Merlin couldn't think. He was roaring hot on the outside; hell-frozen-over cold on the inside. He groaned as his insides clenched, forcing a harsh cough from his chapped lips.
Water… sick… water-sick…
The thoughts scattered as quickly as they had coalesced as a surge of wrongness through him. He could feel a foreign magic inside him, sticking to his body like tar… Could feel it eating away at his energy, breaking him down like it had who knows how many other people in the past week.
He could see it in his mind's eye – he would die as the people he'd failed to save had died. His skin would go pale and bloodless; his lips would turn blue; his eyes become covered by a milky film. The fever would worsen – he could already feel it doing so- and-
Panicking, Merlin lashed out with his magic.
Distantly, he heard someone let out a choked cry; realised it was him. Fighting the sickness with magic felt like hitting a stone wall at full tilt.
But the wall gave a little.
Merlin flung his magic out again; weathered the backlash; felt the fog on his mind lift as the sickness was pushed back a little further. He struggled to open up his magic-sense, to see himself as he saw the people he had saved in the plague houses. It was awkward – like trying to look at your nose without a looking glass – but there-
He could see the blackness beating against a vast, undefined space filled with what he took to be his life force and his magic combined.
Stop! He grunted, rallying his magic again. Those other people could not fight for themselves – but I can! Get off me!
But the sickness was strong, and rooted deep by now. Again and again he flung his magic at it, sometimes giving ground, sometimes taking it. He could only hope to hold on long enough for Gaius to find a cure… before his strength ran out.
. . .
. . .
Morgana straightened her gown nervously as she approached the guard post. She wondered, yet again, just how crazy she must be to have agreed to this plan - the plan to steal a magical healing poultice from under Uther's nose, that is.
Twenty minutes ago Arthur had roused her from sleep, blurting out that Merlin had the water sickness and oh, by the by - did she happen to know what had become of the healing poultice they'd found in Gwen's house?
Luckily, Morgana had managed to convince Uther to hold off destroying the poultice, claiming that she wanted it for evidence. At the time, she'd had the vague notion of examining the contents of the pouch and figuring out where they'd come from. The poultice was now being held under guard in a small storeroom close to the dungeons… which was why the king's ward found herself with a jug of warmed wine in her hands, heading for the guard post.
Warmed, drugged wine, that is.
She took one more fortifying breath before rounding the corner, pasting an innocent smile on her face.
"Good evening, sirs!" she called out.
The two guards straightened; one of them hastily scooped a pair of dice into his beltpouch.
"Lady Morgana!" his companion stammered. "What- err- what brings you down here at this time of the night, my lady?"
"I couldn't sleep," Morgana replied piteously, with an embarrassed smile. "I was… lying in bed… worrying about my maidservant. I thought she might be cold and came down to see to her wellbeing." She placed the jug of wine on the rickety wooden table. "You must be cold. Here – please, help yourself."
"My lady, you are most generous!" the guard exclaimed. He quickly poured three mugs, two of which disappeared in short order. Morgana merely brought hers to her lips, watching. After a moment she excused herself, heading down the hallway in the direction of her chambers, but she stopped at the top of the stairwell. Soon enough, the sound of quiet snoring drifted up from below.
Morgana hurried back down, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when she found the two unfortunate guards nodding over their cups. She deftly lifted the key to the storeroom from the wall.
Five minutes later she replaced the key ring, the all important poultice tucked safely between the folds of her robes.
"Sweet dreams, boys," she murmured as she headed for the physician's quarters.
. . .
. . .
He was tired. Gods, but he was so tired. Merlin could feel his magic petering out, his senses clamping down tight around him in self-preservation. The sickness was growing stronger, barely hindered by the little energy he could spare to fling at it.
He didn't think he had much time left.
He wanted to cry out; to call for help, but his lips refused to move. He was freezing cold and knew, distantly, that it meant his circulation was slowing, blood drawing away from his now blue-tinged skin. It was all he could do to keep the air moving in and out of his lungs.
The sickness surged again, and Merlin felt the magic slip traitorously from his grasp.
