A/N: Warning: contains angst and whump. Will only consist of three to four chapters. Characters very mildly ooc on purpose. Hope you enjoy!

...

The sky was growing dark with the arrival of night. Perched in the trees, her legs splayed in delicate balance between the branches, she waited in silence. Her cloak was knit in with the surrounding shadows as if she were a part of it herself. She was invisible, concealed in the obscure play of light and dark that only the precipice of a disappearing sun could create. Her eyes, hard, piercing, grey, scanned the forest floor beneath her in starving anticipation. It wouldn't be long now.

She sniffed the air, and the scent of dew and soil filled her nostrils. There was something else on the downwind, though. Horses, approaching. But, she wasn't interested in the animals. Their riders were her target.

Well, one of them.

A few moments later, and the men's odors were carried to her by an aggressive wind. She couldn't remember the last time she hadn't been able to smell someone before seeing them. It was sickening, at first. The ritual had enhanced all her senses, and it was both a blessing and a curse. She had been forced to discover something most people never did: that all good things were really just nicely aligned imperfections.

Voices filtered up through the canopy. Voices caught between man and boyhood, fully changed but immature. There was no bitterness in their tones, no weight.

She hummed. Well, if she did her job right, after tonight, there would be.

She waited, the back of her neck prickling with impatience. She was never impatient. Not since time had been revealed to her, an illusion, merely a tool in which to predict and manipulate her prey.

But, this was it. Her last initiation, the final test.

The voices adopted shape, buzzing through her ears as if they were not but five feet away.

"Really, Merlin, if I thought you wouldn't spill it, I would have let you hand me the ceremonial goblet."

"It was the job for the official manservant to the king. That's me!"

"Yes, well, it wouldn't have done Camelot any good for its king to be drenched in wine during the middle of a treaty signing."

"Ladies, ladies, there's no need to fight, I'd love to take you both out."

"Gwaine!"

Their shadows materialized from the gloom of the forest, and she peered closer. Six of them. Armed, but not wearing their armor. Unfortunate. That would make it harder for her to distinguish her prey from the rest of-

The presence hit her suddenly, like a physical blow. She gasped, and slunk farther back into the shadows, her skin tingling with undercurrents of power. Him. It was him. She had never felt such magic, practically vibrating the air in all manner of direction. That one. The one with the raven hair, smiling with hunched shoulders. He was perfect.

He was hers.

She reached behind her back.

…

Merlin's hand flew up to swat his neck,

"Ahh!" he hissed, brow creasing with confusion. Elyan, riding beside him on a brown mare, glanced over. It was almost night time, and the dark-skinned man was starting to look like a shadow.

"What is it?" Merlin shook his head, lowering his fingers to inspect them,

"I think I just got bit by something."

"About time," Arthur snorted, "I've never seen you so much as brush a mosquito." Merlin scowled,

"Well, maybe if you hadn't…" he grabbed the side of his head as a sudden giddiness washed through him. He felt dizzy, "…hadn't…"

"Did you lose your words again, Merlin?" Arthur sneered. Merlin heard Leon chuckle, but the sound was strange, almost warbled. An ache was beginning to settle in the back of Merlin's neck, a weary throb spreading up in through the base of his skull. He yawned his jaw, trying to stretch out the dull fatigue,

"Nothing, I just…" he rolled his neck, but it made the world swirl and tilt around him. He groaned and bent over, shutting his eyes tightly.

"Ungh," he pressed his face into his horse's mane, waiting for the dizziness to pass. There was a darting pain in his temples, like a jousting tournament taking place between his ears.

"Merlin, you alright?" Elyan whispered to him. Merlin didn't answer. His head buzzed with dancing needles, and his stiff neck was only getting stiffer the more he lolled it around. He was too busy worrying about it to notice how bothered he must look.

"I think we should stop soon," Percival said. Arthur answered back,

"Another hour, then we'll stop. I'd like to make sure we…clearing…fire…" his words faded into a distant drone. Merlin looked around, blinking rapidly as his vision became spotted.

"Arthur," Elyan started, his words clipped and chopped, even though he was right beside Merlin, "…something wrong…Merlin…"

When Merlin opened his eyes, which were suddenly unbearably heavy, the light burned bright and hot and he had to shut them again. He was starting to feel weighted, distant, like he was underwater and the rest of the world wasn't. He reached up instinctively, and could feel the right side of his face sagging numbly towards his chest.

"Arthur," he slurred, and swung his leg over the side of his horse. His feet hit the ground and a shockwave of lightheadedness radiated through him. He fell to his knees.

"Merlin?"

