*Throws a sparkle bomb down, which explodes into this chapter.

Scrub Away The Sleep

Arthur couldn't say he did more than flail when Merlyn went limp in his arms, barely managing to save her from hitting the ground as he clamped her to his chest. He had no idea what was happening, no clear memories of the past couple of days, immersed in a fantasy of warm lips pressing against his own and pouring into them his intention and longing.

Then it was gone, Merlyn sliding to the ground like a ragdoll while Arthur was slapped with the cold realisation his dream had been real – he had truly been kissing Merlyn – yet he had no idea how it came to be.

He lowered her to the ground carefully and reached up to touch her cheek when she suddenly began seizing upon the floor. He'd seen such a thing twice before in his life, with servants who had taste-tested the King's food. Each time, they collapsed into violent fits, their mouth frothing and bleeding before they died minutes later. He had a heart-stopping moment – choking on a scream as his mind cried in denial – before he noticed she did not choke and there was no foam upon her lips, though her eyes flashed brilliant gold for a solid second before her eyelids slammed shut.

"Merlyn!" he said, wanting to reach out and hold her but unwilling to hurt her as her body spasmed wildly. His hands hovered above her frame uselessly. What in the name of the Fates was going on? "Merlyn!"

"Arthur!" Vivian cried, scrambling off the bed but too frightened to move closer. Her blue eyes were wide with horror. "What is happening, my love?"

My love?

Then his chamber doors burst open with an angry roar and – sweet mother – King Olaf charged in with a pair of his personal guards and Alined's jester. "Where is she?" he shouted then spotted his daughter, dressed in her nightclothes beside Arthur's bed. "Vivian!"

"Father!" the princess cried but Arthur interrupted, eyes on the soldiers.

"I need the Court Physician immediately," he commanded, gesturing for the guards to go. "Fetch him at once!"

But they did not move, glancing towards Olaf, who drew his sword instead, red-faced.

"You have dishonoured my daughter!" he declared, looking ready to run Arthur through. Instinctively, the prince's hand twitched towards his own hip, though it was bare of a weapon. Where was his sword?

He stared at the irate man warily. "I apologise for any offense," he said carefully. "But you will have to clarify what you mean? What ill have I caused The Lady Vivian?"

He tried to think back but his memories were shrouded in fog, limbs heavy and body tired like waking after a night of hard revelry. His eyes cast back to his servant, body still twitching, though it appeared to be lessening in intensity.

"Sneaking around with my daughter!" the king declared, drawing his attention back. "Taking advantage of an innocent girl!"

"Father," Vivian groaned, and Arthur glanced at her before turning back to Olaf, alarmed and confused.

"I remember nothing of this," he said quickly. "The past day is a blur – but I had no intentions on your daughter. I would not act with such dishonour."

"Then explain how she came to be in your bed?" He jabbed his sword at the clear evidence and Lady Vivian drew herself up.

"I came here of my own volition. You cannot separate us, Father. We are meant to be together."

Arthur stared at her with wide eyes, just as astonished as the men in the room. He turned back to Olaf desperately, "I have no desire to be with your daughter and certainly no plans to disgrace her with my advances. My servant is ill, King Olaf – she requires immediate attention!"

The king's eyes dropped to the downed girl, whose shaking had reduced to intermittent tremors but was still, very clearly, not well. He clenched his jaw but jutted his chin to one of the guards, the man darting off in search of Gaius.

Behind the remaining guard, the jester skulked with wide eyes.

"What happened?" Olaf asked, watching Merlyn with uncertainty.

Arthur just flapped his arms, at a loss. "I know not. She collapsed without warning."

"She deserves it for trying to steal you from me!" Vivian declared, and Arthur stared at her incredulously, sparing a glance towards Olaf to see his reaction.

"Vivian!" he scolded, and the princess lifted her chin imperiously. Arthur was relieved his attention remained on his daughter, not wanting to face anymore wild allegations while his mental faculties were sputtering.

"She tried to keep us apart and the Gods struck her down."

Memories started trickling back into Arthur's brain, dreamlike in quality but undeniable in their truth. He glanced down at Merlyn then up to Vivian, dumbstruck by his recent actions. Had he truly sought the favour of Vivian? And acted like such a-a damsel? Oh gods, Merlyn had laughed at him in his madness! Why had she not been more concerned by his actions? Was she not worried he sought the affections of another?

