The world was spinning too fast. A mess of colors and sounds and magic all flowing and mixing and whirling around. The ancient magic was so strong that Merlin could practically taste it in the air.

It was all around him, everywhere he turned. Sparks of purple near his feet, echoes of blue by his hands, mists of red by his chest. And by his eyes were shimmers of gold, so bright and glistening it was almost blinding him to everything else.

Memories passed by in fleeting moments and bits of time. A loud, raging crash of boulders striking the ground around him. A flash of fire that burned bright right behind his eyes. An agonizing second of scorching pain that seared his flesh. A moment of silence that stretched so long. So long.

Where was he? Where was anyone? There had been colors and sounds and magic but now it was all gone. Merlin stood alone in the darkness, one piece of his mind aware of his burning body, and one piece of his mind focused on the darkness around him. He was caught, stuck between worlds.

Behind him a doorway burned bright with fire and smoke, and at the edges of his vision he could see a man frantically shaking him from above. In front of him another doorway stood empty except for a dim glow and a warmth that held no pain. Yet here he remained, trapped in the darkness.

Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he speak? He wanted to scream, wanted to beg, wanted to cry. He hurt. Everywhere was pain, why wouldn't it stop. He just wanted it to stop. But he couldn't get away. Couldn't close his eyes. Couldn't do anything.

And then there was a light. Blue and ethereal, and as hot as the fire but without the pain. A trail of light snaked around his feet, circling his body around and around as it made its way past his knees, up towards his chest, and all the way to the top of his head.

When it finally finished circling it went out entirely, and Merlin was left alone in the dark once more. But now there were voices. And aches. And pain. So much pain. Hands were on his shoulders, and he wanted to scream and beg and cry to have them let go. Just let him go.

Jolting awake in a cold sweat, a sharp heaving breath left the young warlock as Merlin sat staring up at his ceiling in frozen terror. He'd been having the same dream for nights now. For weeks. It wouldn't leave him alone; it came back every time he closed his eyes.

Sitting up carefully in his bed, pain sprouted through the boy's arms and down his back, forcing the young warlock to bite back a cry of pain. Everything hurt, it didn't matter if he was still or not. Just the act of breathing was so painful at times it was all he could do to not cry.

Carefully moving his head to look at his lap, Merlin drew his hands forward and stared at the fresh bandages covering the majority of his skin. It had been over two weeks and still over half his body was bandaged. The rest of him still carried the events of what happened in the form of more minor burns, cuts, and bruises.

Gaius had said it was a miracle that he was still alive, but Merlin knew different. He should've died. He had died.

Closing his eyes tightly, Merlin sucked in a trembling breath before forcing his body to move. Pain ripped through him, but the warlock fought back the groans through gritted teeth. He wanted to think it was getting easier, but the truth was that he felt like he was stuck.

Every morning he woke up in pain and Gaius changed the bandages. The physician would apply a salve to the worst injuries, tend to his cuts, and try to get some food into his ward. Every afternoon Gwen would come by, her eyes shadowed and dark, but a thin smile always at the ready while she kept the boy company.

Every evening Gaius would return from his rounds and change the bandages again, reapply the salve, and tell Merlin that he was doing better, even though the boy knew it was a lie. He was alive, yes, but in what state? Could his suffering really be called living? So every night, when Gaius went to sleep, Merlin kept his own routine.

As the young warlock's feet skimmed the floor, pain shot through him again and the boy took a moment as tears filled his eyes. Several seconds passed while Merlin just breathed, hissing in air through his teeth and forcing it out through his nose.

Glancing warily towards his open door, the fire in the other room was roaring quietly, warming the tower as autumn grew colder. Gaius slept heavily most nights anymore, working hard and exhausting himself during the day as he made up for the lack of Merlin's assistance, but the boy still made an effort to be quiet.

Gripping his blankets tightly, the warlock forced himself to stand, nearly toppling over as his entire body rejected the movement.

"Oh.. Oh." He groaned, stumbling forward a step as the room swayed.

He stayed on his feet however, despite how much he was shaking. The first night he'd attempted leaving he'd fallen over, and that had been far worse than just moving was. Hissing out another breath, the boy made his way slowly and painfully through his door and down the couple of stairs, grimacing with every step he took.

Gaius had offered to write to his mother in case he wanted her company while he recovered, but Merlin had quickly declined. The last thing he needed was his mother worrying more about him than she already was, nor did he want her to see him in such a state.

It was hard enough to see the sympathy in his mentor's old and tired eyes, and the pity in Gwen's. Or the guilt in Arthur's. Not that he'd seen much of the prince, the efforts to rebuild the city kept the man busy, not that Merlin cared. Even if he came by the boy wasn't sure that he wanted to see him, not after what he'd done.

Opening the door to the physician's tower slowly, Merlin caught his breath and stepped into the hall, his bandaged feet moving silently over the stone floor. The trek was agonizingly slow, and more than once the boy was forced to stop to catch his breath and wait for his swimming vision to steady.

