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Not quite sure where this came from. One moment I'm updating Web of Lies, the next I'm writing this.
Slumped against the steps, Merlin found that drawing a breath was slowly becoming more and more difficult. His numerous and complicated spells had managed to buy him some time, slowing down the poison in Mordred's dagger for long enough for the warlock to manage to get himself into a safer position in order to work the magic he needed to stop the weapon claiming his life. The only thing he was thankful for was that, judging by Mordred's howl of outrage as Merlin had knocked Arthur out of the way, this was the only weapon he had coated in the deadly substance. Merlin didn't know what he had done to it, but for some reason, trying to halt the dagger hadn't worked. It was almost as if something was repelling Merlin's magic, and judging by the aura surrounding the powerful sorcerer, Merlin had a very good idea of what. He may have been one of the most powerful warlocks ever to exist, and judging by the way he had almost hovered over the battlefield, casting spell after spell at the enemy and driving them back, no one would deny it.
But there was one area of magic where he was still weak. Dark magic. The warlock knew it was his destiny to help Arthur create Albion, and if he was to even contemplate dabbling in black magic, he knew it was risking everything they had done so far. Arthur had accepted him for who he really was, and Merlin knew the young King was striving to make a difference. But if there was the merest hint that his loyal advisor was turning into the very thing that had turned his mind against magic for all of these years, Merlin knew there would be no coming back from that. He preferred to be kept in ignorance regarding the dark arts, and with the realisation that his magic was having no effect against the pure evilness that was Mordred's, he had done the only thing he could think of. Slowing down time, the warlock was across the field in a blink of an eye, and as time resumed itself once more, he had physically pushed Arthur out of the way of the dagger, exactly the same way he had done all those years ago.
But unlike the time when Lady Helen – or the witch posing as her, at least – Merlin found that he could not move himself quick enough. The blade had sunk into his shoulder as warlock and king fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs, and at Arthur's roar of anger as he once more sprung to his feet, Merlin knew that Mordred would have physically been driven back by the force of Arthur's sword. With Excalibur finally resting in the hands it was forged for, not many foes could stand against this new Camelot, especially not with the rumours spreading that the king was protected by a warlock stronger than time had ever seen. Personally, Merlin wasn't sure if that was quite right, he had been beaten more times than he cared to count, not mentioning the amount of times a spell had gone wrong for him. But if the fear alone of what he could possible do was enough to stop the numerous attempts on Arthur's life, then that was fine by him, it certainly made his destiny a lot easier.
By the time Arthur had turned back to the man that still, even to this day, remained his loyal servant, Merlin had plucked up the courage to pull the dagger out again, staggering to his feet just in time to take the full power of Arthur's gaze, concern etched deep into his features even as he tried to brush it off with the normal comment about Merlin's clumsiness. Merlin wasn't fooled though, he had seen the look in Arthur's eye. Even after all these years, Arthur still couldn't truly express himself to his servant, but he didn't need too. Merlin knew him better than Arthur knew himself at times, and could read the man easily. Both as a King and a friend, there wasn't a lot about Arthur's moods that could get past Merlin.
Already beginning to feel the poison sink in, Merlin had then muttered some comment about moving to the side where he would be able to assist the fight better, and almost before he had finished speaking, Arthur had turned back to the battle, determined to drive out the invading force. Not to mention there was something personal about this battle. Not only had Mordred – the boy he had once risked everything to save – turned up with the idea that he was going to destroy the new king once and for all, Merlin had reported being able to sense who the driving force behind the invasion was really. And whilst his half-sister had managed to take the crown once before, Arthur certainly wasn't going to let Morgana have another attempt.
Muttering spell after spell as he stumbled from the field, Merlin had found himself slumped against the steps leading into the castle, far enough away from the battlefield that he would be able to work his magic in peace. Whilst he had never been the physician Gaius had hoped for, Merlin had managed to master some skill at healing spells, finding it helpful considering how many accidents Arthur managed to get himself into. Merlin had honestly never met anyone with the talent of being able to knock themselves out as often as Arthur managed. Admittedly, it wasn't always the man's fault, but Merlin had found it an added bonus to learn how to cure most of the basic injuries. Enough for Arthur to survive a hunt and come back in one piece, at least. Knowing that it was going to take time in order to combat the dark magic now flowing through his veins and making his own magic tingle uncomfortably, Merlin tried to shift himself into a more stable position. As pain lanced through his chest, making him attempt to suck in a sharp breath to alleviate it, Merlin knew he was going to have to begin the spells quickly if there was any hope of finishing.