Why should she worry? He asked himself. It isn't like we have intentions on each other.

But… we almost did once. Does that not warrant a little jealousy?

Do I want her to be jealous?

Would I have been jealous had the situation been reversed?

He swallowed tightly, knowing the answer. He'd been such a fool, waxing lyrical about the haughty brat of a princess – if he were in Merlyn's place, he'd have been hurt and confused.

Still, his lips burned with memory, so, perhaps amusement had not been all Merlyn had felt.

Olaf sighed with aggravation and waved at his remaining guard. "Take her back to her chambers and make sure she stays there. Remain outside her room."

"But Father –" The guard approached and put a hand around her back to urge her forward. She went without a fight but begged over her shoulder. "We are in love! Tell him, Arthur! We are meant to be together!"

"Love!" her father scoffed while Arthur kept his eyes on Merlyn, following the rise and fall of her chest intently. "You are too young to know about love!"

"Arthur –" she disappeared out the door and her words muted into meaningless complaints; he could only be relieved she was gone. From their first meeting, he had pegged the princess as a narcissistic airhead, so to see her passionate about something (and to be the object of such fervour) was unsettling.

In the wake of her removal, Olaf spoke up commandingly, "Tell me, servant, what did you see?"

Arthur looked up, slowly realising why the jester was present. Indeed, the nervous man looked jittery to be put on the spot. He bowed as he answered, "I saw the Lady Vivian sneaking into this very room, clothed in only her nightdress. I knew it could not be so; the prince must have more honour than that, so I left to inform you immediately."

"I did not coerce her here," Arthur said firmly, glaring at the jester before meeting Olaf's accusing glower without hesitation. "I do not seek your daughter, Olaf, I would not risk the peace talks in this way."

"Then why was she here? Upon your bed!"

"I know not!" he exclaimed, frustrated. "My head – my memories are hazy, like I have been drugged. I awoke and she was by my bed; I cannot tell you the thoughts of your daughter any more than I can tell you why she was here."

There was a heavy pause where Arthur kept his eyes resolutely on Merlyn, her body now still as death except for the faint rise and fall of her chest. Her complexion was pale and dry, lips bloodless, eyes bruised, hair lank; symptoms of an issue longer in the making than one fit upon the floor.

Where was Gaius?

Olaf sighed and, with a swift motion, sheathed his sword once more. He said gruffly, "I believe you. My daughter can be single-minded in her pursuit of something that interests her. I try to protect her but…" His jaw clenched and he added; "I give you fair warning now; if I hear you have done anything to her, presently or in the future, I will gut you like a fish."

Arthur looked up and met the monarch's stern expression firmly. "Then I will sleep without worry, for I have done, and will do, nothing."

Olaf harrumphed but looked away, countenance easing with acceptance. Thankfully, Gaius ran in then, medical basket hanging from his shoulder, and Arthur's attention turned immediately to the physician.

"What happened?" the old man demanded as he lowered himself beside the unconscious girl, joints cracking with resistance.

"I will leave you to it," Olaf said with a single nod in acknowledgement. "I hope she recovers."

"Thank you," Arthur replied distractedly, barely casting the man a glance as he left, intent on explaining what he understood of the circumstances to Gaius while the physician examined Merlyn.

"My memories are hazy like a dream, but I think – I think we kissed," he said, feeling a flush on his cheeks as Gaius shot him a look. "And then she collapsed, thrashing on the floor like she'd been poisoned. She's – she's stopped now, which is good, is it not? It is good, isn't it, Gaius?" The physician didn't look up from studying Merlyn's arm where the angle of the sleeve prevented Arthur from seeing what had caught his attention. "Gaius?"

The old man leaned back, craggy features grave as he tilted Merlyn's arm so Arthur could look at her wrist. Alarm speared through his heart at the sight of it. "Wha…"

Her hand was awful. Fingers fat like uncooked sausages, the joints nearly vanished beneath the distended flesh. Her skin was splotched and blemished, a rash spreading along her arm from the Cuff, worsening into raw blisters the closer to the iron it grew. Worst of all, creeping up the inside of her forearm was a weaving of discoloured veins, dark and grievous against the pale backdrop. Thinner but no less ominous threads slid over the thin skin of her palm.

But Gaius' attention was elsewhere. "This," he specified, tilting her hand so the iron band glinted in the light, underlining the spider web of cracks blemishing the once-pristine metal.