Gaius? Arthur? Help-!
He fell into fever dreams once more.
. . .
. . .
"Have you got it?" Arthur demanded urgently as soon Morgana entered the room. He pushed away the heavy text he'd been peering at with an inward sigh of relief. Gaius had had him combing book after mind-numbingly boring book in an attempt to narrow down what exactly the creature he and Merlin had encountered in the water tunnels was. As much as he'd, surprisingly, wanted to, there'd been no time for him to sit with Merlin upstairs. He'd been all but glued to his place at the table, and Morgana's entrance was a welcome relief from the thus far frustratingly fruitless research.
The king's ward offered up the poultice, smirking with satisfaction.
"Did you have any problems?" Arthur asked as Gaius snatched up the healing bag. "The wine worked?"
"Like a charm," Morgana said, lips quirking again.
Arthur's eyebrows rose. "Remind me not to get on Gaius' bad side," he murmured, impressed.
"Too late for that," Morgana snickered. "He's known you since you were a child, remember."
"Ha, ha."
The three of them trooped into the upper room and all trace of mirth disappeared from their faces. Arthur was no physician, but even he could tell that Merlin was in a bad way. He knew how aggressive the water sickness was, but even so he was shocked at how far his manservant's condition had deteriorated in such a short time. The prince recognised the later stages of the illness by now; realised what the blue-tinged skin, rattling breath and opaque eyes signified.
Arthur watched anxiously as Gaius slipped the now glowing poultice under his friend's pillow. It was strange, he thought, unconsciously smoothing the sheets with one hand; strange how integral Merlin had become in his life. He was like the stirrups on a saddle or the leather grip on a sword: you didn't pay attention to them when they were there – but you sure as hell noticed when they weren't. To his surprise, Arthur realised that life without Merlin was quite unimaginable.
Not that he had to. Imagine, that is.
Because obviously Merlin was going to be fine.
"You're going to be fine, right, Merlin?" Arthur muttered, momentarily forgetting that he was not alone. "You're going to wake up and be your usual disrespectful, clumsy, idiot self again, aren't you?" He swallowed. "Consider it an order. Disobey and I'll double our sparring sessions, take you hunting every time it rains, and… make you clean all the knights' armour for a year! You hear me, Merlin?"
But of course there was no answer, save for a slight furrowing between Merlin's brows.
Arthur looked up abruptly, seeking reassurance from Gaius's care-worn face across the bed.
"Will it work?"
For the longest time, Gaius remained silent. He watched Merlin's face intently and after a long, agonising moment something in his posture eased.
"The illness is advanced…. But I believe he will recover." Gaius turned, and Arthur saw tears in his eyes. "You have my deepest thanks. Both of you."
Arthur nodded soberly. One friend saved; one to go.
Gwen was to be executed in the morning.
. . .
. . .
Two hours later, Arthur's head was drooping over yet another bestiary. He caught himself with a start, mentally berating himself for dropping off. Put him in charge of a patrol and he could go for days on minimal sleep, but put him in front of a book with less than a couple of hours and, well… Arthur shoved himself upright in the hard-backed chair (chosen because it'd looked too uncomfortable to sleep in – so much for that idea!) and pressed the tips of his fingers against his eyelids.
Come on, Pendragon, he urged himself. Get a grip.
He could not afford to rest while his people were still falling ill. Not when they… were so… close…
"I have it!" Gaius exclaimed suddenly, jolting Arthur from his half doze once more. The older man tapped the text in front of him and then slid the book over to Arthur and Morgana. "Here. The creature we saw was an Afanc!"
"An… a what?"
"A beast born of clay, conjured up only by the most powerful sorcerers. Now we have to find a way to defeat it…. There must be a book somewhere…"
Arthur eyed the lightening sky.
"Dammit, Gaius!" he growled. "We don't have the time! I have to go now, or Gwen will be dead by midday."
"But, sire-!"
"Stall my father as long as you can!" Arthur ordered, and ran out the door.
. . .
. . .
