Sinking To The Deep

Merlyn sat on the ground before the hearth, staring at the glowing embers absent-mindedly. It was not yet late, but Aayla was resting within Merlyn's room, still recuperating from the strain of healing Morgana earlier that afternoon. Merlyn had contemplated joining her in slumber, but her tiredness was of a different kind, and she hadn't yet summoned the will to climb to her feet. She hadn't summoned the will to do much of anything with her thoughts torpid and senses numb.

So caught in her daze, she didn't hear the door to the chamber open, nor the light tread of boots across the floor. When the figure slid to the ground beside her, settling in for a long recline, it took several stretched seconds for her to register she was no longer alone.

She turned her head and blinked at her companion. He smiled slightly at her attention, though his blue eyes tracked across her face attentively.

"I'm glad you are awake," Arthur murmured.

She tipped her head in agreement. "So am I."

They fell into easy silence, and Merlyn's gaze drifted back to the embers in the fire, drawn to the rich glow, though it looked silver to her colourless vision.

"You have met Aayla?" he asked, drawing her back. He was fidgeting, looking much like an errant child with his legs crossed and fingers fiddling with the hem of his trousers.

"She is a gifted woman," she answered, unsure if Arthur knew the truth and unwilling to expose her if not.

"She has gone above and beyond what I hoped," he admitted then, chewed on his lip for a moment before he blurted; "I had originally brought her to aid you."

Merlyn cocked her head, eyes glancing over his tense posture in confusion. "How so?"

And the entire story came spilling out of Arthur's mouth; his talk with Kilgarrah, the advice given hence, and his subsequent hunt for a powerful healer to join them in their journey up the Mountains of Asgorath.

Merlyn's head was spinning at the information, struggling to assimilate the fact there was a way to be healed.

"The Cauldron of Arianrhod," she repeated quietly to herself, trying to recall any mention of it in her books. There was nothing. "I have never heard of this place."

"Neither had I until the Dragon spoke of it," agreed Arthur. "But it is where we can touch upon the White Goddess and use her power to free you from those scars."

Merlyn gazed at the prince, taking in his features with soft eyes. "So, we leave when Aayla has recovered her strength?"

Arthur hesitated, expression twisting with sheepishness. "Ah… well, the answers to your health were not given freely. There was a price, and it is now due for payment."

Alarm zapped down her spine, causing her to straighten. "What did he demand?" she asked warily.

"Freedom," he replied, and the black-haired girl was torn between relief and trepidation.

"When do you plan to free him?"

"As soon as Aayla has recovered enough to cast the spell. In the next day, I suppose."

"You know what you're required to do?"

He nodded, staring at her with something indecipherable on his face. She quickly grew self-conscious. "What?" she demanded, a blush warming her cheeks.

"A blade forged by the Old Religion," he said.

"Your sword," she defined, nodding.

"Forged by the Old Religion, bearing immeasurable power."

"It has done its job protecting you from those who would do you harm," Merlyn confirmed with pride.

"I've never thanked you for all you've done for me," Arthur admitted, tone growing solemn. "Not one time when you saved my life."

Merlyn browsed her memories for a moment, but shrugged quickly, never having noticed such a paltry thing. "I do not do it for thanks," she said. "I do it because I care for you, and it is the right thing to do."

"It does not mean you should go unacknowledged," he argued. "Friend of Camelot, indeed. You are a boon to this city."

"There are others like me," she brushed off, flushing with his sincerity, but he shook his head, resolute.

"I can guarantee you, Merlyn; there is no one like you."

She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing, looking down in embarrassment. A moment of silence passed before Arthur asked slowly, "How are you? Really?"

She thought about it for a moment, wondering what she could say; if she should be truthful; what part of her pains she wanted to share.

"I'm frightened," she admitted, almost accidentally, and a sharp sting of fear pierced her gut as if the confession gave her leave to feel.