"What happened?" he demanded, gaze tracking back to the damaged skin, horrified by the sickly visage.

"I do not know," Gaius said solemnly, eyebrows pushed together as he turned to his basket and fished out tweezers. Arthur watched closely as he turned back to Merlyn and ever-so-carefully picked at one of the shards, peeling it away from her flesh bit by bit. Beneath, a purple patchwork of scars was revealed, tiny, raised knots like the skin had swelled to fill the moulds of the runes carved in the inside of the Cuff.

Arthur had to turn away, bile rising in his throat.

"The Cuff did that?" he asked softly, the strength in his voice stolen by the reality being shown to him. What he didn't ask but was screeching through his head was; Did I do that?

Gaius hummed neutrally, dropping the fragment into a jar with a sharp clatter of metal on glass before reaching for another piece. "It appears her magic reacted adversely to being bound. Since the moment she was inhibited, her health has been slowly deteriorating. I did not realise the extent until I was present during a seizure and examined her thoroughly…" Arthur heard no more, sound drowned by a high-pitched ringing in his ears, echoing like a scream.

The Cuff. The Cuff had caused this. He'd caused this by forcing its creation.

He'd… he'd hurt her. So terribly.

"– thur. Arthur!" A sharp smack jerked his head to the side, and he let out a surprised cry before gaping at the physician. Gaius had just slapped him!

"What did you do that for!" he exclaimed, lifting a hand to his stinging cheek and rotating his jaw to check the damage.

"I need you to keep your wits about you," he lectured firmly. "Merlyn needs to be taken to my chambers and, despite my impressive agility and strength, I am past the point of being able to carry another person."

Arthur's eyes dropped to Merlyn once more, seeing her just as prone and unresponsive as before. A question bubbled with desperation; "Will she be alright?"

"Merlyn is unique," Gaius replied clinically, not directly answering as he turned his eyes away. "Her body reacted to the Cuff as if it were an infection, trying to be rid of the foreign entity. Now it is gone… we will have to see."

"But there is hope?" he insisted, needing to hear the words. "The Cuff is gone; therefore, sorcery is an option again. She healed herself once when she was seriously injured. Surely, she can again."

"Perhaps," said Gaius, a little helplessly. "The Dragon is the one who knows the magic of Suppression Cuffs; I had no part in its making." He dropped his gaze, sorrow aging him by years.

Arthur felt the silence press in on him like a physical weight, stealing his breath and bowing his shoulders. He let his focus shift to Merlyn. To the damage wrought upon her flesh. To her sallow skin and sickly appearance. To the clear evidence recent life had not been easy.

After a length, the physician heaved a sigh and said, "Come – let us take her to her room. For now, I plan to ensure she will live long enough for us to find a solution."

The prince remained silent, shifting Merlyn into his arms like she was as breakable as glazed pottery. From how light she felt in his arms, the description was not too far from the truth, and guilt surged anew in his throat, flushing over his skin like a blush.

He would find a way to fix this. To fix it all. His father was wrong about magic, and it was time Arthur did something about it.

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Merlyn was settled onto her bed, injured arm soaking in a pungent concoction of who-knew-what, before Gaius updated Arthur on recent events. The prince found himself struggling to believe the legitimacy of Gaius' tale.

"True love?" he parroted with doubt. "That's a fable for fairy-tales and children."

"Apparently not," the old man returned, browsing through healing tomes for ways to bolster Merlyn's strength. They both had hope with the Cuff gone, the girl's own magic would heal the worst of the damage, but it was only a hope. Gaius' ignorance kept them from knowing any consequences the imprinted scars might carry.

"It is an unquantifiable power, beyond that of magic and much lesser known," the physician continued without looking up. "It is what freed you of your enchantment and, I am assuming, potent enough to destroy the bindings on the Cuff. To feel is to have strength, so it is logical deep emotions would carry arcane potential." He paused then muttered more to himself than Arthur, "It is a wonder no one has studied the possibilities further."

"But…" Arthur started, struggling to articulate his thoughts as his brain stuck on the one truth he couldn't deny. "She cannot love me."

"Oh?" Gaius hummed, snapping from his introspection to meet Arthur's words with an eyebrow raised. "And why is that?"