"Something," he forced out, "Something's wrong. I can't…my face…"

"Merlin, what is it?" he sensed Percival kneeling down next to him, and grappled for his shoulders,

"My…my head…it's…" his face was not cooperating, the words coming out slurred and warped. He could feel his eyes rolling back into his head without his consent, his neck swaying on his shoulders. He stumbled to his feet, took two wobbling steps, and crumpled back down into Percival's arms.

"Arthur!" the knight shouted. Merlin could feel the strength draining from his limbs in great swells, could feel his eyes and mouth going lax. Fear shot through his heart as Percival lowered him carefully to the ground, eyes full of concern. He felt his body stretching, straining, arching like a wounded animal as he was placed in the dirt and the numb paralyses spread deeper into his bones.

The real panic began, though, when he tried to speak and all that came out was a choked gasp, like those of a man he'd once seen swallowing his own tongue in a fit of shakes.

"What happened?" Arthur appeared above Merlin, falling to one knee. The impact seemed to vibrate through the ground and rebound into Merlin's defeated spine. He fought for a word, but only ended up with spit all over his chin. Distantly, he felt Arthur's palm on his brow, and saw the king's eyes grow wide with alarm.

"I don't know, he just collapsed," Percival replied, looking shaken. Arthur's hand moved down to Merlin's neck, and he shuddered.

"What's this?" he turned it around, and Merlin could spot the blood on his fingers.

He had the phantom sensation of reaching up to feel his own neck.

But, his arm didn't actually move. He tried again, and it wouldn't. Nothing would.

He knew his body was shivering and twitching, but less consistently as the moments passed.

Soon, he would be completely paralyzed.

"Search around, look back that way! Look for a dart, or a needle," Arthur commanded, waving down the trail and shooing away the other knights, who had just appeared in Merlin's limited line of vision without him really noticing. "There's a puncture wound in his neck!"

They disappeared from his sight. Merlin tried to follow their movements, but-

Oh, God. He couldn't move his eyes.

Arthur was staring straight into them, and Merlin knew he had never felt so helpless in his entire life,

"You're going to be alright, Merlin."

"Is he conscious?" Percival asked waving a hand in front of Merlin's face, and glancing between him and Arthur unsurely. Arthur shook his head, lips pursing, and his eyes growing hard.

"I don't know."

"Arthur! I found it!" Gwaine came trotting into view. Merlin watched him magnify against the backdrop of the trees and sky that were different shades of indigo and green where the light hit them. It was almost night, and Merlin thought of lying here, unable to move as the sky went from orange to purple to black and a horrid despair crawled through him. What if he was dying?

Gwaine's brow was creased with obvious worry. Just like the knight to wear his heart on his sleeve. Unfortunately, it was doing nothing for Merlin's depressed, stagnant nerves.

"Merlin, can you hear me?"

Merlin's vision wobbled as Gwaine grasped him somewhere Merlin couldn't tell and shook.

"Gwaine," Arthur insisted urgently, "What did you find?" Gwaine pulled something out of nowhere and held it before Arthur. A small, sharp stick with what looked like some kind of liquid drying on the end. The tip glistened in the wane light of dusk, looking strangely sinister. Merlin felt horror dawning in his stomach. What was it? Poison?

"Damn it," Arthur cursed, running a hand down his face. Merlin could feel his insides shrinking.

He struggled to cast a spell, and felt nothing but emptiness inside of him.

About that same time was when Arthur started giving orders.

…Five hours in the future…

Percival's mind was clouded in darkness.

"Don't worry, soon it will all be over."

The air was echoing around him, reverberating through the cold. Dead. He must be dead.

"I didn't want it to happen this way, you know. But, now you've ruined my plans. You all have to die."

Percival squinted, awareness seeping back into his bones, and the chill in his blood was slowly disappearing, growing hot and thick again. He had the strange sensation of the fluids in his body springing into motion. He couldn't come back from the dead.

His heart beat once inside his chest. Once again.

"That's right. It's time to come back. Welcome to your final resting place."

And just like that, the world of darkness around him became sudden, blinding light. There was a flash of life that stole through him in a wave of heat and he gasped, his eyes flying open, his limbs shocked with sudden energy.

Pain lanced up his neck, and he realized he'd lifted it. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Ice. That was the first thing he saw. Ice everywhere. The cell was coated in it. Chains and fissures in the black stone walls, grime, a pile of hay in the corner, all images blurred and fractured behind a thick, continuous coating of ice. The room was only as far across as Percival was tall. It was terribly eerie, as if it had been frozen just before the point of nonexistence. Everything around him was trapped in its state of eternal non-decay. Percival gasped out a breath and watched it cloud in front of him. He craned his neck, trying to get his bearings. Dry vapor clung to the air around him, floating gently from the icy walls and floor. He looked down, and saw his boots resting on the clear ice, through which he could see the actual floor. It was stained with dark splashes of something. Blood, was his first thought.

