Arthur swayed on his feet, black dots sparkling his vision. He strained to see the figure in front of him, nearing, sword raised for another attack. The sounds of battle still echoed about the king, but even clouded by the fog of Arthur's blood loss, he could tell that the noises were fewer. The Battle of Camlann was nearing its end, and Camelot had won.

Neither Arthur nor his knights could fully claim the victory. While valiant, the warriors of Camelot had been hopelessly outnumbered. And then the white dragon had attacked, no where near as large or as deadly as the Great Dragon that plagued the citadel those years ago, but still a formidable enemy, destroying lines of men in its flame.

No, Camelot had been losing, until the old sorcerer had appeared on the cliff. Tall, with a long white beard, robed in red, wielding a staff - Arthur had immediately recognized the man as Dragoon the Great, the sorcerer who had once infiltrated Camelot and taken the blame for Guinevere, ultimately saving her life. The sorcerer who had killed his father.

But, neither was that correct. A memory tugged at Arthur, of a wounded Gaius laying in the physician's chambers: "I chose to protect him. I feared you would seek him out and execute him. That would've been a grave mistake. The sorcerer did not kill your father. Uther was dying. He tried everything in his power to save him." Arthur remembered how his father had briefly recovered before being taken by death, and how distraught the sorcerer had seemed. Of course the sorcerer would have been distraught, for he had everything to lose. The fate of the entire magical community was hanging on the man's shoulders - what could the man have gained through failure, besides an obviously undesired revenge?

Here, the sorcerer had decided to help Arthur, to help all of Camelot. Arthur was wrong to think him an enemy.

The memory continued to rear through the mess of Arthur's blood-stained senses: "Contained within this great kingdom is a rich variety of people with a range of different beliefs. I'm not the only one seeking to protect you. There are many more who believe in the world you are trying to create. One day you will learn, Arthur. One day you will understand... just how much they've done for you."

Gaius had known. He had known that the sorcerer was a protector all along. Part of Arthur was bitter at the knowledge that Gaius had been actively consorting with sorcerers, but the other part knew that it was long past the time for thinking that all magic was evil. Druids were proof of that. As was Dragoon. Hell, even Gaius had practiced magic at some point in the past, and Arthur trusted Gaius as he would his father. More so, when Arthur thought back to the recent encounter with Uther's ghost.

Magic, like any sort of power, would take a hateful person's heart and twist it with ideas of strength and right. As had happened with Morgana. As had happened with Mordred.

Arthur blinked again against the black spots in his vision, holding a hand to where Mordred's sword had sliced his side. If the king had not dodged when he did, the blow would have been fatal. Even so, Arthur was losing blood, and he was weakened by the hours of nonstop fighting. Mordred looked as fresh as he did walking on to the training fields each morning. Except in those days, the knight's face would be lit by a smile, not contorted with anger.

Arthur had known Mordred was a Druid - the very same he and Morgana had rescued all those years ago. But, the man had shown valor, and Arthur was trying, really trying to view magic in a different light. If not all magic, at least the Druids, who were a peaceful people. He reached out to Mordred, made him a knight.

How had Morgana snared him so easily? Or had it been the plan all along? Had Arthur been deceived once again, another in the long line of betrayals? Morgana, Agravaine, now Mordred.

Merlin had known. The manservant hadn't trusted neither Agravaine nor Mordred, always showing an unjustified dislike for the boy that had driven Arthur insane. It did not seem so farfetched now. But Arthur did not want to think about Merlin. Merlin, who had abandoned Arthur when the man needed him most. Merlin, whose advice - albeit given in a dream - had saved the knights of Camelot from certain doom, revealing the weakness in the army's flank. Merlin, who would not be by his side when he breathed his last, to whom Arthur would never be able to apologize.

The young man standing before Arthur grinned hatefully, swinging his blade in a wide circle and raising it to chest level, both hands wrapped around the hilt and elbows aloft. Arthur raised his own sword, fighting back the bitter feelings and the exhaustion. He did not think he could win, but he would die fighting. He was a Pendragon, after all.