She did not want to die just yet; the looming reality terrified her, but she would not go screaming into the night. She did not want to beg for life on her last breath, panicking and regretful, and she would not let fear push her into reckless decisions. But Merlyn didn't like to think too hard about it as there was a very real chance she would cry and beg and scream when the time came. There was no way of knowing until it was upon her – and there was no way of knowing if she would even realise it had come. For all she speculated and assumed, she could simply slip away in the night, not realising until she was beyond the veil that she had left the mortal world at all.

Arthur's expression was broken, twisted with a myriad of emotion, but he managed to rasp out, "I'm frightened too." He reached for her healthy hand, clutching it tightly between both of his own. "I cannot lose you. And certainly not from my arrogance." He sighed shakily, head bowing in shame. "If I could trade places with you, I would in a heartbeat."

"Shh," she murmured. "Don't say that."

His voice was rough as he insisted, "It is true."

She was too tired to argue so she moved her hand from his hold and to his neck, pulling him in as she leant forward to rest her head against his collar. The heat of his skin was nice, his heartbeat pumping steadily in his chest. After a moment's hesitation, he relaxed into the new position, curling further around her frame so his hands warmed her back and his cheek pressed against her temple. Merlyn closed her eyes and simply breathed.

"After the dragon is freed, we will venture to the Cauldron of Arianrhod, and the Cuff will become nothing more than a terrible memory."

She let herself be comforted by the promise in his voice.

.·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·.

Merlyn was disturbed from slumber in the early hours of the next morning, dragged from dreamland and dumped back into consciousness when the dull but persistent burn of her wrist flared into uncomfortable prickles. She sat upright with a hitched breath, shoulders hunching in expectation of an oncoming wave, but it never arrived.

She squinted down at her bandaged forearm, shadowed in the dull light from her small, single candle, and confusedly twitched her fingers within the binds. The pain in her wrist always had a reason; when it intensified, it did not settle until she'd had one of her fits or removed herself from an outside source of magic. Since she slept in a tower, away from anyone who might be casting spells, with Aayla deeply asleep beside her bed, it had to be the former, yet… the scorch settled at a low, steady heat instead of rolling over in a swell.

She waited several minutes longer before it was obvious nothing changed and pushed herself to her feet – only to nearly keel back over with light-headedness. She'd moved too quickly.

Merlyn steadied herself against the bed and blinked starbursts from her eyes, waiting until she was completely stable before heading to the door. She moved carefully down the short, dark staircase to the main chamber, listening as the snores of her uncle intensified with her descent. The glow of the embers in the hearth brightened the space well enough to see by, though Gaius was hidden within the shadows of the staircase. She drifted closer to check on him, finding him comfortably sprawled upon his back, blanket slipped to his waist. Carefully, she tugged it back up to his shoulders and tucked it in before leaving him in peace.

She wandered to the fireplace and added a few small logs before stirring up the flames. The chamber was a nice temperature, but she craved a cup of tea while she browsed whatever tomes Gaius had left atop the table. With no desire to sneak around the predawn castle, and no urge to return to bed, reading seemed like a civilised way to pass the time – and it had been too long since she'd read for pleasure.

She lit a couple of candles and settled into her seat before pulling the closest book a little nearer, flicking to the front cover so she knew the subject before returning to the page Gaius had marked.

Merlyn read for a good hour, sipping sweetened tea and flexing her sore wrist in the hopes the burning would abate. It didn't, but it seemed her body eventually decided sleep was more important, as her yawning grew in frequency and her heavy eyelids refused to remain upright. She regretted stirring up the flames as she wiped her sweaty forehead, and, on her way back to her room, used the poker to nudge the logs out of the fire, hoping Gaius didn't grow too uncomfortable.

Once in her room, she spared a glance at a sleeping Aayla before sliding back into her bed and quickly falling asleep. She didn't stir until many hours later.

.·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·.

Neither Aayla nor Arthur awoke in the early hours of predawn as they'd planned to free the dragon, sleeping right through until after dawn. The prince didn't even realise until his servant, George, nudged him awake, a platter of breakfast awaiting him to be seated.