Almost too late, he realized his arms were tied behind him. But, not just to a chair.

And suddenly, it all came rushing back.

"Leon," Percival grunted, his heart beginning to race, and his stomach sinking with dread, "Leon, wake up!"

But, the man, whose wrists were bound to Percival's, didn't stir. Was he unconscious? Or, dead. Or, whatever Percival had been not two minutes ago.

Suddenly, the voice spoke again, smooth and bitter as poison,

"Time to begin."

…Five hours earlier: present time…

"Goddamit," Gwaine whispered, and a cool breeze seemed to steal the breath from his lungs.

He stared at his friend, as silence gripped his heart in its iron fist. Merlin's face, gaunt with pallid horror, expressionless as a doll, looked as awake as Gwaine himself. But, Gwaine was breathing. Merlin, no longer.

Gwaine gasped, because Goddamit, no. Not again. Not this way, not him, please no. He could see in his head, images in color and dimension as if they were happening in front of him. As if the blood was fresh and the tears still warm beneath his touch. He saw a child, the life stuttering from him with the last throes of fever. Gwaine was ten and the only one left by his baby brother's side, past the time no one else believed enough in his survival to stay. He saw Lancelot, his friend and companion, disappearing by darkness as Gwaine stood helpless and unable to save him, a weak man.

Not Merlin. God, not him. If he was dead now, on Gwaine's watch…

Gwaine was too afraid. It was Arthur who frantically lowered his ear to Merlin's still chest and lingered there.

"He's alive. Get him up…now! NOW, Gwaine!"

It was numbly and with little cooperation between his limbs that Gwaine somehow hoisted Merlin's limp body onto his lap. He felt the boy's head loll onto his neck, and fought back a sob. Not dead yet. He tried to remind himself. Not dead yet. You can still save him. You can fix this.

Gwaine all at once and not at all shook himself back into his own body.

With greater effort, he chained himself there.

"How much time do we have?" he asked, his voice deep and firm to his own ears. This was his time. He had to save his younger brother.

"Two minutes, no more." Arthur said, his eyes wide with sudden distress as Merlin's lungs remained stubbornly out of order. That was when Gwaine realized that Arthur had no plan past taking the pressure off of Merlin's chest.

God, how easily Gwaine could forget that he was the elder. His king was nothing but a boy.

It was time to take charge.

"Check his throat, see if it's closed up. Merlin?"

Gwaine shook the raven-headed boy in his arms, trying to loosen the muscles in his abdomen, allowing room for his diaphragm to work some magic.

"Breathe for me, Merlin. Come on, mate, come on."

Arthur worked his fingers into Merlin's gullet and shook his head.

"His airway's open." Gwaine nodded, swallowing past the lump of dread in his own throat,

"Check his pulse."

Arthur, face suddenly hard as stone (Gwaine marveled at the transformation), swiped his fingers on his shirt, and did. He sighed.

"Still going."

"I'm going to lean him back. Start massaging his chest." Gwaine carefully lowered Merlin to the dirt and tilted back his head, just to make sure his throat would remain open.

"Merlin? Merlin," he called, placing his fingers on the boy's solar plexus and rubbing vigorously, "Come on, Merlin, you're better than this. Pull it together."

"It's slowing," Arthur said, withdrawing his fingers from Merlin's jugular and continuing to press in and out of the sides of his chest.

"We should check it every few seconds. Merlin!" Gwaine heard his own voice beginning to crack, and cursed himself. Time, they had time.

"Gwaine, push on his stomach. Gaius says it can force air into the lungs and stimulate them," Arthur suggested, his voice strained, his eyes cold like steel.

Even Gwaine knew how desperate that idea was. But, he obeyed.

The forest had become strangely silent, the chattering noise of birds and animals no longer present. The air was frigid, and getting colder as the night pressed in on them, pushing, forcing Gwaine into a panic he was trying desperately to avoid.

"How's his-?"

"It's slower," Arthur snapped. Gwaine didn't recall seeing him check Merlin's pulse.

Ten seconds passed. Gwaine huffed and once again sunk his palms into Merlin's soft, yielding middle, praying that any moment he would feel the boy tense up beneath him.

Arthur abruptly swore viciously and stopped massaging Merlin's chest. Instead, he pressed his fingers into Merlin's neck, and his face became lined with misery.

