Arthur dropped to his knees, all thought of Morgana was gone. His anger, like a drug, had numbed him, but just as his sword descended he had realised that he would hit Merlin and that moment stretched into an endless horror, a singular agony. Merlin did not move, his body lay just as it had fallen. Arthur put his hand over Merlin's wound to try and stop the bleeding.

"Merlin, Merlin," he urged. Morgana stood a moment then turned and disappeared into the trees.

Arthur lifted his friend, his hand still tightly pressed to stem the flow of blood but it would not stop, it soaked through his mail and jacket to his skin and his heart lurched. He knew what that meant and he could scarcely move under the weight of his grief. He walked across the clearing carrying his burden and made his way to the cave. He carried Merlin into the chamber where Uther lay. But his father's body was gone he laid Merlin down on the cold stone. He did not check his pulse or bend over him to listen for his heartbeat. Arthur knew he was dead. He had felt the heart slowing, the lifeblood flowing out of him. A wound to the neck brought death swiftly, he had taken lives that way before.

There was no sign of Gwen. Arthur was alone. He climbed back up to survey the clearing to see if at least Morgana was there. He would forgive her if she would only come and comfort him now. But Morgana was gone.

He returned to the cave and sat with Merlin in the dark. The dark seemed to reach out and accuse him and he prayed for light. Words played around his head, words he did not understand but felt compelled to speak. He muttered them to himself as though he were reading out loud and the words sent shivers down him, like lightening crackling through the sky. It made him dizzy and sick.

From the floor of the chamber a blue ball of light rose. It sent a sombre hue cascading around the walls. Arthur recognised it as the light that had led him out of the Morteus cave. But who had made it? He unsheathed his sword and hid himself against the wall near the chamber door. No one entered.

The light faded and Arthur felt saddened, like a child left alone. Instantly the light returned and with it came the dizziness and a fire in his blood. Fear gripped him. The hairs on his neck rose. He was making the light. Arthur knew nothing of magic, but he knew that something had changed in him, something terrifyingly powerful. With a rush the memory of his dream came to him. The Great Dragon, the beat of it's wings the rise into the air. Only this time it was not Arthur speaking the words but Merlin, Merlin standing before the Great Dragon, unarmed, braver than any knight. Merlin and his magic, the same power that held him now, this excruciating power. His whole body ached with it, at once seductive and paralysing. He thought of Merlin, of all the sorcerers that Uther had condemned, he felt the unnerving sensation of being possessed by something he had no control over but which fired his heart like love, like passion, but just as suddenly as it came, the rush of heat and fire was gone. The beautiful pain subsided and he was free.

Arthur quickly went over to Merlin and placed his sword alongside the body.

He looked down at that familiar face, remembering how he used to think it weak and childish, and how he had grow to see so much more in him. Arthur now checked Merlin's pulse, his heartbeat and bent his face close, waiting to feel the slightest warmth of Merlin's breath on his skin, but there was nothing. Merlin was dead and Arthur understood now that the magic that possessed him could not undo what he had done. It could not make anything right. It was not his, it was borrowed and served no other purpose than to make him stand briefly, where Merlin stood everyday.

He placed one hand on Merlin's chest and with the other gently swept the hair from his brow.

"Merlin," he said, " You deserved a better friend than I. If I could undo what I have done, if I could take your place in death I would in a heartbeat."

A different anger grew in Arthur now, something akin to regret, 'Why had he not spoken with him, told him it was alright. He could not hate sorcery. He could never betray a man like Merlin. His hand on Merlin's chest became a fist. "I don't understand Merlin," he said with quiet desperation, "you have this power yet you did not save yourself?"

Then Arthur turned and left, not wanting to look on his friend's face again.

Arthur found their horses and bags and searched for the book of Aidith. He read again her warning about the forest. He read on trying to fathom out what lay in store for him. Aidith told of a man she had met in Heaf, a man she had loved and wronged. But she did not tell of what happened after, what they had talked of and how it had been resolved, she just talked about the continuation of her journey, but then Arthur found a note, written in the margin and curling around the page. He turned the book to read it.

Do not offend the trees, by accident or design. Be bold, be dutiful and the forest will release you. But if you fail then you shall not again see a true sky, taste food or enjoy the bliss of repose. You shall forever be bereft of the voice of another and the touch of mortal man or woman.

"No matter now," Arthur said out loud. It was a terrible curse, but did not seem terrible to him.

