Finally, I finished the chapter! This was quite hard to write, but hopefully it's still good :D

/SO PUMPED FOR THE MERLIN FINALE. ACTUALLY JUMPING UP AND DOWN.

Thanks and Merry Christmas, all my lovely readers~

Please REVIEW - I really want to know if you think this story's going at the right pace, and if the characterisation seems realistic. And if you're enjoying it!


It was a quiet journey back to Camelot, but that didn't mean that it was a calm one.

Arthur rode them at a relentless pace, his eyes fixed on the horizon, never speaking. He was lost in his own thoughts – overwhelmed by the threat that loomed over them, his mind had already begun simulating possible scenarios in his head, analysing the best attack strategy for an opponent he knew nothing about. He didn't want to think about having to break the news to his father.

Gwaine was glaring daggers into Arthur's back, still fuming at the way he'd acted towards Merlin, keeping his mouth clamped firmly shut apart from the occasional angry grunt that escaped his lips.

Merlin was concentrating on simply keeping his eyes open and his seat in the saddle.

The others rode along in silence, the tension in the air enough to deter them from speaking – they couldn't shake the feeling that if they opened their mouths they'd be unleashing a storm much worse than the silence they rode in now. Besides, Arthur's news of the threat lay heavy at the forefront of their minds – that in itself gave them enough to chew on as they completed the long journey back to the castle.


As Arthur walked out of the throne room he couldn't shake the feeling of intense dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

All things considered, he mused, his father had taken the news reasonably well.

"What of your patrol? I trust it went well?"

If only his father wouldn't begin like that, setting him up for a fall. Like he expected to be disappointed.

"Well, Sire, we have obtained information on an … attack planned for Camelot," he began. Uther looked up, his eyed narrowed, as if warning his son that this news had better be good news otherwise he would not be pleased.

"An attack?"

Arthur swallowed, trying to keep his voice as impassive as possible as he spoke the next few fatal words.

"An attack led by Morgana."

He watched as his father's eyes hardened, turning stormy.

"You dare speak her name in my court?" Uther hissed, his face visibly reddening.

Arthur swallowed again.

"She is leading the attack on us, Sire."

There was a moment's silence as Arthur's words slowly broke through the haze of anger in Uther's mind, the severity of the situation bringing him back down to reality, to his duty.

"What information?"

Arthur searched for the right words to convey the events to his father – under the intensity of Uther's gaze he felt like a child again: standing there, ashamed, and stumbling over a story that simply ended in him disappointing his father once again. It was something he hadn't felt for many years.

"The sorcerer in the woods attacked us – he drew me out, told me he'd been sent by … Morgana … to deliver a message regarding an attack planned on Camelot."

Uther regarded him coldly.

"Where is that information now?"

The temperature in the room dropped a couple of degrees.

"I was attacked, knocked out by the sorcerer's magic. My servant, Merlin –"

Arthur paused, unsure of how to phrase this. In this mood, if his father got even the faintest idea that Merlin was responsible for the lack of information he wouldn't hesitate in having the boy severely punished. So severely that Arthur may never see him again.

No matter how angry he was with Merlin, deep down Arthur knew that it wasn't really his fault that they were now in this situation – to be honest, a voice piped up in the back of his mind, if it wasn't for Merlin, you wouldn't be standing here in the first place.

"–he tried to attack the sorcerer, stop him from killing me, with no regard to his own safety. The sorcerer fled, and Merlin couldn't chase after him because he needed to stay by my side whilst I was … incapacitated. "

"And the information?"

Arthur felt his cheeks begin to burn in shame, but he held his father's gaze all the same.

"We – we don't have it, Sire."

Arthur had gotten out of there as soon as possible.


The first that Gaius knew of the knight's return to Camelot was a loud shout of "Gaius?" followed by a muffled thump and what sounded like someone making shushing noises.

"I'm in here!" the physician called, carefully placing the glass vial he was holding back onto the table.

Young men, he thought irritably, get far too excited for their own good.

He shook his head, wearily shutting the book he'd been studying. You never saw him parading around the castle like a wild animal, and he was proud of that fact.

There was an almighty crash as the door was thrown open, hitting the wall with such a ferocious slam that Gaius jumped about the foot in the air – he was truly thankful that he'd put the vial on the table, as otherwise his entire day's work would now be pooling out all over the floor.

"Gaius?"

It was Gwaine.

Well, sighed Gaius to himself, it would be, wouldn't it? Only Gwaine could get away with carrying on in the way he does.