Arthur threw out his hands, words not enough to express his disbelief. "Look at what I have done!" he cried incredulously. "Look at how I have hurt her – even disregarding the Cuff. I belittled her for months – I was so angry… and I made her feel worthless. I made her feel like she wasn't enough – I forced her to change the most integral part of herself on pain of death, Gaius, and that is something that cannot be forgotten. Not now – not when the evidence spells out my shame so clearly."

"It is not up to you to determine for whom Merlyn cares," Gaius said sternly. "Nor is it up to you to try to decide for her. She is much too giving and forgiving but such is what makes her Merlyn, and to try to change that is how you will ruin her far more than binding her magic as you did."

Arthur couldn't meet the man's eyes, too ashamed of himself. He had never wished the ground to open up and swallow him before, but as he stared at the polished stone beneath his boots, he understood the desire intimately.

The truth of Merlyn's suffering ran through his mind on a loop, tormenting him with the reality of his mistakes. Ignorance and arrogance, just as his father before him, Arthur seemed incapable of moving beyond those barriers, withheld by his own assumptions and stuck in his own reality while, outside his small world, Merlyn was brutalised just as much as if he'd held a branding iron to her wrist himself.

If he'd known…

But that was it, was it not? He had been warned. He'd dismissed the begging, the pleading, the bargaining… the fear, and misery, and anger. He'd refused to listen to anyone but himself; just as proud and pigheaded as the man who raised him.

And wasn't it ironic. He had become his father. Merlyn suffered due to actions he forced upon her, just as Ygraine had died because of Uther's decisions. Merlyn told him time and again he was better than his father, was meant to be a better king, but he was exactly the same.

The expression, apples do not fall far from the tree, hit like an arrow to his heart.

But… Arthur's gaze lifted from the ground and drifted to Merlyn's closed door, behind which, the tormented girl rested. He may not be better than his father, but he did not need to follow in his footsteps any longer. He could learn from his mistakes. He could show Merlyn her suffering was not in vain.

She had shown him the truth. And he would use it to set Camelot free.

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Arthur lingered in the physician's chambers as the morning whittled into afternoon despite the duties requiring his attention. He wanted to see Merlyn conscious, even though he did not think she would want to see him. He didn't know the words to say, even if she was welcoming. What do you say to someone you've hurt so grievously? But he was sure that, were he to leave now, he would not have the confidence to return later. His shame would stall his footsteps.

His vigil, however, was disturbed when a guard came knocking.

"The King wishes to see you in the Council Chambers post haste," he said apologetically when he saw the prince at the table, having stepped around Gaius, who still held the door.

"Did he say what it regarded?"

The man, Henry, twitched and said, "I believe it is connected to the incident within your chambers this morning, sire."

Arthur grimaced and sighed. "I will go to him immediately."

Henry bowed and retreated as Arthur pushed himself slowly to his feet. His gaze lingered on Merlyn's door before he turned to Gaius decisively.

"Tell me when she awakens?" he asked; half command, half plea.

"Of course, sire," the physician replied with a dip of his head and the prince forced himself from the room.

When he reached the Council Chambers, the sentries were prompt in opening the double doors and then closing them behind him. The privacy did not bode well.

"Father," he greeted amiably, seeing him alone at the long table with a large platter of food beside a silver pitcher – filled with water or wine, he knew not.

"Arthur," the man replied, sitting back in his throne and wiping his mouth on a pristine white napkin. He sat it down carefully then stared at the prince with judgement in his eyes. "Care to tell me why Lady Vivian was caught in your bedchamber this morning?"

Irritation bubbled to life in his belly, and he took a deep calm breath to control it. "It was a misunderstanding," he said neutrally. "Olaf and I worked it out between us; I see no reason to involve you also."

"I am your father. I have a right to know when my son threatens the peace talks with his actions!"

"I threatened nothing!" snapped Arthur. "Lady Vivian was found in my chambers – not the other way around. I did not invite her there!" he huffed and forced his tone to lower with civility, not wanting to splinter what little courtesy they still had between them. "Nevertheless, the situation was resolved without strife."

"The other kings see you as a lusting fool," the King censured. "Our reputation is everything when dealing with these men. Combined, they hold the greatest power in the lands – we cannot be seen as lesser! Your actions could set us back days in our negotiations."

"You have no right to criticise me for my actions when it was you to condemn thousands of innocents to death after you murdered my mother, regardless of laws!"

