-XXX-
Waking was a slow process. First, he felt a tingling sensation in his fingers and toes, which then gradually spread along his limbs and towards his heart until enough feeling returned that his chest was able to expand with a much-needed breath. His lips parted gently as he drew in a lungful of warm air. He could taste its cleanliness, and his nose was bombarded with the pleasant aroma of freshly blooming flowers. Once sound began to register, he realized he could hear the delicate trickling of a creek nearby, and a soft breeze buffeted his hair. His closed eyes scrunched together in confusion; he was fairly certain he'd been in some sort of discomfort a minute ago, though he couldn't remember any details. Had he been dreaming?
Merlin blinked open heavy lids, immediately squinting against the bright sunlight that invaded his vision. He groaned, shading his face with one hand as he pushed himself into a sitting position while resting his weight on the other. It took a few seconds before the dark spots in his vision receded and he was able to discern his surroundings, but his quick scan of the area provided no answers to his questions.
He was sitting in a clearing. There was indeed a creek cutting through the tall grass, and trees bordered the entire area. The leaves were a luscious green, and flowers of all colors littered the land. The sun beat down on his skin with a gentle heat, chasing away the chills that lingered from his sleep.
Merlin frowned, wiping at a bead of sweat that rolled down his temple. He could've sworn he'd been cold. Was it really spring?
He dropped his hand with a huff, glancing around once again. His eyes narrowed as a sense of familiarity overwhelmed him, like he'd been here before, but he couldn't latch on to any memory to be sure. It didn't matter, anyway. Clearly he had bigger problems if he'd woken up alone and confused in a place he couldn't recall being in previously. The real question was how did he get here?
And where the hell was Arthur?
Usually he'd be panicking at this point, and perhaps he should be, but he strangely only felt a wave of calm settle over him. Mostly, he was curious. He pushed himself to his feet, inhaling sharply when a rush of vibrant energy shot through his system, making his skin buzz and his heart thump loudly. When he wiggled his toes and felt soft dirt, he realized he was barefoot. Not only that—his jacket and neckerchief were missing and his trousers were rolled up to mid-calf. It reminded him of the way he used to dress back when he lived in Ealdor, when he spent most of his day in a field or tending to chores around the house. His mother used to call him her little wild man, because he rarely wore shoes. He'd always preferred to be able to feel the grass and soil beneath his feet. It helped maintain his connection with the earth in the same way that was happening now.
Merlin stared down at his attire, picking at the rough material of his tunic. It wasn't as nice as the ones he usually wore. Arthur had a tendency to give him his old tunics—ones that he'd outgrown or simply grown tired of—and then pass off the kind act as charity. Merlin never called him out on it. He was afraid if he brought it up that Arthur would stop giving him the hand-me-downs just to annoy him.
As his mind once again settled on the question of where his king was, he let go of his tunic and walked forward hesitantly, spinning in a slow circle as he searched his surroundings. Each step brought with it a tiny burst of magic that flowed from the ground and up through his muscles, and he naturally gave back some of his own magic. It was a continuous cycle, and it helped keep him in tune with everything around him. He felt like an extension of the earth itself. He felt alive, more so than he ever managed inside the cold walls of the citadel.
Merlin's hand drifted over the tips of the swaying stalks of grass as he approached the creek, enjoying the sense of peace that exuded from every living thing around him. The birds chirped and flitted through the branches of the trees, and frogs croaked from their hiding spots along the water.
He'd lost himself in thought by the time he stumbled upon the sight of a man sitting on a large, flat rock on the bank of the creek. Merlin startled, his foot slipping briefly on the damp ground as he came to an abrupt halt.
The stranger had shoulder-length, unruly hair, dark except for the occasional streak of gray, and his clothing consisted of multiple layers of weathered leather and other rough-hewn fabrics of brown, black and blue. His boots were muddy and worn and had clearly seen better days. It was normal enough peasant garb, except for the fact that it was mid-spring (although Merlin was still thrown off by that observation) and this man was dressed for the wintry outdoors.
He was casually skipping rocks over the water's surface, facing away from Merlin, but his hand paused on his next throw when he registered the presence behind him, and he turned his head to look over his shoulder, a warm smile already spreading across his scruffy face.
Merlin would've thought his heart stopped if he hadn't still been standing, frozen like a deer on the other end of a crossbow.
"Father?" He whispered in shock, his eyes going wide as he took in the familiar appearance of Balinor sitting before him. The older man looked exactly as he had the day he died, except for a peacefulness in his gaze that hadn't existed previously.
Balinor's smile was soft. "Hello, son," he responded, quiet yet firm.
Merlin was already shaking his head. "Y-You're dead," he stammered, subconsciously taking a wobbly step closer, yearning to reach out and hug the man he thought he'd never see again.
Balinor seemed amused at the obvious statement. "I suppose I am." He juggled the smooth rock in his palm, glancing out over the creek before his wandering gaze landed back on Merlin.
The warlock was having trouble breathing. "What—H-How…I don't understand…" He trailed off, his voice shaking.
Balinor seemed to take pity on him, and patted the open space on the rock next to him invitingly. "Come sit. Talk with me for a while," he suggested, as if this were any sort of normal conversation.
Merlin wanted to rage and sputter and demand answers, but he wanted to enjoy this odd reprieve while it lasted even more, so he quickly complied and stumbled through the thick vegetation until he reached Balinor, plopping down next to him without ever looking away. Balinor smelled like the earth and smoke and magic, and Merlin's eyes watered with the sense memory of it all. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it.
For a few silent moments, he just looked at Balinor, taking in the fact that the man was right next to him. He tentatively reached across the short space between them, brushing the pads of his fingers against Balinor's overcoat. The texture was rough, and tears welled up in his eyes.
"Are you really here?" He whispered desperately.
The material under his touch shifted as Balinor turned his body to face him, bringing his large, calloused hand to rest on Merlin's shoulder.
"I'm always with you, son," he vowed.
Warmth spread all the way to Merlin's core, Balinor's words making him feel protected in a way he never had been growing up. He'd needed a father. He'd needed him then, and he needed him now.
He grasped Balinor's hand tightly. "I don't want you to leave again," he said, clenching his jaw with anxiety.
Balinor squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "I'm here as long as you need me."
Merlin's racing thoughts slowed down a bit at the underlying meaning that seemed to lace the words, and he finally broke Balinor's gaze in order to seriously inspect their current location, his brain working overtime as he tried to remember how he'd gotten there. His eyebrows scrunched when he came up blank.
"Where are we?" He wondered, reluctantly letting go of Balinor.
"Don't you recognize it?" His father asked, raising an amused eyebrow as he dropped his own hand, allowing it to brace his weight against the rock.
