Consciousness comes to him abruptly and without warning. His lungs expand, taking his first real breath of air as he wheezes out of his stupor. Ice cold water runs down his face, drenching his shirt and dripping from his dark hair. It makes the hair on his arms stand on end, his whole body shivering in constant tremors.

It takes him a moment to focus back to reality. Mind still foggy and disconnected. He died again, he realizes with something even colder than the water that trickles down his spine. How many times was it now? Four? Maybe five? That he was aware of, that is. Maybe he hadn't come out of his stunts the last few years, unscathed. The poisoned chalice was one particularly close call that he isn't sure of.

His heart pounds loudly, echoing in his ears as he tries to settle his breathing. He tugs at his arms, but finds, to his mounting horror, that they are bound together to the ceiling, his feet sway, just barely touching the ground beneath him.

"Finally awake, are we?" A disturbingly familiar voice says, startling him out of his panic and into something darker. Her low laughter makes the blood in his veins grow cold. "Took you long enough." She scoffs as she takes a step closer. "I hope you don't mind the wakeup call," she gestures to the bucket next to her, one he assumes was just dumped on him. "I was getting bored"

"Morgana." He breathes, voice rough and strained. "What are you doing? Where did you take me?" Looking past her, he finally notices the details that had escaped him, in his blind panic. The hut they're in is cramped. So, small, in fact, that the items and objects swarm the room like a poorly mapped out labyrinth. The bastard princess of Camelot was living in a hovel.

"Aw, don't look so mad, I merely took what was presented to me. I mean, imagine my surprise when my precious underlings brought you to my doorstep on a silver platter." Her fingers trail up his shoulder until they rest firmly on his chin. Turning his face roughly, closer to her's. "Can you truly blame me?"

"If you're going to kill me, get on with it." He hisses, twisting away as much as he could without breaking eye contact.

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you, Merlin." She smiles, her eyes dark with something twisted and raw. "No," She whispers, getting so close, he can smell the herbs she bathes herself in. "That would be far too easy." Shoving him away, the chains clinking at the rough treatment.

"Do your worst." He calls after her as she turns to ruffle through her things, completely ignoring him. Something shines within her hold and he sucks in a breath as he feels the somber aura emanating from the object in question.

"Have you ever heard of a fomorroh, Merlin?" She inquires with false innocence. Swaying her hips as she makes her way towards him, stopping near the fireplace. "No, I guess you wouldn't have. Arthur's loyal dog would never stoop so low as to use magic, now, would he?"

"Magic is pure, what you are doing has nothing to do with the real essence of Magic, Morgana." He can't help but exclaim. Disgust and anger seeping into his very words.

"What would you know about magic!?" She thunders, her eyebrows furrowing and her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What would you know about loyalty?" He counters, remembering her previous choice of words bitterly.

"Oh, I know loyalty, Merlin, but believe me when I say that when I will be done with you..." She chuckles darkly, something unidentifiable crossing her features. One would call it glee, if it weren't for her viscous gaze. "Well, let's just say Arthur will be one leash short." She enunciates while throwing the metal emblem into the flames. He catches a glimpse of the creature craved into the crest before it disappears into the fire.

The world dims around him as he feels the magic of the world cry out in agony. Dark magic was never meant to be wielded like this. He feels the very earth beneath his feet tremble as a multi-headed snake emerges from within the embers.

The creature hisses and whines as they take life, their gaze zeroing on their creator instantly.

Morgana chants familiar words that never quite reach his mind. His thoughts too focused on the magic being desecrated right in front of him.

"By the time I'm done with you, there will be nothing of your essence left, everything that makes you Merlin, will be gone. And you're precious king with it." She hisses, her voice similar to the creature held within her grasp. "The only thought that will plague you day and night will be one of my own creation."

His vision turns white as white hot pain erupts from his neck. Her nails digging into his skin as she forces one of the snake's heads into his body. "You must kill Arthur Pendragon."

Darkness is the last thing he sees.

____________________________

His fist clench and unclench in his lap as he physically struggles to remain seated. To remain still and calm as Leon reports, for what feels like the twelfth time, that the search party had once again been unsuccessful.