Awareness returned like sunlight filtering through a forest canopy. Bits and pieces drifted through - someone talking nearby, a low, familiar rumble in his ears; the faint smell of leather polish; the brush of fingers at his side or against his forehead, resettling the bed sheets or stroking sweat-matted hair from his face.
Above all, Merlin could sense magic. He had not the faintest idea where it had come from. Nor did he care. It pooled against his own dwindling energy, and it took surprisingly little effort to claim it as his. Slowly, his magical sense began to unfold, twitching and flexing like a long-cramped muscle. Fresh strength rushed through his veins, accompanied by a sense of urgency. Hurry.
. . .
. . .
Arthur didn't bother donning his armour; it would have taken too long without Merlin's help. He stopped only to collect his sword from his rooms before heading for the castle gates. As he neared the portal he saw a shadow lurking in the archway. Someone was waiting for him. Someone he recognised.
"Morgana," he said wearily. "What are you doing?"
"You can't go alone"
"The hell I can't!"
"I'm coming with you."
"No - you're not!"
"Scared I'll show you up?"
God, but he was getting sick of that smirk.
"Father will have us both in chains if he knew I'd endangered you."
Morgana recognised the concern behind the statement. Her gaze softened. "Well… good thing he doesn't know about it then," she said lightly.
Arthur tried one last time.
"I'm telling you, Morgana, turn back. You could get hurt."
"So could you…if you don't get out of my way."
Arthur could not help but grin as Morgana swept past him.
. . .
. . .
"No! Don't-… What-… No-… Hurry!"
Gaius started awake at the nonsensical babble from the pile of blankets on the bed.
"Merlin?"
He placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder; shook gently.
Merlin's eyes fluttered open. He squinted up at Gaius, trying to bring his mentor's face into focus. His whole body ached. His head throbbed.
"Gaius?" he groaned. "How much did I drink?"
"It wasn't alcohol you drunk, Merlin – it was water," Gaius said, helping him into a sitting position. "How do you feel, my lad?"
"Like I've gone ten rounds with Arthur on tournament day… Oh, gods – Arthur!" Merlin flailed, struggling to free himself from the sheets. "I was supposed to meet him! In his chamber! How long was I-"
"Merlin! Merlin, calm down!" Gaius urged, pushing him gently back into the pillows. "You've been unconscious for most of the night."
"But-"
"Prince Arthur knows you were ill. He has gone to the tunnels to deal with the beast responsible for the water illness – an Afanc. It is a creature of powerful magic."
"A creature of magic?" Merlin yelped. "And he went alone?"
"I daresay Lady Morgana went with him."
"Is that meant to be reassuring?" Merlin batted Gaius' hand away and managed to plant his feet on the floorboards. He waited for the room to stop spinning before gritting his teeth and hauling himself upright. Only a quick grab for the bedside table kept him from pitching over again.
"Merlin, what are you-"
"If this… Afanc is a creature of magic, then Arthur's going to need my help to kill it," Merlin pointed out. To his relief, the dizziness faded quickly, replaced by a familiar churning in his stomach. That, he could deal with. Barely.
"And just how are you going to do that, Merlin?" Gaius argued. "Two hours ago you were on death's door! You are not yet recovered!"
Merlin blinked, momentarily shocked into stillness. Death's door? He'd been that bad? But he was fine, now… relatively speaking.
"You found a cure?"
Gaius shook his head. "Lady Morgana and Prince Arthur retrieved your magic poultice – it was that, that healed you."
Merlin swallowed. "All the more reason to go to them," he said.
"I fear you are right," Gaius said, relenting with a worried sigh. He pushed the magic poultice into Merlin's hands. "Take this with you. It will help you regain your strength…But Merlin, we still do not know how to kill the Afanc."
"Maybe not…" Merlin said, tying the poultice to his belt, "But I know someone who does!"
.
Morgana entered the water tunnels cautiously, her heart thudding loud in her chest. She readjusted her grip on the hilt of her sword, nervous, and tried to peer past Arthur's bulk and into the tunnels beyond.
