Part I: A Game for an Heir

Chapter 9: The Mark of Nimueh

"We can't stay here," Arthur said. They sat side by side, backs to the one-eyed statue's base, legs outstretched in the shadow that lengthened imperceptibly, the half-empty bucket between them.

"Why not?" Merlin said, his voice without energy. "I find I lack any inclination even to get up."

"Well, not everyone can be as lazy as you," Arthur teased, elbowing the young sorcerer in the ribs. He'd watched Merlin's recovery closely, and was now comfortable in the assurance that there was no lasting damage done.

"Lazy, that's nice," Merlin scoffed. "If the poison had killed me, would you have called me a hero?"

"Of course," Arthur said. In his opinion, Merlin had been a hero all day, since – well, probably since he'd volunteered to leave his village.

"But since I'm alive, I'm lazy?"

"As a cat in the sun," Arthur said.

Merlin groaned. "You have no idea how tempting that sounds right now."

"You could turn yourself into a cat?" Arthur said surprised. He watched as the spectators grew more restless, many to the point of getting up and moving up and down the rows to stretch their muscles. It's funny, he thought, at this point in the afternoon we only want to sit still – and that's the one thing they're tired of doing. He swiveled his head to check their periphery for the last sorceress once again.

"Probably." Merlin's eyes were closed, his skin so pale it was almost translucent. "I don't know a spell for it, though."

"It's not much of a strategy, anyway," Arthur said. "I think, Merlin, we probably need to be up and moving, when you feel strong enough. I doubt they let us sit here much longer – we're not entertaining anyone, and we're not getting any closer to finishing the contest."

"You don't think she'd eventually come after us?" Merlin murmured. "We seem to have managed to attract just about everyone else."

"We have, haven't we?" Arthur realized. "Are you the draw for trouble?"

"Why does it have to be me?" Merlin complained. "I think it's you."

"Out of twelve combatants in the arena, and nine dead," Arthur said, "we're responsible for eight of those. That's terrible luck, Merlin, and you know it."

Merlin was silent for a moment. "There's something wrong with us," he said, trying to make a joke, but his voice was husky and his tone was off. "It was worth it, though – swear to me it was worth it?"

"We're not done yet," Arthur reminded him. "But for the record, Merlin, you're one of the bravest men I've ever met, and a noble warrior. You fought in defense of your life and mine, and you've nothing to be sorry for or ashamed about, you hear me?"

"Yeah," Merlin said, and cleared his throat. "Yeah."

A loud authoritative voice hailed them from the stands. The knight who'd signed their names to the list of combatants – only yesterday! – waved for their attention. "Three combatants remain," he called, holding up gloved fingers to make sure they understood. "The king has decreed that all fighters make their way to the center of the arena to force the conclusion."

"Or else what?" Arthur muttered rebelliously.

"Thank you, Sir Leon," Merlin called back, moving to climb to his feet.

Arthur stood first, and assisted the younger man in regaining his balance, retrieving the charred white-wood staff for Merlin to lean on. "What is it with you and names, Merlin?" he said. "You know everybody in Camelot?"

Merlin gave him a wide brilliant smile. "No, just the important ones," he said, beginning to shuffle toward the center of the arena.

"Hey, take it easy," Arthur said. "Wait a minute. How are you doing really? Are you ready for this?"

Merlin shrugged. "Just feel a little weak and shaky," he said. "I'm all right."

Arthur stepped into the lead, proceeding cautiously in case the last sorceress waited to ambush them. "What do you think?" he said. "Shall we split up, take her from both sides? You hold her attention, I'll come up from behind?"

"I think she has something else in mind." Arthur paused to look back at his friend. "The poisoned water in the well – it's a result of sorcery. I think she's made an afanc."

"An – afanc?" Arthur said. "I've never heard of an afanc."

"It's a beast conjured by powerful magic, dark magic," Merlin said. "It's made of earth and water, two of the four base elements."

Arthur gripped the hilt of his sword at his side. "How many of these creatures can we expect?" he said.