He has to fight off the urge to yell, scream and shout at his Arthur's uncle, as the lord goes on and on about loyal servants who will oh so truly be remembered despite his hurried attempts to forget about said servant.

Lancelot has never been more tempted to break his oath and punch a member of his own king's court.

Arthur for his part hides his concern well. Or at least, he does, for those of them who didn't know him well enough.

Lancelot, however, knows him all too well. He sees it in the way his gaze shifts, but never settles, how his attention is always taken by something else. Or, more appropriately, by someone else. He sees it in the way his temper rises and never settles, how he keeps looking over his shoulder as if expecting his loyal shadow to always be there. Waiting and ready for when he needed him.

And yet, the empty space by his side is all too prominent. An absence they all felt too keenly. His fingers drum onto the wooden surface as he counts the seconds for the council meeting to end. Something he would never contemplate on a normal day. This wasn't a regular day, however, and he didn't even try to hide his sigh as Arthur finally called the dismissal.

"Ready the horses," Arthur instructs the moment the last of the lords have left the throne room. "I'll do the rest." No other explanation needed, they both got to work.

______________________________________

The sun beats down on the muddy ground, making the heat sear into the earth and onto their skin. The chainmail he wears feel stifling as they gallop through the woods.

Their horses were getting tired and so were they. Having been out for hours, he could see the despair and resignation starting to take over his companion's faces.

Gwaine, for once, was completely quiet. His worry dimming his usual spirit despite the occasional failed attempt at alleviating the tension that had settled within their little group.

Lancelot, unlike them, knew for sure that Merlin wasn't dead. He couldn't be. It was the only surety that kept him going in the last days. One fact, he clung to like a lifeline. Even as he struggled to imagine anything that would keep the warlock from his charge for this long. He hoped that wherever he was, he was safe.

Fingers gripping the reins for his steed tighter, he urged his nerves to settle. For his hands to stop their trembling.

"Shhh!" Arthur gestures for them to halt. His hand pointing at the rustling foliage ahead of them. "Who's there?" He exclaims louder, his gaze trained on the offending greenery. "Show yourselves." His voice takes on a dangerous tone, one that makes the knight in him stand straighter.

More rustling is heard before a figure finally staggers into the main route. Lancelot's first thought is that an animal had suddenly stumbled onto their path. However the blinding smile that's directed at them a moment later dissuades him instantly from this particularly absurd notion.

"Merlin!" Arthur cries out in something he dares to call excitement and pure joy. His king doesn't seem to mind the mud and dirt practically caked into the warlock's body. Gwaine rushes past him to join in on the reunion even as he remains frozen in place.

Relief floods his senses, an emotion so intense he almost collapses then and there.

However as he moves to join them, he can't help the dread that creeps into his thoughts. Was it really that easy?

_________________________________

Merlin was acting strange. Stranger than usual, that is. And that, in itself, was saying something,

Gwaine always liked to think himself, a good judge of character. Contrary to popular belief, his easy-going nature was not a sign of naïve trust. Nor was it an indication of any shortage of intellect. However, upon meeting a particularly clever manservant, he did something he'd sworn long ago not to do under any circumstance. He trusted. Wholly and completely.

It was simultaneously, the best and most terrifying decision of his life. To open one's self up to another whole-heartedly was akin to wearing your heart on your sleeve. As if bearing the vital, vulnerable appendage, like a neatly wrapped gift for the person to do with it as they willed.

His entire being protested the mere idea. And yet, he did. Because he knew, deeply, into his very core, that if he were to trust anyone. It would always be, Merlin.

If only the boy would trust him in return.

He could always tell when someone was lying. Years of hiding amongst nobles and tavern dwellers alike, made him keenly aware of people's tells. The slight shift of their body language and features with each falsehood that spilled from their lips. In fact, Gwaine liked to think of it as a game.

It hurt though, watching his friend lie again and again. Hiding something that seemed to weigh heavily on the younger man's shoulders. He could see it, in the way the boy moved and talked. The way he laughed and joked. He could see it in every little thing he did.