No sooner had he managed to ease his breathing when the warlock felt the presence of something powerful heading towards him, fast. Groaning, he quickly let a few more spells roll fluently off his tongue, attempting to give himself more time as he dealt with whatever was coming now. Personally, he didn't see what was so wonderful about Camelot that everything felt the need to gravitate towards it, but either way, he pulled himself into a more upright position, trying to look like the powerful warlock he was supposed to be rather than someone who could barely see thanks to their vision weaving somewhat unpleasantly.
Despite being unable to focus properly, even Merlin recognised the form that suddenly materialised in front of him. Backing up against the steps in surprise if nothing else, Merlin could manage nothing more than to gape in astonishment.
"Nimueh? But...but you're dead."
"How observant, Merlin." The witch seemed to appear out of a thin mist, but as Merlin stared at her in shock, it didn't escape his notice that she didn't quite seem all there. It was as if he was staring at nothing more than an apparition rather than the real woman.
"How-?"
"There is no time, Merlin. Albion is in danger."
"What's Arthur done this time?" Merlin couldn't help but moan, struggling to stay in his upright position. He didn't have time for this; the spell helping his breathing was already beginning to wear off.
"He's about to be killed." Nimueh delivered bluntly, causing Merlin to hit the steps in shock, the small amount of colour he had managed to regain instantly draining away and causing a bout of light-headiness overwhelm him.
"He...he can't. I have to get to him." Pushing himself into a more upright position, Merlin groaned as he felt his knees knock together, his legs not wanting to support his weight. Forcing himself forward a step, Merlin cursed as he hit the floor again, his strength waning faster than his spells could combat it. The man couldn't die, not now. Not now they had finally made it this far, not now Merlin knew what it was like to have a true friend, one he didn't have to hide around, no matter what. He knew the kingdom would be lost without Arthur, but it was more than that. Merlin honestly didn't know what he would do without the man he had initially hated. He may not have wanted to believe Kilgharrah when the Dragon had first claimed that he and Arthur were two sides of the same coin, but he had certainly come to accept it. Arthur was as much part of him as he was Arthur. They both knew it, a bond unlike time had ever seen forged in the hardest of circumstances. It may have been his destiny to protect the royal prat, but Merlin knew that he would be doing it anyway. He simply had to go on saving Arthur, it was what had kept him going every time he had felt like his world had come crashing down. First with Freya, then his father. Even the fight against Kilgharrah, then against Morgana. Every time Merlin felt his world was falling apart, Arthur had been there to put it back together again, even if he didn't realise what he was doing.
"Must...save...him." Merlin found himself panting, beginning to drag himself forward on his knees when a gentle hand on the shoulder stopped him.
"There is a way, Merlin." Nimueh responded softly, lifting the warlock's head so that she was looking him directly in the eye. For a moment, Merlin was confused. Why on earth would Nimueh want to help them, she had tried to kill the servant more than once, almost succeeding as well. As he gazed into her eyes, Merlin knew the answer though. Whilst she may appear to be here in some sort of physical form, this was not the Nimueh he had killed all those years ago on the Isle of the Blessed. This was an image that he recognised, a tool of the Old Religion as it once more attempted to intervene to make sure Albion was born.
"You have the strength for the spell to save Arthur. But that is all you have the strength for. If you cast this spell, there will be no saving yourself. It is your choice, Emrys. Either you save the king and hope that he can move on without you, unguarded. Or you save yourself and lead the people, you know they will yield to you."
"I will never take power," Merlin spat, suddenly angry that she – it- could even think that he would contemplate letting Arthur die in order to be able to lead the people himself. Ever since she had delivered the news that something was once again happening to his destiny, Merlin knew what he needed to do.
