Another two chapters at once – radical! I also had to re-upload chapters 14 and 15 for editing reasons, so apologies for any confusion!

Please do leave a review if you are enjoying the story. I'm a terrible replier but I read every word and it means so much to me if people say hello!

I do not own Merlin, all rights belong to the BBC.

Chapter 16

It was a surreal feeling to open his eyes and find himself in his old room, waking with the dawn as if nothing had happened; as though it were just another, normal day.

Merlin groans as he moves from the bed, every fibre of his body aching with the effort. He feels drained, his clothes sticking to his skin which is still damp from fever dreams. He can feel the tight tug of bandages around his wounds and the tell-tale smell of yarrow – definitely Gaius' handiwork. Flexing his injured arm carefully the warlock tests out the pain, which is already improved from the steady throbbing of infection that has plagued him in the past weeks. Gaius' medicine is already proving effective.

With the physician in mind the warlock opens the small door into the main chambers, shuffling slowly towards the desk where the old man is pouring over a large book. His eyes look tired, face drawn.

Looking up at his ward Gaius is admonishing. "you should be resting", he says. Merlin lowers himself into the opposite chair gingerly, sighing. "I'm fine" he replies dimly, his head is pounding.

The exaggerated raising of the older man's brow signals his displeasure. "Merlin" he begins "You are covered in injuries from head to toe. I could scarcely find a part of you that wasn't bruised. Not to mention you have severely drained your magical core. You need to rest!"

Flashes of nightmares run through the warlock's mind at his mentor's words. There is no peace for him in sleep, at the moment. He opens his mouth to say as much when a soft snore reaches him from across the room. Merlin's eyes glance warily over at the prone figure of the king in the corner, stretched out on a palate by the fire. Despite all that has happened between them, the warlock cannot help the rush of relief within him at the sight of the king safe and cared for.

"How is he?" he murmurs to Gaius, eyes never leaving the sleeping blonde.

"He is well" Gaius replies, watching Merlin carefully. "Not even a scratch".

Merlin slumps back in his chair, eased by the physician's words. A wave of exhaustion hits him, and his hands come up to rub at his tired eyes.

"Merlin" Gaius starts again. The warlock can hear the gentle warning in the older man's voice, and knows that whatever will follow will involve marching the younger man back to his bed. Before the physician can continue, however, he interjects.

"How long until he wakes?"

Gaius pauses, considering. "Not long" he replies. "A few more hours, maybe longer".

Merlin nods, thinking. Only a few hours – he cannot stay.

"Then there is no time to rest" he states, meeting his mentor's eyes. "We both know that I must be gone before then, Gaius. It's not safe."

The warlock can see the conflict in the older man's eyes at his words. A rush of affection pours through him for his mentor. He knows the wrench that it will be to leave him again – for both of them. But staying and putting him in harm's way is too much of a risk to take.

He says as much to Gaius, trying to keep his face stoic and resolved. Inside, all the young warlock wants is to fold into his father-figure's arms and hide.

Sorrow falls over Gaius' face. "My boy" he starts, "I know what it is that you fear; I have feared it for myself - and for you every day since you arrived in this kingdom." A wrinkled hand reaches over the table to grasp one of Merlin's tightly. "But that fear has never been as strong as it was since Arthur took over the throne from Uther. He is not the man that his father was, Merlin. I truly believe that with the right guidance and patience that he may grow to become a better one than any of us imagined. He cares for you, my boy, that must count for something!"

Memories of Arthur's face flash through Merlin's mind at the older man's words. Of his horror and anger and seeing who the warlock truly was. He was disgusted. Even now he can feel the ghost of the king's fingers around his throat.

..."Will you leave me here to die?"

"That would be no more than you deserve"...

He swallows thickly, eyes closing briefly, head shaking from side to side bitterly.

"No, Gaius" he replies, voice choked. "You didn't see…." The warlock takes a breath to compose himself. "Arthur was disgusted, appalled. So angry. I have never seen him that angry, Gaius. I'm not sure that anything would be able to cure that anger. I have to go".

The room is quiet and still, shadows dancing in the firelight. A single tear rolls down Merlin's face silently. He feels so hollow, almost brittle; as though he might fall apart at any moment. His eyes close as he works to compose himself, his head still pounding with exhaustion. A warm hand lands firmly on his shoulder, and the warlock allows himself to be pulled up and into Gaius' embrace. The older man's arms wrap around him tightly, and Merlin finally allows himself to break. All stoic walls crumble as pale hands clutch back desperately, the young man finally taking the comfort that he has been craving these past weeks. For this moment, he is safe. He is home.

He can feel more than hear Gaius' rumbling voice humming through him. It is gentle and soothing, a warm hand holding him steady at the nape of his neck. Merlin isn't sure how long they stand there, but finally they part, and Gaius deposits him gently back into his chair. A hand pats his head once, affectionately, before the physician moves to the fire behind them. Moments later a hot cup of their favourite tea is placed in his hands. Merlin cups it closely, enjoying the warmth seeping through the smooth clay.