Merlin blinked in surprise, quickly cataloging everything he could see. He knew Camelot fairly well by now—at least all the pretty spots like this—but he couldn't remember this particular clearing at all.
Balinor hummed, taking his lack of response as an answer. "I used to come here with your mother," he murmured, affection seeping into his voice.
Merlin's eyes widened at the mention of his mother, while at the same time he was struck with a hazy image of splashing around in a creek with Will, laughing as they dunked each other beneath the water's surface and chased each other along the muddy bank. A soft sigh of realization escaped his lips.
"We're in Ealdor," he stated quietly. He hadn't been to this particular clearing since he was a child. It was far from the village, and after he'd glimpsed the dark green cloaks of Essetir knights on patrol, he'd never returned.
Balinor nodded. "You seem to like this place," he said, as if that explained their presence there.
Merlin frowned, rubbing his temple as a headache began to set in. Suddenly the sun felt a little too bright and the air was a little too warm.
"I shouldn't be here," he argued, dropping his hand and grabbing his knees, bunching up the loose fabric of his trousers. He didn't want to be in Ealdor. He wanted to be in Camelot, with Arthur. He was supposed to be with Arthur.
His gaze flitted around, automatically searching for his king, but instead his eyes fell upon a little flower a few feet away at the edge of the bank. It shouldn't have caught his attention so abruptly. It was a meaningless little plant, and he had other priorities at the moment, but he couldn't help latching onto the distraction.
He tilted his head, slowly sliding off the rock to rest on his knees beside the flower. It was brown and wilted, sagging over itself and nearly touching the ground. It didn't make a lick of sense. The rest of the clearing was lively and colorful, yet this little flower that was situated right next to the water was dying?
Merlin reached out, letting his hand hover a hairsbreadth from the plant. He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder, but Balinor was merely watching him with a small, fond smile, his elbows resting on his knees. He nodded encouragingly, and Merlin quickly turned back around to hide his pleased expression. He hadn't been given much opportunity to show off for his father.
Merlin closed his eyes, coaxing his own magic out from his palm to the dying plant. His magic trickled forth gently; he didn't want to overwhelm the small flower. He visualized pouring golden life into all the minute cracks, sealing up all the imperfections.
When his eyes opened again, he was greeted with bright blue petals, fanning out to soak up the sunlight. His cheeks hurt from smiling, but he didn't care. He spun around to see his father's reaction, feeling like a child who runs up to their parent and tugs on their clothes, asking, "Did you see that! Did you see?"
Balinor chuckled in amazement. "You have a special gift, Merlin."
Merlin beamed at the praise, but soon enough his headache made itself known once again and he swayed, shooting his hand out to keep himself from falling over. Black dots danced in front of his vision, and a wave of cold swept through him, weakening his limbs until he was slumping to sit on his backside.
When he felt Balinor's firm grip on his shoulders, he forced his vision to steady long enough to look up at his crouching father. Balinor's expression had morphed into one of concern, and he shook his head resignedly.
"You're running out of time, Merlin," he implored.
Merlin squinted, struggling just to stay awake. In the back of his mind, he noted that clouds had covered the sun and a hushed darkness had fallen across the lovely clearing, harsh wind whipping at the trees.
"What are you talking about?" Merlin asked, confusion and fear making his voice come out as barely more than a whisper.
Balinor lowered his head further so they were eye to eye, shaking him gently. "You must wake up, son."
I'm already awake, Merlin wanted to protest, but his tongue stilled when he felt dampness on his lips. He brought a quivering hand to his mouth, and when he pulled it back, dark red blood coated his fingers.
That can't be good… he noted internally, the black dots in his vision expanding and blinding him to Balinor's reaction.
The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was a familiar voice pleading with him.
"Stay with me, Merlin."
-XXX-
-XXX-
"Wake up."
He groaned, rolling over onto his side, tempted to pull his blanket up over his head so whoever was interrupting his sleep would go away. When his hand closed around nothing but air, his lips twisted down in confusion.
"Come on, mate, wakey wakey!" There was clapping right next to his ear, causing him to scowl and slap the hands away without ever opening his eyes.
"Go 'way," he grumbled incoherently, burying his face in his arm.
"Not 'til you get up and prove you're still alive. You look like a corpse, man."
"And you look like a toad," Merlin quipped back tiredly, then paused as his own words registered. The response had come so naturally, but it wasn't until that very moment that he realized to whom the voice pestering him belonged.
He hesitantly pried open crusty eyelids, rubbing at them furiously as he struggled to sit up. He managed to get one elbow under him, flinching when he noticed the cold stone underneath his body. No wonder his joints felt achy and he was shivering. He'd apparently fallen asleep on the floor.
"Gods, mate, you really gave me a right scare back there," the voice cut in again, this time accompanied by a relieved laugh. "I thought you'd gone and left me to deal with all this shit by myself."
Merlin dragged his gaze across the dimly-lit space, tensing when Will's young face grinned back at him from only a foot away.
"Will?" He spluttered, giving him an incredulous once-over.
Will raised an eyebrow. "The one and only," he replied haughtily.
Merlin stared. Will's smile slowly dropped into a concerned frown.
"Merlin? You in there?" He chuckled nervously, waving a hand dramatically in front of the warlock's face.
Merlin flinched, then promptly scrambled to his knees, launching himself at his old friend. "Will!" He exclaimed in disbelief and joy, clinging to him even as Will awkwardly patted his back in return.
"Exactly how hard did that arsehole hit you over the head?" Will muttered in confusion.
Merlin pulled back but left his hands on Will's shoulders. "Will! You're alive!" He stated the obvious, his eyes crinkling more than usual due to his blinding grin.
Will nodded tentatively. "Yeah…last time I checked," he confirmed. "Are you sure you're alright, mate?" His eyes ran over Merlin's form, searching for injuries.
"What do you mean, am I alright? You're the one that was dead!" Merlin claimed, baffled at how calm Will seemed at the moment.
"Again, not dead," Will corrected, looking more worried by the second. "Merlin, what's the last thing you remember?" He questioned.
Merlin opened his mouth to respond, then found he couldn't think of the answer. Now that his focus was diverted from the miraculous revival of his friend, he could feel his head pounding with a vengeance and he winced, pressing a hand against his temple as he sat back on his heels.
What was the last thing he remembered?
He'd been with Arthur, hadn't he? They'd been…on patrol, maybe? Or a hunt? His memories were like grains of sand, slipping through his fingers as he tried to recall anything definitive.
"I…I'm not sure…" He responded finally, glancing away to avoid Will's intense concern. His eyes widened when he realized where they were. "This is a Camelot cell!"
He was unfortunately quite familiar with the inside of Camelot's dungeons, but he hadn't actually been inside a cell for quite some time. Arthur might make his threats, but both of them knew they were meaningless.
