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Chapter Text

"And the male contestant for District 11 is... Merlin Emrys!"

Rufus' announcement was met with complete and utter silence from the gathered crowd. Merlin himself felt nothing but cold, as his own name reverberated in his head. And then it was quiet.

In actuality, he supposed a few people might have clapped in the forced, perfunctory fashion that was expected, but he couldn't hear anything over the ringing in his own ears.

He didn't how how, but somehow he found himself walking onto the raised platform, and shaking Rufus' hand, being congratulated on this most fortunate opportunity.

He was being wished that the odds would ever be in his favour.

Next to Merlin, Guinevere was shaking as a leaf as she stared, transfixed, out over the crowd - but Merlin expected that she wasn't seeing anything at all.

Somewhere out there, her father would be standing alone, watching his only living child being prepped for slaughter. Not many families were unfortunate enough to lose two children to the Hunger Games, but the odds had not been in the Smiths' favour at all. And after today, Tom Smith would not have any more children left to give.

Unless Gwen won, of course.

Yeah, right.

Next to Tom, Merlin imagined he'd probably find Lancelot, standing powerless to save the love of his life from the terrible fate that awaited her.

But Merlin wasn't looking at Tom. He was scouting the crowd, though he'd promised himself he wouldn't, back when being Reaped for the Hunger Games had been nothing more than a distant fear and promises had cost him nothing - but he couldn't help himself. His eyes found those of his mother's, and he swallowed when he found them brimming with tears. Her hands were against her mouth, staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

Next to her was Will. Just as Merlin hoped Lancelot would look after Tom, he hoped that Will would look after Hunith. He had to believe that they both would be alright without him, because anything else would have him crumbling to the ground right now, and the Peacekeepers would have to carry him off the platform.

And that probably wouldn't be so good for his ranking.

Merlin felt like he was going to be sick.

He realised suddenly that Guinevere was talking. Rufus had asked her a question and was now nodding his head animatedly at her response, whatever it was.

Then he pressed the microphone into Merlin's face and looked at him expectantly.

"Er... what?" Merlin forced out. His voice sounded strange, amplified by the microphone and carrying across the square.

"Oh look, the dear boy is starstruck!" Rufus chuckled, and winked at Merlin - and Merlin found himself strangely grateful that Rufus was such a self-involved idiot. Sure, let the Capitol think that he was starstruck. He only hoped that the rest of them were as vapid as Rufus, too delusional to realise that he was scared out of his wits. "I asked you whether you feel prepared for the journey ahead."

Merlin opened his mouth, a scathing remark on the tip of his tongue. But out of the corner of his eye he saw Guinevere shake her head minutely, and he recognised it for the warning that it was. She knew him, and she had a clearer head than he did. There was a reason the past contestants, terrified and outraged as most of them had probably felt on the day of their own Reaping, never voiced their dissent.

He thought of his mother, and of Will, and Tom, and Lancelot. It wasn't only Merlin's life on the line here.

So instead he looked Rufus straight in the eye, and said, "I suppose in some ways I always knew that one day my name would be drawn." And as he said the words, Merlin found them to be true.

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His mother's goodbye was a tearful one. She burst into the room where he was being kept and threw her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder, and for the first time Merlin let himself break down. He hated that he couldn't stay strong for his mother, hated that the last time she'd ever see him would be like this. But he could not stop his own sobs from wracking through his body, and so he let his mother comfort him one last time - even as he felt her break apart, too.

He'd only just finished wiping his eyes after she left when Will came into the room. Will took one look at Merlin, then enfolded him into a hug. And they stayed like that, silent, until the Peacekeepers came in and told him to leave. Will looked back, nodded, and left. No words needed to be spoken between them - they were friends, they were brothers, and Merlin knew Will would look after Hunith just as Merlin would have looked after Will's mum, had the roles been reversed. They didn't need to have that conversation again, and all other words were redundant now.

After Will left, he thought he was done. He was surprised, therefore, when the door opened once more and Lancelot stepped inside.

"Lance," Merlin said, "Gwen isn't..."

"I've already been to see Gwen," Lancelot said shortly, not quite meeting his eyes, and Merlin noted that he'd been crying. But then, on this day, who hadn't?

"Oh," Merlin said. He wanted to ask, Why are you here? but that sounded wrong in his head. He and Lancelot were good friends, too, even if Merlin had always been closer to Will and Guinevere. "Well, goodbye then," he said instead, and winced. That hadn't been much better.

He saw Lancelot's arm twist, an aborted move to grasp his shoulder, but he still wasn't looking at him. He seemed to be struggling for the right words.

"Look, Merlin..." Lancelot swallowed. "You know I would never ask you... you know you're my friend, right? I don't want to see you hurt in any way."

His eyes reluctantly met Merlin's, and he seemed to be begging Merlin to understand what he couldn't bring himself to say. And Merlin did.

"You're asking me to look after Gwen," Merlin said, and he was surprised to find that his voice didn't waver. "You know you don't have to ask me to do that, Lancelot."

Lancelot shook his head. "Obviously I'm not asking you to... to put yourself in any more danger than you already are in. But just, please, Merlin, I am begging you. Don't hurt her. If your paths cross in the arena, just... let her go."

And he looked so pitiful, slumped and defeated in a way that Merlin had never seen him before, that Merlin wanted to break down all over again. He might have, if he'd had any tears left to shed - but he had none left to give to Lancelot. What he did have was a tiny bit of hope, futile as it may be.

"If it's up to me, Gwen is the tribute who walks out of the Arena as the victor, Lancelot," he said. And he found that he meant it. If she wanted to, Merlin would ally himself with Gwen, and he'd help her win this thing if he could. He knew already that his own life was forfeit, he wasn't coming home - but maybe Guinevere could. Maybe she could still have the life she'd always wanted, with Lancelot and their ten hypothetical babies and enough money that they'd never have to sign anyone up for Tesserae.

Lancelot looked at him for a long time, a fierce expression on his face. Then he finally let himself reach out and grasp Merlin's arm, nodding. "Take care of yourself, Merlin."

"You too, Lancelot."

And that was all that was left to say between them. Merlin watched Lancelot leave, and when he looked back, they exchanged one final nod, something like closure passing between them.

A small part of Merlin wished he could hate Lancelot for practically asking him to sacrifice himself for Guinevere, but how could he? He knew that had Lancelot not been too old to enter the Games, he would have volunteered in Merlin's place in a heartbeat, to keep Gwen safe himself. What would their love be, if he could not do at least this tiny thing to try and save her life?

No, Merlin understood. And he only hoped that when the time came, he could be as brave as Lancelot would have been. And that he would not be selfish. Because even as he knew that his words to Lancelot had not been a lie, that when push came to shove he would always save Gwen ahead of himself, Merlin was leaving people behind, too, people that needed him to come home. And he wasn't sure he was able to break his mother's heart, either.

He could promise Lancelot that he would protect Gwen. But he couldn't promise him not to also protect himself.

Merlin grimaced. He hated this. He hated that he was already thinking like a survivor. He wanted to curl up and disappear, and never have to worry about having to watch his best friend die, or whether he himself would perish at her hand.

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The train ride was quiet. Merlin and Gwen sat next to each other, an unspoken agreement never to leave the other with the insufferable Rufus for an extended period of time. They were going to their deaths, the least they could ask for was that people around them weren't so damn cheerful about it.

They had not spoken a word to each other since the Reaping. But after the train doors had closed and they had pulled away from District 11, watching their home become a blur outside the windows and then disappear forever in the distance, Guinevere had taken Merlin's hand, and she hadn't let go.

Merlin thought it was probably better this way. They needed each other, but what could they really say? I hope you win? I hope I can save you? Or, I hope that someone else kills you so I don't have to? No. No, it was better not to say anything at all.

He wondered if Guinevere would have his back in the Arena like he would try to have hers. Merlin couldn't imagine sweet, innocent Gwen killing anybody - but he also couldn't imagine her going down without a fight.

And the Arena changed people. He knew that much, having watched the Hunger Games along with everyone else for his entire life. He had seen plenty of sweet, innocent children enter the Games and emerge in the Arena as vicious, heartless killers, turning on their friends, the instinct for survival overruling anything else they'd ever been.

Would Guinevere be like that? Would Merlin?

"Ah!" Rufus exclaimed, cutting into Merlin's gloomy thoughts. "Dinner has arrived!"

Gwen and Merlin turned as one, and true enough, the table in the other end of the carriage had somehow become ladened with food while their backs were turned.

"Well, don't just sit there, let us go enjoy the finest foods the Capitol has to offer. You two must be starving - I know I am!" Rufus beamed, complete with another of his insufferable winks. Merlin wanted to glue his ridiculously long purple eyelashes to his forehead so he could never wink at anyone ever again.

He rose, dragging Gwen to her feet with her. He was not hungry in the least, and imagined that he wouldn't be able to taste anything he ate, but it didn't matter what they did or didn't do at this point. Might as well appease Rufus.

Even in his current state, Merlin couldn't help feeling slightly guilty as he surveyed all the food laid out in front of them. It was all lost on him now, but back in his District, it would have been considered the finest of luxuries. People would have committed murder to get their hands on the roast pig alone - and the irony of that wasn't lost on him.

There was enough food on the table to feed a family for a week. And here Merlin and Guinevere were, nibbling at small pieces of bread, trying not to feel like they were being stuffed like turkeys ahead of a feast.

"Tuck in, tuck in!" Rufus exclaimed affably from next to Merlin. Up close, Merlin noticed that his skin had a very unnatural yellow tint to it, and was shimmering in a way that was probably meant to look golden but looked to Merlin more like the colour of vomit. Whatever little appetite he'd had vanished, and he put the bread down, feeling sick.

"Um, Mr Rufus?" Guinevere asked timidly from Merlin's other side, and Merlin started. It was the first time he'd heard her speak since the Reaping.

"Yes, my dear?" Rufus beamed. His teeth were very, very white, but a piece of salad was stuck in between them. Merlin had to turn his head away.

"It's only, well, aren't we supposed to meet our mentor?"

Once again, Merlin marvelled at Gwen's ability to keep herself focused and composed, even now. She was right, of course, strategically they should spend as much time with their mentor as possible, even if selfishly he just wanted to hide away in his cabin and not speak to anyone who was going to tell him how to kill people.

"Very good, Guinevere!" Rufus boomed. "You're a smart one, aren't you? The Careers best keep an eye on you!"

It was probably meant to be a compliment, Merlin thought, but it sounded like a death sentence. He fought the urge to reach out a take Gwen's hand again, but he thought she probably wouldn't appreciate it just now. After all, while they'd needed each other before, Gwen was clearly meaning business now. And the worst thing a tribute could do ahead of the Games was to appear weak in any way.

She confirmed his suspicions when she only sat up straighter, saying, "Thank you, Sir. Can you tell us when they will be joining us?"

Merlin wondered who their mentor would be - he hadn't bothered to ask anyone, and no one had said. There was only a handful living District 11 victors, and in the past they'd taken turns mentoring the tributes. Except for one. Merlin could only hope... but no, that would be impossible. He hadn't even been there to say goodbye, he was probably back in his mansion like every year, not to emerge before the Games were over and their District's tributes were (most likely) dead.

"Well, there he is now!" Rufus called. "Thank you for joining us, Gaius."

Merlin's head whipped round, but true enough: there stood his uncle Gaius - old, slumped, but eyes sharp and blazing like they always had. Why hadn't his mother told him about this? Had she not known? Had this been the plan all along, or had Gaius asked to serve as a mentor after Merlin's name had been drawn?

Gaius' eyes met his, and for a moment they looked so incredibly sad, and Merlin had his answer. Gaius was here because of him.

He felt both incredibly guilty for unintentionally dragging Gaius back into a world he'd never wanted to return to, and unspeakably grateful that he would have his uncle here with him, until the end. Helping him in whatever way he could, and teaching him how to survive, just as he always had.

"Gaius?" Gwen asked, and Merlin noted the uncertainty in her voice. She must have realised all the same things Merlin had. Of course, she knew that Gaius would help them both survive - but would he offer her the same guidance as Merlin, knowing that ultimately, he could only hope to save one of them? Did she worry that Gaius would view her in the same way as Lancelot had viewed Merlin - someone who he would protect with everything in the world, except for with the life of their fellow tribute?

But Merlin knew better. Gaius would show no favouritism, and Merlin wouldn't let him.

"Good afternoon," Gaius grumbled, ambling over to the table, plopping himself down opposite the three of them. "Ah, dinner."

And without another word he tucked in, helping himself to a huge slice of the pork and pouring a generous amount of the amber liquid Merlin assumed was whiskey.

Merlin and Gwen glanced at each other, frowning. Well, that was rather anticlimactic.

Clearly Rufus thought the same, and looked disappointed not to get his fill of drama. "Gaius, old boy! Don't leave us in suspense! This is the first time you have ever mentored our Games, and what with you volunteering so dramatically at the last minute, you must have some fantastic strategy up your sleeve." Merlin wondered if Rufus ever stopped speaking like he was presenting live on television. He suspected not.

Gaius looked up from his plate, fixing Rufus with such a scathing look, Merlin saw Rufus pale underneath the putrid shade of his skin.

"Don't be more of an idiot than usual, Rufus. These children know they are going to their deaths. No need to make it any worse."

And with that Gaius rose, grabbing his plate and his glass of whiskey, and shuffled back out of the carriage without another word, leaving a stunned silence behind him.

Oh. Well, so much for that brilliant strategy, then. At least he wasn't playing favourites.

Merlin chanced a look at Gwen. She was staring down at her plate, clenching her fork so hard he worried she was going to stab someone with it (probably him. It would just be his luck to get offed before the Games even started, Merlin thought wryly), and he wanted, once again, to reach out to her. But what would he say? Gaius was right, there was nothing any of them could say to make this better.

They could plan and strategise and make promises until the end of time, but that didn't change the fact that ultimately, neither Merlin nor Guinevere stood a chance against the Career tributes. They were dead in the water, and pretending otherwise was not going to help anybody.

Merlin found himself remembering something else Gaius had once told him, back when his name had been entered into the Games for the first time and he had come to Gaius' house in tears, beside himself with worry. Gaius had taken Merlin into the kitchen and made him a cup of hot chocolate, a luxury for any District 11 kid, but as a former victor, Gaius of course had access to foods and goods Merlin could only dream of. But even if he'd always made sure that Merlin and Hunith never went hungry, this had still felt to Merlin like an extraordinary gift – and for a moment, it had even made him forget about the possibility of his name being drawn.

And Gaius had sat down next to him, a heavy hand on his shoulder. And he'd told him: "Death is inevitable, Merlin, and no man can escape it. All we can do is choose in what manner we wish to face it."

The words had made no sense to Merlin then, but now he understood. Gaius hadn't been trying to comfort him, he'd been trying to prepare him. Because now, Merlin's death had found him, and there was no way out. But there was a way forward, and that part was still up to Merlin. He couldn't run, or hide. And he wouldn't try. He wouldn't give the Capitol that satisfaction.

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Later, Gaius found Merlin and Gwen in the carriage, sitting like they had before, but no longer touching.

Rufus had gone to bed, and enthused that his lovely tributes should try to get as much beauty sleep as possible before facing the adoring crowds, but both Merlin and Gwen had ignored him.

This time, as Gaius sat down opposite them, there was a look of intent in his eyes.

"Listen to me," he said, and Merlin found himself leaning forward. Guinevere did the same. "I never wanted this, for either of you. But I also didn't want you to go through this alone. The other mentors..." he shivered. "They are beginning to think like them, I can feel it. They have done this for too long, sent too many children off to their deaths, and they have embraced the game. To be fair, I don't think they thought they had a choice. But --" he paused, fixing them both with a steely look. "This is not a game. Never forget that, either of you."

"If it's not a game, then how do we win?" Guinevere whispered beside Merlin, so quiet he almost didn't hear her. And his heart broke for her, and for the future she still couldn't let go of. She had something to go back to, someone, and Merlin knew in that moment that she would do anything to survive. He swallowed, then sat up straighter. He shouldn't have expected anything less.

Gaius gave her a long, searching look, frowning at what he found there. To Gwen's credit, she did not flinch from his gaze. Merlin envied her strength, and he hoped it wouldn't be her downfall.

"I am not going to lie to you, Guinevere, you might not. And you have to be prepared for that." Gaius raised his eyebrow, his gaze shifting to Merlin, and Merlin nodded, indicating that he understood - even if he doubted that anyone could truly be prepared to face their own death. "But you are strong, both of you, and you must believe that you stand as much of a chance of surviving this as anyone else."

"Not the Careers, surely?" Merlin found himself asking.

"Even the Careers," Gaius nodded. "Maybe especially them," he added, ignoring their disbelieving looks. "The Careers are fierce warriors, trained to kill in ways you couldn't imagine. But they are also arrogant, and they believe themselves invincible. And they all die, every year, all but one. These Games are ninety percent luck, and none of us know what circumstances you will find yourselves in once you are launched into the Arena. The tributes aren't only fighting each other, after all."

And this was true. Natural causes always took out a lot of the tributes, and maybe their strongest competition would be eliminated that way. Or maybe the Careers would turn on each other, that had happened before. Or maybe...

Merlin stopped himself, shaking his head. He couldn't do this, he couldn't let himself believe that he had any chance of winning, nor that Gwen did. It was futile.

As if reading his mind, Gaius reached out across the space between their seats and put a hand on each of their arms. "I am telling you to accept the possibility of death, Merlin. Not to embrace it. Be smart. Survive, for as long as you can. After all, that is all any of us can do, whether our names are drawn at the Reaping or not."

"Right," Merlin said. "You're right. I'm sorry, I just..." to his horror, he found his voice shaking. But it wasn't with fear or sadness, it was with anger. This was so unfair, all of it. Here they were, alive, safe. But soon they would be forced to kill and hurt and die, all for the entertainment of a few and the oppression of many. "I won't kill anyone," he said, the words coming to him unbidden. He heard a sharp intake of breath from his left, and a small part of him realised that saying this with Gwen present would probably be considered a very bad move, but he didn't care.

Gaius gave him a sad look. "You might find that you don't have a choice, Merlin."

To Merlin's surprise, he found Guinevere's warm fingers lacing through his own again, and he turned to find her watching him with an almost awed expression on her face, which transformed into something fierce almost immediately. She turned to Gaius, setting her jaw. "There is always a choice, Gaius."

This time, the look Gaius fixed her with was one of approval.

Merlin squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back, and for a moment everything felt a little bit better.

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Merlin didn't sleep much that night. Instead he lay on his back, leaving the curtains open and staring out the window up at the sky. There were no clouds, and the stars shone as bright as he remembered them doing back home. It made him feel safe.

He wondered if there would be stars in the Arena. Some years, the Capitol would manipulate the sky to cast the contestants in interesting colours as they lay dying, or there would be a relentless downpour of rain - or even, one memorable year, a snowstorm so dense that all they could see on the screen was a white mass occasionally splattered by crimson as faceless cries of anguish penetrated the tense silence of their living room.

In some ways, that had been the worst Games to watch, knowing that children were dying but never seeing it coming, and never seeing how they were being murdered - only that it had been slow and messy and painful. Merlin had been unable to stop himself imagining the faces of the people he loved as he heard the gut-wrenching sounds coming from the television; at least in other years he'd known that the dying were strangers. Not that that had really made it easier to stomach.

As the sky began to lighten fractionally, Merlin let his eyes drift shut, trying to ignore the knowledge that morning was near. But the next thing he knew, Guinevere was pounding on his door telling him to get dressed and come have breakfast, and he felt a deep sense of compassion for her at that moment. She'd probably had no more sleep than he had, and yet she wanted to make sure that he was as ready for the day as she was. How could he even for a moment have thought to consider her his enemy?

Merlin ignored the clothes that had been laid out for him and dressed in his own. The crisp white shirt and black trousers had been his father's, and Merlin had worn them to the Reaping ceremony every year since he was old enough to fit into them.

At seventeen, he still hadn't been able to wear the jacket, the shoulders still set too wide for him, so he'd left that at home. He was glad - he wasn't taking everything of his father's with him to his death, after all. Merlin vaguely wondered if they would send the rest of the outfit home to his mother with his body. Would there be anyone he could ask about that, to make sure they did?

It was strange, contemplating his own death. It felt like such a certainty to Merlin, and he found himself able to think of it in an oddly detached, practical manner. He was probably in shock. He found himself not really caring.

When he entered the dining carriage, Guinevere was sitting there with Rufus, and Merlin winced, wishing he'd hurried up a bit more. Her cheeks were red, and at first Merlin thought that she was crying, but when she looked up at him he saw that her eyes were blazing; whatever Rufus had said had made her furious, and it looked like Merlin had arrived just in the nick of time. However annoying Rufus was, no one deserved to be on the receiving end of one of Guinevere's (thankfully rare) outbursts.

"Ah, Merlin!" Rufus exclaimed. "You are awake! I was just telling the lovely Guinevere here that you'd best eat up while you can! After all, those sponsors tend to be drawn to the glitz and glamour of fancier Districts, and you're both, well..."

"Unrefined," Guinevere grit out, a false and very dangerous smile plastered on her face. "Apparently."

"I call 'em like I see 'em, sweetie," Rufus shrugged, batting his stupid eyelashes at her. "But just you wait, your stylist team is going to do a number on you! It's all there, the potential, I see it."

He reached out a hand, as if to touch her cheek, but something in Gwen's eyes must have stopped him, because he cleared his throat and withdrew his hand.

Merlin chuckled quietly, and sat down next to Gwen. He actually found himself hungry today - he still felt sick and terrified, but he was relieved that the initial shock seemed to be wearing off. Remembering Gaius' words had anchored him somewhat, giving him a calm he would previously have thought impossible for this situation. If he was going to die, then he would die, but right now, he was going to try the honeyed porridge and focus on the immediate task at hand: meeting the people of the Capitol, who would be there to greet them on the platform. Or rather, take stock of them. Judge them.

Screw them, Merlin thought. They weren't going into the Arena with him, he didn't have to care what they thought. They couldn't save him. This knowledge should have him panicked, but strangely he only felt calmer - he didn't have to worry about impressing anyone.

Guinevere clearly wasn't seeing it the same way. She was twirling her scrambled eggs around on her plate, biting her lip, and Merlin had to nudge her foot under the table and indicate the food with his own spoon before she grudgingly began eating. She shot him a small, grateful smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

Unlike Merlin, Gwen had not given up. His resolve to help her was strengthening by the minute.

"I want to form an alliance with you," he whispered to her, and Gwen froze, fork halfway to her lips.

For a moment she didn't say anything at all, and Merlin found himself holding his breath. What if she refused? He hadn't even considered the possibility, but what if she was going to make a play for the Careers? What if --

"Me too," she whispered back, and Merlin couldn't stop the wide grin from spreading. She returned it, reluctantly, and Merlin felt her relax fractionally next to him.

It was such a tiny act of defiance - they'd made this decision without consulting their mentor first (although Merlin doubted that Gaius would have any objections), and without having any idea about the competition they would face. Pre-decided allegiances like this were definitely frowned upon, but they'd done it anyway. In that moment, Merlin felt like he could take on the world.

That was when they felt the train begin to slow, and Rufus clapped his hands excitedly. "We're here! Oh, you two are going to love the Capitol, let me tell you. Your District is so dreary, I would hate having to live there." He shook his head, looking truly sad about the prospect

Merlin and Gwen shared a look, but neither made any comment. Rufus was the least tactful person Merlin had ever met, but he found that he couldn't muster up any resentment for him, not anymore. In his own way, Rufus was trying to be nice. And with his bizarrely long lashes and yellow skin and spiked, silver hair, he was as much of a piece in the Capitol's game as Merlin and Gwen were. He just wasn't one of the pawns being sacrificed.

Merlin briefly wondered if Rufus had ever been allowed to be anything but this, this charade of a man. He felt almost bad for him. Until he realised that Merlin and Gwen were being taken to their deaths, while Rufus acted like he was was going to a party. Right. Maybe they weren't exactly the same, after all.

Still, it didn't matter. Rufus couldn't save him, either, so whatever he was or wasn't was irrelevant to Merlin now.

As they rose, Merlin caught his first glimpse of the Capitol, which was quickly approaching in the distance. And he had to admit, even in his state of semi-apathy, that it was breathtaking.

This, he thought, was something someone had built to inspire greatness. But now it was a circus, making a mockery of humanity. When had it all gone wrong? When had the world decided that the slaughtering of children was a fitting price to pay for any crime no one left alive had committed?

He would probably never find out. And soon, he would probably no longer care.

The train was slowing down. They were arriving.

"Try not to look as though you're going to the gallows, now!" Rufus chuckled, and Merlin nodded, taking it for the (tasteless) advice that it was. Next to him, Guinevere looked green.

"I'm not going to hold your hand this time," Merlin told her, and she looked to him, a slightly desperate look in her eyes. "It's not in your interest to look weak. So... you know, don't." He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and turned away before he could see her reaction. He didn't want to be doubting his decision, because then his resolve would waver. Even if they'd decided to do this together, this part they'd have to face alone. By allying himself with Gwen, Merlin realised that he had decided to play the game - and even if it wasn't quite the game the Capitol wanted him to play, that didn't mean there weren't still rules.

The train had stopped, and on the platform, Merlin saw them: The nothing people, as his father had called them, scoffing at the television when Merlin was very little. The ones whose children were safe, who never had to suffer hunger or pain. The ones, Balinor had explained, who are condemned to feel nothing, nothing but vapid joy, all the time. His father had pitied them, and now Merlin found that he did, too.

It was this, more than anything else, which gave him the strength to emerge from the train with a smile on his face, lifting his hand to greet the gathered crowd, which roared its approval. He grinned down at Gwen, trying to instil some of his false cheer in her, and was relieved to find her smiling shyly, too, looking out over the masses and probably locking eyes with as many people as she could. Forging a connection. Playing the game.

As they were led away by Rufus (Merlin had no idea where Gaius was, but he suspected that he was hiding in his carriage, refusing to leave before the crowd had dispersed), people pressed in against the barriers, their arms reaching out, desperate to be closer to their champions. Maybe a few of them would even be rooting for him, Merlin thought - although chances were that they'd be like this for all of the arriving tributes.

Still, he kept waving, and he kept smiling, and even reached out his free hand to touch some of the ones outstretched towards him - ignoring the impulse to shudder at the contact. He wondered what his mother and Will were thinking, watching him from the cold comfort of home. He wondered what Lancelot was doing, and if he could even bear to watch any of this. Merlin hoped he could. He hoped he saw how strong Gwen was being now, how brave she would be when the time came.

As they left the station and were led into a strange tunnel-like passage which would take them to their accommodation, Gwen let out a long sigh of relief.

"One down," she said quietly, and Merlin couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive. One challenge met and conquered, but the next would be ten times worse. And once they'd made it through them all, nothing awaited them but the Arena.

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Their view from the eleventh floor was astonishing. Merlin stood by the window in his room, which took up the entire wall, looking out over the Capitol. There were more electric lights than he'd ever seen in his life; back in District 11, they mainly lived by candlelight and carried lanterns and torches while they worked the fields at night. No one ever dropped those, as the penalty for burning any crops was the loss of a week's rations to make up for the discrepancy in production numbers. No one could afford that.

His own reflection stared back at him, translucent, already a ghost.

Merlin was one of the lucky ones, he reminded himself. He'd never starved, not really, and even though he was lean and narrow, the hard work of his District had left him with refined muscles and a healthy, if slightly pale, complexion. Too bad the Hunger Games wouldn't have him fighting fields of wheat, he thought with a wry chuckle.

He wondered what the potential sponsors would make of him, and what the crowds would think. He'd never had a reason to contemplate his appearance much before, and now, he couldn't see anything but an indistinct blue-eyed, dark haired boy from District 11 who looked like he didn't belong here. Merlin was already a stranger to his own eyes, and he wondered how he'd feel in the Arena, in the unlikely event he should come across a mirror in there. Who would he see staring back at him?

And what about Gaius, his mum back home, Will, Lancelot... who would they see, when they looked at Merlin through their television screens?

A knock came at his door and Rufus poked his head in uninvited. Merlin didn't turn around; he could see the shine of Rufus' teeth reflected in the surface of the window.

"It's dinner time!” Rufus enthused, his smile widening as he, too, caught sight of his own reflection in the glass. “Come along now, it's time to meet the competition."

Merlin frowned, wondering wildly whether they were all sitting down to eat together. But when he emerged in the dining room, the only people at the small table were Gwen, Gaius and Rufus, all lined up - and a giant television screen was sitting in front of them.

Great. They were going to see the other Reapings, too. So much for enjoying his food this time.

Merlin sat down on the end, next to Gwen. Merlin wondered whether sitting Gaius next to Rufus was wise, but he was glad that he and Gwen could take in the competition together - they would be facing the other twenty-two tributes together, after all.

Rufus turned on the TV, and the words The 57th Annual Hunger Games flashed across the screen.

"Good evening!" a familiar voice greeted cheerfully, and the beaming face of Caesar Flickerman appeared, looking just as it ever had - the one constant face every year; never changing, never aging. Merlin wondered who he'd sold his soul to for this seemingly eternal youth, and whether he'd even had a choice in the matter. "Welcome, everyone, to the 57th Annual Hunger Games. I am Caesar Flickerman, your host for this extraordinary event, and it is with great pleasure that I can introduce your twenty-four contestants! Now, watch closely, because one of these young faces will emerge as your victor." A chuckle. "But don't be too quick to place your bets. This year, anything could happen."

Merlin was vaguely aware of eating something, whatever was in front of him, but his eyes were glued to the screen. He couldn't help being morbidly curious. One of these people might be the one who killed him.

"Without further ago, meet your tributes from District 1," Caesar announced, and his face faded, to be replaced with two still images of a boy and a girl.

They were both beautiful. The girl had dark hair and green eyes, and she was as pale as Merlin himself - but her skin looked hard, like diamonds. He thought she looked terrifying.

Next to her, the picture of the boy stared out at Merlin impassively, and Merlin swallowed. His blond hair was artfully tousled and his blue eyes looked cold as steel. And for some reason, Merlin thought this one was perhaps even more dangerous than the girl, but he still found himself transfixed.

Underneath their images, the names appeared: Morgana Pendragon. Arthur Pendragon.

"They're related?" Gwen hissed under her breath. That hardly ever happened.

The images dissolved and footage from their Reaping replaced it. Both, as expected, were volunteers. Career tributes, Merlin thought grimly.

"We start off this year with a very unusual combination from District 1," Caesar's voice spoke, overlaying the images. "Morgana and Arthur Pendragon are brother and sister, and are both volunteers this year. And not only that, but this pair are second generation tributes - their father, of course, is Uther Pendragon, winner of the 32nd Hunger Games. He is also, incidentally, this year's District 1 mentor."

Merlin felt a chill run through him. He remembered seeing reruns of those Games, everyone did. Uther had been one of the most vicious killers the Games had ever seen. No wonder his children had both volunteered. But for the same year?

It looked like Tom Smith wasn't the only one losing two children to the Games, Merlin thought vaguely. Even though he couldn't help but think that Uther may very well get one of his back.

Caesar's monologue continued. "Morgana is eighteen years old, and this was her last chance to enter the Games. Many are speculating that she chose to volunteer with Arthur, who is one year her junior, because the pair plan to form an alliance inside the Arena. We shall have to wait and see," Caesar finished with a chuckle.

The screen switched back to Caesar's face, and he fixed the audience with a serious look. "But these are only two of the twenty-four contestants in this year's Hunger Games. It is time to meet our tributes from District 2."

And so it continued; Merlin hardly even registered the faces that popped up on the screen. His mind was still stuck on Arthur and Morgana Pendragon. The elites, the Careers. The team of trained killers, whose father had beaten his own supposed ally to death with a spade.

How could he or Gwen have any hope of surviving in the Arena, even for a day, against them?

But maybe it was for the best, going out quick. Although Merlin would never surrender himself to his fate - if for no other reason, then for Gaius' sake, seeing as he'd put himself back into the Capitol's hands to help Merlin and Gwen fight for their survival - he knew from all the past Games he'd had to sit through that the first deaths were usually the quickest, and the most painless. It was towards the end, when desperation and hunger and fear had driven the survivors to madness, that it got really bloody.

Merlin was glad he'd already managed to eat something, because he was no longer hungry at all. He glanced at Gwen's plate, which remained untouched, and he didn't blame her. She was probably thinking of Arthur and Morgana too, and of her own brother. At least she hadn't had to enter with Elyan, hadn't had to watch him die. She had only been eight years old at the time, and Elyan had been twelve. Tom hadn't let her watch that year.

Suddenly, Caesar said Merlin's name, and he started out of his reverie. "…the tributes from District 11. They may not look like much, but I have it on good authority that they can wield scythes with the best of them!"

Merlin looked over at Gaius, who was fuming. So much for not appearing weak, then. Apparently they were already the laughing stock of the Capitol.

"If you think Guinevere looks familiar," Caesar was saying now, and Merlin closed his eyes, hearing Gwen shift in her seat beside him. He wished he could spare her this - though logically he knew this was the least of the horrors that awaited his friend. "It might be because you remember her brother, the brave young Elyan Smith who made it all the way to the top three of his own Hunger Games at the tender age of twelve."

Merlin remembered that. He remembered sitting in the schoolyard with Gwen, letting her share with him her joy that her brother had made it this far, and her belief that he would keep his promise to come home to her. He also remembered Gwen coming to their house later that night, tears streaming down her face, and how he'd known that there was nothing he could do or say to make it better.

He never thought he could feel any worse than he'd felt that night, until now.

"And as for Merlin, well, not much is known about the mysterious seventeen-year-old charmer," Caesar continued, and Merlin frowned. Mysterious? Charmer? "But I'm sure that we'll soon be learning a lot more about him. At least I hope we will." And the screen cut from the footage of Merlin and Gwen's Reaping back to Caesar, who gave the camera a very saucy smile.

Merlin blinked.

As the District 12 tributes were announced, Merlin found himself unable to pay attention, still stuck on what Caesar had said.

"Well, that went better than it could have done," Gaius said, putting down his fork resolutely after the final tributes had been revealed and the words The 57th Annual Hunger Games rolled across the screen again, signalling the end of the broadcast.

"What do you mean?! That was a disaster!" Rufus hollered from Gaius' other side, and Merlin was surprised to find him sounding rather hysterical.

"No, you poor, clueless imbecile, it wasn't," Gaius said, and that shut Rufus up. "Caesar is a lot of things, but he has never been unfair. He painted Gwen and Merlin in the best possible light under the circumstances: as the wild cards. That is more than any of us could have hoped for."

Merlin tried to share in Gaius' cautious optimism, knowing that hopelessness was his most dangerous enemy right now. But he couldn't get the cold eyes of Arthur Pendragon out of his mind, and he was pretty sure that neither Morgana nor Arthur would care one bit about what kind of cards Merlin and Gwen were. They'd knock them down just as easily, as if they really were made of paper.

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His stylist's name was Freya. She was a willowy, frail-looking thing, and her hair was dyed a light green. With her pale skin and light green contacts, she looked like some kind of sea creature.

Nonetheless, Merlin found that he liked her. She was nice to him, and didn't pretend like he was on the greatest adventure of his life, and she worked with a quiet determination which under any other circumstances would have impressed him.

"I spoke to Gaius about your image," she said without preamble, after Merlin had found himself washed and scrubbed and polished by the rest of his prep team - a bizarre trio who had briefly introduced themselves as Edwin, Daegal and George, and had then proceeded to strip him bare before he'd even had a chance to shake their hands.

"Oh," Merlin said, sitting on a cot in front of her, feeling oddly like he was going in for a physical. At this point, he hardly felt like he had anything left to hide, but he still wished they'd let him put on more than his underwear before sending him to see Freya. "Er, and?"

"And I completely agree with his assessment," Freya nodded earnestly, eyes wide, as though she was imparting something of vital importance - and as far as Merlin knew, she was. "We need to keep you natural and mysterious. District 11 is known for sending hearty farmers to the Games, who tend to be ranked pretty solidly, but they never really stand out. But you..." she fixed him with an assessing look, and Merlin found himself blushing under her scrutiny. He wasn't used to being looked at like that. "You're something else. Something new," she finished, murmuring as if she was talking to herself.

"And... that's good?" He asked.

Freya's strange, ethereal eyes lost their dreamy quality, and in an instant she was all business again. "Yes, Merlin. That's good. Or at least it can be, if we play our cards right." She smiled, and Merlin found himself relaxing a little bit. The girl was peculiar, sure, but she was not half as bad as he had feared.

In the end, all she did to him was put on a light layer of something (he refused to think of is as makeup) on his face which she'd told him accentuates your cheekbones in a rather lovely way, and tousled his hair, making him look less proper and put together. Like a wild card.

Looking into the mirror afterwards, Merlin was relieved to still find himself looking back. And he looked good. Well, not Arthur Pendragon good, but he'd do.

For the Opening Ceremony, Freya had worked with Gwen's stylist to create the costumes. Merlin eyed the bag with worry - District 11 had a pretty spotty track record when it came to costumes. Last year's tributes had been dressed like scarecrows, and the year before they'd played up the scythe angle and dressed the poor souls like grim reapers. They'd both been taken out on the first day of the Games, and everyone speculated afterwards that the other tributes had simply been so creeped out that they'd wanted to eliminate them as early as possible.

But to his relief, he found Freya holding up a beautifully tailored dark green suit. The colour was both soothing and deep, and Merlin found himself transfixed by it. What kind of fabric had they used, to get that effect without tacky shimmering? These were the kinds of mysteries of the Capitol which Merlin would never get the answers to.

"We thought we would do something simple, but elegant," Freya said. "The thing everyone associates with your District is farming, of course, but this is so much more basic - this is nature, itself. And Guinevere will be wearing yellow, to represent the sun shining down on the fields. It will look lovely on her. But for you, I thought..." she suddenly looked worried, biting her lip. "Do you hate it?"

"Oh, no," Merlin shook his head vigorously, suddenly hating the idea of seeing Freya upset. "It's... everything I could have hoped for, under the circumstances," he said honestly.

To his surprise (and slight alarm), Freya's eyes began to well up with tears, and for a wild moment he worried that she'd throw herself at him - but then she smiled, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm glad. At least I can do this one thing for you, Merlin, however small."

And for some reason, as they shared a tentative smile, it felt like he had known this girl for a lot longer than a day.

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"How was your stylist?" Gwen whispered to him immediately after he came back; she seemed to have been waiting for him by the elevator.

"Freya? She was lovely," Merlin shrugged. "Why? How was yours?"

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Gwaine was ridiculous! All flailing hands and quirked smiles, so Capitol."

Merlin chuckled. As annoyed as she seemed to be, Gwen looked more alive than he'd seen her since the Reaping. He'd say that this Gwaine was probably doing something right, whether or not he'd meant to.

"Did you like your dress, though?" he asked.

"Oh," Gwen said, her face transforming almost immediately, "Merlin, it really is lovely. I am so glad we don't have to wear potato sacks."

They both grinned at the memory, then immediately sobered, realising that both of those tributes were dead now. Right. This was no time for laughter - even though Merlin thought they deserved the moment. For all he knew, it might be the last one they ever got.

"So, tonight we meet the others," he said, more to break the tension than anything else.

"You nervous?" Gwen asked him.

"Nah," he smiled. "I don't need to impress them, I've already got the best ally in the building."

Gaius cleared his throat and they both jumped, looking around guiltily. "An alliance, you say?" They both stayed quiet, and after a moment he gave them a small smile. "I'm glad. This makes it easier to talk strategy. And it never hurts to have a friend in there."

Merlin wondered if Gaius had had any friends in the Arena, back when he'd won the Games. He found that he didn't really want to know - because one thing he knew for certain was that you didn't win by having friends. At least not without having to put a knife in their back.

"Thanks, Gaius," Gwen said, smiling. "I'm glad you approve."

"Next time though, tell me if you make any big decisions like this," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm here to help you, you know."

"We know," Gwen and Merlin chorused.

"Good. Because tomorrow, the training begins. And I expect you both to be ready."

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One thing was seeing pictures the other tributes on a screen (and that had been intimidating enough). It was quite another to see them now, milling around, wearing costumes ranging from the ridiculous (those poor District 12 kids were wearing coal miner suits again) to the formidable - the District 6 tributes surprised everyone by arriving in silvery, skin-tight suits, little engines strapped to their feet which allowed them to hover off the ground. It wouldn't do them much good on the chariots, but it definitely made them look taller and more imposing now.

Merlin's eyes sought out the District 1 tributes immediately, and he was not really surprised to find them looking more spectacular than any of the other tribute pairs. While Morgana wore a stunning green gown with elaborate golden designs and a dangerously low, plunging neckline, Arthur was dressed in a fine red suit, which made him look like something out of a storybook – and, Merlin thought with annoyance, heart-meltingly handsome. Both Pendragons would probably have sponsors fighting each other for the privilege of sending them gifts.

He realised suddenly that he had probably been staring at Arthur for too long, and quickly shifted his eyes away - only to find his gaze caught by Uther Pendragon, who was watching him with the same cold, calculating eyes which Merlin recognised from the picture of his son.

Merlin looked away quickly, feeling like he'd been slapped. Uther was much older than the young man he'd seen on past Games reruns, but the relentless cruelty in his eyes had not been softened at all by the years that had passed. Uther looked as terrifying as the day he'd decapitated his fellow District 1 tribute with a wire.

Next to Merlin, Guinevere was fussing with her dress, clearly trying to avoid making eye contact with any of the other tributes. Merlin turned towards her, mostly to get away from Uther's scrutinizing gaze, and batted her hands away. "Here, let me," he murmured, reaching down to straighten a crease she'd been batting at. "Stop worrying, Gwen, you look fantastic." He smiled, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Gwen reached up and patted his hair down. "So do you. Very... mysterious." She drawled out the word and Merlin let out a startled laugh.

He didn't realise until Gwen's eyes widened fractionally that most of the people around them had turned at the sound, and he lifted his eyes warily, seeing many of the tributes staring at them in disbelief.

His eyes sought out Arthur Pendragon quite of their own accord, and found the other boy staring right back at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Merlin let himself hold the other boy's eyes, just a moment, hoping that he looked braver than he felt. He turned back to Gwen and squared his shoulders. "Forget them," he whispered as he reached out his arm to her, smiling as she accepted it. "Just because they're all a bunch of stick-in-the-muds doesn't mean we have to be, too."

Gwen sighed. "I can't believe I'm saying this, Merlin... but I'm glad you're here with me." She squeezed his arm. "I mean,” she added after a second, looking alarmed, “obviously I'm not glad you're here, but..."

Merlin shook his head. "I know what you mean. I'm glad and not glad you're here too, Gwen."

It was time to move to their chariots, and Gwen and Merlin moved through the crowd, ignoring the stares that followed them. Merlin didn't know what to make of it, the way they'd unintentionally drawn attention to themselves, and what it might mean. Were the other tributes worried that Merlin and Gwen had some secret weapon up their sleeve, and that's how they could find the ability to laugh at a time like this? Or were they jealous, seeing that the District 11 tributes, at least, were not doing this alone? Either way, he doubted that it boded well. But then, how could their chances possibly get any worse?

As their chariot moved into procession and they found themselves being pulled forwards, the excited screams of the crowd growing louder as they approached the narrow archway, Merlin grabbed Gwen's hand and held it firmly between them. They locked eyes, and shared a nod. It was time.

He tried to imagine them like others might see them: standing tall and proud in their gorgeous costumes, emitting nothing but grim resolve. Mysterious. His lip twitched. It was all so ridiculous, like dressing up corpses and putting them on display. It was so easy to condemn from the outside, and to dread... but right at this moment, he felt none of that pressure, none of the stone-cold terror which had threatened to drag him down into a bottomless pit of despair since his name was drawn from the bowl.

Their chariot burst into the stadium to the blinding lights and deafening yells of the people that would watch him die, but he blocked out all the sounds and sights around them, focusing his mind on the press of Gwen's hand in his own.

The sun and the earth, riding side by side to their doom. It was the end of the world, and Merlin had a front row seat.

Chapter Text

"What are your strengths?"

Merlin blinked, looking between Gaius and Gwen in confusion. "Erm," he said. "I can run pretty fast?"

Guinevere was nodding empathetically. "It's true, I've seen him run. He is very fast."

"That's pretty much it, though." Merlin offered Gaius a hapless shrug.

"Hmm," Gaius said, looking severely unimpressed. Merlin winced, feeling like he'd let the older man down somehow. "Guinevere, how about yourself?"

Gwen blushed. "Well, I mean, I'm not amazing but... I'm a pretty good shot. Me and my father, we hunt deer sometimes, when they enter the fields."

It was true. Gwen never missed. Merlin tried not to think of the implications of that.

"She's also deceptively strong," he added, feeling like he needed to remind himself that Gwen was on his side, and that her talent for killing things was a good thing.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "No stronger than anyone else would be if they had to haul sacks of flour every day for three months out of the year."

Merlin raised an eyebrow at Gaius. "See? Strong."

Gaius looked between Merlin and Gwen, nodding grimly. "Yes. Well, that I can work with."

The older man didn't look back at Merlin and Merlin tried very hard not to let the feeling of hopelessness overtake him once again.

Gaius had advised Gwen and Merlin to spread out to cover as many posts as possible during training. As always, the tributes had no idea what might await them in the Arena, and Gaius thought their chances would be better the more bases they had covered.

"You're both bright, adaptable young people," he had told them, "and ultimately, that will end up being your greatest strength, no matter the challenges posed to you."

He also advised them to keep a low profile. However they scored in front of the Gamemakers would obviously indicate how much of a threat the other contestants would view them as, but up until that point, there was no need to draw unnecessary attention to themselves.

No worries there, Merlin thought, surveying the hall. He and Guinevere had entered to find that most of the tributes had already arrived, clearly doing their best to stand out from the crowd.

He spotted the District 3 tributes over by the knife station; Morgause (a terrifying blonde girl who looked like she could hardly wait to get into the Arena) was throwing knives at a dummy with such perfect accuracy, Merlin felt a cold sense of dread threaten to suffocate him, and had to look away.

The District 12 tributes were likewise sticking together, listening attentively to the attendant at the camouflage station, and Merlin couldn't help feeling bad for the pair. They were among the youngest this year, and clearly both in way over their heads – and he thought their strategy of hiding was probably their best chance of making it. Well, making it through the first day, at least. He swallowed, trying not to think about the fact that out of the twenty-four gathered kids here, only one would walk out alive.

He couldn't help but let his eyes wander, seeking out the one person who seemed the clear favourite to win it all.

A handful of tributes were gathered in the fighting ring, cheering on as two people battled with long, polished staffs. Merlin recognised Arthur Pendragon immediately: his blonde hair was in disarray and his face a mask of cold concentration as he parried the blows of the massive dark-haired man he was fighting.

"That's Valiant. District 2," a cool female voice said in his ear, and Merlin started. He turned to find himself face to face with Morgana Pendragon, who was watching the fight with a calculating look in her eyes. "We might ally ourselves with him. Haven't decided yet though, he is a bit of a brute."

Her eyes flickered sideways, giving him a quick once-over before looking back towards the ring.

"You're Merlin," she said. It wasn't a question. He wished he'd taken more time to memorise the names of the other tributes, but every time he'd tried, he'd felt sick knowing that in a few days, most of them would be dead.

Merlin watched Morgana out of the corner of his eye, trying to appear casual and not at all disturbed by the fact that one of the Career tributes was speaking to him as though they'd met in the park and the weather was particularly noteworthy that day. "Yes," he said at last, when it became apparent that she was waiting for a response.

"It's odd, isn't it?" she asked. Her voice was distant, as though she was hypnotized by the movement of her brother and his opponent as they danced around the ring. "In three days the whole country will be watching as we slaughter each other on live television. But I could reach out and snap your neck right now, and the whole Capitol would be flung into a state of panic."

It wasn't her words that chilled Merlin to the bone – although they certainly didn't help – it was the calm, detached way in which she was speaking them.

"Well," he found himself saying, surprised when his voice came out steady, betraying none of the sudden panic he felt, "are you going to?"

To his further surprise, Morgana let out a light, tinkering laugh, looking for all the world like he had just told her a wonderful joke. "Of course not, Merlin. They would kill my entire family. But..." she paused, her voice taking on that faraway tone again. "I could do it. And no matter what happened next, that would be something I chose to do, not something I was made to. Something they wouldn't expect."

Merlin wanted to point out that she had volunteered for this entire thing, and that unlike the rest of them she'd actually had a choice. But there was something about her words that stopped him. They read like a thinly veiled threat, yes, but they also spoke of a defiance towards the Capitol which he wouldn't have imagined Morgana to have, considering her District. And so he stayed silent, watching her, waiting for a clue as to what game she was playing.

But after a moment more, she shook her head as though coming out of a trance. "Look alive out there, Merlin. While you can," Morgana said with a mocking edge of cheerfulness to her voice, walking off without another word, clapping him on the shoulder (rather forcefully) as she went - towards the ring and the group of people who would probably end up causing his death.

Merlin stayed where he was for a moment, trying to process the information he had just been given. Surely exposing a weakness like that, whether or not Morgana meant it as a threat, was something he should take note of?

But then, if Morgana's strategy was to play mind games with her competition to throw them off their game, it had certainly worked on him – and he hated how easily he had let himself get sucked in. But he couldn't help it. There was something in her voice, a hopelessness he would never otherwise have associated with the lithe, proud beauty who was now cheering on her brother as he rammed his staff into Valiant's side and sent the other man stumbling to the ground.

After learning to tie a few different kinds of knots at the rope station next to District 7 tributes, Merlin noticed Gwen leaving the archery station and headed over there.

He had absolutely no prior knowledge of archery, and he was pretty sure he was going to fail miserably. But there was no use worrying about that now. He had promised Gaius to visit as many posts as he could.

Merlin walked over to the official to receive some basic instructions, and lined up next to the boy from District 5.

"Tristan, right?" Merlin asked, just to fill the silence as he fiddled with his bow.

Tristan – a sallow-faced boy of about 15 with dirty blonde hair and a permanent scowl on his face – shot him a suspicious look but said nothing.