"Wha –" He shot up in bed, vision blurry and thoughts muddled. "What time is it?"

"Nearly upon the seventh bell, My Lord," George informed, and Arthur scrambled for the edge of his bed in panic.

"Damn it all!" he cursed himself. "Of all the da – oomph!"

His foot had tangled around his sheet, and he fell off the mattress when his leg did not move to where it was supposed to.

"Sire!" George cried, but Arthur cared not for the fool he appeared, ripping his leg free and scrambling upright.

"Dress me!" he commanded, and his servant hastened to comply.

Frustratingly, his hurry to the Physician's Chamber was stalled by a guard who redirected him towards the Council Chambers for an impromptu briefing with his father.

"Can it not wait?" he asked shortly, but the guard – John – shook his head apologetically.

"His Majesty was quite clear," he said, and Arthur sighed in exasperated resignation.

He marched into the Chamber with little fanfare. "What is it?" he demanded, catching his father's attention from where he had been discussing something with Gaius.

"I want you to gather some men and ride to the Fortress of Idirsholas," the King commanded, rubbing his brow like it pained him. "See there are no disturbances at the ruins."

Arthur scoffed, taken aback by the abrupt order. "What is so important up there?"

"There are rumours needing to be quashed."

Arthur lifted his hands. "But I have things I need to do here. Surely, hearsay isn't so dire."

The King's eyes shot to him, stern and uncompromising. "You will do as I say."

Irritation and incredulity stole his coherency, and he gaped at his father like a fool. He turned to Gaius, seeking an ally in this ridiculous command, but the physician lowered his eyes silently, submissive as always, to Camelot's ruler.

"Fine," he bit out.

.·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·.

He marched straight to the Physician's Chamber after sending a guard to round up his regular troop and found Aayla inside at the table, nursing a steaming cup and looking rather miserable.

She looked up at his arrival and stood quickly when she realised who it was. "My Lord, I apologise for not waking when I had promised. I don't know…" she shook her head, looking flabbergasted. "Healing the Lady Morgana must have taken more from me than I anticipated."

"I cannot fault you when I also overslept," he assured, his irritation at the bungled situation evident. "But my father has charged me with a task I must complete immediately, so I must ask if you are prepared to release the dragon without delay."

Aayla shook her head, expression pursed with internal fury. "I have tried to cast spells all morning, sire. My magic is failing me."

"What do you mean?" he asked in alarm.

"It is known to happen when one is unwell," she assured, though she spoke as if the statement displeased her, teeth clenched and frown deep. "As I said, I must have stressed myself unknowingly when I worked upon the Lady Morgana. I am sorry Arthur Pendragon; I have not the strength to break the Dragon's chains today."

"Curse it!" hissed Arthur, spinning away and scrubbing a hand through his hair. He tried to think of an alternative, but the only one coming to mind was releasing the beast while he was away. He was already pushing the lizard's timeframe, but waiting another four or so days while he traipsed to the northern lands and back would be too much, he knew. Still… he had wanted to be present, if only to remind the beast of his promise to leave Camelot alone.

The door opened quietly behind him, and he turned to see Gaius entering, looking unsurprised at his presence.

"Gaius," he stated, a desperate idea forming in his mind. "Will you stand for me while I am away?"

Wariness bloomed in the old man's eyes. "How so?" he asked.

"The time is past due I uphold my oath to the Dragon, but I am forced on this farce of a quest and Aayla is not ready. Will you stand for me when she has recovered her strength? There is no one I trust more."

Gaius tucked his chin in reluctance, a frown pushing his brows together. "Kilgarrah has lived caged for twenty years, Arthur. In light of recent events, his anger will be burning."

"We have an agreement," Arthur assured, though Gaius' concern was one he bore also. It ate at him every time he thought of the dragon free. He grew up on tales of the Fate of Daobeth and the devastation the dragons of old wrought upon unsuspecting kingdoms, of some beasts even the Dragonlords couldn't tame. But he'd made a vow, and Merlyn had also given a promise. It was time to be true to them.