"Gwaine…" he choked. Gwaine coughed and swiped a wrist across his dripping brow,

"What?" he groused. Arthur bowed his head, fingers still digging into Merlin's neck.

"It's…it's no use."

"What, has it stopped?" Gwaine snarled, shoving his weight into Merlin's belly. Arthur looked at him, eyes wide. Gwaine spat, "Then, we keep going!"

Arthur's lips pursed into a thin, white line. He looked paler than Gwaine had ever seen him. The knight turned away with disgust and continued pumping.

"It'll work," he insisted, "It'll work."

Arthur covered his eyes and held his breath. His fingers remained in Merlin's jugular. And as the seconds passed, Gwaine could hear him sniffing.

"Gwaine," he tried again, his voice low and trembling.

"It'll work, Goddamit!"

Another ten seconds passed. Gwaine could feel his arms growing tired. The longer the moments became, the farther his stomach fell with a dense hopelessness, a stone swallowing up his insides. When Arthur drew in a small gasp, it broke through his haze.

"Gwaine."

"Damn it, Arthur!" Gwaine roared and lunged for Arthur's shirt, snatching it in his fists and pulling the king close to his face, "I swear to God, I am not going to let Merlin die. Do you hear me? I will not!" he shook Arthur hard enough to make the man's jaw chatter. Arthur grasped his wrists tight and shook his head,

"No, Gwaine, I'm not…that's not it. I…," his eyes became suddenly earnest, commanding, "I need to try something."

Gwaine, staring into those kingly eyes, felt his grip loosen the smallest bit. Arthur practically threw him off. He leaned over, grasped Merlin's head and tilted it back. Slowly, he opened the boy's mouth, and looked at Gwaine with uncertainty, but an odd sort of determination,

"Merlin needs air. Maybe…maybe, I can give him air."

Gwaine's eyes widened when he realized what Arthur was about to do. But, he didn't move to stop it. What if…?

He didn't have time to object before Arthur had closed his mouth over Merlin's, and begun blowing into him. Gwaine watched, fascinated and terrified, as Merlin's chest miraculously rose and fell from Arthur's breath. A second or two later, and Arthur pulled away.

He took two shaking fingers to Merlin's pulse. Gwaine dug his knuckles into the dirt, his heart drumming in his ears. Please, Merlin. Come on. Come on.

There was another moment or two of silence. Then, a desperate, teary laugh escaped from Arthur's lips,

"It's…it's getting stronger!" he exclaimed. Then, he bent over and blew more air into Merlin's chest, and pressed his ear against it. He laughed again, his face splitting into a wide, beaming grin, "Gwaine, it's working!"

Gwaine felt his insides crumble with a relief so intense he almost fell over. He felt as if he had woken from a nightmare, as if day had finally come after an eternity of darkness.

How ironic, he thought, gazing toward the blackening horizon. Only now had night arrived. He closed his eyes, and suddenly felt very, very old,

"Thank God."

"Gwaine," Arthur said, plucking the man from his thoughts like a stone from its surrounding river, "He's still not breathing on his own." He blew once again into Merlin's mouth, and Gwaine leaned forward, laying a hand on the raven boy's arm,

"I venture the poison will have to run its course before that happens. His heart beats on its own, and that's all that matters." Arthur nodded as he inhaled to give Merlin another breath. Gwaine frowned when he could hear the man gasp,

"Arthur, we'll take turns. Shifts, alright?" Arthur nodded again, and leaned back, panting slightly. Gwaine plugged Merlin's nose, and steadied him by the chin. He then bent down and placed his mouth on Merlin's. It was a strange sensation, but he ignored it, and blew a long, steady breath into the boy's mouth. He waited another five seconds or so, then did it again.

He continued until his lungs felt tired and the sight of Merlin's open, staring eyes began to unsettle him.

"You're going to be alright, mate" he felt the need to say, as he settled back to let Arthur take over. He placed a hand on Merlin's brow, and felt the heat from it, "We've got you."

"I think he has a fever," Arthur said a few moments later, in-between ministrations of air, "His skin is flushed. Gwaine, grab the flask and wet a piece of cloth for him." Gwaine realized at that moment that Arthur had reverted without him noticing. It was as if the relief of saving Merlin had finally restored him to his former sense of authority and composure. Kings were prats, like that. Emotions ran high until the moment they were able to fix it. Nevertheless,

"Yes, Sire," Gwaine replied, and stood up.