"I'm Merlin," Merlin supplied, for lack of anything better to say.

"I don't care," Tristan bit out, letting his arrow fly and smirking when it hit the target dead centre.

"Fine," Merlin rolled his eyes, trying to find the right way to get the arrow to stick on the string, but it kept slipping off.

After a few moments of very embarrassing fiddling, Tristan huffed out an annoyed breath and yanked the bow from Merlin. "You're doing it wrong." He fitted the arrow correctly on the string and handed the bow back to Merlin, turning back to string his own bow once more.

"Oh, er, thanks," Merlin said.

"It's not going to help you in there, you know," Tristan added, not looking at him. "If you can't string a bow within the first second, what use will it be to you if a Career is charging your way?"

Merlin sighed. "I know. I just have to try."

Tristan let another arrow fly, which hit the centre of the target again, right next to the first. Merlin tried raising the bow and let the arrow fly – it soared through the air and clattered to the ground halfway down the track. He felt his face redden and tried to ignore the sniggers coming from somewhere behind him.

He turned to find Tristan watching him again, with the same sour look as before, but he thought he sensed something else in his eyes, too. Something like pity. He thinks I don't stand a chance, Merlin realised with a sinking feeling. And maybe he's right.

"Look, it's not actually that hard, you just have to apply more pressure," Tristan said, sighing. "Get another arrow and try again."

Now it was Merlin's turn to be suspicious. "Why are you helping me?"

Tristan shrugged his shoulders. "None of us want to be here." His eyes flickered to the group of Careers and he amended, "well, almost none of us. I've got a girl back home, you know, and I'm going to be doing anything to get back to her... but we're not in the Arena yet. Let's save the fighting for then."

As Tristan guided him through his next couple of shots (on the fifth try he actually hit the target – even if it was the wrong target), Merlin wondered how any of these people could transform into the savage, wild-eyed killers he'd seen in previous Hunger Games. All of those kids had been like this once, too; overwhelmed and frightened and trying to pretend like their lives were still civilized and normal. What changed? If it could change the others, would it change Merlin, too? Once the Games began, would he be able to look Tristan in the eyes and end his life, if he had the opportunity?

More likely than not, Merlin imagined that it would be people like Arthur and Morgana who would take them all out as they struggled through the final days of their lives. They could shut off their emotions in the way that Tristan was clearly trying and failing to do, and which Merlin already knew that he would never be able to. Was this ability, more than the practical skills, the reason why so many victors came from the Career Districts?

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. It was no use worrying about it now. He tried to block out all the sounds from around him, tried to forget about the fact that there were probably half a dozen people looking his way, assessing him, judging the level of threat he presented. Focus, he thought, envisioning the target, how Tristan's arrow had shot through the air and embedded itself deep within it.

Merlin let the arrow fly, and heard the thunk! as it embedded itself – and opened his eyes to find it stuck straight in the centre of his own target.

Looking round, Merlin found Tristan gaping for a moment, before the younger boy realised he was being watched and schooled his expression into one of disinterest.

"Beginner's luck," Tristan mumbled, and Merlin said nothing, thinking Tristan was probably right. Although, he couldn't help but note, it wasn't the first time he could remember aiming at something and seeing it hit home. In fact, when his father had still been alive, Balinor used to take him out to the edge of the field and line up old cans for Merlin to aim rocks at, and Merlin had never missed. But that was a long time ago, and Merlin hadn't been back there since his father had been killed.

After another twenty minutes, he and Tristan awkwardly parted ways, and Merlin thought he might ask Gwen and Gaius whether they should suggest an alliance – but he honestly didn't see a reason why Tristan would ally himself with them. Besides, like Gwen, Tristan had someone to come home to, and that made him dangerous. Unpredictable. No, best not risk it. Merlin had to try to remember that none of these kids could be trusted, because ultimately they would always put themselves first. As they should.

The second day of training went much the same as the first. Merlin moved from station to station, picking up whatever little helpful tips the attendants were able to give him, relieved that the Careers seemed to mostly be keeping to themselves.

He also kind of made a friend.

Tyr Seward, the male tribute from District 8, was a heavy-set boy of roughly the same age as Merlin, and he was terrified of everything – including Merlin, at first. He had been standing at the camouflage station when Merlin approached, and had almost jumped out of his skin when Merlin had introduced himself, but seeing that Merlin wasn't trying to intimidate him Tyr had quickly taken a liking to Merlin and had been following him around ever since.

At first he was doing it covertly, hovering a bit away from whichever station Merlin had been at and then moving closer just as Merlin left, pretending to change his mind and following Merlin to the next station instead.

In the end, Merlin had taken pity on the boy, who was clearly wasting valuable training time. So at the station identifying plants and insects Merlin had pulled him over, forcing him to at least listen to the attendant's explanation.

Tyr had looked grateful (but no less terrified), and Merlin had felt oddly warmed by the boy's hesitant behaviour. Tyr, at least, was not acting like a tribute yet, and that felt strangely reassuring. Merlin learned that he'd left behind a mother back home, like Merlin, and that he had been working as her assistant; she was a seamstress and provided the Capitol with some of the lovely fabrics he'd seen people wear – to Merlin's delight, Tyr was able to tell him a bit about what he'd been wearing at the opening ceremony, and they found themselves laughing as Tyr regaled him with the story of his own stylist (who had dressed Tyr and his fellow tribute Drea in costumes that made them look like a pair of rainbows, as she hadn't been able to decide on a fabric colour and had ended up using all of them).

Once, Merlin caught Gwen's eye from across the room and she raised an eyebrow at him, but at dinner that night she made no mention of Merlin spending time with Tyr. Merlin was a bit relieved by this, as he wasn't sure whether to invite the boy to join their alliance or not. Every part of him was screaming out that Tyr needed protection, that Merlin couldn't possibly send him out into the Arena on his own... but another, more selfish part recognised that Tyr was probably the least useful ally he and Gwen could possibly make, and he didn't want to do anything which might put Gwen at risk.

Before they knew it, it was time for the evaluations. Merlin found himself close to paralysed with fright as he waited outside the room, watching the Tributes disappear through the door one by one. Next to him Gwen fidgeted, but Merlin privately didn't think she had a reason to worry – she had plenty to show them, after all, unlike him.

Last night, Gaius had taken him aside and asked whether he'd thought of anything to show them. Merlin shamefully remembered telling Gaius that yes, he knew exactly what to do – but that had been a big fat lie.

What had training accomplished? Sure, Merlin could probably identify a few poisonous plants, and he could tie knots, and sort of use a bow and arrow. But how did he have any hope of impressing the Gamemakers, especially seeing as he was the fourth to last to see them? They'd be bored out of their minds already, and it probably required something formidable to even catch their attention.

At least they weren't District 12, he thought, peering at the two kids sitting on the other side of Gwen. They were holding hands, and the boy looked close to tears. No, it could be a lot worse.

Before he knew it, Merlin's name was called, and he rose. Gwen touched his arm briefly, and he turned back to see her give him a small smile of encouragement. Did she think he had a plan, too? Or did she know, having seen him in training, that there was nothing for him to show them?

He thought briefly of just sprinting through the room a few times, showing his speed – but surely that wasn't what they were looking for?

Walking in, Merlin saw the Gamemakers sitting on their raised platform, and took a deep breath. Most of them paid him no interest as he walked in, except for one: the head Gamemaker, Kilgharrah Fiero, was watching him with sharp eyes and Merlin shuddered under his gaze. That man had always scared him; he looked like he could eat you alive.

"Ah, our young District 11 tribute," Kilgharrah called, and the din of chatter died down. Merlin recognised a few of the other Gamemakers – Agravaine du Bois and Bayard Mercia – and swallowed. He would find no compassion from these people, the ones who heartlessly orchestrated the slaughter of innocent children, tailoring their deadly challenges for the enjoyment of the masses.

"Erm, good afternoon," Merlin called, and his words rang in his ears in the silence that followed. At that moment he felt very, very small.

"What have you got to show us today, Merlin Emrys?" Kilgharrah called out.

Merlin looked around the room, noticing all of the weapons they'd had access to in training, and his eyes fell on the row of spears. He never had visited that station, but...

His lessons with his father came back to him, and in that moment Merlin realised that there was one thing he could do in front of the Gamemakers, even if he had refused to let himself properly access the memory before now.

Not daring to glance at the Gamemakers Merlin strode towards the row of spears, and selected one at random.

He faced the targets, and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, letting himself remember.

Come on Merlin, just try again.

Father, please, can't we just go home?

Not until you get this right, Merlin, I know you can do it.

How? Just because you've always been able to...

Merlin, listen to me. I may not have a lot to offer you or your mother, but there has always been one thing I could do for you: teach you this skill, as my father taught me. Believe me when I tell you that you can do this if you set your mind to it. Just envision where you want the rock to go, and throw it, and it'll happen.

You don't know that.

I do know that, Merlin. And you need to know it too, with such a certainty that it becomes impossible for you to miss. I know you've got it in you. Just give it another go.

His father had spent hours out there with him, teaching Merlin to throw, and Merlin had learned. But then Balinor had died, and Merlin had never gone back. It was a useless skill, he'd told himself, one he'd never need. Until now. He wondered if that had been why Balinor had been so insistent on Merlin learning, if perhaps he'd been as scared of Merlin's name being drawn for the Hunger Games as Merlin himself.

In his mind, Merlin saw the spear hit the target. Without letting go of that image he let the the spear fly through the air, and he knew with an absolute certainty that it was going to hit home.

And when he opened his eyes, it had. He turned tentatively towards the Gamemakers, who were watching him with interest, and let out a sigh of relief.

"Impressive," Kilgharrah called, sounding almost encouraging. "But can you do it again?"

"Yes," Merlin said confidently, and that got a chuckle out of a few of the Gamemakers – he hoped that was a good sign. Turning back, Merlin selected another spear, and repeated the process. This time though, he didn't just want it to hit the target. He closed his eyes, and let go.

Thunk!

He heard a few gasps and Merlin's eyes flew open, to see the spear having embedded itself clean through the first, carving it neatly down the middle.

He couldn't help the grin that formed on his face. I knew you had it in you, son, his father's voice rang in his head.

"Very good," Agravaine spoke up, and Merlin turned to see him leaning slightly forward in his chair, looking impressed. "Again."

And so it went on, until Merlin had gone through the entire row of spears. At the end, a few of the Gamemakers clapped, and Merlin couldn't believe this was really happening.

He left the room in a bit of a euphoric state – he'd done it! Whatever score he received, Merlin knew he'd done his best in there, and he thought he might even have made that all-important impression on the Gamemakers.

Merlin was so engrossed in his relief that he almost ran headfirst into Arthur Pendragon, who was hovering on the other side of the door.

"Hey! Watch it, Eleven!" Arthur exclaimed, and Merlin looked up in surprise.

"Oh, um, sorry," he said, attempting to dart around Arthur, but the other boy intercepted him. "What now?" Merlin asked tiredly. Honestly, he was in far too good of a mood to want to deal with Arthur Pendragon right now.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "What did you do in there? When you came out, you were smiling. Why?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "What's it to you? I'm sure you'll score your perfect twelve, so why don't you save it for the Arena?"

Arthur looked taken aback, and Merlin realised he probably hadn't expected Merlin to be so unimpressed with Arthur's attempt at intimidation – after all, all the other tributes, apart from Morgana and a few of the other Careers, were terrified of him. He stepped closer, and Merlin resisted the urge to take a step back. Instead he straightened up to remind them both that while Arthur might have a good thirty pounds on him (probably all muscle mass, too), Merlin was, in fact, a little bit taller.

Just as Arthur opened his mouth to say what would probably have been something terribly insulting, Tyr Seward ran up to them, breathing heavily from the exertion.

"Merlin, there you are, I've-" Tyr faltered, eyes darting between Merlin and Arthur. Merlin coughed and stepped back; he didn't realise how close they'd been standing. "Um, I, is everything... alright here? Should I go get someone?"

Arthur rounded on Tyr, eyes narrowed. "Why don't you just stay out of what doesn't concern you and go enjoy whatever remaining hours you have left, Eight? I'm sure it can't be many," he added nastily, and Merlin watched with horror as Tyr recoiled, his eyes welling up with tears.

"Hey!" Merlin said angrily, "I don't know what the fuck your problem is, One, but you have no right talking to anyone that way."

Tyr forgotten, Arthur spun around, taking a step closer to Merlin until they were practically chest to chest. "What are you, protector of the small? I've seen you, you know," Arthur hissed, "trying to make friends. Well, let me tell you something, you can't. In two days, you're probably going to die, and I'm probably going to be the one who kills you. So go on, tell me more about how I need to be more polite to you."

As Arthur glared at him, chest heaving, Merlin thought he saw the slightest hint of desperation in his eyes - just for a split second - but then it was gone, and Arthur looked as cruel and stuck up as ever.

And that was why Merlin pushed him.

He hadn't planned on doing it, but something about Arthur Pendragon just made Merlin so angry. And Arthur clearly hadn't seen it coming either, because he stumbled backwards, eyes widening as he lost his footing and fell, colliding hard with the stone floor.

Merlin's eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

"What is going on here?!" a new voice exclaimed, and Merlin felt his blood run cold. He knew that voice.

"Father," Arthur said, picking himself off the floor quickly and turning as Uther Pendragon approached, storming down the hallway with murder in his eyes. Merlin instinctively took a step back. "It was nothing, I just-"

Uther pushed past Arthur and grabbed Merlin's collar, twisting it so hard Merlin gasped. He found himself pushed up against the wall and stared, wide-eyed, as Uther Pendragon's cold eyes bore into his own. "You dare to assault my son, boy? Do you think the rules don't apply to you?"

Merlin scrambled to loosen Uther's hold on him, but the older man had an iron grip. "N- no," he gasped, "I just-"

"Father, stop," Arthur's voice came behind him. "It was a misunderstanding. I came back here to wait for you, I thought you'd be in there already-"

"You be silent!" Uther exclaimed, eyes still on Merlin, but there was a flash of panic there mixed in with the fury.

"Yes, Father," Arthur said quietly, and out of the corner of his eye Merlin saw him step back, chagrined.

"You," Uther snarled at Merlin, "say nothing of this, to anyone. Do you understand me?"

Merlin tried to nod, letting out a strangled noise he hoped Uther took as consent. He was starting to see spots.

"Good. Because if you do, you will not like the consequences. And that is a promise." Uther said, voice like ice, and Merlin absolutely believed him. "Run along now."

Uther loosened his hold on Merlin and stepped back, and Merlin stumbled forward, gasping, trying to catch his breath. "Go," Uther snarled, and Merlin moved away, grateful when Tyr hurried over to steady him.

Arthur stood off to the side, watching Merlin and Tyr leave, his expression unreadable.

"Thanks," Merlin croaked when they'd reached the other end of the corridor.

"What was that all about?" Tyr asked nervously, glancing back. Following his gaze, Merlin saw that Uther now had Arthur by the arm, speaking intently. Arthur stared at the ground, cheeks flaming in anger or embarrassment. He heard the words, "make me proud" and "you must never," but then they moved too far away to be able to make out anything else.

Merlin didn't answer. He had no idea. But one thing was certain: the fact that Uther Pendragon was apparently trying to weasel his way in to see the Gamemakers could mean nothing good – especially if he was willing to let Merlin go unpunished if it meant he'd keep his secret.

Arthur Pendragon: 12

"Well, no surprise there," Gwen murmured from beside Merlin. They were watching the rankings being announced, and Gwen had been fidgeting ever since leaving her own evaluation. She'd been completely unwilling to talk about how it went, but had seemed relieved when Merlin had shared his success with her.

Merlin watched as Morgana Pendragon also received a 12, as Valiant received a 10, and then as the female District 2 tribute, Vivian, scored a 6.

"Poor girl," Gwen said quietly. "Must be hard being raised a Career and then getting a mediocre score like that."

Merlin glanced over at Gwen, and resisted the urge to lean over and hug her. Only Gwen would find it in herself to reserve compassion for the Career tributes.

He was unsurprised when Tyr Seward's name came up on the screen, next to a big, flashing 3.

Gwen winced. Merlin took a deep breath, wondering how Tyr was feeling. Surely he wasn't surprised – but a score like that was practically a death sentence. Now there was someone they should feel sorry for, not those bloody Careers.

Before he knew it, it was time for the District 11 scores to be revealed.

Gwen reached over and took his hand. "It'll be fine," she whispered. "Whatever happens."

Merlin nodded, unable to speak. He'd done well, he reminded himself. No need to be so nervous. Gwen was right, it would be just fine.

His name and ranking flashed up on the screen.

Merlin Emrys: 4

Gwen gasped, both hands flying up to cover her mouth. Merlin was left gaping at the screen, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

"What?!" Gwen exclaimed, so outraged on his behalf it might have been funny, under any other circumstances. "Merlin, you told us it went well! What happened?"

Merlin shook his head, unable to speak. He'd gotten a four. He couldn't even feel upset, only a numb kind of shock. He didn't understand.

They almost missed Gwen's ranking – Gwen cast one look at the 8 flashing on the screen and turned her attention back to Merlin, looking worried.

"Well done, Gwen," Merlin said quietly. "En eight. I mean, wow." His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

"Yes," Gaius spoke, his voice quiet. Merlin couldn't tell if he was disappointed, and he didn't really want to know. "Well done, Gwen. An eight is a very good score."

Gwen shook her head, "Don't change the subject. Merlin, you said the Gamemakers clapped when you left, you said you threw every spear perfectly! This doesn't make any sense."

"Guinevere is right, Merlin," Gaius said. "Is there something you're not telling us?"

He thinks I lied, Merlin thought, fighting against the growing sense of hopelessness which threatened to overwhelm him. He thinks I failed him. And what about his mother, back in District 11? How upset she must be now, how disappointed. The one thing he'd never wanted to do had been disappointing his mother – she already had to lose her only child to the Hunger Games, the least he could do was make her proud.

Make me proud.

Unbidden, Uther Pendragon's face swam into his mind, and he imagined how smug the older man would be right now, sitting with Arthur and Morgana, celebrating their perfect scores.

Uther Pendragon, who had slammed him up against the wall after his altercation with Arthur. Uther Pendragon, who had been trying to sneak in to see the Gamemakers...

Oh, no.

But, no, he wouldn't have. He couldn't have, surely? Merlin shook his head, but once the idea was there he couldn't get it out of his mind: after Merlin's run-in with Arthur, Uther had somehow convinced the Gamemakers to change his score. There could be no other reason for it; Merlin knew that his display had to have been worth more than a four. Uther must have something on them, Merlin realised, or maybe he paid them off, he was definitely rich enough...

Either way, if Uther Pendragon wielded that kind of power, there was no way one of his children weren't walking out of that Arena alive.

Merlin glanced at Gwen, who was still watching him with worry in her eyes, and felt sick. People like Guinevere, like Tyr, like Tristan... they'd never even stood a chance at all. They thought these scores meant something, thought they were actually walking into the Arena with a fighting chance...

"I'm going to bed," Merlin announced, ignoring Gaius and Gwen's protests. He couldn't do this, not right now. Couldn't sit here and speculate about what their scores might mean when he already knew it was all meaningless, that the Games were probably already decided before they'd even begun.

It took a long time for Merlin to fall asleep that night – every time he closed his eyes, the giant 4 flashed up behind his eyelids, mocking him. It transformed into Arthur's face, and then Uther's and Morgana's, and they were all laughing at him, holding up giant signs that read 4 and throwing them at his head, never missing.

When he woke up, Merlin didn't feel rested at all.

It was the final day before the Games. Today, Merlin and Gwen would meet with Gaius to talk strategy, and then with their stylists again to prepare for the final interviews.

Merlin went to breakfast, unsurprised to find Gaius and Gwen already sitting down, talking quietly. Mulishly, Merlin ignored them, sitting as far away from them as possible. He didn't want their pity – but maybe they didn't have any for him. Maybe they'd decided to give him up as a bad job and just prepare Gwen to face the Games alone. After all, with her eight, she could probably make some decent alliances.

He scowled into his porridge.

"Merlin," Gwen said carefully, "me and Gaius have been talking, and-"

"And you want to be coached alone from now on, right? That's fine, I get it." Merlin tried to appear casual, like he didn't even care. "I mean, I wouldn't want- ow!"

He looked up in shock just in time to see Gwen aiming another bread roll at his head, but this time he was ready for it and ducked, picking up a giant strawberry and lobbing it at her, feeling a little better when it hit her square in the forehead.

Gwen giggled as bits of strawberry trickled down her nose.

Merlin tried and failed to fight a smile, and had to hide his face behind his hand, but the damage was done. Damn Gwen and her stupid niceness.

"Merlin," Gaius said, admonishing though clearly amused with their antics. "As Guinevere was trying to say, we have decided that your abysmal score -" Gwen shot him a warning look but he ignored her, "- is nothing to worry about. In fact, if you really have as impeccable of an aim as it would appear, the other tributes underestimating you can only be a good thing."

Merlin paused, trying very hard to find fault in that logic... but to his slight annoyance, that actually made a lot of sense.

"I wasn't lying, you know," he mumbled, just for good measure.

"Oh, Merlin, no one thinks you were," Gaius assured him. "In fact, knowing your father like I did, I was not surprised at all when you first told me of your ability."

"You make it sound like I've got some kind of superpower."

Gaius shrugged. "Maybe you do. Your father certainly had an uncanny ability to never miss, once he'd set his mind to hit something. But that doesn't change the fact that for whatever reason, the Gamemakers decided not to award you the points you deserved."

Merlin wondered briefly whether he should tell Gwen and Gaius about what had happened after his evaluation yesterday, but he'd already convinced himself that it was a bad idea – he didn't know how far Uther Pendragon's reach really went, and he couldn't risk endangering either of them. So he only nodded, hoping Gaius wouldn't question him about it further.

"Either way, Merlin, if you think something like this would make me reconsider an allegiance with you, you're an idiot," Gwen said, and she sounded slightly hurt even as she tried to keep the tone of the conversation light.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was just..."

She smiled. "No, I get it. I think everyone's probably a little on edge right now."

Merlin thought of Arthur Pendragon's behaviour yesterday, and his own reaction to the other boy's goading, and had to acknowledge that Gwen was probably right.

Of course, considering they were entering a fight to the death in less than twenty-four hours, he supposed they shouldn't really be beating themselves up about it now.

"Alright," Merlin said, returning her smile. "Let's talk strategy."

For their interview outfits, Freya and Gwaine had outdone themselves. Merlin and Gwen met with them individually first, then Gwaine and Gwen appeared at Freya's door for the final, joint fitting.

Gwaine was every bit as Capitol as Gwen had described, but Merlin found it a refreshing change of pace. And as much as Merlin liked Freya, he kind of wished he could have gotten to spend a little more time with the carefree – and, well, charming – man.

"Was he this flirty with you?" Merlin whispered to Gwen after Gwaine had measured his inseam for the third time, his comments getting more and more lewd.

Gwen wrinkled her nose. "Well... kind of. But he definitely seems more into you." She paused, shooting Merlin a significant look, and he had to laugh.

"Right. Cause that's what I'm looking for right now, thanks Gwen."

Gwen shrugged. "I don't know. If Lancelot was here..." she trailed off, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Gwen," Merlin sighed, wrapping his arms around her as she broke down, sobbing into his shoulder. George approached, probably to make sure they didn't rip their costumes, but Merlin sent him such a scathing look the other man actually flinched away.

"I'm sorry," Gwen sniffled after a few more moments, "I'm getting your jacket all wet."

"Screw the jacket," Merlin murmured, stroking her hair, and got a watery chuckle from her efforts.

"Oh, this is all so stupid," Gwen whispered. "I am actually standing here trying to convince myself that I'll see him again, but..."

"Hey," Merlin said, putting his hands on her shoulders and pushing her far enough away that he could catch her eyes. Silent tears were still running down her cheeks, completely ruining her makeup, but she still looked beautiful. "Don't ever stop believing that, okay? Promise me. You have to see it, Gwen. See yourself walking out of that Arena, and stepping off the train, and into Lancelot's arms."

"But-" Gwen started.

"No. Just close your eyes, and see it."

Gwen looked like she was going to protest, but after a moment she sighed, and nodded, closing her eyes. "I see it," she whispered.

"Good," Merlin said. And in that moment, he saw it too – Lancelot's relief, Gwen's tears, Tom's wide smile – and wondered why it felt like he had just sent Gwen speeding on a path towards home.

Someone cleared their throat quietly and Merlin and Gwen turned to find Freya standing there, looking anxiously between them.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt, but Guinevere, your makeup..." and she truly did look sorry.

Gwen did her best to smile. "I know, I'm sorry. Can you fix it?"

Freya smiled – relieved, probably, that she was able to help. "Yes, of course. Come with me we'll sort it out at once. You'll look prettier than ever, I promise."

She held out a hand, and Gwen graciously took it, letting herself be led out of the room. Leaving Merlin with Gwaine and the prep team.

"You really want your friend to win, don't you?" Gwaine asked, raising one carefully plucked eyebrow.

Merlin shrugged, playing with the hem of his sleeve. Gwaine batted his hand away, and began sowing on a little golden band.

After a moment, Gwaine added, "You don't seem the type to have a death wish, though. Is it because of your score?"

"No," Merlin said quietly, finding himself a little unsettled by Gwaine's surprisingly somber mood. "I just... the moment my name was called, I think I just knew that I would never be coming home again." His own words surprised him – he hadn't realised until that moment that it was the truth. He snorted.

"What's so funny?" Gwaine asked, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly as he moved on to the other sleeve.

"It's just, of all people, you're the one who got me to acknowledge that."

Gwaine winked, but it didn't quite have the same spark as before. "I've been told I have that effect on people."

"Right." Merlin paused. "Gwaine, how many tributes have you been a stylist for?"

Gwaine's hands stilled, and Merlin watched as the other man's expression shuttered. For a moment, he looked almost normal. "You'll be my fifth," he whispered.

"Must be rough."

Gwaine tried for a smile, but it fell a little flat. "Nah. I can't complain. I'm not the one going into the Arena, after all." His eyes darted around and Merlin looked up to see the prep team watching them, only to quickly look away and pretend they were busy sorting out fabrics. Right, of course – the Capitol's eyes were everywhere, and the tributes probably weren't the only ones being watched.

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you're doing it right."

This time, Gwaine did smile – and Merlin realised that for all the other man's winks and laughs and awkward come-ons, this might be the first genuine smile he'd seen him give. It made him feel a little better, having forged that connection; even if Gwen's implied suggestion had been wholly inappropriate, Merlin found that it was nice to remind himself of what real life was like, and to engage with someone who'd actually be alive long enough to experience it.

"Thanks," Gwaine said, and Merlin watched the cocky mask slip back into place. "For what it's worth, if you were from the Capitol..."

Merlin laughed. "Just keep sowing, Gwaine."

That evening, Merlin and Gwen arrived in the room where they'd wait to be called in for their interviews to find most of the tributes already there.

Arthur saw him immediately, and he looked so satisfied with himself Merlin thought he knew what was coming.

"Hey everyone, it's Eleven!" Arthur called loudly, and several of the Career tributes laughed. "Or, I'm sorry, should I call you Four?"

"Ignore him," Gwen said under her breath, grabbing a hold of Merlin's arm, "ignore him, ignore him, ignore him."

"Oh come on, what are you so afraid of, Four? Combined, you and your girlfriend have the same score as me!" More laughter, although Merlin noted that Morgana didn't laugh – she was merely looking at Merlin with an impassive expression he couldn't interpret.

Merlin wondered if Arthur knew what his father had been doing with the Gamemakers, and whether or not he knew that Merlin's score had probably been tampered with. He doubted it'd even make a difference though, if he did. Arthur would probably think he had it coming.

"You're really not going to stand up for yourself?" Arthur asked, throwing up his arms. "Jeez, I thought you might want to try and prove to everyone you weren't such a loser."

Merlin saw Tyr wince, and his heart sank – how must he feel, having gotten a three? "I don't know, Pendragon, I don't think there's enough loser to go around what with the way you're making such an ass out of yourself," he said calmly, choosing a seat on the other side of the room and pulling Gwen down with him.

A shocked silence followed, and Merlin resisted the urge to look up. Arthur couldn't attack him here, there were witnesses. He knew it wasn't wise to taunt another tribute (especially not a Career who'd scored a perfect twelve) on the eve before the Games, but at this point, it hardly mattered. There was nothing but bad blood between Arthur and himself, and Merlin could only hope that he miraculously managed to steer clear of the other boy in the Arena.

The silence was only broken when a tall, handsome lady whose nametag read Catrina walked into the room, heels clacking, and announced, "Morgana Pendragon, if you please."

Morgana rose, her deep blue evening gown falling in waves around her, shimmering and flowing like it really was made of water. Merlin saw her and Arthur lock eyes briefly, the barest of nods passing between them, and then she left without a word – leaving a slightly less tense, but much more awkward silence behind her.

Merlin dared one more look at Arthur, but he was looking down at his clenched fists, cheeks burning. Great, Merlin thought, now I've offended him. If only my words were like knives. Slightly appalled with his violent train of thought, Merlin shook his head, turning his attention to the screen where Morgana's interview was beginning.

To the surprise of no one, Morgana was nothing but endearing politeness, giggling at all the right moments and charming the pants off everyone in the audience – for not to mention Caesar himself, who by the end of the interview was practically down on one knee proposing. She graciously waved at the crowd as she made her exit, and was sent off the stage with an ear-splitting roar of approval.

Good luck following that, Arthur, Merlin thought, feeling cruel but not caring a bit.

Annoyingly, it turned out that Arthur didn't need any luck at all.

"So, Arthur," Caesar started, as the other boy sat himself down, careful not to wrinkle his annoyingly immaculate black suit. "You'll be facing your sister Morgana in the Arena – the lovely girl we just met -" he paused, allowing the crowd to go wild once more, "- how could you volunteer for the Games, knowing you won't both be able to make it out alive?"

"Well, Caesar," Arthur began, leaning back in his chair as though he owned the place, "when your father is Uther Pendragon, competitiveness sort of runs in your blood."

Way to play the daddy card, Merlin thought sourly.

"Ah, yes, Uther Pendragon is a bit of a legend of course," Caesar agreed, and the crowd clapped respectfully. "But surely he can't be happy that his only two children have to face each other in the Games?"

Arthur shrugged, shifting. "He actually encouraged us to enter together. I suppose..." he paused, looking down and then back up at Caesar through his eyelashes in a move that looked just the wrong side of rehearsed, "After our mother died, the two of us have always stuck together. We couldn't imagine either of us having to go through this alone."

Predictably, this was met with a loud Awwwww from the crowd, and Merlin rolled his eyes.

"That is certainly a very sweet sentiment," Caesar smiled indulgently. "So, Arthur, will you be teaming up with Morgana in the Arena?"

"Well, Caesar, I don't want to give away any of our secrets, of course," Arthur winked, and the audience chuckled. "But I will say this: Morgana and I work best as a team. Together, you might call us unstoppable." At that, Arthur turned his gaze on the camera, and for just one moment, his smile was replaced by a look which sent chills down Merlin's spine.

The crowd oooh-ed, and Caesar looked suitably impressed.

Next, Caesar asked Arthur about his perfect score, but Merlin didn't hear the rest of the interview. He was trying very hard to remind himself that Arthur hadn't actually been directing that look at him, even though he had a terrible feeling that it had, in fact, been for his benefit.

When Arthur walked back into the room, Merlin studiously looked at the floor, and was relieved when he and Morgana left together a moment later.

Next to Merlin, Gwen was whispering to herself, probably trying to remember what Gaius had told her to say.

"Hey," Merlin nudged her. "Remember what you told me before the rankings? Everything will be fine."

Gwen let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "Right, and then what happened? Everything went to shit!"

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Guinevere Smith, did you just swear? My, this is serious."

She punched him in the shoulder, and he tried not to wince, because ow. "Shut up," she mumbled.

It seemed like no time at all before it was time for Gwen's interview, and she got to her feet, her gorgeous dress shimmering in the light. Freya and Gwaine had chosen to stick with their sun-and-earth motif, but this time they'd really outdone themselves: similar to the way Morgana's dress had sort of simulated water, Gwen's dress looked like it was actually made of sunlight. It wasn't blinding, though, but rather warm and inviting, drawing eyes to catch and hold like moths to a flame. She was breathtaking. Merlin couldn't help but wonder about Lancelot back home, whether he was watching, whether he held any hope that Gwen would actually return to him.

"Well, good lu-"

"Don't wish me luck!" Gwen shook her head, hands shaking slightly. "That's bad luck."

"What should I wish you, then?"

"I don't know, anything but luck."

Merlin stood, grabbing her hands to still them, and looked deep into her eyes, conveying nothing but the deepest seriousness as he said, "Good mudcakes and mouldy bread, Gwen."

Gwen's mouth dropped open, and a moment later she dissolved into helpless giggles, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Guinevere Smith?" Catrina's voice called, and Gwen straightened, the giggles subsiding. But, as she walked onto the stage and gave the crowd a tentative wave, a small smile still lit up her face, completing the image of sunshine.

Merlin looked round, finding himself alone with the young District 12 tributes. All through training, the pair had kept to themselves, and tonight was no different. He considered trying to speak to them, but thought better of it. What was the point? They clearly weren't interested in allying themselves with anyone else. The boy looked up at him, wide blue eyes locking with Merlin's own, and for some reason his solemn, curious expression made Merlin shiver. He looked away quickly, fixing his eyes on the giant screen instead.

To Merlin's relief, Gwen was absolutely lovely in her interview. The audience seemed to love her, too – she wasn't as polished as Morgana and Vivian had been, nor as innocent as some of the younger tributes, but she had a sense of authenticity about her which made her seem so much more real than a lot of the other contestants. She wasn't trying to play up any angle, and Caesar picked up on that pretty quickly. He tried to ask about Elyan, but Gwen made it clear that she didn't have anything to say on that subject, and Caesar smoothly moved on, making a comment about how tragic it is in the rare instances when two children from the same family are Reaped.

By the end of the interview, Caesar clasped one of Gwen's hands in each of his. "I think you have proven tonight that you deserve to go home, Guinevere," he said earnestly, and Gwen lowered her head, blushing prettily.

"I think every one of us deserves to go home, Caesar," she whispered, and Merlin gasped, hearing it for the criticism of the Games it was – but luckily Caesar only smiled and agreed, pointing out her generous spirit to the audience.

"Well," Merlin whispered as she walked back into the room, walking to meet her halfway, "That went well."

Gwen gave him a tentative smile. "I think so. Good luck, Merlin."

Merlin frowned. "I thought that was bad luck."

"Only if you believe it is."

Merlin snorted. "See you on the other side."

Catrina walked out to call him in, and he followed – plastering a smile on his face as he was met with the roar of the audience. He was surprised to hear a few cat-calls, and tried for a little wave.

"Merlin Emrys!" Caesar enthused. "My, have I been looking forward to meeting you."

"Er, hi," Merlin said, shaking Caesar's hand politely before sitting down. "I mean, you too," he added belatedly, and the audience chuckled.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a shy one!" Caesar called out, and was answered with an Awww from the crowd. "So, Merlin. Tell me about yourself."

Merlin shrugged. "Not much to tell, really. I'm from District 11. I live with my mum, I work in the fields."

Caesar nodded. "Was it hard leaving your mum behind?"

Merlin glanced at the camera before turning his attention back to Caesar. He didn't know if playing up the sympathetic angle was the best idea, considering that his score already made him look weak, but he had to trust that Caesar knew what he was doing – he knew how to make the tributes look good, after all, and Gaius had advised Merlin to follow his lead.

"I guess," Merlin said. "I mean, yes, of course. But I know she'll have my friend Will there, looking out for her. And Gwen's dad, too. She won't be alone."

"You and Gwen are close?"

Merlin nodded. "Absolutely. Did you see her dress tonight? Gorgeous." He grinned, and a few members of the audience cheered, which he took as a good sign. "She's my best friend. To be honest with you, I couldn't imagine anyone else I'd rather be facing this with."

He realised belatedly that he was practically parroting what Arthur Pendragon had said earlier, but he liked to think that he at least sounded a bit more sincere.

"I understand you two have known each other your whole lives," Caesar said, clearly thinking along the same lines. "One might almost say you were like siblings."

Merlin smiled. "One would be right. I would do anything for Gwen – and if I have it my way, she'll be the one walking out of the Games alive."

He didn't know what made him say it, but the moment the words were out of his mouth he saw Caesar's eyes widen fractionally, and noticed that the crowd had gone deadly silent.

"I..." for a moment, Caesar looked truly stumped, and Merlin felt his heartbeat speed up, hammering so loudly in his chest he wondered how the mic wasn't picking up the sound. "Are you saying that you are hoping that Guinevere wins, Merlin?"

Merlin turned to look at the crowd. They were all watching him with varying degrees of shock, but he noticed some looking almost awe-struck. A few of them even had tears in their eyes.

He turned back to Caesar, sitting up a little straighter. "Yes, Caesar, I suppose I am. I mean," he added quickly, "I'm not saying that I want to die, but... if only one of us deserves to go home, I'm going to be selfish and say that I think it's her." He couldn't help but turn to the camera and add, in the most somber tone he could muster, "She is like a sister to me, after all."

If nothing else, at least Merlin was pretty sure that he'd just upstaged Arthur Pendragon.

"Merlin, you absolute idiot!" Gwen shrieked, flying at him and attacking his chest, hair flying everywhere, and Merlin had to reach up his own arms to shield himself.

"Gwen, stop!" he called, but she was relentless, pounding away at his arms blindly until finally Gwaine rushed over to gently grab her by the arms, holding her back.

"Don't you ever think you can do that to me!" Gwen screamed, fighting against Gwaine's hold. "How could you? You can't just say things like that Merlin, don't you realise that if I live you're going to die?!" Her voice broke on the last word and he let her arms fall, tears falling freely down her face now as she stood limp in Gwaine's hold, watching Merlin with such a completely betrayed expression that he felt his heart break a little bit.

"I do," Merlin whispered, taking a tentative step closer. He looked up at Gwaine and nodded, and Gwaine released his hold on Gwen with a nod of his own before stepping back. "Gwen, listen, we both know what happens in the Games. You maybe more than anyone." He reached out and tilted her chin up. "Twenty-four contestants. One winner. And I'm not going to lie to you, our chances aren't great. But I don't intend to give up, and I know you won't either. Look," he sighed, moving his hands around to grasp her face, pulled her close until their foreheads were touching. "I didn't say I was going to throw myself on the first the best sword I find in there. But I meant what I said: if only one person can survive this, it should be you."

Gwen weakly tried to pull away but Merlin held her steady, and after a moment she relaxed against him. "Well, I think it should be you," she grumbled.

He smiled. "Fine. That works out nicely, then."

"Seriously though, Merlin, if you do something stupid..."

"Hey, you know I can't promise that."

"Shut up, you know what I mean. Just... I want you to promise me that whatever happens, you'll fight for your own life at least as much as for mine. And then I'll do the same. Deal?"

Merlin tilted his head up and pressed a kiss to her forehead before drawing her in for a hug. "Deal."

About a half hour after they went to bed that night, Merlin heard a knock on his door.

He padded over to the door, pausing for a moment. What if it was Gwaine? But when he opened it, it was Gwen standing on the other side. He felt relieved – and maybe a tiny, tiny bit disappointed.

"Hey," she said, pulling her nightgown tighter around her. "Did I wake you?"

Merlin huffed out a humourless laugh. "Oh the night before the Games? Yes, Gwen, I was sleeping like a baby. Come in."

She went straight for the bed and Merlin followed, unsurprised when she dragged him down and pulled him close, putting her head in the crook of his arm. He remembered them sleeping like this when they were children – the last time they'd done it was the night Elyan had died. Now, it seemed like Gwen could use the comfort again, and Merlin found himself drawing her closer. Trying to focus on her breathing, and letting himself relax. Trying to forget about the fact that every minute that passed brought them closer to morning, and to the start of the Hunger Games.

No words were spoken at breakfast. No words were needed; Gwen and Merlin had said their goodbyes last night.

Even Rufus, who had been absent for most of their time in the Capitol, was just sitting there picking at his scrambled eggs, his skin looking more green than yellow (but for all Merlin knew, that was intentional).

Gaius was nowhere to be seen. Merlin felt his heart sink, suddenly worried the old man would not show up at all before they headed for the Arena.

After breakfast, Gwaine and Freya arrived with their outfits. Merlin was relieved to see that they were going to be dressed in basic, dark brown trousers made of a thick, sturdy fabric, and in white loose-fitted shirts. That suggested there would be no extreme weather conditions where they were going, and it would make it easy to move around.

Merlin changed into his clothes silently, and when he was done he spread out his arms for Freya's approval.

She walked over and straightened his collar, saying nothing. Hesitantly, Merlin wrapped his arms around her and she let out a shuddering breath as she hugged him back. "Thanks," he whispered, and when she pulled away her light green eyes were misty. It made him think of a lake in the early morning fog, and the sight was strangely calming.

After he was done, Merlin walked out into the hallway to find Gwen waiting for him, in an identical outfit. "Merlin," she called, hurrying over and taking his hands in hers. "It's almost time." Her eyes were wide, and he tried to hold onto his self-imposed serenity – no use both of them getting scared, not now.

"It is," he said. "But it's okay. I'll find you in there, and then we run."

They'd decided this strategy already. It wasn't the most original in the world, but it worked. They'd make it work, they had to.

"Then we run," Gwen agreed. "Okay. Let's go." She pulled him back towards the lifts, and Merlin looked around, but Gaius was nowhere to be found. Right. Guess he isn't coming.

They made their way down and joined the other tributes in a silent procession through an underground tunnel which would take them to their hovercrafts. Even Arthur Pendragon was silent, walking next to Morgana, who looked as proud and unimpressed as ever.

Merlin and Gwen were ordered into a hovercraft with ten of the other tributes, including Tyr, Tristan, Arthur and Morgana. Merlin found himself sitting opposite Arthur, and once, when the hovercraft jostled, they looked up and instinctively caught each other's eyes.

But Arthur's held none of the malice he'd seen in them yesterday, only a blank, empty look which made him look neither threatening nor frightened. Merlin sighed and looked away. For some reason it made him sad to see Arthur without the fire in his eyes – even if it had been malice, at least it had been something real. Something normal, which he could pretend had nothing to do with the predicament they found themselves in. The idea of Arthur being just another mindless Career was a sharp reminder that these were the Hunger Games, and that they were going to fight each other to the death.

They got off the hovercrafts, and suddenly it was time to separate.

Merlin and Gwen caught and held each other's eyes, grasping hands one last time. Then Merlin let go, walking backwards for a few steps, turning around when he couldn't keep the encouraging smile in place any longer. He slumped, feeling completely alone for the first time since arriving at the Capitol, even with attendants on either side of him. It began to truly hit him what was about to happen, and he tried to take deep breaths, fighting against the growing surge of panic welling up inside him.

The officials let him into the chamber – and there stood Gaius.

"Merlin," Gaius breathed, walking over and throwing his arms around him, and Merlin practically fell forward, so relieved to see his uncle he couldn't speak. "My boy."

Merlin stared ahead, unblinking, clinging on to Gaius, holding onto the moment.

"Merlin, we don't have much time," Gaius said after a moment longer, beginning to pull away, and Merlin regretfully followed – still too paralysed with shock and fear and relief and sadness to say anything. "I requested to come see you off. Don't worry, I already spoke to Guinevere last night."

"I... she didn't say," Merlin whispered, not trusting his voice.

"I asked her not to." For a moment Gaius just stood and took Merlin in, and Merlin felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes – but he refused to let himself break down, not this time. "Merlin, I want you to remember to be brave. And that whatever happens, know that I am so proud of you."

Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, nodding mindlessly, desperately willing the tears not to fall.

"And I also want to leave you with one final piece of advice, Merlin." Gaius waited until Merlin had found a little piece of control, and Merlin opened his eyes to find Gaius watching him sadly. "Whatever happens, I need you to trust me when I tell you: in the Arena, you don't have any friends."

Merlin blinked. "But Gwen..."

Gaius shook his head. "Guinevere is your best and oldest friend, and you would die for each other, I understand that. But Merlin, that was out here, and you need to be aware of the fact that people change in the Arena." A shadow passed over Gaius' face – old memories were probably playing themselves out in his mind – but Merlin shook his head, refusing to accept what Gaius was telling him.

"You don't understand, Gaius, Gwen and I will always have each other's backs. Even in there, whatever happens."

Gaius studied him for a long moment. "I hope you are right, Merlin. But I need you to promise me that no matter what happens, you will never forget that you are in the Hunger Games, and that no matter what, there can always be only one victor. I know that you know this, but it can be so easy once you're inside to look around and think that somehow, miraculously, you could both walk out alive. But it can never happen."

And now Merlin knew that Gaius was remembering his own Games. The female District 11 tribute that year had been named Alice, and Merlin's mother had told him many times never to ask Gaius about her, but now he wondered... still, this wasn't the time. Gaius would get to keep his secrets.

Merlin nodded. "I promise you, Gaius. I won't forget."

Gaius looked relieved, and pulled him in for another brief hug.

That was when the countdown started, and before Merlin knew it he was standing in the pod, about to be launched up into the Arena – whatever Arena the Gamemakers had designed for him to die in.

This was it.

He locked eyes with Gaius, and saw a tear slide down the older man's face. This is the last time I will ever see you, Merlin thought, and somehow knew it to be true.

Then he was launched upwards, into the darkness.

Chapter Text

Merlin opened his eyes, and gasped.

He was not on a field, nor in a forest, or the middle of an ocean (thank god). He was in a room, with walls made of stone. And he was alone.

A moment of brief, disoriented panic was all he was allowed before a female voice began to count down, and Merlin started, looking around wildly for anything that might give him an indication of what the hell was going on.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six...

Where was he supposed to go? What was he supposed to do? His heart was beating wildly, his palms were sweating - but there seemed to be no immediate danger, nothing to race for.

...Five, four, three, two, one.

Just as the cannon blast signalled the start of the Games, Merlin jumped off the platform, just as he'd been instructed to do.

But now what?

There was no Cournucopia to race towards, or to escape from. There was no Gwen.

He shook his head. No, obviously she was here somewhere. They all were. And he realised with a start that this was still a race: he needed to find Gwen before anyone else did. And before anyone else found him.

He barrelled through the door, not stopping to contemplate what horrors may lie on the other side, and found - another room. Identical to the one he'd been launched into, bare and with walls made from heavy bricks of stone. He blinked, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. What the hell?

This room was bare, but for another door on the opposite wall. He cautiously headed through it, and was mostly unsurprised to find another room on the other side. This one had three doors, and a window. Merlin began to move towards the latter, hoping to get an idea of what this place was, when one of the other doors burst open.

Merlin spun around, and found himself face to face with Arthur Pendragon.

Merlin's mouth dropped open in shock. He couldn't speak, he couldn't move. Shit.

For his part, Arthur looked just as surprised, breathing heavily through his nostrils, eyes wide and locked on Merlin. And for one impossible moment the pair stood completely still, staring at each other. Waiting for the other to make a move.

But then, to Merlin's complete astonishment, Arthur set his jaw, gave Merlin a curt nod, and turned, heading out the same door he came through without a word.

Merlin was left frozen in shock, staring at the closed door.

"What the hell just happened?" he murmured.

He would have to put Arthur's bizarre behaviour out of his mind though, there were more pressing issues at hand. Although it did answer one of his questions: the other tributes were here in this strange place with him, too. They had probably all been let out of their pods in different rooms.

It was a maze, then, as much as it was a race. And each door could lead him to the Cournucopia, another empty room, or another tribute (who might not be as wrong-footed by all this as Arthur appeared to have been).

Merlin swallowed, feeling his pulse quicken.

Turning, he moved towards the window, seeing nothing but a grey, empty landscape stretching out seemingly forever. He wondered how vast this arena was, or if the horizon was an illusion. What would happen if he found a way out - if there even was one?

Merlin craned his neck out of the window, and saw that he was surprisingly high up in a massive stone building. He looked up, and there seemed to be nothing above him but a few turrets. He tried to count the windows going down, but there was no way of telling how many floors were below him. It was a long way down, though.

A noise drew his attention to the right, and he saw something - no, someone - pull their head back inside a few windows over. Right. He should keep moving.

But what could he do? Merlin cursed under his breath as he turned back and found the three doors, mocking him with the choice they presented him with. He could go back the way he came from, back to the room with only one door. Less chance of anyone finding him, but no chance of escape if someone did.

He could go through the door Arthur Pendragon had gone through. Yeah, right. He wasn't that suicidal.

That only left the third door. The unknown. Anything could be behind it.

Be brave, Gaius' voice echoed in his head. Merlin nodded to himself, taking a deep breath, moving towards the door and swinging it open with intent.

Inside the room stood Arthur Pendragon.

"The fuck, Eleven, do you have a death wish?!" Arthur exclaimed angrily, throwing his hands up in the air. Clearly he had recovered from his confusion now. Merlin's heart hammered so loudly in his chest, he worried it was going to burst through his shirt.

His hand was still on the door handle. He could make a run for it. Take the door Arthur had gone through the last time. He could get away.

But he didn't. Because Arthur still hadn't made a move towards him, and Merlin feared that the slightest movement on his part would set the other boy off.

"How did you get here?" Merlin found himself asking instead, desperate to keep Arthur distracted until he could do... something.

He kept his eyes trained on the other tribute, but out of the corner of his eye Merlin noted that this new room was circular, and had many doors - one of them must connect to wherever Arthur had come from. Arthur was in the middle, alone and thankfully still unarmed. He must be as lost as Merlin himself.

"How do you think?" Arthur snarled, sounding frustrated, on edge. Dangerous. He gestured at the doors. "This is a bloody maze, and I keep ending up in the same place."

"Well," Merlin said, still not daring to move. He wondered why Arthur hadn't pounced on him yet – sure, he didn't have a weapon, but that hadn't stopped his father. The thought made Merlin shiver.

"Well what?" Arthur snapped, eyes narrowing.

