Merlin let his lashes blink closed and waited for the the soft fall of snowflakes to top them. A blizzard was brewing and he could sense it in his chest as it swirled and rummaged for space to engulf. The clouds in the sky danced and they intertwined, preparing to release their forced wrath onto everyone who dared to sleep underneath. He didn't mean to harm anyone in his rampage; on the contrary, he meant to endanger himself. The snow was a side effect.

His legs were numbed through the muscle as he sat on the edge of the lake, but he couldn't register any feeling elsewhere. Merlin's lips were numb and collided softly when he murmured his thoughts out loud, unseeing. For all he knew, it was an abyss before him, threatening to swallow him up. He gladly greeted it.

His fingers strummed patterns of chords onto his knees subconsciously, playing a tune he'd practiced in the weeks before things became tasteless. Snow was collecting on his shoulders and his hair of soot, reminiscent of a glittering sheen, if you were to spot him from a distance away.

Longingly, Merlin grabbed blindly to his right for a goblet of mead that didn't exist. He clasped his hand together and looked at it with annoyance, regretting not bringing the drink with him. The day was young with drunkards wasting away in celebration throughout a dining hall he'd recently deserted.

People congratulated Merlin with warm hands on his shoulders, so vacant now, saying he'd brought peace to the land. Meats, fruits, and vegetables of every variety dominated his vision and senses as he ate to fill an insatiable hunger.

Arthur was thrilled; he resided beside Merlin and Gwen at the head of the table, and Merlin could almost feel him still at his side now. A part of him believed they were always entangled in spirit, be it cruel or a blessing. He wished that, in this moment, he could sever their ties so Arthur would not bear witness to any of the pain.

Merlin tried to ground himself in the present, reminding himself of his senses. The grass had been toppled by the snow now, and the lake was cresting with ice that crept slowly, menacingly, towards the center. The green of summer was dusted by a silky, indescribable vacancy.

Where lilies and wildflowers congregated was a sick example of the futility of life as they were covered entirely by what would suck the life out of their existence. In all his musing, Merlin decided that this was why his magic had settled on letting his chaos release in the form of a storm. It represented how his own life force was being depleted by an invisible but conquering force.

Many would say that the battle was won, that this was the beginning of a new life for Camelot, for Albion. Magic was accepted, and upon his brow was the title and crown of Court Sorcerer. But Merlin had come to terms with this being the suitable end for a long and treacherous journey.

He knew he was ill in the mind after so much suffering and knew that he was capable of altering this course. The alcohol in his veins suggested otherwise. It tempted him with subtle whispers and promises of a peace he couldn't refuse.

The grey castle backdrop became eery in the growing and bleak white that encased his surroundings; Merlin raised his gaze towards it and focused on steadying his breathing. He'd learned through experience with Jumpers that this was the way in which they prepared themselves for the final fall. They tricked their bodies into agreeing with their twisted minds. He'd managed to save every one of those Jumpers, reaching over the battlements with a speed and a strength to hold on that was tampered with by the power of his magic. Hearing their wails of fear taught him that it must not have been the answer. They'd come back to thank him, in time.

Bleeders were worse. Instead of drawing a crowd, they either came to their end in silence, or asked for aid before they sliced too deep. Merlin had been the master of countless patchworks, joining the layers of muscle, fat, and skin together, hands covered in the blood and serum. The Bleeders never thought about how it may have affected him, but how could they have known he'd done the same for himself a hundred times over?

The thread that tied himself together was unraveling now as the ice ran deeper through layers of the water. The trees behind him were being stripped of their solstice green as the wind revved up in strength and tore their leaves to the ground.

They would be searching for Merlin at this point; Gaius would have discerned the cause of the mounting blizzard and confided in the knights, in Gwen, in Arthur. The town was likely being raided by desperate friends seeking to come console a damaged man.

Merlin smiled ruefully. He was a depressed drunk. Or rather, was it the drink that brought out his true self?

The wind was whipping the snow harshly into his eyes, causing him to wince. The time had come to step out onto the ice.

As he stood, the intoxication threatened his balance. His jacket and neckerchief were blowing wildly about, so he tore them both off in order to focus on the task ahead of him.

A trembling foot settled down onto the ice. He breathed deeply against the thready heartbeat inside his ribs and urged the other foot to join. The surface made his boots slide minutely, but Merlin recovered and continued towards the middle of the lake.

Over the course of a few minutes tackling the forces of the elements, Merlin collapsed to his knees in the center. The connection to the ice jolted pain through his knee, and for some reason, this was the straw that broke him.

Merlin let out a sob that was more like a cough once he inhaled the frigid, tumultuous air. The sound of the blizzard was a cacophony in his ears, so much so that he could barely hear his crying. He prayed for someone to be there with him, to embrace him and say that his troubles would end soon, to guide him towards the other side. No such help came.