"That is not what happened!" the King shouted, instantly enraged at the accusations. "I was deceived! I would never harm your mother –"

"You were selfish!" Arthur roared, and the King drew back in shock at his volume. "It was your arrogance that killed my mother. And even if it was not she who paid the price, you were sentencing another to death just so you could have an heir!"

"Do not speak of things you do not know," he growled, gloved fists clenched at his sides. "I am your King! You will show me some respect!"

"And that's how it always has been, has it not?" Arthur retorted, glad that his anger hid the old pain sitting like heartburn in his chest. "I was always prince first and son second."

"I raised you to be strong. That wouldn't have happened had I tended to your every mood. You are who you are because of me."

"I am who I am despite you!" he shouted, the fire in his blood soaring to new heights at his father's declaration. At the arrogance of his claim. How dare he! "It was the people around me; our servants, my carers and tutors, Gaius! It was they who taught me the true value of being a ruler; they who showed me a better way to care for our people! And you, Father," He spat the word like it tasted rotten in his mouth; "You continued to ruin everything around you, tearing villages apart, killing thousands of innocents – had me to kill them too, thinking your orders just! I murdered families for you!"

Uther turned away in disgust. "If this is about sorcery –"

"This is always about sorcery!" Arthur barked, angry at his dismissive words. "It is your greatest weakness and your biggest fear. You blinded yourself to its virtues because you couldn't bear to shoulder the blame for your hubris, so you live in fear of it every day!"

"So all these attacks on the throne throughout the years – some you were victim to – they were all what exactly?"

"Retaliation," he bit out. "Call something monster long enough and monster it will become." His heart hurt from the truth of it.

His father scoffed, stubbornness raising its ugly head. "You know nothing on the evils of magic. You have barely glimpsed the darkness it contains. Before you were born, this land was swallowed by the false promises offered by sorcery; greed, jealousy, and paranoia ran rampart. Curses and hexes were regular. There were people whose minds had been scraped out by torture, leaving them little more than puppets to a priestess's wishes. They would kill, rape, and pillage without regard, feeling nothing – being nothing but a toy to a power greater than their own. Normal men were defenceless."

"Yet not everyone was like that," Arthur defended, sickened despite himself at the idea of human puppets. He knew the nightmare of losing oneself to powers beyond control; he couldn't imagine the horrors of waking up to find he'd killed or hurt the powerless. But, such evil was a minority, even if their damage could be great. "And still you condemned them for the actions of the lesser."

"Sorcery breeds corruption," growled his father. "If they were not yet party to the atrocities of the time, they would have soon joined. My actions put an end to the spiral of sickness and chaos choking the very air. That is what being King is about; making the hard choices for the benefit of all."

"Your actions were nothing more than a retaliation for a decision you made in error. You couldn't handle what you had done so, like the coward you are, you pushed the blame onto others, forcing them to reap what should have been yours to bear. You abused the rights you had as a husband and a king and called it the fault of magic. You are hardly fit to sit on the throne."

"And you are undeserving!" bellowed the King, rising to his feet with cheeks a furious red, near shaking in rage. "You think you know best, but you are just a boy, one making choices that risks peace with our neighbours. You think you are a man, ready to protect thousands of people with your rule? Think again. You do not know the meaning of the word commitment. And until you do, cease your preaching."

Arthur gritted his teeth but settled his resolve. His father's opinions meant nothing now; he didn't have the right to make Arthur question himself – to feel inadequate with his decisions – he had more important things to focus on.

"I'll cease my preaching the day you realise the only evil poisoning this land is the king ruling it. Good day to you, Your Majesty."

And with that, he marched from the room without waiting to be dismissed.

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Merlyn awoke late in the afternoon, groggy, weak, and confused. Gaius explained what happened in a gentle voice usually reserved for traumatised patients, examining her methodically as he did so. The black-haired girl blinked at him sleepily, head rolling on the pillow as his words slowly sunk through the cotton stuffed in her brain. She lifted her heavy arm from her side and stared at the discoloured skin, the loose sleeve of her nightdress sliding up her arm. It was bare of any iron.

"It's… gone," she commented, voice hoarse. She twisted her arm to observe the marks circling her wrist, perfectly replicating the Cuff. The runes were purple and raised and horribly ugly, just like the rest of the patchwork flesh. She tried to wiggle her fingers, but pain shot up her arm with the effort.

