Waking up that day, felt like stopping for air after a long run. His chest heaved with the effort to soothe his aching lungs. He doesn't remember his dream, only the omnipresent sense of deep wrongness. The dread followed him throughout the day, even as he joked with Merlin about the ruined shirt he carried in his arms. Encouraging the boy to use his gift, being, after all, one of the rare few who were privy to the man's secret.

He felt it as the prince delivered his speech at the Samhain feast. As merlin collapsed onto the ground with a hard thud, remembers the way the wine pitcher in his grip hit the ground with a clang, the blood red liquid spreading onto the marble floor.

He should've seen this coming, the servant had been running himself ragged. His injuries hadn't fully healed yet, despite his numerous attempts at healing them with spells. Not to mention the extra chores Arthur had stuck him with as punishment for his mysterious absence a couple of days earlier.

Lancelot shuddered at the mere memory. Morbid scenes played just behind his eyelids as if he was back there again. Kneeling on the snowy forest ground, cold and numb to the word as he stared at his friend's corpse.

Blinking rapidly, he focused on the events presently happening before him. A woman had arrived at first light, panicked and scared, speaking of ghostly figures attacking her village.

That, coupled with Merlin's tale from yesterday, served to only further the dread coiling in his guts.

That night, they had sat there, in Gaius's chambers, the blanket wrapped tightly around the boy's shoulders as he shivered, his arms hugging his body as if to ward off the cold. Teeth clenching in order to stop their quivering as he explained what had happened to him. He spoke of ghostly old women and ominous warnings. A voice that seemed to come from the depth of the earth, echoing deep within his mind.

The prince, as noble and fair as the day Lancelot had the honor to meet him, immediately agreed to heed her call for help.

The knights, the prince, and merlin had all ridden out to investigate the location that afternoon. Lancelot can still remember the sinking feeling that blossomed in his chest as Merlin spoke to him on their way back. A quiet, solemn admittance of the failure of his magic against this particular threat.

Lancelot's heart had clenched as he heard the thinly concealed fear in his friend's tone. The slump of his shoulders as his frustration won over his thoughts, the boy had spent his whole life with the steady, constant assurance of his great powers.

Lancelot couldn't imagine the helplessness his friend must be feeling for the first time.

It is, therefore, natural that he was surprised, when the next day, Merlin joined them on their quest to close the torn veil. The knight had wanted nothing more than to hide the boy away the moment the warlock had walked towards them, leading with the reigns in his grip a cluster of horses. All he wanted to do was protect him from the horrors they were surely destined to face.

The man had done so much already. It didn't seem right to add to the burden he was carrying. However, knowing the warlock to the extent he did, he knew there was absolutely nothing he could do in order to stop the servant from protecting his prince. Magic or not. Vulnerability be damned.

Now, looking at the freezing body before him, he cursed his foolishness. He should've fought harder to convince the younger man to stay behind. Should've done more to stay by his side and protect him. Because, of course, Merlin would sacrifice himself in his endeavor to keep the prince from harm.

He prayed to every god or goddess out there to answer his plea. He desperately hoped he wouldn't have to watch his closest friend die again, right before his eyes. He swore he'd never allow himself to feel so helpless again. Yet, here he was, watching as if right back where he stood that cursed day, as the cold froze his friend's body down to his very bones. Frost gathered in both his eyelashes and his hair as he shivered under the blankets the prince had stacked onto his frame.

Fist clenching at his sides, knuckles white and shaking with the effort to remain calm, he prayed once again, for his friend's safety.

_______________________________________

Merlin wished he could say his body moved without the consent of his mind. Wished he could say he hadn't thought about his actions as he ran, jumping to meet the Dorocha's translucent icy form, the moment it approached them. Alas, he couldn't. Arthur's life held more significance than his own. To him, there was never a choice at all. Now and forever, he'd always choose to save his king. Because that's what he was. His king, despite the breath that still flooded Uther's lungs at this very moment.

He hadn't even stopped to think about his possible mortality. Despite the dragon's words, he couldn't help but hold a sliver of hope that the great beast was mistaken. That Merlin's destiny wasn't so cruel as to condemn him for eternity.

