Mad Mistletoe

The cure?

Fire and ice fight for dominance in my body, each tearing at my insides until I feel like my entire being is tearing itself apart. My limbs start going numb, appendage after appendage numbing to ice, yet it burns. Burns so much. With a sluggish arm I lift my hand to the stone pillar, trying to balance myself, steady myself.

I start gasping for breath, wondering where it all went. One hand flies to my throat, trying to clear it some way, but what can I do? I can hear faint choking noises coming from my own throat.

My throat is constricting itself tighter and tighter. Winding down, dwindling down to a close.

Looking to where the knights and Arthur sit, I see most of them clapping for my "accomplishment" in my love life. How unaware they are. If they only knew...

Well, all of them, except Arthur. He sits looking at me with an odd mixture of worry and confusion on his face. Is he worried about me? Why? They don't know what's happening. Neither do I really.

A wave of nausea crashes over me then, the burning increasing. My limbs start weakening, failing on me. With worry, I extend my hand to Arthur, trying to take a step towards him. To ask for help. I need him. Help. Please. Arthur.

He looks at me with worry, golden brows furrowing. The Prince rises from his seat, the rest of the knights attention going to their courageous commander, he pays them no mind, eyes never straying from mine.

My legs fail me. Crashing to the ground, I hit hard stone floors. It hurts to touch anything. It hurts. Everything burns.

The edges start to darken in my vision, rapidly diminishing, until everything is gone to black.

The last sight I see?

The mistletoe above me glowing an ominous red.

∆∆∆ ∆∆∆

Merlin extends a hand towards me, a panicked look in his eyes. It looks like he's choking, but on what? I quickly raise from my seat, I need to help him. I need to help my Merlin.

Suddenly he crashes to the ground, head hitting the edge of a stone pillar in his descent.

His body stays lax. He's not moving.

"Merlin!"

I jump around the table, running to my fallen manservant with panic. I don't care for propriety, or what my father, the king, will say. Merlin is more than a servant. He's a . . . a friend.

When I reach him I find his head bleeding slightly from hitting the pillar. He's gasping shallowly, like he can't get enough air to enter his lungs. I touch his face to turn his head, but pull my hand back quickly with a gasp.

He is absolutely on fire; his skin burning red.

What is happening?

Deciding not to waste anymore time wondering what's happening, I pull Merlin to my chest and stand. The man's weight is easy to handle. Too easy for a man of his height. He doesn't weigh a great deal, but the bulk of what I feel through his jacket is muscle. I'd have to talk to him about eating more. If he is going to be alright, my mind adds helpfullly.

Or not so helpfullly.

No, I had to accept that whatever was wrong was curable and that Merlin would be entirely fine. He needed to be fine. I needed him to be fine.

I rush down the hallways and corridors, dashing towards the physician's chambers. Giaus would know what to do, right? Of course he would, he's Giaus, he knows everything in that old mind of his.