Merlin lands on her hands and knees, retching. Through her blurred vision, she can just barely make out the red of blood as it spatters against the leaves beneath her.

Carefully, she does not think about what that means.

And then her stomach is done rebelling, and she's forcing herself up, forcing herself to take another step forward, forcing herself to move despite the pain, because damn it, Arthur thinks she's in the tavern right now.

Arthur thinks she's in the tavern, and if she isn't home by tomorrow, he'll assign her even more chores than he normally does when she disappears to the "tavern" for a day, and…

Agony rips through her stomach.

She gasps. Stumbles. Falls. Lands on her forearms.

She vomits, and this time, it's not a spattering of blood so much as it is a river.

Merlin closes her eyes.

There's no way she's going to make it back.

She had known this. Ever since she realized that the knife had been poisoned, she had known this. Yes, she had killed Morgana's assassin, but the assassin had also killed her. Was killing her. Is killing her.

The acknowledgement of this fact saps the remains of her strength, and Merlin finds herself without the ability to push herself up again.

Instead, she rolls over, onto her back, and stares up at the sky. It is the last comfort she can give herself; like this, there are no rocks pressing into the wound on her stomach.

She lies there for a time.

And slowly, gradually, everything fades.

Merlin knows that one day, she is going to disappear. One day, she is going to be there, and then the next, she will not.

She imagines it will happen like this.

Iseldir, or Alator, or her own sources, will inform her of a threat facing Camelot. She will disappear in the night, as she so often does, to take care of it.

She will be wounded, as she so often is, while dealing with the threat. But this time, the wound will be a mortal one, and she will die.

Arthur will wake up the next day, and Gaius will tell Arthur that she is in the tavern.

Gaius will not know that she is dead.

Arthur will not know that she is dead.

Arthur will get irritated, and will give Gaius a list of chores for her to complete once she "stumbles back in."

The day will pass, and she will not appear.

The next day will pass, and she will not appear.

Eventually, Gaius will know that something is gravely wrong, but he will not tell Arthur, because admitting that she is in trouble means admitting that he has lied, and Merlin has ordered Gaius to not say anything that will incriminate himself.

The days will continue to pass, and she will continue to not appear.

(She will continue to rot in the woods, or in a cave, or in a field, or in Morgana's dungeons, or wherever she managed to drag herself to before dying.)

Eventually, Arthur and the knights will realize that something is wrong, but they will never know what.

They will grieve, and they will rage, and Arthur will demand answers.

Those answers will never come.

Yes, Merlin knows this.

One day she will disappear. It is inevitable. (It is better than the alternative, which is burning.)

Today is not that day.

A distant voice calls her true name.

"Emrys! Oh gods. Emrys!"

There is panic in that voice, and fear. She is blind, and almost gone, yet her magic awakens, struggling to reach out to help whoever it is. But the poison in her body chains the magic down, and she moans in pain.

"It's okay. You're safe now. Gods, what happened?"

Then there is a hand on her forehead, and she can feel the poison burning away, and she knows no more.

Mordred gets her back to Camelot safely. In the morning, when she wakes, he yells at her for risking her life, and then he cries.

She feels bad about that, but can't say anything comforting to her friend. She will always be willing to risk her life to keep Camelot and Arthur safe.

She was only missing for one day, but Arthur gives her as many chores as if she had been in the tavern for a whole week. It hurts to move, and completing all of her duties leaves her wanting to collapse, but she doesn't mind.

The pain means she's lucky. It means she's alive.

(Carefully, she does not think about how her luck is running out.)