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Merlin lay on his back at the bottom of the pit.
The brilliant blue circle of sky above him was perfect. Not a cloud to be seen.
He struggled to take in a breath, and through the haze of pain and confusion, he tried to understand what had happened.
He couldn't think. He couldn't remember. Everything was so blurry and faded. Within him, his insides churned, and in his throat and his nose, something was blocking his airways.
He opened his mouth, trying to gulp in a breath, and caught a nasty gurgling sound. Something bubbled in the back of his mouth, coughed up weakly by a spasm in his throat, and the dully bitter taste on his tongue sharpened enough for him to recognize it.
Aconite.
He blinked at the patch of blue sky. His eyes were watering, causing drops of water to run down the sides of his face and drip in his ears.
Concentrate. What had... what had...
He could picture Arthur's face. He remembered... Arthur laughing, throwing back his head... he'd leaned close for a hug.
He did that, now.
But this time... he'd pulled back... one swift movement... a splash of something that burned Merlin's face, bitter liquid filling his mouth... and Arthur had pushed him.
Arthur had pushed him, and Merlin had fallen, because suddenly there was no ground behind him, and as he fell, choking and sputtering, Arthur had laughed again.
And that time, it didn't sound like Arthur.
Merlin trembled all over, the sky above him quaking, and he realized that he'd been shaking the whole time. He was freezing cold. It was as though his blood had stopped within him, stuck in his veins, held still by the weight of the cold pressing in on him.
He closed his eyes, feebly stuggling again for a breath, poison rippling through him, still clogging his throat.
The pit was lined with cold iron.
As he gasped for half breaths, his mind moving at half speed, he finally understood.
It was a double attack. Not just poison -- cold iron.
Poison, he could overcome. Perhaps even easily. If he had the true breadth of his magic at his disposal.
Cold iron, he could overcome, given enough time, and if there wasn't too much of it.
But he was buried in it. Encased in icy, life-sucking metal, like a body laid to rest in a tomb, and simultaneously burning both inside and out, poison seeping through his blood and painfully paralyzing every organ until they inevitably gave up.
As strong as he was, as much magic as he had, he simply couldn't fight both forces at once.
Was there anyone... anyone who knew... where he was...
He dragged his eyes open, trying to think through the agonizing pain.
He'd thought it was Arthur.
He'd gone with him, with no defense, no thought of protection. Only trust.
It was Arthur.
But it hadn't been, not really. It was a trap -- a trap set perfectly, to target his single greatest weakness: his love for and trust in the king.
And now, Merlin would die.
And whoever had killed him would have nothing to stop them from killing whoever else they wanted.
Except... no.
He gasped at the sky, fire and ice fighting within him, and the brilliant blue of the sky above him seemed brighter, alive with clarity and hope.
Because no. It wasn't like that anymore.
It wasn't just him, holding up the world alone, Atlas with the world on his shoulders. He wasn't alone. He wasn't the only one who could protect the kingdom and people he loved.
Mordred, he thought. Gwaine. Leon. Elyan. He felt his eyelids grow weighted, felt his throat spasm with another feeble cough. Gwen.
He saw Arthur throwing back his head, laughing -- the real Arthur, giving a real embrace, his arms strong and ready, his friendship warm and freely given.
Arthur.
"Merlin."
___
Magic was the only thing keeping him breathing.
It pulsed weakly within him, thrumming faintly like a fiddle string vibrating after the last notes of a tune. He could no longer see the sky, no longer feel the skin on his face, no longer sense the ground beneath him. His world had shrunk to the immeasurable weight of iron and the roar of poison burning through his veins.
He wasn't aware of whether he was alive or dead. He wasn't even he anymore...
Everything was merely ice and fire and pain.
Until something broke through and brought him semi-conscious again.
Another vibration. A stab of new pain so intense, he registered it as movement.
And then he was gagging and choking and crying out, and his body was screaming in agony, and there were hands lifting him and arms wrapping around him, and the vibration was a voice in his ear.
Arthur's voice.
Merlin took a breath, a real one, a gasp of air so fresh and clean, it burned his raw throat nearly as badly as the poison had. He found that he was gasping and crying, his entire body shaking as a rush of released magic washed through him. It was weary and weakened, but free, and even though cold iron had leeched much of his power, there was enough left to push a wave of healing over the worst of the damage.
Pain eased enough that he could move, and his arms moved instinctively to grasp the person holding him. His face was buried against them, his body still shuddering as magic fought to repair what was harmed.
"--easy, Merlin--"
"Arthur," he gasped.
"Yeah," Arthur said, his grip tight. "It's me. Breathe... breathe. Mordred is here to give you some more magic."
And indeed, a moment later, Merlin felt a stream of cool new magic pour into him, easing his trembling and bringing actual relief to the lasting weight of cold iron exhaustion.
Arthur laid him back on the ground, but he stayed close, his right hand left gripping Merlin's hand as he leaned over him, his crown gleaming in the sunlight. "It was Agravaine," he said, as Merlin continued to catch his breath, "He's been plotting this for months, I assume. We felt something was wrong, but didn't know where to search until your call came."
"I didn't... know if I'd reached you," Merlin managed. "Cold iron... my magic..."
Mordred's face joined Arthur's as he leaned into Merlin's line of sight. "You may be weak for days, my lord," he said, the title indicating how much these events had rattled him. He rarely was so formal with Merlin, these days. "That much cold iron would have nearly killed you on its own, but combined with the poison..."
Merlin's eyes shifted back to Arthur's face as he saw the king clench his jaw, his forehead creased with open concern.
"Agravaine..." Merlin said weakly.
"He's dead," Arthur said. "We couldn't let him escape, this time. He was still nearby, waiting for his trap to kill you."
"I'm sorry, I--"
"Did nothing wrong," Arthur interrupted, in that firm voice he used to say I'm the king, I am always right. "Any one of us would have fallen for his ruse. You called us in time, Merlin."
Merlin nodded, and he had just enough strength to squeeze Arthur's hand, still clasped with his. Thank you for coming, he wanted to say. Thank you, for being the reason I don't have to be alone.
"Thank you, sire," was all he said aloud.
The lines of concern on Arthur's face eased, and his eyes grew warmer. "Come on, Merlin," he said, gently. "To Camelot. Mandated bed rest is calling."