Merlin doesn't remember a time in his life where he was truly scared. He was nervous when he walked the first few steps into Camelot's courtyard that first time. He was frustrated when Arthur's life was being repeatedly and constantly threatened by sorcerers and magical creatures, and angry when his own mother's life was put on the line in his endeavor to save Arthur's.

He remembers the guilt that followed his release of the great dragon, remembers the grief that threatened to overwhelm him when his father died in his arms after taking a blow meant for him. Remembers the sadness that flooded his insides and almost drowned him as he slowly realized over the years that he might never be able to tell Arthur the truth. To show his prince who he really was.

Yet, now, as he felt his body shift and move on its own as if controlled by an invisible force, he was truly and utterly terrified.

He tried to fight it, resist the overwhelming force that seemed to push him as it pleased. Dimly, he realized that he was under an enchantment. A spell that allowed the magic-user to control a person while they slept. But who would do that? Who would want to enchant him, merlin, the useless servant.

The only person who had any reason to was Morgana. Was his slumber going to be a danger now too?

His body moved, back straightening and legs, pulling up from under him until he was standing. His bare feet touched the icy floor and sent shivers throughout his body. Camelot's winters were cold and unforgiving, going outside as this would surely bring about his early demise.

Calling forth his magic felt like a blow to the guts as nothing happened. It was both a blessing and a curse. He could not use his magic to get out of this, but then it also meant that whoever was currently in control of his body didn't have access to it either.

His struggles were useless as his feet led him, one step at a time out of the castle. He ambled past a sleeping Gaius, the older man oblivious to the internal battle his ward was currently facing.

The guards securing the doors were asleep, their job forgotten as he strode by. He willed his mouth to open, willed the words to spill from his constricted throat. He wanted to warn them, cry out for help, anything. Yet, he passed them swiftly and quietly, as if his body was lighter now, that he wasn't in control of it.

The frosty air hit him like icy water trickling down his spine. His thin nightshirt was not sufficient to ward off the cold. His toes stiffened with each step he took out of the citadel. He wanted to scream, to shout and cry and rage. Rage against this enchantment that slowly but surely took him away from the ones he loved and was sworn to protect. What did Morgana have in mind, was this some ploy to get him away from Arthur so she could hurt him. Or, was she just enjoying torturing him.

Pain flared in the soles of his feet as the gravel rubbed into his sensitive skin, breaking and tearing into his flesh with each stride he took towards the snow-laden forest. If he looked down, his eyes the only things that would respond to his command, he could see the blue-ish tint that accompanied the beginning of frostbite. The crimson blood that was left in his wake with each painful step he took on his raw, aching legs. Tears slipped down his bloodshot eyes unbidden, the liquid leaving frosty trails across his red cheeks. The color is no doubt going on purple now.

Twigs and low branches dug into his skin, some scratching his face and his arms as his pace seemed to hasten. His limbs locked up as his body seemed to seize up as if faltering on its command. The next thing he knew he was sprinting. Legs moving with a speed he didn't know he possessed as he raced across the woods.

The pain was overwhelming now, agony spreading from his legs to his whole body with every move he made. Unwilling and resisting.

He doesn't know how long he runs, doesn't know how much time passes as his limbs moved without his consent. It felt as if his mind was a separate entity in itself. As if he was a stranger looking down on a body that was not his own. He must have disassociated at some point, a phenomenon that Gaius once explained, happened to those who were no longer able to handle pain or suffering. The Catha were renowned for their methods of disassociating during intense torture sessions. It was one of their many ways of resistance.

The darkness of the night leisurely departed, leaving in its wake the orange tint of the rising sun. The first glimmer of dawn shone like a beacon of hope in his despair.

His body slackened ever so slowly, as though the darkness was pulling with it, the enchantment that held merlin's body within its clutches.

Soon enough, but altogether an entire eternity later, his body stilled. The last remnants of control faded as his figure slumped, like a doll whose strings had been severed.

