"Merlin."

A persistent voice urged him into wakefulness. For a blissful moment, he felt no pain, just the numbness of a waking dream and the forgetfulness of sleep. Unthinking, he tried to push himself up onto an elbow. Fire erupted in his shoulder, nearly driving him back into darkness. His head lolled to one side, his vision blurring with tears. A low groan escaped his throat.

"Don't try to move," the voice spoke again. A cool hand brushed against his forehead, sending a wash of relief through his body and dulling the pain until it was manageable.

Merlin opened his eyes again, trying to catch a glimpse of his rescuer, but the pale light was too faint for him to see. He licked his lips. The salt-sick taste of drying blood was thick in his mouth. "Where. . . ?" he gasped.

"It doesn't matter right now. You need to rest."

The voice was familiar, somehow, if distant. Like the last notes of a song heard in the wind or recalled from a dream. "Wh-who. . . ?" He shivered as he unconsciously reached for the power to begin healing himself. Some remote part of his mind remembered and recognized his own injuries- a badly broken collarbone, an arrow piercing through his other shoulder. The scrapes and bruises from a fall. Thirst, hunger, and fatigue. Simple enough to fix, that little part of him said. 'Simple. . . '

But half-delirious with a rising fever, his ears ringing like he had been trapped in a bell, with all the pain and exhaustion and remembered fear, he could not figure out where to begin. The magic flowed over, through, around, and out of him in a confused wash until he thought he would drown in it all. Drown on dry land. Suffocate with a power he knew better than his own name. He choked on air, convulsing as his body lost track of itself and its own weight against the ground. His vision whitened, and then grayed. He lost himself in the ebb and flow of the power around him, forgetting in an instant if he was meant to be in a body or if the earth around him was the proper vessel for all the spirit-stuff that made up Merlin.

Hands anchored him back in his own flesh; one over his heart, one over his eyes, gently holding his self in place as the flood slowed and washed away, leaving him empty and frighteningly solid.

"Not right now. Not in this moment. You are too weak to control the power of the magic here, Merlin, but you need not fear. The weakness will pass and in time, you will be whole again. For now, though, you must rest."

Merlin gave the other the faintest of nods and let himself drift back into painless sleep.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has followed/favorited/reviewed these stories. Your support really is appreciated and helps keep me writing. Look for the next story in the series, entitled 'A Handful of Dust' to start up in the next few days!