"I hope only one," Merlin answered. "It's a spell that uses the caster's blood, so she weakens herself in making more, not to mention that after the first, the water source is polluted. A second or third creature would be much weaker itself, and might not be worth wasting blood and strength to make. What?"

Arthur had stopped to stare at the farm boy, leaning on the charred white staff like an old man. "Had much experience with them, have you?"

Merlin gave him that wide beautiful smile. "No, sorry – it's book theory."

"So she wants me to fight this creature while the two of you have your sorcerer's battle?" Arthur said. "How can she know we're still working as a team? How can she know there's only three of us left?"

Merlin grimaced, and motioned for Arthur to continue on, making their way toward the center of the arena, stone by stone, statue to statue, ready for the sorceress' ambush. "She used the other well to cast the spell and form the afanc," he said. "She's probably scryed us all in the water, she's had the time and opportunity."

"She can see us right now?" Arthur said, halting behind a twice-life-size statue of a seated griffon.

"Not if she's been told to go to the center of the arena also," Merlin said. "Why lug a bucket of water around with you when you know where your enemies have to go, and soon?"

They edged to the corner of the statue, and Arthur leaned around it. "There's the center," he said. "I don't see her, yet." He eased his sword from its sheath at his side. "Right, then, anything special I need to know about this afanc?"

"The other two elements will destroy it," Merlin said. "You want fire, wind and fire."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Where am I about to get fire?" he hissed, spreading his arms to remind the boy where they were.

Merlin considered, then handed the wooden staff to him. "I'll light it for you," he said simply.

"And the sword is useless?" Arthur considered again, how lucky he was to have Merlin fighting for him – never in a million years would he have been able to hold out against the sorcery performed against him in this arena.

"It could keep the afanc from getting close enough to injure you," Merlin suggested.

Arthur took a deep breath. "Are you ready?" he said. Merlin chuckled, and it had a desperate sound to it, to Arthur's ears. He looked again at his friend. Merlin, it seemed, could be nervous as a girl, given too much time to contemplate impending danger, but had proven remarkably level-headed once battle had been joined.

"You'll do fine," Arthur said, gripping Merlin's good arm. "I believe in you."

Merlin met his eyes, and calmed. "I believe in you," he said.

"Let's go meet our destiny, then," Arthur said.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin wished he still had the staff, something to grip in his hands. He felt decidedly vulnerable, following Arthur empty-handed as the golden-haired warrior crept forward, sword and staff at the ready.

Arthur began to circle to the right, but Merlin continued straight on, maneuvering toward the center of a ring of broken stone – he recognized the pieces of the lion-headed, snake-tailed equine creature Nimueh had been riding. She wasn't visible yet.

A growling noise rumbled behind them, and he resisted the urge to turn as Arthur spun about – the creature was Arthur's job, the sorceress Merlin's. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed talon-fingered claws, ropy sand-colored arms, and a wide mouth with rows of jagged teeth. It swiped at Arthur, who leaned back to avoid the claws, spinning to bring his sword to bear – and it was gone by the time he completed the turn.

"Where is it?" Merlin said.

"It's – quick!" Arthur gasped. "I think it went – down in the sand!"

Behind Arthur, the sand bubbled like the water of a trickling brook, as if something large swam below the arena floor, from Arthur's feet and away, the same growling sound ominous in the silence. No one was cheering. The air was completely still – Merlin tested it, recognized the sorceress' hold. Wind and fire, he'd told Arthur. But she was holding the wind.

"There," Merlin said, pointing, while trying to look all around for Nimueh.

Arthur turned again, as the sand erupted to the creature's bellowing and slashing – Arthur slashed it hard with the sword. It was as if he'd aimed a blow at swamp water or a sand dune – the blade passed right through, barely leaving a mark, and the two sides met and re-formed easily. Arthur cursed again as the creature sank below the sand, which rippled away toward the nearest statue, clearly trying to lure the warrior from the sorcerer's side.

"You have to go after it," Merlin said.

"I don't want us to be too far apart," Arthur growled back.

"I don't think she's coming out while you're here," Merlin said. His heart was pounding, trying to watch all sides at once.