He fell into the snowy field, chest heaving with the effort to just breathe. Like a drowned man taking his first gulp of air for the first time. His lungs constricted and hitched with the agonizing effort. Raw and hot with pain as he tried to regain some semblance of control.

Consciousness slipped from his grasp like fallen grains of sand despite his greatest efforts at remaining awake and aware. Terror gripped him like a vice for fear of falling back into Morgana's clutches. Darkness overtook him once more, his head hitting the snow with a soft thud. A single tear escaped his eyes, falling soundlessly in the snow.

______________________________________

Sun flitted into the room, rays of light shining through the delicate fabric draping the windows. Arthur groaned, grumbling under his breath as he shifted from his resting position. He felt strangely rested this morning. Peaceful, as he sat up, eyes fluttering with the effort to ward off his drowsiness.

The reason behind his unperturbed state was evident when he noticed two things simultaneously. The fire wasn't lit in his chambers and the curtains weren't drawn. Merlin was, therefore, nowhere to be seen.

Cursing his wayward manservant, he got up hastily, knowing that the strong sunlight meant only one thing. He was late. Exceedingly so. The council meeting he was supposed to take on in his father's stead would be already over. Not to mention the breakfast he planned to take in his father's chambers.

Shouting for the nearing maid to bring him his breakfast, he made quick work of getting dressed. Stumbling and thrashing against his garments as he tried to get ready for the day's work ahead of him. The northern patrol directed by Lancelot was supposed to come back today. Arthur needed their report. The Samhain feast was near, he needed everything to be in order. Some disturbances were spotted near some of Camelot's outlying villages, he needed to make sure that the matter was thoroughly investigated and resolved.

His idiot manservant was going to pay for this. His actions this time weren't going to go unpunished. The man has been absent-minded all week. Shirking his duties was just the tip of the iceberg.

With renewed anger, he marched out of his room, barely taking the time to strap his sword belt onto his waist as he headed for the physician's chambers. Intent on catching Merlin amidst his evident laziness.

Nodding at the guards as he passed them, he pushed the doors open, not bothering to reduce the strength he put into the action. Gaius immediately twisted at the noise, the old man starting at the sudden intrusion, words already forming on his lip as he turned to face him. "Merlin where have you-" Upon realizing just who it was that burst into his chambers, he straightened, his face contorting into a perfect mask of disinterest.

"Where is my idiotic manservant?" He asked, trying to ignore the worry the man so evidently tried to conceal.

"I'm afraid I do not know Sire, when I woke up this morning, he was already gone."

"Well, when he does deem us with his presence, be sure to tell that useless toad of a servant, he'll have hell to pay." With that, the prince marched out of the room.

Gaius watched the prince take his leave, eyes heavy with worry, as he wondered once again, what happened to his ward.

______________________________

Lancelot always enjoyed his patrols. The other knights, mainly Gwaine, viewed it as more of a chore. Something to begrudgingly get through.

Contrarily, he relished in the freedom it provided him, to wander the woods and admire the greenery while simultaneously exercising his duty to protect and defend.

Coming back from his patrols always left him feeling tired but curiously satisfied. So, it was indeed odd for him to feel a strange sense of foreboding as he led his cluster of men through the woods leading to the citadel. The prince had given him five Knight to lead into this expedition. As they approached their starting point once again, they decided to spread out to cover more ground.

Now, galloping alone on his horse through the foliage, he slowed his mount to a trot. His instincts were telling him to be cautious. They never failed him in the past, he learned to heed their warning and act accordingly.

Almost immediately, he noticed the source of his alertness. There, almost buried amidst the snow, was a trail of bloody footprints. A small part of him urged him to keep going, warning him that this most likely won't lead to anything good. However, the part of him that longed to be a knight, honorable and true, immediately overruled his choice.