Oh shit, Merlin thought, freezing again, like one of the wild deer they'd sometimes find grazing the fields. Like them, he was too stupid to run away when caught in the torch lights. They always ate well on those nights. Right now, that thought made him feel slightly sick.

"Well," he said slowly, very aware that he was playing with fire, "since we're both lost, why don't you take one door, and I'll take another, and we'll just... take our chances." He tried to shrug, as though he was completely at ease and not trying to strike a deal for his life.

Arthur watched him for a moment, his eyes still narrowed. Assessing, like when he had first seen Merlin at the Opening Ceremony. Then, after what seemed a lifetime, he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine, go." He nodded towards the door on Merlin's immediate left. "I haven't tried that one yet."

"Okay," Merlin said, moving towards the door - staying as close to the wall as he could, as far away from Arthur as possible. He didn't know what Arthur's angle was (maybe it was a trick, maybe all of his Career friends were hiding on the other side), why he was doing this, talking to Merlin at all, but he wasn't going to risk his luck. He knew they were in a strange sort of standstill, both having expected to be caught up in the bloody rush for the Cournucopia and instead finding themselves in this eerily quiet place, seemingly on their own.

But he wasn't under any delusions that the peace would last for much longer - Arthur would remember where they were, and what was at stake, and Merlin's only hope was to be as far away as possible when that happened.

Merlin grabbed the handle, and he looked back to see Arthur moving away, towards a door on the other side. "Um, good luck," he called, immediately cringing at having drawn Arthur's attention back to himself.

He saw Arthur freeze, his shoulders stiffening. Merlin held his breath, considering making a run for it.

"Yeah. You too." Arthur's voice was quiet, unreadable. Then he strode forward and pushed the door open, and disappeared into the unknown on the other side.

Once again, Merlin was left staring at the space where Arthur Pendragon had vanished.

Out of all the possible scenarios he had imagined the Arena to present him with, this certainly wasn't one of them. And he suspected that it was probably as confusing for Arthur, and this was the only reason he was being so... well, non-murderous.

But the man was the enemy, he reminded himself. A Career tribute, and a mean-spirited one at that, who had been trained to kill since birth. Merlin turned and prepared himself for whatever lay on the other side of the new door, trying to put Arthur out of his mind.

He opened the door, and found himself on a balcony.

Well, so much for going that way. Still, it offered him a fair view of the enormous stone building he found himself in (a castle, his mind supplied. He'd never seen one before, yet from what he'd heard in stories, that must be what this was), and the landscape beyond it - or lack of same.

There really was nothing, beyond the castle walls. The building itself was surrounded by a patch of grass and encircled by what must be a moat, with a few bridges over it leading through the outer walls.

There's a way out, Merlin thought. But he let the hopeful feeling slip away almost immediately - there was nothing beyond the moat. If Merlin had to describe what he saw he'd say it looked like very sandy earth, but it was completely grey, devoid of all colour. The sky was the same: a relentless, probably unchanging mass of something that wasn't cloud or smoke, but looked almost solid. Impenetrable.

No. There was no way out. Whatever was going to happen in the Games, it would happen inside the castle walls.

Would the Gamemakers keep them in the maze, completely randomizing the fates of the contestants based on what doors they chose? Was it even random at all?

Merlin heard a door slam from inside the other room and jumped. He panicked for a moment, realising he'd left the door to the balcony ajar - but then he heard a familiar voice letting out a string of curses, and quite against his will he breathed out a sigh of relief. It was Arthur again.

He poked his head inside and found Arthur in the center of the room, turning around, livid. "For god's sakes, what do you want from me?!" he exclaimed, seemingly to the room at large, pulling at his hair, as if accusing all the doors of ganging up on him.

What Merlin should do next was slide his door closed without Arthur realising it, and pray he could remain unnoticed until Arthur left again.

But instead he cleared his throat, and Arthur spun around to face him.

"Hi again," Merlin waved. He felt ridiculous. This was a game to the death, and Arthur was probably the most dangerous predator in the building - but Merlin had a feeling that whatever they did, they'd keep ending up here, running into each other until they stopped fighting the inevitable confrontation. They might as well get it over with.

"You," Arthur growled, stalking a few steps towards him - but just as Merlin was prepared to slam the door in his face, Arthur stopped, breathing hard, staring at Merlin. Merlin stared right back; he vaguely remembered someone telling him to do that if he ever encountered a wild animal. That, or play dead.

Well. He'd try that next time.

"And you. You're back." Merlin stepped fully into the room. He found himself strangely calm, which made no sense, but he blamed it on the adrenaline wearing off. He was tired of being scared, and he definitely wasn't going to waste any of his fear on Arthur Pendragon.

"So where'd your door go?" Arthur asked grudgingly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Outside. Well, to a balcony."

"Let me see," Arthur said, stalking towards him, and Merlin jumped back as Arthur moved towards the door, but Arthur ignored him completely as he moved past. He opened the door and stuck his head out - and Merlin realised that in that moment, he could do... something. Trap Arthur's head in the door, kick his legs out from under him while his back was turned, try to push him over the side of the building.

He felt completely disgusted with himself, and any lingering doubts he might have had about whether he was going to be able to go through these Games as a predator evaporated.

After a moment, Arthur turned back towards him, raising an eyebrow. "Well, we need to find a way out of here."

Merlin shook his head automatically. "I don't think so. There's nothing out there, I don't think they want us to leave."

"And what would you know about it, Eleven?"

Merlin scowled. "My name is Merlin. Which you very well know, so stop calling me by my District number, Arthur. That won't make killing me any easier, you know."

Arthur flinched. "Fine," he said. "Then why don't you go on, Merlin, find a nice little hole to hide in while I go win this thing?" Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it, realising that pointing out the fault in that logic probably wasn't the smartest move.

Arthur pushed past him again, stalking towards the centre of the room - and then stopped. "Fuck," he exclaimed tiredly, running a hand through his hair, frustration plain on his face.

This probably hadn't been what Arthur had imagined at all, Merlin thought. He probably hadn't been trained for this. He felt a little surge of triumph that for all of Uther's scheming, he had evidently not been able to weasel any information about the Arena's design out of the Gamemakers.

For a while, Arthur just stood there, staring at the doors as if trying to will the correct one to open. But nothing happened. There were no sounds - if any of the other tributes were close by, they were keeping quiet about it.

Merlin didn't know what to do. Arthur didn't look like he was about to twist his head clean off or choke him to death, but then it was surely only a matter of time? If Merlin tried to run, or attack (not that he would try that, he wasn't an idiot), he was sure he'd be dead in a moment. There was no way out of here, after all, except for through the other twenty-three tributes, the rest of whom were presumably scattered across the castle.

As if feeling Merlin's eyes on him, Arthur turned to face him, and Merlin was surprised at what he saw there. Arthur looked so lost, so unlike the arrogant, entitled prick he'd been before the Games began. Merlin opened his mouth to speak--

BOOM!

Both Arthur and Merlin jumped as the cannon sounded, and then stared at each other, wide-eyed.

The first tribute had just been eliminated. Gwen, Merlin thought, panicked. But he didn't have time to worry about anyone but himself right now, because Arthur Pendragon had just been reminded that they were in a game to the death.

Arthur's eyes hardened. Merlin swallowed, but didn't look away. If he was staring death in the face, he wasn't going to be the first one to blink.

"Are you gonna kill me, then?" Merlin asked, because he couldn't stand the wait. He knew that when it came down to it, he stood no chance against Arthur Pendragon.

An emotion Merlin couldn't identify flittered across Arthur's face, and then it was gone, to be replaced by that same blank look Merlin had seen on the hovercraft. "Do you want me to?" he asked. "I would make it quick. I promise," he added, with the barest hint of softness in his tone.

For a moment, Merlin considered what Arthur was offering him. The first deaths were always the least painful. The longer people stayed in the Arena, the more bloodthirsty and desperate they became. Who knew what horrors awaited them? Out of all Merlin's possible ends, this might be the easiest he could hope for.

But as he imagined Arthur coming towards him, murder in his eyes, Merlin realised that he would always try to run, or fight back. Because even if death was certain, right now he was alive. Right now he had something to fight for, if it was only the air in his lungs.

"I don't want to die," Merlin said quietly, and hoped that he didn't sound scared. He wasn't, not really. It was just the truth.

To his surprise, Arthur sighed, his eyes drifting away from Merlin as they stared at something Merlin suspected only he could see. "No. I don't imagine any of us do."

"But..." Merlin hesitated. "We have to. All of us, except one. So why haven't you killed me yet? We both know you want to."

Arthur snorted. "True." Then he paused, and took a few steps closer to Merlin before sitting himself down on the ground. He looked up at Merlin expectantly before Merlin got the hint and sat down too, leaning back against the wall. To his surprise he found himself relaxing slightly. He didn't realise how tense he'd been, standing, waiting for Arthur to make his move.

Arthur looked like he was going to say something else, so Merlin stayed quiet, letting him sort out his thoughts. And sure enough, the other boy took a deep breath before admitting, "I wasn't prepared for this. I've been training for the Games all my life, but I've been trained to fight. Not to play hide-and-seek, and not to slaughter in cold blood. Whatever you may think about me, I fight fair." He fixed Merlin with a defiant look, daring him to argue, but Merlin stayed quiet. "I have to win, Elev- Merlin. There is no other way. But that doesn't mean I'm going to walk over to you while you stand there defenceless and choke the life from your body with my bare hands. We all deserve to die on our own terms, even in here."

Merlin shivered; even if he believed that Arthur wouldn't do that, the imagery was pretty vivid.

"So what are you going to do?" he asked instead.

Arthur looked at Merlin for a long moment before answering. "Wherever I go, I seem to end up back here. But since we haven't seen anyone else yet, one of these doors must lead out of this area, to the other part of this..." he waved his arms around, frowning.

"Castle," Merlin supplied and Arthur grunted.

"Castle, then, fine, whatever. We can't stay here, anyway, it's only a matter of time before someone else finds us. And if someone is actually out there exploring this place, chances are that they've found a weapon along the way - or even the Cournucopia, which must be in here somewhere. And then we don't stand a chance." Arthur nodded resolutely, as if he could convince himself that he was making the right decision. "Taking a risk is the only way to gain the upper hand. It's quite brilliantly designed, really."

"Don't suck up," Merlin rolled his eyes, and to his surprise, Arthur's lip twitched. "Wait, you said we," he realised suddenly.

"No one's forcing you to come," Arthur shrugged. "But like it or not, we're probably going to keep running into each other. And since we've established that I can't kill you like this, and since you can't kill me period -" he allowed himself a smug, self-satisfied smirk, and Merlin wanted to roll his eyes again, "- we might as well stick together for now."

"But it's not an alliance," Merlin felt the need to clarify.

"Absolutely not," Arthur agreed, looking like even the idea of allying himself with Merlin physically pained him. "It's a matter of convenience, nothing more."

"Just wanted to get that straight."

"Good."

"Fine."

Arthur coughed. "Alright then. Shall we?"

As he raised himself off the ground, he was close enough to Merlin that he automatically reached out a hand to help him up, and Merlin accepted without even realising until they both stood, arms still clasped.

Arthur pulled his arm back as though burned, and turned away briskly, clearly slipping back into his alert, focused state which Merlin had seen him in at training.

Just as he reached for the handle though, Merlin cried, "Wait!"

Arthur turned, arm still outstretched. "What now?"

Merlin flinched. "Well, I was just thinking - shouldn't we have a strategy, or something? We have no idea what's waiting for us on the other side."

"Okay," Arthur said slowly, as though he was humouring him, "here's a strategy: we fight whatever comes at us, and try not to die. Sound good?"

"What if it's Morgana?" Merlin asked, and now it was Arthur's turn to flinch. "Don't you want to ally yourself with her?"

Arthur's expression was shuttered. "For all we know, Morgana is on the other side of the castle. I don't think we need to worry about her right now."

"I just thought it'd be nice with a heads up if she's suddenly going to turn on me and you're not gonna stop her," Merlin shrugged, trying to pretend like they weren't talking about whether or not Arthur's sister was going to rip his throat out. "I'd like to know when to start running."

Arthur sighed. "I'm not going to attack my sister unprovoked, if that's what you're asking, Merlin."

It looked like he wanted to say more, but seemed to check himself, looking at Merlin expectantly.

"Alright," Merlin said, trying to remind himself that he couldn't have expected anything less. He and Arthur didn't even have an alliance, only a... he didn't even know what this was. A temporary truce? A matter of convenience, nothing more, Arthur had said. "Thanks for telling me. Don't take it personally if I suddenly bolt."

Arthur nodded, looking faintly amused. "I won't." He reached for the handle again, but paused. "The other tribute from your District..."

"Gwen," Merlin supplied.

"Gwen," Arthur acknowledged, gritting his teeth as though it'd cost him something. "If we find her, I expect you'll want to go with her. And you can, but I won't be coming with you."

"Oh," Merlin said. Of course, he should have expected that, too. This wasn't an alliance. Arthur wasn't a pack animal, that much was clear. "Well. Okay then."

"It wouldn't make sense," Arthur added, as though he thought he owed Merlin an explanation.

"No, I get it. You're a Career. We're just a pair of Elevens." Merlin tried for a smile, hoping to lighten the mood, but it came out more like a grimace.

"To be fair, your girlfriend got a pretty decent score," Arthur admitted.

This time, Merlin really did smile. "She's really not my girlfriend," he said, then hesitated, wondering how much he could reveal. After all, they might not be able to see any cameras, but that didn't mean there weren't any. And he'd noticed that Gwen had very carefully avoided talking about Lance in her interview - for all he knew, revealing that she had a boyfriend might lower the chances of eligible Capitol bachelors sponsoring gifts for her.

"Ah yes," Arthur said, "like a sister, I believe you said she was. Sounded very familiar for some reason."

Merlin grimaced. "You heard that, did you?"

"That was well played," Arthur acknowledged, and Merlin thought he detected a small edge of amusement in Arthur's tone. "Father was livid, of course. But... I have to admit, I was a little impressed."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Come on, Pendragon, let's find out what's behind door number one." 

Doors number one, two and three only had more doors behind them. After a brief discussion, Merlin and Arthur agreed to keep left, sticking to what they believed must be the side of the castle. Every once in a while they'd find a door leading out onto a balcony, which confirmed their suspicions. There were no corridors, only rooms with more doors, and it was completely impossible to keep track of which they'd tried and which they hadn't.

They both knew it was only a matter of time before they had to move inwards, but Merlin thought Arthur was probably hoping to stumble over some supplies before having to confront any of the other tributes.

After the first cannon, no others had sounded, which meant that aside from Arthur and Merlin, there were still twenty-one contestants left somewhere in the castle.

Once, they'd heard a distant scream, and Arthur had pushed Merlin up against the wall so fast he'd seemed unaware of what he was doing until the panic had cleared, and he extricated himself quickly.

Merlin wondered how much he really had Uther Pendragon to thank, in some extremely twisted way, for the fact that he was still alive. If Arthur had trained for the Games with Morgana, perhaps he was used to working as a team. Maybe that was why he'd asked Merlin to come along - maybe it didn't have anything to do with Merlin at all, but it was just something Arthur felt he had to do to make himself feel better.

For some reason, that notion left a bitter taste in his mouth, but Merlin didn't want to examine that too closely. Honestly, being here in this quiet place, his only company the stone walls and a boy who (at least for now) didn't seem like an immediate threat to his life, it was easy to forget where he was, and what he was taking part in. Merlin found himself selfishly hoping, even though it made him feel sick to his stomach, that around the castle, all the other tributes could just sort of... off each other, while Arthur and Merlin edged along the sides.

But then, what if they were the last two left alive? Merlin still had Arthur's promise – I would make it quick - ringing in his mind, but that didn't exactly make him feel better.

He shuddered. It was thoughts like these that he had to try and push away. One thing at a time.

And as they opened another door, Merlin suddenly found all thoughts of the future pushed out of his head, to be replaced with only one: Danger.

In front of them stood Valiant, the District 2 tribute who'd scored a near-perfect eleven, holding what looked to be an ornate sword. And by his feet lay a girl - not Gwen, thank god, not Gwen - bleeding from the stomach, moaning in pain as she bled out slowly.

Merlin couldn't look away.

"Fuck, Merlin, go!" Arthur shouted, and before he knew it he was being pushed backwards, back into the room they'd come from, and the door had slammed shut in his face before he could even as much as think.

He heard sounds coming from inside the room, and for one wild moment, he considered making a run for it - he could take any of the other doors, he could get as far away from Valiant as possible - but with a sinking, resigned feeling he realised that there was no way he could leave Arthur behind. Not after what Arthur had just done for him.

BOOM!

Merlin started, heart beating wildly in his throat. No. Without thinking he burst back through the door, expecting to find Arthur impaled - but instead he found Valiant and Arthur on the ground, grappling, the sword lying abandoned across the room.

The girl lay unmoving on the ground. It had been her cannon.

Merlin didn't stop to let himself examine the overwhelming feeling of relief which spread through him as he realised that Arthur wasn't dead. Instead, he moved across the room, picking up the sword - then hesitated.

Arthur and Valiant were locked in a violent struggle, and even if Merlin had been able to use the sword against Valiant, there was no way to be sure his strike would find the right person.

"Arthur!" He called, hoping he didn't cause the other man a distraction, "Arthur, I don't know what to do!"

"Merlin," Arthur grunted, dodging a punch from Valiant, "I need - the sword!"

Well, that was all well and good, but how? Merlin thought wildly, looking around for anything to help him.

Of course there was nothing. This was a fight to the death. And Valiant had Arthur pinned now; if Merlin didn't hurry, it would be too late.

"Fuck it," he murmured, throwing the sword at Arthur's feet and launching himself at Valiant, sending them both flying - Valiant so shocked by the impact, he let go of Arthur.

Valiant let out a roar, punching Merlin so hard in the face he saw stars, and he thought, this is it. This is what my life was worth. If Gwen doesn't win I hope it's you, Arthur. And then he wondered where that thought had come from.

Just as he felt himself begin to lose consciousness, he heard a sickening noise, and Valiant's eyes went wide above him. And as he rolled away, Arthur was left standing over Merlin, the light in the room shining behind him like a halo, blood dripping from the tip of the sword.

BOOM!

Merlin sucked in a breath, willing his ears to stop ringing. "I... thanks," he breathed.

"Yeah, well, you too," Arthur said gruffly, bending down to wipe the sword on Valiant's shirt, the white stained crimson. He had just killed a man - and he didn't look like it affected him at all. "Now we're even," Arthur added, even as he reached out an arm to pull Merlin up.

"Right," Merlin smiled, swaying slightly on his feet, keeping a hold of Arthur's arm to steady himself. "Because throwing a sword on the ground is the same as stabbing someone with it."

Arthur grimaced. "Look, Merlin, you could have run away back there but you didn't. You saved my life, so I saved yours. Let's not make a big deal out of it."

Merlin wanted to point out that saving each other's lives hadn't really been part of the agreement before, but thought better of it. Arthur was trying to keep it simple. No emotions involved. Merlin could understand that.

"You're bleeding," he said instead, reaching out a hand towards Arthur's face, where he'd suffered a shallow cut across his cheek - but then he thought better of it, letting his hand drop away.

"So are you," Arthur remarked, adding in a voice that suddenly felt a little too loud for Merlin's still-ringing ears, "looks like I'm gonna have a scar, and I bet you'll get a black eye. Too bad. It's always more fun to look at the pretty ones." And he smirked, walking away, leaving Merlin to gape, trying to make sense of his words.

"Come on, Merlin," Arthur called after him, as though they hadn't just watched two people die. "We have a weapon now. It's time to find the Cournucopia." 

They didn't find the Cournucopia. But, two doors down, they found a table on which stood a box. Arthur strode over to the box without seeming surprised at all, and a moment later, he triumphantly held up a small jar of something, with a cry of, "Aha!"

Merlin frowned. Yes, Arthur had clearly lost his mind. Great. He was stuck in a maze castle with a trained killer, who was apparently also insane. Just wonderful.

When Merlin didn't display what Arthur clearly seemed to think was the necessary amount of enthusiasm, he rolled his eyes. "Oh, just come over here."

And Merlin went, because why not? When he was within arm's reach, Arthur pulled him closer, and reached into the jar. His fingers came out covered in some kind of translucent paste, and Merlin started as Arthur reached up to touch his face - smearing the paste across his cheek and his throbbing eye with a surprising gentleness.

"There," Arthur said, nodding in satisfaction. "That should get better in no time." He reached back into the jar and spread a generous amount across his own cheek, and Merlin watched, transfixed, as Arthur's cut seemed to transform before his eyes, closing and turning a lighter pink by the second.

"Wow," Merlin said simply, "thanks."

Arthur shrugged. "I reckon that was probably not meant for you, but you saved my life. You earned it." He leaned in, his mouth so close to Merlin's ear that the microphones would have a hard time picking up his voice. Merlin felt his exhale against his neck and shivered, hoping that Arthur wouldn't notice. "And this way maybe the Gamemakers will want to keep you around a bit longer. You're welcome."

Arthur pulled away, looking much too pleased with himself. Merlin thought he should probably make some kind of reply, thank whatever sponsor had inadvertently fixed his face, but this was all so strange. "You should have let me die," he found himself saying instead, and winced as Arthur's eyes snapped to his, confusion replacing his smugness. "Before. You should have let Valiant kill me. It's not like we're in an alliance, and you didn't even like me before the Arena. What's your game, Arthur?"

Arthur's eyes hardened for a moment, then darted around, and Merlin thought he was probably still thinking about the cameras - what was he so afraid to say?

"There's no game, Merlin. Honestly, right now I just don't see a reason for us not to stick together," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "And... to be honest?" He paused, and Merlin nodded. "I don't see you as a threat."

Oh. That hadn't been what Merlin had been expecting Arthur to say at all - and he inwardly berated himself for once again assuming that Arthur saw Merlin as anything more than a temporary replacement for Morgana.

"Right. Well, maybe I should just..." Merlin trailed off, pointing towards the doors, feeling affronted.

"Don't be an idiot, Merlin," Arthur scowled. "Look, you can go nurse your pride in the corner if you feel the need to, but it's just good sense sticking together. We both know we're not each other's first choice, but they clearly didn't design the Games this year for people to just follow whatever strategies they'd prepared in advance. I reckon whatever is waiting for us in this castle, barring one-on-one combat, you're probably as likely to survive it as I am. And that might help us both, before the end."

Merlin sighed. Before the end. They had days at best, maybe hours, he couldn't let himself forget that. Whatever they did, one or both of them would be dead by the time the Games were over. Arthur was right - they might not have any vested interest in seeing each other advance, but that didn't mean they couldn't make use of each other, for now. What did they have to lose?  

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed, but Merlin and Arthur agreed to stay in the room with the table for now, resting after what had definitely felt like a very long day. It felt like as good of a place as any, and there were only two doors, which made it easier to avoid being caught off guard if another tribute should happen upon them here.

"I'll take first watch," Arthur said, leaning against the edge of the table and resting the sword across his knees. Merlin wanted to argue, he really did, but he found himself just too tired.

Merlin huddled in a corner, wishing that Arthur's sponsors had also thought to provide them with a bed, or even a blanket. Hell, he'd settle for a lumpy pillow right now.

He tried to make himself as comfortable as possible, turning his back to Arthur and curling in around himself against the wall.

It was only as he was drifting off to sleep that it suddenly occurred to Merlin that he wasn't the least bit worried about sleeping with Arthur in the same room. He'd seen him kill Valiant, had seen him coldly look out over the roomful of tributes as though they were nothing but peasants and he was their king, scoffing at the so-called competition... but he'd also seen Arthur instinctively reach out to shield Merlin, and tell him to run, and run his own hands over Merlin's face to soothe his bruises...

This was not how he planned to spend his first day in the Arena, but Merlin found that, all things considered, it could have been a lot worse. He was still alive, for one thing. He thought of Gwen, and wondered how she was spending the night. Would she find a place to sleep? Would she be cold? He had to believe that she was okay, wherever she was, and that the first cannon blast they'd heard hadn't been for her. It couldn't have been, Merlin tried to convince himself. Surely, if something had happened to her, he would know.

It was with this comforting thought that Merlin drifted off to a thankfully dreamless sleep, while Arthur Pendragon watched over him.

After what felt like no time at all, Merlin was startled awake by the sound of the Panem national anthem blaring out across the castle, and Merlin met Arthur's eyes across the room.

"I wish we could see the projections of the fallen tributes," Arthur murmured. "Three people died today, but we only know who two of them were."

"You're worried it's Morgana," Merlin said quietly.

Arthur scoffed. "Please. Morgana more likely caused the death." He paused. "For your sake, I hope it wasn't Gwen."

Merlin smiled sadly. "Thanks. Me, too." He couldn't imagine that Gwen was dead, he simply couldn't. And to think that she might have died alone, without him there to protect her... Merlin shivered. He hoped they found her soon – even if that brought his temporary truce with Arthur into question. But he'd have to deal with that when the time came; it was too much for him to try to wrap his head around right now.

For a moment they stayed quiet, listening as the final bars of music played. Then Merlin stretched, moving to sit up.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked.

"Getting up so you can sleep, obviously," Merlin said, rolling his eyes. "What did you think I was doing?"

"That's ridiculous Merlin, you can't have had more than a few hours," Arthur protested.

"You look exhausted though. Go on, I really don't mind."

Arthur looked conflicted. He glanced down at the sword, which was still clutched in his grasp. "I don't know," he hedged. "I'm really not that tired."

Merlin frowned. "Oh, so you think it's okay for me to sleep while you keep watch, but you don't trust me enough to close your eyes with me around?"

"It's not..." Arthur sighed. "I obviously wasn't going to do anything to you, but how do I know-"

"That I won't kill you in your sleep?" Merlin stared at him in disbelief. "My god, Arthur, who do you think I am? You forget that I haven't been preparing for this my whole life. I could no more stab you while you're asleep than I could while you're awake."

That got a startled laugh from Arthur, but he still looked weary. But, after hesitating for a brief moment, he handed over the sword. Merlin took it from him, feeling the warmth of the hilt where Arthur's hand had been.

"If nothing else, at least you'd make such a racket with the sword I'd probably hear you before you got close to me," Arthur said, clearly aiming for humour but unable to disguise the edge of resignation in his tone.

Merlin's hand tightened on the sword and he felt irrationally angry as Arthur turned his back and made his way across the room. He knew that he wasn't a Career, knew that Arthur stood to lose much more from this partnership than Merlin did, but he still thought that they could negotiate some kind of trust between them. He thought he'd earned that much, at least.

When Arthur had laid down, in the same spot Merlin had occupied (and Merlin hoped bitterly that the stones had retained none of the precious heat he'd managed to give them), he turned his head halfway towards Merlin, not quite meeting his eyes. "You understand though, why it's hard for me to believe that someone like you wouldn't take the opportunity to get rid of one of his most dangerous competitors, don't you?" He asked quietly, and there was a little bit of a plea in his words, enough for Merlin to actually take a moment to think about what Arthur was asking.

Because, Merlin realised, Arthur wasn't asking for forgiveness, he was asking for Merlin to remember that this was the Hunger Games. Arthur had been raised to fight in these Games, and he'd been raised to win. He was thinking like a strategist, seeing both Merlin and himself as no more than pieces on the board. Pieces that were moving in a way which no one could have anticipated, and it was making him nervous. Arthur was fighting to keep control.

"The problem is, Arthur, that I'm not just someone anymore," Merlin sighed. "And you may be a dangerous competitor, but you're also you. Which in your case mostly just means someone annoying and rude and entitled, but still." He paused, and was surprised when Arthur had no scathing reply to Merlin's (slightly biased, yes, but no less accurate) assessment of his personality. "Those things all make you more than just a tribute in the Games. Don't ever forget that."

Arthur still said nothing, and when Merlin glanced over, he'd turned to face the wall, curled up on his side like Merlin had been.

After what felt like forever (though in actuality it was probably only about ten minutes), Merlin heard Arthur's breathing even out, and felt himself relax slightly. Either Arthur had finally decided to trust him, or his body had given in to the urge to sleep. Either way, the more rested they both were, the greater chance they'd have of making it through tomorrow.

He looked around in alarm to see Arthur sit up, looking wildly around before his eyes settled on Merlin and he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief - though whether at the fact that Merlin hadn't run off with his sword or that he hadn't managed to stab himself with it, Merlin wasn't sure.

"Another one down," Merlin said needlessly.

"Twenty more to go," Arthur said grimly, voice still rough from sleep. "God, I'm starving. And we need to find some kind of..." he waved his hand vaguely.

"Bathroom?" Merlin asked, and Arthur nodded grimly. "Damn right."

In the end, they decided to find another balcony from which to relieve themselves, and Merlin hoped that the cameras weren't on them right now. They took turns, Merlin fretting a bit about leaving Arthur alone in the room - not really sure that was a healthy emotion, but choosing to accept it for now. As long as he and Arthur were working together, at least, he was allowed to worry about him. Arthur, after all, was pretty much all that stood between Merlin and tributes like Valiant.

Feeling a lot better after emptying their bladders, Merlin and Arthur decided that the second most important thing was to find something to eat.

"Maybe if you say it loud enough, some roast chicken will magically appear on a table in the next room," Merlin grumbled, but Arthur ignored him.

"There's got to be some food in here somewhere," Arthur insisted. "What with the Cournucopia so hard to find, it's just common sense to assume that not a lot of people will have access to it. And nobody wants to watch twenty-four children slowly starve to death."

The way Arthur spoke about the Games, Merlin realised, was so calculated. Emotionless. He could imagine Uther instilling all these ideas in his son's head, drilling in strategies and scenarios and all the possible ways to kill and avoid being killed. It must have been a terrible childhood.

"Arthur, why did you volunteer for the Games?" Merlin blurted, regretting the question almost immediately. However much Arthur's behaviour puzzled him, he was pretty sure that their partnership didn't extend to actually caring about each other's pasts.

Arthur shot him a look. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Merlin hesitated, contemplating not saying anything at all. But Arthur kept looking at him, clearly not going to let him off the hook. "I was just curious. You don't seem..." he trailed off, shaking his head. He was going to say murderous, but he'd seen Arthur stab Valiant in cold blood. He'd seen him in training, too, relentless and emitting the most dangerous kind of power. Arthur was here to fight, and he was here to win.

And yet, when they'd first locked eyes in the Arena, Arthur's first instinct hadn't been to kill. Live and let live, Merlin thought, remembering a story his mother had once told him as a child.

"I don't seem what, Merlin?" Arthur asked. He looked wary, but also genuinely curious.

Merlin swallowed, suddenly intensely aware that their conversation might be being broadcast to the entirety of Panem. There was so much he wanted to ask Arthur, so much he wanted to know about the boy he'd considered his most dangerous enemy until yesterday - but he didn't want to say anything that might hurt either of their chances with the sponsors. After all, they were probably watching this bizarre development between himself and Arthur very closely, and Arthur wouldn't thank him for making him appear weak.

The constant monitoring, Merlin thought, was one of the worst things about the Games. It wouldn't have been a problem if he'd been on his own or with Gwen, but finding himself unexpectedly working with someone who was practically a stranger was proving to be very difficult when they couldn't actually speak openly with one another.

He wished they could find somewhere where there were no cameras, or microphones. Only for five minutes. But he doubted very much such a place existed - and how would they know, even if they found it?

Instead, he only said, "You just seem like you could be so much more than this."

Arthur shook his head. "Merlin, you don't understand. In my District, there is nothing more than this. The Games, they're everything to us. If you don't at least try to volunteer your name, you're nothing. Less than nothing. My father -" he caught himself, shaking his head, "- I would rather die than live with that kind of shame."

"Even if it means the deaths of twenty-three innocents?" Merlin asked quietly. He thought he understood what Arthur was trying to say - that for all he appeared to have chosen this, he'd never really had a choice at all - but as someone who had lived in relative freedom, who'd had a life to lose, Merlin still couldn't understand how anyone could willingly sign themselves up for this slaughterhouse. And worse: for all his apparent honour when it came to the actual killing, Arthur had signed up for being the butcher.

Arthur's face hardened. "You know as well as I do that all of these people are going to die, no matter who kills them. Their fates were sealed when their names were drawn from those bowls a week ago. Whether it's me or some other District 1 tribute delivering the killing blow doesn't make a difference to them."

His voice had taken on that automatic edge again, the one that Merlin had learned meant that the words were Uther's, not Arthur's own.

And Merlin wanted to argue, he really did. He wanted to stand up for the faceless tributes who weren't here to fight, who were probably off hiding in corners of this hellish place waiting to die, to remind Arthur (and the rest of the world, if they were watching) that it did matter.

But ultimately, Arthur was right. They were all at the mercy of the Capitol, all of them, all the time. Once you were Reaped, your life was forfeit. Even if you survived, your life still belonged to the Capitol - just look at Uther, who it seemed had never really escaped the Hunger Games after all. At best, victors would end up like Gaius: alone in their big, empty mansions, haunted by the ghosts of the children they had to kill to get there.

And maybe it was better that someone like Arthur won it all. Someone who could handle it, and who really would be treated like a hero upon his return, not a glorified murderer. Someone who might not be as broken by his as any of the rest of them, like the ones that hadn't been prepared for the terror and the carnage like he had been.

"He wanted me to kill you, you know," Arthur said quietly and Merlin stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Arthur in alarm. "My father. He was so angry by the way you spoke to me, by your interview..." Arthur trailed off.

"So..." Merlin almost didn't want to ask the question which sprung to his mind, but he had to know. "You letting me live, asking me to come with you, that was what? An act of teenage rebellion?"

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "When I first saw you in the Arena, all I could think of were my father's words to me on the night before the Games: When you find him, make it hurt." Merlin shivered, and Arthur dropped his gaze. "But then I actually looked into your eyes, this boy I hardly knew whose life I was seriously contemplating ending just because he ran into me in a hallway, and that's when I realised that I couldn't do it. I couldn't be the kind of tribute my father wanted me to be. And I suppose, yes, maybe I wanted to show my father that. But then you saved my life, Merlin, and I realised that I wasn't just doing this to prove a point anymore. I guess..." Arthur paused, clearing his throat. "I guess I also thought you deserved a fighting chance in this place, and I wanted to give you one."

"Oh." Merlin didn't know what to say. It was good to know that Arthur wasn't just dragging him along for show, but he didn't like the other boy's use of the past tense. Did Arthur feel like he'd owed Merlin some kind of debt, which he'd now repaid? Did he just want Merlin to know that when he did eventually turn on him, it wouldn't be because his father had told him to?

Some of what Merlin was feeling must have shown on his face, because Arthur's expression softened. "If it's any consolation, we've got a lot of people out to kill us both. No need to turn on each other." Merlin heard the unspoken yet, but was oddly touched that Arthur didn't say it.

Merlin let out a shaky laugh, mostly to try and dissolve the tension. "Just wait. When we're the last two left standing..."

Arthur shook his head, and Merlin gasped in surprise as he reached out a hand, touching his fingers to Merlin's mouth gently. "Don't. Just... don't." His eyes held a new kind of pain, which surprised Merlin even more than the fingers on his lips.

And Merlin could do nothing but nod, trying not to notice how Arthur's touch was affecting him.

Oh, no. This was very inconvenient.

As Arthur turned away again, Merlin reached out and grabbed a hold of his arm, and Arthur turned back with a questioning look on his face. Merlin bit his lip; he wasn't sure how, but he wanted to tell Arthur that he appreciated all the things the other boy had just shared with him. Arthur would probably never have admitted to any of those things outside of the Arena, but staring death in the face had an odd effect on people - and, yes, it was very possible that Arthur only felt like he could tell Merlin these things because ultimately it was like speaking to a ghost. But either way, it suddenly felt different, this thing between them.

Arthur had the social skills of a donkey, it was true, and Merlin could never let himself forget that he was a Career tribute, and ultimately out for himself. But he had also protected Merlin when he didn't have to, and shared his magical healing paste which had probably cost roughly the same amount as the net worth of Merlin's entire District.

In the Arena, you don't have any friends, Gaius had told him. At the time, Merlin had fully believed that Gwen would be the only exception to that rule, but now...

Merlin let go of Arthur's arm and instead held out his hand. Arthur looked down at it in surprise. "I'll stick with you, Arthur, but on one condition: we're allies. I know that doesn't usually end up meaning anything in the end... but for right now, I just need to know that you won't leave me behind on a whim."

Arthur looked at him for a long moment, assessing again, but there was something else in his expression which Merlin couldn't quite place. "Fine," Arthur said at last, reaching out, and grasping Merlin's hand with his own. "It's an alliance. For now."

"For now," Merlin agreed. And if he let his hand linger in Arthur's a little longer than was perhaps necessary, it was only because he needed the comfort of touch, for a moment, that wasn't done with the intent of ending his life.

"Now, come on, no more wasting time," Arthur said briskly, whatever softness in his eyes evaporating as though it had never been there at all. "We need to find some food and water soon or we'll go mad before sundown. Or... whatever time we decide that the sun is probably going down."

"Right," Merlin said, clearing his throat, hoping the cameras weren't picking up on the blush that had very annoyingly started to spread across his cheeks. "Let's go, then." 

It was only ever a matter of time before they ran into more tributes, of course. But this time they weren't faced with a raging attacker, but rather with a pair of girls: Merlin recognised one of them as Vivian, the pretty blonde girl from District 2, and Mithian, the District 5 girl who'd surprised everyone by scoring a nine in the rankings.

Mithian straightened up, eyeing them both warily, but Vivian exclaimed, "Arthur!" beaming so widely she looked half-mad, and Merlin wondered if perhaps the stress of the Arena had already gotten to her.

"Vivian," Arthur nodded, his voice tense. He exchanged a look with Merlin, and Merlin felt a surge of panic. Was this the moment when Arthur found his real allies? Was this his cue to run? Or was Arthur trying to warn him that a fight was coming? Damn it, why hadn't he gone to that signalling post when he'd had the chance?

"I'm so glad to see you alive, Arthur," Vivian purred as she sidled up to him, and Merlin found himself taking a step towards Arthur, instinctively preparing himself for another stealth attack if she decided to jump them. She was unarmed, but Merlin had seen her in training. She could do some real damage with those nails.

"Do you have any idea who's gone so far?" Arthur asked. Vivian pouted, clearly expecting him to throw his arms around her in relief or some grand gesture like that.

"No," she said, sourly. "Well, the first cannon, that was mine. I got the little runt from District 6."

And she looked so pleased herself, so damn proud of having killed a little boy (Drew, Merlin thought his name was. He was only twelve, and had been one of the youngest tributes this year), that Merlin found his hands curling into fists. God, he hoped she'd attack them already.

"And the one this morning?" Arthur asked, voice carefully blank. Merlin hoped he felt as sickened by Vivian's words as Merlin himself, but he thought probably not. Arthur was one of them, he had to remind himself. Merlin was the outsider here.

His eyes darted to Mithian. She was watching the exchange warily, and he wondered what was going through her mind. He hadn't paid her much attention at training, and as far as he knew, District 5 tributes could really go either way - they didn't traditionally produce Careers, but every year Caesar would remind the enraptured crowds that they weren't to be as easily disregarded as Districts 11 and 12. And this girl had seemingly allied herself with Vivian, of whom Merlin's opinion was lower than dirt.

"I have no idea," Vivian admitted with a careless shrug. "Wait, the two others yesterday - was that you? It was, wasn't it?" She looked so excited to hear about more bloodshed, and Merlin wanted to strangle her. Maybe he wasn't so different from these people after all.

"Valiant is down," Arthur said, voice neutral. "And the District 8 girl. Drea."

Drea. Merlin's heart sank. Tyr's District partner. He hadn't even recognised her.

"And..." Vivian seemed to notice Merlin for the first time. "Isn't that the District 11 kid? The one who got a four?" she added in a stage whisper.

Arthur shrugged. "He's with me."

The words were spoken easily enough, but Merlin realised immediately what they meant. Here they were, in front of what was clearly supposed to be Arthur's allies - and he was choosing to stand by Merlin.

Clearly, Vivian realised it too. Something stormy passed over her face, and Merlin suddenly remembered how dangerous he'd thought she would be, and why.

"I don't ally myself with fours," she said coldly (which Merlin thought was a bit rich, considering that she herself had received a six). "And honestly, Arthur, I know we all got thrown for a loop with this Arena, but don't be an idiot. The boy is dead weight, and you don't even like him! We found a staircase, and I think the Cournucopia must be down below. Come with us, just leave this one here for someone else to find." She was smiling at Arthur again, but Merlin could sense the ice in her voice. It cut like glass, and he hoped Arthur could feel it too.

Arthur was silent, and for a moment, Merlin thought that he'd actually accept Vivian's offer. And he almost wanted to tell him to do it. Wasn't this what they'd agreed? It would be the noble thing to do, to let Merlin walk away, even if it was practically a death sentence. Maybe, for Arthur, it would be enough to alleviate the feeling of obligation, or whatever it was, that was keeping him tied to Merlin.

"No." Arthur moved fractionally, but it was enough to turn his stance from casual to threatening. Vivian took a shocked step back, looking like he'd slapped her. "I'm sorry, Vivian, but the circumstances have changed, and you had to expect that our... previous strategies might have, too. My alliance is with Merlin now, and I am not leaving him behind."

Vivian gaped. Behind her, Merlin saw Mithian edge towards the door on their right - good on her, he thought, and kept his mouth shut.

"You traitor!" Vivian shrieked. "We had a plan! We had an alliance!"

Arthur shrugged. "Now I have a new one. And so do you. Well, unless she's got a better offer." He tilted his head towards Mithian, who froze in her tracks, halfway towards the door. So much for that escape, Merlin thought, feeling a little bad for the girl.

"Mithian!" Vivian shrieked, Arthur and Merlin forgotten for a moment. Merlin noted that even though she'd turned her side to them, exposing herself completely, Arthur didn't strike.

He wondered if Arthur was actually that noble, or if he really was as big of an idiot as Vivian thought. Allying himself with Merlin, seemingly refusing to kill unarmed opponents... but this was the Hunger Games. No one won by playing fair, Merlin knew that for a fact.

Mithian's eyes flickered between Vivian, Merlin and Arthur for a moment. "I'm sorry too, Vivian. I wanted to ally myself with Arthur, not you. I can't sleep knowing that I could wake up at any moment with you clawing my eyes out."

And for a moment she looked so truly sorry that Merlin almost wanted to reach out to her. But as if sensing his thoughts, Arthur took a step closer to him, until their sides were pressed together. It was a warning. Don't interfere.

"You bitch!" Vivian snarled, and started for the other girl - but Mithian was faster, darting through the door and slamming it in Vivian's face. Vivian wrenched it open, tearing after her without sparing Merlin and Arthur another glance. Merlin only hoped that Mithian was either fast enough to get away, or found a weapon first. He swallowed nervously.

As if by mutual agreement, neither of them moved. Merlin felt Arthur's arm through their shirts, allowing himself to be calmed by the steady warmth, by the solid reminder of another life next to his own.

BOOM!

Merlin closed his eyes. He really hoped Mithian had found a weapon first.

Next to him, he felt Arthur shudder, but when he turned, Arthur looked as composed as ever. "Five down," Arthur murmured, seemingly more to himself than to Merlin. "We need to keep moving."

Arthur moved, and Merlin felt the acute loss of the pressure of Arthur's arm against his own.

"Arthur, wait, I..." he trailed off. Arthur held out a hand to stop him.

"Merlin, don't mention it. I've told you, you saved my life. We're-"

"If you say we're even again, I'm going to beat you to death with the back of your own sword," Merlin grumbled.

Arthur smiled wryly. "No. I was going to say, we're allies. This is what allies do."

And Merlin had to admit that yes, it seemed like they really were. "I'm glad I don't have to do this alone," he admitted, shaking his head at the completely bizarre turn of events the Games had taken for them both.

"Me too. Even if you are annoying," Arthur added, reaching out to pull Merlin along by his sleeve. "And even if I'm starting to suspect that you're keeping me from my food on purpose, distracting me with these inane conversations."

Merlin smiled. "You like my inane conversations."

"Don't flatter yourself." But Merlin reckoned he could hear the smile in Arthur's voice, and considered it a small victory.

Chapter Text

The next room they found had food - open, half-empty packs of it strewn across the floor, and the sorry remainders of what had once been a whole loaf of bread. Mithian and Vivian must have found this place first, then.

Still, Merlin and Arthur attacked what little food remained. "And there's water!" Arthur exclaimed, holding up a flask triumphantly and shaking it, and only then did Merlin realise how thirsty he'd really been.

Arthur brought the flask to his lips and Merlin absently watched his throat work to swallow the liquid. He found himself suddenly fearful that the other boy would drink it all - but then Arthur wiped his mouth on his sleeve, giving a contented moan, and handed over the flask. Merlin smiled gratefully and took a long drink, savouring every moment as the cool liquid made its way down his parched throat. It felt better than anything ever had, he was sure of it.

"Thanks," he said, noticing that Arthur was watching him. Arthur shrugged and looked away.

They dug into the remaining food, too hungry to be picky. Merlin had a vague thought that maybe they should leave some behind for the next person who came here - but he was starving, and there hadn't been that much food to begin with. He tried to remind himself that he could only worry about his own survival right now... well, and Arthur's, he supposed.

That was when he lifted a bag of crisps and found the knife.

It was coated with congealed blood and Merlin's stomach churned. Suddenly he didn't feel so hungry.

Was this what Vivian had used to kill Drew? She was an idiot for leaving it behind – but maybe she was arrogant enough to think she'd find something better.

The knife, and the blood sticking to it, was just another reminder that this wasn't a challenge any of them could overcome together. This wasn't a game they could survive as a team.

"You should take the knife," Arthur said, and Merlin looked up to find him watching carefully. "You need to be armed, too."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "You really want me carrying a knife?"

Arthur raised his eyes from the knife to Merlin's face, frowning. "What part of allies do you not understand, Merlin? Seriously, you need to stop being so suspicious of me."

Merlin huffed. "Why should I trust you when you don't trust me?"

"It's not... oh, just take the knife," Arthur said with a sigh, looking away.

Merlin did, doing his best to wipe off the blood on the leg of his trousers.

For a moment they stayed sitting, Merlin turning the knife over idly in his hands, letting the light catch it and trying to enjoy their moment of quiet. It had been silent for too long - he had to assume that elsewhere in the castle, riveting fights were going on, and that was why the Gamemakers were leaving them alone. But it couldn't last, and they never knew when they'd get thrust into another confrontation. Or worse.

Merlin had no doubt that this castle held traps and dangers of its own, and the longer they went without encountering any of them, the more worried he began to feel.

BOOM!

Merlin and Arthur started, looking at each other in alarm. Merlin opened his mouth to say something vaguely reassuring, when--

BOOM! BOOM!

Merlin saw Arthur's eyes widen and then he found himself being hauled to his feet by the other boy, who had raised his sword and was looking around as if whatever was killing off tributes was here in the room with them.

BOOM!

"What the hell is happening?!" Arthur exclaimed, and for the first time Merlin heard an edge of fear in his voice. Of course, that made sense: here was something Arthur couldn't see, couldn't fight, and that terrified him.

"Let's go," Merlin said, grabbing Arthur by his free hand without thinking to pull him along... somewhere. Anywhere. They had no idea if they were moving away from or towards the danger, but he knew with a sudden certainty that they had to go.

Merlin barrelled towards the door on their left, moving out his hand to push it - and that's when he saw the piece of paper.

It was miniscule. The length of it was no more than the width of his thumb, and the writing was so tiny he had to lean in and squint his eyes to see the three words written there:

Find the staircase.

Merlin blinked, the adrenaline making it hard for him to think. Had that been there a moment ago?

He didn't even feel Arthur tugging on his hand at first, until he was forcibly wrenched around. Arthur wasn't looking at him though, but towards the other side of the room. Merlin followed his gaze, and his eyes widened in terror at what he saw.

Creeping along the floor, coming out of the crack under one of the doors, was a thick, grey smoke. That couldn't be good.

BOOM!

"Merlin, go!" Arthur began to push him back towards the door - and when Merlin turned around again, the piece of paper was gone, as if it had never been there at all.

But it had been. And Merlin knew that for whatever reason, it was there to guide them.

"No," he said, "no, Arthur, we need to go towards the centre."

They must have gone around most of the castle's outer rooms. There was no staircase here.

Taking a risk is the only way to gain the upper hand, Arthur's words from earlier rang in his ears. The staircase which Vivian and Mithian had found yesterday would be in the centre.

To his surprise, Arthur didn't argue, and they headed for the door on the other wall. They stormed through the room, and Merlin tried not to notice the fog, which had begun swirling through the air, taking the room inch by inch. They got through the door, and both stopped in their tracks when they realised that the next room was full of weapons.

Arthur made a start towards a rack of maces, but Merlin shook his head, pulling him back. "It's a trap, Arthur. Temptation. We have to keep moving."

And so they did. Pushing through doors, trying to keep moving towards the centre even though after a while Merlin wasn't sure they hadn't been turned around completely.

BOOM!

"Fuck!" Arthur exclaimed, pulling open the door in front of them - only to find a wall of smoke behind it and shutting it again, pulling Merlin in the opposite direction. Merlin felt the deep, heart-wrenching panic begin to overtake him, and could do nothing but follow Arthur blindly. How many had died now? Five? Six? Was Gwen among them? Was it only this floor? Had they missed their chance to find a way out?

They pushed open another door and both breathed out a sigh of relief. Because in the center of this small, circular room was the top of a staircase, spiralling round and leading down to the floor below.

Without hesitation Arthur and Merlin sped down the staircase, and Merlin was very aware of the fog edging along behind them - but as they jumped off the bottom step, emerging in an identical room on the floor below, they looked up and found that the fog had stopped, hovering just at level with the ceiling.

"We need to find a window tonight," Arthur said, leaning against the wall, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath.

Six cannons. Merlin would be an idiot not to think there was a good chance that Guinevere had perished in the massacre they'd just managed to escape. He felt faint, and had to lean against the nearest wall for support.

