Merlin and Arthur headed downstairs, where the innkeeper's wife, Laine, was waiting for them with bandages, a wet rag, and a healing balm. "Sit down here." She patted the long bench upon which she was sitting.

     Merlin sat down gingerly, staring at the ground.

     When Laine saw his wounds, she narrowed her eyes. "These are torture wounds."

     Arthur cleared his throat. "Yes, we are aware of that, and I'm sorry if it took you by surprise," he said, not rudely, "but Merlin's wounds need treatment, or they'll become infected."

     Laine seemed slightly embarrassed. "Of course."

     Merlin made eye contact with the woman. "Thank you, madam."

     "Oh, it's nothing. I'm happy to help." Laine looked flustered.

     "Still," Arthur continued, "Few would demonstrate such kindness to a couple of strange, ragged men."

     Laine laughed nervously. "You're still people. Rich or poor, old or young, we all have the same right to live."

     Merlin smiled. "You and your husband are good people."

     The woman's face flushed.

     Someone began walking downstairs; their loud, heavy footsteps thudded down at a fast pace. Other sets of feet sounded behind the initial one, blending together.

     Merlin quickly wrapped a blanket around his torso, protectively. His head throbbed at the noise.

     Arthur was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of his lack of sword and armor.

     The person who entered the inn's sitting room was a groggy-looking, extremely large man.

     Merlin and Arthur spoke simultaneously. "Percival!"

     Percival's eyes widened. "Oh my god! Merlin! King Arthur!"

     Laine's eyes went wide. She bolted up from her seat. "What? King!"

     Merlin nodded, with a smile on his face. "I'm afraid so."

     Laine's eyes bulged to the point that they looked as if they would pop out of her head. "My lord!" She curtsied, then ran off to the kitchen. "Edward!"

     "Knights!" Percival called up the stairs. "Get down here!"

     One by one, the knights entered the room, and, one by one, the friends were reunited.

     Being the last one to get downstairs, Gwaine was last to see Arthur and Merlin. The knight was ecstatic. He hugged Merlin, causing the warlock to cry out in pain.

     Gwaine eyed Merlin's sheet. "She hurt you."

     "Gwaine, it's fine. I'm fine."

     The knight gritted his teeth. "I'm going to kill her," he declared.

     "I'm fine, they're just scratches," Merlin reassured Gwaine and the other knights. "Besides," he said, looking down, as to avoid Arthur's eyes, "she's already dead."

     The knights' jaws dropped.

     Lancelot's eyes widened, and he looked at Arthur.

     Finally, Arthur figured out what he should have known from the beginning. Everything suddenly made sense: Lancelot's hesitancy in giving Arthur information about Emrys, his concern toward Merlin. The king was suddenly feeling exacerbated.

     "How did she die?" Gwaine asked without any hint of emotion.

     Merlin spoke quickly, beginning his story as he always did; "Arthur-"

     "Merlin did it," the king blurted. He made eye contact with no one.

     "What?" asked Elyan, incredulous.

     "Arthur's just being modest. Really, he was the one who killed her. I just helped."

     "Don't lie, Merlin. I was trapped. Morgana was about to kill me, when Merlin stabbed her in the back." The king paused, thinking. His next words were almost too quick to process. "I have no clue how he mustered the strength to do it; he was too weak to even walk. Speaking of it, Merlin, we really must get you some water before you die. I'll go get some from the well." Arthur walked away briskly, leaving Merlin and the knights.

     "Arthur!" The warlock called after his king. Merlin began to walk after Arthur, but he suddenly felt as if his bones were made of rubber, and his legs collapsed underneath him, leaving him kneeling on the ground.

     Percival helped the boy up. "You alright?"

     Merlin smiled. "Yeah, I just tripped. You know me, I'm hopelessly clumsy." The lie came out so easily that Merlin almost believed it, himself.

     Lancelot eyed the warlock, realizing that Arthur was at least correct about one thing: Merlin was in poor condition. "Merlin, you should sit down."

     "I really am fine." The warlock's vision blurred.

     "Merlin," Gwaine began, "sit down."

     Merlin somehow felt both cold and hot at the same time. The group surrounding him did not help.

     Leon stepped toward the boy. "Please, just rest while Arthur is getting some water."

     "I'm okay, really." Merlin's stomach churned.

     "You're pale as a ghost." Elyan frowned.

     "I haven't been outside in months; of course I'm pale." The knights were too close to Merlin; the warlock felt suffocated.

     "You look ill." Percival frowned.

     Lancelot seemed concerned, as well. "You really do."

     Merlin looked toward the knight, with pleading eyes. "Lancelot, he can't be alone. I need to-" Merlin felt a sudden, debilitating pain in his spine, causing him to collapse in the ground.

     "Merlin!" Gwaine rushed you the man's side, wanting desperately to help him, but not knowing how.

