I'm so sorry this has taken so long! Thank you for being so patient :-) I don't feel entirely happy with it, but I'm so busy right now, any changes I make are really unsubstantial, so I figure I'd just post it as it is. This is the final chapter! Let me know what you think, I hope it's not disappointing!

His time with his mother was restful, and in a way it did help. She was delighted at his unscheduled visit, but he was so obviously distraught that it wasn't long before her joy turned to fear. He had to reassure her that nothing had happened exactly, nobody had died, he hadn't been discovered. She wasn't convinced though, she always had known exactly how he was feeling. So he told her of his fears and she did what only a mother can. She held him as he cried and kissed his cheek and fed him porridge. For a while the weight of destiny lessened and he remembered how to breathe under the strain. He's not sure that his mother believed him, but she didn't question it, just comforted him.

He took his time returning to Camelot and he wasn't not sure why because he was feeling much better... well a lot less distraught at least. Then a druid stepped out in front of him in the woods and he knew this must be the reason he felt like dawdling. Whatever these druids want, he has to hear it. So when they invited him graciously to break his journey at their camp he readily agreed.

It was not a group of druids that he had encountered before, but they were friendly enough. A little less deferential with him than usual, which was completely fine with him. Their leader, a smiling man named Adavel, welcomed Merlin amiably, but as if he was an old friend rather than their saviour or something like that. They shared a rabbit stew to rival the ones Arthur was served (not that he'd know what that tasted like of course) and traded tales about Camelot and the nearby lands. The children begged him to perform tricks with his magic and for the first time in a long while Merlin felt like he might just be happy that he had magic because it really could be beautiful sometimes.

The children were eventually ushered to their beds and Merlin found himself in the company of some slightly more serious looking druids. They were now regarding him with a rather odd expression - somewhere between awe and pity that made Merlin feel a little uncomfortable.

"Emrys, you are troubled." Adavel stated and Merlin couldn't help but flinch involuntarily at the use of his druid name. Emrys... immortal.

He considered deflecting the query, distracting their concern away. He didn't want that attention. But he knew that there was a reason he'd ended up here with these druids now... he needed to hear what they were going to say.

"I discovered something..." he started. "Something I didn't realise before...". How could he explain it to these people? They thought he was the man of their prophecies, that he was this mystical man. Immortal. It was them that had named him. How could he expect them to understand what an awful, heart-wrenching shock that had been for him to discover?

"Emrys?" the druid prompted.

"My name is Merlin!" he snapped. "What makes you think I'm Emrys?! I'm not! I can't be! And more importantly I don't want to be!" He realised he was standing and that he was shaking. The druids didn't look angry or shocked by his outburst. All his anger and fear left him in a rush and he sat down again suddenly, as if his legs could no longer support him. "I'm sorry..." he said meekly. "I just... I don't want..." he sighed. "Are you sure it's me?"

Adavel was giving him an unreadable look. "We are sure Emrys... Merlin."

"How can you tell?"

Adavel smiled slightly at this. "Your power is unmistakable, certainly, but it is not that alone which marks you out to my people... Your devotion to the Once and Future King and your humanity is what makes you worthy of that name."

"I don't want that name!" Merlin repeated desperately. "I don't want that..." Adavel said nothing. "Why do you call him that?" Merlin continued. "Emrys? It means... don't you know what it means?"

"Emrys is the name of legend, that is the name in the prophecy alongside that of the Once and Future King." the druid stated, as if it was a simple fact that didn't impact upon Merlin's entire life.

"What?" he responded incomprehensibly.

Adavel sighed. "I don't know why you have been given the name Emrys, the name 'immortal'. Perhaps it is not literal, perhaps it is your memory, your tale which is everlasting?"

Those words would have been comforting to Merlin a few weeks ago, knowing only what his name meant. But now... "Do you know of the Dorocha?"

"Certainly." Adavel responded. "Spirits of the dead unleashed by Morgana during last Samhain. You repaired the veil did you not Emrys?"

