A work based on Episodes 12 & 13, Season Five: "The Diamond of the Day Part 1 & Part 2", and continuing on after the finale, with a different ending. A Multi-chapter work.

This work is entirely my own, based on the characters established by BBC's Merlin. I do not own any of the characters, and am not making any money from this fiction. It is created purely for my own, and others' enjoyment.

Dialogue taken from 'Diamond of the Day Part One'

A/N There will probably be another 6 – 8 chapters devoted to expanding the events shown in the Finale. After that, I have many ideas on where to take the story. Updates may be at irregular intervals, but will be a minimum of one per week, sometimes more.

Let me know what you think so far? I am incorporating many different ideas to explain the happenings of the program, that I feel were left hanging.

JessieDog 'woof'

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FACETS OF A DIAMOND

Chapter: Four

Head down, Merlin held his torch out to the right as far as he could to avoid blinding himself. He was now reduced to crawling on all fours, or technically all threes, as one hand was engaged holding the light. It would have been so much easier if he was able to create his floating blue bubble that would follow him, lighting wherever he needed. Being without magic was annoying.

Stopping for a moment, Merlin quieted. Last time he'd been here, the power of the place had radiated through him. Closing his eyes, Merlin reached for the sense of his magic within him. He'd avoided doing this for the past few days, trying to avoid the pain that failure brought. Surely here, where he'd nearly been knocked off his feet by the potency of feeling a few years ago, he would be able to sense something.

Panting, he eventually gave up. He was as blind, as dumb and unfeeling as before. Sighing, he continued on, having no other course of action to choose from. Reaching a place where he could thankfully stand, Merlin arched his back to remove the kinks. A breeze wafted past him gently, then more strongly, snuffing his torch.

"Emrys…." A taunting voice echoed.

"Over here, Emrys." From a different direction. The voice was Morganas, and turning, Merlin drew Gwaine's sword. He doubted he would get close enough to use it, but it was his only method of defending himself. Blinded in the utter darkness, he taunted. "I see you, Morgana." This would be his first meeting with his arch-enemy since she'd found out he was Emrys, her nemesis. In a perverse way, Merlin was looking forward to it.

Morgana's taunts continued, switching from one place to another in the cavern, and Merlin demanded "Face me, Morgana! FACE me!"

A few seconds later, he mocked "Why do you hide? Are you still afraid of me?"

Finally revealing her position behind Merlin, Morgana spat "I fear no-one. Least of all you."

Gauging the distance by voice alone, Merlin whirled, bringing his weapon to bear as he did so. He was rewarded with a grunt from his enemy as she fell back, cradling an arm across her waist where he had wounded her. Arthur would have been proud at the elegance of his footwork, the speed of his attack, and the strength he was able to put behind it.

Holding the sword to keep her at arm's length, Merlin watched as Morgana straightened with a laugh. Chortling in joy she declared "You have defied me for the last time, Emrys" and backed slowly away though a natural archway. Unsettled, Merlin watched, numbed, as Morgana suddenly extended her arms, and shouted aloud a spell. In the darkness, the golden flare of her eyes was plain to see as she conjured down the ceiling.

Coughing, Merlin backed away. Dust rose as huge rocks and small pebbles fell, roared and rattled. Instinctively he backed as far as he could, protecting his head with his hands, waiting for the noise to stop. Using his sleeve, Merlin tried to filter particles from the air as he breathed shallowly, lungs objecting to the rock dust.

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North of Camelot, Sir Leon and Sir Percival crouched on a ridge, overlooking the pass beneath them. An army of Saxons passed there; well-provisioned and far larger than they had anticipated.

"We must get word to Arthur. They will reach Camlann by sun-down tomorrow. And they outnumber us five to one." Was Leon's assessment.

Nodding curtly, Percival spun in place, and crawled quietly to the horses.

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Bruised and battered, Merlin came back to himself. Either his eyes had acclimatised, or the Cave was not as dark as he thought, for he could make out the vague shapes of rocks and walls surrounding him. He could almost feel the weight above pressing down. Stilling again, he reached for his magic. Again nothing. Frustrated, he decided that he'd better do what he could to escape in the natural way, since the super-natural seemed to have deserted him.

