Chapter Nine.

Merlin, Gaius, and the Doctor had managed to sort through three thirds of Gaius' library—provided the book wasn't shredded or torn in two by the Lamenta's attack—in search of any information on their new foe. Gaius was certain he'd read about them in passing once before, and the Doctor was eager to learn, but Merlin grew more restless and impatient with every passing moment. His eyes kept falling back on the statue in the corner of the room, looming over them. He couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn it had moved an inch or two to the left.

"Ah, yes, here it is," Gaius spoke up after a few hours. His thin spectacles were worn over his eyes as he held a thick, leather bound book in one hand and brought it over to the others sitting at the table. "The Lamenta," he explained. "They're creatures of magic; but I'd say we already know that. It says here . . . they were once ordinary women—servants, all of whom betrayed their masters, murdering them for their own freedom. As punishment, they were cursed many years ago by the Fisher King to forever follow and serve the will of another. But their greed and long life twisted them into monsters . . . Apparently, they're magic is through touch, and they have the ability to move at swift speeds, unless someone is looking directly at them, in which case they must slow to a normal pace."

"Well, that's no good," the Doctor said. "What if they're all running around together? How do they know where the other one is if they can't see at each other?" The tone in his voice suggested he already knew the answer.

"I believe they communicate with on another through telepathy," Gaius informed him after consulting the book once more.

The Doctor blew out his lips. "That doesn't really tell us how to stop them, does it?"

"I'm afraid not."

Merlin slouched back in his chair. He was becoming very tired of running around in circles. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd even slept.

"Gaius," he said, trying not to snap. "Do you think Geoffrey would have anything about how to kill them in his records?" He assumed this would be another dead end, but he needed to get Gaius out of the room. Merlin had doubts that had been festering in his mind since the moment Sam arrived in Camelot, doubts he wanted to express, but he wouldn't dare pass them on to Gaius in fear that the man may lose his belief in Camelot, or even in Merlin.

"I'm not sure," Gaius said, seeming to consider the idea. "Of course, I can certainly check."

Merlin nodded, trying to seem polite. "Could you? The Doctor and I will continue on here." Gaius seemed to accept this and took his leave, heading towards the records room.

As soon as he was sure Gaius was out of earshot, the Doctor sat back and looked at Merlin. "Something on your mind, Merlin?" he guessed.

"I just don't see the point," Merlin said instantly, all inhibitions now dropped, and the Doctor gave him a perplexed look. "The others—they didn't even think Camelot existed until they got here. In the future, no one even cares—no one even remembers it. I don't see why I have so much responsibility—it's useless! Why I should fight for Camelot and for Arthur if it won't even matter in the end? If it's not even important?" Merlin didn't know why he was telling the Doctor all this, but he needed someone to talk to, and the Doctor seemed like the man with all the answers.

When Merlin looked at the Doctor, he saw the man gazing at him with soft eyes. "Not important?" he repeated in a voice as soft as his eyes, almost as though he didn't believe what he was hearing. "Is that really what you think?"

Merlin didn't answer; he didn't need to.

"You see, some things," the Doctor began. "Some things are just too extraordinary for people to believe—so they get passed down as legends or stories. But do you really think that makes them any less important? Sometimes stories are more important and teach people more about life than anything in a silly old history book can . . . People will look at what you did here until the end of time. They will make songs and tales and even one or two blockbusters about you—forever . . . And no one will every forget Camelot, or Arthur, or the Knights of the Round Table . . . or you."

Merlin averted his eyes and felt them well up, and he tried his hardest to fight the water from rolling down his cheeks. He hardly believed what the Doctor was telling him, but he felt something that he realized he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

"I should thank you," Merlin told the Doctor with a shuddering breath in, but the Doctor craned his neck to catch Merlin's eyes once more and smiled encouragingly.

"I should thank you."

Merlin covered his lips with his fingers, but he could no longer hold back his smile.


"This place is incredible!" Sam called for the fifth time, his eyes bright and his grin broad as he eyed every nook and cranny of the room. This must have been the tenth room they had searched for the swords, and Sam couldn't believe the sheer size of the spaceship. He had already seen the library, which for some reason had a swimming pool in it; a few bedrooms; and the attic, among other rooms. They found themselves now in the Doctor's study, which Rory said he rarely went in out of respect for the Doctor's privacy, but this would have to be an exception. Sam was glad.

The room was colored the same greenish tint as the rest of the ship, but it was lined with ceiling-to-floor bookshelves, leather chairs, paintings, and a fireplace that didn't seem to have a chimney. The inside of the ship seemed to go on forever, and Sam had to swallow the urge to point out the obvious and say, it's bigger on the inside.