So, when Merlin disappeared, hurt and lost after a bandit attack, Gwaine was the first to volunteer to the search party. Lancelot and the King were just as worried, if not more. Not that the princess would ever admit it.

However, like many occurrences regarding Merlin, a miracle seemed to befall them. For, even despite the many unsuccessful attempts of the knights before them, they found the boy safe and unharmed within a day's ride.

Still, it didn't stop the dread from washing over him like cold water on a snowy day. Nor did it stop him from feeling as though something was terribly wrong.

Because Merlin was acting strange, and Gwaine, despite common misconception, wasn't unobservant.

___________________________________

Merlin's mind was clouded. As if he was lost within an endless haze of gray and muddy waters. Unable to move or think.

He could vaguely feel the world around him, but his body was not his own to move and control.

It brought him back to that horrible night all those weeks ago. The night he found out just how cursed he really was in this life and in this existence.

It made the bile rise in his throat, getting stuck like a lump he couldn't get rid of. A pain constricting his chest until he could barely draw a breath.

Was this really happening to him again? Morgana has controlled him twice now, a violating act that left him feeling used and vulnerable. But more importantly, left his king open to the worst kinds of attacks. His own.

He could see it, through the thick clouds that plagued his mind, Arthur's prone body, drawing calm breaths as he slumbered peacefully. Unaware of his own manservant's unwilling betrayal.

The knife in Merlin's hand glinted in the moonlight as his body readied to plunge it down and into his best friend.

The man that he's come to love like a brother in all but blood.

His hands trembled as they fought against their own movements. He knew what he had to do. Knew there was no other way. So, with determination bubbling and boiling in his veins, he twisted his arms around and stabbed the weapon into sensitive flesh.

For one heart stopping moment, he thought he'd failed. Arthur's breathing remained just as calm and slow and he relaxed. Only for the pain to finally catch up to him. Doubling over, he barely resisted the urge to collapse in on himself.

Blood was rapidly staining and seeping into the blue fabric of his shirt. Making the tattered cloth looked darker in the moonlight.

Staggering on uneven steps, he stumbled his way out of his king's room, thankful for Arthur's ability to remain asleep though all the noise.

Slumping against the closed door, he relaxed his features and straightened, smiling nervously at the guards, once again grateful for the darkness that hid the evidence of his pain well.

He doesn't know how he makes it back, how he somehow gets to Gaius's chambers without collapsing or encountering any more people.

However, he does know that everything in his mind and body screams at him to go back. Go back and finish the job. Slit his sire's throat and watch him bleed out onto white silk sheets. Watch the light seep out of his bluebell eyes. He shuddered at his own retched thoughts and wished for his body to finally succumb to his wound.

He was bleeding out, he knew it. Felt it.

And yet, he could barely resist the urge to run in the opposite direction.

Taking out the knife with a grunt, he readied to stab it once more. This time aiming for a killing blow. If he aimed at his heart, he would die instantly. The creature within him would then expel itself of its own free will.

Taking in a deep, rattling breath, he braced himself for his 7th demise.

The door to the infirmary creaked ominously behind him. And he resisted the urge to turn around.

"Merlin?" Gaius inquired softly from behind him. "Are you alright, my boy?" The man took a step towards him and he could feel his will diminishing. He couldn't do this to Gaius, could he? Die in front of the man he considered the closest thing to a father.

"Merlin?" Lancelot? No... this was bad, what was he doing here.

"A-ah, hey, I was just fetching s-something from my room." He stammered, his voice weak and trembling from the pain radiating from his bleeding stomach. He tried to take the final steps towards his room, but soon found himself crumpling down. His legs finally giving out on him, having lost all their strength along with his energy. "O-oh" He breathed as his gaze looked at the dusty ceiling above. It seems he didn't need to stab himself again, after all.

"Merlin!" The two men shouted in unison, worry and fear evident in their tones. "Oh, God! Gaius he's bleeding out!"

His vision dimmed as darkness deeper than black clouded his gaze and ate away at the remaining light that encircled the world.

Lancelot had a nice voice, he thought as the breath left his lungs for the last time.