Merlin shook his head. "No. Sir Lancelot, the most noble knight of Camelot sacrificed himself to satisfy the Cailleach. My magic could not fight them." Adavel nodded in understanding and Merlin continued. "On our way to the Isle of the Blessed... I was touched by the Dorocha... but I'm still alive." He watched as the druids exchanged glances, some looking awed, but Adavel was frowning slightly. "Do you... have you ever heard of that before?" Merlin continued reluctantly, not sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

"You are sure the Dorocha touched you?" another druid asked.

Merlin nodded. "Yes, it passed straight through me. I was cold and I couldn't move, but I was still alive..."

Adavel looked sad and Merlin knew before he spoke what his answer would be. "That should be impossible Emrys - nobody can escape death from the Dorocha. Unless..."

"Unless I really am immortal?" Merlin finished, trying to keep the despair from creeping into his voice. Adavel said nothing. "How can that be possible?! I don't want to be immortal! I don't want... Will I just have to watch everyone die? Can't I do anything?" Suddenly everything he'd felt when he'd first realised his fate came back in full force and he felt tears spring to his eyes. "I'll lose everyone... I'll be all alone forever."

"Emrys... I understand that this is a terrible thing. But I do not think all is quite as hopeless as you suppose." the druid spoke consolingly. "Have you ever stopped to consider what the phrase 'Once and Future King' actually means?"

Merlin stared at him stupidly. "What it means?" Didn't it just mean Arthur was the greatest King this land would ever know? Didn't it just... sound impressive?

"The Once and Future King is as true a name as your's Emrys. You are immortal and Arthur is the king once, and the king to be."

"I don't understand." Merlin breathed, hardly daring to think on the possibility this implied.

"The prophecy speaks of the golden age of Albion that you and Arthur will bring about. But it also speaks of Arthur's return... that he will rise again, when Albion's need is greatest." Adavel spoke matter-of-factly, but there was an encouraging glimmer in his eyes.

Merlin felt like the ground had fallen out from under him. "I don't... rise again? As in... come back to life? After he's dead? Are you truly saying that?"

"I hope this brings you some comfort Emrys?" Adavel said.

"I... it... I don't know what to say." Merlin stammered. "He'll come back..." he said, almost to himself. "He'll really come back?"

And it did comfort him, for some of the time at least.

It didn't fix everything; he was still going to have to watch everyone else die and who knew when Arthur would deem it necessary to return? But he had been so afraid of spending the rest of eternity alone... at least he knew now that there would be something worth waiting for, that he could at least see Arthur again. Sometimes he felt depression creeping up again, but he was able to push this away now instead of slipping into despair. He had to focus on what he had now and focus on bringing about Arthur's destiny.

Unfortunately, this revelation, although calming his fears about his fate, did nothing to stop the effects of his run in with the Dorocha.

He still got ill. A lot.

It was far worse in the winter months and at first he utterly despised it. The most serious time by far was the first Samhain after the veil had been torn open. He fell ill suddenly and violently, almost collapsing at the feast as he had last year. The following week was simply a haze of confusion with fits of chills and racking coughs, broken only by restless bouts of sleep and his friends' faces hovering over him anxiously. He honestly wondered if the Dorocha were trying to draw him through the veil to make up for his immortality trick.

He recovered rather miraculously on the anniversary of the day the veil closed again.

After that his bouts of illness did lessen in severity and frequency, but without fail, he was always completely bedridden at Samhain. Every time he fell ill he tried for as long as possible to ignore it. It served to remind him that he was different, that he had survived the Dorocha and therefore must be immortal. He hated it.

But eventually he managed to think about it differently. Instead of dwelling on the terrible truth he had learnt from his run in with the Dorocha, he thought of why he had done it. It was stupid that he'd forgotten it really. He had put himself in front of the Dorocha to save Arthur's life and that was the most important thing. That was worth whatever had followed.

Eventually, the after-effects of his encounter with the Dorocha became a reminder of what he was fighting for.

There you go! I hope it's ok. Do review to let me know!
I have many other things in the works, I hoping you'll get another chapter or 2 of Protect before I post anything new.

Thanks to everyone that reviewed this story and others! I also want to thank Naleky, who took the time recently to let me know that someone had been plagiarising one of my other fics. I wouldn't have spotted it myself, so thank you so much!