Through tears and hiccups that scraped the back of his throat raw, Merlin took his hand and laid it flat against the surface of the troubled ice. He sucked in a breath and felt a rush of warmth fill his being as it traveled from his core to his fingertips. "Forbærne!"

The ice began to melt under his palm, and he welcomed the slight relief. He soon discovered that the ice was too thick to remove in a short period of time.

It was then that Merlin stood once more. He huffed in the cold and decidedly lifted a boot, thrusting his weight through his heel as it reunited with the surface.

A small crack resonated despite the storm and appeared underfoot. Seeing his success, Merlin stomped a second time.

The cracks in the ice traveled like splintering veins, and Merlin smiled slightly. With one final push, he jumped as high as he could manage, and dropped his full force on the ice. No second to think twice.

That's when the floor fell through and he was shocked by the frozen blue piercing his skin. He'd plunged far under, he saw, as he lifted his head to the hole where the most light bled from above.

Merlin lifted an arm and, without incanting, let his magic fill the crater with a newly created layer.

That's when reality began to set in.

The water was sobering him up, and his body naturally craved another breath. After a few seconds, Merlin's lungs were burning.

Bubbles drifted upwards and his ears popped as he clutched at his throat, demanding himself not to suck in a breath, but recognizing it as a futile part of the process. Thinking of it that way, he decided, was so ignorant; death wasn't as simple as a process, it was the event of one's soul being ripped grotesquely from their body. Coming to his senses was doing him no good in this moment anyways.

If he had regrets, there was no time to entertain them as his legs and arms kicked violently despite his slow and steady descent into the black of the bottom. Within seconds, the soft sand of the floor cushioned his back. The impact startled him and, not being able to help himself, Merlin inhaled deeply.

He gagged and attempted to cough up the water, but it flowed in and out of his lungs freely, weighing him down. It trickled through his burning nostrils and floated his limbs above him cruelly.

The sense of control that he'd craved through taking his life was slipping through his hands and he knew now that control was a sick joke. He'd been controlled by fate all of his life; why would he be granted any autonomy in his last minutes?

The panic was truly setting in and Merlin wished he could cry again, until the pain was distancing itself from him, growing farther and farther away where his body was almost numb. Then, a calm overcame him.

Merlin's last seconds of feeling were of the way the water held him gently, like the embrace of a friend he'd longed for. Maybe the magic of the earth was trying to be his final comfort, or maybe, he was just delirious from a lack of oxygen.

Above him, a splash of red crossed the image of a crystallized ceiling and Merlin thought of Arthur. Arthur, who would find his body at the top of the lake after his death and his winter wrath had melted. Arthur, who'd done so much for Merlin since he'd rescued him from imminent death; Arthur, who'd legalized magic to save Merlin and his kind in return.

Remorse swallowed him whole. Merlin closed his eyes and allowed himself to succumb to it and the water.

A cracking.

A stomping, from above?

Garbled and indiscernible, voices shouted something akin to his name.

Merlin floated on a cloud of petals, so warm. He let his eyes open one last time and was greeted by Arthur's hand, extended out towards him.

He knew this was a hallucination, an apparition, but he tried his best still to take Arthur's hand, blind to the fact that his own didn't move an inch.

Spots of black dotted his vision, this vision, until he saw nothing more.

...

"Merlin!" Arthur bellowed, scouring the grounds behind the castle. He could hardly see through the enveloping storm, so he wandered around without direction, hoping to run into the man.

They'd searched the castle at the first snowfall, Gaius coming up to the king when he heard talk from Camelotians who were trotting inside drunkenly to alert everyone about the anomaly weather.

Not finding him anywhere, the knights were directed throughout the town. The cold bit at them and threatened to freeze their fingertips of any feeling; they were all bare in their few layers of summer clothing that masked the storm somewhat from their skin.

Arthur had a hunch, one that he didn't make evident to them in the rush of the situation. There was a spot at the back of the castle that Merlin frequented; whenever his friend needed space from the troubles of every day life, Arthur always found him there, basking in the sun and throwing pebbles into the lake. He'd ask Arthur to take a break and join him, a wide smile wrinkling his features and squinting his eye lids shut.

Sure enough, after trekking along through what was almost a foot of snow, Arthur saw a blossomed color of dark blue in the midst of the snow.

He was across the length of the field and it was a second before Arthur noticed that Merlin was in the middle of the large lake. How Merlin had made it out there, drunk, was beyond him.

A sense of dread chilled him more than he thought possible as he saw a leg raise and slam back down onto the ice.

"No," he breathed, running forward on instinct. "Stop! Merlin, please!"

He knew all words were lost victims to the sound of the blizzard and he watched in horror as his friend disappeared under the ice of the lake.