He didn't regret it, even as the cold slowly froze him down to the core, his limbs aching with a burning numbness as he fought to just breathe, as he fought for his very life.

Pain hot and winding flared in his body as Percival held him in his arms, depositing him onto his horse with a gentleness that contrasted greatly with the giant's stature.

"T-Take me with you." He'd uttered heavy and stuttering as he urged his mouth and throat to head his command. The words came out distorted and barely above a whisper as he tried his hardest to reach out his arm and grab onto the prince. "P-Please Arthur, y-you h-have to take me w-with you."

He could see the pain and worry in the prince's eyes as he looked down on him. A gentle hand rose to card through his hair, pushing a couple of stray strands out of his eyes.

"I'm so sorry Merlin. This is all my fault." Was the man's quiet, guilt-ridden response. His eyes barely managed to maintain the warlocks gaze as he spoke. "I need you to get better okay? That is an order from your prince. Do you understand?"

The horses moved before Merlin could even begin to respond. Desperation snaked and twined in his thoughts as they got further and further away. An idea, dark and morbid, already forming in his mind as he held onto the saddled beneath him, fingers trembling with the effort.

On the horse in front of him, sat Lancelot. The man had barely spoken a word since the knights had found them, just as his body had hit the wall of the abandoned castle.

Through blurry, unfocused eyes. Merlin could see the stiffness in Lancelot's form. His whole body was rigid, pulled taut under the stress the knight would surely be feeling. Guilt, thick and heavy churned in his guts, he never wanted his friend to see him like this again. Yet, here they were, one again, merlin dying and Lancelot, the only person there to witness it.

What he was about to ask of him wasn't going to help either. Lancelot didn't deserve this. He never signed up for this. This heavy, unforgiving burden that followed Merlin in everything and anything he did.

"Lancelot," He started with great effort, his voice shaking in his endeavor to get the words out. "I n-need your sword." His throat felt like sandpaper, raw and painful.

The knight's horse slowed to a steady trot as he let Merlin's mare catch up until they were on even ground.

"My sword? What for?" The man asked, tone weary as he regarded Merlin with a worried gaze.

"You know why, I need to get back to Arthur. We can't waste our time." He slurred, his words coming out sluggish and slow.

He watched as realization dawned on the knight, a dark expression morphing his features. Both shock and horror were evident on his face as he stared at Merlin's hunched form with wide stricken eyes.

"Are you out of your mind!?" The man's voice was thunderous, his shout echoing through the forest, probably scaring any stray animal in the vicinity. "You will do no such thing, do you understand? This is not and never will be an option, alright?" His voice held something akin to desperation.

"Lancelot, please." His own voice dripped with imploration as he pleaded with his friend to fathom just how important this was. "I need to get back to Arthur." His chest heaved with the effort it took to speak, coughs constricted his body as he nearly doubled over, almost falling off his mount.

Lancelot's expression closed off, a mask of perfect neutrality forming itself over his features. His eyes, however, held a storm within them. An inferno of anger and something Merlin couldn't quite decipher. It made his body shiver with something that had nothing to do with the cold he was currently feeling.

"You are tired, you must rest, and we shall stop here for the night." The knight stated firmly, his voice steady, holding no space for argument. When Merlin tried to speak, the man continued. "Merlin." He said simply. And the sheer intensity of his name on Lancelot's lips made him bite his tongue. For the man's tone pleaded Merlin to just stop and try to understand him.

With everything he put him through, Merlin couldn't help but agree. Albeit temporarily, to the request.

__________________________

The lake met the setting sun with a grace that reflected the blue and green tints, adding an orange hue to the shimmering water. Lancelot drew merlin into his arms, carrying him off his horse and onto the shore. Unclasping his cloak, he made sure to drape it over his friend's shivering form.

His mind was still reeling from the boy's request.

A strong part of him wanted to hide the sword, get rid of it somewhere the warlock wouldn't be able to get to it. However, the valley of the fallen kings wasn't known for its tranquility. Stifling the urge was therefore necessary.