He freed Merlin's horse, mounted his and took off across the clearing. He rode as hard as he could, urging his horse on through the forest, though the way was barred. Thorns and branches seemed to grab at him they tore at his skin and left bloody lines on his face. As it grew dark he came to a great stand of trees, almost as broad as they were tall, their dark green foliage masking what lay beyond. He dismounted. He seemed to have come to the edge of the forest and had a sense of the land opening out beyond. As he came to the last tree he saw the full moon rising over the field ahead. But as he walked into the moons white and eerie light his heart sank, he was back in the circle of twelve trees. Arthur beat his fists against his brow and fell heavily to the ground, his forehead started to bleed. Leaning against one of the giant trees he yelled out a single roar of frustration. He looked up at the moon, at the patterns the leaves made against the night sky and cursed. Under his fingers he felt a mass of berries and picked them up. He had forgotten hunger but now his body yelped with it. Even in the moonlight he recognised them, the deadly fruit of the Yew tree. He squashed them between his fingers. 'How easily death is crushed,' he thought and in the same moment wondered if this was supposed to be his way out.

Arthur got to his feet. He left the horse to roam and walked slowly back to the cave.

In the blue light of the chamber Arthur lay down, it was not cold. He scoured his memory, going though each detail of the day, for a clue to what was happening.

He realised that to begin with he had known that Tom and Gwen were not real, one was dead and the others miles away. Then it followed that Morgana that everyone he had seen could be already dead for how could he be sure they still lived, anything could have happened. Perhaps he had lost everyone,

This was too terrible a thought and Arthur made a conscious decision to stop trying to work it out and just hold onto what he was certain of. The hard facts were that Merlin died at his hand. A man of flesh and blood killing another and somewhere on the road to that moment Arthur had started to believe in the illusion this terrible place had conjured. But if this place could trick him into seeing something, feeling something that was not real, what else was possible? All these facts began to swim in his head. A real man, a real sword, a real death, but how could he be certain? Arthur did not want to go back into the dark chamber to see Merlin again. But these thoughts were compelling him. Uther's body disappearing made no matter but if Merlin was not there. 'What if Merlin was not there?' He allowed a wave of hope to ripple through him. Then he rose and entered the chamber.

At first there was little sensation but gradually Merlin felt pain, his legs, his hands, his back, head, everything hurt. Under his fingers he felt hard ground, not the leaves of a forest floor. Initially this registered only in a sense of disorientation. 'Dead, I'm dead' he thought to himself, 'on the Isle of the Blessed or somewhere in between life and death.'

He slowly rose to his feet, the side of his face was numb and he pinched it with his fingers. His mouth was so dry he could hardly open it. There were deep cracks in his lips. His first instinct was to call out for Arthur. But it was not safe and Arthur could still be in the forest. Merlin had to get back there. He had to find him.

Merlin felt suddenly sick as images flooded in, Arthur, Morgana, the spell that froze on his lips, most of all that. He closed his eyes and held up his hand, he could not see it but it trembled violently. He wanted light and throughout his entire life if he wanted light he could have light but not now. Light did not come.

He felt an overwhelming sorrow as though someone had died. Now he was an ordinary man, like any other. He remembered what he had said to Gaius, long ago

'If I cannot do magic. I don't want to live.' Nothing had changed, that was how he felt, but right now such feelings were an indulgence.

He knew he was out in the open air and that such an all-pervading dark meant there was no moon. At least this was not a tomb or a dungeon. He closed his eyes and somehow without his sight, it was easier to deal with the darkness. Merlin had never felt so alone in his whole life. 'So this is what it feels like then,' he thought, 'to be like everyone else, to be like Arthur.' A memory came unbidden into Merlin's mind, a vision of Arthur pushing him aside, and facing the questing beast. Merlin shuddered. 'How could he do that? With only a sword in his hand and nothing else, it was like being naked.' Merlin had always been in awe of Arthur but now it seemed beyond comprehension that men could face these terrors with so little power. 'It must be more than power that gives them such courage,' thought Merlin, 'I pray that I can find it.'

Merlin did not realise how much his senses were enhanced by closing his eyes, He had always been able to see and hear better than other men and had relied on magic to enhance these abilities when he needed to but now with his eyes closed he heard something he had not noticed before, above the low murmur of the wind, a voice raised in laughter. Opening his eyes he waited to adjust to the darkness and peered in the direction of the voice. He saw a dim flickering light: a candle, a campfire? He involuntarily moved towards it stumbling across the rocky ground.