Will scoffed, sitting back against the wall and folding his knees up to his chest. "Courtesy of your Prat Prince," he grumbled.
The words sounded strange to Merlin. "Prince," he repeated, testing the title out on his tongue. Was that right? He pressed his lips together, frustrated at his inability to wade through his muddy thoughts. Then the meaning of Will's comment hit him. "Wait, what do you mean? Arthur wouldn't lock us up," he objected defensively.
Will rolled his eyes. "Clearly you don't know him as well as you think. Your little Princeling had no qualms about dragging us back to Camelot for execution. You really think he's against throwing us behind bars?" He inquired derisively.
Merlin blanched. "Execution? What the hell are you talking about?"
Will stared at him in shock. "You really don't remember. Ealdor? Kanen? Magical windstorms?" He listed. "Any of this ringing a bell?"
Merlin shook his head, standing to his feet briskly while trying to ignore his aching skull. "No. No, that was…" He wracked his brain furiously. "That was a long time ago! You died!" Merlin stopped from where he'd been pacing and spun around, pointing his finger at Will.
"No," Will argued, drawing out the word for emphasis. "It was six days ago, Merlin. And I didn't die. I'm right here! Have you gone mad?" He asked warily.
Merlin started shaking, running trembling fingers through his hair as he returned to pacing. "No, no, that can't be right," he muttered under his breath, gripping his dark locks tightly. "What's happening? This is all wrong." Tears welled in his eyes as the pain in his head kept growing, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed and curl up in the fetal position. Nothing was making sense. Will was supposed to be dead. He'd died. Hadn't he? Yes. Yes, it was…an arrow to the heart! So how could he be sitting here with Merlin saying Arthur had imprisoned them?
"Mate, look, just chill for a minute, yeah?" Will placated in a soft tone, standing to his feet to intercept Merlin's path. "You're having a bit of a freak out, but it'll pass. It's probably just the head injury," he soothed.
Merlin halted in his tracks, reaching a hand up to feel along the back of his skull. Sure enough, he felt a large bump that stung sharply when his fingers brushed over it, and he yanked his hand away.
"What happened?" He wondered absentmindedly, eyebrows furrowing.
"That bastard Prince happened," Will bit out. "Knocked you right over the head with the hilt of his bloody sword as soon as he figured out you had magic," he explained grimly.
Despite the extremely confusing situation, Merlin's expression fell. "What?" He whispered, hurt filling his voice. Arthur wouldn't… He didn't…
Will grimaced, his irritation morphing into sympathy. "I'm sorry, Merlin… I know you thought there was some kind of bond between you and him, but…." He trailed off, shaking his head.
Merlin couldn't believe it. He refused to believe it. Arthur wouldn't hurt him like that, even if he found out about the magic.
Wait, no, that's not right, he thought, pinching the bridge of his nose as a slew of indecipherable images whirled in his mind. Arthur already knew about his magic. He was pretty sure he remembered that…
He looked up when he heard Will shuffling away, seeing his friend angle himself so he could peek out the high window into the courtyard. It was nighttime, so there probably wasn't much to be seen, but Will gulped as his gaze fixated on something that Merlin couldn't see from his position.
"They're bringing out wood to build the pyres," Will informed him solemnly, his hands clenching into fists.
Merlin's breath stuttered, and he rushed over to the window. True to Will's word, a small group of knights was hauling logs for burning and gathering them in the center of the square. They chatted and laughed as they worked, and Merlin felt bile rise in his throat. This couldn't be real.
A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he looked over at Will with wide, frightened eyes.
"We're getting out of here, Merlin," Will promised determinedly. "You can break us out."
Merlin frowned, the idea not having crossed his mind at all until that moment. "Break us out?" He echoed.
"With magic, mate," Will elaborated with a slight chuckle.
Merlin blinked. "Oh. Right…" He said dumbly, moving toward the cell door. The bars shined imposingly back at him, looking far tougher and more solidly built than he remembered. Shaking the observation away, he sent out his intention, expecting his magic to complete the task without trouble. Such a spell as opening locked doors was too simple to need a gesture or spoken word.
However, when the door didn't budge, his eyes narrowed and he threw up his hand, conscious of Will hovering at his back.
"Tóspringe!" He commanded. Again, there was no visible result. Merlin tried a few more times, growing more frantic with each failed attempt. Eventually, he dropped his hand as he fought to control his raspy breathing.
"Merlin?" Will spoke up anxiously.
"It's not working!" Merlin wailed, visions of burning flesh and acrid smoke swimming before his mind's eye. He couldn't go to the pyre. He couldn't die such a horrible death. He wouldn't wish such a fate on even his worst enemy.
He turned his head to see Will's reaction, but the boy wasn't even looking at him. His glare was pointed at the cell door, annoyed but also calculating. Merlin hoped he was preparing a Plan B.
"Will? What are we gonna do?" He questioned, panic lending an edge of hysteria to his words.
Will's jaw ticked. "You need to—"
Whatever option he was going to propose, Merlin didn't get a chance to hear it. In the span of a blink, he went from standing in a dingy cell to colliding against the ground, flat on his back. Sunlight streamed into his eyes, and the loud jeering and clapping of a large crowd filled his ears. No longer was he in Camelot's dungeons. He immediately recognized his location to be the tournament arena, though his brain was stumbling to catch up to the change in scenery.
What in the hell is happening?! He thought desperately, groaning as the pain in his head intensified due to the unexpected impact mixed with the penetrating sunlight.
"Get up, sorcerer!" A hauntingly familiar voice spat, and Merlin instinctively froze with fear before his self-preservation instincts had him scrabbling to stand up, flinging dirt with his hasty movements. When he saw the man sneering at him from a dozen yards away, his heart dropped to his stomach.
Uther Pendragon.
Merlin stood rigid as Uther circled him, spinning the sword in his grip in a skillful display that had the crowd cheering even louder. He was covered in full armor, minus a helmet, which Merlin had only seen him wear a couple times. A malicious glare met Merlin's terrified gaze, Uther's hatred palpable in the air.
"I'm going to give you the death you deserve, filthy sorcerer," the tyrant king spit, the circle tightening around Merlin with each lap.
The warlock wanted to run, but his legs refused to cooperate. He was weaponless, armorless, and had absolutely no clue what was going on. In the midst of his turmoil, only one thought made it past his lips.
"W-Where's Arthur?" He stuttered, sweeping his gaze over the stands. The people's faces were full of contempt and twisted pleasure as they shouted profanities and insults at him while sending encouraging shouts toward the king. It was jarring to be faced with such vitriol, but it was hard to focus on them. Everything seemed distorted and out of place, as if the entire world was suspended in water. He moved slower, his limbs sluggish as he backed away from his attacker.
Uther scowled, finally stopping and solidifying his stance. "You have no right to speak my son's name," he hissed, charging forward like a bull with no warning.
