His leg had nearly stopped hurting, mostly because the cold had numbed him to such a degree he could hardly feel his feet, let alone the tear across his left calf. The cold had also mostly frozen the blood that had been dripping from the gash, and Merlin supposed that might be the one good thing about freezing to death, not bleeding to death; though he wasn't sure which way of going would be less painful. And, of course, he didn't just have himself to worry about; though instead of it being Arthur he was dragging, unconscious towards some kind of safety, this time it was Gawain.

They had been racing for home, trying to outrun a snowstorm on their steeds, returning from a simple errand, to deliver a missive to a local chief, a day out and back, or it should have been, but for Morgana. Merlin had been cursing himself for his lack of foresight for the last half hour (by his reckoning), ever since Gawain had fallen from his mount with a frightening severity, the lump on the back of his head the least of his worries, the dart in his neck the most.

The whizzing of a second dart had flown past Merlin's ear as he had leapt off his own horse, sadly taking the beast down nearly as stiffly as Gawain. A conjured snow squall had given him the cover he had needed to drag Gawain into the dark of the trees, but he had had to keep moving to outdistance the assassin, and stumbling through the undergrowth, pulling a nearly lifeless Gawain in his full chainmail kit and sword had led to a slip, and a tumble, and a branch that felt like a stake that he'd had to pull out of his own flesh without screaming. At least no one was pursuing them any longer, though they'd probably succumb to the storm, which was what Morgana's men were likely counting on. They were probably right to make that assumption and return to their own warm beds for the night.

The darkness had enshrouded them, and Merlin was running out of energy, evidenced by the longer and longer pauses he felt himself forced to take; both to check on Gawain's condition, and to catch his own breath and fortify his muscles to continue. His friend still had a heartbeat, slowed as it was, and was still breathing out a thin white fog, but whatever the poison was that was running in his veins; Merlin's inactivity was doing nothing but hastening its deadly effects. It was difficult not to feel the hopelessness of his situation as he stared up into the night sky, moon and stars obscured by thick cloud, snow beginning to fall in earnest. He could not even think of a spell that would help them just then, his mind being so scattered by the panic and numbness that was seeping into him.

"It cannot end like this!" He screamed out loud, or at least he thought he screamed out loud, he wasn't really sure if it had been vocal or just in his mind. Wrapping his arms around Gawain's shoulders, clutching the man close, in the last act of protection he could offer, he let his head sink down against the sodden red cloak, the cloak worn by all of Arthur's Knights. "I am so sorry." He whispered to anyone that might be able to hear; sorry for himself and Gawain and Arthur and Gaius, everyone he was leaving behind. Then he was quiet as the snow began to cover them both over.

"Please don't stop talking." The voice was hushed, like a breath, startling Merlin, but not quite enough to raise himself off the ground to search for its origin. It was likely no more than the hallucinations of his approaching death he reasoned, for as much as he could still do that.

"I am close, please, please do not be dead." The second sentence, louder, heard not in his ears, but within his head, did cause Merlin to look up. He thought he could see something through the snow, but it was indistinct, and difficult to tell.

"Is someone there?" That plea he sent out in the ways of the Druids for certain, forcing his mind to concentrate on the words, and the emotions behind them.

"I am here." The black shape coalesced into a proper form, as much as it could be defined, wrapped in a thick fur robe, kneeling down beside him. Warm hands touched his face, and he turned it to look at his supposed savior, her face still shrouded by the folds of her hood.

"Help us." His eyes flashed their brilliant amber for a heartbeat, with his weak though audible cry, and he thought he saw the curve of a smile in the shadow.

"I will." Again it was only in his head that he heard her. "Can you stand? Can we carry your friend?" Hands moved under his arms and tugged at him. She wasn't strong, but she was real, as real as he and Gawain were, and that tangible response gave Merlin the hope he needed to rise from his knees, and pick up Gawain again. But this time he had help, as his rescuer slung Gawain's left arm over her shoulder, taking half the load. She was strong enough somehow, and the now trio, began to move again.

She led Merlin towards a small hut, one that almost looked as if it had been built into the side of the hill it fronted, the walls looking like sod pieces and interspersed branches, where they could be seen through the snow that was. There might have been a small garden in the front, it seemed demarcated, even through the whiteness, leftover stalks still poking forth from the earth. Through the now denser falling snow Merlin could see the plume of a hearth fire, and he began to feel warmer even before he entered the modest home.

His senses proved valid as she unlatched the door and the heat of the fire enveloped them all. The flames were not high, and a cooking pot took up a good portion of the stone enclosure, so there wasn't a great deal of light cast, but there was enough to see the interior of the cottage.

"Bring him to the hearth." Merlin was only too happy to do so, and collapse before it himself, rubbing his fingers together rapidly to restore the feeling in them. His toes began to prickle uncomfortably, but he ignored them, instead, pulling his own cloak and then his pouch off his shoulders turning to Gawain, still supine, still motionless, and still dying.