"Hýdgield Ealdorlegu," Merlin muttered under his breath, feeling the magic leave him. Staring into the sky, he caught sight of a spiral of smoke forming itself out of nothing, the colour almost looking a faint purple to the warlock as the magic weaved its way through the sky. Knowing that his job was done, that Arthur would once again be safe, Merlin exhaled sharply, wincing as the poison once more crashed through his system with greater vigour than before, almost as if it was trying to make him pay for attempting to fight back. Sitting back, Merlin watched the smoke disappear out of his eye line, holding on for as long as he could until he knew without a doubt that Arthur was safe. As a feeling of content, of peace washed over him, he knew that the deed was done. His king would go on without him, he would allow magic back and many more would take Merlin's place in protecting the man. Sighing with the knowledge that his job was done, Merlin let his eyes flicker shut, not even having noticed that Nimueh had vanished.
MMM
Struggling furiously against the men holding him, Arthur found himself wishing that his idiotic servant was around. If Merlin was here, the men would have never been able to disarm him before falling to those flashing eyes, a whisper carried on the breeze stopping them even getting close to the king. Wondering where on earth Merlin was, Arthur craned his head around, attempting to see if he could see the familiar gangly figure of his servant anywhere around. He knew that the man had been hurt; a sound had never been so sickening to Arthur than hearing the dagger hit Merlin. But he also knew that the warlock was somewhat skilled at healing spells, that something like that would not prove to be an issue to him. He just couldn't believe it was taking Merlin so long to get back to his side, he normally had trouble getting rid of him.
Swallowing hard as Mordred approached him, knife in hand, Arthur suddenly became aware of the silence that had fallen across the field. Twisting his head the other way, he felt an instant rush of emotion overwhelm him as he followed the gaze of the rest of his men. From the courtyard, a thin spiral of coloured smoke was wafting into the sky, dancing gracefully across the sky. Whilst most were hypnotised by the elegance of the smoke, Arthur knew instantly it was something more.
"No." He found himself whispering, barely recognising his own voice as it cracked somewhat. He knew, without knowing how, that it was Merlin. As the men holding him seemed to be propelled through the air and Mordred was thrown violently backwards, immediately falling still as he hit the ground, Arthur felt his knees hit the floor, barely noticing what was going on around him. A pang of loneliness and pain washed over him a second later, not realising it was exactly the same time the wave of acceptance had crashed over his servant.
As the rest of the men erupted in cheers as the enemy seemed to turn on their heels and run, the smoke almost carelessly wafting after them, Arthur felt tears began to trickle down his face. He knew what the idiot had done. He wasn't sure how he knew, whether it was just because of the tie of destiny between them, but he knew. Knew that Merlin had made his choice, that he had made sure the king lived. But Arthur knew it was more than that, for it was exactly the same thing he would have done. Merlin had made sure his friend had survived. At the cost of his own life. He knew what the consequences would have been. And yet he had still made his choice.
"You better not let me down, you prat." Jumping visibly at the voice, Arthur stared about him, wild eyed through his tears. He was alone where he had fallen, everyone else seeming to automatically be giving the young king a wide berth, not knowing why he looked so broken when the battle was won. For a moment, Arthur couldn't place where he had heard the voice, he knew that it had been more than in his head. After staring wildly about him, the young man finally noticed the coil of smoke wrapping itself teasingly around his arm. As if knowing that Arthur had finally acknowledged its presence, it wafted gently into the air, swirling around the king once more, spiralling around his chest in a way of illustrating the bond that had existed between them. As it floated gently in front of him, Arthur found himself stretching out a hand, extending it towards the mist.
"Don't worry. I'll make you proud, Merlin. I promise."
"Just...don't be a prat." And with that, the smoke vanished into thin air, leaving a king standing in the middle of the battle field, emotions in turmoil he had never felt before. As the rest of the men turned and began to walk back to the castle, Arthur stayed exactly where he was, shutting his eyes against the destruction. As a cry of alarm went up from the courtyard, he knew immediately what they had found waiting for them.
Turning on his heel, he began to slowly walk the other way, climbing into the woods and letting himself be lost in nature, allowing it to drive away the pain he was struggling to breathe through. Merlin was gone. He had made his choice. But so had Arthur. He had promised the loyal fool that he was going to make him proud. And that was exactly what he intended to do.
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