He sank to the ground, clutching the reins of his horse in his hand as he followed the footprints. Steps cautious and guarded as he waded through the snow. The blood trail grew thicker and deeper the further he went. As if whoever left them suddenly stopped running and walked instead.

Soon enough, a body appeared in his field of vision. The figure slumped, lifeless in the snow. Blood patches littering the ground around him. More prominently underneath the man's abused feet.

Who in their right mind would walk barefoot in the forest in the middle of winter?

Hastily tying his horse to one of the tree trunks near him, he rushed to the stranger's aide. Hands already looking through his saddlebags for any bandages he had on hand.

However, the moment he got a proper look at the fallen figure, his blood ran cold.

Like ice through his veins, he realized with a strange sense of unreality just who it was, slumped there, bleeding in the snow.

Curbing the panic he felt bubbling to the surface into the deepest confines of his mind, he ran to his friend's side. Knees sinking into the snow, trousers now damp, as he laid gentle fingers on his friend's neck. His hand shook with something that had undeniably nothing to do with the cold.

Merlin's skin was icy to the touch, even through the thick riding gloves he wore. He waited one moment, two, and there, barely thumping was a pulse. Merlin's heart was still beating, he was alive, if only just. His pulse was slow and stuttering. His chest barely rose with the effort to tether him to the living world. Most worryingly, he was barely shivering.

The small part of him that knew some medical knowledge wilted, as he knew that was never a good sign in a cold patient.

Stifling his mounting terror, he assessed the warlock's form. Trying to find any evident injury in his friend's body.

Questions arose in his mind, as he looked at the battered state of merlin's feet, and the scrapes and bruises that littered his exposed skin. What was he doing out here, so far away from the citadel, on foot and bare to the harsh unforgiving winter? Why was he running? Was he being followed? Chased?

Unclasping the crimson cloak around his neck, he drapes it with a gentleness he didn't know he possessed over his fallen friend. Next, he takes out his waterskin, a silent apology on his lips as he trickles water onto the man's feet. Cleaning as much dirt and gravel as possible from the gaping wounds that adorned the torn skin. Infection was, after all, something they needed to avoid at all cost.

With that done, he wraps the bandages he's gathered around the visible injuries he spotted. Trying and failing to keep his hands steady as he tended to merlin's wounds.

Minutes went by as he worked, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that something was wrong. He didn't notice it immediately. Something he would later curse himself for.

Silence. A deep, unnatural stillness that terrified him to the core.

Merlin's chest was still. Too still. He waited for the exhale of breath, the sign he was looking for. Anything at all to deny the reality that currently threatened to crash down on him. Bending down, agonizingly slow, he presses his ear to Merlin's chest. He barely notices that he, himself, stopped breathing. As if holding his breath will stop time in its place. Prevent this horrible, cruel thing from happening. He waits, and waits and only quiet greets him.

Exhaling loudly, a sob ranches itself from his throat as he shakes the man under him, grip painful and tight on his shoulders as he wills his friend to move, to wake up, to live.

A constant stream of no, no, no, no echoes in his mind as he thumbs his fist against his the boy's chest. Hoping with all his might that this was a nightmare. Just a bad dream he would eventually wake up from. Because this couldn't be real. Merlin couldn't be- he couldn't- he just wasn't.

Tears stream down his face, freely and thickly as his breath stutters in his lungs.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Merlin always spoke of destiny and fate. This was not happening, it couldn't be.

But it was. Lancelot's knees ached from his position, his hands trembling and shaking from something he could not endeavor to name, and Merlin... Merlin was dead.

With a detached kind of attentiveness, he bundled his friend into his arms. Merlin's body was stiff and cold as he moved him. Limbs locked in place, frozen in time as he held him close to his chest. Sobs racked his frame as he rocked on his heels, falling back from his crouch onto the icy snow below. He didn't care for the cold, didn't care for the patrol that would surely get to the city before him. In fact, he cared for nothing at all.