"There's no need to shout, I could hear you from all the way down the corridor – in fact, I'd be surprised if there's anyone in the castle that hasn't heard you," he scolded, quickly scooping his bottles off the table – there was no telling what disaster Gwaine would leave in his wake, and Gaius really didn't want another fiasco like the one he had with Merlin the other week.

There were more shuffling sounds from behind him, followed by some soft (and not so soft, in Gwaine's case) mutterings.

That man was almost as bad as Merlin.

"Sir Gwaine," the physician began sharply, turning to face the man, a scowl on his face, "It may interest you to know that some of us actually have work to get on with that requires the utmost concentration– "

The criticism died on his lips as he found himself facing a pale figure literally being held upright between Gwaine and Lancelot, eyes half closed and mumbling incoherently.

It was Merlin.

"Get him onto the bed."

The physician in him had already taken over, the initial shock that he felt taking a back seat to his instincts as he ran a critical eye over the boy's body, searching for symptoms.

"-said 'm fine," the boy slurred as Lancelot carefully lowered him onto the bed, Gwaine hovering close behind.

Gaius ran a hand over the boy's forehead, checking his temperature, and then looked over the rest of him, assessing the situation. He felt cold to the touch, his skin much paler than usual, and it looked like he had trouble keeping his eyes open – it was obvious that he barely had enough energy to form coherent sentences, let alone stand by himself.

"I need blankets."

Lancelot rushed to retrieve some from Merlin's chambers, covering the boy in them. Merlin was much calmer now, finally being able to succumb to the sleep that had been threatening to overwhelm him ever since the battle, and Gaius eyed him with concern.

Satisfied that Merlin was in no immediate danger, the physician turned to the two men – Gwaine looked as if he wanted to punch someone, pacing angrily up and down, and Lancelot was doing his best to placate him.

"What happened?"

"Arthur happened, that's what!" snarled Gwaine, his eyes flashing.

Gaius looked at him in confusion.

"Prince Arthur?" he asked incredulously.

"If the 'Prince' hadn't been such a pig, if he actually had the decency to -"

"Gwaine," warned Lancelot, casting a meaningful look at Gaius, "I don't think you're really telling Gaius the whole story here."

Gaius understood.

"What Merlin really needs now is sleep," Gaius interjected as Gwaine began to grumble again, "Sleep in peace and quiet."

Gwaine looked at him, as if unsure at what he was trying to get at.

"Thank you for bringing him here," Gaius continued more kindly, "And, despite his protesting, I know that Merlin will appreciate it when he wakes up, but right now it would probably be best if you just let him sleep."

Gwaine looked sheepish, his anger abating slightly. He cleared his throat.

"Well then … just tell him not to give us a shock like that again."

Gaius nodded his thanks, and Gwaine cast one more look at his sleeping friend before stomping out. Lancelot hoped that he didn't meet Arthur on the way.

"Now, Lancelot, what has this got to do with Arthur?"

Gaius was looking at him with such confusion, Lancelot almost wanted to laugh – Gwaine certainly had painted a very one-sided view of things.

"Nothing, really. We were attacked by a sorcerer and his men, and Arthur ran off somewhere and Merlin followed, like usual. Arthur just had … other things to worry about on the way back, and was pretty harsh towards Merlin. Harsher than he deserved. Even I think that Arthur overstepped the mark, but Gwaine – well, he went off the deep end."

Gaius could understand that.

"But what has this got to do with Merlin being in this condition?"

"When I found Merlin, he was collapsed at the bottom of a tree. He told me he'd done some kind of enchantment – Arthur had been knocked out, and the sorcerer was about to kill both of them. He said he'd … consumed the man with fire. He seemed really disturbed by what he'd done."

Gaius stared at the sleeping boy. Merlin barely had enough magic to light a candle – how on earth did he manage to destroy a sorcerer? And with fire … he couldn't have done that intentionally. Of course it would've rattled the boy – being burnt alive was a nightmare too close to home for him and others of his kind.

"He didn't even have enough energy to make it to the horses without my help, but I can't see any injuries – he just kept saying that he was really tired."

Lancelot looked at Gaius, his dark eyes full of concern.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing serious, I don't think. Merlin does genuinely just seem to be tired – he may have collapsed from exhaustion, or something similar."

Lancelot smiled, running a hand through his hair.

"That's good then."

They stood there in silence for a while, each man's thoughts drifting off in a different direction, but both of them centred around the sleeping boy that lay in front of them, blissfully unaware.