Rory was on the floor sorting through some large black boxes on the bookshelves, as Sam looked around fascinated. "Yeah, it's a different dimension than the rest of the universe. It's a type of technology from where the Doctor's from," Rory told him in a preoccupied tone. "Really, the Doctor just likes it when people point out that it's bigger on the inside."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but then decided against it. Instead, he said, "God, I thought nothing else would be able to surprise me today. I mean, we're in Camelot, after all."

Rory stopped looking for a moment and sat back on his ankles. "There were always rumors of Camelot back in the Middle Ages," he said, almost as though he was recalling a distant memory, "all over the world, but I never took them seriously."

Sam tilted his head at him. "You've been a lot of places in this thing, huh? With the Doctor?"

Rory met his eyes and nodded slowly. "Sorry about him. He comes on a bit strong, but he means well."

"Yeah, I noticed." Sam couldn't help but ask, "Who is he, anyway?"

"Honestly? No idea," he admitted. "I don't think anyone really does. He's not human, I can tell you that much. He's something called a Time Lord." He noticed the look of wonder on Sam's face. "You alright?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't really believe in aliens until that day. "Time Lord. I guess that explains the time travel, huh?"

"Must do, yeah," was the answer. Rory let out a short, soft laugh. "It's funny," he told. "I was training to be a nurse before I met the Doctor; Amy was just a kiss-o-gram . . . That all seems so far away now. I've seen things most people would never believe back home—things right out of a science fiction film. I've been to hell and back. I've died at least six times—" Sam pulled a face; he knew the feeling. "But it's like," Rory continued, "Real life didn't start until we started traveling with the Doctor."

Sam leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest. He wouldn't admit it, but he was somewhat jealous of Rory. In Rory's life, there were no Leviathan, no Michael and Lucifer, no Yellow Eyed Demon; just all of history for the taking. Sam wondered if Rory and Amy knew how lucky they were.

"And I've seen all sorts of sides of him since then," he heard Rory go on. "Sides that are brave and selfless; and I've seen sides that I don't much like, too." He seemed to consider his own words, and then said, "But I trust him—with my life, and I trust him with Amy's. You should, too, you know."

Sam looked to the carpeted floor.

"Look, I'm not saying you have to like him. Just like I'm not saying your brother has to like a wizard," Rory said sensibly. "You're naturally suspicious of people; that's easy to see. I'm sure you have a right to be—as a hunter, or whatever you said you are. But, if we're going to stop whatever it is that's going on here, we have to start trusting one another. We're in this together, you know."

A corner of Sam's lips twitched into a smile for a second. He found himself liking Rory. "Yeah," Sam agreed softly, still looking at the floor. He knew Rory was right. If anything, they were all enemies of the same enemy, and Sam assumed greater alliances had been formed for less. They had begun working with one another the moment that Lamenta opened her mouth, and deep down they all knew it. She had given them a common goal, and if Sam was sure of one thing, it was that each member of their new little army had a knack for taking out the bad guys.

"Ah," Rory said, pulling a long box from a shelf and opening it. From it, he lifted out a short, curved, black blade with a red handle to show Sam. "You think this is it?" he asked.

"Must be," Sam guessed.

"There are only three," Rory informed him, leaving the box on the ground and standing up. "But they're a bit heavy. Now I see why the Doctor sent you." Sam let out a low chuckle at this and shook his head.

"We'd better get back," Rory said, checking his watch. "Must nearly be sun-up by now."

Sam jerked his head back in shock. "What? We've been in here for an hour, tops."

"Time's different in here," Rory said. "Especially when you're acting like a kid in a sweet's shop."

Sam mocked offense, but then he found himself chuckling. Rory joined in.


Dean and Amy, who was now back to her normal redheaded self, walked through the door and greeted the others, who had been waiting for them a short time. Sam and Rory had returned just minutes ahead of them, having carried the weighty box between them and set it down on the wooden table in Gaius' chambers.

"Back to being Amy?" Rory pointed out, relief in his voice.

"I was afraid I'd go ginge in the middle of every Lamenta," she said, taking a seat next to him at the table. Dean placed himself behind the chair Sam was sitting in. "But, yeah, still me."

"What did you find out?" asked the Doctor, who had himself seated on the steps outside Merlin's bedroom. "Do you know who's leading them?"

"Hell yeah," Dean answered for her. "Buckets of crazy, that's who."

Sam looked up at his brother and shook his head. "Wanna share with the class?"

"It was some chick in the middle of the woods," Dean told them with a shrug. From across the table, Merlin and Gaius exchanged looks. "Some human chick. Kinda hot, actually."