"ARTHUR!"

The voice was guttural and desperate and echoed against the walls of the pass. Before Arthur could turn his head to look for the source, Mordred was blasted off of his feet by a bolt of blue lightning. The druid's body slammed into a nearby rock and fell to the ground. It took no inspection to see that the man was dead. His armor smoked from the heat of the attack.

Feeling slightly numb, Arthur turned. The old sorcerer was striding through the fallen bodies of the battlefield, crystal-topped staff still glowing from the attack. Soon, he stood not three feet from the king.

Arthur swallowed and raised his sword on instinct, but his arms were as weary as his soul and shook with the effort. He stared into the sorcerer's concerned eyes, recognizing their clear blue color. Then he dropped to his knees as his strength gave out.

"Arthur!" the old man rasped, rushing to his side and catching the king before he could fall, dropping his staff in the process. "You're wounded."

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes and drop some snide comment - Thank you, I had no idea - and the urge to flinch away from the man's touch. It did not take much energy, for Arthur was quickly fading and needed most of his strength to stay awake. He simply grunted out, "Hospital tents."

The old sorcerer shook his head. "You're bleeding far too much. We'd never make it in time. I'll heal you."

"Like you healed my father?" Arthur's words were bitter but carried no real hatred behind them.

The old sorcerer gripped Arthur's shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. "My lord, Agravaine had placed a necklace, sent by Morgana, around Uther's neck that was enchanted to turn healing magic against itself. I should have checked before I began, and I do take the blame for that, but know that I never wanted to kill your father. Now, your life is in my hands, and you must trust me. You have too much yet to live for. You must live."

The news did not hit Arthur as hard as it might have - Morgana and Agravaine killed my father. Of course. The king observed the magic-user's entreating expression, the desperation those two eyes held. There was no way this man could want Arthur dead. If that were so, it would already have been done. If that were so, Dragoon never would have come to Camelot's aid.

"Very well," Arthur croaked, and the sorcerer's expression broke like dawn over the hill. A grin pulled back the many wrinkles, and his eyes twinkled with moisture.

"Sire."

The old man helped Arthur to his feet and led him to a clear patch of ground near the cliff side where Arthur could recline more comfortably. With deft hands, the sorcerer's long fingers began removing Arthur's plate and chain mail. Arthur looked on curiously.

"You've done this before," he observed.

The man shrugged, not meeting the king's eyes. "I've been a manservant."

"For a knight?"

"One of the greatest."

Arthur hissed as at last his wound was revealed. Both his padded jacket and shirt were ripped through and soaked with blood. The cut was deep, and Arthur looked away before his stomach could turn; he never enjoyed the sight of his own blood.

The old sorcerer's face fell, looking angry. "Arthur..."

"What?"

Dragoon did not answer, merely holding out a palm in the direction of Arthur's injury. It hovered just inches away from the offending gash. He began speaking, a stream of mumbled, foreign words, brows furrowed in concentration. Arthur realized the words were in the language of the Old Religion just as Dragoon's blue eyes flashed gold, meaning the sorcerer was about to use magic - on the King of Camelot.

Arthur gasped when a feeling of warmth gripped him, spreading from the wound throughout his body. The site of the wound tingled almost painfully. He looked down and was awestruck to see his skin stitching itself back together. "By the gods!" In seconds, the only trace of the injury was some bruising and a pink line of scar tissue.

The tension dropped from Dragoon, who let out a long breath. "It worked!"

"You say that as though you're surprised!"

"Well, I'm generally rubbish at healing spells, so-"

"You-!" Arthur growled, lunging at the man, only to fall forward onto his face.

The old sorcerer cackled. "Never would have let me do the spell had you known, would you, my lord? Now, while I've treated the wound, understand that you're not healed completely. You still need to rest."