"Gaius?"

Merlin stood in the doorway, the blankets still wrapped around his shoulders. The colour had returned to his cheeks, and he certainly felt much more awake than during the rest of the day.

Gaius looked up from the book he was reading, and motioned for the boy to come and sit down. Pushing away the mountain of books that littered the table, Merlin rested his head on his hands, staring absent-mindedly into the candlelight as he waited for Gaius to finish the last line of text.

Gaius went straight to the point, still somehow managing to sound slightly accusatory even though this time Merlin couldn't really see what he'd done that meant that he was in the wrong.

"What happened, Merlin? You had very little magic, almost nothing, and yet Lancelot tells me that you managed to defeat a fully-grown sorcerer?"

Merlin closed his eyes, his mind drifting as he remembered the feeling of pure power that coursed through his being, power that he could almost lose himself in.

Then he remembered the pain.

"I don't know," he said at last. "At first I couldn't – I tried everything, nothing was working, and … I realised that we really were going to die if I didn't do something."

Merlin smiled awkwardly.

"It sounds stupid, but I kind of reached inside myself, trying to find my magic. And I did – I found this immense power, all inside me, and when I used it, it just felt … amazing, unlike anything I'd felt before."

Gaius studied his ward closely, sensing something was amiss.

"And that was it? It came back just like that?" he asked cautiously, not missing how, beneath his chin, Merlin's hands began to shake slightly.

"Not quite."

Merlin suddenly found the table very interesting, studying it intently with eyes filled with confusion and the memory of a pain that felt ingrained in the very substance of his bones.

"It hurt, Gaius. It wasn't right. When I released it, it felt like … like I was being ripped apart."

Gaius opened his mouth to interrupt, but Merlin quickly carried on, not meeting his eyes.

"It went away though – I mean, it stopped as soon as the enchantment was finished, and I just felt tired after that. So everything's fine, really."

Gaius pursed his lips.

"I don't think that you arriving back half-dead qualifies as 'fine', Merlin. You couldn't even walk."

"But I can now," said Merlin indignantly, "Look!" He stood up, the blankets around his shoulders falling to the floor, and proceeded to agitatedly pace backwards and forwards in front of the table. "See?"

Gaius sighed in exasperation. "Yes, Merlin, I think you've demonstrated that you've regained the use of your legs quite thoroughly–"

"Oh really?" Merlin didn't stop pacing. "Are you sure?"

"Yes – would you please stop your ridiculous pacing? It's making me dizzy."

Merlin stopped, his face serious.

"Because, I could always dance for you, if you needed any further proof–"

"Your dancing is definitely something I'd rather not be subjected to right now, Merlin."

Merlin grinned at him and, as much as he tried not to, Gaius couldn't resist giving him a grudging one in return.

"If you're not going to give me anything sensible," the physician scolded, the smile still on his face, "then you may as well go off to bed."

"But I was just in bed," grumbled Merlin, pouting slightly.

Gaius gave him the eyebrow.

"Fine then."

The boy trudged sulkily back to his chamber, his head down, the prospect of more 'sleep' not appealing to him at all.

"Oh, and, Merlin?"

He turned.

"I think it would be best you didn't try any magic for a while."

"Why? Have you found something?"

"I just think that, based on recent events, it would be best to refrain from using your magic until we've worked out exactly why it reacted like it did. You may not be so lucky next time."

Merlin grunted in reply, shutting the door behind him.

Truth be told, Gaius had started forming a theory – the details were sketchy, but it would explain why Merlin's magic had suddenly begun to reappear. It seemed like his body could sense its lack of magic and was trying to replace it – somehow, whether it was using his excess energy or something else entirely, it seemed to be replenishing his magic. That it in itself seemed to be completely harmless, as he had plenty of excess energy, but when the events of today were factored into the equation –

Gaius wasn't sure exactly what this development meant for Merlin, but it probably wasn't good.


Merlin had fallen back into his old routine the very next day, much to Gaius' exasperation, and blustered bright and early into Arthur's chambers with a ridiculously chirpy greeting of, "I'm glad to see that, in the face of an attack that threatens the livelihood of the kingdom, Camelot's glorious protector is just snoring away whilst the walls could be crumbling down around him."

He snorted, throwing open the curtains so that the sunlight shone right into the Prince's face.

"I bet the rest of the citizens wouldn't feel so safe if they knew what a clotpole you really are."

Arthur's reply was a ton of dirty laundry to the face.

"Oh, I feel really safe now," Merlin mumbled seriously, his mouth full of linen.