Each night he made this walk, and each night he hoped it would get easier. Unfortunately, it hadn't yet. Or rather, not enough for him to notice. But on he went, sneaking through the halls and hiding from passing guards like it was second nature until he ventured up another flight of stairs leading to his tower.

That's what Merlin had begun to think of it as recently, his tower. Ralcade would not be returning, Arthur had written the place off entirely, and no one else seemed to know or care that it existed.

By the time he reached the landing, moonlight poured over the balcony and onto the floor and Merlin was gasping for breath. He was nearly blind with pain, his chest heaving from the exertion, and sweat had gathered along his face and the back of his neck. But he couldn't stop yet, he was almost there.

A few more steps and he was at the door, feeling the same deep, ancient magic from his spell as he did every night. It was still in place, no one had disrupted it, and Merlin felt a breath of calm wash over him.

In a kingdom that abhorred magic, he expected the citadel to be a place of constant vigilance. He was always wary, waiting for the other shoe to drop. In the physician's chambers was the only place he felt safe, and even then there was more than once that he'd almost been caught. But here, in the tower, he felt the safest that he ever had.

Pushing open the door and stepping into the room, bright light filled the space from the moon shining through the towering windows. The place was as empty as ever, and as Merlin made his way to the middle of the room and eased himself painfully to the floor, he felt for the groove in the wooden paneling that would lift a section of the plank. In doing so, an old leatherbound journal was revealed.

Sliding the book out and setting the piece of flooring beside him, Merlin flipped to the last third of the book until the familiar page came into view. The young warlock hadn't had much time to decipher most of the strange language, but some words he recognized from spells that Gaius had shown him.

Ancient magic was dangerous, that much he'd learned, but it was also powerful. The runes and text that Ralcade had written depicted multiple variations of spells that he already knew, and on a whim Merlin had decided to try one. That night, a week and a half ago, was the first night he'd not felt the pain of his burns or the guilt in his chest.

Running his fingers carefully over the written words, Merlin closed his eyes and breathed, releasing a single breath before opening his eyes and quietly chanting. As he spoke the spell, air filled his lungs and sent a chill down his spine. The first time he'd tried the incantation, the feeling had filled him with fear, but now it felt almost natural. How strange things had become.

While his chanting continued, Merlin set the book carefully in his lap so he could still read and leaned forward to roll up one of the legs of his trousers. The loose fitting fabric of his sleep clothes moved easily over his shin, and the warlock watched while the burned flesh began to lighten in color.

Dark splotches that weren't bad enough to require constant wrapping began to fade, leaving clear and unmarked skin in its wake. With the change came a relief from the pain, and Merlin's lips began to curve into a smile. For several more seconds the warlock kept up with his chanting, feeling the aches and pains fade from his arms and his back and his neck.

All too soon however, Merlin let the words slow before finally stopping, watching as the redness returned to his leg, followed by the familiar ache he'd grown sickeningly accustomed to. It wasn't as bad as it had been, but it still burned.

Stifling a yawn, Merlin clutched the book and closed his eyes tight. He wished he could just heal himself completely. He wished that the pain would fade and his nightly routine of sneaking into the tower to ease his suffering for just a few blessed minutes would be done with altogether.

But his injuries had been too severe, and a complete recovery would be more than anyone could overlook, from Arthur especially. But bit by bit he was healing, he just wanted it to go faster.

Leaning back until he was lying on the floor, the warlock breathed slow and deep in an effort to avoid aggravating his injuries. Using his magic as intensely as he had always made him tired, but the spells in Ralcade's book seemed to triple that exhaustion.

The first time he'd attempted the spell he'd fallen asleep for an hour, only to wake up in a fog and feeling the pain seeping back in. Thankfully he'd gotten back before Gaius woke up, but now Merlin planned his trips carefully, sparing time to get back before the physician found him missing.

Closing his eyes and holding the journal tighter, Merlin felt the twinge of pain begin to creep back over him. He hadn't expected to fall asleep, but getting up wasn't an option yet, and the relief of the lessoned pain carried him into a fitful dream.

One moment he was in his tower, and the next he was in the western one, with flames dancing around him and Ralcade grinning over him. Merlin's face was wet with tears and his throat burned and someone was screaming. He didn't recognize the scream, but it was guttural, and somehow he knew that whoever it belonged to was dying.

All at once Ralcade drew a glowing gem from beneath his robes and held it aloft in the air. The firelight danced off the jewel and made it glow, and as Merlin squinted at it, he felt a sickness wash over him. The scream was emanating from the gem.

Ralcade began to chant, and a magic so ancient and deep and powerful that it nearly choked the boy filled the room. The flames stilled before sweeping around Ralcade and forming a deadly circle around the two of them.

"A life for a life. Your life is to be restored for the sake of another's being lost." Ralcade cackled, his dark scales glinting in the light as Merlin tried to object.

He didn't want this; he didn't ask for this. Someone screamed again, louder and with so much pain that Merlin covered his ears, only to watch while the sorcerer turned his hand over and let the gem fall from his palm. Lunging forward without another thought, Merlin caught the stone before it could hit the ground, and the moment his skin touched the jewel icy tendrils snaked up his arms and wrapped around his chest.