He untied his scabbard from its place at his hip and held it out for the physician to take. "You will need this," he explained. "A blade forged of the Old Religion."

Gaius immediately shook his head. "If the rumours at the Fortress of Idirsholas are true, you will need this weapon more than I."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked with a frown. "I'm investigating trespassers."

"Legends say when the fires of Idirsholas burn, the Knights of Medhir will ride again."

"And you believe this to be true?" he asked sceptically.

"There is evidence the tale is more than mere superstition," reproached Gaius. "Seven of Camelot's knights were seduced by a sorceress's call some three hundred years ago. At her command, they became a terrifying and brutal force that rode through the lands leaving death and destruction in their wake."

"How were they stopped?" he asked, uneasiness replacing cynicism.

"Only after the sorceress was killed did the Knights of Medhir grow still. If rumour turns out to be truth, you will need a weapon able to kill the dead."

Arthur hefted the sheathed sword, running his thumb over the leather grip. "The dragon cannot be freed without this blade. If I take it, I am breaking my oath."

"And if you do not, you may die and leave Camelot at the mercy of a grief-stricken king," Gaius warned. "You were a mere babe during the Purge, but Uther Pendragon is more devastating than any war when he is mourning."

Guilt rose in his gullet with his statement, coating his throat in bile. Remorse at being the cause of his mother's death. Regret at growing into a son that made his father proud. Shame at knowing he was going to comply with Gaius' warning and take the sword, regardless of his promise to the dragon.

"Will you go see him?" asked Arthur, inferring the winged beast. "Explain the circumstances. As soon as I return, I will be down that tunnel and releasing him from those chains, whatever my father's next orders may be."

"It will not matter to Kilgarrah," the old man warned tiredly. "I will do as you ask, but know vows are as binding for a dragon as a signed contract is between kings. He will see this as a betrayal."

Arthur threw up his hands. "There is little I can do about it. For now, my father is the more immediate problem, and I must obey him when he demands it lest I rebel completely and start a civil war. The dragon will get his freedom, that much I know is truth."

Gaius sighed, wrinkles gouged deep into his face. "Let us hope it is enough," he portended.

.·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·.

Merlyn opened her eyes and saw Arthur there, standing at the end of her bed. His brow was creased, and worry pulled down his lips, but he smiled gently when he saw her watching him. He wore travelling clothes and a sword at his hip.

"Arthur," she breathed but didn't rise as she usually would have. Instead, she nuzzled her cheek into the pillow and curled more deeply onto her side, gracing him with a returning, sleepy smile.

"Merlyn," he returned, just as gently. "How are you?"

She thought about it, cataloguing her body and mind. "Drowsy," she settled on, deciding anything more was too convoluted and exhaustive to share.

He chuffed a quiet laugh, eyes dipping to the foot of the bed before meeting her gaze once more. His smile now was tinged with sadness. "I just came to tell you I'm being sent on a short patrol. I will be absent for several days."

"Oh," she said, trying to search for an appropriate response. None were forthcoming, so she soon settled with; "I wish you a safe journey."

He dipped his head in acknowledgement and said, "We will begin our quest to the Cauldron as soon as I have returned. Be prepared."

She nodded, words not yet sinking into her mind, and he soon left with a regretful sigh, pulling the door most of the way closed behind him. She stared at the sliver of light spilling in for a short while, awareness dulling with the lack of stimulation. Eventually, she closed her eyes and slept once more.

.·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·.

She was disturbed a short while later as the niggling pain of her wrist pressed in on her dreams, causing terror sweats to coat her skin before she gasped awake to escape demonic flames. She gritted her teeth as her consciousness settled and glared at her bandaged arm, still achingly tired but knowing she'd find no more rest.