…

It was only a half an hour later, and the air was chill, and Gwaine was dousing his shirt for about the hundredth time and pressing it to Merlin's forehead. The water ran in cool rivulets down the boy's temples as Arthur breathed into him again. A half an hour later and Merlin's pulse was still going strong. Slow, but strong.

Gwaine had never been in such a strange, exhausting situation in his entire life. He'd certainly never encountered a poison of this ilk before. What paralyzed (and perhaps, rendered unconscious) an entire man's body, but not his heart? What stopped a man from breathing, but did not force his bowels to empty, or his urine to release. Gwaine would have expected and fully forgiven Merlin to have wetted himself at this point. But, he hadn't. So, what poison only targets specific parts of the body to render useless? How long could it last?

It couldn't last forever.

"Where the hell is Elyan?" Arthur grumbled, "He should be back by now. I only sent him to the nearest village."

"Maybe, he's having trouble convincing a healer to come," Gwaine offered, a humorless smirk touching his lips.

"Maybe, they didn't have a healer, and he's moved on to the next town to find one," Arthur contributed, and Gwaine shrugged, dabbing Merlin's neck with his shirt to counter some of the more intense heat present there.

"Could be anything," he said. Arthur seemed somewhat nonplussed,

"Yeah, well, I don't know how long this is going to hold out. Your turn," he pulled back, looking haggard and worn. Gwaine handed him the cloth, and shifted,

"It will hold as long as it needs to," he affirmed tonelessly, and silently emptied his lungs into Merlin's body.

…

…Three hours in the future…

Percival and Leon trotted quietly through the woods, their eyes peeled back in search of Merlin's perpetrator. Or, at least a sign of his, or her existence. Or, even a sign that anyone in the past few days had so much as set foot in this forest.

So far, nothing.

"Maybe, we should turn back," Leon finally suggested, feeling a wearisome ache settling into the back of his shoulders. It was dark out, past midnight. Even if whoever they were pursuing had come through this part of the wood, and not had the nuance to cover their own tracks, there was no light to track them by. "If we haven't found them by now, I don't believe we ever will. We should see if there's anything we can do for Merlin," he flinched, thinking of the boy's face as he crumpled to the ground, and the way his convulsions and panic had died down into complete silence with such disturbing efficiency.

"This is how we help Merlin," Percival replied, his voice surprisingly stern, but not angry. Leon turned towards the large knight, and saw his brow was smooth and calm, "Whoever did this knows a lot better what's happening to him than we do."

Leon nodded, conceding the point.

That's when they both heard it. A sound, different from the others, neither the crickets, nor the night owls, nor any breeze of any sort. But, it was a rustle.

Percival and Leon both slowed to a stop. Their eyes turned slowly toward each other, and a silent understanding passed between them.

"Did you hear that?" Leon asked. Percival nodded,

"I did, they must be close."

"You go that way, and I'll cut off their escape. We'll flank them." Leon gestured to their perspective routes, then tugged on his horse's reins and went off on his.

Please, let this work.

…

She watched the two knights stop, exchange words, then turn and go in opposite directions.

The fools.

A few minutes longer, she thought, listening to the cool breeze for some sign of danger. It was good fortune she did. Not a moment later, a scent wafted up towards her through the brush and leaves. A smirk curled at her lips.

They were still there.

Clever boys.

...Present Time…

Another twenty long, arduous minutes passed. Arthur's thoughts had been so torn between his knights, and making sure that every time he checked, Merlin's pulse was still going steady, he hadn't even noticed that the boy's open eyes were turning red. He internally kicked himself, and cursed vehemently. He scrambled forward.

"We need to close his eyes," Arthur said. Gwaine looked at him as if he were the Devil,

"What?" he exclaimed. Arthur shook his head,

"They're hurting him, Gwaine. Look!" Without the knight's consent, he leaned forward and shut Merlin's eyes. A few tears dripped out onto Merlin's cheeks. Arthur fell back and rubbed his face, a horrid guilt washing over his stomach.

"Why did it take us so long to do that? He's not dead."

Gwaine said nothing.

…

Merlin was trapped. Trapped in his own body, trapped between death and life, trapped in terror. It was like he was in some kind of nightmare, the air filling up his immobile lungs stale and foreign. He was helpless, empty, dead, or he should be.

He had never been so afraid in his entire life. He couldn't even breathe on his own, couldn't speak, couldn't blink, or move his eyes. He was a husk, flicking in and out of awareness, the world blurred and threatening. And he, unarmed in the face of it. Waves of freezing cold and burning hot arrested his blood, enflaming his consciousness to nothing but a dull, frightened haze. Sick? Dead? Dying?

And then suddenly, the world was dark.

Merlin, if he had been able, would have screamed.