"He's been poisoned. Can you help him?" She hadn't removed her cloak yet, but she had let the hood fall back, revealing masses of light brown hair, tied and pinned back on her head in strands, loose tendrils still hiding much of her. She bent to Gawain and brought her face very close to his, Merlin could see her breathing deeply, inhaling, perhaps she could smell what the poison was he wondered? He remained silent, and only watched as she stood and left them both by the hearth. Removing her cloak she laid it beside herself on a bench. As Merlin watched, her hands moved surely and rapidly while she remained mute, busying herself at a wooden table over which hung bundles of herbs, dried by the fire no doubt. She was going through baskets laden with other ingredients, some of which Merlin recognized, others, which he did not. Things were mixed with a hurried precision that he recognized, and pressed into a linen square. She returned to Gawain's still form and pressed the poultice against the wound on his neck, cradling his head carefully as she bound it there securely with a length of cloth. Once that was done she undid the ties of his cloak and stripped it, standing with it. For a moment she watched the melting snow drip from the folds onto the floor, fixated it seemed by the transmutation. She hung it with reverence on a wooden peg by the fire, ostensibly to dry, but kept her hands on the fabric.

"What have you used?" Merlin whispered, "to help him." He heard her response in his head.

"Mostly charcoal, eye-bright, tea-tree, other things, to draw out the poison. Because he has been so cold it has slowed down the progress of it. The poultice will take what it can, the rest we will draw forth ourselves." She turned back to Merlin, worry clouding her face. "Your leg?" Merlin looked down, it had begun to bleed again, and ache, now that he thought about it. "May I care for you Emrys?"

"You know who I am?" They spoke as the druids did, and Merlin could finally look into the eyes of the woman who had come out of the dark.

"I do." Her eyes were darker than her hair, not in a sinister way, not black, more like a deep pool of cold water, a blue that looked as Magical as it seemed she was. Her skin was pale, which only made her eyes stand out more, and her lips, even though they were more pale pink than red. The rouge of her cheeks, due to the cold no doubt, was fading, leaving a perfect surface of cream. "May I care for you?"

"Thank you." He nodded. Her smile was beatific, and Merlin began to feel quite self-conscious, but the tea she brought to him, and her delicate touch on his skin as she secured the cup in his hand, combined with the leaves she gave him to chew, relieved not only the pain, but also his discomfort at having someone attend to him as if he was royalty. She removed his boots, placing them by the fire to dry, and brought him a blanket to wrap over his shoulders. Then she began to wash the wound with warm water mixed with some of the same smelling herbs as he had recognized in the poultice from Gawain's neck. Merlin reached out a hand to check on his friend, feeling for his pulse even as she drew her fingers over his leg. He could not help but tremble as she dressed the gash, which looked considerably better somehow since she had cleaned it: the bleeding having stopped along with the throbbing. He took comfort from that, and from Gawain's heartbeat, recovering finally as he warmed up.

"May I ask your name?"

"My spoken name is Eve, though there is no one left who calls me by that."

"Your family is gone?"

"They are, I am alone, I have been alone for a very long time." Her eyes spoke of sadness, even though her voice did not, because she had yet to say a word.

"You are a Druid?"

"I am."

Merlin felt a little uncomfortable with their inaudible conversation, but he chided himself for it, after all, she was as close to a kindred spirit as he had found in many months. He looked at her as she returned to Gawain, beginning to tug at the chainmail. Since Merlin had a great deal of experience with such things he offered his help, which was gratefully accepted. Once it, and the padded undergarments were free (as gently as it could be managed from an unconscious knight, with Merlin not putting too much weight on his injured leg as he yanked), Eve began to unlace Gawain's shirt.

"The heat must do its work now." She announced. His sodden shirt was laid out over the hearth as Gawain too was wrapped in a blanket, a fur laid over that, and a second bundled under his head. "The poison will weep from his skin, but he must take in water to replace what he will lose." She pressed a wet rag to his lips, moistening them, letting small rivulets run into his mouth as she stroked under his chin, careful not to dislodge the poultice. Her eyes glowed golden for an instant as Merlin watched, and Gawain began to swallow.

"You have Magic."

"Will you tell him?" She gestured down to Gawain, still cradled in her arms, his head in her lap.

"Not without your permission."

"I thank you Emrys."

"You should call me Merlin in front of him."

"I have no voice beyond the one you can hear Emrys. I cannot speak your name, or his, or anyone's, unless they are like us. Is your friend a Druid as well?"

"He is not, he is Gawain, a knight of the realm, of Arthur's Court. But he is an honest and true man, noble and loyal to a fault."

"He is your friend?"

"He is. And I thank you for saving his life, and my own."

"It has been my honor Emrys, for if you say he is a man of worth, then I am pleased to have been of service to you and to him." She brushed the cloth over Gawain's lips again, and again he swallowed some of the water. Perspiration was beginning to bead on his forehead, with her sleeve Eve dabbed it away. The room grew silent, and the storm outside howled down the chimney, making the fire flicker.

"Let me put more wood on the fire." The instinct was ingrained after so many years of serving Arthur, and Merlin had the fire built up again in moments, guarded by its size against any other drafts the wind might bring.

"If you wish to rest Emrys, I will tend to your Sir Gawain here. There is no shame in admitting the exhaustion you must be feeling."

"You are kind my Lady." And Merlin curled into the blanket she had given him, and laid his head down on his arm, his eyes finally able to close knowing that for the moment he and his friend were safe. He barely registered the gentle touch of her fingers on his forehead, and perhaps, her lips, as he drifted away.