"Great," Arthur muttered, pushing himself back into a sitting position against the wall of the cliff. It was true; his body still felt like lead, the hours of fighting and the blood loss weighing on him. He gazed around himself, taking in the corpses of Saxons and Camelot knights alike. He was heartened by the fact that there were considerably more Saxons than knights, but his heart ached whenever he met a familiar face.

"You saved us," he whispered, not meeting Dragoon's eyes. Dragoon was silent. "I made you a promise once. In exchange for the life of a Pendragon. I would like to honor that now."

"You don't mean-"

"I do. As of this moment, the ban on magic is lifted. You're a free man." Arthur turned, smiling, to the old man and was shocked to see the tears flowing freely over his face. He looked downright pained. "You should be pleased!"

"I am," the old sorcerer choked out. "I have long dreamed of this day... You don't even know..." Dragoon grasped Arthur's hands in his withered ones. "Thank you, sire. Thank you."

They both looked around at the sudden arrival of voices. Nearby, knights of Camelot were rounding a wall of rock. Arthur recognized Gwaine, Leon, and Percival among them, and relief filled him to see his friends unharmed. The sorcerer heaved to his feet, leaning against the staff for support.

"You're in good hands, my lord. I leave you now."

"You won't return to Camelot with us?"

"I have business to attend to yet. Arthur... take care." The old sorcerer hobbled away, robes and beard swinging with his steps. As he passed Mordred's fallen form, he paused, frowning, and bent to pluck the sword from the traitor's fingers. He looked over his shoulder at Arthur, who was still reclined against the rock, lacking the strength to pick himself off the ground. "Mind if I have this?"

Arthur raised a questioning brow but lifted his hands in a surrendering gesturing. "Do as you please." Although he had no idea what use a sorcerer of this man's caliber had for a sword, he was not about to argue.

Dragoon smiled again at Arthur - yet this time there was an edge to the expression, as though some quality of cruelty or ruthlessness was teeming just beneath the surface. It was conflicted so with the warm tears of before that it sent a shiver down Arthur's spine. Without another word, the old man drifted away and had disappeared by the time Arthur's men arrived.

The group of knights picked their way slowly across the battlefield, all the men sober but in good spirits, either talking amongst themselves quietly or enjoying the companionable silence. The king leaned against Sir Percival for support, again wearing his armor and insistent on walking into camp. Arthur wanted the knights to see their leader standing strong, but he also did not want Guinevere to see her husband so beaten down. Better than dead...

Arthur's eyes kept being drawn to Gwaine, who was frowning at the ground as though lost in thought. It wasn't like the knight to be so quiet. Arthur realized then that he hadn't seen this particular knight since before leaving Camelot.

"How long have you been with us, Gwaine?" Arthur called out. "I don't recall seeing you last night."

Gwaine looked up, brows raised. "That would be because you didn't. I was with Merlin."

"Merlin? Is he back, then?"

"I couldn't say. I took him as far as a cave in the Valley of the Fallen Kings before he sent me on my way. Said he'd be perfectly safe once he "found what he was looking for", though he never would tell me what that was."

"You left Merlin alone in the Valley of the Fallen Kings? What was he even doing there? He was supposed to be looking for ingredients for Gaius! There are bandits everywhere in that place - he'll be killed!" If he hasn't been already... The thought rose unbidden in Arthur's mind, causing his stomach to fill with an icy cold, replacing the warm feeling of being alive he had had only seconds before. He remembered the last thing he had said to Merlin - his stomach twisted even further. If that were the last thing he ever got to say to Merlin...

The frown on Gwaine's face deepened. "He insisted he would be fine and that I return to you. That I trust him. And though I trust Merlin more than anyone in the world, I can't help but feel worried."

"Obviously! You should have stayed with him. He's completely vulnerable."

"He's a whole lot stronger than you think, sire." Gwaine's words veiled a threat. Naturally - Arthur knew Merlin was Gwaine's closest friend, the only reason he had stayed in Camelot all these years.

"Those herbs or mushrooms or whatever better have been bloody well important," Arthur growled.

