They were losing.

There were too many.

Soldiers surrounded them on all sides.

The Knights were spread thin, but managed to hold a small amount of ground. Arthur was in the middle, mowing them down one by one, sword dripping with blood.

It wasn't enough.

A group of five men came from behind; Merlin flung them away, hoping Arthur was too busy with the two in front to notice.

But he did.

"Merlin?"

A look of utter betrayal and confusion crossed the king's face, as his most trusted friend displayed his powers. Merlin opened his mouth to explain that magic was not as evil as thought, that he had been born with these powers, using them to help people-to help Arthur.

But as Merlin sought to explain his betrayal, another one took place.

Time seemed to slow as Mordred pulled his sword out of the king's chest.

As Arthur fell, so did his, Merlin and Albion's entire destiny.

"NO!" screamed Merlin with every fibre of his being. This scream of desperation became a roar of fury as raw magic forced its way out him, leveling the mass of people around. As Mordred lay there, disintegrating from the focus of Merlin's power, he murmured, "Emrys-".

Merlin didn't even look as he snapped the boy's neck.

He wasn't Emrys.

He had failed.

Failed his destiny.

Failed Arthur.

He cradled his friend's dead body, tears flowing freely.

Arthur was dead. He had died believing Merlin had betrayed him.

But he had.

He had had plenty of opportunities to kill Mordred. He could have killed Morgana, to stop her army from attacking while Camelot was vulnerable. He had known for years the threat they posed to Arthur. And yet he had done nothing.

Arthur was dead and it was all his fault.