     "I'm sorry to interrupt, but the boy's wounds still need fixed up, and..." Laine trailed off, rightfully shocked at the scene in her living room. "Oh dear."

     "I-" Merlin tried to speak, but it seemed that he was using all his energy to prevent himself from fainting.

     Gwaine was terrified; he had never seen Merlin show so much vulnerability in the years that they had known each other, let alone in ten minutes.

     After a full minute of kneeling on the floor, the warlock dragged himself onto a nearby bench and melted into it, as if remaining upright, alone, would kill him.

     Laine was intensely serious. "You, boys," she gestured to Elyan and Leon, "go get me two buckets of water. The well is just to your left and over the hill."

     Elyan and Leon rushed out to accomplish their quest.

     Merlin gasped in pain. "Arthur," was all he could say.

     Lancelot knew what he meant. "Some of us should go find Arthur."

     "I'll go," Percival and Gwaine volunteered at the same time.

     The knight nodded. "If he's not near, search the whole village. Be back by sundown, even if you haven't found him."

     The men left, leaving only Laine, Lancelot, and Merlin in the room.

     Merlin's pain dulled after a few minutes, and, instead of feeling like his insides were on fire, the warlock felt like each of his organs had a headache.

     Laine frowned, evidently, confused. "It's not an infection, and you haven't got a fever."

     Lancelot stared at Merlin. "So, what's wrong, then?"

     "I have no idea," Merlin said, truthfully. That scared him. Whenever he was ill, the illness was always the result of one of three definite things: poison, magic, or magical poison. He had never had a natural ailment in his whole life, so this sickness, this awful, dull burn that came from his very core, with no apparent purpose or cause; it was scarier than any monster, spirit, or sorcerer that Merlin had ever faced.

     "When was the last time you had something to eat or drink?" Laine asked, wearing furrowed brows.

     Merlin sighed. "I don't know, maybe a week ago."

     "What?" Laine's eyes bulged. "The last time you drank something was a week ago?"

     Merlin nodded. His eyelids felt heavy.

     "You shouldn't be able to speak with me. You should be dead." The woman stared at the boy, half in wonder, half in concern.

     "I've found that my body rarely acts as that of everyone else."

     "Don't speak. You need to save as much energy as you can." Laine looked at the Merlin, befuddled. "I'm going to try to find some clean water in the kitchen." She turned to Lancelot. "Make sure he stays put."

     "Of course." Lancelot sounded as serious as he looked, which was very.

     As soon as Laine was gone, Lancelot spoke. "Merlin, what's going on?"

     "I don't know. I've never been this ill before. It's not dehydration or hunger. I've gone longer without food or water."

     The knight furrowed his brows, trying to ignore the latter part of what Merlin had just said.

     Maybe Morgana had done something to make Merlin this way. She could have put some sort of curse on the warlock when she died. Still, magic strong enough to do this much damage to Emrys was unheard of.

     The warlock sighed, disliking the solemnity. "How long do you think he'll be mad at me?"

     Lancelot smiled. "A week, at most. He seems more hurt than mad."

     "I just wish he could understand. I never wanted to keep it from him. You know?"

     Lancelot nodded, although he did not know. Lancelot did not know how Merlin felt or what Merlin thought. Lancelot could only imagine how he would feel if he were in Merlin's situation.

     The warlock suddenly sat up quickly enough to give himself whiplash.

     "Merlin? Are you alright?" Lancelot scanned the room for any potential threats, but spotted none.

     Laine walked into the room. "I have no water, but-"

     "I'm gonna be sick." Merlin looked pale.

     "Bucket!" Laine yelled, throwing a metal pail at Lancelot, who caught it and shoved it under Merlin's face.

     The warlock vomited instantly. He felt as if his body was trying to eject his soul. It was not very pleasant.

     That very moment, Arthur walked back into the room with a bucket of water. "Merlin!"

     "Finally!" Laine shouted. "Bring me that."

     Merlin looked up at Arthur. His eyes were dull and droopy, like those of a sick dog. He was even paler than he had been before, his lips were chapped and white.

     Laine shoved a cup of water in Merlin's face. "You need to drink this slowly. Can you sit up?"

     Merlin nodded.

     Arthur watched in concern as the warlock painstakingly uprighted himself. What had happened in the ten minutes he had been gone? Was Merlin okay? The king closed his eyes and decided, in that moment, that he would never leave Merlin alone again.

     Merlin sipped on the water. Color seemed to flood back into his skin. His face, in a matter of seconds, transformed from waxy and gaunt to flushed and lively. His lips were pink and not dry. Finally, as if by magic, Merlin's cuts sealed on their own, as much as would have taken any normal human body at least a week.

     Laine stared at the boy in amazement. "What the hell is in that water?"

     Lancelot couldn't help but grin as Merlin became less corpse-like. "It's not the water."