As they neared the encampment, a figure came running to Arthur, brown curls flying behind her. "Arthur!" Guinevere cried, pulling her husband into her arms. "You're alive! Not that I thought you wouldn't be, I just-"

Arthur interrupted her with a kiss, which broke into a smile. For one minute, his worry for Merlin was displaced. He stepped away from Percival's support and cradled her face in his hands. "I'm back," he said and pulled her again into an embrace. Guinevere buried her face in Arthur's shoulder, smothering her sobs. When she had calmed down, Arthur gently broke their hold. He rubbed his thumbs along her cheek to clear the trails of water, and together, they entered camp, the knights following close behind their sovereigns.

Gaius was busy calling orders to the maidservants who had volunteered in the hospital tents. Guinevere looked up at Arthur apologetically and hurried to return to the side of Camelot's injured. Arthur let her go and, persisting at staying aright, approached Gaius.

"Sire!" the physician cried, a grin breaking his tired face. If Arthur was not mistaken, he would say Gaius sounded surprised to see him return.

"Gaius," Arthur said, mirroring a similarly weary grin. "The Saxons have been defeated."

"That sorcerer arrived just in time," Gaius replied, casting Arthur a calculating look that was not lost on the king. The physician was testing the waters, trying to see how Arthur felt about magic's involvement in their victory. Arthur remembered that Gaius had been a sorcerer before the Great Purge, so of course he would be interested in the king's reaction.

"In more ways than one," the king acceded. "He saved me from a death at Mordred's hand and," Arthur's fingers moved unconsciously to his side, "healed a critical wound."

"You are in his debt."

Arthur nodded. "Nothing can repay what he has done for me, or for all of Camelot, but I hope what I gave him will be enough. I repealed the ban on magic."

Gaius choked on his breath and broke into a fit of coughing. Arthur patted the man's back, expression concerned. He was only barely aware of the gaping knights behind him. "Gaius, are you alright?"

The physician waved off the king. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. I was only surprised. Sire, I think that is a fine repayment for this man's actions."

"Do you approve?"

"Entirely, my lord."

At Gaius's answer, Arthur loosed a breath he did not realize he'd been holding. "Good. I'm glad." Looking about the camp, taking in the sight of wounded men and busy nurses, Arthur realized who still had not greeted him, and his earlier worries resurfaced. "Where's Merlin?"

"Merlin?" Gaius repeated. "Sire, I'm not sure. I haven't seen him since we arrived in Camlann."

All warmth dropped to Arthur's feet. It was not long before he made up his mind and turned to his knights. "We must go after him."

The king's prized knights - Leon, Gwaine, and Percival - looked at him and all nodded without argument. They were all close to Merlin, and the thought of him hurt or dead was more than anyone could bear.

"Sire, Morgana's body has not been found," said Leon. "She may still be alive."

"Then we make haste with due care."

"Surely you must rest," said Gaius.

Arthur shook his head. "I cannot rest while Merlin is missing. Gaius, I trust you to continue your hard work. Do whatever you need to treat my men. Even..." He let the word hang, implied. Even magic.

"Sire." Gaius inclined his head. "Please, bring my ward home."

Gwaine led the king, Percival, and Leon - a small group, it was decided, would more readily go unnoticed by any lingering Saxons or worse, Morgana - to the Valley of the Fallen Kings. They rode in silence, each confined to their thoughts. Arthur's mind swirled with both worry for Merlin and something akin to shock at what he had said to Dragoon at Camlann, and then admitted to his men not long after: he had repealed the ban on magic.

The encounter with his father's ghost those weeks ago rose like bile in his memory. For a long time, Arthur had been living in his father's shadow, but slowly he had been inching out from under it as he learned to follow his heart. The choices he had made contrary to his father's beliefs always contributed to Arthur's own happiness. If the old king's legacy was a shadow, then Guinevere and his Round Table knights were the sun. It took that confrontation with Uther's spirit for Arthur to fully realize how much he did not want to be like his father.