"Hey," Arthur said, and suddenly he was right by Merlin's side again, looking awkward as he placed a tentative hand on Merlin's shoulder. "At least it would have been quick. She might not even have seen it coming."

Merlin let himself look into Arthur's eyes for a moment, trying to ground himself in the calm, steady blue he found there. How had he ever been able to find them cold?

"I know," he said, trying for a smile, even if his voice was more shaky than he was aiming for.

Arthur nodded, squeezing his shoulder. Merlin wondered if this was something allies were meant to do for each other, too. For a moment it looked like Arthur was wondering the same thing; his eyebrows furrowed as he continued to look at Merlin with an almost curious expression.

But then suddenly Arthur was moving away again, both hands back on his sword, surveying the room they were in.

"This was intentional," Arthur said. "They're beginning to force us together, to speed up the action. We have to assume the others aren't far away."

Merlin nodded, his own hands clutching his knife. He wondered if Arthur was feeling the same loss he had - that they'd left their relatively safe space behind, and were never going to get it back.

A loud noise, almost like a growl, drew their attention. There was only one door in this room, and Merlin realised with dread that whatever was behind it, they'd have to face it to get to whatever lay beyond.

"We could just stay here?" he tried weakly.

Arthur raised his eyebrow. "After the stunt the Gamemakers just pulled, you really think they'd let us just hide away in a corner? It's only a matter of time before they send that fog down here, you know."

Merlin swallowed. "I was worried you'd say that."

"Come on, Merlin, where's your sense of adventure?"

"You're impossible," Merlin scoffed, but he was glad of the banter, really - it was distracting him from the panic, and the terror, and the worry about those six cannons they'd heard and whom they'd belonged to.

"You like that about me," Arthur smirked. Merlin had to smile in response. "Alright, let's do this."

Arthur waited for Merlin to (grudgingly) give his assent before he moved towards the door, pulling on the heavy brass handle and peering inside the next room.

He pulled his head back very quickly, and Merlin swallowed as he saw the look on Arthur's face - half shock, half exhilaration. That can't be good, he thought anxiously.

"What is it?" He didn't really want to know.

"I think it's a wyvern!" Arthur exclaimed, a wild sort of excitement in his voice.

No. Merlin definitely hadn't wanted to know that.

But Arthur was already opening the door again and darting inside, and really, Merlin had no choice but to follow him. And he wondered if this was the kind of thing which Arthur had been hoping for - wild, dangerous beasts straight out of a fairytale that he could find and slay, and feel proud about defeating. (Or, if he lost, at least it would be on his own terms. He supposed that was the best death any of them could hope for in here.)

"Oh shit," Merlin exclaimed as he saw the impossible beast in front of them, in the centre of a room that had what Merlin vaguely registered to be a disproportionately high ceiling. He had only a moment's warning before the creature turned its terrifying red, glowing eyes on them, twisting its sickly blue scales and catching the light in what was surely designed to be a distracting way, before it opened its mouth and a beam of fire shot out past its long, jagged teeth.

Okay, it wasn't supposed to be able to do that.

Merlin was so shocked by the wyvern's unexpected ability to breathe fire that he froze, eyes wide. Arthur flung himself across the space between them, pushing Merlin to the ground and landing on top of him, knocking the air out of Merlin's lungs. Then he rolled off, and Merlin was left panting as Arthur charged at the beast sword first, with a strange sort of war cry.

Merlin staggered to his feet, once again feeling so incredibly inadequate. He had no business fighting a wyvern, not with this shoddy little knife, not when it had learned to breathe fire! As if it hadn't been terrifying enough, of course the Capitol would have to go and mutate it even further.

Arthur manage to push the monster back a few paces, only to have to throw himself out of the way as it charged forwards, and Merlin looked around wildly, desperately looking for something that could help them -

That's when he noticed the spear.

It was flung in the corner like an afterthought, and he wondered if this was part of the entertainment - if the Gamemakers would think it would make for a better show if the tributes had a chance to get some hits in themselves before being ripped to shreds.

Merlin only hesitated for a moment before flinging himself at the spear. He may not be fighter, but he was not a coward either, and Arthur was fighting for his life. He didn't even glance towards the two doors at the other end of the room - how could he even consider leaving Arthur now?

It should probably send up a red flare in his mind, that he kept forgetting the point of the Games: that in the end, he couldn't save both Arthur and himself. But he didn't care, not right now, not when the wyvern had Arthur cornered and the other boy was swinging his sword wildly in front of him, trying to keep the monster at bay.

Fire spurted from its mouth again and Arthur rolled out of the way just in time. Merlin's hands closed around the spear and the beast turned towards Merlin, as if sensing the threat he suddenly posed. It shook its wings but stayed on the ground, for now, and Merlin realised he had just one chance - one chance to prove that his ranking was wrong, that he had a talent which mattered in the Arena.

And so he thought of where he wanted the spear to go. He envisioned it striking the creature's heart, finding the weak point in between the scales he knew must be there. He blocked out everything else - Arthur's movements, the wyvern's pointed teeth as it opened its mouth and inhaled deeply - and he threw.

Merlin closed his eyes. If he missed, this was it. This was how it ended.

But instead came only silence. And he opened his eyes to see the wyvern's red eyes widen, the spear deeply impaled in its flesh. And with a pathetic huff of smoke, it keeled over, eyes rolling back in its head.

Merlin turned to stare at Arthur, who was looking back with a look of complete shock on his face.

"You killed it." He gaped, looking between Merlin and the beast. "You... how did you do that?"

Merlin shrugged, trying and failing to hide the rush of vindication. "Looks like I'm not as useless as everyone thought."

"But..." Arthur shook his head, getting to his feet, and now it was his turn to look shaky. "But at training. Your score. I don't - how could they give you a four?"

Suddenly he looked completely, irrationally outraged, and Merlin felt his stomach drop. Of course, he should have realised that this would change things. Arthur hadn't thought of Merlin as a threat before, but now...

Merlin shook his head, figuring that honesty was his best policy right now. "I don't know. I thought they were fairly impressed with me at the evaluation, but then..." He trailed off, remembering exactly what had happened after. His run-in with Arthur, Uther's cold look as he promised Merlin that he'd pay for this.

He eyed Arthur's sword, which Arthur was still holding raised – he was still poised for an attack, or for having to defend himself. Was he worried about what Merlin would do next? Had this broken the tentative trust they'd managed to build between them?

He didn't know why, but that thought saddened him immensely, even if he'd had no choice but to do what he did. Even though he shouldn't have to hide what he was capable of.

Arthur was still gaping at him. "My father said... but I thought..." he shook his head, eyes darting round - damn cameras! Of course Arthur couldn't say anything which might jeopardize Uther's standing in the Capitol, couldn't in any way indicate that foul play had been involved, even if he was putting two and two together about what had really happened.

Instead his eyes fell on Merlin again, and Merlin saw Arthur's conflicted feelings play across his face clear as day. Arthur had clearly had no idea about what Uther had done, and was now ashamed, and worried... and angry. But angry at his father, or at Merlin? Angry that he'd been kept in the dark about this, or that Merlin's ranking had been influenced unfairly?

"Arthur?" Merlin asked tentatively.

"I'm..." Arthur's face hardened, and Merlin held his breath. "I'm sorry the Gamemakers didn't give you the ranking you deserved," he said finally, and Merlin could almost see his mind working, willing Merlin to understand everything he couldn't say.

And Merlin did. "It's not your fault," he said softly, hoping that it was enough, that Arthur understood his meaning. Your father did this, not you. He hated that they had to keep their words so closely guarded, but he couldn't imagine what might happen if word got out about Uther's foul play. Merlin didn't give a damn about him, of course, but for all they knew it could affect Arthur and Morgana, too, and he suddenly found that he wasn't willing to risk that. "This doesn't change anything, right?"

Arthur eyed the wyvern for a moment, and Merlin knew he had to be weighing up his options, that he was thinking like a tribute again, not like the truly decent person whom Merlin was beginning to suspect that was hiding underneath. And to a tribute, Merlin was suddenly looking like more of a threat, but he was also turning out to be a more powerful ally than anyone could have anticipated.

"Bring the spear," Arthur said, and Merlin let out a relieved breath. Somehow, he could no longer imagine having to face whatever horrors lay ahead of them without Arthur by his side. And, just maybe, Arthur was beginning to feel the same way.

As he moved to pick up the spear, Merlin noticed something on the floor, half covered by one of the wyvern's massive claws. Turning his body slightly, Merlin moved the claw as inconspicuously as possible, and saw another of the tiny pieces of paper. He bent down, under the cover of struggling to to pull the spear from the creature's flesh, and read:

The right way is wrong.

Merlin frowned. He didn't understand – what did that even mean? Were these messages from Gaius, or was there actually a sponsor out there with a vested interest in Merlin's success? But then why send these cryptic messages, on pieces of paper so tiny surely not even the cameras would see them? A sponsor would want their gifts noticed... and there was no way Gaius could afford to send anything into the Arena without help. These messages couldn't come from him.

But then who?

Merlin straightened up, feeling fairly certain that the piece of paper would mysteriously vanish just as it had appeared. And sure enough, when he glanced back down, there was nothing.

Meanwhile, Arthur was moving towards the two doors on the wall in front of them, and turned towards the door on the right-hand side. "Wait," Merlin said, and Arthur turned back, eyebrows raised. "I think we should take the other door."

"Why?" Arthur frowned.

Merlin opened his mouth to explain, then hesitated. There was something about the nature of these notes – how small they were, and how they disappeared the moment after he'd read them - that made him pretty sure that whoever was sending him messages didn't want to draw any attention to themselves. And even if he wanted to tell Arthur, there was no way of doing so covertly.

Instead he only shrugged, moving towards the door on his left, motioning for Arthur to follow him – and to his mild surprise, Arthur did without further question. To Arthur, it probably didn't matter – and maybe there would have been no danger on the other side of the right door, maybe these messages were merely meant to mess with his head... But as they opened the door to the next room, Merlin couldn't help but feel slightly relieved to find it empty and quiet. A reprieve, he thought. He wondered what had been behind the door on the right, but he suddenly really didn't want to find out.

Several different doors led out of this room, and one stood ajar, revealing a balcony beyond. Upon seeing it, Arthur headed forwards at once. "Perfect," he said, "we'll be able to see the projections from here."

"Hold on," Merlin said, looking round. "This doesn't make sense. The staircase wasn't close to the side of the castle at all, how can there be a balcony here?"

Arthur waved an arm in the air, not bothering to look round at him. "Don't be ridiculous, Merlin, we probably just got turned around while we were running around upstairs."

He walked out onto the balcony and sat himself down, leaning back and looking up as if expecting the images of the fallen tributes to appear at any minute. Merlin sighed. Well, what else was there to do but follow? He trailed after Arthur, and plonked himself down next to him, leaning back.

"It's too quiet," Arthur murmured after a moment. "I wish they'd just get it over with. Whatever they're going to do to us."

Merlin glanced sideways at Arthur. To the casual observer, he looked relaxed - head tilted back, sword resting on his bent legs - but Merlin knew better. Arthur was anxious, discomfited by the uncertainty of this entire situation. He clearly thrived best with an immediate threat in front of him, and the waiting around must be killing him. Maybe that was the Gamemakers' plan for him: see how long it'd take before he broke.

For his part, Merlin liked the quiet. Even knowing it was temporary, he let himself sit back and enjoy it. He knew it was an illusion, all of it, that there were people watching their every move and looking for a way to exploit their weaknesses. But sitting here next to Arthur... he felt safe. He knew he wasn't, but that didn't really matter. Something about Arthur calmed him. It might be the knowledge that he would jump up and protect them both at the merest hint of a threat, or maybe just the fact that even if Merlin died here, he wouldn't be dying alone.

He didn't know how long they sat there, in almost-comfortable silence, leaning back against the railing with their arms almost touching. But then the anthem began to play.

Merlin sat up and he felt Arthur do the same next to him. He drew in a shaky breath, and looked down in surprise when he felt Arthur's warm hand close around his own.

He looked up to meet Arthur's eyes, but Arthur wasn't looking his way.

"Just in case it's Gwen," Arthur said quietly. Merlin nodded. Or Morgana, he added silently. He wasn't sure what exactly the nature of Arthur and Morgana's agreement had been before the Games began, but she was his sister. Surely her death would hurt, even if Arthur had probably had a while to prepare for the eventuality.

The first projection showed the wide-eyed, anxious boy from Four. Gilli. Merlin tried not to feel too relieved - Morgana hadn't been on their floor, then.

Next was the girl from Six. Arthur inhaled sharply in surprise, and Merlin turned at the noise.

"Elena," Arthur whispered as if that explained everything. "She was a good fighter." He didn't sound sad, exactly, but he sounded respectful. Honouring a fallen warrior in a way probably only a fellow warrior could. Merlin could only feel a mix of terror that this girl (even if he hardly knew her) had suffocated from poisonous gas probably only a few rooms away from them, and relief that he had one less person to worry about.

The tall, lanky boy from District 7 was next - Ota, Merlin thought his name had been. And both of the District 9 tributes, Arro and Helen, had also perished. He remembered those two from training: they'd stuck together, keeping a low profile. Merlin wondered if they'd been working together in the Arena too, and if they'd been the two cannon blasts that had come at the same time. He wondered if they'd been scared.

He shook his head. Of course they'd been scared.

One name to go. Please not Gwen, he thought. There was no reason to think she'd been on the same floor - but of course not all the deaths today had to be because of the gas. Please not Gwen.

It wasn't Gwen.

It was Ewan, the boy from District 10. Another of the small ones. Once at training, he had asked Merlin for help with a knot he couldn't work out how to tie properly. He hadn't been very good at anything, except for camouflage, a skill which couldn't have been much help at all in this Arena.

But it wasn't Gwen. Merlin closed his eyes, letting himself feel the shameful, selfish relief and trying not to remember Ewan's face, his fierce determination as he'd shared with Caesar his belief that he could survive this, that he would get to go home again. None of that had helped him, in the end. There was no justice to be found in the Hunger Games.

"Districts 6, 7 and 9 are all out," Arthur said. "We still don't know about one of the deaths, and whether Vivian or Mithian..." he trailed off. He didn't need to finish the sentence.

Merlin nodded, fatigue setting over him like a stone. He wondered how much more of this he could take; if there'd come a point when he simply couldn't feel any more, and would simply cease to feel anything at all.

He was so tired. And hungry. And sick of this, sick of wondering whether every moment would be his last, and whether he'd have to watch Gwen and Arthur die before succumbing to the inevitable himself.

Merlin didn't notice drifting off to sleep, the warm feeling of Arthur's hand in his own the only thing keeping him grounded in this hopeless, godforsaken place.

"Merlin," Arthur hissed, "Merlin, wake up!"

Merlin started awake, lifting his head from Arthur's shoulder, trying to make sense of his surroundings - they were on the balcony. Arthur was beside him, tugging on his arm, and before he knew it Merlin found himself half-dragged on top of Arthur, who was pushing himself as close to the edge of the balcony as possible.

"Arthur, wha-" Merlin started but Arthur clamped a hand over his mouth and shot him a wide-eyed, warning look.

Merlin heard a door slam, and froze.

Someone was in the next room.

He heard shuffling - whoever it was, they were moving slowly. Maybe they were tired. Or maybe, Merlin realised with a terrible sense of dread, they were hunting.

It could be Gwen - if she was still alive. It could be Morgana - but Merlin found himself desperately hoping that it wasn't, because he still didn't know what Arthur would do once he was reunited with his sister. Or, it could be any of the other nine remaining tributes, in which case they were screwed.

Arthur had Merlin pulled against his chest, and Merlin could feel the other boy's ragged breathing on his neck - he was trying very hard not to think about that fact right now, and focus on keeping as silent and still as possible.

His eyes darted over to where his spear stood leaning against the railing. Oh shit. While he and Arthur remained invisible to whoever was in the other room, from a certain angle he was sure that whoever was in there would be able to see the spear - and if they had any sense, they'd go straight for the weapon, especially if the weapons store they'd found on the floor above had been the castle's only supply.

The footsteps seemed to slow even further, and then stop. Shit, shit, shit.

What if whoever it was decided to stay in there? Was there any way Merlin and Arthur could stay hidden out here? There was nowhere to run, and they were still too high up to jump.

The steps picked up again. They were coming closer.

Arthur's breathing was ragged against the back of Merlin's neck, and Merlin vaguely wondered if Arthur was scared too. No, surely not. He didn't think Arthur was scared of death in the Arena, anyway - but maybe he was scared of the decision he might have to make, depending on who was on the other side of the door.

Merlin saw the handle turn -

A door slammed, and Merlin and Arthur both started, and Merlin may or may not have elbowed Arthur in the stomach.

"What are you doing here?" a male voice sounded. Merlin recognised it, but in his panic, he couldn't place it.

"I told you, I was checking out this floor," a female voice responded. "You were supposed to go upstairs."

The voice was cold and hard, and for a terrible moment Merlin thought it was Morgana. But no, that wasn't quite right. Plus, Arthur didn't react to her voice, though he slowly removed his hand from Merlin's mouth as though he'd forgotten it was there. When Merlin tried to shift, Arthur held him in place, draping his hand over Merlin's abdomen and pulling him closer. Merlin felt like he couldn't breathe, and he wasn't sure it was entirely because of fear.

"I can't go upstairs, there's some kind of smoke or gas or something up there. I reckon that's what took out all those tributes before."

"Good," the female voice responded. "Well, we best keep moving. I don't think there's anyone here."

"They must all be hiding on the ground floor then. We went the wrong way."

"No, this is good. We know there's no one up here now, and they can't get through our floor without going through the Cournucopia. And now we know we won't get ambushed from above. Those rats don't stand a chance."

"We should head back. I don't like leaving Sophia down there alone."

"Awww Cenred, are you worried about your girlfriend again?"

"Shut up. You know it's only a matter of time before the Pendragons crawl out of whatever hole they're hiding in, and she's no match for them. I'm not willing to risk that, are you?"

Merlin felt Arthur tense underneath him at the mention of his name, but to his credit, he didn't make a sound.

"Fine. I've checked everywhere up here anyway, it's all clear."

More footsteps. The slam of a door. Silence.

Arthur let out a huge exhale, which tickled Merlin's neck. After a moment Merlin coughed, and Arthur tensed, then released the iron grip he still had on his waist. Merlin extricated himself awkwardly, and they both scrambled to their feet.

"Cenred and Morgause. Brilliant," Arthur said. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and Merlin wondered for a wild moment whether perhaps he wasn't the only one who'd found himself a little too affected by the position they'd been in just now.

"And they've found the Cournucopia," Merlin said. "Which means they have lots of weapons."

"And food," Arthur added, raising an eyebrow. Merlin couldn't help but snort, needing to cling to even a shadow of normalcy, such as it was.

"Yes. Very important." He had meant it jokingly, but as if on cue, Merlin's stomach growled.

Arthur nodded, as if that decided the matter. "If we wait too long, we'll be too weak to fight them at all." He made to push past Merlin, but Merlin stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

"Whoa, wait, you're just going to what? Charge after them?"

Arthur shot him a look. "What did you think I was going to do, stay here and cower?"

"Arthur, you can't," Merlin said, shaking his head fiercely and ignoring the sting of Arthur's words. Was that what he thought Merlin was doing? Cowering? "You have no idea what weapons they're carrying - what if it's crossbows, or guns? We need a plan."

Arthur shifted his weight, looking torn. He looked like he was itching for a fight - against people who could actually give him one - but Merlin knew he understood.

"Then what do you propose we do?" Arthur asked, throwing up his hands in frustration. "You heard them. They've got the Cournucopia under full control - on the floor right below us, it sounds like - and they've got at least one more person on their team. Sophia is nowhere near as strong a fighter as Cenred and Morgause, but she's sneaky as hell, my father even advised me to ally myself with her if I could."

Merlin shuddered. He remembered Sophia from training only as the creepy girl who'd kept staring at Arthur. He couldn't imagine her having any kind of useful skills that'd warrant an alliance.

Speaking of alliances. "It sounds like they think Morgana's still alive," Merlin said, watching Arthur carefully, still not sure where Arthur stood on wanting to find his sister.

But the other man gave nothing away. "Yes. And they're expecting us to attack, that much is clear. They must have traps in place."

There was something else, but Merlin wasn't sure how to bring it up - and if he even should. The way Morgause and Cenred were talking, it sounded like they had the Cournucopia floor under full control, and unless they'd missed more tributes during their search of this floor, that only left the ground level. If Gwen was still alive, that was where she'd be.

But Arthur had told him that when they found Gwen, he'd be off to continue the Games on his own. And while there could be no question of Merlin going back on his word to Gwen about keeping her safe if he could, he didn't want to leave Arthur behind, either. And not just because he was a powerful fighter, but also because... well, he felt like Arthur was worth keeping around.

Being at the end of your life gave you an odd sort of clarity, and Merlin was realising that for whatever reason, the boy in front of him - even though he was a Career, a trained killer and practically a stranger - felt oddly like home. And in a place like this, that wasn't something Merlin was willing to lose.

If this day was to be his last, he wanted Arthur to be one of the last people he saw. It was selfish, but for all intents and purposes, Merlin was dying. He was allowed to be a little selfish.

Anyway, they couldn't get to the bottom floor without going through Cenred and Morgause's territory first. That needed to be their main priority. And Merlin already knew that if Arthur decided to go for the Cournucopia, Merlin would follow.

It didn't take them long to find the staircase this time. In fact, Merlin was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that the way they moved through the castle wasn't quite as random as he'd previously thought.

Arthur's sponsor gift and Merlin's mysterious notes had appeared out of nowhere, there one moment and gone the next. He would have to assume that the bodies were also being removed from the Arena somehow, as in the other Games he'd seen. Maybe the placement of the rooms was also being manipulated. Maybe the walls moved when they weren't looking.

He hated it, this feeling of being controlled. Of people watching him, having the power to kill him at any moment. The people of Panem may be forced to watch the Hunger Games every year, but what they didn't know - what they couldn't know - was that, for the tributes themselves, the true horror of the Games wasn't that 24 children were forced to fight and kill each other. It was the ever-present knowledge that there was no loophole, no escape. The moment they stepped into the Arena, their lives were forfeit, one way or another. Any semblance of a reprieve or escape was an illusion.

So, even though a part of Merlin desperately wanted to stay here, where it felt safe, he knew they had no choice but to push forward, and to act on the sliver of an advantage they now had after overhearing Cendred and Morgause's conversation. Even though they really had no idea what awaited them below, they could reasonably assume that the careers had staked out their territory, meaning that there were only three tributes on the whole floor - and they were likely all by the Cournucopia, or just around it. And since there were three of them, Arthur had reasoned, they'd likely be making some kind of noise if they were all together (especially Sophia, who was apparently a bit of a chatterbox).

So Merlin and Arthur's best bet was to move carefully, weapons at the ready, and try to locate the Cournucopia. Then, Arthur would provide a distraction, hopefully drawing Cenred and Morgause out while Sophia stayed behind as she had before.

And this was the part that terrified Merlin, and which he'd done his very best to talk Arthur out of: he didn't want to split up. But Arthur had argued that it made the most sense for Merlin to take on Sophia while Arthur distracted Cenred and Morgause - because, as he'd explained, if the District 3 pair took Arthur down and turned on Merlin, Merlin didn't stand a chance, but he might actually hold his own against Sophia. And if Merlin seized the Cournucopia, he seized all the weapons, giving him a better chance against Cenred and Morgause should he need to fight them on his own. And then he could get down to the ground floor, maybe even find Gwen. It was Merlin's best chance, Arthur had said, as though that sealed the deal.

It was a ridiculous, self-sacrificing plan. Merlin hated it. He wanted to express to Arthur that he'd rather die at his side than have to face the rest of the tributes alone... but he didn't know how to say it, or how Arthur might react. Honestly, he couldn't even explain it to himself, so he kept quiet.

But he didn't want to fight Sophia. Merlin had gone into this competition fully believing that he wasn't going to be able to kill anyone, and so far the only thing he'd actually defeated had been the wyvern. Even if Sophia was the enemy, she wasn't here by choice any more than he was, and Merlin had no right to end her life.

And this is why I'm gonna lose, he realised with a sudden, startling clarity. He shook his head, trying to will that thought out of his mind. He couldn't afford to worry about what was to come, not anymore.

Merlin wondered if Gwen would be able to kill anyone, if she had the opportunity – or if she maybe already had. But the only way to know, the only chance he had of seeing her again, was to go through the Cournucopia. And as much as he might have wished that Arthur had asked him to stand at his side so they could face Cenred and Morgause together, Merlin couldn't bring himself to forgo the only chance he had of finding Gwen. He would just have to trust that Arthur would come back, and then...

Then they'd deal with whatever awaited them on the final floor. At least if they took the Cournucopia, they'd be a hell of a lot better prepared than they were right now, half-starved and with a spear and a sword between them.

Before they began to move down the staircase, Arthur stopped Merlin, a hand on his arm.

"Look, Merlin, whatever happens... thanks. For sticking by me."

Merlin cocked his head. "I reckon it should be the other way around, actually."

Arthur forced out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, maybe. But none the less, this place... I probably wouldn't have been able to face it without you, to be honest."

He looked embarrassed by the admission, Merlin noted, but with that same edge of stubbornness which Merlin had maybe come to admire about him, just a little bit.

And in that moment Merlin wanted nothing more than to show Arthur exactly how much their brief friendship (because that, he realised, was what it was - as poorly timed and understandably strained as it had been) had meant to him. But once again he became aware of the cameras, and of the fact that if they should survive their next trial, the sponsors would still be watching. And seeing as Arthur had received no help since the medicine on the first day, Merlin had a bad feeling that their allegiance was displeasing someone on the other side, whether it be the sponsors or Uther Pendragon himself.

But he also realised that Arthur had probably known all of this going in. Had known whom his father had wanted him to join forces with, and had intentionally gone against it, choosing to play the game his own way. And Uther was punishing him for it now (Merlin had no doubt that the man could have easily sent a bit of food or water their way if he'd wanted to), but still, Arthur did not relent.

"Me too," Merlin said, making a decision - to ignore the fact that there were cameras, and that there were rules, and people to impress, just for a moment. If Arthur didn't care, then Merlin wouldn't either, and if the Gamemakers didn't like it, they could cut away.

Arthur's eyes met his own, and he looked anxious, but also a little bit hopeful. Merlin smiled, and Arthur tentatively returned it. Merlin felt Arthur's hand tighten its grip on his arm, and he stepped a little closer, letting his own hand reach out and graze Arthur's face, ghosting over the place where his cut had been, where by all rights there should not be a scar. But the skin was smooth and soft, and he let his hand linger, tracing the line of his cheekbone. Merlin's eyes fell to Arthur's lips, and he licked his own. What the hell, right?

Thump!

Merlin and Arthur both started, whirling around - but there was nothing there.

Nothing, that is, except for a box. Merlin chanced a look at Arthur, who was frowning down at it, nonplussed.

"I think it's for you," Merlin said, but Arthur was already moving away from him, towards the box which had somehow appeared out of nowhere a few feet away from them.

Merlin followed a few steps behind, and watched as Arthur gingerly reached out and prodded the box with the tip of his sword – but nothing happened. Arthur reached down and picked it up, looking inside, and then promptly dropped it with a look of disgust.

"What is it, Arthur?" But Arthur didn't answer, only strode past him, a stormy look on his face.

After a moment's hesitation, Merlin moved over to the box and peered inside.

It was empty.

Well, he thought, that made it pretty clear what Uther thought about Merlin and Arthur's... alliance.

It made him sad, even though he knew that in his own way, Uther was looking out for his son. Arthur's appeal didn't lie in gaining sympathy, it lay in emitting strength. He needed to look unbreakable, as he had before the Games began – or at least that's what Uther thought, because that was what had worked for him in his own Games. And could Merlin really blame for the man wanting his son to come home?

Yes, when it's Uther's fault that Arthur is here to begin with, Merlin thought with a growing hatred of the man. And Uther had two children in the Arena; no matter what, he would be losing at least one of them, and he had to have been prepared for that. He must even be counting on it.

Suddenly Merlin wondered what Morgana and Arthur's training had really been like, before the Hunger Games began. He'd assumed that Uther had been training them to work as a team... but maybe he'd been pitting them against each other from the beginning, testing them, trying to make them prove to him that they were the one who deserved to live over the other.

Arthur's hesitation when he spoke of finding Morgana suddenly made a lot more sense.

"Arthur..." Merlin began, not sure what he could even say.

"We should go." Arthur's words were clipped, his tone brokering no argument, and when Merlin turned towards him Arthur already had one foot on the stairs, not looking his way.

"Yeah, okay," Merlin mumbled, feeling defeated. Once again he found himself desperately wishing they could find somewhere without cameras. Just for one brief moment, that was all he wanted, before the end. Was that too much to ask?

He sighed, following Arthur down the staircase. When he glanced back towards where the empty box had been, it had vanished. Message received, loud and clear.

But when he turned back, Merlin paused. Stuck to the top of the bannister was another note. He leaned in, under cover of pushing his spear down the stairs ahead of himself, and read the words:

Do not be discouraged.

"Come on, Merlin!" Arthur hissed from halfway down, and Merlin didn't have time to ponder the third mysterious message, or who was leaving them for him. Or, most importantly: why?

Chapter Text

Once again, Merlin and Arthur found their way suspiciously quickly. There hadn't been any deaths for almost a day, and Merlin had a bad feeling that the Gamemakers were gearing up for another spectacular slaughter.

It felt like no time at all before they heard voices coming from inside the next room, and Arthur signalled to Merlin to stop while he tip-toed over to the large oak door, leaning against it. After a moment he nodded, mouthing, It's them.

Merlin set his jaw, trying to prepare himself for what he had to do next. The doors opened outward - good, that would make the next part a lot easier.

Arthur waved Merlin over, and Merlin took his place on the side of the door. Arthur stepped a few steps away and took a deep breath. This was it.

Their eyes locked for a moment, and Merlin nodded. He understood why this was all the goodbye they would get - he only hoped it wasn't the end. Not yet.

Then Arthur slammed the back of his sword against the door, and all noise from within the room ceased at once. Arthur turned and moved backwards, eyes locked on Merlin until the moment when the doors opened - and then all hell broke loose. Merlin himself grabbed onto the door as it flung open and kept it in front of him, praying that this part of their plan would work (although as Arthur had said, if they discovered Merlin, Arthur would be close enough to fight them off - or try to, anyway).

He heard Morgause screaming, "Pendragon!" as she stormed past, and firing what sounded like a crossbow, then yelling out a cry of frustration when it presumably didn't hit. "Get him! Sophia, stay!" she shouted, and Merlin could only hope that the first part had been directed at Cenred - the next part was shouting and running and slamming of doors, and Merlin kept completely still until the only sound was that of ragged breathing - one person's breathing.

Sophia.

Merlin shut his eyes. This was the hardest part.

Quiet steps sounded and Merlin knew she was on her way to close the door. He had no idea what sort of weapon she might be carrying, so he could not lose the opportunity to act.

The steps were close, and he shifted his stance.

The moment he felt a tug on the door he was still holding on to, Merlin flung himself forward around the door, and charged into Sophia, knocking her weapon (a knife? They'd left her all alone with only a knife?) out of her hand and throwing her on the ground.

Merlin hovered above her as Sophia stared, wide-eyed and frightened. "Please," she whimpered, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, "please don't."

He hesitated. She was unarmed, pleading for her life - surely Arthur wouldn't want him to kill her like this. Surely he couldn't.

BOOM!

Both Merlin and Sophia started, but Merlin kept his grip tight, forcing the panic down. It was Cenred or Morgause. It had to be. It couldn't be Arthur.

"I'll leave," Sophia said, desperately, "please, just let me go, I'll leave, just let me leave."

Merlin swallowed. All his instincts were screaming at him not to let her get away - Arthur hadn't wanted her in an allegiance. But then again, he'd made plans to join Vivian, and she was pure evil. This girl was just frightened.

He slowly shifted his hold, sitting back, removing the pressure from her torso. "Okay. Okay, go."

Sophia raised herself up on her forearms, giving him a relieved, watery smile. "Oh thank you, thank you so much!" she exclaimed.

Merlin smiled back. He couldn't believe he'd actually considered killing this girl, who was clearly just as scared as-

Click.

He froze. Sophia's smile had turned predatory, and she wasn't looking at him anymore, but rather at whom he assumed would be the person holding the gun pressed to the back of his head.

"No, thank you very much," the female voice spoke. "You did well, Sophia."

It couldn't be. Not now. Not here.

But it was.

"Morgana," Merlin breathed.

Sophia slipped out from under him and dusted herself off as she smiled, and Merlin felt the gun nudging him - he shakily got to his feet, every part of his body screaming. Did she know Arthur had come with him? Should he tell her? It might save his life - but it might cost Arthur his, if Merlin's assumptions about Uther were correct.

He swallowed, feeling the gun nudge him forward, towards what he now saw was a gigantic pile of crates and sacks of what he assumed was food, medicine and weapons. The Cournucopia.

The irony that this would end up being the place he died wasn't lost on Merlin. For as long as he could remember, the site of the Cournucopia had been where most of the tributes ended up perishing. He was nothing special then, after all.

"Turn around." Morgana's tone was clear and even, and would sound almost pleasant if not for the context.

Merlin did, trying to get his emotions under control. He was terrified - but not just for himself. Morgana hadn't killed him straight away, which meant she must want something from him, and he thought he knew what it was.

She held the gun in her right hand, and in her left held a dagger. She looked... not bored, exactly, but resigned. It was a sharp contrast to Sophia's look of almost euphoric glee; it didn't look like this was a game to Morgana at all.

"Where is my brother?"

Merlin's stomach dropped. She must have seen him arrive with Arthur, then. He did his best impression of someone who couldn't care less about the gun now pressed against his forehead, but he couldn't have been doing a very good job of it, because Morgana gave him a wry smile.

"Come on, Merlin. Don't play the hero, we both know that's not your thing."

He wasn't going to take the bait. He wasn't going to let her goad him.

"Is he fighting Cenred and Morgause? You must tell me, Merlin."

And Merlin almost wavered - because for a moment, Morgana's indifferent mask slipped away, and was replaced with something almost like concern. But it could be part of the charade. She had allied herself with Sophia, after all, seemingly behind the District 3 tributes' backs.

How hard we all fight to win a game we've already lost, he thought sadly.

"You know I'll kill you," Morgana said, an edge of annoyance in her voice now. "I have no use for you. But I want to know where my brother is. Tell me."

Merlin narrowed his eyes. If this was to be his last word, he was going to make it a good one. "No."

Morgana took a deep breath, eyes blazing. And cold. And everything he'd thought Arthur's had been, before he had gotten to know the other boy, had realised that he was only doing this because...

"Wait," Merlin said. He saw Morgana's hand twitch, but she didn't fire – still, he had to take a steadying breath before continuing. "Tell me why you want to win, and I'll tell you where to find Arthur."

Morgana opened her mouth as if to reply, then hesitated, narrowing her eyes as if trying to work out if it was a trick. Merlin almost wanted to laugh - she was the one holding the gun, he was hardly in a position to trick her now.

"Come on, Morgana, just kill him," Sophia spoke from behind him, sounding bored. "Arthur can't be far away, you're wasting your time."

Morgana didn't look away from Merlin. "This is the boy whom my father expressly ordered my brother to kill on sight, and yet I saw them working together. Let's just say I'm curious."

Merlin forced out a smile, trying to look calmer than he felt. "You can ask him yourself. If you answer my question first."

"Fine," she said. "I'll tell you why I want to win. Because I'm the best. I've always been the best, but Uther never noticed. He wants Arthur to win, you know." She raised her voice, and Merlin was sure it was for the cameras' benefit. Unlike her brother, she wasn't worried at all about what the viewers might think, perhaps the opposite. "If I win, he'll know. They'll all know." She paused, lowering her voice again. "I don't want my brother to die. But I also don't want to lose against him. I want to win, fair and square, and for that, I need him alive so I can kill him myself. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," he said, even though her words sickened him. "I understand that your father raised you as if there was only room for one child in his heart, and I'm sorry it wasn't you. But I don't think it matters whether or not you win, Morgana. I don't think it'll ever be you."

He watched Morgana's face fall, allowing him to see her for who she really was for the briefest of moments. A scared, broken child, who had grown so desperate for her father's love that she would literally kill - or be killed - to get it.

Then her face hardened once more. Merlin saw her grip on the gun tighten, and he knew that this was it.

Goodbye, Arthur. I wish we'd had more time.

He closed his eyes.

BOOM!

Morgana jumped at the sound of the cannon, and squeezed the trigger - but Merlin threw himself on the ground and rolled to the side, the bullet missing him by inches. His ears were ringing and he was seeing red, but he was alive. Oh, god, I'm alive.

He only had a split second to appreciate that fact, however. Merlin saw the flash of a knife out of the corner of his eye and threw himself backwards, Morgana following him down. Merlin looked around desperately, but there was nothing, no weapons, and now Morgana was pulling the gun back, a wild look in her eyes as she aimed at the space in between his eyes.

"Morgana, stop!"

Morgana froze. Merlin froze. Sophia was nowhere to be seen - she seemed to have vanished during the commotion.

Arthur stood in the doorway, blood staining his white shirt, face white... but he was alive, and Merlin could have cried with relief.

"Arthur," Morgana breathed, and Merlin could have sworn she sounded relieved, too.

"Morgana, please, lower the gun," Arthur was saying. He was speaking calmly as he moved towards them slowly, but Merlin heard the edge of panic in his voice. "Merlin is alright, he's... he's useful to us, Morgana, he's a better fighter than we thought. If we want to win this thing, we need him. Just lower the gun, I'll explain everything."

Merlin was pretty sure that Arthur and Morgana would do just fine without him, but he wasn't about to argue that point. Arthur sounded truly frightened now.

And Morgana still hadn't lowered the gun.

"Why?" she asked, eyes still fixed on Merlin. He thought they looked brighter than before, but that could have been a trick of the light. "Why this one, Arthur?"

Arthur was only a few feet away now, but he stopped, lowering his sword to the ground. No! Merlin wanted to shout, what are you doing? You need that!

But he caught the look in Arthur's eyes and he kept quiet, turning his gaze back on Morgana, who was still watching him. There were definitely tears in her eyes now.

"I didn't plan it," Arthur said quietly. "I planned to find you, like Father had instructed. But then... then it just happened, Morgana, he was unarmed, and I couldn't just kill him."

Morgana let out a humourless, slightly hysterical laugh. "No, no, you couldn't have, look at him. He was probably looking at you all wide-eyed and innocent like now. How did Father ever think you could win this thing when you're so bloody noble, Arthur?"

"You're right," Arthur nodded, his voice still deceptively calm. "I was never as strong as you. That's why I need you to please, just lower your gun. I'll fight you, I promise, like we said we would."

"Not until they're all dead," Morgana argued, voice shaking.

"It doesn't matter, does it? It'll still be on our own terms, like we wanted it to be. We still get to see who's strongest, once and for all. And if you win... then you get to kill them all, and go home," Arthur said, as though they were discussing what to have for dinner. And in their household, those two topics of conversation probably wouldn't have been that different from one another.

"But if you kill me, you'll let him live. Even if it means you won't win the Games," Morgana whispered, sounding as if she couldn't quite believe it; as if she was waiting for Arthur to contradict her.

But Arthur said nothing. He merely kept his gaze level with Morgana's, a stubborn and determined expression on his face.

And Merlin heard everything he wasn't saying, everything he wasn't denying, and felt something flutter weakly in his stomach... before he remembered where he was and what Arthur and Morgana were talking about. Whatever small warmth he had felt at Arthur's apparent confirmation of Morgana's assumption vanished as fast as it had come, to be replaced by ice cold dread.

"Why?" Morgana asked, her voice breaking completely.

"I think you know why," Arthur replied, voice barely audible even in the complete silence of the large room.

Morgana closed her eyes, and Merlin noted how beautiful she was, even now, with tears streaking down her face, the skin beneath her eyes bruised, her hair matted and limp. Then she nodded. "You're an idiot," she allowed, and to Merlin's surprise she let out a weak, sad laugh, her eyes still closed.

"I know," Arthur said, a small smile playing on his lips now, too.

And she opened her eyes, looking down at Merlin with an unreadable expression on her face before lowering the gun.

Merlin let his head thump back onto the floor, for a moment so boneless with relief he couldn't move.

Until he realised what Arthur had just agreed to do to save his life.

He shot up, scrambling to his feet, staring between Morgana and Arthur - who were now looking at each other with identical, calculating expressions.

"Wait!" he said, and both Pendragons turned towards him. "You don't have to do this, think about it. There's still eleven people left in the Games, you're better off sticking together."

Arthur sighed, and the look he gave Merlin was almost pitying. "And then what? After we slaughter nine other people - including you, Merlin - we turn on each other? That was Father's plan, you know." He shook his head. "No. We're doing this our way."

Morgana smiled, looking almost at peace for a moment. "This is for the best. This way, whatever happens, it's not on his terms."

Arthur nodded. "We were never really playing any game but his, but now we're throwing it. This way maybe he'll get neither of us back, and there's nothing he can do about it."

"I'd like to see his face right now," Morgana said, and for a moment, the two looked almost giddy at the prospect. And Merlin's heart broke for them both, these poor children whose only way out of their father's tyranny had been this nightmare. Maybe in a twisted way, the idea of dying in the Hunger Games had felt like the ultimate escape from Uther's hold.

He wanted to stop them. But this wasn't his fight. And everyone had a right to go out on their own terms - especially here, where all other freedoms had been stripped away from them. Wasn't that what Arthur had told him, on their very first day in the Arena?

"Merlin," Arthur said softly, "you don't have to watch."

Merlin swallowed. "No, it's..." he shrugged, smiling sadly. "Where else would I go?"

Arthur returned his smile, looking relieved. "Alright. Okay, good."

Morgana raised an eyebrow. "When I win, you'll wish you'd run, boy."

And Merlin thought that probably would have been funny, had this entire situation not been so twisted and sad.

"If you win," he said, allowing an edge of teasing to creep into his voice even though it made him feel slightly sick. Morgana let out a startled laugh.

"I like him," she told Arthur. "In the next life, the three of us should go out for drinks."

"Save us a seat, will you?" Arthur said, raising an eyebrow. Merlin found himself morbidly fascinated by their ability to joke right now - but he supposed, at the end of the world, humour was the only defence against madness.

"Just the one seat, baby brother?" she smirked. "Why am I not surprised?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Are we going to do this or not?"

Morgana sighed, and Merlin felt the momentary lightness of the moment seep out of the room like water rolling off a stone. "We are."

"Weapons?" Arthur asked.

"Swords. No shields. Let's make this fast."

Arthur nodded, bending to pick up his own discarded sword.

Morgana turned, heading towards a table where several different kinds of swords were laid out. She glanced back, and picked out one that looked very similar to Arthur's.

If nothing else, Uther had taught them to play fair.

Merlin hoped that wherever the older Pendragon was, he was realising that only a monster could raise his children like this, make them spend their whole lives preparing to fight each other to the death. But then again, Uther had always been a monster - the footage from his own Hunger Games was proof of that. He was probably on the edge of his seat with excitement right now, placing bets on the outcome.

Arthur and Morgana moved out into the centre of the room, and Merlin moved backwards, feeling completely useless. He noticed that Morgana had put the gun down on the table - but it was a good way away, and even if he could get to it without Morgana noticing, Merlin somehow felt like Arthur wouldn't thank him for trying to interfere.

These were Arthur and Morgana's deaths. It was their choice.

So he stayed where he was, watching, his heart in his throat as Arthur and Morgana began to circle each other. He realised that the entirety of Panem were probably watching with him right now - and for a moment, Merlin let himself take comfort in the fact that he wasn't doing this alone, not really. Back home in District 11, his mother was sitting in their little house, probably with Will and his mother, and maybe even Tom and Lancelot, and they were watching Merlin watch Arthur fight his sister to the death.

Did they know what Merlin had begun to feel for Arthur? How had their story been spun by the Capitol? What moments between them had the Gamemakers chosen to share with the world? Whatever it had been, Merlin wanted to believe that his mother could tell that despite all odds, it had become something real. He hoped that she'd seen him connect with someone, however briefly; had seen him find the closest thing to happiness he could have ever hoped for in this place.

Even if it was all about to end.

Morgana struck out first. Arthur parried her blow easily, but she pushed forward immediately, and Arthur let her. Her blows came strong and fast, but Arthur parried each one, and it looked like a carefully choreographed dance they'd been practicing for years.

And maybe they had.

Now Arthur was pushing back, Morgana parrying as she moved backwards across the room. She feinted to the left and thrust her sword forward, but Arthur rolled right and came up on her side, sword coming down from above - but Morgana raised her own to meet his at the last moment, the clang ringing out and echoing through the hall.

"Getting tired, brother?" Morgana panted out.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm just getting started," Arthur replied, his own voice just as breathless.

They were teasing again. Had they forgotten that this wasn't a game? Or maybe they'd simply been playing all their lives, and this was no different.

Morgana struck out, and Merlin gasped as the sword cut across Arthur's shoulder, ripping the white shirt, which turned crimson in an instant as fresh blood soaked through.

"Don't worry, that shirt was ruined anyway," Morgana taunted.

"Rip it off clean next time, give the viewers at home a real show," came Arthur's clipped reply, delivered through his teeth.

Merlin couldn't watch. But he couldn't look away. The Pendragons danced across the room, Arthur showing no sign of slowing down even as the red began to spread over the white...

But then Morgana stumbled, leaving her side open for Arthur to knock the sword out of her hand - and then Arthur's sword was at her throat.

He hesitated. Even now, he hesitated. Merlin held his breath, and it felt like the world had stopped.

"Do it," Morgana hissed. She was breathing heavily, and Merlin could hear the desperation in her voice now.

"Morgana..." Arthur began.

"If you don't do it now, then I will pick up my sword and run you through, little brother," Morgana said. She raised her arms, leaving herself completely defenceless. "I won't even hesitate. And then I'll kill your boy over there."

"I don't think you would," Arthur whispered, and Merlin had to strain his ears to hear him. "I think you would let him live, because you know that's what I'd want you to do. I think you love me too much to kill him, if I begged you not to."

"But you won't," Morgana replied, her voice more steady now. Resigned.

"Try me."

Morgana was silent for a moment. "All I wanted was to find out which of us would win. You've won, Arthur. Your prize is an hour with him, or maybe two. Or if you're lucky, a day. Just go claim it. You know there's nothing here for me but death – and it should be at your hand. I want it to be."

"You're my sister," Arthur protested, voice breaking on the last word, and Merlin felt Arthur's pain as though it was his own. He couldn't take this, he couldn't watch - but he couldn't not.

"So do this for me. Let me die on my own terms, like you promised, Arthur."

We all deserve to die on our own terms.

"I love you," Arthur whispered.

Merlin closed his eyes.

The sickening noise that followed caused Merlin to gasp, and to his horror he felt tears slide down his cheeks as he stood, immovable, unable to face the scene he knew he'd see when he opened his eyes.

BOOM!

He heard a sword clatter to the ground, and a moment later, ragged sobs broke the quiet. This shook Merlin into action, and he opened his eyes, not even letting himself take in what he was seeing until he was racing across the room, dropping down on his knees now at Arthur's side – Arthur, who was leaning over Morgana, cradling her lifeless body in his arms, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed brokenly above her.

Merlin hesitated only for a brief second before letting his arms encircle Arthur. And when he felt Arthur lean into him, he began softly stroking Arthur's back, like his mother had done for him when they'd got the news about his father. Like Merlin had done for Gwen, when Elyan had died.

He felt Arthur's sobs as though they were his own, slowly tearing apart both of them - and in that moment Merlin could feel nothing but hate for Uther Pendragon, the man who had broken his children so cruelly, so meticulously.

"Arthur, I'm sorry," Merlin whispered into Arthur's hair. "I'm so sorry."

He knew that Morgana's body would be claimed soon, however bodies were claimed in this place. He knew they needed to move - but Arthur needed a moment, and he damn well hoped the Gamemakers were going to give it to him. As if he could will them to stay away, he lifted his eyes and sent the room at large a threatening look, hoping a camera caught it, and that they understood his meaning.

Give Arthur a moment to grieve for the sister your cruel Games just forced him to kill.

Merlin tightened his hold on the other boy, who in turn reached up an arm to pull Merlin closer, his hand fisting in the back of Merlin's shirt as his tears soaked through the front.

It was a good thing that he was crying, Merlin tried to remind himself, doing everything in his power to keep it together himself, for Arthur's sake. Arthur crying meant he wasn't yet too broken to feel anything. It meant that there was still hope for him, should Arthur end up as the victor.

Somewhere inside, Merlin feared that he was kidding himself, trying to believe that Arthur wouldn't be just as haunted by the Games as any of the other past victors had been. But he had to believe that Arthur would be okay, he had to keep imagining that he had a future, that at least one of them did.

"You'll be okay," Merlin found himself whispering into Arthur's hair, trying to make them both believe it. "I've got you. You'll be okay." You have to be.

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After Arthur's sobs had subsided, leaving behind only the occasional shudder, Merlin regretfully pulled him to his feet.

Arthur was a mess. But Merlin didn't think he looked much better himself, and so he simply tried to straighten Arthur's collar - a completely pointless action, but it felt oddly reassuring. A little touch of normal.

Arthur let himself glance down at Morgana once last time before taking a deep breath, letting Merlin lead him towards the Cournucopia. Merlin purposefully made sure both their backs were turned fully away from the body, and hoped it was enough.

After a moment he chanced a look back - and sure enough, Morgana's body was gone.

He let out a shuddering breath. It was over.

Arthur moved towards the Cournucopia with something Merlin could easily have mistaken for disinterest if he hadn't gotten to know the boy so intimately over the past few days.

He only noticed the box as Arthur headed towards it; it was standing apart from the rest, and Merlin recognised it now as being of the same design as the two others they'd got from the sponsors. Arthur opened it, and let out an empty huff of something like surprise at what he found inside.

"What is it?" Merlin asked, surprised when his own voice came out raw and spent, as though he was the one who had been crying.