____________________________________________

He doesn't know how long he sat there, eyes distant, gaze unfocused as he stared ahead into nothingness. He ran out of tears to cry a while ago, his face was sticky and stiff with the remnants. Red-rimmed eyes blinking dazedly as he glowered at the fire he barely had the presence of mind to build before he detached himself from- reality, really.

Merlin was draped in his cloak, still bundled within his grasp. He didn't have the heart to let go yet. To bury his closest friend beneath the dirt and the snow. The thought alone brought an unbearable aching deep within his chest. He never thought he'd feel this kind of grief again in his lifetime. He never thought he'd care so deeply for someone. Not after letting go of the flame he held for Guinevere. Not after the death of his family all those years ago. Yet, here he was, as broken as the day he lost his village, if not more.

The flames danced and swayed with the afternoon wind, the sky grey with approaching clouds. Looming over them like a bad omen. Lancelot would like to think that this was nature's way of grieving for the incredible loss of this day.

The most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. Lancelot wondered if it was all worth it, in the end.

The suffering his friend put himself through for this great destiny he'd never get to see for himself.

A movement beneath his arm caught his attention, startling him into place as he looked down. For a moment, nothing happened, he thinks that maybe he imagined it. It wouldn't be too far-fetched for his mind to play tricks on him at a time like this. However, a second later the twitching underneath the cloak flared back to life.

Moving painstakingly slow, he twisted out from under merlin's body, careful, despite his haste to gently lay his friend's body on the ground. Waiting with bated breath for any sign that this wasn't just a figment of his imagination. Because of course it was. Life, after all, wasn't so kind as to give back. People didn't miraculously wake up after being dead for hours. Merlin couldn't just magically-

Another movement, followed by a groan. This was really happening. Unless this was some kind of curse that animated the corpse of a victim post mortem.

Holding his breath, willing for this to not be some kind of interstellar jest, he slowly unraveled the cloak from around merlin's fallen form.

Blue eyes, as deep as the sea itself, stared back at him. Eyes he thought he'd never get to gaze into again.

"L-lance." The man uttered quietly, a whimper escaping his blue-tinged lips as he tried, in vain to sit up. His strength failed him. The boy's voice felt like it was far, far away. As if Lancelot was wading the innermost depth of a stream, drowning within his own mind as he looked at his friend. His very alive, talking, breathing friend. "L-Lancelot." The second feeble articulation of his name broke him out of his momentary reverie. Pushing him into action as he immediately helped his friend sit up. Wincing as the boy broke into a hefty coughing fit.

"Merlin, are you-"Was he truly asking this? After looking over the boy's lifeless body for hours. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine Lancelot, I just need- I need a minute." Was merlin's response as he took a moment to just breathe. What had happened, he remembers the curse, remembers his dash through the forest, then darkness, all-encompassing darkness, and void.

"Merlin, you're not fine! You're- you're so far from fine! You – You died! Merlin, you died right before my eyes!" He repeated, disbelieving his own words as he tries to convey the seriousness of the situation. "Right here Merlin! In my arms!" His chest heaved with the unspoken words he wanted to express even as they died on his lips.

"Died?" Merlin's quiet utterance made him painfully aware that he wasn't the only one entitled to some panic. "A-are you sure?'

"Yes. Merlin. I held you, for hours, I- I grieved you. This is not- How is this happening?"

Merlin's eyes seemed miles away as he stared ahead, blue orbs empty without the usual spark of life he'd used to see in the servant's gaze.

"Emrys." His voice was soft, almost imperceptible, if Lancelot wasn't paying attention he would've missed it.

"What does that have to do with anything?" He asked tentatively, not wanting to rush the sorcerer.

"It's what the druids call me." The man began slowly, breath discernible in the cold as it left a cloud of smoke in the air. "I didn't want to believe it was true. I thought it surely meant something else." The man's voice was panicked now, eyes flitting everywhere and anywhere, working in tandem with his racing mind. "Emrys...means immortal." Oh, oh.