Lethargically, she crawled from her bed and dressed for the day, before seating herself at the edge of her mattress and unwrapping the bindings on her arm. She wasn't sure, but it felt like the burning pain had intensified again, from a low heat to a distracting and aggravating simmer. Something had to be causing it, and if it wasn't an outside source, then, perhaps… perhaps, this was a new phase in her decline.

Mercy of Fates, she hoped not.

Nothing seemed to be changed as she gazed at her skin. The veins up the inside of her arm had darkened and raised, squishy bumps under the pads of her fingers, but the swelling in her hand was unchanged, giving credence to the pressure bandaging Gaius had attempted.

If this was just a simple progression, Merlyn honestly didn't know how she was going to remain sane enough to reach the Cauldron of Arianrhod to be healed. She could barely think straight with the urge to cut off her hand simply to feel something different chewing up her thoughts.

But it reminded her: Arthur had gone… where had he gone?

He hadn't said.

The ignorance sent worry down her spine. What if Morgause had put her plan into action? What if Arthur was trotting blindly into a trap with no way to fight?

She pushed herself from the bed and marched down the steps and into the main chamber but found the room empty save for Favian. She paused in surprise.

"Miss Merlyn," he greeted with a dip of the head. He was garbed in uniform, so he was on duty. "Gaius is tending to a minor outbreak of illnesses across the city and asked that I resume my old station temporarily so you are not alone."

"Oh," she said, sorting through the information slowly. Aayla must have joined Gaius on his rounds. "Is the outbreak bad?"

Favian shrugged in uncertainty, wavering between concerned and calm. "Gaius assured me the symptoms are benign and likened to a type of flu, but it is spreading quickly and the earliest diagnosed are yet to improve."

"And what of the prince? Any news on his whereabouts?"

"I know not, only that he was sent on an errand of the King with a troop of men in tow."

Merlyn pursed her lips but said nothing more, moving to prep a pot for tea as her thoughts whirled. If she had magic, she'd scry Arthur whereabouts then jump on Sunstrider and follow, but her horse was who-knew-where in the spelling paddock, and the only way to learn the prince's whereabouts was to interrogate someone in the know and hope they answered truthfully. Then she'd have to 'borrow' a horse and hope her body held out as she crossed the country.

Merlyn shook her head. It would be a foolish venture unlikely to work. Her time would be better spent trying to figure out Morgause's plan and how to stop Morgana from helping enact it.

She stirred the flames into life and sat heavily at the table as she rubbed her aching eyes, a headache brewing behind them. Damn the rune scars for disrupting her sleep; now she was going to be miserable all day.

.·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·.

Gaius and Aayla returned a little while later when it became clear the foreign woman was also infected with the illness, clammy and feverish as she sunk tiredly into a seat at the table across from Merlyn. Favian was thanked and released by Gaius with a warning to keep Alys and baby Adrian indoors until the cause of the illness could be determined. In the privacy of the chambers, Aayla cast a healing charm on herself, but it was ineffective.

"It might be my own weakness," she reassured when the two grew worried. "I have been struggling all day."

She tried again after a revitalising tea and watery broth, but the results were the same. Gaius tried to assuage Merlyn's worry; "It may be nothing."

"But what if it's something?" she retorted. "Have you diagnosed it yet?"

By his pursed lips, it was clear he hadn't. By all rights, it seemed a simple virus inhibiting the system, causing fever and flu-like symptoms. Yet, it was spreading across the kingdom like wildfire.

What if it was something like the Afanc, a plague summoned to lay low the citizens of Camelot?

Merlyn set up a culture just in case, setting within the water a flower to see if it was poisoned as the water had been last time plague came to Camelot. She left a plate of assorted breads aside, also, to see whether the common food-source was the medium this time.

It would explain the increased burning of her wrist, for sorcery so widespread (or already within her system) would be felt by the sensitive runemarks, for sure.

The more she thought on it, the more logical it seemed, and the more anxious she grew. What could she do against a magical creature when she had no magic and Arthur was away?