Arthur said nothing, only tossed what Merlin realised was a bread roll at him. Merlin caught it, and even though he didn't feel hungry at all right now, bit into it - and it was good. Grainy, rich and comforting.

"This is from my District," he realised, and his eyes widened as the implications of that fact set in: the sponsor gift was for him.

The wave of gratitude swept over him like a blanket of warmth – had Gaius done this on his own? Had his friends from home pitched in? Were there actually sponsors out there who cared about him, who wanted to send him this small but significant comfort?

Arthur looked over at him. "Hm," he said, turning the roll he himself was holding up over in his hands. He went to put it back into the box, but Merlin stopped him.

"Don't be stupid, Arthur, we'll share it."

Arthur opened his mouth as if to protest, but after a moment he smiled – a small, hardly-there twitch of his lips, but it was a start. He took a bite of his own roll. "S'good," he mumbled, and took another bite.

Merlin smiled, holding the bread up to his nose and taking a long whiff. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see it all again: the late summer nights in the fields. Him, Gwen and Will (and in later years, Lancelot) perched on the hay stacks on those precious days of late summer, after they fields had been harvested but before the hay was collected, removed from their District never to be seen again.

Living in District 11 wasn't easy; work might always leave them tired, and there might never be quite enough food to go around, but it had been home. And, Merlin realised, he had been happy there.

But then again... he had never had Arthur. He looked over at the other boy, who was leaning back against the crates, munching on the bread with a faraway look in his eyes. Merlin felt a wave of regret as he tried to imagine himself back home, where it was safe and warm and peaceful and where the comforting routine of life and work stretched endlessly ahead of him, and couldn't. Because there would be no Arthur, and somehow over the past few days, Merlin's life had changed so irrevocably that he could no longer imagine a world which didn't have Arthur Pendragon in it. In the midst of all this pain and heartbreak and with the threat of death looming ahead of them, inescapable, it was like something inside of him had awoken. And no matter what happened in the Games there would be no going back to the life he had left behind, he knew that now.

Still, he let himself dream, just for a moment, as he consumed the bread roll slowly, bite by tiny bite. He let himself imagine Arthur back there in District 11 with him, tried to see him there on the hay stacks with his three best friends as they wasted away those precious summer nights together. There would be no danger there, no death, only laughter and smiles and the smells of summer enveloping them like a drug, leaving them happy and relaxed and blissfully ignorant of the harsh realities of life.

Merlin imagined that Arthur would adore Gwen, if they'd met under different circumstances. He'd also fully approve of Lancelot joining their group, Merlin was sure of it; they had that same noble, equal parts annoying and admirable quality which would probably make the rest of them roll their eyes. And as for Will, well, Merlin was pretty sure Arthur would hate him and that the feeling would be mutual, but the thought made him smile. Their sniping would be a sight to behold.

And without the constraints of the Hunger Games, away from the Capitol's prying eyes, he and Arthur could be... all of this, he realised, but so much more, and with none of the pain and the death which surrounded them in here.

He imagined Arthur there next to him, their fingers discreetly twining together under the cover of twilight. Arthur would lean back on a hay stack, drawing Merlin down with him, and Merlin would see his eyes staring up at a real, cloudy blue sky, grinning without a care in the world as dusk settled over the fields and the sun cast a deep orange glow over the world, and he slowly turned his head...

No. Merlin shook his head, coming back to reality: to this harsh, cruel place where there was no sky and no carefree smiles. Where Arthur was staring off towards the place where his sister had begged him to kill her, where he'd run a sword through her heart and watched her die in his arms. There was no happy endings here, and anything else was nothing but the stupid, pointless fancies of a child.

He tried to bring his mind to more practical matters, to distract himself from the sudden stinging in his eyes. Merlin knew they couldn't stay here for long, they were too exposed - Sophia was still out there somewhere, plus whatever tributes were left on the ground floor.

But he was so tired - and Arthur looked about ready to keel over where he stood.

Merlin realised that he had completely forgotten about Arthur's shoulder wound. He was sure it couldn't be deep as the blood had already dried on his shirt, but they had medicine here, and he knew that wounds left untreated could get infected.

"Arthur, take off your shirt," he said, rummaging through the crates.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, but obeyed, pulling his ruined shirt up and over his head without a second's pause, undershirt following a moment after.

Merlin swallowed, feeling like the most vile person alive for actually catching himself staring for a moment. But there was no denying that Arthur was gorgeous, all lean muscles and fine, golden hair scattered across his chest, leading down past his navel to...

Nope. Not gonna go there right now, Emrys.

Merlin's eyes snapped up to Arthur's face, only to find the other man watching him – something intense, yet also almost like amusement in his eyes, and Merlin blushed. Arthur let out a breath which Merlin thought might have been a weak attempt at a laugh, and felt a little surge of relief. If Merlin's embarrassment could take Arthur's mind off of everything, even for a split second, then he'd gladly run around the Arena naked.

Right, he needed to stop picturing either of them naked.

Merlin cleared his throat and pulled out the antiseptic wipes he'd found. No more of that magic paste, it seemed, but that was alright. Morgana's sword had barely grazed the skin, and Merlin reckoned a thorough cleaning was probably all it needed.

He moved closer to Arthur, suddenly unsure. He'd held the other man when he cried, but this was different. Arthur might be embarrassed, or too proud...

"Oh, just get on with it," Arthur said, rolling his eyes, sounding almost normal. Merlin gave him a shaky smile, stepping closer, until he was close enough to touch.

Which he did. He let his fingers trace the wound gently for a moment, allowing himself to revel in the feeling of Arthur shivering under his touch, breath hitching as Merlin's fingers grazed the side of his neck.

Then he set to work, wiping gently along the cut, starting at Arthur's shoulder and moving over across his collarbone, ending at the top of his chest. Arthur's eyes stayed trained on him the whole time, but Merlin did his best to ignore Arthur's intense gaze in favour of concentrating on the task at hand.

When the wound really couldn't get any cleaner, Merlin regretfully began to step away, but Arthur put a hand on his arm, drawing him closer.

Merlin felt his breath catch in his throat as Arthur moved towards Merlin, pushing in until he could lean their foreheads together.

"A part of me wants to do something really stupid right now," Arthur breathed, his breath mingling with Merlin's. "Just to show him - all of them - that they don't control me the way they think they do."

Arthur's face was so close, Merlin could see his eyes darkening, and Merlin felt his heartbeat quicken. "So why don't you?" he whispered.

Arthur let out a sigh, his hand moving up Merlin's arm until it rested against his neck, drawing soft circles on the skin under his ear. Merlin shivered.

"It would still be for them, Merlin. And I don't want..." for a moment his voice was shaky, but then he took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, the shaking was gone. "I don't want this to be for them. Do you understand that?"

And even as Merlin felt a deep, inexplicable sense of loss as he took in Arthur's words, he did understand. What Merlin and Arthur had found in here had nothing to do with the Hunger Games - their friendship, this, had developed despite of everything the Capitol had expected them to do. And Merlin didn't want that to change, either. He didn't want anything between them to be a consequence of something the Capitol had orchestrated.

"I do," he whispered.

Still, he let himself breathe Arthur in for another moment, allowing himself to imagine all the what ifs, and the could have beens - even if they never really could have been, even if the irony was that without the Games, Merlin and Arthur never would have found each other at all.

The Capitol might own their lives and control their deaths, but they would never have this, he realised, and smiled slightly. He let his own hand close over Arthur's, and tangled their fingers together.

As they reluctantly pulled apart, Arthur returned the smile - and although it was tinged with a deep sadness, it was a genuine one. And, for now, that was enough. 

When the music began to play, Merlin and Arthur didn't need to find a window or balcony. They knew which three tributes had died today.

Ten remained. Two of them were Arthur and Merlin, one may be Gwen, another was Vivian or Mithian. And then of course there was Sophia.

Other than that, it was anyone's guess.

Merlin took the first watch, managing to convince Arthur that he needed to rest or he'd be useless against any enemy they might find themselves having to face tomorrow.

To keep himself busy, Merlin tried to sort through the food, eating as much as he could and picking out some they could easily carry with them.

They'd finally been able to have some more water, too, and it had felt a bit like breathing for the first time. It was amazing how far adrenaline could carry them, but the minute they slowed down, Merlin began to feel the hunger and most especially thirst set in – he'd definitely be making sure they brought enough water with them when they left... enough for a few days, anyway. He could not think any further than that.

After drinking their fill, they'd also used some to clean off Arthur's shirt the best they could - now, he was curled up underneath a thin blanket, still shirtless, while the shirt and undershirt were laid out to dry. As he sat guard, Merlin tried very hard not to think about how much he just wanted to go over there and drape himself around Arthur under the blanket, drawing comfort from him the way he and Gwen had done on the night before the Games. Well, Merlin allowed, maybe not exactly like that.

He sighed. They'd been in the Arena for three days now. Tomorrow would be the fourth.

It wasn't long at all, not by Hunger Games standards. But to Merlin it had felt like a lifetime - and as he sat by Arthur's side, taking comfort in the steady rhythm of his breathing, he suddenly realised that this might be the last moment of quiet they'd get before the end.

It wasn't fair. He didn't want this to end – and it wasn't even that he didn't want to die (even though he didn't, but that idea felt strangely abstract in his mind even now), it was the thought of leaving Arthur behind, or worse, having to watch him die. If that fight today had gone a little differently... Merlin shuddered, and drew himself closer to Arthur, still resisting the urge to reach out and touch like he so desperately wanted to.

Arthur had been right before, and as much as Merlin wanted to find a good reason to just say fuck it all and give in, he knew why they shouldn't.

The irony of all this wasn't lost on him: that it felt like he'd been sleepwalking through his entire life, only really waking up the moment when Arthur had walked into his life - just in time for it all to be over.

Was this what being in love felt like? Did it always leave you desperate to hold on to these fleeting moments, knowing that no matter how much or little time you had together, it would never be enough?

It had happened so suddenly, and yet from the moment he had first met Arthur, he had felt himself inexplicably drawn to the other boy. Had Arthur felt the same? Looking back on the day's events, Merlin thought he probably had, and the thought made him smile.

He picked up another loaf of bread absently, just for something to do. He lifted it up to his mouth, about to take a bite, when he noticed the paper. Minuscule as ever, stuck to the underside of the loaf.

Two days.

Merlin frowned, setting the loaf down carefully as though he was not really that hungry after all, hoping the cameras hadn't picked up on his momentary confusion.

What did that mean? What was in two days? Was that the day all the tributes would be pushed together? The day this year's Hunger Games would be decided? The day he died?

He wished he knew who was sending him these notes. If it was Gaius, Merlin would like to think his mentor would have some more specific advice to offer, considering how much it must cost even to get tiny pieces of paper into the Arena. But if not Gaius, then who? Uther Pendragon, sending him a threat? But Merlin had a feeling that if it was Uther, the man would be a lot more obvious about it, like when he'd sent Arthur that empty box.

He shook his head. Just another puzzle piece to add to the pile. He was exhausted - but he didn't want to wake Arthur now that he'd finally fallen asleep. Merlin hoped his dreams, at least, were free of pain.

So he continued his vigil, listening to Arthur's even breathing, trying to enjoy the sound while he still could.

Arthur woke eventually, and he looked a lot better after having been allowed to get some rest. When he told Merlin to go lie down, it was with a gentle touch to his shoulder, and he didn't remove his hand until Merlin had drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

When Merlin woke up, he was alone.

"Arthur?" he whispered. Then, a bit louder, "Arthur?"

Merlin sat up, looking around in alarm. He didn't understand - surely Arthur hadn't left him? Not now, not after everything they'd been through?

"Arthur!" he called, realising belatedly that loud noises probably wasn't the smartest strategy.

A door creaked, and Merlin sprang to his feet, desperately searching for a weapon.

"Merlin, it's me," Arthur's voice called, and Merlin let his arms drop to the sides.

"You were gone," he accused. "I woke up and you were gone, Arthur!"

Arthur sighed. He had a new haunted look in his eyes which hadn't been there before, but otherwise seemed back to his old self – well, the self which Merlin had come to know in the Arena, anyway. "I'm sorry. I was only gone a moment."

Merlin let out a sigh of relief, trying to remind himself that Arthur wasn't going to just up and leave – he remembered what Morgana had said last night about Arthur letting Merlin live, even if it meant his own death. But did that still hold true today? Things changed so quickly in the Arena, after all. “Don't do it again,” he mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed now for his reaction.

But Arthur grimaced in a way that made Merlin think he understood. "I won't, I promise. But you'll thank me when you see what I found."

Merlin looked up grudgingly. "What?"

"A bathroom!" Arthur exclaimed happily.

And alright, yes, that was a very useful discovery.

After relieving himself, Merlin came back to find Arthur munching on another bread roll (he seemed to have taken a particular liking to the ones from District 11, and Merlin liked to think he knew why).

"So," Arthur said. "One floor to go."

Merlin nodded. "We could just stay here," he said hesitantly. "Who knows if anyone will even think to come up here, and we've got food and weapons..."

Arthur shook his head, looking regretful but determined. "Guinevere might be down there, Merlin, you know that. We have to go."

We. Merlin smiled. "Yeah, you're right," he said.

Arthur sniffed. "You'll find I'm always right."

Merlin snorted, glad to hear Arthur trying to joke again – at least he thought it was a joke, but with Arthur, you never really knew. They gathered their belongings in silence, and Merlin picked up his spear.

After a moment's hesitation, Arthur picked up a crossbow. At Merlin's questioning look, he shrugged. "I think I'm done with swords."

Merlin eyed Arthur's sword warily, which was still lying where Arthur had abandoned it yesterday; Morgana's blood had dried on the blade. He could understand why Arthur would not want to carry a reminder of what had happened, but Merlin had seen how skilfully Arthur wielded the weapon – he had a very bad feeling about leaving it behind.

"At least take a knife,” Merlin said at last, and Arthur grudgingly agreed. They found a couple of scabbards, and selected knives from the Cournucopia's collection. Taking one last look around, Merlin sighed. This place had brought them a lot of pain, but it had also brought them closer together, and it made him sad to think that he would most likely never see it again. But then again, he felt that way about most things in his life right now.

Locking eyes with Arthur instead, he realised that it didn't really matter where he went, as long as Arthur was there with him. It was a terribly sappy thought to have, but he didn't give a fuck. Not anymore.

"Let's go,” Arthur said, hoisting the crossbow onto his shoulder and leading the way to the back of the room, where the staircase would take them down to the final floor. Merlin followed, and this time he didn't look back. He didn't have to, he had everything he needed.

Little did he know that it was all about to fall spectacularly to pieces.

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When they emerged on the bottom floor, it was to find themselves in a small room that led out into a giant hall, which seemed to be the entrance to the castle. A gargantuan door took up most of one wall, and Merlin reckoned that probably led outside. Pillars aligned either side of the hall, and a few other, smaller doors led to what was presumably even more rooms. Other than that, there was nothing.

There was something about the eerie silence which felt very unnatural. Although only ten tributes remained in the Games, Merlin knew they must all be somewhere on this floor – maybe just on the other side of some of these doors. But yet there was not a sound, and he felt almost as if he was in a vacuum. Was this another of the Gamemakers' ploys, to make it easier for the tributes to sneak up on each other? Or was it simply Merlin's own nervousness making him hyper-aware of the silence, of the absence of any perceivable threat?

Merlin and Arthur looked at each other, and Merlin knew Arthur was wondering the same thing: should they keep exploring the castle, or head outside? Crossing the moat was out of the question, but there might be areas they hadn't been able to see from the windows.

Arthur quirked an eyebrow, and Merlin realised that he was waiting for Merlin to make a move. Of course, Merlin realised with a pang, Arthur's path lay with Merlin now: Morgana was gone, and he had no other allies left. It was Merlin who had someone left to find now, and Arthur was just... well, Merlin wasn't actually sure what Arthur's strategy would be now. Was he still trying to win? Merlin had to assume that he would be, even if he'd told Morgana that he'd be willing to let Merlin live – but for all he knew, Arthur had just been saying that in the heat of the moment. And as much as he wanted to trust Arthur, he had to be smart about this, too, and couldn't let himself be swept up by these all-consuming emotions that were put into such sharp relief due to the fact that they constantly felt like they were on the brink of death.

Another thing he'd learned in the Arena, however, was that he needed to stop worrying so much about all the things that may or may not happen in the future and keep focusing on the most pressing issue at hand. And right now, that was finding out if Gwen was still alive – and actually finding her, if she was. But how was Merlin supposed to know where Gwen could be?

In the end, he let his gut decide for him. Even if it was manipulated by the Gamemakers, Merlin was desperate for some fresh air and light that didn't come from the static, yellow bulbs in the ceilings of every room, so he headed towards the door leading outside, and Arthur followed silently. They were moving carefully through the hall, as light on their feet as possible. Most of the Careers had been taken out, but they could never be too careful.

Merlin pushed open the door and winced when it creaked loudly. But there were no other sounds, and after a moment's hesitation, they headed outside. Merlin took a deep breath in, letting the air fill his lungs... but just as every time they'd found a balcony over the last few days, he was left disappointed. The air out here was exactly the same as it had been inside the castle.

He also realised almost immediately that Gwen most likely wasn't out here. There was nothing but a small stretch of grass leading out towards the moat, and several large boulders scattered around. For coverage, Merlin realised. Big enough to hide behind... or keep someone hidden. But from what?

This didn't feel right, they were too exposed. He glanced at Arthur to find the other man alert, his eyes rapidly scanning the area. “Maybe we should head back inside,” Merlin whispered, but to his surprise, Arthur shook his head, pointing to their right. Merlin looked over, and realised that he'd missed something: on the side of the castle there was another door, a smaller one, almost invisible from this angle. The perfect hiding place.

Merlin nodded, and Arthur grabbed him by the arm, pushing him in front of himself. Merlin was going to argue, but realised that Arthur was pushing them into formation, taking flank. Right. Always remembering to think like a tribute, unlike Merlin himself.

They moved along the edge of the castle, towards the door. Please, Gwen, be okay, Merlin thought, desperately hoping that whatever happened, he would at least get to see her one last time. Please.

When they reached the door, Arthur moved ahead of him, loading the crossbow, motioning for Merlin to take out the knife. He nodded, and Merlin pulled the door open, knife ready, only to find –

“Please, please don't hurt me! Please!” a voice squealed, and Merlin gasped in surprise.

It was Tyr Seward.

He was cowering in a corner of the tiny, dark room, flinching away from the stretch of light coming in through the open door, but after a moment he lowered his arms and blinked up at him. “Merlin?” He breathed, voice shaking. “Merlin, it's really you! You're alive!”

Tyr scrambled forward on his hands and knees, and Merlin saw how dirty he really was. His skin looked sunken and sallow and he had deep dark circles under his eyes... but he looked unharmed, and Merlin let out a sigh of relief.

“Tyr,” Merlin whispered as he reached in to help pull the other boy upright, “have you been in here the whole time?”

“Yeah,” Tyr said, “it's brilliant, isn't it? No one's found me yet – well except you, of course, but that's okay. I knew you would come, that we would be allies, Merlin, I...” His voice faltered, looking beyond Merlin's shoulder, and the blood drained from his face.

For a moment Merlin panicked, wondering what terrifying sight could possibly be behind him, but then he realised that it must be Arthur; that from Tyr's perspective, the most dangerous of the Careers had just discovered his hiding place.

“Hey, no, it's okay,” Merlin started, “he's not going to hurt you.” Merlin turned his head to shoot Arthur a look, and Arthur raised his eyebrows but said nothing. “It's fine, really, just come out.”

But Tyr was shaking his head, backing away, looking between Merlin and Arthur in alarm. “No, no, you didn't, Merlin, you... you allied yourself with one of them? And where's Gwen? Did you leave her behind when Arthur Pendragon came along?”

He looked terrified, and devastated, like Merlin had betrayed him – and Merlin realised that to Tyr, that was exactly how this must look. Merlin and Tyr had been the ones with the lowest rankings, and Tyr had been there for Merlin's altercation with Arthur and his father after the evaluations... and he didn't know what had happened afterwards, hadn't seen Arthur in the Games, didn't know how they had brought out a completely different side of him.

Merlin shook his head. “Listen to me, Tyr, I promise you that he's not going to hurt you. And I haven't been able to find Gwen yet, but I'm looking for her now. I- no, we could use your help.” It felt very important, suddenly, to prove to Tyr that Arthur wasn't the person everyone thought he was, that Merlin's alliance with him hadn't made Merlin the traitor Tyr seemed to think he'd become.

“Look,” Arthur's voice came from behind Merlin, “I can go wait over by the rocks if that'd make you feel safer.” Despite the fact that Arthur sounded bored, Merlin thought he detected a note of wariness in his tone. Merlin wondered what it was like, putting on such a display of arrogance and power all the time, knowing that the people around you either feared you or wanted you dead. Well, unless he won the Hunger Games, of course, in which case he'd be loved by the Capitol forever. Was that perhaps a tiny part of the incentive for Arthur, this boy who'd probably never known real, unconditional love?

Tyr hesitated for a moment, eyes glittering with unshed tears. Then he nodded, and Merlin heard Arthur shuffle away – he tried to ignore the panicked voice inside of him that told him that he needed to keep Arthur close. Tyr slowly approached the door, and Merlin stepped aside to allow the boy to clamber out onto the grass.

He looked even worse in the light, so tired and sunken that Merlin wondered if he'd eaten at all, or even slept, since they arrived in the Arena. “Here,” Merlin said, setting down his pack to get out one of the flasks they'd filled up at the Cournucopia, “I have water.”

Tyr eyed his pack greedily, and accepted the water without question. Merlin let him drink as much as he wanted, glancing over at Arthur, whose eyes were trained on them. Merlin knew Arthur couldn't be happy about this – he'd thought that after everything, Arthur might be able to accept an alliance with Gwen... but Tyr? Arthur had no connection to the boy, and probably no respect for him, either. But still, Merlin knew that he wouldn't harm him, not while he was unarmed and clearly posing no threat. And if Merlin wanted to keep Tyr with them, he didn't think Arthur would argue.

“Thanks,” Tyr said, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, leaving a smear of dirt behind.

“Don't mention it.” Merlin smiled, and was glad when Tyr hesitantly returned it. “Listen, I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner. Arthur and I both arrived on the top floor, and we've only just made it down.”

Tyr shook his head, looking over at Arthur, who gave him a small, ironic wave before resuming his vigil, crossbow loaded and at the ready. “It's Arthur now, Merlin? Really? The guy called you Four, don't you remember that? He's a Career, surely you can't think he won't put that knife in your back at the first convenient moment.”

Merlin followed Tyr's eyes, watching Arthur, who was now scouting the battlements. Maybe he had thought that, once, but that all felt like a lifetime ago. Everything that had happened before the Games felt like it had happened to someone else.

“Tyr,” Merlin said quietly, so Arthur wouldn't hear, “you know how they always say that people change in the Arena? Well, Arthur did, too... but I think in his case, it was for the better.” Ever since getting out under Uther's thumb, it really seemed like Arthur had transformed, and Merlin couldn't help but think that, just maybe, at least one good thing had come from this nightmare.

When he looked back at Tyr, the other boy was watching him suspiciously. “Or maybe it's you who've changed.”

Merlin sighed. “Look, if you don't trust me, that's fine. You can go back in your hole, take your chances, see how much longer the Gamemakers will leave you alone. But me and Arthur are going to find Gwen, and I'd really like for you to come with us. The choice is yours.”

Tyr still looked skeptical, but Merlin could see his mind working. He eyed the pack of food again, and took a deep breath. “Fine. I hope I'm not going to regret this, Merlin.”

Merlin jostled his shoulder lightly, relieved. “You won't, I promise."

“I guess I was getting a little bit sick of my hiding place,” Tyr mumbled as they made their way over to Arthur. “Though out here is not much better. This place is bloody depressing, isn't it?” he added, glancing up at the grey mass above them.

When they reached Arthur, his eyes scanned over Tyr and landed on Merlin. Arthur gave him a curt nod, and Merlin shrugged, hoping that Arthur understood. Tyr wasn't who they'd been looking for, but there was no way Merlin could leave him behind, not now. And Arthur, who had his own sense of honour in the Games, must surely understand that. And luckily it seemed like he did, because a moment later he was motioning them to follow him as they began to move back towards the castle entrance, an unspoken agreement to continue the search for Gwen inside.

Thunk!

Merlin, Arthur and Tyr all jumped as an arrow embedded itself in the ground only a few inches from Arthur's foot.

Thunk!

A second arrow embedded itself in the grass – and this one would have hit Merlin if Arthur hadn't reached out and pulled Merlin towards him, breath hitching when Merlin collided with his chest.

“Run!” Arthur shouted, pushing Merlin in front of him, and they sprinted across the grass, heading for a giant rock which would hopefully shield them from wherever the arrows were coming from.

Merlin turned to see Tyr falling behind, fatigue slowing him down even more than his physique already did.

“Wait, Arthur, stop!” Merlin cried, and wrenched himself out of Arthur's hold to run back and grab Tyr's arm and pull him along. With a frustrated shout, Arthur headed back too, and grabbed Tyr by the other arm, practically hauling the boy forward.

Thunk!

“I swear, Merlin, if this boy end up being the death of me...” Arthur grunted, but they'd reached the boulder now, and they threw themselves behind it, panting, trying to catch their breath.

Tyr was staring at Arthur wide wide eyes. “You... what you just did, I don't understand--”

“Yeah, well, don't thank me yet,” Arthur rolled his eyes, clearly ignoring the fact that Tyr hadn't, in fact, thanked him. He settled the crossbow on his knee, fully alert. “Whoever was shooting at us is still out there.”

Merlin felt a terrible sense of dread as they waited, the silence somehow unnerving him more than when the arrows had rained down around them. His mind was running on full speed, trying to work out who was chasing them, but he couldn't; his panicked mind was a jumble of names and faces and numbers and he couldn't make any of them line up the way they should.

After what felt like forever, Arthur turned to the other two. “We can't stay here,” he said shortly.

Tyr shook his head forcefully. “You can't seriously expect us to go back out there! Merlin, tell him that we need to stay hidden!”

Arthur and Tyr both turned to look at him expectantly, and Merlin winced. “He's got a point, Arthur. For all we know the shooter's got the bow loaded waiting for one of us to stick out heads out.”

“No. No one can keep their arm taut for this long, he's got to at least have lowered his bow,” Arthur shook his head, his voice brokering no argument. “We are wasting precious time sitting around here and waiting for an attack which is never going to happen while they can't see us, and you know it. We're just as armed as they are, we can fight them.”

“Yes, if there's only one shooter out there, which we really have no way of knowing, do we?” Merlin asked, frustrated. “Honestly, Arthur, there's no reason for us to throw ourselves into the line of fire now.”

“Now?” Arthur's expression shifted, twisting into something Merlin hadn't seen since before the Games began. It was cold, and hard, and Merlin didn't like it at all. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Look, Arthur, I know you're itching to jump back into the fray, but we're not all as keen throw ourselves into battle as you are. Some of us still have someone to--” he froze mid-sentence, horrified at what he'd been about to say, and watched as Arthur's expression shuttered completely. “Arthur, I'm sorry, that's not what I meant.”

Arthur looked from Merlin to Tyr, his expression a mixture of anger and determination. “No. But it's the truth, isn't it? We were never each other's first choice for an alliance, and you're right. I don't have anyone left to fight for now.”

Merlin gaped. “You can't be serious, Arthur. Just take a second to think about what you're saying--”

Arthur shook his head, looking every bit the Career tribute he'd seen before the Games – but Merlin couldn't reconcile that image with the one he had of Arthur crying in his arms, and he knew this must be the stress of the Games getting to him – but even so, this reaction still didn't make any sense. But whatever was going through Arthur's head right now he couldn't just let him leave, not now, especially not when there was at least one tribute out there with a bow and arrows and a desire to see them all dead.

But Arthur was already moving, and if Merlin wasn't so damn terrified, he'd have punched him for being so stubborn. “We're not going to find Gwen by staying here, and she's obviously not hiding behind this rock. We need a distraction.”

“I- wait, what distraction? Arthur, what the hell are you doing?” Merlin called but Arthur ducked out, edging along the grass, not looking back.

Thunk!

“Arthur!” Merlin cried, but the arrow had missed Arthur but a hairsbreadth and Arthur rolled forward, until he could press himself up against a smaller rock lying parallel with Merlin and Tyr's.

Arthur's expression was one of stubborn defiance, and Merlin made a mental note to save a big I told you so for later – if they'd get a later.

Beside Merlin, Tyr quivered. “We're never getting out of here alive,” he whispered, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

“No, probably not,” Merlin murmured, but he had eyes for no one but Arthur. Because although he had known that death was inevitable, for the first time he was staring it in the face, with enough of a reprieve to allow himself to accept that this moment might be his very last. And his only regret was that Arthur was much too far away from him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Arthur looked up and met his eyes, and the anger melted away instantly. He looked sad – but still oddly resigned.

Merlin realised what was happening a second too late.

Arthur tilted his head towards the entrance to the castle, still staring at Merlin, then stood up, in full view of their attacker, firing his already loaded crossbow and beginning to load it again immediately. Making himself a target, the stupid, self-sacrificing idiot!

“Arthur, no!” Merlin exclaimed, throwing himself out from behind the rock – not towards the castle doors but towards Arthur, desperate to pull the other boy down, or distract the shooter, or something.

Thunk!

“Merlin!” Tyr called from behind Merlin, but Merlin ignored him, hurtling forwards, slamming into Arthur and sending them both sprawling to the ground.

“Damn it, Merlin, I had him!” Arthur exclaimed angrily, staring up at Merlin as Merlin hovered above him, panting, taking in Arthur and the fact that he seemed, miraculously, not to have been hit.

“I don't give a fuck about that, Arthur,” Merlin breathed. “Not if it means your life, you idiot!”

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, looking completely thrown off by Merlin's words. “Merlin, I--”

“Merlin...”

Merlin and Arthur both started. The moan had come from behind them.

Merlin extricated himself from Arthur and turned, gasping at what he saw: Tyr was lying on the grass in between the two boulders, on his back, an arrow protruding from his chest.

“Shit,” Merlin breathed, scrambling back out from the cover of the rock, ignoring Arthur's attempts to hold him back. No arrows flew at his head; either the enemy tribute had run out of ammunition or had fled when Arthur had fired the crossbow bolt. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter now.

“Merlin, please, help me,” Tyr croaked, feebly pawing at the place where the arrow had embedded itself into his flesh. A thin stream of blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Merlin reached him, feeling something heavy settle in his chest as he realised what was happening, and that there was nothing he could do. “Tyr,” he whispered, cupping the boy's head in his hands, “Tyr, I'm sorry.”

“I don't want to die,” Tyr cried, voice rattling, tears still rolling down his cheeks even as his eyes began to lose focus. “Merlin, please, you promised.”

Merlin's hands were only shaking a little as he let them stroke through Tyr's hair in the most soothing way he could think of, trying to ignore the lump forming in his throat as he watched the life seep out of this boy – this mild, sweet boy who had never asked for any of this. “I'm sorry I made you leave your hiding place,” he whispered, “I'm so sorry, I thought I could keep you safe.”

Tyr shook his head, a tiny motion which seemed to drain him of energy completely. He was very, very pale. “No one's... safe,” he breathed, and Merlin had to lean in to hear him. “Not... in here, Merlin. Your friend... is not your friend.”

That was eerily close to what Gaius had told him, and Merlin swallowed, but resisted the urge to turn and see if Arthur had heard. He didn't want to leave Tyr, not even for a moment. Not when all that was left to do was hold him. “You were my friend,” he insisted.

Tyr smiled – at least Merlin thought it was a smile. “Yes. And he... I hope he... is worth it.”

He continued to stare up at Merlin, and Merlin looked back, until he realised that Tyr wasn't looking at him – or anything – anymore.

Merlin gently lowered Tyr's head onto the ground, taking a shuddering breath, feeling oddly empty as he realised that no matter what he'd done, this would always have happened. He couldn't save them all, and Tyr would never have been the tribute left standing at the end of it all.

Still, it felt like failure, and Merlin couldn't shake the feeling that this, right here, was the beginning of the end. Tyr had refused to fight, he had refused to play the Capitol's game – but in the end, none of that had mattered. They really were not going to make it through this.

BOOM!

When Arthur's hand closed around his shoulder, Merlin straightened, moving to face the other boy, who looked at him with concern. But Merlin wasn't broken, and he didn't need Arthur to tell him that the game was still going, even if they didn't want to play right now. The shooter was out there somewhere, maybe gathering more arrows, and they needed to keep moving. He took one last, long look back at Tyr and let himself remember: good, loyal Tyr, who had only ever wanted to go home to his mother, and now he never would.

And then he turned away, breathing deeply, preparing himself for whatever lay ahead.

“By the way, the shooter...” Arthur said, and Merlin noted the hesitancy in his voice. “It was that guy from District 5, Tristan.”

Your friend is not your friend. Tyr hadn't meant Arthur then, after all; he must have seen Tristan as the other boy's arrow pierced his flesh, as Tristan coldly ended a life he had no right to end out of a selfish desire to return home to his life even if it meant that people like Tyr never would.

Merlin met Arthur's eyes briefly, ignoring the concern still lingering there. He set his jaw, turning to face forward. If they wanted him to play, then fine. He would play.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

They entered the castle, and Arthur touched Merlin's shoulder gently to indicate that he should stay by the door while Arthur made sure they were alone.

“Gwen must be in one of these rooms,” he murmured, voice close to Merlin's ear as he let himself linger for a moment – maybe thinking that Merlin needed the closeness, or maybe it was for himself. Merlin wondered if Arthur was relieved that Tyr was dead. After all, now there was one less person to worry about having to dispose of later. But at this point, it hardly mattered.

Merlin knew now that best case scenario, there would come a point when they would have to deal with the choice between swimming, drowning or treading water - but Arthur must have realised this too, maybe a lot sooner than Merlin had, and yet he kept focusing on their mission. Maybe that was what kept him going, the idea of a tangible goal which he could work towards. But what when – or if – they found Gwen? Merlin realised he had no idea what would happen. But he couldn't worry about that now; like Arthur, he needed to keep focused.

Merlin nodded, trying to show Arthur that he was prepared. He watched Arthur as the other boy walked along the edge of the hall, checking behind the stone pillars.

So intent was he on keeping an eye out for anyone creeping up on Arthur that he didn't notice the girl until her knife was at his throat.

“Don't make a sound,” she hissed, and Merlin looked down in shock to find himself face to face with the little girl from District 12. She was only twelve, and had the slight, gaunt look of her District; the same hungry, wide blue eyes and straggly dark hair that he'd seen in so many of the previous Hunger Games. And yet there was something in her eyes now which he'd never noticed before - something cold, dark and terrifying.

“What--” he started, but found the wind knocked out of him as she kicked at his legs with surprising strength and they buckled, and he found himself crashing to the floor, his knees colliding painfully with the stone. For a moment he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think - this couldn't be happening, not now, they'd only just got away, they were just about to find Gwen!

The sound got Arthur's attention and he whipped around, crossbow trained on them in an instant – but the girl still had a knife to Merlin's throat, and he hesitated.

“Don't move,” the girl cried, pressing the blade against Merlin's skin until he felt a trickle of blood run down his neck. He locked eyes with Arthur, but Arthur didn't move, only stared right back, an expression of thinly veiled panic on his face.

“What do you want?” Arthur asked, voice carefully calm. “You haven't killed him yet, you must want something from us.”

“Your food,” the girl said at once. “And your weapons.”

“Fine, take it,” Arthur replied quickly, and Merlin couldn't help but feel slightly touched, even now. The girl reached around and skilfully removed Merlin's knife from its sheath and grabbed his pack, without loosening her hold on Merlin at all. How had she managed to only score a seven? Maybe she'd flown under the radar on purpose – her and that boy that had been with her, overlooked because they were so young, yet clearly more adept than anyone had realised.

“Hey,” he said quietly, and she tensed but said nothing, “you don't have to do this. You know that, right?” The girl set her mouth in a thin line and said nothing, the knife still digging into his throat. From his current position he could do nothing – but maybe he could distract her. “Where's your friend? The boy from your District?” he asked, trying to catch Arthur's eye, but Arthur's eyes were trained on the girl. “Is he still alive?”

“Shut up,” she hissed, allowing the blade to dig into his skin so hard he could hardly breathe.

But where was the boy? Merlin's eyes darted around but he couldn't see anyone – had the girl killed him, too? Or was he out there, waiting to make his move?

“Throw me the crossbow,” she called to Arthur, but he shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Not until you let him go.”

The girl let out a slightly hysterical laugh, which sent chills down Merlin's spine. “Just because I'm not a Career doesn't make me an idiot. You first.”

“This is a fight to the death, Kara, do you really expect me to believe you won't take the opportunity to off two of your competitors while you have the chance?” Arthur shot back evenly. “Let Merlin go first, then we'll put the crossbow down far enough away from you to give us time to escape.”

The girl – Kara, yes, that was her name – was silent for a moment. “How about this: you give me your crossbow, I kill Merlin, and you get to go free.”

Do it, Merlin wanted to shout, but Kara was cutting off his circulation. He blinked, seeing spots.

Arthur let out a humourless laugh. “Nice try. But we both know you won't kill him, not like this.”

Calling her bluff. Good move, Merlin thought, if a tad too risky in the eyes of the guy who actually had the knife at his throat.

“Fine,” Kara shrugged. “Have it your way. We don't really need your crossbow, anyway.”

Arthur's eyes widened as he realised, at the same time as Merlin did, what she was saying. She pushed Merlin around until she could stand behind him, right by the door, nudging it open with her foot. “Sorry Merlin,” she whispered in his ear. “It's nothing personal.”

Thunk!

Merlin fell forward as the pressure on his throat let up suddenly, and Merlin he gasped as his hands came up to touch the wet patch of blood which had spread over his neck and was trickling down onto his chest. He looked up in surprise to find Arthur staring at him, empty crossbow still extended in front of him.

BOOM!

He didn't have to look back to know that he'd find the District 12 girl lying dead behind him.

“She was going to kill you,” Arthur said, voice rough. “I didn't... I didn't have a choice, Merlin.”

And Merlin could see how much this pained him – even if the girl had been armed and clearly dangerous, this felt different. She'd been so young. Merlin swallowed, feeling awful – and then he felt even more awful because of how deeply relieved he was to still be alive, and how grateful he was to Arthur for having saved him.

“I...” he started, voice hoarse, as Arthur began to walk towards him.

“No! Kara!”

Before Merlin or Arthur could as much as react, the District 12 boy hurtled himself forward from behind one of the pillars Arthur hadn't checked yet, and Merlin only had time to register the glint of a knife before the boy had launched himself at Arthur, and Arthur was so shocked he didn't have time to respond, falling back, the boy following him down onto the floor in a tangle of limbs.

It all happened very quickly after that: Merlin sprinted across the entrance hall just as the boy staggered backwards, his own knife embedded in his stomach. The same wide, blue eyes he remembered from training locked on Merlin's, and Merlin recoiled at the pure, unadulterated hatred he found there: it was more terrible and powerful than anything he'd ever seen. He remembered the pair of kids as they'd been before the Games began, how they'd kept to themselves, quiet and afraid, how he'd felt sorry for them. People change in the Arena. But still, he felt sorry for them, for what the Hunger Games had made these children become.

“Mordred,” Arthur whispered as the other boy fell to his knees, regret evident in his voice. “I'm sorry.”

But Mordred was already gone.

BOOM!

“Wow, that was intense,” Merlin said, letting out a relieved breath, turning to Arthur – and felt his blood run cold at what he saw.

Because Arthur was clutching at his side, where blood was quickly spreading from where Mordred must have stabbed him - and Merlin had a brief, completely random surge of memory, Morgana's voice taunting Arthur about his shirt being ruined, before coming back to himself and surging forward, grabbing Arthur's arm, pulling him up.

“Merlin, I'm fine,” Arthur groaned, letting Merlin move him into a standing position, holding onto his side with one hand. Merlin turned around, moving forward, not even really sure where he was going, only that they needed to get out of here, find somewhere he could take a look at Arthur's wound, assess the damage. You'll be okay, you'll be okay, you'll be okay, he chanted in his head, thinking of last night, the way he'd promised. He couldn't break any more promises, not today. “It's not that bad, Merlin, really,” Arthur protested weakly, trying to suppress a groan, but Merlin shook his head, ignoring him, ignoring everything that wasn't get Arthur to safety and away from the psycho lunatics on this floor, heading back towards the door where they'd find the staircase going back to the Cournucopia.

But when he opened the door, there was only an empty room where the staircase should be.

“What?” Merlin exclaimed, “this can't be right. This was definitely the right room.” He was beginning to feel slightly panicked, but turned to head back to the entrance hall, try another door – only to find that this door had locked behind them. “What now? Why is the door locked?! Damn it, open!” he cried, kicking the door in frustration.

Next to him, Arthur sagged, and Merlin had to steady him with both arms to keep him upright.

“Please, just, let's sit,” Arthur gasped, and fell backwards against the wall, pulling Merlin with him. “Maybe the Gamemakers just wanted you to take a breather, you've had a rough morning.” He huffed out a laugh, but it sounded painful, and Merlin couldn't join in, couldn't stop to think for one second because he didn't want to let himself consider what was actually happening right now.

Merlin reluctantly allowed Arthur to slide down the wall, crouching by his side, moving Arthur's hand to see with mounting panic that the wound was bleeding so profusely it was steadily dripping down onto the floor, where a small puddle was already forming. He looked around, but of course there wasn't anything to use; he'd even left their meagre packs of supplies behind out in the main hall. Fuck.

Instead, Merlin reached up to pull off his own shirt, ripping it without a second thought and pulling up Arthur's own to press the fabric against the wound. It was ruined anyway, he thought wildly, as though that mattered at all anymore.

He wasn't really sure what he was doing, but he had a vague idea that he needed to stop the bleeding – wasn't that what the attendant had told them at training? Why were all the useful pieces of information escaping his mind right now? He shivered in his undershirt, but he wasn't sure it was from cold. Arthur was breathing heavily, and watching Merlin with a sad look on his face.

“Merlin, I'm sorry,” Arthur whispered. “I'm sorry I couldn't help you find Gwen.”

“Don't,” Merlin said harshly, “don't you dare say that, Arthur. The Games aren't over yet, we'll find her.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, you'll find her, Merlin. Even if I almost hope you don't, because then you'll probably go and do something terribly noble like try and make sure she wins.”

“Oh, you mean like the stunt you pulled out there?” Merlin asked angrily, desperately trying to hold on to an emotion that wasn't complete, mind-numbing despair. “You could have walked away, Arthur. When she had me, you could have just walked away.” At the end of his sentence the anger had melted away, and his voice was barely a whisper as he stared at Arthur intently, desperately trying to will him to get better, to stay with him.

“No, I couldn't,” Arthur shook his head, smiling. Strangely calm, Merlin realised, trying to ignore what that probably meant. Arthur's hand reached out and closed around the one Merlin was still pressing to his wound. “You know why, don't you?"

Blood was everywhere, in sharp contrast to the white of their shirts, although there was hardly any white left anymore. A clear symbol of an innocence lost, for all of them. Merlin closed his eyes, blocking out the gruesome image, not wanting it to tarnish this moment. Just let us keep this one for ourselves. “I know.”

Arthur let out a weak laugh, which turned into a cough, and Merlin's eyes shot open in alarm. “I'm sorry, it's not funny,” Arthur said, but he was still smiling softly at Merlin, eyes moving across his face as though he was mapping it, committing it to memory. “But isn't it strange? How I'm dying – don't give me that look, we both know that's what's happening – and yet all I can think about is you. All I could ask for, if I had anyone to ask, would be just a little bit more time with you. Even if it meant staying here in this bloody Arena and suffering through whatever hell they've got planned for us, I'd do it, if I could do it with you by my side.”

Merlin felt a tear slide down his cheek and brushed it away angrily. “I can't do this without you. I won't.”

“But you must. Gwen is still waiting for you, and you're too damn stubborn to give up. It's very annoying, most of the time.”

“You're insufferable,” Merlin whispered, shaking his head hopelessly.

“Yes, we've established that. Let's not be inane, Merlin.”

Arthur reached out his free hand and gently touched Merlin's face, slowly trailing it down his cheek and neck and over his chest, letting it rest against his heart. He smiled weakly, eyes falling to from Merlin's eyes to his lips.

This time, there was nothing to stop them. Here, at the end of all things, nothing mattered but this. Merlin realised with a pang that once again, Arthur was choosing how he wanted to die, and it was here, in Merlin's arms. And for the first time since arriving in the Arena, Merlin let himself forget about all of it. About the cameras, and the sponsors, and the other tributes, and whatever lay ahead. This was all there was: this moment, right now, Merlin and Arthur.

Arthur fisted his hand in Merlin's undershirt and Merlin let himself be pulled in, closing his eyes and meeting Arthur's lips halfway. Arthur sighed against his mouth and moved his hand upwards, grabbing Merlin's neck with a surprising strength and pulling him closer as he angled his head, deepening the kiss, letting his tongue trail over Merlin's bottom lip. Merlin opened his mouth and met Arthur's tongue with his own; Arthur kissed him with the same intent and ferocity as he did everything else in life, and Merlin groaned, melting into the kiss, feeling like he had been waiting his entire life to feel something like this, wondering why fate had been cruel enough to keep it from him until this moment. Wishing it didn't have to feel like goodbye.

“Merlin...” Arthur whispered as they broke apart reluctantly, their lips still hovering inches from each other as though drawn together by an invisible force. “Merlin, you have to--”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Merlin jumped at the sudden noise, but Arthur seemed too weak to do more than start, and in the middle of his panic, Merlin realised with a wash of clarity that whatever was coming, Arthur would not be running from it, and he would not be fighting it.

Both their heads whipped around to stare at the door, which had been pierced by several bullets. A moment later, a loud kick sent it crashing open, colliding with the wall.

This is it, Merlin thought. Ever since reaching the bottom floor the attackers had kept coming for them, and now, there was nowhere left to run. But if this was to be their end, he was just glad that he had Arthur by his side – that neither of them would be dying alone.

She stood framed in the doorway, at once so beautiful and terrifying, it took Merlin's breath away. He hardly recognised her as a tribute, what with the red bandana hiding most of her hair, her once-white tank top stained green, brown and crimson, and her skin smudged with dirt. In one hand she held a gun, which was still smoking at the tip, and in the other a small box, which looked oddly out of place with the overall image she was presenting.

Her eyes roamed over Arthur's slumped form, his hand still resting on Merlin's neck, and when she finally met Merlin's shocked gaze she nodded grimly. “Hi, Merlin."

It took him a moment to find his voice, too overwhelmed to speak. When he did, he only managed one word.

“Gwen.”

Chapter Text

When Merlin had first seen Gwen, he remembered thinking that she looked like an angel. It was on the first day of school, and as she walked across the schoolyard hand in hand with her brother, she had looked up and caught Merlin's eye, and flashed him such a brilliant smile he thought he would burst from the joy it brought him.

If it wasn't for the fact that over the next several years he had developed a very inappropriate (and ultimately heartbreaking) crush on her older brother Elyan, he thought he might very well have wanted to marry Guinevere.

Will had also wanted to marry Gwen – but that had been a completely different, and much more hilarious, situation. She was never interested, of course, as well she shouldn't be (Merlin loved Will to death, but he was a bit like a hyperactive squirrel once he got going, and Merlin wouldn't wish his constant attention and devotion on anyone) – and then, of course, she had found Lancelot. And despite the fact that Gwen had lost Elyan, and that Merlin had lost his father, somehow all had still been right in their private little world.

At least for a little while.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

In that moment, Gwen looked completely different from how he remembered her, and for a moment Merlin did not recognise this person in front of him as the scared, resigned, heartbroken but ultimately unbreakable girl he had said goodbye to just before they had entered the Arena.

He did not recognise the girl who had held him when he cried after his father had died, nor the girl who had walked with him to the Reaping ceremony every year after that, only letting go of his hand once they were forced to separate.

And yet it was her, and she was here. Alive. Merlin could have cried with relief – and might have, but for the fact that out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Arthur was dying.

"Please," Merlin whispered, forcing himself back to the present. "Gwen, you have to help me."

Gwen still had not said a word, staying frozen where she stood, eyes moving rapidly between Merlin and Arthur. And Merlin knew she must be trying to make sense of what she saw: her best friend kneeling over a Career, crying, covered in someone else's blood.

"Merlin," Gwen said carefully, gun still halfway raised as though she wasn't sure if she should still be on guard. "Merlin, it's okay, I think you got him."

Merlin blinked up at her, uncomprehending. He looked back at Arthur, who was looking at Gwen through unfocused eyes with something like wonder in his eyes.

"She found you," Arthur breathed, voice so weak that Merlin had to lean in to hear him. "All this time we were looking... but now she's found you. You'll be alright." And he sounded so relieved, Merlin felt such intense emotions well up in him, he couldn't think, it was just too much. He closed his eyes, feeling like he couldn't breathe.

"Merlin?" Gwen asked, uncertain now, looking between them. "What's going on?"

"Gwen, you need to help us," Merlin said, shaking his head to remind himself to focus. "Arthur's hurt, he needs... we need to stop the bleeding. Please."

Her eyes snapped to his, and for one moment the play of emotions he found there made his breath catch – because right then, he really, truly believed that she wouldn't help them.

But then something shifted in her eyes, transforming her for a split second into the Gwen he remembered, and she set her jaw, moving towards them.

"What happened?" she asked, voice brisk.

"Knife," Arthur managed through gritted teeth, shifting, then groaning weakly, closing his eyes. "Fight. We both lost."

Gwen's eyes darted around the room. "And the other tribute?"

"Dead," Merlin said, "he's dead, don't worry about him."

Gwen stared at Arthur's wound for a moment, frowning. "Merlin, this isn't..." she shook her head, mouth tightening into a thin line. "We can't fix this."