Merlin inhaled sharply and automatically tried using his magic to send Uther hurtling backward, but once again his efforts were futile. His blood turned to ice in his veins as he realized he had no defense, and then Uther was upon him, swinging his sword in a high arc with the apparent intention of cleaving him in two. Merlin yelped in shock and ducked under the coming blow, feeling the wisp of air along the tips of his hair as the sword just missed slicing his head off.
"Stop!" He shouted uselessly, whipping around and nearly losing his balance. Uther was already coming at him again. Merlin stumbled over his feet as he backed up. When his spine banged against the arena's barrier, he realized with dread that he'd unintentionally cornered himself. The crowd roared scathing words in his ear, so loud it felt as if the sounds were coming from inside him.
Uther's eyes were wild with fury as he bore down on him.
"You will pay for your crimes, sorcerer!"
Metal glinted as he thrust his sword forward.
Merlin braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation of the incoming burst of pain, but after a moment, he realized the world had gone quiet. The cheers had faded, and a cool breeze flitted over his skin.
Hands grabbed his shoulders, and his eyes instinctively shot open. Will was in front of him again. Merlin breathed a sigh of relief, wondering if he'd been imagining Uther. Or was he imagining Will? Perhaps Uther had been real and succeeded in killing him and Merlin was stuck in some strange afterlife.
"Merlin, come on, focus! We don't have much time before dawn," Will said hurriedly. "If you wanna be free you have to break the door!"
Right. They were trying to escape.
"I can't. My magic isn't responding," he pointed out tiredly, slumping against the bars.
Will have him a disapproving look. "Try. Again," he demanded. "We can get out of here, man. I know it. We'll go wherever we want, as long as it's far from this godsforsaken kingdom, but you have…to try….again," he implored.
Merlin bit his lip, dredging up what energy he could muster. It was hard to care much about anything when his head hurt so badly and he was so exhausted. He was fit to collapse at any second, but he couldn't let Will die. Again.
He pushed himself off the bars, turning to study the obstacle in question. He knew it was impossible, but the bars seemed to have rusted just the slightest bit. He tilted his head, curious about the change, then lightly pressed his hand against them.
"Tóspringe," he whispered gently. This time there was at least the minute creak of iron, but the door remained stubbornly in place.
"Keep going, Merlin," Will ordered softly, leaning his weight against the wall right next to him. "Free us."
Merlin's eyes slipped shut, and when he opened them again, silver flashed in his vision. He gasped, lunging away as Uther thrust his sword into the barrier. It lodged deep, allowing Merlin a chance to recover from the whiplash. He scurried away to create some distance as the king struggled to pull his sword out of the wall.
"Arthur," Merlin whimpered, his legs wobbling as his exhaustion threatened to topple him. He could barely think past the pain in his head, only vaguely aware of Uther giving one final heave before his weapon came flying free. "Please, help me," he whispered, his gaze flitting around without ever settling, but he saw no hint of golden hair or sparkling blue eyes. Arthur was gone. He was alone.
His muscles finally gave out, and he fell harshly to his knees, the impact sending reverberations up his spine. His vision grew hazy, and he merely looked on despondently as Uther marched toward him, preparing for the final blow. Merlin's eyes slipped shut, and he allowed his mind to wander to more pleasant things.
Arthur's teasing grin. Gwen's laugh. Gaius' affectionate pat on the shoulder. The Knights' banter.
A hint of a smile graced his lips.
The sword stabbed right through the flesh of his gut with a hideous squelch, making his breath catch. His thoughts skittered away, replaced with a deep cold that entrenched itself into the very fabric of his body. He heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing but the metal ripping into his stomach.
-XXX-
-XXX-
Five days. It had been five days since Kilgharrah had cast the spell on Merlin. The spell that was only meant to last a week at most. The spell that was currently the only thing keeping Merlin alive.
They were running out of time.
Arthur paced beside the bed, chewing nervously at the fingernail of his thumb as he observed the slight rise and fall of Merlin's chest. Guinevere sat in the bed next to the servant, leaning up against the headboard. She was knitting some sort of garment, her chosen distraction to deal with the current predicament of their closest friend. Every now and then she would stop and run a soothing hand through Merlin's hair, whispering encouragements for him to wake up. Arthur's eyes always burned at the sight, unable to bear witnessing her compassion without being reminded of the terrifying prospect that they could lose Merlin any day now.
Merlin had remained in Arthur's bed since they returned to Camelot, unmoving except for his gently expanding lungs every few seconds. Arthur had barely slept in all that time, and usually resorted to falling asleep in a chair next to the bed when his eyelids refused to stay open any longer. He found whatever food Guinevere brought him highly unappetizing, and only managed a few meagre bites before pushing his plate away. The only time he left the room was to bathe, and that was solely due to Guinevere's insistence that he not look and smell like a troll when Merlin finally woke up. It had helped that she'd used her no-nonsense tone, the one that meant arguing would be a pointless endeavor.
So he bathed. He ate. He slept. But he never strayed far from Merlin's side for long. If he truly had so little time left with his friend, he didn't want to waste any more than necessary being away from him.
Not to say he'd given up. He paced and he prayed and he occasionally begged (that last one only when he was alone with his servant, of course) and he waited for those pale eyelids to flutter open. He needed to see Merlin look at him again, needed to hear Merlin insult him with blatant affection in his voice.
Arthur huffed out in frustration, drawing Guinevere's sympathetic gaze. She lowered her knitting tools to her lap and watched him stride back and forth pointlessly.
"You're going to carve gouges into the floor if you keep it up," she admonished with a teasing edge, but her smile was forced. Arthur made no acknowledgement she'd spoken, and she sighed. "He wouldn't want you worrying yourself to death like this," she murmured.
There was no question who she was talking about.
Arthur's steps slowed but didn't stop completely as he glanced at her. "I can do nothing else, Guinevere," he stated defeatedly, shaking his head as he folded his arms and gripped his elbows.
"You are King. There is plenty you could do outside of this room," she pointed out, not unkindly.
"None of that matters," he objected automatically.
"Merlin's condition isn't going to improve based on your presence alone."
Her words were true, but they still cut deep into his heart. He'd love to believe that his mere proximity could have any effect over Merlin's health. He wondered if Merlin could sense him nearby, even in his unwilling slumber. If he left, would Merlin feel it? Would he feel abandoned? Arthur couldn't take that risk.
"He wouldn't leave me if our situations were reversed," Arthur whispered softly, finally pausing and sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out to adjust Merlin's sleeves unnecessarily.
