Merlin Series Five Episode Thirteen:
Coming Of The Dawn
A/N: As promised, here is the second of my endings to Merlin. I hope it's up to snuff.
Chapter One: The Blood Of Camlan
As the the storm raged outside, the children huddled at the feet of their father's chair, which was placed within a safe distance of the cozy hearth. Upon his lap sat the youngest, a lad barely a year old. From left to right at his feet say the others, two girls and a boy, ages eight, ten, and eleven. All of the children had their father's blue eyes, and three of them dark hair. The eldest, the boy nearest the fire, had hair redder than blood, and his siblings (and parents) often wondered from what distant ancestor he had inherited his fiery scarlet locks.
Their mother came into the room, bearing a tray of hot tea for the children, hot milk for the baby, and mulled wine for herself and the father. She passed them out to the grateful tikes, and sat down behind them, the girls nuzzling up against the welcoming warmth of her flowing dress.
"And now, my children, would you like to hear a story?"
"Oh yes please father," the three answered in unison, and even the babe cooed upon his father's lap.
"What story shall I tell? That of Kilgarrah, the Great Golden Dragon? Or perhaps the life story of Gaius the Healer?"
"No father!" they all cried.
"Tell us of the Great King Arthur!" they all pleaded.
The father's eyes twinkled.
"Are you sure you want to hear that one again?"
"Yes father! Oh please do tell us!"
The eldest boy was especially hopeful, for though he had heard the tale a hundred times before, he never tired of hearing the story of the mighty King Arthur and his Greatest Battle.
"Very well then, my dears. Arthur it is!"
The children bounced up and down with excitement as their father began.
The great sorcerer looked down upon the blood-soaked Plain of Camlan. The army of Camelot was sorely pressed by Morgana's seemingly endless horde of Saxon warriors, led on by the treacherous Mordred. Aithusa, the White Dragon flew high over top Arthur's beleaguered men, raining fire down upon their heads.
His first opponent was Aithusa. She looked straight at him as she rained down death into the Camelotian ranks. With a voice loud as thunder, Emrys rebuked the White Dragon.
"Nun de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai!"
With a roar of rage, the dragon fled the field, compelled to obey by the power of the Dragon Lord. With a flash of lightning, a whole battalion of the Saxons fell. Arthur stared up the mountain at the mysterious figure who single-handedly turned the tide of the battle. Lifting Excalibur high above his head, the king cried out:
"For the love of Camelot!"
Not in vain did Arthur run on, for the whole of his men hurried along behind, roaring with the hope of victory.
Emrys smiled.
"Now for my main target: Mordred."
With a speed and agility far beyond his years the sorcerer bounded down the mountainside, intent upon only one figure in the midst of the rolling chaos. There, surrounded by a dozen of the Knights of Camelot, stood Mordred, hacking and slashing for all he was worth. In the blink of an eye, all twelve of his opponents flew high into the air, landing with bone-crushing force on the hard rocks below them.
Emrys looked to his left. There, high upon a ledge, stood a proud and defiant Morgana. In an instant her eyes met his own, accompanied by a terrified shriek.
"Emrys!"
With a flick of his wrist the sorcerer flung Morgana from the ledge and into the valley below. Now that the mistress had been incapacitated, it was time to stop the servant. He hurried up the valley, Saxons falling in his wake.
He rounded a slight bend in the path. There, to his relief, he saw Arthur, alive and well, bent over a dying knight. Then, to his horror, he saw Mordred step from the mist that hung low over the valley.
"Arthur! Behind you!"
Whether by some stroke of luck or twist of fate, no man knows. Perhaps the sorcerer had done enough. Perhaps the Druids had been wrong in their predictions. For whatever reason, the prophecy failed. Arthur's grave was not to be dug upon that scarlet field.
As Emrys cried out, Arthur spun 'round, swinging Excalibur before him. Enchanted blade or no, this time its work was swift and sure; as Arthur recovered from his stroke, Mordred's head rolled from his shoulders. His limp body fell to the ground, Arthur's Bane defeated at last.
Arthur turned to Emrys.
"I know not why you helped me, but you have my thanks, and the thanks of all Camelot. Farewell."
The sorcerer inclined his head in return as Arthur turned towards his camp, seeking now his wife and comrades, ready to plan his army's next move. Perched on a ledge once more, Emrys watched him depart down the valley, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.
"You have won this battle Emrys, but I shall win the war."
The warlock turned to the Priestess that stood behind him.
"What war, Morgana? Your champion is dead, your army destroyed. You have wasted so much time trying to claim your revenge. Will you now leave Arthur to rule the kingdom he has built?"
"The throne of Camelot is mine by right."
"Maybe once, but you forfeited any claim you might have made long ago."
Her eyes flashed, cold and determined.
"I may have lost this battle Emrys, but you have lost your life!"
With a terrible rending noise, a crack appeared in the earth beneath him, fire leaping forth in an all-consuming blaze. The sorcerer leapt to a nearby ledge, closing the crack with a blow from his staff. Then, lifting the rod high over his head, Emrys called down a terrible storm upon his foe. Thunder roared, rain lashed her back in torrents, the wind whipping her hair about her face and blinding her. With a cry she knocked him off his feet, distracting his focus and ending his spell.
As he hit the ground, Emrys panted, knowing that he could not retain this form for much longer. To conserve his strength he let the aged form fall from him, the beard now gone, his hair dark and short once more.
"Weakening, old friend?" Morgana queried, her voice dripping with sarcasm and hate.
Emrys grinned.
"Not quite yet, old friend!"
With a flick of his head, he threw Morgana to the ground, buying himself time enough to stand again. Then, with a rage-filled shriek, the enraged Priestess dived for his legs and the pair of them tumbled into the abyss.
Emrys lifted his head with a groan. He and Morgana had fallen at least a hundred feet or more, the rocks leaving gashes and bruises on their limbs. Picking himself up, he saw that Morgana had landed not five feet away from him, near Mordred's headless corpse. Then he saw it.
When Mordred had fallen, his body had landed at an odd angle, and his hand caught in a crevice in the rock, his sword pointed straight up. When Morgana finally ended her fall, it was not the ground she landed on, but the blade of Mordred's sword, the tip of which portruded from her ribcage.
She lay there, panting hard, her chest heaving as her punctured lungs struggled to obtain the air she needed. She lifted a hand to him.
"Help me Emrys. Please."
The sorcerer shook his head sadly.
"There is nothing I can do. You know the power of a blade forged in the breath of a dragon as well as I do. You have been hung in your own noose Morgana, and there is nothing I can do."
"There is one thing I would ask of you then."
"What?"
"Bury me. Do not leave my corpse to the wolves."
Emrys' eyes were cold.
"Please."
He sighed heavily. Even now, there was pity in his heart for the bitter creature before him.
"That courtesy I can give. Be at peace."
For one moment, one split second, a look of something akin to gratitude entered her eyes. Then, with a shudder and a groan, the life left her body. The sorcerer limped a safe distance away. Then he raised his hand.
Lightning cracked; thunder rolled; a bolt of lightning struck the mountainside. Down it came, a rushing torrent of dirt and rocks poured into the valley. Such a grave as that has never been seen since. Morgana and her champion lay buried beneath one hundred tons of rock.
"That's it then. It's over."
Wearily he turned away, only to stop, his mouth open in shock. There, before him, not thirty yards away stood Arthur, surprise and doubt and fear carved indelibly into the lines of his face.
"Merlin?"
A/N: I know, I know, I wrote you a cliff-hanger. But at least I'll give you an actual resolution within a day or two!