"A life for a life. They are dead because of you!"

Jerking awake, Merlin sat up and felt the book fall from his grasp as heaving breaths left the boy gasping for air. For a few moments the warlock was disoriented, not sure where he was or what he was doing, and as his breathing calmed, he ran his fingers down his legs. Everything still hurt, not as much as it had, but the ache was still present. Inescapable. Sort of like his destiny.

Reaching out and grabbing hold of the journal, Merlin closed it and carefully eased it back under the floor, replacing the wooden slat as he did. As the floorboard settled into place, the sound of footsteps echoing up the silent stairwell made Merlin freeze, terror pulsing through him. Who would be coming up into this tower this late at night?

Double checking the security of his hiding place as he pushed himself to his feet, Merlin stifled a groan and staggered to the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him as he did. Stumbling as fast as he could bear towards the balcony, the warlock managed to brace his hands against the stonework just as the footsteps reached the top and paused.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur's voice sounded incredulous as Merlin glanced over his shoulder, grimacing at the sudden movement as his fingers dug into the stone.

"Stretching." Merlin said, resisting the urge to shrug at the question as he turned around and faced the forest again.

"Stretching? You're clear on the other side of the citadel." Arthur scoffed, stalking forward and stopping next to the boy.

"What are you doing up here?" Merlin asked, refusing to look at the man beside him as Arthur let out a breath.

"Stretching." Cutting his eyes to the blond, the prince frowned and barely jerked a shoulder up. "Couldn't sleep. But I'm your prince, so why exactly are you questioning me?"

"Just curious." Merlin murmured, leaning his weight heavily against the balcony and wincing at the movement.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur questioned after a few moments of tense silence passed between them.

"Sore." His answers were short, and he was certain the prince noticed, but at the same time the boy didn't care.

"Being sore is better than being dead." Arthur commented quietly, and Merlin's head jerked towards him.

"Don't. Don't start this again."

He and Arthur were the only ones who knew what had happened. Well, them, and Ralcade. The sorcerer had preformed the spell, Arthur had agreed to it, and Merlin had been dead and then wasn't. That wasn't something he could forget.

"Start what exactly Merlin? You won't talk, you won't even hardly look at me." Arthur cried in exasperation, throwing his hands up while he did.

As the warlock watched him, he noticed the dark shadows beneath the prince's eyes and bedraggled look of his hair. It was rare that the royal was anything but put together in front of others, and Merlin himself had only seen him otherwise on a few rare occasions. However this was different, it didn't look like the man had slept in days.

"Because what is there to say?" Shaking his head as best as he could, Merlin looked at the ground, unable to meet Arthur's eye anymore. "You shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have let him do it."

"What I can't figure out is why you're angry." Arthur was scowling, Merlin could hear it in his voice. "I saved your life, like you wouldn't have done the exact same thing."

"The price was too high." His voice was quiet, and when Merlin looked up he caught his breath at the broken expression his friend was openly wearing.

"It's a price I'll pay, not you." Arthur murmured, the hurt remaining on his face for a fraction of a second before the man was standing up straighter. "It is my responsibility to shoulder, no one else's."

"We both will pay." Merlin shook his head again, grimacing as the collar of his tunic brushed against his neck. "A life for a life, you know that's how magic works. You traded my life for another's, but who exactly had to die for me to live? Whose screams am I hearing in my nightmares?"

Stopping himself from going on, Merlin bit down on the inside of his cheek and looked away again as Arthur took a half of a step closer. "What screams? What are you talking about, Merlin?"

"Nothing. It's.. it's the draughts that Gaius has been giving me.. they've been giving me strange dreams. But Arthur, this will haunt us both, there's no changing that."

"Merlin—"

"I shouldn't be alive." Merlin admitted weakly, pushing himself away from the balcony. "We both know that. And now we both have to live with what was done."

Walking slowly away from the prince, Merlin reached the top of the stairwell before Arthur finally spoke. "I did what I thought was best."

Pausing where he stood, Merlin barely nodded. "I know."

Starting down the stairs, the young warlock blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. Half from the pain, half from the prince. He'd never said thank you. He'd never asked why. He'd never even asked what the price was. He couldn't bring himself to wonder.

All he wanted now was to get back home and to fall into his bed. Tomorrow he would return and use that spell again. One step at a time he'd get back on his feet, but he wasn't sure the same could be said about his friendship with Arthur.

A/N

This was a shorter chapter, but that's because this set of stories is ending and giving way to a fun triple set of winter stories!

I like to think that Arthur would be torn apart with what he did, knowing full well that it is a life for a life. And we all know how Merlin is with guilt so of COURSE having someone's life traded for his own would just destroy him.

Anyway, thanks for reading guys, I hope you enjoyed and that you're all liking this current story arc! Leave any comments or reviews you like, and if you have any story ideas that you want to see just let me know!