Guinevere had no argument to that, so the silence returned for a time, filling the space oppressively. His wife had spent nearly as much time sitting vigil as he had, excluding when she went to sleep in her own chambers. She'd offered to let him sleep with her, but he'd declined, unwilling to part from Merlin for so long when the servant's life hung by a thread. Someone had to look over Merlin, anyway, so it might as well be him. Gaius had other patients that needed his attention, and Leon and Lancelot had taken over Arthur's duties in his absence, Leon handling the council while Lancelot trained the knights. They both had been to visit a few times but could never spare more than a few minutes. Arthur always retreated to his window when Lancelot came around. The man wore his heart on his sleeve, and Arthur hated to see the pain shining in Lancelot's gaze when he looked down at his unconscious friend. All in all, they were all struggling to cope.
"It's my fault, you know," Arthur said without thinking, his expression unchanging and his tone monotonous, matter-of-fact. A counter to the storm brewing in his chest. Guinevere tilted her head down in disapproval.
"Kilgharrah said Merlin's condition was due to his overuse of powerful magic. This couldn't possibly be on you," Guinevere insisted, gently chiding.
Arthur pressed his lips together tightly, forcing down the swell of emotion that threatened to burst out of him.
"He didn't want us to go into that cave. He wanted to wait until we figured out Morgause's plan, but I didn't listen to him," he elaborated shakily. "I never listen. He told me I never listen and he was right," he continued, burying his face in his hands and pulling at the ends of his hair in frustration. "I didn't listen and now he's hurt, and it's my fault. It's my fault ."
His next exhale came out ragged and he felt the tell-tale wetness of tears on his palms. The sensation nearly shocked him into a stupor. Crying was rare for him, seeing as he'd grown up with Uther Pendragon as a father, a man who despised any show of weakness. Arthur wasn't as emotionally stunted as he used to be, but he still wouldn't have expected tears.
He pulled his hands away, balling them into fists on his lap. Guinevere quickly stood and made her way around the bed, hugging him from behind. Her warmth and the comforting squeeze around his torso were welcome but did little to help him rein in his emotions. He didn't sob or make any sound at all besides his rough breathing, but the tears continued to roll down his face as he accepted her embrace.
Guinevere didn't negate his claim, knowing he'd never believe her protests. He appreciated her intuition, and once again found himself marveling over the wonder that was his wife. She always knew what to say, or in this case, what not to say.
"He's still with us," she whispered, kissing his shoulder. "He's still fighting."
Arthur nodded along to her reassurances absentmindedly.
Keep fighting, Merlin, he pleaded silently.
-XXX-
-XXX-
Arthur's sleep was fraught with nightmares, the images cycling through his brain too fast to remember when he woke but leaving him restless and exhausted nonetheless. His muscles twitched where he lay, his fingers occasionally tightening around Merlin's wrist.
He was sitting on the bed, boots and all, having fallen asleep with his back against the headboard and his chin drooping on his chest. Even in slumber, he kept one hand wrapped around Merlin's pulse point, making sure he'd know the second something went wrong.
It was due to his light sleep that he heard the barely discernible noise that woke him completely. His eyes shot open instantly, his heart beating erratically in his chest as he sent a glance down at Merlin to make sure he was okay. His friend was getting worse, it was obvious to see, but he was still breathing.
Arthur furrowed his brows, trying to figure out what had woken him. The room was dark, save for moonlight streaming through the open windows. He hadn't lit any candles before succumbing to his exhaustion.
He slowly stood to his feet, picking up his word from where it had been resting against the bedpost. His ears strained to hear any sign of trouble as he raised the blade into a defensive position. It wasn't ideal to fight in the dark, but he was skilled enough with a sword to make do.
When a quiet scratching sound alerted him to movement near the large casement windows on his right, he hurried to place himself between the open window and the bed. The last thing he had expected was to face danger coming from outside, seeing as it would be suicide to attempt to climb to such a height, but apparently this intruder was daring enough to do so.
He crept forward, keeping his sword elevated and in-line with his elbow, prepared to cut down whatever appeared over the edge of the windowsill. The scratching got louder and closer, and he narrowed his eyes.
"Come on, already," he muttered under his breath, keeping his weight on his toes.
His entire stance faltered in shock when the intruder made themselves known. There was a flash of white scales before two bright, curious eyes popped into sight, followed slowly by a long muzzle and neck.
Arthur stumbled back a step as a dragon the size of a small pony crawled over the ledge and halfway into the room, its back feet remaining perched on the sill as it tilted its head, considering him. His sword arm shook at the sudden appearance of the mystical creature, unsure how he should be reacting. Attacking seemed pointless, as Kilgharrah so kindly pointed out a few days ago, but he wasn't going to let it get near Merlin, either.
Unless…
His eyes widened, and Excalibur clattered to the ground as he inhaled a sharp breath.
"Aithusa?" He whispered incredulously, glancing over the glittering expanse of pristine scales before landing back on the dragon's keen eyes.
She made a gurgle of surprise, her entire form perking up at the name. Immediately, she finished entering the room, her tail scraping against the stone walls before she managed to pull her entire body through. Each step she took forward, he took one backward toward the bed, not bothering to reclaim his sword.
Aithusa was undeterred by his retreat, shaking out her head and wings with a quiet trill as she approached him. While not nearly the size of Kilgharrah, Aithusa was intimidating in her own right, and Arthur steeled his nerves against the urge to throw Merlin over his shoulder and run. He reminded himself that this was Merlin's dragon, so it probably wouldn't kill either of them.
Right…?
When the backs of Arthur's knees finally hit the bed frame, Aithusa finally stopped, sitting elegantly and curling her tail over her clawed feet. She watched him, patiently waiting for…something.
His mouth opened and closed a few times before he was able to speak. "Merlin, he…" Arthur swallowed heavily, forcing his spine to straighten so he appeared more like the king he was supposed to be. "He told me about you. You are Aithusa, right?" He questioned hesitantly, unsure how it could be any other dragon. Two seemed like enough.
The little (comparatively speaking) dragon crooned at him soothingly, dipping her head in confirmation. Arthur wondered if she knew how to speak like Kilgharrah or if that was a skill learned over time. Either way, she remained silent, so he was forced to carry on the conversation himself.
"Aren't you supposed to be with Kilgharrah?" He pointed out awkwardly, stealing a glance at his manservant. This would be so much easier if the Dragonlord was awake. This was his dragon, after all. He should be the one dealing with it.
Aithusa grumbled, her eyes slanting irritably at the mention of her older counterpart. Arthur could practically see the teenage rebellion in her gaze and couldn't withhold a startled, albeit nervous, laugh.
"Yeah. Yeah, I wouldn't want to hang around with him everyday, either," he remarked amusedly. He tapped the edge of the bed, searching for something to say. It was hard to think past the dragon staring at him expectantly. "Are you…here for Merlin?" He asked softly. "Kilgharrah already breathed some sort of magical spell over him. I don't think there's anything more you can do," he admitted sorrowfully.