Hells.

Immortal.

The words seemed to hang in the air around them, as if the moment was forever suspended in time. It felt like an important, crucial moment in their lives. Like the world was shifting on its axes and it wanted them to remember this exact moment. Like they'd just stumbled onto an unmistakably world-changing occurrence.

And they have, stumbled and fell and plunged into an unmistakable world-shifting truth. Haven't they?

Because Merlin was immortal, and Lancelot really should be happier for it. Yet, knowing everything this might entail, prevented him from gaining any semblance of contentment from this.

It seems, his prayers were answered, his friend was right there, alive and breathing. Yet...yet, his friend was henceforth fated to outlive everyone and everything he's ever known. This...This Lancelot wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.

"-celot? Lancelot?" The knight hadn't even noticed that merlin was calling out his name. "Are you okay?"

"Am I-"The words caught in his throat, as he stared at the man before him. "Merlin, it is I that should be inquiring that of you. In fact, please stand up, I need to assess your injuries." The next few minutes were spent with Lancelot going over every wound he'd seen on merlin's body.

They soon concluded that Merlin's immortality seemed to cure him of the cause of death. However, it left his unrelated wounds intact. Therefore, the cold that previously chilled him to his core was gone. The only indication of his misfortune was his slightly blue-tinted lips and his sun-kissed cheeks. Yet, the wounds on his feet and the bruises on his body remained. The bleeding, however, had thankfully tapered off.

"We should get you to Gaius, y-you just died, Merlin, you need to be examined by a proper physician."

"You can't possibly believe I should tell anyone, let alone Gaius about this. This would shatter him."

"You mustn't keep this to yourself! This is not a burden you should bear alone." He tried to express the desperation and worry he felt. Tried to convey the sincerity of his concerns.

"I'm not alone." The sentence was spoken so plainly and quietly as if there was absolutely no doubt in the younger man's mind about it. The warmth that spread in the knight's chest was indescribable.

"Never," Lancelot replied simply, his words ringing honest and true.

After a moment he added, "You still need to ask someone more practiced in this matter, Merlin. We know not of the repercussions. I implore you not to make me worry needlessly."

"Alright, you win." The warlock amended, crossing his arms wearily, his exasperation obvious. "I believe only one individual may have the answers we seek."

"Alright, how do we find them?" The smirk he got in response did nothing to appease his nerves.

_________________________

Lancelot has never heard a voice emit such raw power before. Merlin's shout echoed through the clearing, despite his low tone. His words seemed to resonate from deep within the earth, a profound guttural sound that pulled at the hair on his arms, making his whole body shiver.

His confusion was overshadowed by his awe, and by the time he even considered asking about it, a loud batting sound emerged from the sky.

Panic, hot, and coiling surged through him as he moved as if on instinct, to shield his friend's body from the threat. However, as his eyes landed on Merlin once more, he faltered. Merlin wasn't panicking, in fact, the sorcerer seemed unnaturally calm. His demeanor relaxed as he waited for the dragon- and Lancelot, still hadn't gotten over the fact that this was really happening- in front of them to land.

"It's alright, He's a friend." The boy said, almost casually as he stepped forward. Lancelot fought the urge to pull him back safely behind him.

He watched, with no small amount of wonder as the boy greeted the Dragon, gaining a deep bow in return.

"Who is your friend?" The dragon spoke, his voice was thunderous and old as time.

"I-" He faltered slightly, not sure if he should address the creature directly. "I'm Sir, Lancelot."

"Ah, Sir Lancelot, the noblest of them all." Before he could even begin to come up with an answer, the scaly beast continued, "Young Warlock, your mind seems clouded, what is the matter?"

"I'm afraid, that I discovered the real significance behind my destiny, Kilgharrah." Merlin began, his voice low and somber. "Did you know? Even as I took my first steps into Camelot, did you know?"