"What if it turns out to be an Afanc, Gaius?" she asked as she paced the length of the bench under the window, the cultures sitting innocuously on its top. "How am I to defeat it?"

"There is no need to borrow trouble, Merlyn," the old man said soothingly from his place at the table. "There is nothing to suggest it is a magical ailment at all. The patients I have seen have been treated so our best course of action is to see how they respond. Then we can act with prudence instead of fear."

"Right," Merlyn said, nodding as she turned his words over in her mind, rubbing absently at her wrist. "Wait and see. Prudence over fear." She released her wrist and clutched at the Camelot medallion hanging between her breasts, hidden under her work dress. "Alright. So… what should we do while we wait?"

Gaius' eyebrow crept up his forehead. "For one, you can explain to me what is happening with your arm." She faltered and stared at him with surprised eyes, not having realised she'd been so obvious. He stared at her pointedly. "You have barely left it alone all morning." His tone gentled as he continued, "Has something changed?"

Merlyn sighed, defeated, and moved to sit beside him at the table. "It woke me this morning, hurting more than usual, and has been steadily increasing since."

Worry clumped his craggy features, and he was swift to strip off the fresh bandages to examine her arm, lips thinning at the redness of the normally purple scars. He poked and prodded but could ultimately find nothing physical to cause the rise in reaction. He wiped a hand across tired eyes before summarising his ignorance.

"It… may be an advancement of your deterioration," he shared with reluctance then shook his head in helplessness. "But, it could simply be a bad day. I cannot know for sure."

He sighed, looking old and drained, and she felt guilty for all the stress she'd caused him – not just recently, but since she'd arrived. One thing after another, demanding answers to riddles and disobeying his advice; risking her life again and again without thought of what it did to others. She'd always been thoughtless. Growing up, she'd been reckless and impulsive, troublemaking with Will in complete disregard to the warnings of her mother. Consequences hadn't been a concern of hers. Things like cause-and-effect – like death and responsibilities and fatal mistakes – they had all been abstract notions in a sheltered life. She may have lived in fear of discovery, but it had been a fear she'd lived with for so long it had numbed.

Then the two travellers in the night, and the earthquake shaking not only the material world but her faith in her safety. And she felt herself awakened to the dangers of the world. Yet it had changed nothing. She still tossed herself headfirst into peril, regardless of the threat, the outcome, or the trouble it caused those who cared.

But she saw now. Ailing from the effects of her own hubris, she saw exactly what caring for her cost. And it was too steep a price.

"Morgana knows the truth of her parentage," she blurted as soon as Aayla retreated to Merlyn's room to rest, wanting no others to hear their conversation.

Gaius stared at her, shocked, and Merlyn nodded in acknowledgement. "She overheard the King while she was comatose, then she heard I knew already. She is angry and vengeful. Gaius… I'm afraid she may be part of this plot. Arthur's absence is too convenient. Where did he go?"

"He is on an errand for the King," he assured, settling across the table from her with his hands cupped around a steaming mug of tea. He looked exhausted, eyes bruised and skin pasty; she hoped he wasn't getting sick also. "A disturbance was sighted within the Fortress of Idirsholas and he was sent to investigate with a guard. The smoke was sighted while Morgana was injured so it cannot be her doing."

"Morgana is party to Morgause," she revealed. "I know not how long they've been scheming, but… it was what we were arguing about the morning Morgana fell down the stairs."

She dropped her gaze, ashamed by the circumstances that led to the highborn being hurt.

It was several long seconds of silence before Gaius asked, "Does anyone else know of this?"

She looked up at him from under her lashes and mutely shook her head, guilt stealing her words. Here she was, heaping more burdens upon her uncle.

"Do you believe she will reveal you to the King?"

Merlyn thought it over but, eventually, shook her head again. "I believe she would have said something when the King first asked if she planned to at all. She… her choices are based in righteousness. She wants to free Camelot from oppression, but she is angry and hurt, and letting it rule her decisions."