Merlin shook his head. He couldn't hear this, couldn't process the words – not when they'd just gotten away, not when Gwen had found them, not that everything had just worked out for them. He looked back at Arthur, to find him looking at Merlin with such a heartbreaking mixture of resignation and regret. Merlin couldn't stand it. "Arthur..." he started, hating how his voice broke on that one, all-important word.

"Merlin, no, listen," Arthur whispered, "it's alright. We knew this was going to happen, I... I'm just glad you're here. I thought I had to do this alone, and I'm just glad that we-"

"No," Merlin shook his head forcefully, putting his free hand on Arthur's chest, trying to force himself to stay calm."I'm serious, Arthur, don't you dare tell me goodbye right now." He knew he was being stubborn, knew somewhere inside that Arthur was right – no matter what they'd done, this moment had been inevitable from the beginning. But it wasn't supposed to be like this. He'd just found Arthur, this felt all wrong. We were supposed to have more time.

Merlin looked round at Gwen, to find her looking deeply conflicted. The expression looked so out of place for the situation, for a moment it shook Merlin out of his panic. "What is it?"

Gwen shook her head slowly, looking between Merlin and Arthur, worrying her bottom lip. He noticed that she was nervously turning the small box she'd been holding when she came in around in her hands. "I'm not sure," she said.

But she continued to regard the box thoughtfully, her expression troubled. And after a moment, she began speaking again, quieter, as though more to herself than to Merlin. "I mean, when I got the note, I was so sure that it was for you, but..." she closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but it must be for him."

"What are you talking about?" Merlin asked, trying in vain to wipe away the perspiration that had gathered on Arthur's brow with the back of his hand. All he managed was to leave behind a thin smear of blood. The smell was overpowering, sickening, and if he hadn't been so full of adrenaline, Merlin might have passed out. For Arthur's part, he was sure that it was only sheer force of will which was keeping him conscious right now.

"The box. It's... oh, just take a look," Gwen said, sitting back on her heels and putting the box on her knees, opening it and extricating what looked like a metal bug, about the width of her thumb.

Merlin turned away from Arthur to regard the bizarre object, completely nonplussed. But next to him, Arthur gasped. "No, it can't be," he breathed. "There is no way..." he trailed off, groaning in pain, more beads of sweat pearling on his forehead.

Gwen nodded her head at him. "But it is. I was as surprised as you are – I thought these were just a myth!"

"What the hell are you two talking about?!" Merlin exclaimed, and both Arthur and Gwen turned towards him. "What is going on?"

Gwen opened her mouth to reply but Arthur shook his head. "There's no time. If this is going to work, it has to be now. Merlin," he turned to look at Merlin earnestly, taking in a deep, rattling breath. "I'm going to have to ask you to knock me out."

"What? No!" Merlin was so beyond confused right now.

"Please, Merlin, this is going to hurt. I can't... just do it."

Merlin shook his head. "I'm going to need something more to go on here, Arthur, because one minute you're fine and then a psychopathic little boy stabs you and then you're bleeding to death, and then Gwen bursts in here like some kind of superhero and she has a gun and a box and a metal bug, and I just don't-"

Thwack!

Merlin stopped in the middle of his speech to gape up at Gwen, who was holding her gun the wrong way around, looking poised to strike Arthur again – but he was already out cold, head drooping forward to rest on Merlin's shoulder.

"Sorry Merlin," she said briskly, "but we need to do this now."

"Who are you?" Merlin breathed, horrified, staring at her like she was a stranger – and after four days in the Hunger Games, he realised, maybe she was.

Gwen knelt down next to him and took a moment to place a hand on Merlin's. "Look, I'm as thrown off by this as you are. I came here to find you, not... this, whatever the hell is going on here. But I take it you want him to live, right?"

"I... yes," he said, "but-"

"Good, because apparently you're not the only one. Just let me do this, and then I'll explain everything."

Merlin nodded mutely and let her guide his hands away, and he watched uncomprehendingly as she carefully removed Arthur's bandages, hands moving deftly even if Merlin thought she looked a little green as Arthur's wound continued to pulsate, fresh blood spilling out over her fingers. Good, he thought absently, at least Gwen's still in there somewhere.

She held up the bug and stared at it for a moment, contemplative, then tentatively used two fingers to pull the wound apart – Merlin thought he was going to be sick as more blood poured out, but Gwen quickly placed the bug in the wound and pinched it shut.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a tiny whirring sound sounded from under her fingers, and Merlin saw something move against Arthur's skin.

Gwen let out a sigh of relief. "It's working."

"What is working?" Merlin asked weakly, feeling close to passing out himself. He couldn't stop watching with morbid fascination as Arthur's skin bulged as the bug moved around, and then his eyes widened as comprehension finally settled. "Wait, is it fixing him?"

Gwen nodded. "Looks like it. I wasn't absolutely sure before, but it seems like it works. He must really have some generous sponsors." She shook her head in wonder.

"But..." Merlin wrenched his eyes away from the wound to look at Gwen, who was using her trousers to try to wipe the blood off her hands, but they stubbornly remained crimson. He thought of the paste which had fixed Arthur and Merlin's scrapes that first day in the Arena – he remembered thinking that it had cost a fortune, and that had just been for superficial wounds. This kind of tech... "What is it even?" he asked, shaking his head. "And how the hell did you get it?"

She stilled her movements, looking up at Merlin. For a moment the only sound was the whirring of the bug, still moving against the inside of Arthur's skin. Merlin glanced down and noted with relief that the bleeding seemed to have slowed to a trickle, although the sight of Arthur's stomach bulging made him feel sick.

"Honestly, I'm not sure exactly what it is," Gwen said at last. "I mean, my father told me something once... after Elyan, he heard a rumour from a Peacekeeper that apparently one of the sponsors had tried to organise a collection to get something like this for him, but..." Gwen paused, a shadow of bitterness crossing over her face. "It was much too expensive, of course, even though a lot of people apparently wanted him to win. Obviously they didn't gather enough funds to save him, in the end."

Merlin nodded, remembering how Elyan had slowly bled out from his wounds – it had taken almost a day, and luckily he'd first been stabbed when they'd been at school, and neither of them had had to see it happen. But when Merlin had come home, his mother had been glued to the screen, her eyes full of horrified tears, and she hadn't noticed he'd arrived, at first.

Merlin had done his very best to repress the memories of watching this boy – this strong, beautiful boy who'd always smiled at Merlin and ruffled up his hair – moan in pain, desperate tears streaking down his bruised cheeks as he died slowly, painfully, and alone. But even though his mother had whisked him away as soon as she noticed him standing there, and he'd done his best to forget what he'd seen... there was no erasing that image from his brain.

"Gwen..." Merlin started, not knowing what to say. Gwen, at least, had been shielded from having to watch any of it. But there had been re-runs. And the Hunger Games was always a talking point, even if everyone hated them. She knew, of course she knew, even if she never talked about it.

Gwen straightened her shoulders, and when she continued speaking it was as though she'd never brought up the topic of her brother's death at all. "Anyway, it looks like Arthur Pendragon has better sponsors. Much better sponsors. I mean..." she paused, frowning. "This is high tech stuff, Merlin. I don't even think most of the people in the Capitol could afford one of these."

"So it's... it's really going to fix him?" Merlin repeated, still unable to believe that this could really be happening.

She nodded. "Something like that. It patches up internal wounds. Kind of like a second chance, if you will." Her eyes met Merlin's, and she looked at him imploringly. "But Merlin, are you sure that he deserves one?"

Merlin paused, wondering how Gwen must see him right now. He thought of Tyr, and wondered if Gwen was feeling the same betrayal that he had felt, seeing Merlin and Arthur working together. But if she did, she was hiding it well.

In the end, he could only nod his affirmation, hoping that she understood. There was no reason to deny it, not after everything that had happened since they'd last seen each other. And, after all, Gwen had been willing to save Arthur's life because of Merlin. Hopefully, if Arthur did make it through this, she would be able to accept the whole situation, as unpredictably as it had unfolded.

She took a deep breath, and Merlin saw, once again, the play of emotions across her face. Whatever had happened to Gwen over the past four days, it had left her a very different person than the girl he'd known back in District 11. People change in the Arena, he'd told Tyr. The question still remained just how Gwen had changed, and what it would mean for their friendship – but right now, Merlin was simply too emotionally wiped out to think about it.

Arthur is going to live, he thought, trying to make himself believe it. But somewhere inside of him, a small voice was whispering that even if he survived for now, this would all end in death – but no. If he let himself think about that, he would surely break, and none of them could afford that now.

Arthur is alive. Gwen is alive. Focus on that. Right now, we're all still alive.

"Alright," Gwen said finally. "We need to get out of here, we're too exposed."

She was right, of course. "But where can we go?" Merlin asked, thinking vaguely of Tyr's hiding place – he shivered. He didn't fancy going back out there.

"I know a place," Gwen said shortly.

A noise made them turn back to Arthur, who was thankfully still passed out as the bug worked its magic inside of him. Then, before their eyes, the mass of metal began to extricate itself from the wound, and began to move over the cut in a motion that bizarrely reminded Merlin of pulling a zipper up and down. After a few moments, all that was left to see was a faint pink scar, surrounded by congealed blood. When the bug was done it lifted itself up on thin, wiry legs, and Merlin watched with mute fascination as it scuttled down Arthur's stomach and hopped onto the floor.

"Should we, er, catch it?" he asked Gwen uncertainly.

Gwen shook her head. "No. I doubt it's meant for more than one use or it wouldn't run away like that... no more second chances." Her voice was distant and her eyes followed the bug as it scurried away, and Merlin wondered if she was regretting using it on Arthur – it might have come in handy for her somewhere down the line. But then she shook her head as if to clear it, turning back to Merlin. "Well, come on, let's get him up."

Gwen moved the gun to her right hand and moved to brace one shoulder under Arthur's arm. Following her lead, Merlin moved to the other side and helped hoist Arthur to his feet – as he was still unconscious, it proved very tough going, but between them they managed to haul him through the door. Merlin grabbed Arthur's crossbow, although he wouldn't be able to use it with only one hand, but Gwen had her gun out and ready. Luckily they met no other tributes as they moved across the entrance hall, and steered towards the exit – but at the last minute Gwen turned them around and began heading in between two of the pillars. There was nothing behind them but solid stone wall.

"Gwen?" Merlin asked, but Gwen offered no explanation, her teeth gritted as she struggled with Arthur's weight. As they approached, Merlin realised that there was something slightly off about this particular patch of the wall – it was somewhat discoloured. Gwen reached out and pushed on one of the bricks, and Merlin gasped in surprise as the patch of wall swung aside to reveal a narrow staircase leading down into darkness.

A torch hung from either wall and Gwen moved her gun over to grab one, then twisted them so she was able to touch a brick on the other side which pulled the wall back into place behind them.

"What is this place?" Merlin asked in amazement, and looked over to see Gwen's shy smile illuminated by the torchlight.

"I know, right? It's brilliant."

Moving down the stairs was slow going, but eventually they reached the last step. And only then did Merlin raise his eyes, to find himself inside of a giant, cavernous room, lit up by some invisible source of light. He looked up and saw the cavern opening, the stone ground falling away to reveal an impenetrable blackness below.

"Is this even a part of the Arena?" he whispered.

Gwen sighed sadly, and Merlin felt his temporary flare of hope fade as quickly as it had come. "I wasn't sure, at first. I thought maybe I'd found a way out, you couldn't imagine my relief, but... after all this time, there's no way they'd have let us- let me stay in here if there weren't any cameras, you know? And then I got the note."

"The note?"

"I'll explain everything Merlin, let's just make sure that Arthur's alright."

Merlin swallowed. "Thank you, Gwen."

They set Arthur down on the bedroll Gwen had somehow manage to scourge up for herself, and Merlin moved to check his forehead as Gwen pulled a thin blanket across his body. He was pale from the blood loss, but didn't seem to have a fever, and his breathing was even. Merlin let out a sigh of relief – he hadn't let himself believe it until now, but it seemed like Arthur really would survive this. And it was all thanks to Gwen, and the mysterious sponsor gift.

"Alright Merlin," Gwen said, when they were both satisfied that Arthur was merely unconscious. "While Arthur's body sleeps off whatever the hell that metal thing did to him, you've got some explaining to do."

There was a hard edge to her voice Merlin didn't recognise. He looked up to find her watching him as he gently put the blanket around Arthur's shoulders and sighed. Right. He owed her an explanation.

He followed her over to the other end of the cave, and sat himself down opposite her. They looked at each other for a moment – both relieved at finding the other alive, yet seeing a stranger where they'd expected a friend, and wondering where to go from here.

Merlin broke the silence first. "Short version, I guess?" He waited for Gwen's nod before continuing. "I arrived on the top floor of the castle. Arthur was there. He... we kind of started saving each other's lives. At first it was sort of by accident, but then... it wasn't."

"I see," Gwen said, her voice giving nothing away. For a while she sat in silence, and although there were a million things Merlin wanted to ask her, he let her compose her thoughts. Even if on the outside she seemed calm, he knew that she must still be reeling from what had just happened as much as he was.

Finally, she took a deep breath and started speaking. "When I first entered the Arena, I was outside. It was awful – complete chaos. I ran. But I found the Cournucopia, after a while. Gathered some supplies." She tilted her head, indicating her bedroll. "Then... after a while, I came down here. Found this place. But I kept going up there to look for you, Merlin."

Merlin winced. That last part sounded like an accusation. "I looked for you, too," he said. "We both did. But it took us so long to get down here, and I wasn't sure..." he looked up, and realised that Gwen had tears in her eyes. When she saw him looking she angrily tried to wipe them away. "Oh, Gwen," he whispered, reaching out hesitantly. For a moment she froze, but then she let him wrap his arms around her, and tentatively returned the embrace, shaking into his shoulder.

"I thought you were dead," she said, her voice shaking. "I missed some of the anthems and I thought..." she shook her head, breathing deeply, trying to compose herself. "So many of us are already dead. It seemed foolish to believe that I'd be lucky enough to see you again."

"Have you been alone all this time?" Merlin asked softly, hands moving soothingly over her back. She pulled herself out of his grasp, but she was still shaking, and he let his hands linger on her shoulders. Needing to keep her close, even if for whatever reason she felt the need to pull away.

"Yeah," she whispered, not meeting his eyes. "Yeah, it's just been me."

Something about her tone was off, but Merlin didn't question it. He was so relieved to see her alive, and his day so far had been so intense, he could hardly think straight; even though he could tell by Gwen's less tense demeanour that they must be relatively safe here, his heart was still beating faster than normal, and he kept glancing over at Arthur, making sure that he was still there – and that he was still breathing.

Tyr had died in his arms what must be less than an hour ago, and Arthur had come so close. If not for Gwen. "I'm so glad you found us," he whispered.

Gwen frowned, absently picking up a loose pebble and twirling it around her fingers. "Mmm. You know, it was a bit odd, that."

"What was?"

"Just that... well, I suppose the Gamemakers sent me the fixer to give to Arthur and the note so I'd come let you out of the room... yet you'd have to presume that it was the Gamemakers that locked the door in the first place, right? And surely, if they'd wanted Arthur to have the medicine, couldn't they just have sent it to him, or you? Why get me involved at all?"

Merlin shrugged. "For the drama? Maybe they wanted to orchestrate some spectacular reunion or something."

"Maybe," Gwen mumbled, but she still sounded skeptical.

And... maybe she was right. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off and Merlin was able to stop and think about it, the sequence of events leading to Arthur's last-minute reprieve didn't actually make a lot of sense.

If the sponsors had actually paid whatever astronomical sum that Arthur's cure must have cost, Merlin was sure that the Gamemakers would have had to make damn sure that it'd actually reach him. So putting the device into the hands of a random tribute (who as far as they knew couldn't stand Arthur) seemed a little too risky, considering that the tributes' choices in the Arena was the one variables the Gamemakers couldn't control. And surely Uther would never have allowed them to take that kind of gamble with his son's life, however entertaining they might have thought it'd be for the viewers?

"Did you say there was a note?" Merlin murmured.

"Yes. It was absolutely tiny, and it only had your name on it, and the words Entrance Hall. It came with the box."

Merlin frowned, his eyebrows knitting together as he stared out over the chasm in front of them, wishing the answers would just manifest themselves out of the darkness. If the box had come from the same mysterious sponsor or whomever they were who'd been sending Merlin notes all this time, why would they send the box to Gwen, of all people? Why not just send it to Arthur himself, if they wanted him to live so badly? And even if they were sure that Gwen wouldn't deny Arthur his second chance, why would they tell Gwen they were in the entrance hall, when they hadn't been?

And also, why had they been sending Merlin notes all this time, if they were ultimately rooting for Arthur to win the Games? It didn't make any sense.

"Merlin?" Gwen asked. "Do you know what this is all about?"

He paused, rubbing his temples. His brain hurt. "No," he finally said, because it was the truth. "I don't know anything anymore, Gwen. Ever since that day at the Reaping everything's just been a mess. I mean, obviously, it has been for all of us... but I came in here fully prepared to fight and probably die at your side, and instead I find myself fighting monsters and scary Careers and little children with knives – with Arthur Pendragon, of all people, and it doesn't even feel wrong." He felt a lump form in his throat as he turned back to Gwen hopelessly, wishing she could just take away all his problems like he'd always felt like she'd been able to do before the Games.

But of course she couldn't, no more now than she'd ever really been able to before. Don't put me on a pedestal, she'd once screamed at him, furious and mortified, slamming the door in his face with tears in her eyes after he'd walked into her room unannounced and caught her and Lancelot making out on the bed. He'd seen the fire in her gentle heart then, and it had frightened him. She hadn't spoken to him for a week after that.

Right now there was no fury in her eyes, but rather a hopelessness; something broken in there which frightened him much, much more. She sighed heavily, not meeting his gaze. "I don't think these past four days have played out like any of us expected them to, Merlin," she said, and there was a heaviness in her tone he'd never heard before, a new weight she was carrying which he didn't understand, and which she wasn't letting him help her carry.

Whatever had happened to Guinevere in the Arena, he had a feeling it hadn't been any more pleasant than what Merlin himself had gone through. But she clearly wasn't willing to talk about it, and Merlin knew better than to push. He could only hope that if they managed to stay alive long enough, there'd come a point where she would tell him.

Not that it mattered, not really, considering that they were probably all only days from death. But Merlin had come to realise that every moment in the Arena did matter, more than any moment ever had before, because each one of them could be his last. He wanted all of them to count, even the bad ones.

He reached out a hand, and was relieved when Gwen took it.

"So," he asked after a brief, comfortable silence. "Where'd you get the bandana?"

Gwen let out a short, startled laugh. "That's a long story."

"I've got time." And Gwen looked up at him as if to argue, but seemed to think the better of it – and Merlin was glad. They had to keep believing that they did have time, or else they may as well not have any left at all. If nothing else, Merlin vowed that he would convince her of that before the end, convince her that as long as they were still breathing, there was always something left to fight for.

He allowed himself a weak smile, leaning back on his arms. Gwen let go of his hand, reaching down to absent-mindedly scratch at her bandage. Merlin thought the cloth might once have been a part of her shirt, though it was hard to tell because it was stiff with dried blood.

Who knew what had happened to the rest of her shirt? Now, like himself, all she wore was the tank top they'd been given to wear underneath (presumably to help protect their modesty as their clothes got torn and bloody – whatever fat load of good the Gamemakers thought that'd do anyone). Her arms and face were stained with what he now realised must be dirt from the cave, and she looked like she'd been through hell. But she looked hardened, too, in a way he'd never imagined that she could be. Gwen had always been tough, of course, but never like this. She looked almost... primal. And in some ways, more stunningly beautiful than she ever had before. Still an angel in his eyes, then, after all. Merlin was glad – some things should never change, not even here.

"You know, it's funny," he said, "all this time I've been looking for you, hoping to find you, and in the end you were the one who found me."

Gwen arched an eyebrow. "So, what, you thought I'd just been sitting in a corner for four days waiting for you to come rescue me? That's uncharacteristically misogynistic of you, Merlin," she said, and Merlin flinched. Maybe she had a point there. He'd been so worried about whether or not he'd find her alive that he'd completely forgotten to stop and consider the possibility that she'd probably been out there looking for him too, and worrying about the same thing.

"I guess I should have known it'd end up being you bursting in and saving my ass, guns blazing," he allowed, smiling up at her through his lashes. "I'm sorry. You are officially the badass of the family."

"Damn right," she nodded haughtily, but she gave him a small, genuine smile. He only then realised how much he'd missed that. "I'm so glad you're okay, Merlin."

"You, too. You have no idea how worried I've been."

"No," she said quietly, her smile evaporating, "I think I've had a pretty good idea, actually."

And there really was nothing Merlin could say to that. They sat in silence for a moment, shoulders touching, before Gwen cleared her throat.

"So, Arthur Pendragon?" she asked, tone almost teasing. To his complete embarrassment, Merlin found his cheeks reddening, and Gwen snorted. "I knew it!"

"Hey, I was as surprised as you are."

"Talk about your rubbish timing though," she said, wincing sympathetically. Merlin marvelled at what an incredible person Gwen really was, not bringing up the fact that Arthur was a Career or that his continued survival technically lowered their own odds.

"Yeah, well, better late than never," he shrugged. "Which it almost was, if it hadn't been for you."

She glanced over to where Arthur still slept, and Merlin could see that she was still skeptical – but he supposed that anyone would be, under the circumstances. "You understand that whatever we do, we're still not all going to be able to survive this," she said at last. "I mean, it was already hard enough thinking that either we'd both die or one of us would have to live on, but now... I saw how panicked you were before, and I don't think we can expect any more sponsor gifts to magically appear to save us. I'm worried about what this is going to do to you, Merlin."

She spoke as if he was going to survive this, he realised. Did she really have that much faith in him? Or was it simply that she wasn't able to imagine a scenario in which he died and she didn't, just like he wasn't able to imagine the reverse?

Merlin shook his head. "Honestly, Gwen, I know this doesn't seem... logical, to you, but right now it feels like the only thing in this entire, messed up situation that feels right. If I die tomorrow, then I die, but I want to spend all the time I possibly can with him. With both of you."

Gwen nodded grimly, a shadow crossing over her face. "As long as you're sure he feels the same way, because..."

"He does," Merlin said quickly, surprising himself by how sure he sounded.

Gwen looked up, and she looked faintly amused. "Then go on, go check on him." Merlin opened his mouth to argue, but she silenced him with a look. "It's fine, really. You look exhausted. I'll keep watch... and I'll still be here when you wake up," she reassured him, touching his arm gently. "We all deserve any tiny moment of peace we can scrounge up in this place, believe me. They don't come around very often."

Arthur stirred when Merlin approached the bedroll, and sleepily turned his head to blink slowly up at him. Merlin had no idea what was going through Arthur's head, but when Arthur closed his eyes again, exhaling slowly, he felt some of his own tension seep away. Arthur seemed... if not relieved, then at least not unhappy to see him. Merlin supposed he needn't have been worried about that, really, considering everything that had happened – but it was still hard for him to believe that someone like Arthur Pendragon would let themselves get caught up in something like this, something so personal, during the Hunger Games of all things.

But then again, Merlin thought as he lowered himself to sit awkwardly by Arthur's head, maybe for someone like Arthur this was the perfect time. The only time, in fact, where he could ever get away with showing such a weakness.

After all, like Morgana, Arthur hadn't entered these Games for the same reason most other Career tributes did. Sure, a part of him probably craved the glory of victory just like he craved his father's approval – but as far as Merlin could tell from watching Arthur over the past few days, what the other boy craved more than anything else was freedom, and the ability to make his own choices.

And Arthur had chosen Merlin.

It was this realisation, more than anything else, which gave Merlin the courage to reach out a hand and slowly let it run through Arthur's hair like he'd secretly wanted to do many times before. When Arthur's breath hitched ever so slightly, Merlin's hand stilled. He began to pull away when Arthur spoke, so softly that he almost missed it.

"Don't be daft," Arthur murmured, "you must be exhausted. There's room enough for both of us." And Merlin suddenly wasn't sure if his voice was hoarse from exhaustion or something else, and it sent a little jolt of heat through him which he tried not to contemplate.

Arthur only groaned a little as moved over to allow Merlin to lower himself onto his side, tentatively pulling the thin blanket across to cover them both and facing towards him. Arthur was still pale, but to Merlin's relief, a bit of colour had come back into his cheeks. Still, Merlin found that he needed to keep touching him, just to make sure that he was still warm, that he was really alive.

"How are you feeling?" Merlin whispered, reaching out and letting his hand linger on Arthur's arm, just below his elbow.

"Like I was stabbed. But better now," Arthur replied, voice groggy as he opened his eyes again and tried to focus on Merlin's face. He smiled faintly. "I thought you might have forgotten me now that your superhero girlfriend came in out of nowhere and whisked you away." He blinked slowly a few times, seeming a bit more aware now that he was waking up. He turned his head, eyes flickering around the cavern, and frowned. "Wait, where the hell are we?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "We're in Gwen's secret lair of course, you missed all the good stuff while you were so rudely passed out. And what part of like a sister do you not understand? Wait, maybe I don't want to know," he added, making a face.

Arthur snorted. "Ew," he murmured, but reached out and pulled Merlin close, aligning them so their bodies were lined up flush against each other. Merlin hoped he couldn't feel his heartbeat through their thin shirts. "So we're still in the Games, right? We haven't magically been transported into some faraway land where we can live happily ever after?" His voice was teasing but Merlin felt his heart clench at the faint hint of hopefulness in Arthur's tone which he couldn't quite disguise.

Merlin said nothing. There was no way to soften the truth with words. Instead he simply reached an arm across Arthur's waist and pulled himself closer, burying his face in Arthur's solid, warm chest, breathing in deeply, finally allowing himself to enjoy the fact that they were both still here. Arthur tightened his own arm in response. He smelled of dried blood and sweat, but also of Arthur, and Merlin never wanted to let go.

To the extent that he'd allowed himself to think of this sort of scenario at all, Merlin hadn't taken Arthur for someone who would enjoy this kind of physical intimacy... and he wondered now if this was just another personality trait brought on by the whole we're-on-the-brink-of-death scenario, or if Arthur might really be like this, out there in the real world. Merlin mentally chastised himself for letting his mind go there; despite the fact that they clearly both desperately wanted things to be different, they didn't have any future in which to find that out, and imagining any different was only torturing himself further.

Arthur let out a sigh, which was at once disappointed and contented. After a moment, Merlin raised his head to find Arthur watching him intently.

"Thought not," Arthur murmured, shrugging like it didn't matter. And maybe it didn't, Merlin mused as he looked into the other boy's wide, inviting blue eyes. All that matters is now.

Arthur's lip twitched as if he'd read Merlin's mind, and Merlin found himself returning the smile, not able to help it even though he wasn't sure how either of them could possibly find anything to smile about right now. But then Arthur tilted his head down, never breaking eye contact, and pressed his lips to Merlin's. And he thought, oh, right. That.

It was completely different from the last time, when their kiss had been born out of fear and desperation, when they had poured all of their fear and heartbreak into what had almost been a goodbye. This was soft and gentle, infinitely intimate, and a promise of much more to come. Some part of him registered that this was yet another thing he would never have imagined from Arthur Pendragon – but no part of him was complaining.

Merlin sighed into Arthur's mouth, melting into the kiss, nudging one of his legs in between Arthur's to twine their ankles together, wanting nothing more at that moment than to be as close to the other boy as humanly possible. Arthur's mouth was warm against Merlin's and Merlin felt a fluttering in his stomach as he allowed himself to tentatively taste Arthur's bottom lip with his tongue. The other boy responded immediately, opening his mouth with a low moan and moving his hand up into Merlin's hair, twining his fingers lightly through it and then resting his hand against the back of his head, drawing Merlin even closer as their tongues tangled in a slow dance which left them both breathless.

Arthur drew in a sharp breath, hand tightening briefly against the back of Merlin's head as his kiss turned more urgent, tongue mapping out every part of Merlin's mouth, and Merlin responded in kind, heartbeat speeding up as he let himself finally, finally taste Arthur the way he'd been craving for days. Arthur shifted his legs and now it was Merlin's turn to gasp at the delicious friction it caused. It felt like his entire being was on fire, and all he could think was Arthur, and more, and oh.

"Arthur," Merlin gasped after a moment, when they had to come up for breath. He felt lightheaded, and his breath hitched when Arthur's pressed another light kiss to his lips and then moved down, kissing his cheek, his chin, and his neck, licking a path down and closing his mouth around the spot just over Merlin's collarbone. "Arthur, we, nnngh," Merlin panted, his hand moving aimlessly up and down Arthur's arm, moving over to his chest, fingers tangling in his shirt. But no, there was something he had to remember. "Arthur, wait," he murmured regretfully, hand finding Arthur's cheek to still his ministrations.

Arthur groaned and moved back, lifting his head to gaze at Merlin. His eyes were dark and slightly unfocused, and Merlin almost lost himself there, but no. "Arthur, we can't. Gwen is just over here." He tilted his head back and Arthur's eyes flickered up to where Merlin knew Gwen would be sitting, hopefully turned away from them. Arthur closed his eyes, huffing out a breath as his forehead came down to rest against Merlin's.

"Of course she is," he grumbled, and Merlin couldn't hold back his laugh.

He giggled into Arthur's neck, feeling a little ridiculous but also completely exhilarated. He might not want to subject Gwen to the noises of them... (well, best not to think about that too closely right now) but Merlin found suddenly that he didn't give a rat's arse about the cameras anymore. It didn't matter who was watching them and what they were thinking – this wasn't about anyone but Merlin and Arthur. And besides, he probably didn't ever have to face any of these people again, so what did their opinions matter to him anyway?

Arthur sighed and shifted again, onto his back to rest his head back against the ground. He pulled Merlin along with him – it seemed like right now, Arthur wasn't willing to let go of Merlin any more than Merlin was, and this knowledge made Merlin grin into Arthur's chest – where his heart was wonderfully, blissfully beating a steady (if still slightly accelerated) rhythm.

"I'm glad we found her though," Arthur said quietly, absent-mindedly stroking his hand through Merlin's hair. "I know you were worried."

"Mmmm," Merlin murmured. "I was worried about both of you."

Arthur sighed, his hand stilling. "Listen, Merlin..."

"No, I know. You don't need to remind me that this story isn't going to have a happy ending," Merlin said, lifting up his head to catch Arthur's gaze. "But whatever happens next, we'll have had this. And that's all we could have asked for, right?" He smiled, trying to make himself believe it. Lying here with Arthur, it was so impossible to imagine that they could ever lose this – but he knew they would. If not today, then tomorrow, or the next day. Two days, the last note had warned him. A chill ran down his spine; one day had almost passed already.

Arthur hmmm-ed, tightening his grip on Merlin. "I still can't believe my father was able to get a hold of one of those contraptions, though. I mean... even with his..." he trailed off, and Merlin knew he couldn't elaborate about Uther's influence with the Gamemakers even though they both knew how far it reached.

"But apparently he could," Merlin mumbled, ignoring the stab of guilt he felt for not sharing his suspicions about the gift's true origin with Arthur – but again, he reminded himself, he had no idea what was going on in the Capitol right now and just who might be listening to their conversation. Better let Arthur and the viewers think that Uther really did send that thing than to let the world know about his suspicions. He didn't actually know if the bug and the notes were connected, but at this point, it felt safest to keep his cards as close to his chest as possible. Even if that meant keeping them from Arthur, too.

Arthur let out a disbelieving noise, but stayed silent. He probably had his own ideas about what was going on, too – and after all, for all Merlin knew, it really had been Uther's doing. The man might have been so desperate to see his original plan for Arthur to emerge the victor carried through that he'd somehow used his influences to accomplish the impossible.

Well, it didn't matter anyway. Whatever games the Capitol was playing with them, ultimately it made no difference to Merlin or any of the other tributes. Once you were in Arena, that small, enclosed space became your whole world, and he didn't want to waste any time worrying about things he couldn't control.

And he had to allow himself to relax, at least for now, knowing that whatever they had to face tomorrow they'd do it together, the three of them.

Of course, that line of thinking brought on a whole new set of worries. Having found Gwen was a huge relief, but it also cast the harsh reality of their situation into sharp relief: where before the Games, Merlin had instinctively worried about Gwen more than himself, since allying himself with Arthur he had caught himself imagining that he'd be okay with Arthur being the tribute who survived it all. But now that he had them both to worry about?

Merlin couldn't ignore the possibility that there might come a point when it was up to him to decide whether Gwen or Arthur got to walk out of the Arena alive. Merlin closed his eyes, trying to focus on Arthur's heartbeat and push the thoughts away. He couldn't bring himself to think about it, even though he knew he needed to, knew that it could very well become a reality.

And what would happen if Merlin died first? He realised that for all he and Gwen had spoken, she hadn't said anything about whether or not she'd actually want to ally herself with Arthur just because he had. And he supposed he couldn't really expect her to – but Gwen had saved Arthur's life after all, even if she'd done it grudgingly, and he couldn't imagine Arthur turning around and trying to end her life after that. As for Gwen, Merlin would just have to trust that he still knew her as well as he thought he did.

"Merlin?" Arthur mumbled, a comforting rumble echoing through his chest.

"Mmm?" Merlin replied. When had his eyes closed?

"Stop thinking so loudly, it's distracting."

Merlin smiled sleepily, tightening his hold on the other boy. "I knew it. You like them dumb, don't you?"

Arthur laughed softly, the deep, comforting sound reverberating in his chest. "Well, I do like you, so maybe you've got a point."

"Shut up."

"Oh, so now you boss me around, too?"

"You love it."

"...Yeah, maybe I do."

Merlin was going to make a reply to that, something extraordinarily witty which might even elicit another soft laugh from Arthur – but his eyelids were too heavy, and his body was too worn out from the excitement of the day to fight off the exhaustion which was quickly leading him by the hand down the long, dark path to blissful oblivion.

His last thought before letting sleep claim him was that if he were to die in this place, he would like it to be right here. Feeling safe, and in the company of two of the people he had come to care most about in this world. Allowing himself to believe, just for a moment, that somehow they could both make it through this, even if he wouldn't.

But of course, this was not to be his final moment. The Gamemakers still had a few painful surprises in store for Merlin Emrys before the end.

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On the other side of the cavern, Guinevere turned her head to glance at Merlin, who was lying entwined with the Career tribute whose life she had just, despite her better judgement, saved.

She averted her eyes, feeling like she was intruding on what was clearly a very private moment between the two boys. She sighed heavily, once again fixing her gaze on the entrance to what had until a couple of hours ago been her safe haven, her one oasis in this awful, merciless wasteland.

Gwen would be lying to herself if she tried to pretend that this unexpected addition to her and Merlin's alliance wasn't bothering her – over the past four days, the only thing that had kept her going through all the terrible things she had experienced was the thought that if she just hung on, at least she might get to see Merlin again. One more time, before the end.

But meanwhile, Merlin had found someone else to care about. Under any other circumstances, of course, she would have felt nothing but happiness for them both, because there was no mistaking the look in her best friend's eyes when he talked about Arthur Pendragon. Whatever the other boy had done, it had been enough to convince Merlin that not only was he someone worthy of his trust, but also of his protection. And Merlin was nothing if not an excellent judge of character.

The problem was that this wasn't any other circumstance. This was the Hunger Games. And if there was one thing that Gwen had learned over the past four days, it was that you did not survive by trusting people. Merlin was the exception – she had known going in that she would never be able to harm him, not even if her own life depended on it. And she was relieved to find that this feeling, at least, had not changed.

But Arthur Pendragon was quite another matter. No matter what Merlin had come to feel for him, in the Arena he was the enemy. And when the time came, Guinevere would not jeopardize either her own or Merlin's safety for this boy.

Saving him once had already felt like a grave mistake – one which she promised herself that she would not be making again.

Chapter Text

When Merlin woke up, there was a brief, glorious moment when he forgot where he was. All he knew was that Arthur's arms were around him, and that he felt safe and warm and rested.

Then he opened his eyes, and it all came back to him. His heart sank. They were still in the Hunger Games, and they were dying. Their deaths might be hours away.

He closed his eyes again, curling further into Arthur to allow himself one final moment of peace. The terror would come soon enough, but after four days in the Arena, Merlin was sick of this. Let it wait, he thought stubbornly. It's not like it'll go away, anyway. Arthur stirred at Merlin's movement, and groaned in what was probably meant to be a frustrated way, but which sent shivers up Merlin's spine.

"Seven to go," Arthur grumbled into the back of Merlin's neck as he, too, came back into awareness, and Merlin absently found himself reaching for one of Arthur's hands, running a finger over the back of it slowly, revelling in Arthur's sharp intake of breath at the contact.

Merlin forced himself to stay still as the events of yesterday came back to him slowly, resisting the urge to jump up in a panic and search for Gwen, or turn around in Arthur's arms and inspect the wound he knew would no longer be there.

Gwen is fine. Arthur is fine, he told himself, repeating the words in his mind like a mantra. The minute he opened his eyes, he would be forced to confront the reality of the situation, and the fact that they had no idea how much longer any of them would be fine for.

Except Merlin thought he did have an idea. He felt the inescapable feelings of cold dread set in as he remembered the last note he had received. He had no idea how long they'd been sleeping for, but he had a feeling that morning must be near. The final day, he thought, shivering.

He let his hand still on top of Arthur's and twined their fingers together, relieved when Arthur didn't resist.

"This is nice," Merlin murmured, and Arthur responded by pressing a soft, chaste kiss against his neck. Merlin shivered again, and this time not from fear. Arthur breathed in against his neck, pulling him closer.

He tried to enjoy this quiet, simple moment between them, ignoring the knowledge that when they got up, that would probably be it. No more privacy (or the illusion of privacy, as this was), no more of this.

And Merlin never wanted this moment to end – after all, he had never had this before. Sure, there had been the occasional quick peck and fumble behind the school building with a few of the other boys, but in all of his seventeen years, Merlin had never actually allowed himself to grow this close to someone. Ironic that he should only find it now, with Arthur, after only knowing the other boy for a week and knowing that they would only have a few shaky days together at best.

But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel like whatever this thing was between Arthur and Merlin had been worth waiting for. It felt right, in a way that nothing else in his life ever had before. And he wanted everything with Arthur. As they lay there in silence, Merlin wondered if Arthur had ever... well, no point worrying about that now. As much as Merlin might want to, he knew that they shouldn't. They couldn't.

Even if this might be – no, he corrected himself, definitely will be – their final chance.

As private as this moment felt, they were still on display. Not only for Gwen, who was only a few feet away from them, but for the entire nation of Panem. And the sick thing was that the Capitol wanted them to become animals, to give into their instincts. So, as much as Merlin wanted Arthur, he didn't want it like this.

But still, it pained him to know that for him and Arthur, not like this meant not at all. He would die without ever getting to experience love, and the thought terrified him.

But at the same time, he felt absurdly proud that despite the Capitol's games, despite everything he'd seen in the Hunger Games so far, Merlin hadn't yet forgotten himself. And neither had Arthur, who had made no further movement even though Merlin definitely felt something solid and warm poke into the back of his thigh.

It was a cruel ultimatum which his mind was slowly reaching: that they could give in, let themselves have what they so desperately craved, to lose themselves in touches and sighs and forget, even for a moment, about the pain and death which surrounded them... or they could deprive the Capitol of the sick pleasure of watching their instincts take over, and at the same time deny themselves this one, final human experience.

He sighed deeply, regretfully, already knowing what his choice would be. Arthur shifted behind him, seemingly picking up on the heavy, uncertain silence which had stretched between them.

"I wish things were different," Arthur murmured, so quiet Merlin almost missed it. Then he rolled away, hand slipping out of Merlin's, leaving Merlin's back cold and exposed where Arthur's had been pressed against it.

"Yeah," Merlin whispered, rolling onto his back to face Arthur, who was watching him sombrely. "Me too."

The silence was interrupted when Arthur's stomach growled; the other boy huffed out a laugh and Merlin joined in.

"Maybe we should see if your friend Guinevere has some food stashed in this magical place," Arthur said, raising an eyebrow, and Merlin smirked.

He rose, regretfully letting the blanket slip away, and reached over to give Arthur a hand up.

"How is your wound?" Merlin asked, eyes trailing down to where Arthur's shirt was sticking to his skin, dried blood brown and matted against what had once been white.

Arthur winced as he gingerly peeled the fabric away from his skin, and Merlin braced himself – but aside from more dried blood, there was nothing to be seen where the knife had pierced his skin; not even a scar.

"Wow," Merlin breathed, and before he could think about it he reached out a hand to trail the taut skin of Arthur's stomach, unable to help himself. Arthur shivered under his touch, and Merlin drew his hand away as if burned.

"Yeah, well, I should probably wash up a bit," Arthur said, cheeks red as he looked anywhere but at Merlin.

"Me too," Merlin murmured, glancing down at himself (mostly to cover his own blush) and finding that he was as covered in dried blood – Arthur's blood – as the other boy.

They turned towards Gwen, only to find her slumped on the ground, curled in on herself as she slept.

"Gwen," Merlin called as he approached, and she jumped to her feet like a jack-in-the-box, gun halfway raised and eyes wide before she recognised him. Merlin tried to contain his wince; he'd never imagined he'd have to see his best friend looking so haunted.

"Merlin," she breathed, then looked around quickly. "I fell asleep!"

Merlin chuckled. "Yes, we can see that."

Gwen shook her head, looking worried. "I wasn't supposed to. I was keeping watch."

"You were tired," Merlin said, walking close enough to put a hand on her shoulder. "I get it."

She stared at him anxiously for a few more moments before breaking eye contact, eyes falling on Arthur behind him.

"Guinevere," Arthur said, coming to stand beside Merlin, nodding in greeting. After a moment she returned the nod, a silent understanding seemingly passing between them. Merlin frowned, but before he could comment, Arthur clapped his hand on Merlin's shoulder. "We need to clean up a little, have you got anything we can use?"

"Hmm," she said, glancing down at their clothes and wrinkling her nose. "I suppose that's a good use as any for the rest of my shirt." And to Merlin's surprise she offered Arthur a weak smile, motioning for them to follow her to where she'd put the two backpacks that seemed to hold her supplies.

As they neared the edge, Merlin tried not to glance down and shivered; he hated heights.

"Here," Gwen said, tossing Merlin a bottle of water and taking out a tattered white rag, tearing it in half and handing them both a piece. "Try to use as little water as you can to clean yourselves, I've only got one more bottle left."

She didn't say it, but they all knew what her words implied: that she didn't think they'd be alive long enough to need more than that.

Rather than commenting, Arthur and Merlin merely nodded and moved away to clean themselves off a bit while Gwen dug around in one of the packs for some food.

"Listen, Arthur," Merlin said under his breath, twisting off the cap on the bottle and letting a bit of water soak into the cloth before lifting up his tank top to clean off his skin the best he could, "I know this was the plan, finding Gwen and all, but..."

He trailed off. Arthur had told him, on that first day, that when they found Gwen, he'd be off. But he seemed in no hurry to leave now, and Merlin didn't want to imply that he wanted him to.

Arthur took the bottle from him to wet his own cloth, and started cleaning himself off with a frown on his face. Merlin watched the wet rag move over the skin on Arthur's stomach, slowly returning it to its light golden colour, trailing over the light hairs leading down from his bellybutton. Merlin swallowed, reminding himself to focus.

"Merlin," Arthur said at last, and Merlin's eyes snapped up to his. "I know that we haven't known each other for long, and there's a lot we don't know about each other. But you must know by now that I'm planning to stick by you. After everything, I'd think that much was obvious." His tone was brisk, but Merlin heard the underlying edge of hurt there.

"I understand," Merlin said. "I'm glad."

There was nothing else to say, really, after that. They shared a small smile and continued washing up in silence.

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"So do we have any idea what time it is?" Merlin asked, before taking a bite of his apple. Not that it mattered, technically... except to Merlin, it did matter. He needed to know how much of the day was left. The final day.

Gwen shrugged. "You two slept through the anthem. It's fainter down here, but still. You must have been exhausted. And then... I suppose a few more hours have passed? I'm not sure."

Right. So it was still night. It gave him a small sense of relief, even if it was ultimately futile. The final day would start soon enough.

"Okay," Arthur said abruptly, putting down his own apple in favour of his crossbow, which he turned over in his hands a few times, tightening something, "I think we need to get moving."

Merlin and Gwen looked up from their food, sharing an identical look of puzzlement before turning to Arthur.

"Um, move where?" Merlin asked.

Arthur gave him an incredulous look. "What do you mean where? This isn't a holiday, Merlin. We're in the Hunger Games, and there are four other tributes out there who are probably out for our blood."

"But... isn't that just all the more reason to stay here?" Merlin asked, frowning. "It's worked for Gwen so far, hasn't it?" He looked to Gwen for affirmation but she just shrugged, looking down at her hands.

Arthur gave him a long, measuring look. "Sure, hiding away has worked for Guinevere so far, but why do you think that is? The Gamemakers were obviously counting on you finding her. But now that you have? They expect action again, and if we don't give them some you can be sure they'll find a way to force it on us. And I for one would rather not find out what kind of games they have in store."

Merlin winced. He couldn't help but feel horribly guilty as he realised that Arthur was right: while it had just been Gwen here alone, when more tributes had been alive, the Gamemakers probably hadn't seen the need to force her into action – especially when the viewers got to watch Arthur and Merlin struggle to reach her while she waited for them. But now that they'd found each other, that storyline was resolved, as it were. And it was time for the final act to begin.

Even though he knew it wasn't really that simple, he still couldn't help but feel like he and Arthur being here was endangering Gwen more than if they'd stayed away. But it was too late to go back now – they had to go out there and face the music, before the Gamemakers got bored of waiting for them to make a move.

"Right," he said, rising from his seat on the ground and dusting off his trousers. "No use delaying this any longer than we have to, then."

And in some ways it was easier to move around, he thought, as he, Arthur and Gwen began to get ready. Whatever horrors they'd face out there, sitting around waiting for death would be much worse.

At least that's what he'd keep telling himself, until he started to believe it was true.

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In the end, they took very few provisions with them. They were all down to their tank tops now, and did not need a lot of weapons weighing them down. They all carried knives, while Arthur took the crossbow and Gwen took the gun. Merlin had an extra knife strapped to his arm, which he knew he could throw if he had to and still have one to spare.

We must look like Career tributes, he mused as they moved towards the staircase. But after four days in the Arena, he almost found himself a little despondent about that fact; at least, unlike the typical Career tribute, he knew that he wasn't just out to protect himself.

"Merlin," Arthur murmured, a hand on his arm, holding him back as Gwen began to make her way up the stairs ahead of them.

Merlin paused, looking round at Arthur curiously, and his breath hitched at the intense look he found on the other boy's face.

Before he could react, Arthur pushed him against the cave wall, temporarily hiding them from Gwen's view, and surged in, claiming Merlin's lips in a quick, desperate kiss. Merlin gasped into Arthur's mouth, and Arthur took advantage of his lips parting to thrust his tongue inside, licking his way into Merlin's mouth. Merlin moaned, brain finally catching up to what was happening, and he grabbed Arthur's head to pull him closer, angling his head to slide his own tongue wetly against Arthur's own.

When Arthur pulled away only seconds later, his lips were red and puffy, his breathing was ragged and his eyes were dark, and Merlin knew he probably didn't look much better.

"Right," Arthur murmured, leaning his forehead against Merlin's, his entire body sagging against him, trapping him against the wall. "Just in case."

Merlin could only nod, dipping in to place one last light kiss against Arthur's lips before reaching for the other boy's hand, squeezing before gently pushing Arthur away. Just in case we don't get another chance. Just in case we don't get to say goodbye.

When they turned the corner to start their ascent of the staircase, Gwen stood waiting for them, raising an eyebrow at Merlin but saying nothing. Merlin felt his cheeks flush, but couldn't help the small smile on his face. She rolled her eyes. He figured that was as good as it got and bumped his shoulder with Arthur's before regretfully letting go of his hand.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

They were back in the castle maze. But it was different this time: they were no longer edging along in the shadows, hoping to stay unnoticed. Four tributes remained aside from themselves, and they could be anywhere – and Merlin knew without having to ask that both Gwen and Arthur shared his desire to just see this end. One way or another. They were tired of waiting, and of being afraid.

So they moved with intent, weapons raised and ready, battle-worn and weary. Careers after all, Merlin thought, and squared his shoulders.

Arthur was the first to notice the noise. He stopped, holding up his hand, and Gwen and Merlin froze on the spot, staying completely still as they listened.

A girl was sobbing.

Arthur glanced round to catch Merlin's eye, and he thought he probably knew what Arthur was thinking: this was going to be harder than they thought.

They could play at being Careers all they wanted, but Merlin had been in the Arena with Arthur long enough to know that for all his training and cockiness, he wasn't as willing to kill innocent tributes as he pretended to be. One thing was fighting fellow Careers, and acting in self-defence... but Merlin hadn't forgotten the look on Arthur's face the day before, when he'd had to put an arrow through Kara's neck to save Merlin's life.

Merlin opened his mouth, trying to find a way to ask if maybe they should just head the other way – or maybe just to make enough noise so that whoever was crying would hear them and have a head start – when to his astonishment, it was Guinevere who moved forward, stepping in between them with a blank expression on her face and wrenching open the door to the next room, where the noise was coming from.

She slipped through the door and Merlin heard a gasp, and then silence as the sobbing stopped. He and Arthur hurried to follow Gwen inside the room, and froze at the scene before them: Gwen had raised her gun, pointing it straight at the female District 5 tribute Mithian, who was propped up against the far wall, staring at Gwen with wide, unblinking eyes.

She must have beat Vivian, Merlin realised, and for a moment he felt a surge of relief – until he took in the state the other girl had been left in.

Mithian looked terrible. Her dark hair, which had been sleek and freshly brushed the last time Merlin and Arthur had seen her, was unruly and sticky with what was probably blood. Merlin's eyes traced her slumped, dirty form and he quickly realised why she must have been crying: her left leg was in tatters, deep gashes oozing thick blood. And they were clearly infected, crusting and filling the room with a truly nauseating smell. He wondered how long the wound had been festering, and felt even more sick at the thought of Mithian limping around like this for what could have been days.