Until now, all of his dealings with magic had been fair, in Arthur's opinion. He no longer executed sorcerers for simply having magic; everyone was promised a fair trial; he had sworn to make peace with the druids. Yes, his dealings with magic thus far had been quite different than the rule his father pursued.

Even so, he had never once stopped thinking that magic was evil. He had nearly considered it when Mordred lay dying, when the priestesses of the Triple Goddesses had made that offer. But, that was more of a hope than a serious conviction, a want to justify the option laying before him. What proof did Arthur have of magic being good? Besides Dragoon, he had only ever seen it used for evil. Magic was what created Morgana, after all.

It was not as if Arthur could take back his word, not after everything the old sorcerer had done for them. But, the terror of the reality was beginning to crush down on the king, and he realized he had no idea what he was going to do. How did he reintroduce magic to the people of Camelot, who all feared it and hated it? How would he protect those magic-users who would surely be persecuted when they came out of hiding? Could he still punish magic and seem just? Could he follow his promise whole-heartedly, when something akin to hatred for magic still rested in that heart?

And where was Merlin?

The cave was easily found, as Gwaine had committed its location to memory. Yet Arthur felt like the cave would have otherwise remained hidden, regardless of any amount searching. Why had Merlin thought to come here? Better yet, was this really where Gaius had sent the young man?

They cautiously approached the mouth of the cave, watching its gaping black entrance. Rocks were strewn about the opening...

"...almost as if they were blasted outward," Leon remarked, studying their positions.

"It wasn't like this when I left," said Gwaine.

"There was a cave-in," Arthur decided. "But it obviously didn't keep in whoever was here."

"You think Merlin could have done this?" asked Leon.

"Perhaps he wasn't alone," replied the king, approaching the mouth of the cave, Excalibur raised. The knights followed warily after him.

The cave was not as dark as it appeared from the outside. Its walls, floor, and ceiling were spattered with small crystals, possibly quartz, that seemed to emit their own luminance. Arthur was glad for this, as it meant there was no need for a make-shift torch, but it unnerved him, too. This place felt, for lack of any other descriptor, magical.

"Is it just me, or do you notice a significant lack of anything growing here?" Gwaine muttered to his comrades. "No herbs to be gathered, no fungi to be plucked?"

"Perhaps he needed one of these crystals?" said Percival.

"And what would he do with a crystal?" said Gwaine. He shook his head, sweat-matted locks swaying in the dimly lit chamber. "I don't understand you, mate," he whispered. "What were you doing here?"

A minute later, the knights were stepping into a large chamber, crowded with glowing crystals of various sizes, some as small as coins, others like boulders. The feeling of magic Arthur had first perceived was strong here, almost tangible, as if the air were electrified.

"What is this place?" said Gwaine. The knights had lowered their swords in favor of gaping at the huge shards of mineral.

"Stay on your guard," Arthur ordered, approaching the center of the room and turning in a slow circle. "And don't touch anything. We don't know what these crystals can do."

When no other persons or creatures were apparent, Arthur felt it was safe to call out, "Merlin!" The name echoed off of the walls, perhaps even off of the many facets of the crystals. There was no response.

"I've heard that sorcerers can use crystals for scrying," Percival commented, tapping his sword-tip against one of the larger crystals. It rang, its tone enough to put the king's teeth on edge.

"I said don't touch anything," Arthur snapped. "It could be dangerous. And what do you mean, scrying?"

"Scrying is when a sorcerer casts a spell on a reflective surface to see what is happening over long distances," Percival explained. "My grandmother once told me about it."

"There is definitely magic here," the king said. "I would not be surprised if sorcerers use this cave... Merlin!"

"Sire," Leon said, placing a hand on his liege lord's shoulder. "I do not think he's here."

"I fear you're right. Merlin was here, and somebody blasted away those rocks. Perhaps we can find a trail."