He patted her hand supportively. "Let us worry about one thing at a time."

"How long until Arthur returns?"

"The fortress lies short of two days away at ease. Depending on what he finds, he could return in three."

Merlyn sighed and rubbed her face tiredly, craving a nap. "What was he investigating? Trespassers?"

Gaius hesitated, catching her attention. She narrowed her eyes at his reticence. "What is it?" she demanded.

He sighed and admitted to the legend surrounding the abandoned northern stronghold. "… when the fires of Idirsholas burn, the Knights of Medhir will ride again."

"And you believe this to be true," she deduced, rubbing at her forearm above her wrist as the pain grew insistent.

"It is no fairy-tale, Merlyn," he lectured.

"How were they stopped?" she asked with foreboding.

"Only after the sorceress was killed did the Knights of Medhir grow still. If rumour turns out to be truth, I fear for each and every one of us."

"And Arthur is riding to meet them?" she said with alarm. "How will he defend himself against wraiths? He's no match without me there to protect him!"

"Merlyn!" Gaius snapped, cutting across her panic. "Remember the last time Arthur faced one of the undead? He has his burnished blade and retains his skills as the best swordsman in Camelot. He can protect himself and his men if necessary." He released a heavy sigh and pushed upright, brushing his hands over his tunic. "Let us just hope it is not."

.·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·...·»«·.

The sickness worsened. The city slowed to a standstill as people fell into a slumber from which they couldn't be awakened. The King was unresponsive in his bed while the councilmen were just as prone within their rooms. All the leaders brought low within hours of each other. Whatever this was, it wasn't designed to draw out suffering; it was going straight for the jugular.

Gaius fell ill. Aayla and Gwen succumbed to sleep. And Merlyn's wrist grew hotter.

Gaius and Merlyn were in the Physician Chambers trying to find a clue as to the cause of it all. Gaius was hunched over a spellbook at his desk, flicking through pages as he propped his head up on a hand. Merlyn, similarly, was stooped over the table, but her focus was shot, her wrist hurting too much to ignore. Though, they were finding little of use regardless.

The cultures sat undisturbed on the long bench, but it would still be another twelve hours before anything conclusive could be discerned. Too long for the city. Nonetheless, it was clearly something different to the Afanc, as no one had yet died or shown physical deterioration, even though the earliest affected had been comatose for several hours now. It was as if they were all forced to sleep.

Merlyn wiped the sweat from her brow and rubbed her dry eyes, stretching out from her hunched position. She was hot and clammy all over and would have liked nothing more than a cool bath, but the exhaustion in her limbs warned against relaxing. If she fell asleep now, chances were, she would become one of the unconscious citizens littering the streets.

It was strange, the eeriness of an unnatural silence. There was no hubbub or murmur of people beyond the room. The birds twittered, the horses whinnied, the pigs grunted, but the vivacity bringing the city to life had been leeched away until little more than a husk remained.

Merlyn pushed herself to her feet, the heat in her skin causing her to feel parched, but a wave of dizziness caught her off guard and left her tipping against the table while her vision blacked. She groaned as she rode it out, a headache springing to life within her temples as her sight cleared once more.

"Gaius," she grumbled, rubbing at the tender point. More sweat trickled down her face. "Gaius."

He didn't respond, and belated comprehension swelled in her chest. She pushed away from the table and took several unsteady steps towards the writing desk. There he was, slumped face-down atop the latest book.

"No," she moaned. "No, no, no, no, no."

She rounded the desk and pulled him upright, his head lolling onto her shoulder as his weight tilted precariously. His eyes were closed and his breathing steady in slumber.

"Gaius," she pleaded, shaking him gently, even knowing it was futile. "Gaius!"

He remained lifeless.

Her chest hitched with panic at the realisation she was alone. Oh, what was she going to do?