"Here-" Arthur said, turning. He passed her a torch, keeping one for himself, and struck a spark from his flint, his movements reassuringly steady. The brands caught with a whoosh, and Morgana allowed herself to be comforted by the resulting light and glow of warmth. They continued down the rock corridor, the silence broken only by the soft 'plink' of dripping water somewhere close.
"How are we going to find it – the Afanc?" Morgana said to break the unnerving quiet.
"I just hope we do find it… before it finds us," Arthur replied in a low murmur. No trace of nerves shook his voice. This, Morgana realised, must be what Arthur was like on patrol. It was this steadiness, not his lineage, that had earned him the respect and leadership of Camelot's knights. Being the hero, it seemed, was more work than it looked. A surge of admiration and affection swept over her, easing her anxiety a little. Arthur knew what he was doing. He'd-
Suddenly Arthur spun, eyes darting.
"Stop."
Morgana froze.
"What?"
Morgana's eyes swept from corner to corner, though what exactly she was searching for she wasn't quite sure.
"Arthur?"
"…Nothing. It's… just a shadow."
All of a sudden Morgana found herself able to breathe again.
They kept moving deeper into the tunnels.
.
"I need to know how to defeat an Afanc!" Merlin yelled up at the Great Dragon.
"Yes," the dragon drawled, "I suppose you do."
Merlin growled with exasperation. "Will you help me?"
"Trust the elements that are at your command."
"Elements?" Merlin repeated. "But what is it I have to do?"
"You cannot do this alone," the dragon continued, ignoring the question completely. "You are but one side of a coin. Arthur is the other."
"I don't understand! Just tell me what it is I have to do!" Merlin cried, frustrated beyond measure. This was getting him nowhere!
Then the Great Dragon began flying away.
"No, please! Help me!"
"I have."
"Oh, yeah, right," Merlin muttered sarcastically, staggering in the dragon's backdraught and saving himself from a fatal plummet only by sitting down abruptly. The dragon's laughter echoed in his ears. "Thanks for nothing." You great flying lizard.
Dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky. Gwen was going to be burnt at the stake if he didn't do something fast, and Arthur and Morgana were still down in the water tunnels.
None of them had any idea what they were doing.
Gods, Merlin thought despairingly, it was like the blind leading the blind.
He set off for the Water Gate at a run, the poultice bouncing at his hip.
.
Arthur resettled his grip on the torch, his mouth dry with anticipation. He fought to keep his sword steady, trying to keep his nervousness from showing. Morgana looked cool and collected beside him and damn if he was going to let her show him up. Steadying himself with a deep breath, the prince continued down the rock passageway, eyes scouting each shadow for a hint of movement.
The Afanc struck fast.
One minute Arthur was standing in the middle of a roomy junction. The next, he was flying, pain tearing through his left shoulder. He hit the opposite wall hard, rolled, and staggered to his feet….
…Only to be greeted by empty space.
The Afanc was gone.
"Arthur? What is it?" Morgana rushed up to her companion. There was blood on his jacket. "You're hurt!"
Arthur looked down at himself. Three parallel gouges ran from his shoulder and partway across his chest. Blood seeped sluggishly into the material of his shirt and jacket and suddenly Arthur found himself fiercely regretting his hasty decision not to wear armour – not even a chainmail shirt or his quilted jacket. Probing gingerly, he was relieved to find that the claw marks were long, but not particularly deep. They hurt like the blazes, though.
"I'm alright," Arthur panted, straightening.
Morgana cast him a dubious glance but, trusting his judgement, quickly returned her gaze to their surroundings.
"Did you see it?"
"Yeah. Yes," Arthur grunted as he shook out his sword arm.
"What did it look like?"
"It's quick."
They had to keep moving. This intersection was too exposed; had too many openings. They needed a narrower front… but which passageway was the correct one?
The prince shrugged. They all looked the same – and he'd always been a right-hand-tunnel kinda man, himself…
.