"Gwen," Mithian breathed, sounding as broken and she looked, and Merlin started at the tone of her voice. It was recognition. That was when he registered the look on her face: it was not one of fear, but one of resignation. "I hoped it would be you."

Merlin turned to Gwen, the question on his lips, but the look on her face made him snap his mouth shut, chilled to the bone at what he saw. There was so much pain there, and an anger he had never known she was capable of.

Gwen was quiet for a long time, and it seemed like time had stopped. When she finally spoke, it was only two words: "Me too."

And then she pulled the trigger.

BOOM!

Merlin never took his eyes off Gwen as she fired, and if he had, he'd have missed the minute twitch of her mouth, the tiny shuddering breath before she lowered the gun and squared her shoulders, cold and shuttered look replacing the flash of brokenness he had just seen.

"Gwen..." Merlin whispered, not able to believe what had just happened. Not able to comprehend what his friend had just done. Mithian had been hurt, and defenceless, and Gwen had... Gwen had just...

"You did her a kindness," Arthur mumbled, and Merlin started at his voice. So did Gwen, and he noticed that she was shaking. Under any other circumstances he wouldn't hesitate to pull her into his arms but now... "she would have died anyway," Arthur continued, voice impossibly steady and calm. "She was probably in a lot of pain."

Merlin wasn't sure whether Arthur was trying to convince Gwen or himself.

"Yeah," Gwen whispered, eyes still trained on what must be Mithian's body, "but that's not why I did it."

Merlin still couldn't bring himself to look over at Mithian – he didn't want it to be real, he didn't want to see the girl whom Gwen had just killed.

"Gwen," Arthur said, and Merlin was glad that he was able to speak, that his tone was so comforting, while Merlin could only stand by uselessly as his world broke apart. "This wasn't the first time you met this girl in the Arena, was it?"

Mithian, Merlin wanted to shout, her name was Mithian. But maybe Arthur had it right, not using her name. Gwen was clearly broken, and he doubted that more guilt would fix it. He ignored the small voice inside his head that asked if he even wanted to fix it.

She's still Gwen, he told it. She'll always be Gwen. Yet another thing he would keep repeating until he began to believe it.

After another long moment, Gwen took a deep breath, closing her eyes before turning to Arthur, looking so broken and yet so strong. "No, it wasn't."

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

FOUR DAYS AGO:

She opened her eyes, instantly alert as she took in her surroundings.

Guinevere had tried not to have any preconceptions about what she might find in the Arena, trying to make sure she wouldn't be caught off guard by what she did find – but this?This was like no Arena they had ever seen, and for a few terrifying seconds she found herself frozen in place, not even registering the sound of the metallic female voice counting them down.

...Seven, six, five...

Think, Gwen, she scolded herself, shaking her head. What had her father told her? Whatever you do, he'd said, blinking back the tears in his eyes, do not forget to think, Guinevere.

...four, three, two...

She forced her mind into complete awareness. You are outside, she told herself, ignoring the countdown for a few, precious seconds. You are alone. That was important. It would give her more time. Merlin. You must find Merlin. This unexpected scenery changed nothing; she knew what to do.

...one...

She was ready.

As the cannon sounded she launched herself off the platform, landing on the grass and stopping, holding her breath, taking in the massive stone structure before her and trying to listen over the sound of her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

There was nothing.

Why was there nothing? Where was everyone else?

The rush for the Cournucopia was a staple of the Games, everyone knew that. That initial blood bath was meant to get viewers' hearts pumping, satiate them ahead of the slower, more psychological game ahead.

But this was different.

A noise made her start, it was almost like a snarl; twisting around she saw a figure hurtling themselves towards her – it was someone female, blonde, and she only had a brief second in which to identify her as Morgause, one of the District 3 tributes, before her brain caught up with her.

Run! it screamed at her, and so she did.

Morgause was in hot pursuit, and it was all the reminder Gwen needed that no matter that they were all human beings, no matter that only hours before they had sat placidly side-by-side on the hovercraft which had taken them to the Arena, from here on out they had left civilization behind. Like in all other previous Games, they were now savages: the hunters and the hunted.

And right now, Gwen was the hunted. Lucky for her, she was also fast. As she raced past the boulders she glanced out towards the nearest drawbridge – surely the most sensible action would be to escape that way? But no, there was nothing out there. Nothing but empty ground, nowhere to hide.

That left her only one option: the castle. Running into an enclosed space went against all of her natural impulses, but she didn't have time to think – Morgause was still after her, and she looked absolutely murderous, probably more than ready to start the bloodshed, and if Gwen hadn't been so terrified she would have been disgusted by the unabashed glee she saw in the other girl's eyes. Morgause had been looking forward to this, she realised.

Maybe some of them really were nothing but animals.

Gwen reached the large wooden door and had a moment of blind panic as she realised it might be locked – but it wasn't, Thank god, and she wrenched it open, ignoring the sound of Morgause's footsteps right behind her, storming inside and slamming it shut – but no, no, it wasn't enough, Morgause would get through in a moment, she had to keep moving-

Another door opened down the hall and Gwen started darting to the right but it was too late, the pillars were too far away, and now she stood frozen, facing another blonde girl, this one with wild hair and wide eyes – District 6, she thought, what is her name? It doesn't matter, just go! - but where? She couldn't go back, she couldn't go forward.

The door behind her rattled, and Gwen jumped; the other girl had stopped too, seemingly paralysed with fear like Gwen herself, but now Morgause was making her way inside and there was nothing for it.

Gwen sped forwards, towards the doors, and to her surprise, the other girl made no move towards her, eyes fixed on Morgause, who was in hot pursuit.

In a split second, the look in the other girl's eyes shifted. "Over here!" she called, gesturing at Gwen, and Gwen faltered. There were other doors – but this girl, she didn't look like Morgause, the look in her eyes was more earnest, she was clearly scared...

No. In the Arena, no one was earnest. No one was anything but a cold-hearted killer. Gwen darted left, sprinting towards another door, not stopping to see if Morgause was following her or if she was pursuing the other girl.

A scream came from behind her and she gasped, but didn't stop, just kept going, going, through another door, up a staircase, she kept going, through a strange, oblong room with giant windows on either side, but she didn't stop to think, only kept going. And luckily saw no one else, finally stopping in a room with no other doors... as safe as she was going to get.

She took deep, steadying breath, wheezing, hands on her thighs as she desperately tried to gather herself. She didn't have time to stop, not now, not ever.

BOOM!

Gwen jumped, ready to take flight despite her pounding heart. But it was quiet. Relax, she reminded herself, this is a big castle. They aren't coming for you.

But that was a lie. Of course they would be coming for her. But the only thing she could do right now was calm down, get her breathing under control, get her pounding heart to slow down, make her ears stop ringing. And then she needed to get the hell out of this room, where she might be safer than anywhere else, but which didn't have a means of escape if someone did find her here.

Even with all the training, and the sleepless nights over the past weeks trying to imagine every horror possible, there was no way she could have been prepared for this. And this place was much, much worse than any forest or mountain could ever have been – because there was no running through solid stone. This must be the Gamemakers' intention, Gwen realised. Orchestrating confrontations, and making sure no one could escape them.

She wondered where Merlin had been let out, and whom he'd had to face. She desperately hoped that they would be too scared to fight him, like that girl downstairs had been. Elena, yes, that was her name.

Gwen allowed herself to close her eyes, just for a moment, as she leaned her head back against the wall next to the door. She'd be able to hear anyone coming. And then...

What? She would fight them with her bare hands? She knew that this might happen, had even tried to convince herself that she could do it – but now that she was actually standing here, knowing that such a confrontation could come at any moment, she faltered. Could she really do it? If it was someone weaker, someone against whom she actually stood a chance, perhaps one of the young tributes... could she really make herself kill them? She shuddered, and wanted to cry.

But she didn't. Not only because it was counterproductive, but because she knew that it wasn't only the Gamemakers who were watching her. It was her father, and Lancelot. The two people other than Merlin whom she loved more than anything else in the world, and who she would not let down. Not now, when all she had left to give them was her courage, and her dignity.

She would not let them see her fall apart, because it would destroy them.

One more deep breath, that was all she would allow herself. That was it, and then she'd have to leave this room and face whatever was on the other side. Merlin is out there, she thought. Of course, she'd heard a cannon... but that couldn't have been Merlin. It couldn't have been. She shook her head. One deep breath.

She inhaled, letting all of her panic on for one sliver of a second – she was going to die, Merlin was going to die, might already be gone, Morgause was still out there for not to mention all the other Careers, and Gwen herself might have to kill someone today – and then she exhaled, as slowly and completely as she could.

And to her surprise, by the time she heaved in another breath, she found that some of her panic had actually gone.

She didn't stop to think, but opened the door and stepped back out to where she had come. And gasped. Because the room she had sped through so quickly before wasn't as empty as she'd originally thought: over by the far wall, close to the staircase which she had hurtled up, was a giant stack of crates.

The Cournucopia, she thought, stunned. This couldn't be right – she couldn't possibly be this lucky.

Gwen took a hesitant step forwards, but nothing happened. Surely this was a trap? Surely the Gamemakers were just waiting for her to let her guard down, to...

A door slammed behind her, and Gwen jumped, but there was no one. It must have been somewhere else on this floor.

She couldn't stay here. As much as she wanted to keep all of this, she needed to go. But not before picking a weapon.

Gwen moved quickly now, because what was the point of caution? She reached the row of weapons and glanced at the handful of guns scattered around – and shuddered. No, she couldn't do it. She wasn't this person. If Gwen knew one thing for certain, it was that she was never going to pick up a gun and start shooting at children.

Resolutely, she left the guns behind and moved towards the other weapons. She selected a long knife in a sheath, clicking it onto her belt before turning to the crossbows.

She'd just picked up one, testing the weight in her hand and loading it up to get the feel of it, when a soft gasp behind her made her freeze. Gwen whipped around, letting instinct take over, raising her weapon to point it at-

Elena. It was that same girl again, same wide eyes, same terrified expression. She froze in place, and Gwen did, too. This was the moment when she decided what kind of tribute she would be.

She could do it, right now. The twenty-two competitors she had left to face could become twenty-one. It would be easy – Gwen had good aim. It would be too easy.

Gwen lowered the crossbow fractionally. I'm sorry, Lancelot. I can't.

Elena's relief was palpable, and her stance relaxed. She gave Gwen a tiny, hesitant smile.

Maybe she didn't have to do this alone, after all.

THREE DAYS AGO:

It had been a mistake leaving the Cournucopia behind, Gwen could feel it. But they didn't have a choice.

Elena was right; it was only a matter of time before it would be a hotspot of activity, and they'd already had two near misses when, luckily, the footsteps that had made them freeze in place had faltered and diverted, clearly lured by another door leading them further into the castle, away from the one place everyone was undoubtedly trying to get to.

So, grudgingly, Gwen had agreed to leave. There was something about Elena which made Gwen feel a lot safer than she would have felt had she been alone; somehow the knowledge that the other girl was just as desperate to go home as herself was reassuring rather than worrying.

On that first night, Elena had told her the story behind her token, which was a red scarf which she'd tied neatly around her neck: her little brother had given that to her for her last birthday, and she hadn't had the heart to leave it behind after her name was called at the Reaping ceremony.

"A little piece of home, to remind me what I'm fighting for," Elena had said wistfully. And that's when Gwen realised that she didn't have to fear someone like that, because like herself, Elena wasn't out to play any games. She just wanted to go home, and Gwen could understand that. And while there were so many tributes remaining, there was undoubtedly strength in numbers, so sticking together only made sense.

And even if they didn't have the Cournucopia at their disposal anymore, they had weapons now, at least. Elena had taken a gun, while Gwen had stuck with a crossbow, somehow feeling like that made her less like a killer (even if they both knew that wasn't a claim any tribute could make for long if they wanted to survive this – but they tried not to talk about that). They also both had several knives, and had packed a pair of rucksacks with food and water, as well as some medical supplies.

But now they were just like everyone else; lost in this maze of a castle, with no idea where to go or what to do.

That was when they heard the scream. Gwen opened her mouth to remind Elena that they should be getting the hell out of the way of whatever was happening, but Elena's eyes had widened.

"Mithian," she whispered.

Gwen's heart sank. Elena and Mithian had gotten to know each other really well before the Games began, and had even talked about making an alliance – although Mithian also wanted to ally herself with the Pendragons, which hadn't sat well with Elena.

None of that mattered now, of course, seeing as the Gamemakers had clearly designed this Arena to facilitate unlikely run-ins and alliances, and Elena had now allied herself with Gwen.

But it looked like some of the loyalty still carried through, because Elena started resolutely walking towards the noise, not away from it, and Gwen had no choice but to follow.

They moved through two empty rooms before they saw it: Gwen felt herself freeze as she recognised the terrifying shape of one of the Capitol's muttations. It looked like a lion, except it was much too large, and was bare as a sphinx cat, its sickly pale pink skin stretched tight over its bones.

It was standing on its hind legs, long razor-sharp claws poised to strike at the terrified, dark-haired girl crouched on the ground, defenceless without a weapon.

At Gwen and Elena's arrival, the mutt swung its head around, and let out a threatening snarl. But then it turned back to the girl, who whimpered and cowered, covered in blood (though Gwen didn't see any injuries, and suspected it might not be her own).

"Mithian," Elena breathed, voice shaking.

"Elena!" the other girl cried, sobbing, "Elena, help me!"

"Elena, no," Gwen said, reaching out and putting a hand on her arm. She tried to pull her backwards, but Elena didn't budge, staring at Mithian with wide eyes. "Elena, come on, we can't risk it!"

Even as she said the words, she felt terrible. Every fibre of her being was screaming at her to move forward, to help this poor, defenceless girl – but they couldn't, they shouldn't, this went against everything they had been told about the Arena.

One thing was letting someone live. It was quite another to help them survive, in a game where they were all fated to die.

"Elena, come on, let's just go," she urged again, tugging on Elena's sleeve. The creature was lashing out at Mithian now, one of its claws catching in her trousers and leaving behind bloody gashes. Mithian screamed, and the sound cut straight through Gwen's bones. She wanted to help, of course she wanted to help, but this was a fight to the death. She was caught by the door, in a terrible indecision which shamed her even as she held on to Elena's sleeve, trying to pull her back to safety.

"Elena, please!" Mithian cried, tears streaming down her face as she scrambled further backwards, holding her leg.

Elena looked between Mithian and Gwen, eyes wide. "She's my friend," Elena whispered. "I can't leave her to die like this."

You've only known her for a week! Gwen wanted to shout, but she couldn't; she found herself terrified as Elena shook her head, her decision made. She tore herself free of Gwen's grasp, passing her the gun.

"Cover me," Elena said, closing both her hands around Gwen's over the gun for a moment, nodding, before rushing forwards; before Gwen had a chance to even react.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry out. But she was frozen by the door, crippled by her panic and fear as Elena, brave, sweet Elena, hurtled herself forward to save her friend.

The monster heard her approach, and spun around, snarling as Elena darted around to stand protectively in front of Mithian, shielding with her body and allowing the other girl to pull herself to her feet before facing the beast again, only armed with a small knife.

It happened so quickly, Gwen almost missed it: Mithian's eyes widened as she saw the mutt bear down on them again, and with a desperate cry she reached out and pushed Elena forwards, making the other girl lose her balance as she tumbled right into the path of the monster.

Elena's scream was paralyzing, excruciating, but Gwen couldn't look away; not as Mithian stormed out of the room sobbing and holding her leg, not as the beast sank its pointed teeth into Elena's throat, not as Elena's wild, desperate eyes found Gwen's – but even as Gwen's body caught up with her mind and she made a desperate surge forwards, raising the gun and fumbling with the safety neither of them had thought to click off, she knew it was too late.

BOOM!

Gwen's vision was blurred by tears even as she fired at the beast – Bang! Bang! Bang! - and as it crumbled to the floor beside the broken and bloody body of the girl who had once been Elena Mills, the bravest girl in the Hunger Games.

"Elena," she whispered brokenly, kneeling down to lightly touch the girl's forehead, shaking as she carefully moved her hand over Elena's eyelids, closing them as gently as she could.

Gwen's hands traced the outline of Elena's red scarf, still tied neatly around her neck. Looking up, she let her eyes sweep the room, blinking back her tears, hoping a camera caught her words.

"Thank you, District 6," she murmured. "For your sacrifice. It will not be forgotten."

She undid the knot of the scarf. Even if the Capitol would be removing Elena's body, Gwen would make sure that one small part of her got to stay in the Games, and that everyone watching were forced to remember her. At least for as long as Gwen herself survived. It was the least she could do for Elena now, the person she had failed to save.

BOOM!

Gwen started, heart hammering in her chest. Someone else had just died, but who? Her eyes flickered to the door Mithian had run through. I want it to be you, she thought, her grief turning to a deep bitterness she couldn't shake.

Mithian had betrayed her friend. However scared she had been, Mithian had let someone else pay for her own life – and even though those were the rules of the Games, Gwen still couldn't believe that anyone would be able to betray someone like Elena, someone who had stepped in to try and save their life.

BOOM!

She sprang to her feet, looking around wildly, heart hammering. Something big was happening right now, and whatever it was, she needed to get the hell away from here.

She ran.

TWO DAYS AGO:

It was strange, Gwen mused, how a beam of light had managed to illuminate the secret passage leading her to the cave when she could have sworn it wasn't there the last time she'd gone through the entrance hall.

But it had led her to this place, this glorious safe haven when she got to sit down, close her eyes, and let the events of the past three days process in her mind.

She still hadn't found Merlin. She had no idea if he was even still alive anymore – and a small part of her wondered if maybe it wouldn't be best if he'd died quickly. We're all going to die anyway, she thought hopelessly. At least if he was gone, she could worry about herself, and wouldn't have to suffer the pain of watching him die.

Or maybe he'll watch you die, her brain supplied, feeling sick with herself. She had not cried since Elena had died. She hadn't even let herself think about it, not really, but now it all came back to her: how Elena had trusted her with the gun, how she hadn't even thought to use it on the mutt herself, rushing forward to save someone else.

How Gwen hadn't thought to do it either, standing by uselessly while Elena got killed right in front of her.

It was my fault, she thought, feeling hollow. I could have helped her. I could have killed the mutt. I could have killed Mithian.

Gwen couldn't get Mithian's face out of her mind, remembering the way her fear had shifted into something truly terrible as she'd pushed Elena to her death. It had been panic, yes, but it had also been triumph: Mithian had gotten one step closer to victory, and she knew it.

If she was completely honest with herself, Gwen didn't have high hopes for her own survival. From the moment her name had been called at the Reaping ceremony, a part of her had known that her chances of beating out all the other contestants were slim to none.

But if she were to die, she decided, it wouldn't be while cowering in a corner, too scared to even defend herself. She had failed to fight when it counted, and Elena had paid the price, but never again. The next time, Gwen would face her enemies, and even her death, like Elena had: charging into battle, brave and strong and believing that she was fighting for something bigger than herself.

Ultimately, Elena's downfall had been that she trusted someone, that she believed that this trust would still be reciprocated in the Arena. She had sacrificed herself for someone who had spat in her face, and who had not been worthy.

Even if Gwen didn't win this thing, she was going to make damn sure that Mithian didn't, either. That was what she was fighting for now. That, and Merlin. If he was still there to fight for.

She looked up, wondering how many cameras were trained on her right now. Probably none, she thought, considering that she was sitting alone, doing nothing interesting. But still, she couldn't help but hope that maybe they'd cut to her, and that back in District 11, Lancelot would be watching.

She missed him so terribly, she once again had to fight down the sobs she knew would wrack through her body if she let herself give in. But she took a deep, steadying breath, because if Lancelot was watching, she didn't want him to see her cry.

"I love you," he had told her, kissing her through both of their tears as they'd desperately said their goodbyes right after she had been Reaped, before being taken away for what they both knew would probably be forever. "Do whatever it takes to win, Gwen," he had told her honestly, pushing up her chin to look into her eyes, making her see that he was serious. "I just want you to come home."

But she hadn't been able to promise him that. She could only assure him that she loved him too, before grabbing his shoulders and pulling him to her fiercely, desperately needing to feel his warmth and strength, needing to be able to remember it for as long as she still drew breath.

As the Peacekeepers had come in to take him away, Lancelot had surged forwards, kissing her one final time and grabbing her hand, forcing something small and cold into it.

"I bought this weeks ago," he whispered against her lips. "No matter what, I want you to have it. To know that I always have been and always will be yours. I love you."

It wasn't until he had been physically dragged from the room and the door had closed, leaving her in solitude that she opened her hand and found the thin, silver band inside. Her free hand came to cover her mouth as she sobbed in earnest, tears streaming down and dripping down onto what should have been her wedding ring.

And as she sat in the cave, she reached into her pocket and pulled it out, tracing the edge with her finger and resisting the urge to put it on. She had been so relieved when she'd been allowed to take it with her into the Arena, but she would not wear it. She knew what it meant: it was a promise from Lancelot that no matter what happened, he would never love another.

"But you must," she whispered, as if he could hear her. "No one should go through life alone."

She was going to try for him. She was not going to be weak, or scared. But she needed to believe that Lancelot would still be proud of her even if that wasn't enough.

YESTERDAY:

Gwen shuddered, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around herself to stave off the goosebumps on her uncovered arms. She missed her shirt, which had been lost to her what felt like years ago. Along with a lot of other things.

She was so tired. But she knew that Merlin and Arthur deserved the rest more than her – plus, she didn't know if she'd even be able to let herself sleep, knowing that Merlin had brought a Career to the place that was meant to be her safe haven.

A faint rustling sound came from behind her, and she startled out of her reverie, jumping to her feet and spinning around, weapon halfway raised until she remembered where she was and who was with her.

But to Gwen's surprise it was not Merlin who walked towards her now, but Arthur. The Career tribute Merlin had somehow found and picked up along the way, and who, for unfathomable reasons, hadn't fed Merlin to the wolves the first chance he got. Gwen knew how the game was played, she knew that was what people did. This boy puzzled her, but she wouldn't let that show. Uncertainty was just another weakness they could exploit.

"You can keep the gun raised, it that helps," Arthur said quietly, holding out his hands in front of him to show that he didn't carry any weapons. Gwen's eyes darted to the place where Merlin lay, and for one panicked moment she thought she might find him hurt, or worse – but he was lying as still and peaceful as he ever slept, and there had been no cannon sounds for hours. He was fine.

She refused to let the relief show on her face, however, and did not click the safety back on the gun even as she reluctantly took a seat, gesturing for Arthur to join her on the ground. He did, sitting down across from her and wincing a little as he bent over, clearly not completely healed yet. Good, Gwen thought. She might need the advantage.

"Do you need some rest?" Arthur asked after a moment's uncomfortable silence. "You can go lie down by Merlin, he's out like a light. I'm feeling much better," he added with a wry smile, but his eyes betrayed him. He looked exhausted.

"No," Gwen said, shaking her head. "I'm not tired." It was as much of a lie as the one Arthur had told, but he couldn't exactly call her out on it.

Arthur grimaced as though reading her mind, but said nothing. For a moment they let the silence stretch between them, eyeing each other warily.

He was the first to break the contact, eyes sweeping over the cavern before landing on her stash of food. "Where'd you get all this?"

Gwen shrugged. "I found the Cournucopia."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "And you never encountered anyone else there?"

"No, it was just me."

He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then closed it. Gwen suspected that he didn't believe her, but it hardly mattered. No matter what Merlin meant to either of them, they would never be able to trust each other.

"I know that this can't be easy," Arthur allowed, scratching his neck self-consciously, seeming oddly at ease even as Gwen still had a weapon trained on him. "And I know that this doesn't change anything, but I wanted to say thank you. For doing what you did." His eyes met hers, and Gwen was slightly taken aback by the sincerity she found there. Although for all she knew, that was just another trick.

"I didn't do it for you," she said honestly, once again glancing over at where Merlin was sleeping.

"I know," Arthur replied, and a small smile tugged on his lips. She refused to see it as fond, even though that was what it looked like. It was probably a trick.

"I can't say that I don't want to win," Gwen said after a moment, not sure why she was even telling him this at all, but finding it oddly comforting to speak these words to a stranger, "but I don't want him to die, either. I won't let that happen." She tried to make her words sound like a threat, but there was a slight waver in her voice, and she cursed herself for still being so emotional. Emotions were a weakness, too.

Arthur stayed quiet for a moment, eyes searching hers. "Well, Guinevere, I suppose that means we have something in common, after all."

She didn't want to trust him him. All of her experiences in the Hunger Games had taught her not to believe anything that people said, that desperation would cause even the purest of souls to do the most despicable things. After all, she'd had a friend in the Arena too, even if she'd never admit that to anyone. And she'd watched that friend be betrayed by someone she considered a friend. The last thing she wanted was to see Merlin suffer the same fate.

And yet, looking into Arthur Pendragon's eyes, she couldn't help herself. She didn't trust him, but she believed him. He wanted Merlin safe.

She nodded. "Good. We can work with that."

NOW:

Gwen took in a deep, shuddering breath, seeing nothing even as she knew she was staring at Mithian's body. Mithian was dead.

I killed her. Gwen's vision was full of black spots, her ears were ringing, and she felt like she was teetering on the edge of something which felt dangerously like a bottomless abyss which she knew there was no getting back from. If she fell, she would be gone.

She heard her name. Gwen. It was Merlin's voice who had spoken the word – because how could it be anything but just a word now, now that she wasn't Gwen anymore? She wasn't the girl who had held her brother's hand as he walked her to school. She wasn't the girl who had blushed when Lancelot had brought her a handful of flowers carefully picked through the fence. She wasn't the girl who had laughed with Merlin and Will, who had made a game out of packing sacks of grain.

She was a killer.

The knowledge left her cold and empty, devoid of emotion, even as she thought she might be drowning in it.

I did it, Lancelot, she thought, the words hollow even in her own mind. Was this what you wanted? No. She didn't think so.

I just want you to come home, he had told her. But it wouldn't be her, not anymore. Even if by some miracle she did get to go home at the end of all this, would they even recognise her there? Would she even recognise herself?

"...did her a kindness." Gwen started at the new voice. It wasn't one she recognised, yet it felt soothing to her. She waited, feeling like she was breaking apart, suddenly wishing for more. "She would have died anyway. She was probably in a lot of pain."

Yes, she wanted to say, yes, she was dying. I just made it faster. That's all I did.

But that would be a lie. Gwen had wanted Mithian to die. She had wanted to know that this girl who caused Elena's death to save her own skin wouldn't get to go home, wouldn't get to outlive all of these people who deserved it so much more than she did.

What hurt the most was the fact that now, Gwen knew that she didn't deserve it either. She was no better than Mithian now, was she?

"Yeah," she whispered, taking a deep breath. She knew she owed them an explanation – even though she wasn't sure it would help. But she had to try. She couldn't stand the look in Merlin's eyes, and selfishly, she didn't want to die before he at least understood why she'd done what she did. "That's not why I did it."

I did it because she killed my friend.

I did it because I should have killed the mutt, but was too much of a coward to save Elena from them both.

I did it because if I hadn't, she would have found a way to do the same to you.

But she wasn't sure any of those reasons would ever be good enough.

Chapter Text

When Merlin was twelve years old and the first slip bearing his name had been placed in the Reaping bowl, he had been frightened beyond belief. He had tried to be brave for his mother and father, but of course they were not fooled by his charade – after all, they themselves had also once stood on that square waiting for their names to be called.

The night before that first Reaping, Merlin's father had come to his room as he prepared for sleep, and sat himself down on Merlin's bed, patting the space next to him for Merlin to sit down too.

"I know you're scared," Balinor had told him. "But fear is a trick of the mind, Merlin. It doesn't exist unless you let it. And the anticipation of waiting for something bad to happen is always worse than when it actually happens."

At the time, those words had comforted Merlin, allowing him the peace of mind to close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

But now he knew that his father had lied. Or maybe, Merlin thought, he just didn't understand – and couldn't have. His name had never been pulled from that bowl, after all; Balinor had never had to go to the Capitol to be plucked and preened and paraded like a prize piglet before a midsummer feast.

And Balinor had never been inside the Arena, where it felt like the world was caving in on you and where you knew that all around you, people were watching you suffer through greedy, insatiable eyes, begging the Gamemakers for more - more pain, more tears, more death.

No. This was much, much worse than anyone who had never been in the Hunger Games could ever imagine that it would be.

At the Reaping ceremony the following year, Merlin's father had not been there to calm him, because by that time, he had been dead. His death had been quick; a terrible illness which had stolen him away from them suddenly in the night, and to this day Merlin could still feel the terrible, mind-numbing panic of that moment when his mother had gently shaken him awake and told him, It is time, her voice wavering even as she tried to hold back her tears. And even though Merlin had not known what she was talking about, he'd seen the look in her eyes, and that had been enough to tell him that his entire world was about to shatter.

But for all of the hardships of their District, Merlin thought now that maybe his father had been one of the lucky ones. He had died surrounded by the people he loved, knowing that they would at least still have each other.

It would not be like that for Merlin. Merlin would die knowing that he had failed the few people he still had left to protect, that he hadn't been able to save them.

Looking at Gwen now, he felt like he had already failed her. He had not found her in time, and listening to her tell them what she'd been through, he realised that whatever happened, she would always be a little bit broken.

And Arthur, for all his strength and honour, had killed his own sister, seeing no other way to break the twisted hold their father had on them. And he had nearly died himself, too, a fact which Merlin knew must have shaken him even more so than it did Merlin (and Merlin already couldn't go five minutes without remembering how Arthur had looked as he was dying, bleeding out right in front of him).

This was the real terror of the Games. Not the pain, nor the death, but the waiting. The knowing. Knowing with a complete and utter certainty that no matter what they did, no matter what obstacles they overcame, they would die.

Right now, Merlin was looking at Gwen and Arthur, his best friend and his... well, Merlin might not be willing to fully admit to himself how much he truly had come to care about the other boy, but the feelings were all there, anyway. And he knew that one of them, if not both, would die. Maybe today, or tomorrow, or the next day. However long they managed to survive in this hellish place, all too soon they would be dead, their bodies whisked away and sent back home to be buried as if they'd never even lived or breathed at all.

But this knowledge, at least, put everything else into perspective. Guinevere had killed Mithian for reasons which Merlin might not agree with, but which he understood. And he didn't want either of their final memories to be filled with bitterness or uncertainty about where they stood with one another. Arthur, at least, seemed to understand Gwen's actions, and Merlin would be damned if he'd let himself pass any kind of judgement over her. Not here, not now, not after everything they'd been through.

Looking at Gwen though, Merlin knew that it wasn't his forgiveness she needed most of all.

"He'll understand, you know," he said quietly, taking her hand and holding it between his own. They'd left the room where Mithian had died, finding a more enclosed space where they'd be less likely to be discovered. All was quiet now, and Merlin reckoned that the Gamemakers might be giving them time for some emotional resolution. Even though the knowledge that everything they did in the Games was being so thoroughly manipulated angered him, this was one time where he was actually a tiny bit grateful. If for no other reason, then because he'd get to give Gwen some peace.

She met his eyes, and he tried not to recoil at the despondency he found there, the hopelessness which was a hundred times worse than the guilt and regret he'd glimpsed right after she'd pulled the trigger.

"How could he?" she whispered.

"Because he loves you," Merlin said. "And he wants you to come home."

Gwen's eyes filled with grateful tears, and though she wasn't quite smiling, Merlin was encouraged by the fact that she still had some emotion left inside of her. He wasn't sure if she thought they were talking about Lancelot or her father, but he supposed it didn't really matter now. It applied to both of them, anyway. Because even though they'd of course be as shocked by her actions as Merlin had been, and even though neither of them would ever be able to understand what it was truly like in the Arena, ultimately they understood the reality of the Hunger Games. And if Gwen did end up being the one to leave these Games alive, Tom and Lancelot's relief and joy would overshadow all the memories of what they'd seen her do to get there.

At least, Merlin had to hope that this would be the case. And that it also applied to himself, if it should be him returning home to find Will and his mum waiting for him.

Although he doubted that him or Gwen would ever be able to forget what had happened to them inside of the Arena. There was a reason most of the victors ended up perpetually drunk and alone, and he was finally starting to realise why that happened so much. How hard it must be to come home to people who didn't get it, who found it so easy to judge because they didn't know.

Was victory really such an attractive reward at the end of all this, when the price to pay was so impossibly high? Was it really worth killing for? Was it worth living on, when it was with the knowledge that your life had come at the cost of everyone else's?

How could anyone ever think their own life was worth that much?

Merlin shook himself, forcing himself to think of Gwen. To imagine Gwen alive and... if not well, then at least safe. Back home. With the people she loved.

But not me, he thought with the same feeling of all-consuming hopelessness which had threatened to suffocate him since this whole nightmare had started. We'll never be together again.

As he reached that depressing conclusion, Merlin couldn't help but glance over at Arthur, who was watching him sadly. Maybe he was even thinking along the same lines. Merlin wondered briefly what Arthur would have left to come home to. His mother was dead, and now Morgana was too, and his father... Merlin wasn't sure if Uther's disapproval would be worse than his pride, not when what he would praise Arthur for was killing his sister.

Maybe they weren't doing each other any favours after all, trying so hard to secure victory for the other.

But it didn't matter now. Right now, they had to keep focusing of their immediate survival. Otherwise they might as well just lie down and die, and even knowing the bleak future each of them could expect if one of them by some miracle found themselves the victor, Merlin was just not the type of person who would ever be able to give up.

That thought filled him with something like grim pride, and he squeezed Gwen's hand more tightly, hoping that he was able to pass some of that on to her just by touch alone. You haven't broken us yet, he thought spitefully, wishing he dared say the words aloud, to whatever Gamemakers that were listening. We're still alive. And we're still fighting.

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, and when Merlin looked up, Arthur discreetly gestured for him to follow, taking a few steps back until he reached the corner of the room. Puzzled, Merlin gave Gwen's hand one final squeeze, shooting her what he hoped was an encouraging smile, before following Arthur. He tried not to be too worried by the fact that Gwen merely kept standing where he'd left her, staring off into space.

"What is it?" Merlin asked when he reached Arthur, crossing his arms. Arthur glanced over at Gwen, looking worried, and Merlin suddenly felt a bit defensive. If Arthur was going to suggest that Gwen was going to slow them down...

"Is she going to be alright?"

The whispered question shocked Merlin so much, he dropped his arms back down to his sides. "What?" he whispered back, not able to hide his confusion. Why do you care? was on the tip of his tongue, and he had to bite down on it not to ask the question out loud.

Arthur studied Gwen for another moment before turning back to Merlin, seeming conflicted about something. "I just mean, you and I have had to deal with some serious shit, Merlin, but Gwen's really been through the wringer," Arthur said grimly, shaking his head. "And she's been doing it alone. I don't know that I'd be dealing with it much better myself, under the same circumstances."

Merlin felt like he needed to point out that this could hardly be the case, considering everything that Arthur himself had been through in the Arena, but once again he kept silent, feeling like Arthur wasn't done – and still a bit wrong-footed by the fact that Arthur seemed to care about Gwen's emotional well-being at all.

After a moment, Arthur sighed. "I just want to make sure we're all fighting for the same thing, here. I'm already risking a lot by protecting her too, you know, and I want to make sure that you think it's still worth lowering your own survival chances for this. That you think she'd actually be able to survive everything that comes after the Arena, too. The interviews, the victory tours-"

"What?" Merlin asked, so angry he forgot to lower his voice, and winced when Gwen glanced over, seemingly half curious and half just startled by the noise. "What is that supposed to mean?" he hissed, quieter. "I can't believe you actually have the audacity to ask me if I, what, would give up on my best friend to raise my own chances, my-" But as Merlin said the words, he replayed Arthur's sentence in his head, and froze. "My chances," he repeated slowly, watching as Arthur's look transformed from defensive into something more sombre, something softer which Merlin had only glimpsed a handful of times. "You can't honestly be saying..."

"But I am," Arthur whispered, reaching out to take Merlin's hand in such an uncharacteristic gesture of tenderness, Merlin's eyes snapped down to follow the movement. "I mean come on, what have I got to go home to?" Arthur asked, unknowingly echoing what Merlin had just been thinking a moment ago. "But you... you haven't broken, Merlin. You could make it through this. And I just... I want you to try." His tone made Merlin look back up, and what he found there almost broke his heart.

For everything that Merlin knew Arthur must have come to feel for him, he never expected that it would reach quite this far. He never expected that Arthur might feel anything as strong for him as what Merlin felt for Arthur.

The time had passed for tears and tenderness though, or reassuring words. Merlin reached up and wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck, pulling him in and crashing their lips together, ignoring Arthur's gasp of surprise as he bit his lower lip, licking to soothe the sting. And as soon as Arthur recovered from his shock and began to respond, his own arms snaking around Merlin's waist, Merlin thrust his tongue inside of Arthur's mouth. Arthur groaned as he tried to match Merlin's force, both using the kiss to say everything they couldn't voice with words.

A cough startled them both, and they broke apart sheepishly to find Gwen standing, hands on her hips, trying her best to look amused. Well, Merlin thought, unable to completely contain his own grin, it's a start.

"To answer your question though," Merlin murmured as they broke apart, his fingers briefly brushing Arthur's, "I think you're both worth it."

"That doesn't make this any easier. But thank you for saying that," Arthur replied, a small, sad smile on his face.

Merlin desperately hoped that if nothing else, he would at least be able to make both Gwen and Arthur believe that their lives were worth living, before it was too late.

He almost missed the note, which was pinned to the wall where he and Arthur had been standing.

Written on it was only a single word: Fly.

"Guys," Merlin said, glancing round to Arthur and Gwen worriedly (knowing that as he did, the note would disappear as the others had), "I think we should get a move on." Whoever was sending him these notes, they had contained sound advice in the past. If this one was telling him to flee, Merlin wasn't going to second-guess it.

They had gone back to the entrance hall, and Merlin really should have known that it was only a matter of time before the Gamemakers forced the tributes together again.

As Merlin, Arthur and Gwen entered through a door on the far left, the main door swung open, and in walked two girls: Sophia, and the dark-haired girl from District 10.

If he hadn't been so shocked by suddenly finding himself face-to-face with the only other two female tributes left in the Games, he might have wondered just how the Gamemakers had managed to make sure they all opened the door to the entrance hall at the same time – like that time that Gwen had stumbled, and when they'd opened a door only to find themselves back in the room they'd left behind them two doors previously – but it wasn't like any of that really mattered, anyway.

Arthur gasped. "Nimueh," he breathed. Glancing over, Merlin was alarmed to find Arthur looking genuinely scared. And, Merlin thought, his panic growing, Arthur didn't get scared. During this entire contest, Merlin had seen him battle monsters, his own sister, and almost die himself - and the only time Arthur had only ever come close to looking the way he did now was when it had been Merlin with a knife to his throat, and Arthur had thought he wasn't able to save him.

"What is it?" Merlin whispered urgently, aware that the groups' mutual shock at coming face to face with each other would wear off any moment - and he wasn't sure they should wait for the others to make the first move.

"I..." Arthur paused, eyes scanning the room, and Merlin knew at once that he was looking for the cameras, though they of course were invisible as always. "Let's just say, we have a friend in common."

Arthur didn't need to elaborate. Uther, Merlin thought, his stomach sinking. Of course, it stood to reason that Uther would have taken every precaution possible to ensure that one of his children won. But what could he have promised anyone in the Arena which would be worth giving up their own life for?

Maybe it's not her own life she is fighting to protect, Merlin thought. After all, they all had somebody back home. And from what Merlin had been able to gather about Uther Pendragon, he was a very powerful man.

"Arthur," Nimueh called from across the hall, and Merlin noted that her tone was achingly sweet. Familiar.

On his other side, Guinevere stood with her hands by her sides, seemingly itching to reach for her gun. But she didn't - and though Merlin could understand why she would hesitate after what had happened earlier, he really wished she'd at least pretend to aim it at them. Or give it to him. Anything to give them leverage.

The ones who tried to play nice were the most dangerous.

"Nimueh," Arthur called back evenly. "You made it." He didn't sound relieved, but he didn't sound hostile, either. Merlin stayed still and silent, letting Arthur play this one however he wanted - and he noticed that Sophia, too, seemed to be waiting to see how events would progress.

Well, he thought bitterly, he'd have expected nothing less from that little snake. She seemed to have been double and triple playing everyone since the beginning, and now she'd somehow landed herself in a partnership with Nimueh - unless that had been the plan all along.

Sophia had, after all, been helping Morgana until the odds turned against her. And Merlin suddenly remembered Arthur telling him that Uther had advised him to ally himself with her, too. It looked like Uther had well and truly tried to rig the Games - but Merlin realised with a small surge of vindication that his plans had unraveled right before his eyes, when Arthur and Morgana had chosen to fight each other on their own terms rather than his.

Merlin wondered if that fact would help them now, now that he and Gwen were suddenly standing between Nimueh and whatever she was hoping to accomplish by keeping Arthur alive.

"As did you. I'm glad. You've been a hard man to find, you know," Nimueh said conversationally, as though they weren't both grasping their weapons. Nimueh had a crossbow, too, and neither she nor Arthur were aiming - not yet. But Merlin could see that her knuckles were turning white around the handle. Well, isn't that interesting?

"Maybe you haven't been looking very hard. Maybe you were hoping some other contestant would finish me off," Arthur said, in the same light, unaffected tone of voice.

Nimueh's eyes narrowed. If Merlin's theory about her was right, she knew that this was as close as Arthur could get to calling her out on her and Uther's plans. And making such a blasé reference to it told everyone - everyone who was in on it, anyway - that Arthur wasn't going to play her game.

"Well, clearly we've both been lucky," Nimueh said, her smile now more of a grimace, her eyes flashing dangerously. Next to her, Sophia shuffled her feet, as if every instinct told her to run.

And a moment later, despite the fact that she'd lured him into Morgana's trap only two days ago, Merlin almost wished that she had.

Nimueh's knife came out of nowhere, striking Sophia's neck so fast that the blonde girl had no chance to react before blood burst from her throat and she stumbled, grabbing her neck, wide and panicked eyes begging for help as blood poured out of her mouth and ran down her neck, staining her otherwise pristine white shirt. Merlin couldn't look away even though he wanted to, finding himself frozen in place as Sophia fell to her knees, drawing in horrible, ragged breaths, her entire body twitching uselessly as she suffocated in her own blood.

When Sophia's body had stopped jerking, there was only silence. Arthur and Nimueh had not broken their eye contact once.

BOOM!

The cannon made Merlin start, and he used the distraction to step closer to Gwen. He didn't dare glance in her direction - didn't dare draw Nimueh's attention to either of them if he could help it - but he wanted to make sure that he was ready to protect Gwen if she suddenly launched another sneak attack. That knife had come out of nowhere.

"Now it's your turn," Nimueh said. Despite the fact that she had just killed her supposed ally in cold blood, her voice did not even waver, and that fact alone chilled Merlin to the bone. No wonder Uther had thought he could count on her for this.

"I was never a part of this, Nimueh, and you know it. I am not killing anyone for you," Arthur said - and Merlin noted that his voice did shake a little bit. Clearly, he had been as shocked by Nimueh's actions as Merlin was.

Nimueh's face twisted into a cruel smile. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"Why?" Arthur asked quickly, and now he really did sound worried. "Nimueh, what did you do?"

"Do? Why Arthur, you know I have no power here," Nimueh smiled sweetly - too sweetly - and then the ground began to shake. "Whatever happens, it is out of our control."

"No!" Arthur shouted, raising his crossbow - and immediately, Nimueh's was up and loaded. Fixed, Merlin realised with horror, on Gwen.

The floor shook again, and Merlin thought there was a new noise, like stomping and clicking, growing louder by the second. "I'll just start from the end, shall I, Arthur?" Nimueh called, having to raise her voice slightly to be heard across the hall.

"What do you want?" Arthur called desperately. "Me? I'll go with you. I will."

Nimueh laughed. "Yes, you will. When we've gotten rid of the dead weight." She lowered her face to peer through the crossbow sight.

What happened next was a blur - as Merlin thrust himself sideways, pushing Gwen out of the way, an ear-piercing scream filled the hallway as the door behind Nimueh burst open and Tristan tore through it, slamming into Nimueh and sending her arrow flying.

A moment later, countless skeletons began pouring through the door, and Merlin watched, horrified, as Tristan and Nimueh were lost in a sea of bones. Nimueh's shriek of rage was the last thing they heard before the air was filled with clacks and stomping, and what almost sounded like the echo of a thousand men screaming in pain.

Merlin, Arthur and Gwen had one moment of complete, blind panic. Then they ran.

"We need to get to the cave!" Gwen cried, moving forwards to cross the center of the room, and Merlin and Arthur had no choice but to follow as more skeletons poured out of the door behind them, surrounding them on all sides.

They tore through the hall, skeletons on their heels - they were huge, terrifying things with black, empty eye sockets, and some of them were even carrying swords - and at one point, one got a hold of Arthur's shirt, but Merlin jumped forwards, kicking it as hard as he could in the shins, and the bones burst apart before their eyes, clattering to the floor.

"Thanks," Arthur breathed, looking shaken.

"Thank me later, run now," Merlin commanded, pushing Arthur forwards and following Gwen, who was almost at the door already.

BOOM!

Merlin didn't look back to see who had fallen. He dodged outstretched skeletal arms and swinging swords, hot on Arthur's heels, until they finally reached that glorious stretch of wall which might be their salvation.

"Go, go, go!" Arthur cried, and just as they reached the wall, Gwen got the passageway open and they all stumbled inside, closing the door behind them just as the first skeleton's foot crossed the threshold. The bones snapped clean off, clattering down the stairs, the noise shattering what would otherwise be a sudden and complete silence.

"We made it," Gwen gasped, hands on her knees as they made it to the bottom of the stairs, "we really made it."

So caught up in their victory were they, that none of them heard the click of the door as it slid open again, nor the footsteps of the boy as he approached.

Nor the near-silent creak of the bow as it stretched.

Only the thin whistle of the arrow speeding through the air caught Merlin's attention, but by then it was too late.

"Gwen!" Merlin screamed, terrified as Gwen crumbled to the floor, arrow protruding from her stomach eyes wide and locked on his for one impossibly long moment before she collapsed.

Gwen. Gwen. Gwen. Merlin's mind was screaming, his body was twisting in on itself, he couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. Gwen, no, not Gwen, please, please, no.

Tristan was turning towards Merlin and Arthur now, the bow loaded with another arrow. A small, predatory smile twisted his mouth grotesquely, and Merlin knew exactly what the other boy must be thinking: I've won. I'm going home.

Tristan had a girlfriend back home. Tristan hadn't volunteered for this. Tristan was trying to survive.

But Tristan had shot Gwen in cold blood. And Tyr, and who knew who else? And now he was going to shoot Merlin and Arthur too, to claim the victory for himself.

Next to him, Arthur stood frozen. Knowing, like Merlin, that any movement right now would only get them killed faster. And knowing, like Merlin, that this was it. There was no escape. Tristan would shoot them where they stood, helpless like the puppets the Capitol had wanted them to be all along. Pieces in the game. Animals in a cage.

Tristan twisted the bow slightly, to aim it at Arthur's chest. Taking out the most dangerous competition first. Tristan would kill Arthur right in front of Merlin, and this time there would be no help from the Capitol. This was the finale, and they would welcome Tristan as their winner with open arms, praising him on his still. The other twenty-three tributes from this year's Hunger Games would soon be forgotten, their lives and deaths meaningless to all but those who had lost them.

For a moment, Tristan's entire future seemed to flash before Merlin's eyes, as he realised that he, Arthur and Gwen would have none.

No, Merlin thought, feeling a complete, all-consuming rage fill him, obliterating any grief and panic he had been feeling. I will not watch Arthur die. Not again.

Tristan let the arrow fly.

No.

Arthur let out a barely audible gasp on Merlin's right, and Merlin saw his fingers twitch uselessly.

No.

"NO!" Merlin bellowed, the force of the word echoing around the cavern and filling him up with such intense energy, it burst from him as if a dam had broken, and in front of him he saw as if in a dream the arrow fly through the air, then slow, then freeze.

For one moment, the world froze. There was nothing but the sound Merlin's ragged breathing, which echoed off the cave walls in the silence. Beside him, Arthur stood still as a statue, mouth half open, eyes wide with terror. And in front of him, Tristan's face was twisted into a predatory smile, his arms still raised where they had been when he had let the arrow loose.

And then, after another excruciating moment, the arrow inched backwards. It hung still in the air for another second as if undecided about which way to go - and then it flew in the opposite direction, as if shot by another bow, back towards Tristan.

And embedded itself in his chest with a sickening noise.

Tristan's wide, shocked eyes met Merlin's just as Gwen's had done, and Merlin saw the anger there, and the anguish, and the astonishment. And then he fell.

BOOM!

After the cannon, the only sound was Merlin and Arthur's harsh breathing. Merlin counted one, two, three, desperately willing his heart to slow down before turning to Arthur - who was staring right back at him in shock.

"Merlin..." Arthur started, shaking his head, seemingly just as shocked as Merlin at what had just happened.

Merlin could only shake his head right back, as lost as Arthur himself. This was more than just good aim. This was... what the hell had he just done?

As he looked at Arthur, the other boy's eyes widened suddenly. "Merlin," Arthur said again. "The cannon blast."

Merlin frowned, trying to make Arthur's words register through his shock. What about the cannon blast?

Wait. The cannon blast. There had only been one cannon blast.

"Gwen," Merlin gasped, but Arthur was already sprinting across the cavern, and Merlin raced to catch up to him as they sped towards Gwen's prone form.

Arthur reached her first, and crouched down, turning her over carefully to avoid jostling the arrow that was still embedded in the side of her stomach. Not very deeply, he saw now, and felt almost drunk with relief.

Her eyelids fluttered, before focusing on Merlin. "Merlin?" she breathed. "What h-" she hissed, face contorting in pain. "Tristan. He had... oh my god, he shot me!"

"He's gone," Merlin whispered, taking her hand, smiling through the tears that were blurring his vision. "We made it, Gwen, we're the last ones left."