"The best I can deduce is the metal fractured at the same time you freed Arthur. The Dragon warned love was a powerful and mysterious force."

It still burns, she thought. Arm too heavy, she let it flop back onto the mattress, blinking up at the familiar wooden ceiling, flickering with odd shadows under the mix of candlelight and split sunlight through the shutters. She felt as if her wits were clawing desperately to free themselves from mud, scraping away the thick, sucking mess only for it to roll back in the moment she let it go.

"How do you feel, Merlyn?" Gaius asked, and the black-haired girl tilted her head to gaze at the old man; his expression was guarded, as if bracing for bad news.

"I feel…" she thought about it. What did she feel? "Slow."

But that wasn't a proper answer, was it?

"Sleepy." Better.

"You can rest in a moment," he assured and tapped the mattress beside her body. "How does your arm feel? Does it hurt more than usual?"

Merlyn blinked as she thought, trying to gauge her pain measurements. She'd been living with the burning for so long, it was hard to determine better or worse.

"It…" she tried to flex her fingers again and her breath caught at the jolt of pain. "It hurts," she said. "The same, I think."

Gaius started speaking but her awareness began to drift, his voice droning indecipherable for several minutes before a warm, papery hand touched her shoulder. She dragged her reluctant eyes to meet his gaze.

"Can you access your magic?" he asked softly, hesitantly.

His question sharpened her mind, and she turned her attention inwards, reaching for warmth, for that soothing, comforting thrum echoing in the underlay of her consciousness. But in her reaching, she overbalanced and fell through the cracks, landing in a terrifyingly familiar inferno. It rose like a serpent, looming over her small frame and ready to fall upon her with the might of a tsunami.

She gave a cry and wrenched herself away, shuddering and panting as she stared at Gaius in fright. "No," she sobbed, sweat and tears dotting her face. "Please, don't make me."

"Shh," he soothed, dabbing away the salt with a damp cloth. "Hush, child. I will not force you. Just rest."

She released a shaky breath and blinked wet eyes with lethargy. Her gaze drifted towards the candle upon her bedside table, and she watched the flame burn cleanly on the wick, droplets of melted wax sliding down the side like tears. They collected on the rim of the brass candleholder in milky beads, slowly cooling back into solid form.

A thought slid into focus from the woolly mess of her mind; "Where is Arthur?" she asked, rolling her head on the pillow to gaze at Gaius curiously.

The physician's lips were tight, but he answered calmly, "Running the kingdom while his father is occupied with the treaty."

The treaty. An alarm started to ring faintly in the back of her mind. There was something worrying about the treaty. A threat.

"Is –"

"Everything is fine," Gaius interrupted calmingly. "Arthur's mind is his own again, and he is aware of the actions of Trickler and King Alined. You do not need to worry any longer."

"Alright," Merlyn mumbled, concentration starting to waver despite her best efforts. Her eyelids were growing heavy. "Alright."

"Sleep, dear girl," Gaius whispered, his voice distant and fading. "You will recover one way or another, I'll make sure of it."

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Arthur was at his study desk when Gaius entered his chambers, hands tucked together within his sleeves and a solemn expression upon his craggy face. The moment the prince saw his expression, he placed his quill atop the writing desk and turned his mind away from taxes.

"What is it, Gaius?" he asked, dread rising like bile in his throat. Had Merlyn worsened?

The old man stopped before him and lifted his chin bracingly. "The removal of the Cuff has not dampened its affect upon Merlyn, sire. She is unable to access her magic and, for the most part, maintains her mental regression."

"How?" he demanded. "It no longer binds her skin. How is it still trapping her?"

"Though the Cuff may be destroyed, it's damage is already done. The runes imprinted into her flesh contain the same magic imbued within the Cuff. She is just as bound as she was before. We can only hope the absence of the iron might lessen her body's deterioration."

Arthur slumped back into his chair, the news settling in his mind like lead. "So she is unable to heal herself?"

"Indeed not, sire. She was distraught when she attempted to access her magic."

"Then – then we find a sorcerer and head to the Cauldron of Arianrhod, as we first planned."

"I do not know Merlyn is strong enough for such a journey right now. The trauma of shattering the Cuff has weakened her greatly. She will need time to recover."

"Will she recover?" he asked imploringly. "What if she only grows worse?"

Gaius hesitated then said with reluctance, "There is something I may be able to try, but it bears risk."