Arthur began to pace forward, keeping off the sand which had shifted at the creature's passing. Overhead, dark clouds began to gather, forming and floating from all corners of the sky, drawn to the center over the arena like murky water going down a drainage hole. Arthur reached the edge of the statue's head-height base, gave Merlin a backward glance, then rounded the statue.

"Hello, Merlin." Suddenly, she was there, casually stroking the stone lion's head. Her blue turban was gone, her hair dark and long and curly, with beads threaded into it to separate the locks. "Do you know who I am?"

"Nimueh," he said, his throat dry.

"Have you considered my offer?" she said coyly, leaning against the stone in clear invitation, tossing her hair back. "I can feel your power, you know. Can you feel mine?"

He could, he realized, it was like a revolting pull somewhere in his middle. He glanced to the side as Arthur came into view again, creeping warily, searching for the hidden afanc, and the pull he felt from her disappeared.

"He's nothing compared to us, you know," she said. "Come, now, we are too valuable to each other to be enemies."

"Cornelius and Edwin said the same thing," he said. "They are dead now."

Her red lips smiled provocatively. "I can offer something they could not," she said. "You and I, we can both walk from this arena. As king and queen, we could share the throne."

Two heirs. He wondered if it would be allowed. Perhaps if they were bound in marriage before walking off the sand. He shuddered. His instinct to live was stronger than he had thought, but the idea of being bound to this woman for the rest of their lives was not preferable to death.

"No, I will share nothing with you," he said. "I will make Arthur king, and you will never see that day." He struck, quickly, razoring her hold on the air, and a wind began to whip round the arena. The sand just behind Arthur billowed, and he spun. The creature, looking like a grotesque parody of a man on crouched legs and knuckles, crept out from behind the statue.

Nimueh's smile faltered, just a little. She tipped her head up to the sky, where the dark clouds roiled and twisted. She spoke her spell quietly, calmly, "Tidrenas." Rain began to fall, a mist, a drizzle, a downpour.

Merlin heard the growl as a faint thunder; he could see the monster drooling from where he was. Arthur retreated, slashing again and again as the rain poured down, strengthening the creature and drenching everything else.

In front of him, the sorceress rubbed her palm against the air in a small sensual circle. "Your childish tricks are useless against me, Merlin," she told him, in the voice of one lover scolding another fondly. "Forbearne." He dove to the sand and the fireball exploded against a chunk of stone behind him, casting rocky splinters everywhere as her power bored a hole straight through the statue. "You should join me," she said, balancing a second fireball despite the downpour, as he scrambled up to face her.

"You think I would join forces with such a selfish and cruel magic?" he said. Behind her, Arthur retreated from the snarling afanc, his sword useless, the staff still in his hand. I'll light it for you. He spoke, pushing his hand toward Nimueh – "Astrice!" She dodged as a bolt of golden light from his palm shot across the arena – missing her, it caught at the top of the staff in Arthur's hand.

Wind gusted as the afanc struck, shrieking, and the fire he'd conjured blew in a great aerial inferno, engulfing the monster.
"Akwele!" Nimueh cried, and the fireball exploded on his chest, over his heart. He had the sense of being airborne for an instant before slamming back down to the sand so hard he couldn't breathe. He smelled the leather of his protecting vest smoking, heard Arthur shout his name, heard the sorceress' voice even closer.

"Pity," Nimueh said. "Together we could have ruled the world. So be it." She spoke again, and this time he heard the words of the death-chant. Merlin opened his eyes – she was not looking at him. Arthur. He turned his head, and saw the golden warrior fall.

Merlin's magic was powerful, as they all had said. But it was a talent raw, untrained. Instinctive. His magic reached out, and the world froze around them. He gazed up into the sky, into the storm, and beckoned, coaxing the wild energy down – and the bolt crashed into the arena.

"You should not have killed my friend," Merlin said, and the sorceress exploded in a flash of blue screaming light.

A/N: Dialogue and spells taken from Season 1 ep.3 "The Mark of Nimueh" and ep.13 "Le Morte d'Arthur".

And before you complain about a cliffie, stop and think about both Hunger Games and these episodes!... although, I don't write slash…