The Cave was cold, and Merlin was sure that, if he could see, there would be ribbons of mist rising from his breath. Shaking, fighting his cold-locked body, he scrambled to his feet. Working by feel, sound and limited sight, he attempted to scale the loose-packed rock-fall sealing him in. He succeeded mostly in dislodging small pebbles and raising more dust. Panicking, he scrabbled desperately at the wall, lifting nails and peeling skin away as he did so.

Losing the few feet of height he'd been able to gain Merlin collapsed to the base of the rocks. Sobs broke from his chest, the agony of defeat rushing through him. With nobody near, nobody to see or hear him, he gave vent to his feelings. Not only the fact that he was locked away from his goal, but the incredible grief he'd endured and hidden for the last days. Of all the people he knew, only Gaius could have any inkling of what Merlin had suffered. And even Gaius could not really understand: compared to Emrys, Gaius' magic was a short-lived spark against the power of the sun.

Morgana had won. She'd stripped him of his power, and entombed him, still alive, in his grave. Mordred was leading an army on his King; towards a place that had been foretold would be Arthur's doom. And there was nothing. NOTHING. He could do.

Howling in agony, Merlin pounded his fist against a boulder, splitting the skin open and splattering the rocks with his blood. Resting his torn cheek against the stone, exhaustion, pain and grief pulled him into a type of slumber.

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Gaius sat, making remedies using his portable physician's kit. His hands performed the functions automatically, as his mind was occupied by thought of his ward. Guinevere sat beside him, rolling linen into bandages.

Footsteps, and Gaius looked up into Arthur's face.

"Vital supplies." The King stated with deliberation.

Gaius needed no further explanation: he'd seen the depth of Arthur's pain at Merlin's abandonment. Eyes flicking towards Gwen, Gaius pulled out his best 'innocent' expression. He'd gotten very practised at this particular affectation since taking on Merlin's care all those years ago.

Stalling, Gaius answered the unasked question: "I'm sorry Sire, I must take the blame. I cannot treat the wounded without sufficient medicine." Gaius could tell that Arthur was not convinced.

Arthur grimaced, and moved away. Gwen chimed in, "I'm not sure he believed you, Gaius." Sighing, she added, "I'm not sure I do, either."

Challenging the older man, she stated "I know how devoted Merlin is to Arthur. He would never leave him, not at a time like this. Not for a mere errand. Not unless there was something else." Gwen pled for the truth with her eyes. "Something he doesn't feel able to talk about?"

Torn, hurt by the disappointment and confusion displayed by the two Royals, Gaius was sorely tempted to reveal, at least to Guinevere, the true state of things. Leaning forward, he spoke in a low voice "My Lady, there is something else. Something of the very greatest importance. And I dearly wish I could tell you what it is, but I cannot. For reasons that affects us all."

Gwen nodded, unhappy, but accepting. "Then there is nothing more to be said." Internally, she continued to wrestle with the problem. 'What could be so important that nobody can know? What is it that must be kept in secret? What would cause Merlin, the most loyal man I have ever had dealings with, to desert Arthur now?' Gwen continued "Except, whatever it is, I wish him luck."

'No more than I, My Lady.' The elderly physician sighed, and returned to his work. He expected many casualties on the morrow.

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Waking, Merlin had no way to gauge how much time had passed. Looking about his prison as best he could, be once more applied himself to the task of escaping so he could help Arthur escape his prophesied fate. As he glanced around, he noted a patch on the opposite wall. Not so much a patch of light, but a place of slightly less darkness than the surrounding space. Having no better goal at the present, he staggered to his feet to investigate.

Pain lanced through every part of his body as he scaled the fallen rubble. He sported a multitude of strains, bruises and scrapes. He knew he had grazes over his face, as he could feel the stickiness where blood had dried, and the enormous pain of his split right had was a massive handicap. Still, he struggled on. Until his feet gave way beneath him once more, and he fell to the floor of the Cave, exhausted by the effort and pain.

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Arthur, Leon, Percival & Gawain rode to survey the proposed battleground. Camlann was a small field perhaps 100 feet across, nestled between walls of granite. The far wall rose sheer, the workings of past mining visible along it. Arthur thought it was entirely probable that the very stones of Camelot had been mined from this place. To either side, more sloping banks of scree rose, dotted with grasses which helped anchor the rocks.

"It ends here." He stated. "Whether life, or death, it ends here." Wheeling his horse, Arthur moved to make a minute examination of the ground. Every advantage possible would be taken.