Aithusa let out a sad warble, standing suddenly so she could edge past him. He froze up, letting her approach without protest. Much like Kilgharrah, she nosed at Merlin's immobile form, nudging his hand up over her snout, where it rested limply. The sound that tore from her throat was heartbreaking, and Arthur balled his hands into fists to keep from reaching out to her. He had no idea that dragons could care so deeply, especially for a human. He recalled what Kilgharrah had said about the bond between a Dragonlord and his hatched, and he believed it completely now, witnessing the way Aithusa's entire form slumped dejectedly as she rested her head by Merlin's hip.
"He would be glad you're here, you know," Arthur murmured, sitting down at the foot of the bed. He didn't want to encroach on her space. "He misses you. He might not say it, but I know it's true."
Aithusa didn't look at him, but he could tell by the way she nuzzled closer to the warlock that she had heard. He wondered briefly what she would do should the unthinkable happen. Would she simply grieve a fallen friend and move on or would she blame Arthur and Camelot for the loss of her Dragonlord? Would Kilgharrah? The Great Dragon was incapable of entering the city due to Merlin's command, but would such a command hold up if he died? Arthur didn't know the answers to any of his questions, and it unnerved him. This was the sort of thing he would normally be asking Merlin.
They sat there in mutual vigil for a long time, possibly hours, both seemingly content in the other's company. It was only when the first hint of light started to brighten the night sky that Aithusa reluctantly pulled away, giving Merlin one last desperate nuzzle on his cheek. Arthur blinked tiredly from where he slumped against the bedpost, watching her turn back towards the window.
"Will you be back?" He asked, breaking the solemn silence.
Aithusa halted, then changed direction and ambled over to him. This time, he didn't even tense. There had been some sort of connection formed during the night, one that could only be formed between two people sharing the same grief. Or in this case, one person and one dragon. He figured Aithusa felt it, too, for she bent her head to prod lightly at his hand until he acquiesced and scratched her scaly nose. She purred at the contact, but broke away after a few moments, lifting her head so she was eye level with him. When her mouth opened wide and golden light drifted out toward him, he could do nothing but accept it with wide eyes.
Arthur gasped when an onslaught of scenes played out in his head, one after the other. Darkness before a sudden burst of brightness, Merlin's crinkle-eyed grin, clouds passing in a rush, a feeling of overwhelming longing. Merlin reaching out. Merlin babbling on with a carefree smile. An influx of golden warmth.
Memories. They were Aithusa's memories.
Arthur opened his eyes, unaware they had closed, and regretted the loss of such strong joy immediately. Aithusa was observing his reaction with a knowing gaze.
He understood what she was saying even through their communication barrier.
I will always return to him.
Arthur nodded with lips turned up at one corner, accepting and approving of her silent vow. She purred again in satisfaction, then turned away toward her exit. It was clear that she wanted to leave while she still had the cover of night. Camelot was still a hostile place to be for a dragon, after all.
Arthur would change that. Soon, hopefully.
Aithusa cast one last wistful glance over to Merlin before leaping out the window, her claws leaving behind scratches in the stone. Arthur didn't mind. It was proof that she'd been here, that a dragon had braved unwelcome territory just so she could see her friend.
Her presence had been like a beacon of hope, and he latched onto that feeling with everything he had.
-XXX-
-XXX-
Merlin fell backwards, his muscles giving out completely with the sudden trauma of his injury. Wind rushed past his ears as he collapsed, but there was no hard impact with the ground. Arms caught him from behind, lowering him down until he could rest his head in the person's lap. He blinked open weary eyes, finding Will staring down at him with a frantic expression.
"No, no, no, Merlin. Merlin!" Will rambled, shaking him in an attempt to keep him conscious. Merlin hissed at the sharp pain that flared in his abdomen with the movement, sending his friend a weak glare.
Will's hand pressed down on the wound, blood instantly welling up through the gaps in his fingers. Merlin looked on with detached curiosity, wondering what Will thought he was possibly going to accomplish. The injury was fatal. He didn't need to be a physician's apprentice to see that.
"Will," he mumbled, struggling with even the single word. He was so tired.
"This isn't happening. I won't let this happen!" Will growled, pulling him closer in a half-determined, half-desperate hug from behind.
Merlin sighed, forcing his hand to cover Will's bloody one. "S'okay. Gon' die anyway, right?" He pulled in a raspy breath. "Better'n th' pyre."
"Oh no, you don't! You are not giving up!" Will commanded angrily, though his firm tone was kind of offset by the tears in his eyes.
Merlin was beginning to feel numb. "Wha's 'ere to do?" He asked helplessly. They were stuck in a cell with no way to stop the bleeding, and the sword had hit important organs anyway. There was no saving him. Not without some kind of miracle.
His glassy gaze slid beyond Will to the cell door. To his shock and confusion (though those emotions could only be expressed with the subtle twitch of his brows) the bars were brown with rust, looking a tap away from disintegrating into dust. He stared at the odd sight, pulling his mind back into some sort of semi-focus.
"Will." He pinched the boy's hand to get his attention, since his voice was too quiet to do so by itself. "Door… Look…at th' door," he instructed.
Will frowned, following his gaze briefly. "What? Merlin, you're hurt. Who cares about the bloody door?" He snapped.
If Merlin were healthy, he would've rolled his eyes and called Will a dunce. "Y'can ge'out," he explained breathily. "Y'can go. Not…not burn," he panted.
Despite his lack of proper vocabulary, Will understood immediately what he was suggesting, and his eyes turned flinty.
"I'm not leaving you," he stated with finality, shaking his head.
"Y'can be fr…free," Merlin pleaded. Will had seemed more than eager to get out of here before. Merlin was dead anyway. There was no reason to stay.
Will's anger melted away, slowly being replaced with a calm resolve. He no longer looked like the immature teenager Merlin remembered from his years in Ealdor. He looked like something else entirely. Strong. Old. Steadfast.
"There is no freedom without you, Merlin," he murmured, leaning close to Merlin's ear as he spoke. "Either we leave this place together, or not at all. That is my decision, and always will be. But you mustn't give up. You must fight."
Merlin let out what was meant to be a sob but ended up as more of a rough exhale. "How?" He begged, salty tears making their way down his clammy cheeks.
Will pressed his cheek to Merlin's temple comfortingly. "Magic," he answered simply.
Frustration boiled in Merlin's chest. "No m-magic…tried…can't heal…heal m'self," he gritted out through clenched teeth, darkness limning the edges of his vision.
"Don't think. Just feel. Remember who's waiting for you," Will ordered softly.
Merlin closed his eyes. "Arthur."
He felt Will smile. "Can't leave our Prat Prince all alone out there to fend for himself, now, can we?" He teased gently. Merlin's chin jerked in agreement. Will withdrew his hand only to place Merlin's in its previous position over the wound. "Don't think. Just feel," he repeated.