"What? Tell me."

Slowly, he did: "I may… be able to mar the scars and destroy the bond between the Runes. A thin piece of wire will be all I need."

"You mean… burn her skin?"

"A thin line through the heart of the design should be all it requires… if the impervious ward upon the Cuff does not linger on her flesh."

"Is that likely?" Arthur asked, not having known such a spell existed.

"Impossible to foresee," the old man grunted, clearly frustrated by his lack of knowledge. "Everything inscribed upon the metal has been marked onto her skin, yet the ritual was built upon iron. Theoretically, it shouldn't be holding at all. But Merlyn's magic is a level unto its own, so the consequences of her actions are unpredictable." He huffed. "We can only try and hope it is that simple."

"Will… will she feel it all? Ruining the scars?"

Gaius sighed forlornly. "I can feed her milk of the poppy, but I fear to give a full dose lest it send her into shock. If she were at full health…" He shook his head solemnly and folded his hands into his sleeves once more. "Alas, we must approach this with caution. A frail body is a dangerous one to treat."

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Merlyn woke in the evening and shuffled from the back room into the main chamber with an aching and stiff body. Gaius was surprised to see her up and ushered her quickly to the table before bustling around to prepare some tea. The black-haired girl let his benign conversation wash over her ears and soothe the sense of displacement within her mind.

She blinked and suddenly a steaming cup was placed before her, telling her she just lost several minutes. She looked up to check if Gaius had asked her a question, but he seemed to understand what had occurred, a kind expression on his wrinkled face. He turned away and shuffled around the table to settle across from her, groaning quietly as his old bones creaked at the change in posture. She wondered what she looked like when she phased out. Did she look as ridiculous as she felt when she came to?

They lingered in silence for a little while, Merlyn letting the steam rising from her tea dictate when it was safe to sip, as faith in her physical senses had severely diminished. She almost drifted again when Gaius' voice brought her back.

"There may be a way to free you," he said without preamble, and she twitched in surprise, fog pulling back at his news.

"What is it?" she asked, not having expected an answer.

The physician hesitated, head downturned and eyes focused on the liquid in his cup. Wariness itched along her skin like a rash.

"There is a possibility we may be able to mar the runes and break the bindings now the Cuff no longer hides the marks."

Half a beat later, Merlyn realised what he meant. "You want… to burn the skin?" she asked, needing clarification. Her eyes dropped to stare at her wrist, though it was covered in bandages from fingertip to elbow in hopes the pressure would help push the oedemic fluid from her extremities.

The old man nodded, looking up to catch her gaze, solemnity heavy on his craggy features. "It is entirely your choice," he said. "And there is a possibility it will not work. I know the runes were only focusing and binding the ritual; the spell may hold without them."

"But it may work," she stated, thinking it through. "This may be my best chance. My only chance."

"That is not a certainty," Gaius replied firmly. "There are many things yet unexplored – things we may have overlooked."

"Yet the longer it is left, the less likely I am to recover. Yes?" she stared at him, refusing him the ability to soften the truth. He deflated and nodded in agreement. She braced herself; "Then I will do it."

"There are dangers involved," he cautioned. "The shock to your body and the risk of infection is high. There are any number of things your magic may do once it is unfettered."

Merlyn stopped him from continuing, holding up a hand as she said supportively, "I trust you, Gaius. Anything you can do to prepare, you will do, and anything else is out of your power."

The old man huffed, exasperated by her faith. "I am not a miracle worker, Merlyn," he said. "I cannot predict every variable."

"I don't expect you to," she concurred. "But your best is better than anyone I know, so… I trust you."

Her confidence in his abilities left the physician silent for arguments, affection and fear swelling in his chest.

"We will do it tomorrow," he said with resignation, mind already jumping ahead to the tools he would require and the remedies he needed to prepare. Perhaps it was all in vain, but he did not work under the assumption a situation was hopeless until he had tried every possibility. And, for Merlyn, he'd try some impossibilities too.

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TBC…

Yeesh. The moment you realise you've lost your time frame and have to go back and reread the entire series to work out which season you're supposed to be in (*awkwardly laughing)
Anyway, hope you enjoyed. I know it was probably entirely unsatisfactory but I'll have the next chapter posted much sooner than this one took. Peace

Also, I'm on AO3 as B_B if anyone wants to follow this story there