Pure adrenaline drove him at lightening speed to the lake, where he paused and surveyed the site before carefully sliding his feet one at a time across. He was no use to Merlin with one limb stuck in the cracked surface, the consequence of a wrong move. But the ice was thicker than he'd imagined as he neared the hole, and seeing the depth of it, he quickened his pace.

Without warning, the hole began closing, like the ice was knitting itself back together. Arthur's eyes widened and he tried to run to the center. Instead, he slipped and his cheekbone was slammed hard onto the ground.

Arthur groaned and pushed himself upwards to his knees with his arms, looking at a smudge of blood on the surface. Blue caught his eye from underneath the translucent coating, and he took his hand to quickly wipe away the freshest layer of snow.

There he saw the clouded image of Merlin, resting peacefully at the bottom of the lake.

Arthur stood and tried to stomp repeatedly on the ice the same way Merlin had, but the thickness had accumulated to a point that he barely cracked the ice.

"Merlin!" He screamed again, searching for a solution while looking helplessly at the motionless form below him.

Thinking fast, Arthur reached to his side and drew Excalibur, a sword that had carried him deftly through many battles, a sword that he trusted to help him in this moment.

Arthur relaxed his mind and relented his attention to his muscles, calculating the swing of force needed to free Merlin from this fate.

And then, he brought the sword with both hands strongly onto the ice in front of him.

A large crack formed and he watched with elation as the ice crumbled into the water, leaving a hole large enough for him to squirm through, but it wasn't enough for the both of them. Arthur stepped back and took Excalibur again, thrusting it into another section of the ice. It crumbled likewise and widened the opening.

Tossing the sword aside, Arthur spared no second as he dove into the water. It was so cold that the water was like fire on his skin, but he discarded the notion as he propelled himself towards Merlin. He could see Merlin's eyes open momentarily with a recognition before slipping closed again; Merlin appeared so fragile and ephemeral. It was terrifying.

The dull light from above guided him to his friend. Arthur grabbed onto his shirt and pulled him up from the floor of the lake, disrupting particles of sand that blew up around Merlin like smoke. No bubbles were emptying from him any longer.

Arthur wrapped one arm around Merlin's waist and began bringing them both upward. Even though the man didn't weigh much, it was a struggle to push over and over against the heavy water with one arm with the limpness of the body dragging him down.

Eventually he reached the top and breached the surface, spitting the water that dripped over his mouth as he gasped for air. Merlin's head lolled onto his shoulder, dark hair plastered over his forehead and lips tinged blue.

Arthur grunted and growled as he dragged them both onto the ice single-handedly and panted as he let himself rest on his back, Merlin clutched to his chest. But it was no time for rest; after catching his breath, Arthur sat up and carefully laid Merlin's head down.

He watched hopefully for his chest to begin rising and falling, but when it didn't, Arthur pressed his ear to Merlin's heart.

If a beat was there, it was too faint to hear.

Being a warrior, Arthur learned first aid in many forms, but for drowning?

He couldn't remember exactly what to do- it had to do with pounding the chest, didn't it?

"Think, dammit!" Arthur cried in frustration, circling through broken memories of advice from Gaius.

Suddenly, the wrath of the blizzard began calming down. Arthur looked around him wildly as it sunk in that Merlin was dying.

Arthur had no idea if his idea was correct or not, but time was running out.

"Sorry about this," he grimaced, raising a tightly clenched fist, and slamming it firmly onto the lower half of Merlin's chest.

A sickening snap ensued and Arthur knew he'd broken a rib, but he had to continue when Merlin made no movement.

So he brought his fist down on Merlin's chest again, again, and again, until tears were streaming down his face and he was pleading for Merlin to just breathe.

"Please, come on!"

Another round of punches through the rib came and went before Arthur gave up hope. He collapsed beside Merlin and stared at the clearing sky as he wept. It was no use.

He turned his head to Merlin's ghostly corpse, a sight that would haunt him for years to come, and pulled the man closer to him to have one last embrace.

The last thing he expected was having a fountain of water spat onto his face.

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed, sitting up. With a hand on the man's back, he forced Merlin to do so in tandem. More water emptied from his lungs as he coughed out his insides.

"Arthur," Merlin murmured, eyes closed tightly. He'd been out of air for so long that he was disoriented, and the light was not his friend.

"Yes, I'm here," Arthur reassured him, hugging him from behind and patting his chest comfortingly until he heard a whimper. "Oh," he realized and winced, "My bad."

"'M sorry," he heard Merlin say through teeth that began to chatter as feeling returned to his limbs.

Arthur blinked away his tears and smiled, refraining from hugging the man tighter.

"Don't worry, I've got you now. It's alright."

He sighed and raised his eyes upward, resting his chin on top of Merlin's head as the sun broke through the clouds.

"We're going to be alright."