"What is it that you presume I know of, young Dragonlord?"

"The true meaning of Emrys, the real destiny the fates had in store for me, did you know about it, all this time?" The boy's voice cracked with barely suppressed pain and anger. A façade he's been keeping up ever since he woke up, was starting to crumble right before Lancelot's eyes. It was clear as day that the warlock had been trying to hide his pain from the knight. His resolve only now, beginning to wane.

"I wished to spare you the pain for as long as I could. For, I, of all mortals, know the burden of a long-lasting life. I am sorry, Young warlock, that I could not delay this inevitability."

The fight seemed to drain from the warlock's body, leaving in its wake a weary man.

"Is there no way to overcome this? To avoid it?"

"There is not." The dragon replied with solemn finality. The rumbling in his voice sent vibrations into the very ground beneath their feet.

Sighing heavily, the warlock gathered whatever strength he had left, to stand straighter, facing the magical creature in front of him with a dignity he didn't know he possessed.

"There is one other thing I wished to inquire of you, Kilgharrah."

"You need only ask, young warlock."

"I succumbed to the cold, but I was not out in this weather of my own volition." He began wearily, still unused to speaking so plainly of his own demise. "I believe I was cursed, my body was not mine to control, and I couldn't stop myself from following my captor's demands. I suspect Morgana is behind it."

"You are no longer under the effect of this spell, Merlin. If the curse you speak of is what I suspect, the witch's influence is long gone by now."

"Is there a way to prevent this from happening again?" The sorcerer asked worriedly, knowing he'd rather remain awake than give up his control during his slumber.

"There is indeed a spell that would counter the curse, however, the power required to perform such a spell is great."

"You and I both know that this is not a problem for me." Merlin couldn't help but reply, a smirk forming onto his lips despite his somber gaze.

"Very well." The warlock shuddered as hot air seeped into his very bone, a surge of energy and knowledge flooded his mind. His magic instinctively performed the spell, as if desperate to counter the curse as soon as possible.

The energy vacated his body as fast as it came, leaving him with bone-deep tiredness. However, he felt it, the effect of the spell, almost imperceptibly, a shield around his own mental barriers, protecting his mind from unwanted attention and control.

"Is it done?" Lancelot asked hopefully.

"It's done." The man replied with no small amount of relief.

___________________________

It wasn't until the last remnants of the setting sun faded, that they crossed into the citadel's grounds.

Home at last, after their harrowing journey. Lancelot could sense his friend's exhaustion, he could feel it within his own body as they reached the castle's entrance. He hadn't allowed the manservant to walk beside him on foot. Immediately offering his mare to the injured man. However, the younger man was really stubborn when he wanted to be. So, they had shared the mount, in the end. As long as Merlin wasn't in pain, he didn't mind.

So, dismounting the horse, and helping the wounded sorcerer onto the ground, he braced himself for the next few hours to come.

Arthur would surely question his late arrival, not to mention the absence of his wayward manservant. Although the story they had decided on was simple enough, Lancelot having come across a lost and wandering Merlin in the woods, he still feared that the worry and panic he was still inwardly feeling would be apparent to his prince.

His worries were proved unwarranted as the prince barely spared him more than a few words before going on a full tangent, yelling at his manservant.

As Lancelot watched Merlin and Arthur disappear into the castle, he could see the pain and worry the sorcerer was hiding behind a bright, bashful but all together fake grin as he followed the prince.

Then and there, Lancelot promised himself one thing.

He'd watch over his friend, for as long as he possibly could. Because who protected the protector, when no one knew of his existence?

He watched his friend's back wavered under the weight of the burden he was dealt with and promised he'd never let the man go through this alone. For as long as he lived, he would do this.

A solemn oath, silent and in secret, but nevertheless cherished and true. Truer than the oath he swore all those months ago in the ruins of the castle.

His loyalty would always be to Merlin first, after all.