Looking at Merlin's slumped, heaving form, he wondered, if only for a moment, if it would be merciful, to end his friend's suffering. He loathed himself for it, hated the dark thoughts that this day was drawing out of him. He swore, then and there never to let that happen.

The water rippled in front of him and he cursed as he saw that Merlin's hand had dropped into the cold stream. As he crouched near the younger man, hand already outstretched, movement caught his eyes.

There, floating above the water, were shimmering orbs, glowing in the dimming light of the day like fireflies. Eyes widening in both wonder and weariness, he slowly reached for his sword. Knowing fully well that such a weapon wouldn't be favorable against this kind of opponent. However, the action was ingrained into him by now.

"Do not be afraid, Sir Knight." A melodious voice, breathy and musical, echoed around them. "We are the Vilia, spirits of the brooks and streams." A face appeared inside the water droplets that were floating above the river. The face was feminine, fae-like. "We only seek to help."

"My friend, he's been affected by the Dorocha, he's dying." Lancelot explained, hope rising in his chest for the first time in so long.

"Do not worry, Lancelot. Merlin is stronger than you give him credit for." And he didn't have the presence of mind to wonder how the spirit knew his given name. "For as we speak, my sisters begin to heal him." Looking away from the Vilia, Lancelot's breath hitched as he saw the gleaming water stream that was making its way across merlin's body. The sorcerer's skin appeared to be shining with something not of this world. Lancelot doesn't think he's seen anything more beautiful.

He could already see a visible change in Merlin's health. The boy was breathing better.

"You must rest, Sir Knight, for the fates have yet a harrowing journey written for you." The spirit warned, her voice calm and gentle.

"Nightfall is almost upon us, I mustn't let my guard down." He protested, knowing he'd rather die of exhaustion if only to protect the man still slumped before him.

"We shall look over you, Lancelot, you can sleep soundly." The droplets glowed with more intensity before her sentence was even over. As if to emphasize her point.

The clearing lit up with blue shimmering light, the rays chased the darkness away and created an atmosphere that radiated warmth and safety.

Tentatively, ever so slowly, Lancelot let himself sink into unconsciousness.

______________________________________

When he wakes up, the sun is already high in the sky, the exhaustion he'd been feeling had dwindled through the night. The rest he'd gotten really was indispensable. His tranquility is taken away just as fast the moment he looks over to where he remembers laying Merlin down yesterday.

His cloak is draped on the riverbank, rumpled and dry. There's no sign of the warlock. Panic, intense and immediate grips him like a vice. He scrambles to his feet in an instant. "Merlin!"

A shushing sound startles him into turning around. There, standing on a couple of rocks in the middle of the stream is Merlin. In his arms, of all things, is a fishing spike. Relief, overwhelming and true warms his chest. An incredulous smile breaks across his features as Merlin, healthy and energetic takes a few steps towards him.

The boy is joking around, already handing him the fishing rod as he makes fun of his startled state.

Throwing the offending object to the ground, he launches himself at the other man. Hands coming up to embrace the warlock in a moment of pure, unadulterated joy.

"Don't ever do that to me again, Merlin. Do you hear me?" He says through a breathy laugh as the younger man responds to the embrace, his hands wrapping around Lancelot's back in return.

"I'm sorry." The boy says quietly, no trace of the previous humor in his tone.

They separate after a moment, just content to stare at each other. That is until the warlock starts to pack. Flitting across the camp with an agility that spoke of years of experience. "Well, come on. We have to catch up with the others."

"Merlin, we're heading to Camelot."

"Maybe you are, I, for one, am going in the opposite direction." The boy says without missing a beat. And then more seriously. "Arthur needs me, Lancelot." He knows the battle is lost when the warlock looks at him with that level of intensity. He could never stand in the way of this man and his destiny, it seems.

It's only a few minutes later that they're riding back the way they came, hooves hitting the ground with resounding thuds as they galloped away.

________________________________

Arthur didn't know just how much he liked his silly, mindless banter with his manservant until the man wasn't there to appreciate it with him. The gaping absence in their group was painfully evident. He'd see something curious and he'd turn to tell the man about it, only to find empty air where the boy would usually be riding, right there, at his side.