They returned to the mouth of the cave, and Arthur felt his tension leave him the more distance he put between himself and the crystals. He hadn't realized how tight his lungs had been until it was suddenly easier to breathe. "Spread out," he commanded. "Look for tracks leading away from the cave, and make sure they aren't Gwaine's!"

After several minutes of searching, Gwaine called out, "Here!" The other knights converged on the spot.

"These are his? You're sure?" Arthur pressed.

"They surely aren't mine," the knight replied.

The trail led straight out of the valley and was easily traceable; whoever had been walking here clearly did not care if they were followed. There was a wealth of broken branches and deep footfalls, as well as a curious indentation along the right side of the tracks, reminiscent of a walking stick. Suspicion tugged at Arthur's thoughts.

At the crest of the valley, the footprints turned into hoof prints. "He continued on from here on horseback," the king murmured.

"This is where we left our horses," Gwaine said, nodding.

"Then let us retrieve ours."

The king and his knights chased the trail across the moor. Arthur tried to keep his thoughts focused on the hunt, blocking out suspicions and doubts and fears that threatened to invade. He did not want to question what Merlin had been doing in that magic-ridden cave, when the manservant should have been by his master's side. He did not want to wonder what force had blown the rocks away, or the fact that he and his knights were currently making their way back towards Camlann.

In short time, the knights came upon the perpetrator of the tracks, a brown horse tied to a gnarled tree. "This is Merlin's!" said Leon, and they all jumped down from their mounts. Arthur approached the mare, who calmly greeted him, snuffling at his outstretched hand. The blonde royal rubbed his hand absently over the horse's snout, looking about for any sign of the manservant. The man's bags were still strapped to the saddle - even his canteen had been left behind.

"Sire, more footprints," said Leon, pointing towards the cliff nearby. Arthur and the other knights rushed to follow them to the edge of the ground.

And Arthur found himself looking out across the battlefield of Camlann. The corpses stretched beneath them, dragonfire still burning in the darkening air. From this spot, Arthur could see the entire pass, a perfect vantage point. It was exactly this spot where Dragoon had first appeared, calling off the white dragon and raining blue lightning on Camelot's enemies. Arthur had seen the man here.

"The old sorcerer..." the king whispered. "Then where did Merlin go?"

"Arthur?" a voice called from behind he group, as if on cue. Arthur spun around. There, tending to his horse, was the black-haired manservant, looking dirty and haggard, but entirely in one piece.

"Merlin!" Arthur stood, gaping for several seconds, until his jaw righted itself and his expression dropped into one of anger. He stormed up to the other man, who flinched and curled away. "Where in the world have you been? You realize we just chased you across the wilderness - only it was more like a wild goose chase, seeing as you were here this whole time!"

"Sire, I... I can, uh..."

"Vital ingredients, Merlin? Is that what you call seeking out a sorcerer? Vital ingredients?"

"Seeking out a - what?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I know you're the one who brought Dragoon to Camelot - it's obvious! We followed his tracks here all the way from that crystal cave. He even rode your horse!"

"I can explain," Merlin stammered, eyes not meeting Arthur's, thin fingers twisting together.

Arthur took both of his hands and placed them on Merlin's shoulders, not unlike what Dragoon had done to him only several hours earlier. Expression stern, he said, "Merlin, do you realize that you just saved Camelot?"

"I... Wait, I did what?"

Arthur laughed, grinning at Merlin's pale and befuddled face. He patted the young manservant on the shoulder, nearly knocking the smaller man down. "If you hadn't gone to ask that sorcerer for help, we would surely have met our doom. I understand why you lied to me - I never would have let you go if you had told me your true intentions. Merlin, what you did was very brave. We owe you our lives, as much as we do Dragoon."

The other knights gathered around Merlin, similarly patting his back and offering their compliments. Arthur laughed again, amazed that he had ever doubted his friend's loyalty or courage, glad he now had the chance to amend his cruel words from before. "Come, let us return to the camp!"

Next update: In my heart of hearts, I intend to update this story on Tuesday, Feb. 18.