Without speaking, Gaius opens a drawer in his desk and places an item in the middle of the table. Merlin stills. It's the dagger, small and unassuming save for the dangerous glinting of the rubies in its hilt. Gaius leans back and taps the open book that he had been reading.

"I did some research whilst you slept" he begins, "I had some suspicions of course, but I needed to see if they were right"

Merlin's curiosity is piqued. He can feel the echoes of yesterday's pain in his bones, the core of his magic shuddering at his proximity to the knife.

"And?" He asks, unsure of what Gaius might have found. The dagger is cursed, that much is certain, but the apprehensive look on the physician's face was making dread curl in his gut.

"It is a curse, as we thought" the older man continues. "a very ancient and powerful one. I have heard of its use in older times, but have never come across it in all of my years."

Turning the heavy tome so that it is readable to the warlock's eyes, Merlin can see the bold title of 'Blood Curses' at the top of the page.

Gaius continues. "It is a curse that was used amongst the dark magic wielders during the golden age. Back when dragons were more than just myth, and magic was seen as a gift to be harnessed by all people. Though most used their magic for good, there were those who wished to claim all of the power for their own, and use it to rule. When the magical wars began to break out, this curse", wrinkled fingers brush across the page to a passage of text at the bottom, "was one of the cruelest spells that they created"

Squinting tired eyes, Merlin leans forward to read where Gaius had indicated.

"The sword of blood", the warlock translates the runic script, looking up at Gaius inquisitively. The physician nods sagely.

"It was designed to ensure that a sorcerer's enemies could not harm them. By channeling this curse, a foe's magic would no longer work against the caster."

The physician continues to explain, "It uses the enemy's blood, bound to another item". He picks up the dagger, turning it in his hand as he inspects it. "The items were usually small. For example; a jewel. The curse turns the blood into a weapon, lethal against the one from whom the blood was taken".

The young warlock looks to his hand, now wrapped in bandages. Beneath he can feel the sting of the burns seared into him by the rubies. "'A sword of blood'. That's why I cannot touch the knife?" He asks.

Gaius nods solemnly. "But there is more" he says, leaning back in his chair wearily as he regards his ward. "Blood spells are deep and complex, drawing their power from the magic inherent in the blood of the sorcerer used. The more powerful the sorcerer, the more powerful the blood; and the more powerful the curse will be."

The dread Merlin feels is growing stronger, a solid ball of it sitting heavy in his chest.

Gaius continues to explain. "For the person from whom the blood was taken, these items would not only cause harm from touch, but would be resistant to any magic cast by that person in an effort to damage or destroy them. Not only this, but the items would cast back any magic directed at them in the form of a blood torture spell. As the curse is formed from blood, so too can it attack the same blood that it is created from."

Gaius watches Merlin closely as he speaks. "You felt pain when you tried to remove the knife from Arthur, and when you tried to heal him, yes?"

Merlin nods mutely. Unanswered questions becoming clearer in his mind from Gaius' revelation.

The warlock clears his throat. "So, these jewels are cursed with my blood?" He gestures to the dagger in the physician's hands.

Gaius nods "They are undoubtedly" he confirms, "The red light that they glow comes from the power of your blood. That is why they react more strongly when you are close".

Merlin absorbs the new information quietly, mind working over the events of the day before. He frowns as a thought hits him.

"But I couldn't help Gwaine, either" he says, eyes lost in thought "when I tried to heal him I felt the same pain. "

And at Ealdor - the fires…

"Ah" Gaius replies, knowingly. "Therein lies another clever detail of the curse. I mentioned that the items used were often small. This was to make them portable; wearable even. So long as a person was holding the item on their person it would enhance their magic, making it invulnerable to the spells of the one from whom the blood was taken. During times of war, dark sorcerers and sorceresses would collect these items, imbuing them with enemy blood and inlaying them into their weapons or jewelry. The most cunning and powerful form of shield."

Merlin is cold as he listens to Gaius speak, stark realisation dawning on him.

"So if Morgana is wearing one of these items. My magic will not work against her, or any damage that her magic causes?" he asks.

"Yes" Gaius replies. "And what's more, any magic that you attempt to cast against her would cause you immeasurable pain. The power of her curse comes from your blood – draws itself from your blood. It would be as though you were fighting your own power; your magic cast against itself; killing it. That is why is causes you such great pain, Merlin, and why your magic is so depleted. Every spell that you cast was being cast in kind by the curse, draining and destroying your magic. Weakening you."

The silence that falls between the two men is heavy as Gaius' revelation hangs in the air. Despair strikes at Merlin as he fully realises their situation. If Morgana is planning an attack, then Camelot was truly defenseless. He would be powerless to help, powerless to stop it.

Oh gods...

"I truly am without use to him then" Merlin says dejectedly, head turning back to watch Arthur across the room. Gaius is silent.