Merlin coughed, feeling a distant sort of panic when he tasted bitter metallic on his tongue. If he was going to do something, he needed to do it now. His time was running out.
He didn't try to think of a spell, or the injury itself. He didn't think of the fact that he was lying in a cell, or the fact that he'd been stabbed, or the fact that he couldn't even remember what he ate for breakfast.
He felt.
He felt the joy of sharing a laugh with Arthur over something completely stupid and childish; of hugging his mother and reveling in her warmth; of talking about his day with Gaius over dinner; of having an intelligent and fascinating conversation with Gwen over even the simplest of matters; of teasing the knights and being teased in return.
He felt the annoyance of being dragged along on a hunt that usually ended up with nothing being caught.
He felt the sorrow of losing someone he loved; Will, Freya, his father.
He felt the fear of spending each day in a kingdom that would see his head removed from his shoulders.
He felt the guilt of the many deaths he had caused, either purposefully or otherwise.
He felt his magic, powerful and bright and always, always there.
The world slowed around him, then just as suddenly sped back up with a flash of white light.
-XXX-
-XXX-
The morning after Aithusa's visit, a vigorous knock came at Arthur's door.
The king shared a glance with his wife, both of them silently curious as to who would be at their door. Gaius was out on rounds, and Leon and Lancelot both usually knocked much more respectfully.
Arthur stood, walking around the foot of the bed to face the visitor properly. "Enter," he called, putting on his formal persona.
Immediately, the door swung open to reveal one of the castle guards, his breathing heavy like he'd just run across the entire square and castle just to get to him.
"Sire! The knights have returned!" He announced, panting slightly.
Arthur sucked in a surprised breath, having nearly forgotten the mission he'd given Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan before they'd departed the village. Now that they had finally arrived back in Camelot, Arthur was horribly curious to find out what they'd learned.
He looked over his shoulder at Merlin, chewing on his lip in consideration.
Guinevere read his conflicted expression easily, and stood from her chair to approach him, smoothing down her skirts.
"I'll watch over him. You go," she offered, smiling encouragingly as she nodded in the direction of the door. The guard was standing there awkwardly now, shuffling his weight side to side as he stole surreptitious glances at the servant lying motionless in the bed. No doubt he'd be chattering away about what he'd seen to anyone who would listen. While it was no secret that Merlin was hurt, Arthur had only allowed those in his inner circle—Guinevere, Gaius, Lancelot, and Leon—to enter his chambers. The last thing he needed was servants gawking at Merlin in his vulnerable state.
"Guinevere…" Arthur began to protest, already feeling a twisting in his gut at the prospect of leaving the room for an extended period of time.
She cut him off with a shake of her head, stepping forward to tame his hair and straighten his tunic. He wasn't wearing anything fancy, just a simple red tunic, dark breeches, and black boots, but it was still important to keep up appearances. His people couldn't suspect how much he was falling apart at the seams. It would cause a panic.
"If something happens, I'll send for you immediately," she told him, resting her palms against his chest. "You need to gather the Knights, hear what they have to say. Morgause must've had a bigger plan in all this. It's your duty to figure out what that is," she reminded him gently.
She was right. He knew she was right. That didn't make leaving any easier. He gripped her forearms lightly, leaning forward to share a brief but heartfelt kiss with her, then pressed their foreheads together.
"If anything happens…"
She squeezed his arms reassuringly. "I will. Now go," she murmured.
He stepped away, holding her hand until the distance became too great and it slipped from his grasp. He strode over to the bed, picking up Excalibur and sliding the weapon into its sheath on his hip, then brushed his fingers over Merlin's hairline.
"I'll be back," he promised quietly, then swept out of the room with all the purpose of a king, the guard scrambling out of his path.
-XXX-
-XXX-
As soon as he entered the small council chambers where his Round Table Knights had gathered, the doors slamming shut behind him, Gwaine stopped his anxious pacing and marched up to him.
"How is he?" Gwaine questioned without preamble, looking two seconds away from darting to Arthur's chambers to see for himself.
Arthur stepped around him, heading toward his usual seat. "He's alive. Tell me you have something," he demanded shortly, not in the mood to discuss Merlin's perilous condition. He wanted to get the information he needed so he could return to his friend's side.
The rest of the Knights sat when he did, except Gwaine, who grabbed his chair's backrest in a white-knuckle grip. "Look, Princess—"
Arthur cut him off before he could start an argument.
"Talking about Merlin won't help him. I sent you on a mission, Sir Gwaine. Did you succeed or not?" He snapped. He wasn't truly angry, but the past week had been full of stress, and he desperately needed a release. It would've been better to get in a few hits on the training grounds, but that would have to wait.
Gwaine scowled, but yanked his chair out to sit, leaning forward and folding his hands together. "Morgause was in Camelot," he revealed abruptly, his mouth set in a firm grimace.
Arthur's stomach flip-flopped uneasily at the news, and he had to resist jumping up and pulling out his sword. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Attacking the villages? Killing the plants and animals and whatnot? She was trying to draw Emrys away from Camelot," he elaborated.
It was as the Druids had warned Merlin, then.
"Why?" He asked, tapping his fingers on the table impatiently.
Percival jumped in to answer. "The bandit we…questioned…said Morgause was after some magical object. He didn't know what it was, or what she planned to use it for." Arthur's mind raced, his thoughts immediately going to the plethora of magical weapons hidden away in the vaults. If she'd gotten her hands on something down there…who knows what kind of havoc she could potentially cause? Percival continued, capturing his attention. "Morgause would've wanted Merlin far away when she came here, Sire. You know how scared she is of Emrys."
Arthur did know. Even before Merlin had told them all his secret, they had seen hints of Morgause's fear. The frightened way she'd said his name during her most recent failed takeover of Camelot. The fact that she'd all but disappeared for an entire year so she wouldn't have to face the mysterious, powerful sorcerer. If only she knew Merlin was already dying, her great enemy reduced to a life-threatening coma that she had caused by laying her trap and forcing him to expend an unruly amount of power to save his friends' lives. The terrible irony of it grated on Arthur's nerves.
A disturbing thought occurred to him. "Is she still in Camelot?" He questioned, sitting up ramrod straight.
Elyan shook his head. "We don't think so. She doesn't know Merlin is hurt. She would've wanted to get in and out quickly in order to avoid a confrontation with Emrys."
It didn't exactly reassure Arthur, but the theory made enough sense. The only problem was, what magical object had she stolen? And why? Obviously she wanted the throne, but how might such an object help her achieve that goal? Morgause knew she would never take Camelot as long as the city was under Emrys' protection.