"Arthur? Morgana?" Merlin shouted as he entered the water tunnel entrance. It occurred to him that perhaps announcing his presence in this manner was not the smartest idea, but it was too late now. He jogged down the corridor, grimacing as the uneasy roiling in his gut grew stronger. Well… at least he now had a good indication of the direction he was supposed to be heading in. (Silver lining, Merlin - silver lining!) And the poultice seemed to be doing its thing – he felt his strength returning with every step.
Looking around, Merlin saw that both of the torches on the walls were gone. Luckily for him…
"Baerne," he muttered.
A globe of light appeared a few paces in front of him, hovering gently. Merlin grinned.
A sudden shout echoed down the corridor, followed by the sound of metal striking stone.
Arthur!
Throwing caution to the wind, Merlin sprinted down the tunnel.
.
The passageway Arthur had chosen had widened a little in prelude to the chamber he could see up ahead. He motioned Morgana to stay close behind – she had the light, after all – and entered it cautiously, sword ready.
There was a sudden flicker at the corner of his eye.
He whirled; brought his sword down in a glittering arc as he did so, only to have the weapon skitter across the Afanc's toughened skin, the sound setting his teeth on edge. The prince darted backwards, eager to put some space between them… but dammit, the Afanc was fast.
Arthur's sword flew from his grasp, skidding across the shadowed floor to god knew where. He hit the wall for the second time that hour, crying out involuntarily as fresh heat spiked through his back and shoulder. He shook his head dazedly as he lurched to his feet again, weaponless.
His sword. Morgana. The Afanc. Where-
Morgana screamed.
.
Merlin reached a junction and paused, gasping for breath. All of the passageways seemed to head in the right direction…
A high-pitched scream tore through the air-
Morgana.
There was no time. He went left.
.
"Morgana!" Arthur called, fear twisting in his chest.
Morgana shouted; thrust her sword at the ugly, twisted creature that was now revealed in the light of her torch. The Afanc lumbered backward, Morgana's sword striking sparks from its hide – as useless as his own.
"Morgana, give me the torch!" Arthur shouted, desperate for a weapon – any weapon!
Morgana tossed the flaming brand high over the Afanc's head. Arthur caught it deftly, grateful that it was his left arm, and not his dominant right, that was injured. He immediately advanced on the creature, waving the light from side to side to get its attention.
Probably not his brightest idea.
The Afanc rushed forward at speed. Arthur lurched sideways; felt his foot turn on a loose stone and stumbled, cursing.
The Afanc sprung.
Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed across the chamber.
"Arthur! Use the torch!"
.
Merlin felt adrenaline surge through him as the sound of fighting drew nearer. The left-hand passage had curved around almost a full circle, taking him to the far side of a roomy chamber. He entered it at a run, heart lurching as he caught his first good look at the Afanc.
It was ugly.
It was fast.
Even as he watched, it advanced on Arthur, claws outstretched.
Trust the elements at your command.
The Afanc is a creature of clay and magic.
Elements.
Clay.
Magic.
"Arthur!" Merlin shouted. "Use the torch!"
The prince swung the torch high.
"Lyfte ic þe in balwen ac forhienan.!"
There was a dull roar. Flame swept across the cavern. The Afanc shrieked in pain as it burned, hot and fast. Merlin felt its dying moments; let the spell go the minute he felt the taint vanish from his magic-sense. Exhausted, he sagged against the wall, blinking spots from his vision. Then-
Gods. There'd been blood on Arthur's tunic.
He scrambled to his feet.
"Arthur? Are you alright?"
He staggered to Arthur's side, only to find that Morgana had beaten him to the punch.
"Is he alright?" he said worriedly. "He looks a little pale…"
"The wounds aren't deep," Morgana said, to his intense relief. "He should be alright if we get him to Gaius."
"He is right here, and he is fine!" Arthur muttered, wondering at what point he'd sat down.
Merlin grinned. "Annoying, isn't it?" he teased.
"Merlin." Arthur blinked as if seeing him for the first time. "Good to see you on your feet again."
"I hear I have you and Morgana to thank for that."
"Well…Now we're even."