"Gaius!" she sobbed, breaths shortening as panic welled in her throat. He had been the last one left; her final ally in a war against shadows, and now he had fallen. There remained no answer as to the cause, no hints as to where the creature or curse lingered. In her scout of the citadel, she had failed to find Morgana, so the likelihood of her involvement was almost certain, but such truths provided no means on how to beat the sickness.

Arthur and his band of men were north, investigating a worrying rumour, completely unaware of the threat overwhelming Camelot, and she had no idea how much longer she could hold on before she, too, surrendered to sleep.

Or, perhaps the entirety of the kingdom had fallen victim to this blight. How far did it spread? No scouts had been sent out as the malady had hit too fast and they'd realised the danger too late. Were Arthur and his knights slumbering somewhere beside a road, helpless and vulnerable?

And, if the entirety of the kingdom was asleep, who was going to protect their borders? Their less friendly neighbours would not hesitate to take advantage of the defenceless land and scores of innocents would be left at their mercy. The realms would be in upheaval. Albion would become little more than a whimsical dream.

With a sniffle, Merlyn replaced Gaius gently onto the desktop, taking several deep breaths to regain composure. She realised what she had to do.

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"Kilgarrah," she wheezed as she tumbled out of the corridor and into the cavern, the gate squealing on old hinges as her weight bore against it. Her wrist was searing, flames peeling away the layers of her flesh until it reached her bones, sinking through the hard skeleton and into her marrow. There it slithered up her arm and through the rest of her body, joints seizing with pain and heart skipping with stress. Her breaths were ragged, lungs hitched as her ribs cinched tight in the firestorm. It hurt to move – to think.

"Young witch," the dragon said, sharpening her melting thoughts as she remembered her surroundings. His tone was unhappy, but concern bled through his scorn.

"You must help," she panted, pushing herself onto her knees, though she kept her strong hand splayed on the ground as a brace, her scarred arm cradled to her chest. "There's a curse – everyone is asleep – they refuse to awaken."

"Hmm," the great beast said, not sounding surprised. Merlyn wondered for a moment if he could sense the sorcery. Thankfully, he did not play with his tidings. "It is one thing to cast a spell putting everyone to sleep. The power to maintain it is a very different matter. This is no petty enchantment to be broken by words or simple actions."

"What – what do you mean?" she asked, clinging to his voice as her vision phased in and out.

"Such spells need a vessel, a constant living presence to give them strength. The source of this pestilence is the witch, the Lady Morgana. She must be eradicated."

"Eradicated?" she breathed, the word sinking through her skull and into her brain like a poison; her thoughts seizing in desperation to have it deleted. "No… no…"

Dismay stole the vestiges of her strength and, slowly, she lowered until her forehead touched the dusty stone floor. She moaned quietly, "Morgana, no…"

"I warned you about her in the past, but you failed to take heed. Now, the consequence of your mercy is at hand."

Tears leaked from her burning eyes, joining the sweat dripping from her skin. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat, the strained organ stabbing her chest. Exhaustion sucked at her will and the urge to close her eyes swelled like a flood. What did it even matter? How could she fight against magic when she possessed none of her own?

She had failed. She had failed everybody.

"What can I do?" she cried, dust sticking to the moisture on her lashes, gritting in her eyes and choking her airways with every breath. But she lacked the strength to move and so suffered it silently.

"You must leave here, young witch," Kilgarrah intoned, his voice penetrating her spiralling thoughts, though she lacked the power to pull herself free of the darkness. She travelled down, down into the abyss, where awaited sweet nothing. What did it matter? What did anything matter?

She was so tired.

"Merlyn," the dragon growled, though his voice was growing dim.

She had to find Arthur. He needed to be warned.

"Must find Arthur…" she mumbled on a breath. "Warn Arthur…"

Her mind was separating from her body like her consciousness was peeling away, the fire scorching her flesh being left behind in the earthly world while she sought release in the ethereal.

"Find Arthur…"

She was carried along a current, awareness dispersing into the ether like mist under the morning sun, thinning into nonexistence with the warming of day.

She was evanescent, soon to be nothing.

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