Arthur bit the inside of his cheek nervously at the idea that whatever item she'd taken had the power to hurt Merlin. He was the obstacle in her path. She couldn't do anything unless he was taken out of the equation.
They needed to figure out what was missing from the vaults as soon as possible.
He opened his mouth to share his thoughts, but a servant bursting through the council doors silenced him. The girl was young and red-faced, seemingly embarrassed and afraid.
"S-Sire! It's Merlin!" She cried, shakily pointing vaguely into the corridor.
Arthur didn't waste a second, leaping out of his seat and sprinting out of the room with no regard for propriety, the Knights hot on his heels.
-XXX-
-XXX-
Gwen sat in her usual spot beside Merlin in the bed, holding his left hand in a tight grip. His skin was so cold, and she tried to rub warmth into his fingers. She brought his hand up to her lips, just resting them there as she stared down at her friend with unconcealed worry.
Seeing him in such a condition broke her heart, but she had tried to remain strong the past week, for Arthur's sake. Her husband needed to be able to break down and drop his kingly persona, and it was her job to be his steady rock when he did. That didn't stop her from crying in the privacy of her own chambers at night, though. She couldn't imagine what would become of either of them if Merlin passed. The servant had been an integral part of their lives for seven years. Losing him would induce the type of crippling pain that drove many men mad with grief. Camelot simply didn't make sense without him.
Guinevere valiantly fought back tears, not wanting Arthur to return to see her red-rimmed eyes. He had enough on his plate without adding concern for her on top of it. Besides, she didn't want the attention. She fancied herself to be quite in touch with her emotions, but she was still loath to fall apart in front of witnesses, even if that witness was her husband.
She reluctantly lowered Merlin's hand back to the bed, about to pull away when one of his fingers twitched. Her eyes widened in shock and she gasped, scrambling onto her knees in quite an undignified manner as she hovered over the servant's prone form.
"Merlin?" She exclaimed, grasping his shoulders.
Merlin's finger twitched again, then his lips, then his brow. His chest stuttered, he let out a quiet moan of pain, then all hell broke loose.
His eyes shot open with a choked off gasp, and he instantly began coughing violently, streams of red blood leaking out of the corners of his mouth and bubbling up over his chin and onto his tunic. Gwen cried out in alarm, grabbing his face between her hands.
"Merlin! Oh, gods, Merlin!" She sobbed, frozen with fear as her friend convulsed underneath her, his blue eyes wide and unfocused as he choked on his own blood. "Guards! Guards!" Guinevere screamed, never looking away from Merlin's face. He whimpered between bouts of coughing, driving a knife deeper into her heart.
He was dying. Her best friend was suffocating right before her eyes.
The two guards posted outside the door rushed inside, halting in their tracks as soon as they noticed the thrashing servant.
"Get Gaius and the king! Now!" She commanded, her voice cracking with emotion. The men scurried out to complete their orders.
Gwen wracked her brain, trying to think of what Gaius would do if he were here. After a moment of hesitation, she rolled Merlin onto his side, allowing him to expel the blood more easily. It didn't help much, seeing as how he must be bleeding internally somewhere and there was really no solution for that, but it might buy him time until Gaius arrived. She ignored the fact that the old physician was far away somewhere in the lower town, unable to process the consequences of that.
She rubbed his back soothingly, trying and failing to contain her wild sobs as she spoke over the loud fit of hacking. Merlin would inhale a desperate breath, then immediately fall into another bout of coughing and choking, his hands fluttering uselessly in front of him.
"Don't do this, Merlin. Please, Merlin. We can't lose you. You are too precious to us. Just breathe, alright. In and out. Breathe," she begged, watching his pale skin grow even paler as his body was deprived of both blood and oxygen in heavy amounts. The sheets and pillows were coated with red, and Gwen knew she'd have nightmares for the foreseeable future.
She kept up her litany of helpless pleas until another voice cut in.
"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, barreling into the room and over to the bed, stumbling when he saw the horrific scene. "No, no, no…Merlin!" His voice trembled, and Gwen sat back to allow Arthur to crowd into Merlin's space, his hands immediately going to the warlock's cheeks, uncaring of the blood.
For the first time, Merlin seemed to see and recognize the face in his line of sight, and he reached out to clutch at Arthur's tunic, heaving the entire time. He was unable to speak past the blood pouring out of his lips, but they'd never had much trouble communicating without words.
Arthur stared back at him, his eyes glassy with tears that he allowed to fall freely, despite the presence of the Knights in the room. His men looked on with devastated expressions, but even Gwaine knew better than to interfere.
"Merlin, I'm here. I'm here," Arthur assured through his cries, rubbing his thumbs over Merlin's cheekbones.
Merlin's gaze grew distant again, and his convulsions became less pronounced.
Arthur let out a heart-wrenching sob. "Gods, Merlin, please!" He begged.
None of them really expected a response, so they were all shocked into stillness when a blinding burst of light shot out from Merlin's core, quickly enveloping the group. Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, hiding her face in her hands.
The blinding light pounded against her eyelids for a few more moments before slowly receding enough for her to peek out from behind her hands, blinking away the black dots in her vision.
Merlin was lying flat on his back again, though Arthur still held onto him with an unrelenting grip. The warlock's eyes were staring up at the ceiling, shining the brightest gold Gwen had ever seen. His entire body was glowing, the veins underneath his skin running the same golden color as his irises. Gradually, the blood that painted the space was drawn backward toward its source, like a river flowing in reverse. His breaths came deep and easy as all the blood returned to his body, even that which covered Gwen and Arthur. When the final drop crept over his lip and into his mouth, he let out a long exhale, the gold gently fading from his skin and eyes.
Merlin blinked, and familiar cerulean eyes greeted them. Gwen covered her mouth in disbelief, stifling her sobs as she struggled to come to terms with what had just happened. Everyone else was silent and frozen, baffled by the turn of events.
Arthur leaned forward, his hand shaking as he reached up to run it through Merlin's dark hair.
"Merlin?" His voice cracked, his eyes watery and wide with newfound hope.
Merlin's gaze drifted over to meet his king's, exhausted but coherent. "Arth'r," he mumbled, sliding his arm across the bed until he could rest his hand on Arthur's knee. He took in Arthur's battered appearance and frowned, blinking again, his eyelids heavy with the urge to sleep. "S'matter? Y'kay?" He wondered, eliciting a wet laugh from his friend.
Arthur grinned, and it was just as blinding as Merlin's magic. "Yeah, Merlin. I'm okay," he answered, wiping at his face before leaning down to press his forehead to Merlin's in the same way he'd done to Guinevere earlier. "I'm okay now. And so are you."
Merlin hummed in agreement, letting his eyes slip closed. "S'good." He patted Arthur's leg weakly. "S'good…"
Gwen felt the weight lift off her chest for the first time in a week.
-XXX-