see Leon hovering in front of him, red cape draping along the forest floor and head lolling backwards limply.

"Good" the manservant mutters to himself, "that one's still working"

"Merlin!" Gwaine continues to call from the shadows. Returning the knight to the floor, Merlin makes his way back to his friend. He stumbles as he reaches the familiar figure, grasping onto the trees for support, head pounding.

"I can do it, Gwaine" Merlin says feverishly, blue eyes meeting brown with certainty, a fire of resolve flaring in them. He raises his hand towards his friend, the red welts on his palm glistening. "I have to do it."

"Merlin?" The knight is watching the man before him searchingly.

"I can't heal" the warlock continues to mutter distractedly, "but I can try and get you to someone who can. Gaius – we need Gaius"

Stretching his arm back out the servant's eyes glow gold, and the knight gasps as he feels his body rising from the earth and moving back out into the clearing.

Merlin ignores Gwaine's alarm as he moves him from the trees, laying him down gently to lie with the other knights. Slowly the warlock begins to move the men together, ensuring each is touching the other; a chain of limbs and armour.

He stumbles unsteadily as his weakened magic drains from the exertion. He blinks to clear his vision. He can feel Gwaine's eyes on him, but turns away back towards his king. He isn't done yet.

My Arthur... his clouded mind supplies. Collapsing onto the floor next to the wounded figure Merlin's fingers creep out to grasp the king's face gently.

"I'm sorry I left you" the manservant whispers gently. "But it's going to be alright, Arthur, I promise".

The warlock pants in exhaustion as he moves the king ever-so-gently to lie by his men, kneeling one final time in the clearing and closing his eyes as he summons the strength for the final step of his plan. His head hangs weakly as he gathers the last tendrils of his magic around him, feeling it humming into his fingertips. Below him Arthur stirs in pain, eyes flickering.

"Gwaine" Merlin calls softly, head rolling back up to meet the apprehensive stare of his friend. The warlock slowly reaches out a shaking hand, his magic surging within him.

"Hold on!"

With a final lurch Merlin clutches onto the knight, flinging his body over the king. The wind roars around them as his magic bends to his will, soaking into him from the earth.

Merlin screams.

The men vanish.

The trees still as the clearing is left empty and silent once more, their damp leaves fluttering slowly to the floor. Out in the distance the bells of Camelot begin to ring.