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A musical chord in the darkness brought Merlin away from the wandering thoughts and images behind his eyes. It was a sound he had heard before, but only rarely. The sound of Crystal singing. Groaning, he opened his eyes, and was greeted by an outcropping of the precious substance. He was not yet in the Cave itself, but in one of the offshoots. Resting, he sighed at having reached one of his goals.

"Merlin…" a voice whispered. A familiar voice. In the times he'd heard Crystal Song, he'd never heard it form words before. Groggy, he opened his eyes and spoke the first word his brain sent to his lips: "Father."

Rolling his head towards the sound of the words, he beheld what he'd never dreamed was possible. The father he'd known for less than two days stood before him, whole, strong, and shining, in the midst of the Crystals growing from the walls. Merlin was not sure if Balinor glowed from the Crystals, or they glowed from Balinor, but the light was bright, and somehow warm in it's silvery character.

"My son." The shade greeted, smiling.

"Are you here?" Merlin rasped, voice and throat damaged by dust and hours of weeping. "Are you real?"

The cryptic answer came "Dead or alive, real or imagined, past or present. These things are of no consequence. All that matters is that you heed the words of your Father who loves you." Balinor's voice was gentle, the familiar lilting accent giving a friendly feel to the words. "Do not let go, Merlin. Do not give in."

"I have no reason to go on." Breathing was painful; were there broken ribs as well? "The battle is already over. Morgana has won." Tears once again leaked from his eyes, wetting the dirt floor.

"Only if you accept defeat." The shining visage replied. "But if you fight, if you let hope into your heart Morgana cannot be victorious."

Despair filled the young man once more, and he ground out "What hope is there without my magic?"

Smiling, Balinor knelt beside his son. He must be real: Merlin could see his breath in the Cave. "Merlin. You are more than a son of your father. You are a son of the earth, the sea, the sky. Magic is the fabric of the world. And you were born of that magic."

More tears gathered and fell, as Merlin struggled against the pain in his chest. His eyes were drawn to his Fathers: brown, full of wisdom and power, they were hypnotic. Merlin found himself unable to look away, unable to discount these strange words.

"You are Magic Itself. You cannot lose what you are."

Daring to hope, Merlin asked the question which haunted him. "How do I find myself? Again?"

The strong, dark voice sounded once more, strengthened by the background of Crystal Song: "Believe, Merlin. Believe what your heart knows to be true. That you have always been. That you always will be."

Merlin echoed the words out loud, confirming something he had begun to suspect. "I always will be." The thought was a blessing and a curse at the same time. While he could not be killed by Morgana, or any other mortal person, witch or sorcerer, he would still lose that which he loved most. He would outlive all those who made his existence worthwhile. Outliving Gaius was a matter of form, and to be expected. But to watch strong Arthur, beautiful good-heated Gwen, and fun-loving Gwaine age, grow old and leave him while he stayed behind might be more than he could bear. He had no wish to live to be as old as Kilgarrah.

Interrupting this train of thought, Balinor once again spoke: "Rest now, my son. You shall awaken into the light."

Comforted, resting on his Father's words, Merlin once more slipped into darkness. Only this darkness was warm, healing, and wholesome. The sound of Crystal Song strengthened, running through his body as he lay on the floor of the Cave, fine vibrations barely discernible. A single note, of unearthly beauty, which grew into a chord. Another note began, from another corner, and harmonies, interwoven, filled the silence. Merlin recalled a saying from when he was a young child: that if you listened hard enough, you could hear the music the stars made as they moved in the sky. (1) Merlin believed that, right now, this music could only be made by something as incredible, as original and enigmatic as the movement of stars in the sky.

The sound grew, note upon note, chord upon chord, until the mountain fairly vibrated with it. A cacophony of sound, far beyond the ability of mortal ears to hear and endure, it somehow brought peace to the wounded man. Ice-cold in clarity, each note individual and distinct, yet woven into an almost living entity, it was the sound of Magic Itself. And he that was born of Magic bathed in it, taking it into the very pores of his body, where it permeated every sinew, every cell, and every molecule.

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(1) Idea taken from Mary Stewart's Novel "The Crystal Cave" published 1970. Book One in her "Arthurian Saga" which consists of The Crystal Cave, The Hollow Hills, The Last Enchantment, and followed later by The Wicked Day.