"Gaius" Merlin continues, "If what you have said is true, then Morgana has already won. I cannot stop the curse. I cannot undo what has already been done. She wants me dead, and she will succeed."

The warlock stands agitatedly, his untouched tea spilling as he absent-mindedly places it on the desk. A dark thought strikes him and he turns to Gaius.

"Can she use the curse to control me?" he asks, desperately searching the physician's face for answers. "Can she force me to hurt Camelot, hurt its people?"

The people that I love...

"No" Gaius replies firmly, standing and walking over to his ward. The old man grasps his arm firmly, reassuringly. "This curse is designed to hurt you, and only you. Morgana fears the name of Emrys above all else. He is her biggest threat, and destined to be her doom".

Merlin nods, relieved at this sliver of good news. Suddenly the war ahead of them seems impossibly larger; a wave that he is no longer able to stand against and help to fight. He has never felt so impotent. To stand against Morgana now would be like marching into battle with no armour and no sword. Nothing to protect against her power.

"The jewels" Merlin says, as he thinks. "Can they be destroyed? Is there no counter spell in the book?"

Gaius shakes his head solemnly, "Not that I can find". The physician sighs heavily, "as I said, this is old magic; so ancient that it is almost forgotten. My knowledge comes solely from the old spell books I was able to keep after the ban on magic. Beyond them my boy I'm afraid that I, too, am unable to help".

Gaius steps away from his ward and moves to stand in front of the fire, tired eyes reflecting the flames as they dance in the hearth.

In the firelight Merlin can see every line in his mentor's face; every day of life lived. Gaius suddenly seems old – older than he had been before, weighed down by his burdens and aged by his knowledge. The warlock moves to stand behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Gaius?" he calls gently, finding himself unsure of what to do. Gaius always seems so strong, so permanent. Merlin has never had to be the one to heal; not as Gaius does. The old physician is more than just a healer, he is a mentor – a guide. His wisdom appears to be infinite. Merlin has never had to face a problem that Gaius could not help him solve. The events of the past weeks have been so overwhelming that the younger man finds his head spinning, unable to think of what he can say.

Gaius inhales deeply, lost in thought. He turns to Merlin. "There are some, who might be able to help" he murmurs quietly, "but it will be dangerous to find them, and there is no guarantee that they will have the answers that we seek".

Merlin nods gently, a kernel of hope blooming in his chest. They have faced impossible odds before, and they can do it again. If there is a chance of beating Morgana, then he has to take it.

The warlock is resolute as he moves to sit back at Gaius' desk, waiting for the older man to follow. Picking up his abandoned tea he sits back into the chair, face determined.

"Tell me".

Arthur is floating, body and mind weightless as he hovers in the darkness. He is not afraid; it is warm and quiet. Safe. Soft orange light flickers around him as he drifts, muffled voices filtering through his awareness but always slipping away, like a gentle stream.

He remembers Morgana - the attack. His fear at knowing that he was about to die. Perhaps that was where he was now; in the beyond. Floating in the womb of the next world, waiting to be re-born. He can remember his last thoughts before he fell. They had been of Merlin. The concern he had felt at knowing that he was leaving him, for not getting to say goodbye. How desperate he had felt in that moment, to make amends. To get to hold the other man to him once more; to feel his warmth and drink him in. One last time.

Something in the light shifts around him, and as if on cue Merlin is suddenly there in front of him, all long limbs and messy hair.

"Arthur.." the servant's voice washes over him quietly.

"Merlin", the king speaks back, voice awed. His eyes scan the other man keenly, committing him to memory. "Where are we?"

The Merlin before him does not answer straight away. His eyes are distant, seeming to look straight past Arthur, as though he were not there.

"Merlin?" Arthur calls again, trying to move towards the other man. His legs are stuck, and try as he might he cannot move from his position. Stretching out a hand the king tries to reach the other man, muscles straining. "Merlin" he says, voice anxious.

"…have to go" Merlin's voice washes over him again, echoing around in the soft darkness. Distress washes over Arthur at the words. He can't go, not when they haven't been able to say anything; there's so much he wants to say.

He redoubles his efforts to reach the manservant. "No, Merlin. Please stay. Don't go, not yet."

"Want me to die…" the manservant's voice rings out again around him, bouncing off of the invisible walls of the strange space. "…cannot undo what has already been done". The sorcerer's voice is just a whisper now, the image of Merlin beginning to fade around the edges.

"Merlin?" Arthur calls again, panicking as the figure in front of him starts to disappear before his eyes. "No! Merlin, don't leave me". As the man before him vanishes Arthur finally finds the strength to move, lurching forward as fast as he can, hands outstretched. A distressed whine leaves his throat as fingers grasp at nothing but empty air. "Merlin" he whispers to the darkness, head hanging low.

The lightest murmur of a voice reaches him one final time, a whisper that brushes against his skin.

"Goodbye".