He felt a goblet graze his shoulder, and, laughing, he quickly dodged out of the room, the incident in the forest all but forgotten.


The first attack was merely a warning, a glimpse of the horror to come.

For the citizens of Camelot, it began with fires appearing in the night, ravaging the outlying villages, dead bodies littering the borders of the kingdom. The people ran for their lives, fleeing to the main city, their life's possessions burning in front of their eyes in fires that sprang up out of nowhere. Many didn't even make it to the road, men cutting them down before they could even scream.

For Arthur, it began with a patrol going missing, a long night of sitting in the council chamber trying to pinpoint exactly what the threat could be, his mind begging for a hint, for anything.

The patrol was found the next morning, their cloaks stained with blood. The bodies of the villagers and the charred remains of the village were found soon after.

Only one small child, a boy of perhaps eight years, had made it out alive. He was brought into the throne room during the early afternoon, his clothes charred and his feet bloody from running all night through the darkness. Sat in his chair, Uther regarded him distantly, but Arthur couldn't remain so detached – the boy stood motionless, no doubt traumatised by what he'd been through, and Arthur couldn't repress a pang of sympathy for the wide-eyed child.

"What's your name?" he coaxed, kneeling down so that he was at eye-level with the boy.

The child didn't reply, staring at him blankly through haunted eyes.

Standing in the corner, Merlin watched the boy closely. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong here – the child was too pale, too quiet, and completely surrounded by the feeling of death. It emanated off him like heat, oozing out of every pore and filling the room with a dark tension that made Merlin feel queasy. He'd never felt it on a scale like this before, not even on the battlefield.

But that's to be expected, Merlin tried to reassure himself, the whole village was murdered before his eyes. It would be surprising if he didn't feel like death.

"It's alright," Arthur soothed, peering into the boy's eyes, "You're safe now. All I want to know is your name."

There was still no reply.

"What happened?" Slightly unnerved by the boy's relentless gaze, Arthur reached out to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, hoping that the human touch would spark some life into the child.

It did, but not in the way Arthur had been hoping for. The boy suddenly jerked, his head snapping downwards so that he was staring straight at the Prince, and when he spoke it was with a voice that was not his own.

"I bring a message for you," the boy intoned, the voice low and devoid of emotion. "A message from the Lady Morgana."

With a shaking hand he reached into his cloak and pulled out a small roll of parchment, placing it in Arthur's outstretched hand with deliberate care.

At the voice, Arthur involuntarily moved backwards, staring at the boy in confusion. Magic was at work here, he could tell, and it was obvious from the way that his father had motioned for the guards to move closer that he thought it too.

"What is this?"

As soon as the parchment touched the Prince's hand, the small boy's body became rigid, his eyes suddenly rolling back into his head as he crumpled to the floor. Merlin rushed forwards, closely followed by Gaius, rolling the child over so that the physician could easily access his chest. Gaius lowered himself to the ground, placing his ear on the fragile body, listening for any signs of life.

"He's dead, Sire."

Arthur had already turned away, unrolling the parchment that he should have received a few days ago, and handing it to his father. Uther stood there for a moment, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the scrawled words.

"I don't think he was alive when he arrived," muttered Merlin, as Gaius slowly heaved himself up from off the ground.

"I agree with you there, Merlin," Gaius conceded, puffing slightly. He turned to the King.

"Sire, I believe that this boy was possessed by Morgana; a dead body enchanted to do her bidding."

Uther waved his comment away – right now there were more important matters at hand.

"We must prepare our men," he announced, his voice laced with anger, "Camelot has had war announced upon her."

Arthur snatched away the parchment, his eyes quickly scanning its contents, drinking in each word.

My dearest Uther,

You have persecuted my kind and wronged so many in this land – it is only fair that you are made to suffer as we have, to atone for all the crimes you have committed.

I want you to wait in fear, as so many of my kind have, knowing what horrors are promised, yet powerless to prevent them.

You have seven days until Camelot falls and magic is restored to its rightful place – we will kill every single one of your people who stand in our way, be they man, woman or child, so I suggest you be prepared.

I wouldn't want you to miss the dawn of a new era.

Arthur looked up, his gaze finding Merlin's. The expression reflected in Arthur's eyes was one that Merlin had never seen before – it was one of hurt, of disbelief and foreboding. It looked as if, deep down, Arthur had already acknowledged the possibility of defeat, and that possibility made him uneasy.

Arthur's admittance scared Merlin more than any news.