Arthur's head whipped round to his and Merlin's stomach fell as he realised the implications of that. He watched as Gwen's eyes widened and she tried to sit up, wincing from the pain of the movement.

The three of them stared at each other, and Merlin held his breath. They were the last three left. The Games wouldn't end until two of them were dead. The entire nation was probably watching them right now, waiting for one of them to make a move.

His eyes found Arthur's. Arthur was looking back at him with an indecipherable emotion. Merlin forced himself not to look away, or blink. It was with an odd sort of clarity that he realised that this was it – whatever happened next, it was out of his control. There were no more games to play.

Arthur's eyes never left Merlin's as he reached around to grab the knife still strapped to his belt, and lifted it up into the air. Gwen sucked in a sharp breath, but Merlin knew that she wasn't in a position to do anything to defend either of them. He forced himself to remain calm, and to keen his eyes locked with Arthur's, ignoring the way the knife reflected the light of the cave.

Arthur's expression wavered, just for a split second, and Merlin saw the uncertainty there.

And then it was gone.

The clatter of the knife as it fell to the ground at Arthur's feet was deafening as it shattered the silence.

"There's your Games," Arthur said, voice raw with emotion, eyes raised towards an unseen camera, and Merlin could have kissed him. Arthur had made his choice.

They would die together.

"Merlin," Gwen whispered, and Merlin regretfully wrenched his eyes away from Arthur's to look at her. She was smiling. "You were right," she said, eyes flickering to Arthur's. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

Merlin let out a laugh, feeling impossibly elated - even here, at the end of all things. "It's okay, Gwen. We made it."

Another silence. Merlin, Arthur and Gwen continued to look at each other, their temporary joy beginning to be replaced by apprehensiveness. It was too quiet. Once the Gamemakers realised that they wouldn't have any last-minute betrayals, they would force their own finale upon them.

A faint rumbling noise was all the warning they got. Arthur's eyes met Merlin's, wide and fearful now, and Merlin knew that this was it. Merlin grabbed his hand, and he nodded. Turning to Gwen, he reached out his hand for her.

She lifted her hand towards his – and shrieked in pain as a griffin appeared out of the shadows, swiping her up, her fingers only brushing Merlin's before she was yanked backwards and flung into the air, hitting the cave wall with a sickening crunch before sliding down it, moaning in pain as fresh blood spurted from her wound.

Merlin made a movement towards Gwen, but the griffin rounded on Merlin and Arthur, and Arthur pulled Merlin firmly back to his side. He had grabbed the knife again, and used his free hand to wrench Merlin behind himself, backing them both up as the griffin stalked towards them.

Merlin glanced backwards to see them nearing the edge of the cliff, and tugged on Arthur's sleeve to get his attention. When Arthur glanced around quickly, his eyes caught Merlin's for the briefest moment and he nodded, an unspoken plan forming between them.

Arthur paused, letting the griffin move a bit closer to them, snarling in anticipation, yellow eyes unblinking and beak clicking ominously as it moved.

It stopped for a moment, eyes narrowing in its thick head, and Merlin kept still as a statue behind Arthur, waiting.

The creature lurched.

"NOW!" Arthur cried, and they both flung themselves down as the griffin charged forwards. As it passed, Arthur twisted around and jammed the knife into its leg, using the leverage to force the creature forwards.

For one terrifying moment, it balanced on the edge of the abyss, tiny eyes widening to perfect circles. Then it lost its balance and tipped over, falling into the darkness with a terrible cry which sent shivers down Merlin's spine.

"You did it," Merlin breathed, scrambling to his feet, using Arthur as support. He looked over at Gwen, who was still slumped where the griffin had flung her - but her eyes were open, and she was watching them warily. He took a step towards her -

And froze in his tracks as a wall of fire raised itself in front of him. His eyes met Gwen's, and he knew the look of complete shock on her face was mirrored on his own - and then the fire rose higher, blocking her from view, inching closer to Merlin and Arthur second by torturous second.

Merlin heard her desperate, heartbroken cry as she called his name, but he had eyes for no one but Arthur now.

He knew with a sudden, startling clarity, what would happen next.

There was nowhere left to run. The wall of fire was coming towards them, and behind them was only the black, bottomless cavern.

The Gamemakers had made the choice for them. And they had chosen Gwen.

Merlin felt something settle over him, which almost felt like relief. Somehow, he had known all along that Gwen would be the person to survive this, the one who'd get to go home.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, as Merlin took his hand, and Merlin saw the fear in his eyes warring with the familiar expression of grim resolve.

"This is it," Merlin said, stepping closer.

The fire was roaring in his ears. It was getting hotter now, and a bead of perspiration broke out on Arthur's brow. Merlin reached up to wipe it away, even as more gathered on his fingertips.

He smiled. Hesitantly, shakily, Arthur returned it. "I think I could have loved you," Arthur breathed against Merlin's lips.

Merlin didn't know which of them leaned in, but suddenly they were kissing. It was at once both desperate and tender, passionate and tantalizingly slow. Everything they felt poured into this one, final moment. The last memory they would ever have.

And if he was to die here, this was exactly how he'd wanted it to be. With Arthur. Together. Knowing that Gwen would be safe.

(This stunning piece of fanart for "Tributes" was done by Nana. Visit her Tumblr to see more of her work.)

They broke apart, but stayed pressed together, breaths mingling as they stared into each other's eyes. Merlin knew the wall of fire was almost on them, pressing red and orange and gold in his peripheral vision, filling his world with a blistering, almost unbearable heat and pain, but he saw only Arthur, would only ever see Arthur, as his life crumbled away.

He was still scared though. And as he stared into Arthur's eyes, trying to forget about the flames licking their way towards them, he couldn't help but whisper, "I don't want to lose you."

Arthur pulled Merlin closer. "You won't," he promised, voice rough and shaking slightly even as he stood strong and solid, head held high, refusing even now to give the viewers what they wanted. Merlin felt his heart fill up with such an immeasurable fondness, it made him feel weightless, like nothing else felt real but this.

This was it. The flames were almost on them. This was where their story ended.

Suddenly, something sparked in Merlin's memory.

Fly.

He had disregarded the note before, taking it to mean that they needed to escape the room they were in. But hadn't that only brought them straight into the path of Nimueh and Sophia, and the army of skeletons which Nimueh must have known was coming?

No. That hadn't been what the note had meant.

Merlin couldn't fly. But now he realised what he could do. The only option he had left, the only choice left for him to make of his own free will: he could fall.

"Arthur," Merlin said urgently, pushing Arthur's face away slightly to be able to look into his eyes. "Arthur, do you trust me?"

Arthur's eyebrows knitted together. "You know I do, Merlin."

"Then jump with me," Merlin breathed.

It was madness, and it was practically suicide - but it was all they had left. The power of choice.

And wasn't that what Gaius had told him once? Death is inevitable, Merlin, and no man can escape it. All we can do is choose in what manner we wish to face it.

Arthur stared at him for one long, hard moment, then something settled over his face. "If you jump, I'll be right behind you," he said, with such certainty that Merlin wanted to kiss him again.

But they were out of time.

Merlin turned to watch the rapidly approaching flames. If this was going to work, he had to time it just right.

When the flames came so close he could reach out and touch, he turned to Arthur. The heat was unbearable, and Arthur was rasping for breath. It had to be now. He nodded, and allowed Arthur one moment to steel himself.

Then, without breaking eye contact, Merlin took a step to the side, feeling the ground slip away from under his feet.

Arthur never let go of his hand as they both stepped off the cliff at the same time, just as the flames roared forward, consuming the air they'd just been breathing.

Falling felt like flying, Merlin's brain vaguely registered, and for a moment he could almost imagine that this was what they were doing - and it felt just like it had in those half-forgotten dreams from his childhood where he had ridden on a magnificent beast, feeling on top of the world as he conquered the sky.

They were falling into the darkness. And before he knew it, it had swallowed them whole.

Chapter Text

Guinevere opened her eyes, and for one glorious, blissful moment, she thought she was still in the Arena.

Never, in her wildest dreams, could she ever have imagined that she would miss being in the Hunger Games. But the truth was that Gwen would be anywhere, do anything, if it meant that Merlin was with her. If it meant that he was alive.

She kept her eyes closed, turning on her side, helpless as the tears began to flow. In a moment her body was shaking with uncontrollable sobs and she curled in on herself, biting down on her fist to keep from screaming out loud.

Merlin is dead.

She couldn't believe it – she wouldn't believe it – but it was the truth.

"Guinevere," a voice called softly, and she started at the familiarity. She'd never thought she would hear that voice again.

She felt a hand rest lightly on her shoulder, and if it had been anyone else's she would have shrugged it off. But Gaius was the one person who could even begin to understand.

Gaius said nothing else for a long while, keeping his hand on her shoulder as she continued to cry helplessly into her pillow, feeling like she would never, ever stop. She didn't know where she was or how she had gotten there (she vaguely remembered passing out from the pain of her arrow wound, but she felt no pain now. Had the Capitol taken that from her, too? Had they left behind nothing but an empty shell?

Finally, as her sobs began to subside, she let herself open her eyes. She realised at once that she had been brought back to her room in the tributes' tower, and felt a pang of that by now familiar emptiness that came with being a tribute in the Hunger Games. Where a week ago this building had been full of people, most of whom were innocent children terrified to die, now there was only her. She was alone.

She was the victor.

The fact seemed absurd, abstract, an actuality she simply could not wrap her head around. But I'm going home, she thought, and she couldn't help the very faint surge of relief at the thought, even if she immediately felt guilty, thinking of all the families who would not be getting their children back.

She met Gaius' eyes, and found his gaze as strong and unwavering as it ever had been.

The sight filled her with a small measure of comfort. He went through this, she thought. Gaius watched all of his friends die, too. And he's… well, Gaius lived alone. Gaius drank too much. But Gaius had also had Merlin and Hunith and sometimes Gwen over for tea, and he snuck food and medicine to the poorer families in their District. He is not okay. But he is managing. As I must.

Gaius would help her through this. Whatever she had to do next, Gwen would get through it because she had to, because it was the least she could do for Merlin. He had wanted her to live.

You have to see it, Gwen. See yourself walking out of that Arena, and stepping off the train, and into Lancelot's arms, he had told her.

I see it, she wanted to reply. Oh, Merlin, I promise you. I really see it.

Falling. He remembered falling.

Fly.

Merlin shook his head, frowning as the word refused to leave his mind, reverberating in there and forcing its way out on a tongue that suddenly felt long and forked between his teeth.

Fly.

Why was this place so familiar? He cast his eyes around, but there was nothing but flame. It was red and gold and sparking against his skin, but to his surprise, it didn't burn.

Fly.

It was his breath, he realised, that made the sparks. He was engulfed in a world of fire that was all his own doing.

Fly.

He felt the wings sprout from his back and the scales break out all over his body, and then he was soaring, over lakes and mountains and castles, and he felt like he could just go up, up, up into the sun, maybe become one with it, craving the heat more than anything else in the world even as soft, cool lines were drawn on his skin, leaving a tingling, grounding feeling in its wake which pulled him down, down, down...

Merlin.

That's not the right word, he thought, trying to shake his head but finding that his body wasn't moving right; there was no longer ground below him, but an impenetrable darkness. And it was coming up to meet him, wrapping its cool, damp hands around his arms and legs and pulling him back, reaching into his mind and pulling, pulling, pulling...

"Merlin."

Merlin started, eyes flying open and sitting up with a jolt, blinking rapidly against the stark, blinding light shining in his eyes, and recoiling from the harshness of this world which wasn't air and flame, which was solid and cold and all too real.

That was when he noticed Arthur, sitting on the edge of what Merlin vaguely registered was a bed, Wait, a bed? wearing a threadbare red shirt and looking not at all like himself – and after a moment Merlin realised that it was because he was clean; his hair looked soft to the touch and the golden strands were reflecting the artificial light of the lamp, and the blue eyes he'd come to cherish so much were bright and alert. Relaxed. Not like Arthur at all.

Merlin looked down himself, frowning at the light blue t-shirt he was wearing. He tried to sniff his arm discreetly, and eyes narrowed as he realised that he, too, was clean. Something was very, very off here – for one thing, they were both supposed to be dead.

"Oh, fuck," Merlin said, wide eyes flying to Arthur's as he put the pieces together. "We're in the Capitol, aren't we? They pulled us back, didn't they? Determined to make an example out of us for trying to cheat, oh my god, Arthur what are we going to do?"

To Merlin's complete bewilderment, Arthur merely smiled, taking one of Merlin's hands and stroking it lightly, almost absently, to calm him down.

"We're not in the Capitol, Merlin," he said, sounding almost like he didn't believe it himself, but he was still smiling. "But I think there's someone who can explain all this better than I can."

At the sound of someone clearing their throat, Merlin turned - and jumped backwards, scrambling up against the wall as the head Gamemaker, Kilgharrah Fiero, entered the room.

"You!" Merlin accused, pointing a shaking finger at Kilgharrah. "And... and..." he turned to Arthur, but he couldn't say it, he couldn't even begin to believe that Arthur would have betrayed him like this. Could Uther have planned this all along? Was this how he'd planned to make Arthur win it all? But... even in his completely panicked state, Merlin knew that never before had the Gamemakers actually entered the Arena to finish off the contestants themselves. "What the hell is going on?" he finally asked, slumping slightly. As the adrenaline began to wear off he realised how sore he was; he felt like he'd hit every rock on their way down after they'd jumped off the cliff.

"That's what I'd like to know," Arthur grumbled, shooting Kilgharrah a look that suggested he had asked the same question many times - though he still looked relaxed, like he didn't feel threatened by the head Gamemaker at all. Merlin didn't understand any of this. "He refused to tell me anything until you woke up."

"Refused is such an unpleasant word, young Pendragon," Kilgharrah said, voice infuriatingly calm. "I merely did not wish to repeat myself unnecessarily."

"Well, then," Merlin spoke up, suddenly feeling like he was quite done with the Capitol's games, "I'm awake now. So how about you start talking?" He tried to keep his voice even, like he had any kind of authority here, but of course he didn't. Surely, like every other part of his life, the Capitol was controlling all of this. Kilgharrah could kill him with a flick of his bony wrist, Merlin knew it.

But what Merlin didn't know was why he hadn't yet done any such thing. Why Merlin and Arthur were even alive at all.

"Indeed." Kilgharrah inclined his head, eyes sparkling, looking for all the world like a kindly uncle whose favourite nephew had come by for tea. "But first, Merlin, there is something I need you to see."

Merlin tried to catch Arthur's eye, but Arthur was looking down, smiling slightly. Merlin frowned.

He got out of bed, feeling the ache in his joints after almost a week of sleeping on floors and running for his life. His feet were bare on the metallic floor, and he was once again reminded of what a strange place this was. It looked Capitol for sure, but then again, it was oddly claustrophobic. There were no windows, for one thing, and the walls curved in in a rather peculiar way.

Kilgharrah led the way out of the room, and Merlin and Arthur followed him into a narrow hallway, where again every inch of the walls, floor and ceiling were made of metal.

Once they reached a door, Arthur pulled Merlin back gently, leaning close. "This is amazing, Merlin. Just wait until you see it."

Merlin tried to prepare himself for this, for whatever had convinced Arthur of all people to feel safe here.

But as Kilgharrah opened the door, nothing could have prepared him for what lay on the other side: it was a hillside, rocky and sparsely forested, and beyond where the cliff fell away Merlin could see forests, lakes, fields and mountains, all the way to the edge of the horizon.

Merlin's jaw dropped open. As a child of one of the twelve Districts of Panem, Merlin had never seen anything like it.

It was freedom.

"Go on," Kilgharrah said softly, as though he knew exactly what was going through Merlin's head. "Go outside. No one is going to stop you, Merlin."

Merlin wanted to argue - he wanted to find a way to prove that this was a trap, a trick, a final ploy by the Gamemakers. But as he once again caught Arthur's eyes and saw nothing but wonder there, he felt some of his reservations slip away. Arthur must obviously have had all of the same worries he did, and Kilgharrah hadn't yet done anything to make him suspicious. For now, that had to be enough for Merlin.

Merlin turned, taking a deep breath. He wanted this to be real so badly, and was terrified of finding it all an illusion. But once Arthur stepped up beside him, he knew he could do it.

They walked out the door together - and Merlin could have cried as he realised that the air he was breathing was finally - finally - real. It was nothing like the Arena's processed and manufactured ecosystem. This was actual air, full of both foreign and familiar smells. He could hear birds singing, and they didn't sound like the mockingjays that populated his District at all. The sound was at once so familiar and so different from what he remembered, and it mingled in his ears with the wind rustling the trees and the grass all around him.

Merlin didn't know how long he stood there, taking in deep, invigorating breaths, eyes moving around the landscape as though it was a feast of foods he did not even know he had been craving. It was like being back in his District, but a hundred times better – because even District 11, massive as it was, had fences. There were no fences here.

This is not Panem, he realised suddenly. He hardly dared to believe it, but yet he knew it to be true.

All his life, the idea of running away, of escaping past the fence and through the woods and finding somewhere better - where there were no Hunger Games, and no Peacekeepers, and no Capitol controlling their lives - had been a recurring daydream, something he knew most children in his District dreamed of, but he had long since given that up as nothing more but a nice idea, an abstract concept. He never, ever thought it could actually become a reality. In fact, up until now, he hadn't even been completely sure there had been anything outside of Panem.

He turned to ask Kilgharrah a question, but it died on his lips when he realised that what he and Arthur had stepped out of before had been a hovercraft. Much bigger than any he'd previously seen, but still, there was no denying what it was and where it came from. And the sight filled Merlin with a new sense of unease, a stark reminder that wherever they were, Kilgharrah was Capitol, and they were still at his mercy.

"Why did you bring us here?" Merlin asked, trying to mask the cautious optimism in his tone. Whatever the reason Kilgharrah had brought them here, Merlin refused to trust him. He refused to trust anyone involved with designing the Hunger Games.

"Ah, I see you are impatient for answers. I suppose I should have expected nothing less," Kilgharrah said. "And you shall have them. Follow me."

To Merlin's surprise, Kilgharrah did not walk back inside the hovercraft, but rather led the way around it, uncovering a small, overgrown path. This time, Arthur looked as surprised as Merlin, but clearly still trusting enough to follow without comment.

"Arthur, wait," Merlin whispered, grabbing Arthur's arm and slowing their steps, allowing Kilgharrah to move out of earshot. "What is this? What has he told you? Because all of this is great, but I still don't..." he trailed off. He wanted to believe that this was real. But how could he, after everything he'd seen?

Arthur nodded, considering Merlin's words. "Honestly, Merlin, when I first woke up I was as skeptical as you were. More, even. I was raging, calling for you, Kilgharrah tried to restrain me and I burst out through the door... and found all of this. I was floored, as you can imagine - District 1 is very enclosed, I've never seen anything like this, you know… and I wanted to run, just make a break for it while I could. But," he paused, searching Merlin's face, "that's when he told me that you were still in there. And that I needed to wait for you to wake up, and then he would explain everything."

Merlin shook his head. "That still doesn't explain-"

"Think about it, Merlin," Arthur said, "why would he even bother with any of this if he was just going to take us back to the Capitol? Why even go through all of this trouble? In all the years I've had to watch the Hunger Games, the Gamemakers have never made the audience wait for anything. If he wanted a show, he would have let me run and set the mutts on me."

"It could still be a ploy," Merlin argued weakly, though he felt Arthur's cautious optimism affect him. Lowering his defences. He wanted to believe it – clearly, they both did. "Maybe this is all a simulation. Maybe..." his eyes widened. "Maybe this is your dad's doing. Maybe this was a part of his plan all along."

To Merlin's surprise, Arthur grimaced. "That's a good theory, Merlin. But my father is dead."

Merlin stopped dead in his tracks. Ahead of them, Kilgharrah glanced backwards and stopped when he noticed they were no longer following him. But he didn't come closer, letting them have their space.

"What? How do you even know that?"

"That was the other thing Kilgharrah told me," Arthur said. He was doing a very good impression of someone who didn't care about any of this at all, but Merlin knew Arthur well enough to see that he was masking a grief there, buried deep inside of him. But at the same time, there was still that lightness in his body language, which suddenly made a lot more sense. Freedom, Merlin realised. And not just because there are no fences.

"I'm..." Merlin trailed off. I'm sorry somehow didn't seem appropriate here. "How did it happen?"

"Kilgharrah told me he got desperate. Careless," Arthur said, expression grim. "After Morgana... apparently Father had not quite been as prepared to watch her die as he thought he would be. And he became obsessed - even more so than before - with getting me out of there alive. Apparently he weaselled his way into the control room and hacked the system, somehow, sending in those skeletons and communicating his intent to Nimueh, telling her to get me out of there. That's how she knew they were coming."

Merlin's blood ran cold as he remembered the notes he himself had received. Could they possibly have been from Uther all along, manipulating Merlin to keep Arthur safe?

"How do you know Kilgharrah is telling the truth though?" he asked, shaking his head, trying to focus on one thing at a time.

"Because of this." Arthur held out his palm, and Merlin looked down to see a thick silver ring resting in it. "It was my mother's. My father would never have let himself be parted with it, not even to let me or Morgana carry it as a token." Arthur closed his hand around the ring, and Merlin looked up to catch a flash of that same old pain as he'd seen whenever Arthur had spoken about Uther in the Arena.

"So the Gamemakers killed him?" Merlin whispered.

"No." If possible, Arthur's expression darkened even further. "They were still trying to work out who had broken into the system. My father was a powerful man, and he had many friends. But as he was busy covering his tracks... well, that is when he was called into the control room to watch the final act of the Hunger Games play out. Kilgharrah said..." Arthur paused, closing his eyes for a moment, composing himself. Merlin resisted the urge to reach out to him, knowing that Arthur needed the space. "He said that when my father saw the wall of fire come towards us, when he realised the Gamemakers' plan to make Gwen the victor, he just lost it. He grabbed one of the Peacekeepers' guns, everyone thought he was going to force them to stop it... but that is when the fire reached us. Apparently no one saw us jump. All they saw was the fire, and then two cannons sounded. And then Uther turned the gun on himself."

"But..." Merlin frowned. "If Kilgharrah was there for all of that, how could he have saved us?"

Arthur fixed Merlin with an intense, calculating look, eyes narrowed in speculation. "He didn't. Apparently, that was you."

"Me?" Merlin gasped, completely taken aback. "But I didn't- I mean, I passed out! I don't remember anything."

They both started when Kilgharrah called back to them, "As I said, young tribute, all shall be explained. But first, come along. There is something else you need to know about what happened after your fall… but which I suspect you will want to see for yourself." 

Kilgharrah took them to a cabin. On the outside it looked like it was going to collapse in on itself, half covered by vines and ivy, roof looking like it had caved in - but inside, they found it bright and homey, with electricity and running water, a soft rug, several plush chairs and a sofa, and a fully stocked kitchen.

Merlin would have been surprised by all of this, if he had any surprise left inside of him.

"Tea?" Kilgharrah asked pleasantly.

"Answers," Arthur replied, arching an eyebrow. "I think we have waited long enough, Kilgharrah."

Kilgharrah hummed his assent, but still moved into the kitchen to turn on the kettle, looking completely unconcerned by all of this - like picking up stray tributes and taking them to a cabin in the woods was an everyday occurrence.

"Well, then, I suppose we may as well get started," Kilgharrah said. "But before I can tell you why you are alive, you need to see how you died."

Merlin and Arthur shared a look but said nothing, both realising that whatever Kilgharrah's agenda was, pressing him for anything clearly wasn't going to help them.

Kilgharrah pressed something into Merlin's hand, which Merlin realised was a remote, before shuffling back out into the kitchen to deal with the whistling kettle. Merlin looked at Arthur, who shrugged, and they moved to the sofa to turn on the television.

Merlin gasped as Guinevere's face appeared, the picture of her which had been taken on the day of the Reaping flashing up with the words:

The image flickered and disappeared, and was replaced by a shot of Caesar Flickerman, who was waving and grinning at the screaming audience as he made his way onto the stage where he had interviewed all the tributes before the Games.

"Welcome!" Caesar exclaimed, taking his seat, pausing to allow for more uproarious applause. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have come to the end of this year's Hunger Games. And let me tell you, it has been non-stop excitement from start to finish!" Another pause, more applause. "And, after a tense finale, we now have our winner! Let us take a look at how it all went down."

With one final smile and wink at the camera, Caesar turned to the giant screen behind him, where the audience would be able to re-watch the moment that made Gwen the victor. The TV screen switched to it too, and Merlin felt Arthur shift in his seat beside him, probably feeling as apprehensive about this as Merlin himself.

But in the end, watching it all back was oddly anticlimactic. It was like watching someone else; this Merlin was filthy and his clothes were in rags, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair was matted with dirt and blood.

He watched as he, Gwen and Arthur escaped from the skeleton army. He watched how Tristan managed to crawl along the floor, unnoticed by the skeletons, following the trio and copying the movements he'd seen Gwen make to get the secret door open. He watched as the three of them collapsed in temporary relief, believing themselves safe in their sanctuary, and as Tristan silently loaded his bow and aimed it at Gwen.

He watched Gwen fall. He watched himself and Arthur backing up as Tristan advanced on them. And then - and then, it was odd, because for a moment the video feed flickered, and a strange, mirrored shot made it look like Arthur was holding a bow for a second, except Merlin knew he hadn't been - and then the arrow was embedded in Tristan's chest, and he was dead.

"Ah, yes, that one was hard for me to manipulate," Kilgharrah murmured from behind him, and Merlin started, not having noticed the elderly man's approach. He filed the comment away to ask about later, because the TV was still playing the footage of what should by all accounts have been his and Arthur's final moments. And Merlin wanted to know how it ended.

On the screen, he and Arthur moved back to Gwen's side. The griffin appeared. Arthur flung the griffin over the edge. The wall of fire burst up out of nowhere, separating them from Gwen.

Then Merlin and Arthur were kissing, exchanging what had for all intents and purposes been their final goodbyes, the camera cutting back and forth between them and Gwen, who was screaming and crying and calling for the Gamemakers to take her instead, that she didn't deserve it, that she wasn't worthy.

Merlin didn't notice that tears were sliding down his cheeks until one dripped onto his hand. A moment later, Arthur's own hand had wrapped around his, and Merlin took in a deep breath, reminding himself that this was the way it had to be. That Gwen was alive - even if he never thought he'd be there to see her win.

The fire was almost upon them now. Merlin saw himself murmur something to Arthur, but the microphone didn't pick up their words over the roar of the flames. And then it cut to a wide shot of the fire reaching the edge, and two loud BOOM!s cracked through the air.

The final shot was of Gwen's shocked, tear-stained face as the implications of everything that had just happened hit her. As she realised that she had won - and that Merlin and Arthur had died. Merlin watched despair war with relief on her features, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and enfold her into his arms, telling her that he was alright - even if he had no idea how or why.

The screen faded to black. But, just as Merlin thought it was over, they cut back to Caesar.

"And now, boys and girls, it is time to welcome the victor herself! Please join me in welcoming the fearsome, the powerful, the beautiful Guinevere Smith!"

The screams from the crows were deafening. Caesar's face was nearly split in two, his grin was that wide. And there... there she was.

Gwen's head was held high as she walked onto the stage, wearing a simple dark red gown. She looked regal, Merlin thought absently.

Her hair and makeup were done impeccably, and Merlin thought with a pang of Gwaine and Freya, who had probably been there to welcome her when she'd returned from the Arena. He knew that they, at least, would have been kind to her. They wouldn't have pried. He was grateful.

She looked so composed, so relaxed, that anyone who didn't know her would think she was a Career tribute who had expected this victory all along. Only her eyes gave her away; they were haunted in a way Merlin had never seen before, not even in the Arena, and all the makeup in the world couldn't disguise the fact that she had clearly been crying.

"Guinevere, my dear," Caesar smiled kindly, and looked for all the world like he was genuinely pleased to see her (and for all Merlin knew, he was. Maybe that was how Caesar did it - somehow, he was able care only about the thing or person in front of him at any given time), taking one of her hands and shaking it, gesturing for her to sit down. "You're going home! You must be elated."

It took Gwen a moment to answer, and Merlin could almost see the words form in her mind. He imagined that someone - maybe Rufus - had drilled into her exactly what to say.

"Yes," she said at last, the same blank, composed look on her face. "I am relieved that I get to go back to my father and my friends."

"Now," Caesar said, clearly a bit put off by her lack of responsiveness. "Obviously we've seen you deal with some very tough times in the Arena. First when you lost your ally Elena –" Elena's picture flashed up on the big screen, and Merlin held his breath, but Gwen didn't even flinch. "- and then finding Merlin, only to discover that he had allied himself with a Career tribute!" Caesar looked shocked, like he was only just finding out this information, but Gwen's only indication that she had even heard him was a small nod. "And of course, then you shot Mithian."

The words were delivered so bluntly, Merlin was sure Caesar must be fishing for a reaction now. But even now, Gwen stayed silent, her body relaxed. After an extended silence, which Caesar was clearly waiting for her to fill, Gwen finally shrugged. "I know, Caesar. I was there."

That got a small chuckle out of the audience, although Merlin noted that Caesar's own smile was a little forced now. Good, Merlin thought savagely. Don't let him think he's got any power over you.

"So, Guinevere," Caesar said, his smile turning slightly predatory. "Let's talk about Merlin."

Here, Gwen did react – it was only a slight twitch of her hand, but Caesar clearly had the eyes of a hawk, because his hand was on hers immediately. For a moment Merlin thought she was going to pull away, but thankfully she remembered herself, and didn't.

"Alright, let's talk about Merlin," Gwen said, and even though her eyes were flashing dangerously, her voice didn't even waver as she looked straight at Caesar. "Merlin was like a brother to me. He was kind, and good, and a much better person than you or I could ever hope to be. And he died, right in front of me. Is that what you wanted to know?" She turned to the camera, and Merlin could see everything she couldn't see clear as day on her face. "Is his death a victory?" She whispered.

He knew she couldn't say anything else. Knew that it would simply be too dangerous, both for her and for both of their families, to voice any kind of dissent for the Capitol or the Games.

But if the complete silence of the crowd was anything to go by, Merlin thought that just maybe, her words had had a small effect anyway.

Merlin was absolutely convinced that Caesar was not physically able to become ashamed. But he did remove his hand from Gwen's, and subtly changed the topic, talking now about her upcoming victory tour.

Kilgharrah cleared his throat, and Merlin regretfully took his eyes off the screen, not wanting to look away from Gwen, feeling such a strong surge of affection for the poor, broken girl who thought she'd lost everything.

"Now that you have been assured that Guinevere is alive and well, I think it is time you learn why you are here," he said.

Merlin practically inhaled the two sandwiches that Kilgharrah placed in front of him. He hadn't realised how hungry he'd been.

Arthur cleared his throat after finishing off his own plate. "No offence to you, Kilgharrah, mostly because I know you've probably got fancy Capitol weapons hidden under your fingernails," he said, raising an eyebrow at the older man, "but I've been pretty patient about this, and—"

"Ah," Kilgharrah said, holding up a hand (which Merlin couldn't help checking for microscopic blades, but he couldn't see any. Maybe they were between his teeth), "I see. You want to know about Merlin."

Merlin frowned. "What? What about Merlin?"

Arthur frowned. "I saw it, you know. Even if the cameras didn't pick it up, Tristan's arrow changed direction in mid-air, Merlin. That doesn't happen. And then there was the fall…" he shook his head. "I don't remember much about it. I must have blacked out. But I do know that we fell. And then suddenly we stopped. We didn't die, we just… hung there. And that there is no way that should have been possible." He turned accusing eyes on Kilgharrah. "You know, don't you? You know what's going on with him?"

Merlin was relieved to hear that Arthur didn't seem to be judging him for anything that had happened, even though he wasn't really sure he'd actually done something wrong. But things like these… odd occurrences, they scared people. He'd known that all his life, somehow, even if nothing odd had ever really happened to him.

Well. Maybe a few odd things had happened. But they had been small things – mugs and crockery somehow managing to remain intact even when he dropped them, or that one time when Gwen and Elyan's cat had got caught in one of the balers and had somehow miraculously emerged unscathed – but it had been nothing like stopping an arrow mid-air, which yes, Merlin couldn't deny had happened.

Even though with everything else that had happened, somehow that whole situation kind of hadn't seemed as important to him in comparison. But clearly it was to Arthur.

When he turned to Kilgharrah, the older man was looking back at him with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Indeed. Young Merlin has actually been something of a special project for me for a long time now."

"Wait," Merlin said, "I didn't even know about this until that thing with the arrow happened, how could you have known?"

Kilgharrah paused, picking up his teacup and swirling the contents around, as if he was searching the leaves for the right words. When he spoke at last, his answer was not at all what Merlin had expected.

"Because of your father."

"My father?" Merlin shook his head, completely nonplussed. "But my father is dead, he died five years ago. How could he have had anything to do with this?"

"Actually, he had everything to do with this," Kilgharrah said, and for the first time, Merlin thought he detected a note of something else besides mild amusement in his tone. "I had been watching Balinor Emrys for a while. Let us say that we were… connected, in a way. A long time ago. And when you were born, Merlin, I knew that the time had come."

"The time for what?" Merlin exclaimed, sick of Kilgharrah's crypticness. "What is all this about?"

"You, of course," Kilgharrah said as though it was obvious. "All of this has been about you, Merlin. And the young Pendragon too." He inclined his head at Arthur as though acknowledging some grand importance – but when Merlin glanced round at Arthur, the other boy looked as bewildered about it all as Merlin felt.

"But my dad…" Merlin trailed off, shaking his head.

"Your father saw what I did, Merlin. He saw that you were the one the world had been waiting for. The Emrys line has long shown signs of having it, but you were the one."

"What did he have?" Arthur asked impatiently, though Merlin thought he already guessed the answer – he just wanted Kilgharrah to say it.

And he did. "Magic."

Arthur barked out a harsh laugh, but even Merlin could hear how forced it was. They had both seen that arrow freeze.

Merlin himself could not even feel surprised by this information. He supposed he probably should be – after all, the idea that he should have something as silly and childish as magic was completely ridiculous. Except it wasn't.

I have magic.

The words felt right in his mind. He almost wanted to say them out loud too, to hear how they would taste in his mouth, but that would have to wait. For now, it was enough that they all knew, even if the very concept seemed preposterous. There was no such thing as magic.

And yet... I have magic. He had magic. Yes. Of course, he thought. Once the word had been thrown out there, it was like it had always been right in front of him. Just out of reach, but always there, waiting for him to notice.

Something inside of him tugged, and it felt… golden.

He took a deep breath, and slowly nodded for Kilgharrah to continue speaking.

"Once we knew that the magic was inside of you, we had to act quickly," Kilgharrah said. "Magic has been gone from this world for so long, hardly anyone alive knows that it was ever real, and with so little of it left in nature, we had to count on your gift remaining dormant until you were forced to use it, pressed into such an extreme situation that your body had no choice but to protect itself with everything it had. I told Balinor that the Hunger Games were the only way to bring it out in you, but he refused. He said it was too risky. And he was right." Kilgharrah's expression darkened. "We could not risk anyone finding out the truth about you – and placing you in the Games would put you on display for the entirety of Panem. As you both very well know. No, Balinor's plan was more sensible. Get you out while you were still young enough that your absence wouldn't be noted by the Capitol, and hopefully coax the magic out of you somewhere down the line. But…" he sighed. "We failed."

Merlin swallowed, trying not to let himself be affected by Kilgharrah's story, or the memories they were dredging up. "He told me we were going on a trip," Merlin whispered. "A few weeks before he got sick. He never said where we were going, only that it was far away. I never thought… I never thought he actually meant it."

"Somehow, the Capitol got word of our plans," Kilgharrah said grimly. "Balinor and I were in constant communication, hoping to work under the cover of that year's Games when everyone's eyes would be glued to their screens. But one of us must have gotten careless, or the Peacekeepers just got lucky. I heard they said it was a severe case of food poisoning."

"But he was murdered," Merlin breathed, horrified. "The Capitol…" Even after everything the Capitol had done to him, this one fact still left him with a cold fury. "They can't be allowed to get away with this."

"They already have," Kilgharrah said gruffly. "This happened five years ago, Merlin."

Merlin was about to reply, but Arthur placed a hand on his arm. It was a clear enough Hold that thought gesture that Merlin knew he wasn't being cut off, so he closed his mouth again.

"So your plans changed," Arthur said calmly – too calmly. He was angry, too. Good, Merlin thought savagely.

Kilgharrah nodded, fixing Arthur with a measuring look. "That is correct. I have always prided myself on my ability to keep a low profile, but after I lost my ally, I realised that more drastic measures needed to be taken. I knew Balinor would condemn me for this had he been alive, but I was out of options." He sighed, shaking his head, looking as if the memory truly pained him. "From my place in the Capitol, I could not reach Merlin without drawing attention to us both. Balinor had been slowly drawing the magic within Merlin forward, but I knew I would not be able to do that even if I had been able to get him out on my own. And there was still the matter of yourself, Arthur, already training in District 1 with your father. No, I knew then that there was only one option left to me: I had to step into the spotlight, positioning myself as the Head Gamemaker to take you both through the Hunger Games. I could awaken Merlin's magic and find a way to bring you both out of Panem in one fell swoop. Plus," he added, frowning, "I could save two innocent children from the Reaping that year. It felt like the right thing to do."

For the first time since all of this had started, Merlin felt a pang of sympathy for Kilgharrah. But he didn't have time to dwell on it – because something had just occurred to him. "You sent me the notes!" he exclaimed.

"Wait, what notes?" Arthur asked, but they ignored him.

"I did," Kilgharrah said. "I thought that was a rather genius little device, myself."

Merlin snorted. "Yeah, except they didn't actually make any sense."

"They were effective though, weren't they?" Kilgharrah said, eyes twinkling. "You ended up exactly where you were supposed to."

Merlin almost smiled before he realised that he and Kilgharrah weren't supposed to be sharing some great inside joke right now. He still had questions, and Kilgharrah was still Capitol. He didn't really think the older man was the enemy anymore, but he still wasn't sure he liked his methods. So many things could have gone wrong with that plan.

"So I take it the cure for Arthur…?" Merlin asked.

"I ran into a spot of trouble there," Kilgharrah admitted. "I had not counted on Uther's schemes. They were making the other Gamemakers suspicious, and I had to go through Guinevere – a route they would never expect Uther to take. And then when they figured out what she had received and who it was for, they tried to keep her from you. But as you both know, Guinevere is resilient. I had to trust that she would find a way, and she did."

It made Merlin feel absurdly proud, hearing Kilgharrah praise his friend like that. Knowing that for whatever reason, Kilgharrah wanted both Merlin and Arthur alive, and he trusted Gwen enough to give her such an important job to do – even if she hadn't known who she was doing it for.

"But my father…" Arthur looked troubled by all this, but Merlin thought he was holding himself together quite well, all things considered. Arthur hadn't known about the magic, either. And he must still be reeling from Uther's death, even if he wasn't letting it show. "You said the Gamemakers didn't touch him. How could they not know everything he was doing?"

"Your father had important friends, Arthur," Kilgharrah acknowledged. "In fact, I was one of them. After all, we had a shared interest in keeping you alive, even if he didn't know that. Uther was a cruel man, as I am sure you will agree, but he tried to keep you safe until the end. I was not going to stand in the way of that unless I had to."

Arthur swallowed, saying nothing. Maybe not trusting himself to speak. If they had been alone, Merlin might have reached out to him, but as it were, he merely offered him a small smile. Arthur's expression softened minutely and he nodded, showing that he was all right.

"Really, once you were in the Games, I did not have to do much more than make sure you two were launched into the same area and sit back, letting events unfold as I knew they would," Kilgharrah continued, smiling slyly as he observed their silent exchange.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Merlin asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious at Kilgharrah's all too knowing look. "How could you know anything about what we'd do in that situation?"

"Ah. There is so much I could tell you about yourself that you never even dreamed of… but I would rather not." Kilgharrah said smugly. "I believe that everything will work out better for you with a clean slate. No need to burden yourself with a past you can't change."

"And again, you're cryptic," Merlin grumbled.

"Let us just say that you and Arthur are tied together," Kilgharrah said. "I knew that you would not be able to kill each other, not in the Games nor under any other circumstances. The very idea is preposterous, though you might not realise just how much so. But…" he paused, that same smirk on his face again, "what happened next was quite your own doing, believe me. Destiny has many shades, but I have to admit, I was happy to see this one light up for you."

Merlin felt his cheeks redden, and avoided Arthur's eye. Half of what Kilgharrah was saying made no sense to him, but he was pretty sure that he didn't want to have this particular discussion with the Head Gamemaker of all people – however nice and apparently non-murderous he was.

"You throw around words like destiny and magic like they mean something," Arthur sighed, and Merlin didn't know if he was trying to change the topic or if he really had just had enough surprises for one day, "and you bring us here, to this place… but you have never actually explained why."

Kilgharrah sighed. "Ah, young Pendragon, always so practical. But I am afraid I cannot give you a reason which does not involve both of those things. I have done all of this, spent all these years devising a way to get you out of Panem, simply because you were never meant to be there in the first place. Your destinies, as it were, lie elsewhere. It has been my duty, as it ever was, to guide you, to make sure you were on the right path. Heavens know that Panem needs a saviour, but it will not be today, and it will not be you."

"But…" Merlin glanced at Arthur. "My mum. Gwen. Will. I can't just… leave."

"And what would you propose instead, Merlin?" Kilgharrah asked, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think the Peacekeepers would do to you, for not to mention President Snow, if he got word that a tribute – who for all anyone knows died in the Hunger Games just as the Capitol had planned – waltzed right back into his District alive and well? Do you think it would just be you they punished? No, Snow's craving for power and complete control runs much deeper than that. For all we know, by this time this year we could find ourselves with eleven Districts rather than twelve. Is that what you want?"

"No, of course not," Merlin said, chilled by Kilgharrah's words but angry that the Gamemaker thought he would ever be that careless. "But I need to see them. They need to know that I'm alive!"

Kilgharrah sighed. "No, Merlin, they don't. It would only endanger them."

"But I…" Merlin's resolve was faltering. He knew that Kilgharrah was right. But still. There was one person he would not compromise for, one person who needed to know. "I want Gwen to know. She went through all this with us. I can't live with myself knowing that she thinks I'm dead." He set his jaw. "If you help me get word to her, I promise I'll go wherever you want me to go. I appreciate the fact that you saved me – us – but you and I both know that we don't have to do anything you tell us to. We've already faced our deaths once, there is nothing left for you to threaten us with."

Following his words, there was only silence. Merlin bit his lip, half expecting Arthur to argue. But he didn't, and when Merlin looked over, Arthur was glaring at Kilgharrah as if daring him to disagree with Merlin's words. Merlin felt a surge of gratitude, and a renewed sense of relief that whatever was happening here, at least he had Arthur by his side through it all.

Kilgharrah looked between the pair of them, looking like he was trying very hard to think of an argument. But after a long pause, he nodded gravely.

"Guinevere is the presumed sole survivor of this year's Hunger Games, and has emerged the victor," he said. "She will be sent home to her family, burdened with the grief of having watched her best friend die, and she will carry this grief with her on the victory tour just as everyone will be expecting her to."

"But I-" Merlin started to protest, but Kilgharrah held up a gnarled hand (which up close Merlin realised had been adorned with what looked like scales. Capitol customs would never make sense to him), and he fell silent.

"But when she comes back home to District 11 after it is all over," Kilgharrah continued, "there will be a letter there waiting for her, written by you. And she will read it, then burn it, knowing that her friend and the boy he loves are both safe, and far away, where the Capitol can never find them. Are these acceptable terms?"

Merlin had blushed at the boy he loves part and glanced over at Arthur, who met his gaze with an amused, slightly challenging expression. Merlin rolled his eyes.

"I… yes. Thank you, Kilgharrah," he said turning back to the elderly man. "Really, this... I can't begin to express my gratitude. For both of us."

Kilgharrah laughed hoarsely. "Do not thank me, young tribute. As I have explained to you, I was merely playing my small part to set you and Mister Pendragon on destiny's true path."

"Right," Arthur said, "that destiny thing again. If we can't go home, what are we supposed to do now?"

"For a few days, you can stay here to recuperate," Kilgharrah said. "I have to return to the Capitol, to do damage control and make sure that no one ever finds out the truth about what happened to you."

"Wait, you're just leaving?" Merlin asked in alarm. Not that he particularly fancied the old man sticking around (he still found him slightly creepy, despite everything), but Arthur and him had no idea where they were, or what they were supposed to do next. "You haven't even told us what this great destiny you keep going on about is."

"Ah," Kilgharrah smiled, "but that is for you to find out. There is, after all, a whole world out there beyond Panem," he said. "A world that needs you. A world that is ready to be saved."

"And what about Panem, then?" Arthur asked. "The way I see it, there's plenty of saving to be done here. The Games, for one—"

"And yet that is not our fight, young Pendragon," Kilgharrah said, voice firm. "Everything has its time, and Panem's has not yet come. But if it is any consolation to you, I can tell you that right now in District 12, there is a little girl being brought into the world. Her name is not important. All you need to know is that she will have a destiny far greater and more terrible than we can imagine. But face it she must, and not until she is ready. In this matter, I must not interfere, and neither can you. Your paths will not cross."

Merlin and Arthur looked at each other in confusion, neither able to decipher Kilgharrah's cryptic words.

"Listen," Kilgharrah said, rising suddenly from his seat, "I think this has been quite beneficial, but I am afraid my time is up. I know you must both be tired, and I have arranged it for you to be able to remain hidden here for a few more days. But we are not far from Panem's borders, and I cannot guarantee your safety here for very long. When you move out, go south. That is all I can tell you. The rest is up to you."

He stood up, his joints popping, but there was a strange sort of energy to him which Merlin hadn't really noticed before. He was old, yes… ancient, even, and yet…

"You are magic, aren't you?" Merlin blurted, unable to keep the question from spilling out. This might be the final chance he got to ask it, after all.

Kilgharrah gave him a long, searching look. "Yes and no, young tribute. I was magic, once. Now, I am no more than a messenger."

Merlin wasn't sure what it was about Kilgharrah, but something about his words had struck something deep within him, and he knew somehow that he was telling the truth. A week ago, he would never in his wildest dreams have been able to imagine any of this, and yet now… it felt, strangely, like his life had only just begun.

We were never meant to be here, he thought, remembering the Gamemaker's earlier words, and somehow, he knew them to be true.

All the things they'd been through, all the horrors they'd faced, it had all been designed by Kilgharrah as a way to get them here. Wherever here was. And whatever came next... well, he'd have to deal with that when the time came.

Yesterday, Merlin had been just another unlucky tribute in the Capitol's cruel Hunger Games, fighting against the inevitable, his only crime being that the odds had not been in his favour.

Today, Merlin was free. He had magic, and apparently a destiny, and no idea what to do next... But right now, all that mattered was that he was alive, and that he had Arthur by his side. That was all he needed.

Dear Gwen,

I realise that this letter will seem like a cruel joke to you at first. But please don't throw it away before reading it through. I can't promise that it'll all make sense (hell, it hardly makes sense to me!), but I CAN promise you that you'll want to keep reading.

You know my handwriting, I know you do. I also know what you're thinking right now: what cruel Capitol arsehole forged it, and why would they do this to you? But see, they would have no reason to, now would they? That's why you must right now be biting your lower lip in the way that you always do when you're confused, trying to work out if this could really be me. Well, it is. I promise.

I am alive. I can't believe I'm actually writing this, but it's true. Right now, as you're reading this, I am alive! And Arthur is with me. And, sorry, but this is the part where I tell you that I can't explain how, and that it's safer for you not to know – I know, that never seems like a good enough reason when you're the one who the information is being kept from, but it's the truth. I'm sorry.

Remember that one time when we were children, and Will had climbed onto the roof of the school building to throw a dead skunk down the principal's chimney, and we were keeping watch (even though it was disgusting and we didn't think it was that funny to begin with)? Remember when he lost his footing and fell off the roof - and how, by some complete miracle, he wasn't hurt at all even though by all rights that fall should have killed him? Well, let's just say I don't think it was really a miracle. And that it, somehow, is part of the reason why me and Arthur made it out of the Arena alive.

I needed to tell you the truth, Gwen, because you deserve it more than anyone else. But this next part is very, very important: the Capitol must never know. And you must never, ever tell ANYONE. No, not even Lancelot. Not Will. Not my mother, or your father. I don't want to place this burden on you, but I also could not live with myself knowing that you thought I had died, that you thought your victory came at the price of my life. Because I know that if the roles were reversed, Gwen, I wouldn't have been able to deal with that. And that's why I'm writing to you now, despite the dangers. Because I want you to deal. I want you to live. I always wanted you to live, you know that, and despite all the horrible things we've both been through, I hope I can trust you to actually enjoy the fact that you get to spend the rest of your life with the person you love - just as I will. (Don't judge me, Arthur is nicer than he seems!)

I need you to do one last thing for me. Once you have read this letter, destroy it immediately. Burn it, and spread the ashes over the fields. But tear off the bottom right corner, where you'll see a little symbol, like a bird? Give it to Gaius. He won't say anything, and you can't ever talk about it with him, but I think he'll know. And I need him to know.

I miss you every day, and I will continue to miss you for as long as I live - but hey, at least we both live! You won't ever see me again, but that's okay, because you and I have made enough memories together to last a lifetime. And at least I can leave you with one final promise: thanks to friends in high places, you can now go on to start that family with Lance that you both always wanted, knowing that none of your children will ever have their names entered into the Hunger Games. I wish I could extend that promise to every child in our District, or hell, all of Panem... but right now, the Capitol just stands too strong. Maybe one day that will be different, and hey, when that day comes, maybe me and Arthur can come back. But until then, don't ever forget to live!

All my love,
Merlin

P.S. take care of my mum and Will. Not that you aren't already doing that, because I'm sure you are. Maybe I'm just stalling because I don't want to end this letter. But I have to. Are you ready? (I'll never be ready.)

I love you.

Goodbye.