The knights were quiet, solemn as they made camp. No one had the heart to joke when one of their own might be taking his last breath. The thought alone made something twist and clench in his chest. He wanted to hit something, he wanted to shout and rage at the- the clotpole of a manservant for ever daring to sacrifice his own life for Arthur's. Because how dare he, when he knew just how much it would affect his prince. Or maybe he didn't know... Arthur never really told him, just how much their friendship meant to him. Not that he'd ever admitted it out loud, but Merlin really was the closest thing he had to a brother.

He doesn't know what he'd do if he lost him. Not that it would matter for long. Arthur was going to join him soon. He just hoped, with everything that he was, that Merlin would survive. For as much as he would want to reunite with his servant in the world beyond. He wished the younger man would get to live a full life before then. A full, happy life, without his prince.

Shaking away the morbid thoughts, he focused on the task at hand. They would soon be reaching their destination.

________________________

Running through the woods, felt like wading through an endless cave. They'd barely gotten any sleep in the hut they had found. And now, as they ran for their lives, feet pounding on the forest floor in rapid succession as they weaved and dodged around stray branches and large trees. The Dorocha chasing them were rapidly catching up. Merlin cried out in dragon tongue. His voice was low and grumbling as he summoned the great dragon. Hoping with all his might that the creature would get there in time.

As if on cue, a hulking figure loomed over the trees, fire emitting from his open jaw, the heat radiated across the clearing. The flames were a familiar sight by now.

Satisfaction swelled in him as he watched the Dorocha get incinerated. The undead spirits burned into nothingness as they were met with the scorching dragon fire.

His attack over with, Kilgarrah landed with a heavy crash.

"I apologize for summoning you so often Kilgarrah, but I'm afraid this wasn't avoidable."

"I can see that, Young warlock." Was that humor he detected in the creature's gaze?

"What do you know of the Dorocha?" He asked, knowing that the opportunity to get information on the quest wouldn't present itself twice.

"You must restore the torn veil, Merlin, for the Dorocha cannot remain in this world any longer." The dragon warned, voice heavy with severity.

"I know the veil demands a sacrifice." He could hear Lancelot's sharp intake of breath as the man registered his words. The implications behind his statement.

"It demands nothing!" The Dragon thundered angrily. "It is the Caileach, the gatekeeper to the spirit world who asks such a price."

"Will my life be enough?"

"Merlin, you must not do this. An immortal's life is not something to bargain."

"Arthur intends to sacrifice his own life, I have no choice. It is my destiny to protect him." Merlin's voice held something heavier in it. As if he was uttering an oath, a solemn, undebatable truth.

"How can he give his life away, if he is immortal?" Lancelot asked, no longer able to remain silent.

"There may be a way, only spoken of in legends. However, it is not what you presume it to be, Sir Knight."

"I don't understand." The knight replied helplessly. Disbelieving the fact that he was the only one protesting Merlin's plans. "How can you let him do this? Isn't it his destiny to bring back magic to the land? How can he do that if he is dead?" The anger in his voice was palpable as he shouted at the dragon. Something he'd never thought he'd do in his lifetime.

"Lancelot, you must calm yourself," Merlin said tentatively, his eyes shining with something slightly awed as he looked at the man.

The dragon ignored him, his gaze turning to look at his dragonlord instead. His head bowed low, as he spoke. "When we first met, I saw something in you that was invisible. Now, it is there for all to see. You have grown into a great man, Young warlock." Real, genuine emotions echoed in Kilgarrah's tone as he bowed to his lord. "I hope that whatever you face on your journey, you will not lose what is most important." With that cryptic, slightly worrying statement, the creature flew off into the night.

_________________________

Arthur was numb as he watched the fire, tuning out the knights' banter. He was thrilled with relief and joy when Lancelot and Merlin joined them. A weight he hadn't even registered in his chest suddenly disappeared as he watched the boy laughs and smile as he greeted the others.

He was sad when he sat on the logs near the flames, talking quietly with his friend, knowing full well it might be the last time they'd get to do this.