"Morgana," Gaius said dryly.

Amy nodded. "Yeah, that's what one of the other ones called her. Queen Morgana . . . Who is she?"

Merlin squared his jaw. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this—that it wouldn't be Morgana, but he should have known better. "She's Arthur's half sister," he told them. "And a very powerful sorceress. She believes the throne is rightfully hers, and she'll stop at nothing to take it."

If Morgana was behind all this, then they were in more trouble than Merlin thought. It didn't just mean the Lamenta were planning on bringing down Camelot, but they meant to kill Arthur.

Sure enough, Amy said, "She gave them their final orders, to kill the King. She knows we know about the Lamenta. One of them saw the messenger tell you about them, Merlin." Merlin thought back to the flash of white he'd seen in the forest right after the messenger died.

"They were waiting for the Queen to get back so they could kill her, too, but Morgana doesn't want to risk us stopping her," Amy went on. "Doctor, they're planning on killing Arthur tonight."

Merlin's heart skipped a beat. Too many times had Morgana gotten too close to getting what she wanted, and Merlin wouldn't give her another chance. Who knew if this was the day she succeeded. "I can't allow that to happen," Merlin said definitely, picking himself up from the table and making his way towards the door. He had to tell Arthur; he should have done so immediately.

"Merlin, wait," Gaius' voice stopped him. "If you tell Arthur now, he'll want to take on the Lamenta himself—with no one to aid him. All the knights have gone with Gwen, remember?"

Merlin took a sharp breath in and closed his eyes, hoping for a solution to come to him. None did. So he turned back around to face the others.

"So, what d'we do?" Sam asked. "We can't just let them kill him. We gotta tell him something."

Merlin shook his head. "Gaius is right," he said. "Arthur won't stand a chance against their magic. Not alone, he'll be torn apart."

"We'll just have to beat them to him, then," Dean said, but Merlin only half heard it. His eyes were now fixed on the angel statue, and he could feel a strong sensation overcome his body. He could hear his own heart thumping in his chest and felt as though he was connecting to the creature inside the stone, and it was telling him what he hoped beyond hope wasn't true.

"Arthur is going to die," he said, as though he were in a trance. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew it was true.

For a moment, all was silent. Then the Doctor spoke up. "He won't."

This broke the spell, and Merlin looked to him, the man with all the hope. "How do you know?"

The Doctor lifted himself up and made his way to the middle of the room, halfway between Merlin and the others. "You have take my word on it," he said, but he saw this didn't satisfy Merlin. He continued, after a heavy breath, "Time is tricky thing. Most moments can be changed—details can be altered—and the universe would compensate for it. But there are certain things that always happen, that have to happen. They're fixed points in time . . . Arthur's death is one of them."

Merlin's mouth hung open. All this time, the Doctor knew how and when Arthur would die, and he never said. Part of Merlin wanted to shout at him for not telling him, but the other part owed the Doctor some reverence. He really was the man with all the answers.

"Arthur dies only after the creation of Albion," the Doctor said. "And that's not today. If we're very careful, we can make sure to stick to this rule of time, but we have to do everything right. I know you want to tell Arthur, Merlin, but you can't. Not yet. We have to find another way." He filled the gap between himself and Merlin and rested a hand on his shoulder. He said, in a lower tone than before, "We can still help him, Merlin. You can still save Arthur. He doesn't die today . . . Trust me."

Merlin believed him, or at least he wanted to—more than anything.

"Sun's comin' up," they heard Dean say, as brilliant shades of red began flooding the chamber. Merlin looked towards the window, wondering what the day would bring.

"Merlin, you must attend to your duties," Gaius told him, appearing behind the Doctor. "If you don't show up for work again, Arthur will become suspicious."

"What will you do?" he asked, directing the question to the Doctor.

"Oh, we'll keep busy. Don't worry about us," the Doctor said. "Actually, I'd like to spend some time examining our new piece of artwork."

Merlin turned his head to the eerie statue in the corner. It made chills run down his spine, but he tried his best to hide it. "As the royally sanctioned city planner or as the Doctor?" Merlin joked, forcing a smile. The Doctor returned the expression.

Grabbing his jacket, Merlin again made his way to the door, but he heard the Doctor's voice call after him, "And remember, not a word about this to Arthur."

Merlin paused for a moment, looked over his shoulder at the Doctor, and then behind him to Sam, almost as though he was asking if Sam trusted the man enough to believe him. There was a moment of hesitation, and then Sam nodded to him; this seemed to strengthen Merlin's resolve.

He closed the door behind him.