Merlyn's Final Truth

The Darkest Hour P4

Cold.

Merlyn could barely think, her thoughts moving so very slowly, as if they fought through sticky treacle. Numbly, she was aware that Arthur had wrapped a number of blankets around her frozen form, but they did little against the cold filling her lungs, burrowing to her very core. She could only thank her magic for prolonging her life, but it did little to clear her mind. Vaguely, she was aware of Arthur's voice, but concentrating on his words proved almost impossible. She let her gaze fall unfocused, the world blurring around her, using all of her energy to listen to her prince.

"We need to take her back to Gaius." he stated; Merlyn had just enough presence of mind to know that she didn't want to head back to Camelot. She was dying; she could feel it with every fibre of her being. There was no point in sacrificing anyone else, not with her in such a state. She tried to turn, to communicate this to Arthur, who stood behind her, on the other side of their makeshift fire pit, but her lips wouldn't move.

"And abandon the quest?" another voice, Leon, perhaps, questioned.

"She saved my life. I won't... I can't let her die."

"Sire." Sir Leon said gently. "If we don't get to the Isle of the Blessed, hundreds more will perish."

Yes. Merlyn wanted to cry out, to order them to take her with them. She didn't need to go back, there was no point. They had to use her as the sacrifice.

"Let me take her."

No. She should've seen Lancelot's interference, should've expected him to intervene. He was too noble for his own good.

"Carrying a wounded woman alone... It would take you two, three days to reach Camelot." Arthur murmured, the clarity of his voice fading as Merlyn's strength battled against the cold.

"Not if I go through the Valley of the Fallen Kings." Lancelot said gravely. "You cannot give up on the quest."

No. They couldn't leave her. She wouldn't let Arthur sacrifice himself.

"Sire, he's right." Leon piped up irritatingly. Gaius couldn't help her now. If only she could express herself, then maybe, they would let her die in a way that would mean something.

She barely felt Percival pick her up, hardly heard the druidic prayer whispered in her ear as he lifted her onto her horse. Her vision faded, the cold seeping all energy from her veins.

"This is my fault. I'm sorry." Arthur muttered in her ear, stroking a stray lock of hair from her face. He winced, apparently feeling her icy skin through his gloves.

"Take me with you. Please." Merlyn croaked, doing her best to express everything she wanted to say in her few words. It had taken all her strength to muster her last plea, but she knew that Arthur would ignore her.

"You'd die, Merlyn." he said, adjusting the ropes that secured her to the horse.

"I will anyway. Please, Arthur."

He sighed deeply; if her sight wasn't failing, Merlyn would've said that there were tears on his cheeks. "Do you ever do as you're told?"

"You need a blood sacrifice. Please, Arthur." she managed, but she knew what answer she would recieve.

The prince paused his fussing. "Merlyn..."

"We need to go." Lancelot spoke from upon his horse, effectively ending the pitiful argument.

Arthur looked at her with an expression she couldn't see, but by the way he gripped her shoulder, she could guess his emotion.

"I love you, Merlyn. Never forget that."