However, the fear and anger he felt as he stepped into the ruins on the isle, at last, was overwhelming.

The gatekeeper could only be described as cold. Unbearably so. A deep, agonizing sadness radiated out of her form. Ancient in every sense of the word.

The veil thundered and rippled just a few feet away. The echoes of the dead emitting from within its depth shook him to his core. Its darkness seemed to suck away all the happiness from the world. Leaving in its wake, only a cold emptiness.

"You need to put an end to this, heal the tear, and put a stop to the suffering it has caused." His voice sounded steadier than he felt as he spoke.

"It is not I who did this, so why should I put an end to it?" The old woman responded, her tone icy and devoid of all emotion.

"Because people are dying," Merlin replied from his place behind him, his voice shaking with something Arthur could not name.

"Indeed they are." A smile stretched on her features, her expression twisting into something almost cruel. He could do nothing as Gwain, ever the hothead, charged at the witch, a battle cry on his tongue as he ran, sword already brandished.

His attack was for naught as the gatekeeper simply extended her staff, propelling the knight back and onto the ground with a resounding thud.

"Do not harm my men, for they only seek to protect me." Arthur heard himself say. "I know what you want."

"And are you willing to give it?"

"I am prepared to pay whatever price is necessary." Before his feet could even begin to move, he felt a force push him back, knocking him to the ground. Darkness enveloped his vision as consciousness slipped from his grasp.

"It seems you wish to challenge me after all, Emrys." The witch took a step towards him, as they circled each other with slow, threatening moves.

"You will close the veil, the balance of the world must be restored." Gone was the unassuming serving boy. In his place stood the warlock. A man of great power, spoken off in legend and myth alike.

"And will you give me what I demand in return? It seems your friend wishes to contest you on the matter." It took a moment for her words to sink in, panic seething in his heart as he turned towards the veil, watching in horror as Lancelot marched into it.

His power bubbled to the surface, raging against it with all his might. The next thing he knew, Lancelot's body was being flung across the floor, skidding on asphalt. He landed on his back, heaving but not unconscious. The hit took him fast, still, Merlin's magic would never actively hurt him.

The threat averted, his mind still reeling from the actions the knight was just about to take, he gathered whatever composure he had left and turned back to the Caileach.

"You will not take anyone else." His voice bore no space for argument. His tone was final and commanding. "My life is yours to take, as long as you fulfill your end of the bargain."

"It is not your demise I seek Emrys. For there is something much greater I wish to take."

"But I have nothing else to offer." His composure cracked slightly from his confusion.

"Yet, you do. For the life of an immortal is much more precious than their death."

"I- I don't understand."

"Your mortality, Emrys." The Caileach answered simply. Oblivious to the thoughts circling, like a whirlwind in his mind.

"I am immortal, how is it possible for me to still have a mortal life to offer?" His tone was shaky as he voiced his thoughts out loud, trying to make sense of it all.

"You have yet to accept your fate, young warlock. For it is only then that you will truly be one with your destiny."

"So, if I give you my mortality now, I will be sealing my fate." He'd be condemning himself for all eternity. Destined to outlive everything and everyone he ever loved.

"Indeed you will be." He could see something deeper within her gaze now. Something akin to understanding as she stared at him with knowing grey eyes.

"Don't do this, Merlin!" Lancelot cried out behind him, still held down to the ground by Merlin's magic. "Please! Let me take your place!"

Ignoring the fallen knight, and the aching that echoed within his chest, he nodded. "Then you shall have it." The words were almost physically painful to say, a metaphorical blow to his heart. He was condemning himself willingly to his fate. Giving up his last chance at a normal, human life.

The dragon's words echoed in his memory. Maybe that's what he meant when he warned Merlin not to lose himself in his quest to heal the veil.

Now, as he willingly sacrificed his last chance at growing old and dying, he felt as if he was losing something much more important than himself.

The Caileach nodded, her movement a mirror of his own just a few moments ago. Her staff already coming up to face him.

An incantation fell from her lips, the world around them morphing and twisting.

The last thing Merlin felt was a deep, all-consuming pain before the world went dark.