Morgana rolled her eyes impatiently. "This is all very touching, but in case you didn't notice, dawn is breaking and I would really like to get back to the castle before my maidservant is burnt at the stake for sorcery!"
"Gwen!" Arthur exclaimed, struggling to sit up. "There can't be much time left… You'd better go on ahead, Morgana. If you wait for us you'll be here forever." Morgana would see to it that Gwen was released, Arthur reassured himself. She was better with Uther than he was, in any case.
"You'll be alright?" Morgana said, clearly torn.
"I've got Merlin," Arthur shrugged, smiling. "He's a little bit magic. We'll be fine. You remember the way out?"
The king's ward nodded shortly. She retrieved the torch and was soon out of sight.
"Come on, up you get," Merlin murmured. He helped Arthur to his feet, wincing sympathetically as the movement pulled at the prince's wounds. They took a moment to steady themselves.
"Are you going to fall down as soon as we take a step?" Merlin said, concern creasing his face.
"Are you going to fall asleep as soon as we hit the corridor?" Arthur retorted, eyeing his companion's still pale complexion.
"Guess we're going to have to lean on each other, then."
"Huh. I guess so."
. . .
. . .
Epilogue
. . .
Merlin approached the door to Arthur's chambers with trepidation. He patted his freshly washed hair down in an attempt to neaten it; scrubbed his sweaty palms on his newly cleaned clothes. Then he knocked.
"Enter."
With a last fortifying breath, Merlin cracked the door open and slipped inside, immediately grateful for the warmth of Arthur's rooms compared to the night time chill of the castle's corridors.
Arthur turned from the window and took a moment to study his manservant, nodding with approval at what he saw. Almost a full day of sleep had done Merlin wonders. The hot bath and fresh change of clothes probably hadn't hurt either.
Finally, he had a chance to talk with Merlin alone… and yet, somehow… this wasn't how he'd imagined it would be.
"So. You made it."
"Better late than never?" Merlin offered.
Arthur snorted. "True enough," he agreed, gesturing Merlin to take a seat.
"You're not going to put me in the stocks, are you?"
"You're off the hook. This time," Arthur smirked.
Awkward silence.
"Did Morgana manage to find those children a place to stay?" Merlin asked.
"Yes… They're staying with the chief ostler and his wife. They wanted children… and now they have six," Arthur snickered. "Looks like we'll be seeing a lot of messy hay and overfed horses in the future."
Awkward silence.
"Gwen's alright? She's settled back in with her father?" Arthur asked.
"Yeah, she's… fine. Really well."
"And Gaius has confirmed the water illness is gone?"
"Yes. It went with the Afanc."
Awkward silence.
"So… You have magic."
"Yeah. Yes. I do."
Arthur sat back, a little surprised to find how little that statement bothered him.
"Well. It's just as well, I suppose."
"…What?"
"Look, Merlin," he said earnestly. "I mean what I said earlier. Looking after Camelot's citizens is my duty. My highest responsibility. You were able to help my people in a way that I… in a way that was beyond my ability." He took a deep breath. "Thank you."
"Oh. Uh. You're welcome," Merlin stammered, looking a little stunned.
"I want you to know that you don't need to worry about me, or Morgana, or any of those children turning you in to my father. We owe you our lives. Your secret is safe with us."
The prince watched, satisfied, as the tension slowly seeped from Merlin's shoulders. Yes, he told himself. He was making the right decision.
"Besides…" Arthur continued, "I have the strangest feeling that I'm going to need someone with magic by my side in the future." Merlin looked up sharply.
"Does that mean… does that mean I can keep using my magic?"
"In private," Arthur corrected, remembering the market-place-torch incident. "And you can start with my sword. It's somewhere in the water tunnels, and I'm rather attached to it."
Merlin scowled. "I'm a warlock, not a carnival trickster!"
"You mean you don't know how to do it!" Arthur grinned.
"Magic's harder than it looks, alright?"
"Well you'd better tell me how it works, then!"
"Prat."
"Idiot."
Merlin settled himself more comfortably on the chair, and began to talk.