DISCLAIMER: I own nothing in this story but the story itself and the anonymous villains.

Hello there. Here is the new chapter you all. Apparently, it will be maybe two another chapters or even three until the end of this story. It seems that whatever I do, things always turn out different that I expect.

Anyway, this is it, so...

Enjoy!


He jumped out of the way just in time to avoid a doubtlessly very unpleasant collision with a flying ball of extremely hot, and burning, and frightening (and etcetera) fire.

Arthur's hand unconsciously clutched at his knee, where one similar fireball had gotten the chance to singe his skin, leaving a gaping hole in the material of his trousers. The prince had not been fast enough, and that was a painful reminder of the fact that he didn't know how much longer he could avoid getting hit square in a vital point by the incessant and ruthless attack his sister had begun not long ago.

Arthur knew he needed to get close to her somehow. (Although even in close combat, Morgana still held the upper hand-magic and all that-but maybe, just maybe, he'd stand a chance) But how? How was he going to do that and not end up burnt alive? Not to mention that the witch could always use that infuriating spell he had seen Merlin and all the other sorcerers use, the one that sent you flying back where you came from. Well, the situation called for one word and one word only, a word that could pretty much sum up everything: Damn.

Morgana had given him no time to think, each burning missile coming faster and better-aimed than the one before, and she remained true to that, as the prince was forced to throw himself to the ground. He felt the heat on his back as the fire licked too close to his chain-mail clad skin.

He cursed. How was he expected to develop a very intelligent and functional plan that would get him out of this mess, without getting killed first, of course, if he couldn't even have a moment to think?

Ignoring his body's protests, Arthur gritted his teeth and pushed his hands hard into the ground, propelling himself up. He forced his body to stand up straight, gripping the hilt of his sword and staring into those eyes.

Those eyes that were so full of hatred, so different from the eyes he had grown up with he could hardly believe they belonged to the same person. And yet, even though his mind couldn't truly comprehend how they could've changed so much, he knew that these were the same eyes that had once looked upon him with worry and even love.

Now, however, they were smirking with barely concealed joy at the expense of his pain.

Morgana was smiling a sickening smile. Arthur realized a second too late why that was, as it dawned on him that he wouldn't be able to dodge in time the ball that was flying towards him. Yet, even as his mind had resigned itself to the painful fate and begun the preparations, his body still refused to give up, trying to move out of harm's way. His eyes shut close of their own accord, but whether it was because of the collision-to-come with the hard ground or the fire coming his way, he did not know. Arthur doubted the ground would come before the fire, but a man can hope, can he not?

Then, before he even registered what was happening, he hit the ground. Hard.

A jab of pain shot through his shoulder and the prince held his breath, waiting for fire that never came. Instead, he heard a jumble of shouted words, (something among the lines of 'Sceld' or 'Scield', but he couldn't be sure) a weird kind of swishing sound and the distinct and unmistakable hiss of fire licking at something.

When he could hear nothing but silence (the word silence is used here in the relative sense of no sounds of incoming weapons or spells aimed at him, the background noise of the battle being enough to bring a headache to the head of any sane person who was not otherwise occupied with running or fighting for their lives) and the slight scent of burnt grass reached his nostrils, Arthur decided to open his eyes. There wasn't anything that opening his eyes might have done to worsen his very bad situation, anyway.

The prince propped himself weakly on his elbow, ignoring the pain shooting up his shoulder blades, and focusing all the energy he had left on trying to see through the thick smoke. He was very sure there was a figure there, looming over him in the smoke, if slightly a pace or two in front of him.

Arthur's eyes widened and he didn't think before a hopeful, slightly incredulous and worried squeak (he would deny that later) of: "Merlin?" escaped his lips.

The mop of dark raven hair was clearly visible now that the smoke had cleared, as were the warlock's ragged and dirty jacket, blackened holes stretching on either side of his arms. Very visible as well was Merlin's outstretched hand and the glowing blue light that swayed and rippled like water, making it hard, but not impossible, for him to spot the dark figure of a very enraged Morgana on the other side of it.

"You" Arthur heard her spit with so much hatred he cringed. (Later, he would have a lot of things to deny)

Merlin did not so much as flinch at her words. For a couple of seconds, the prince wondered if perhaps his friend had heard Morgana speak at all, but then he suddenly turned those blue eyes on him, and he was stunned by the intensity and determination in them.

"Fæþm" the warlock said, his words clear and brooking no argument.

Arthur was amazed, amazed beyond what he would ever admit, even to himself, by the authority, the confidence, the sheer power and control Merlin, his goofy, babbling fool of a manservant that tripped over his own feet every five minutes, seemed to have in him.

The boy was so… so… oxymoronic. There was no other word for it. He was a living, breathing contradiction. He was funny and frightening, an idiot and one of the wisest man Arthur had ever met, merciful yet very much capable of killing without a second thought (though he took no pleasure from it). He was loyal to a fault and had the most pure intentions, yet he had done and would do unforgivable things. He was a lanky, skinny boy who stumbled over his own feet and refused to get angry even when put in the stocks for a whole day, that had the power to raze entire kingdoms to the ground.

Arthur knew in that moment that he would never come to fully understand Merlin, but he didn't think even the warlock could understand himself. He was too busy just being to try and dwell on it.

Merlin's eyes burned a fierce gold for a split of a second and all that blue light protecting them suddenly floated straight at him.

The prince startled, the light hitting him square in the chest, momentarily blinding him.

A warm tingling washed over him. Then, as soon as it came, it was gone, and Arthur opened his eyes to find his hands (and the rest of his body, if the tingling had been anything to go by) shimmering blue.

He raised his gaze back to his manservant, realizing what the boy had just done, but Merlin had already turned his attention back on Morgana.

"It's over" he announced, and Arthur believed him, even though, judging by the mad laughter of his sister, she certainly did not.

"Oh, how right you are" Okay, maybe she did, but her idea of 'over' was obviously different from the warlock's.

"You have been a thorn in my side for too long, Emrys." Morgana started walking slowly towards them, her unkept hair swaying in the wind, curling around her face. For a second, Arthur saw her dressed in a beautiful red dress, a golden chain at the base of her neck and a thin black and gold circlet adorning her forehead, walking toward him with the same small, swaying steps, all eyes on her as she smiled at him teasingly, warmly.

And then the image changed back, black replacing the Pendragon red, no jewelry at the base of her long neck, her dark locks dirty and ruffled by the wind, no circlet on her forehead and no warmth in her eyes. She still walked the same, though, her smirk darker and vengeful.

"To think that I've been searching for you, fearing you for all this time, when in truth you were right here. Right under my nose. The stupid, traitorous servant of my dear brother. Merlin" she spat the name, a snarl overcoming the smile. "You have betrayed your people, protected the man who has done nothing but persecute and hate us. You deserve what is to come."

Morgana suddenly stopped, raising her hand slowly, and Arthur noticed Merlin still didn't move, his shoulders slumping a bit.

"Please, Morgana. Please." The prince felt his heart tear at the plea. The wall of stone Merlin had built broke for just that second, that small whisper holding all of his fear, guilt, grief and hope. He felt his heart sink.

"To think that I was afraid of someone like you"

And then it began. They both yelled strange, foreign words he couldn't comprehend, and lights of all colors danced through the air. The warlock and the witch dodged and ducked and shielded themselves from the spells flying back and forth so fast Arthur could barely make out who was doing what.

And then he had no time to see the spell sending Merlin flying on his back as the warlock's attention switched just for a moment to him, enough to yell a warning and enough for Morgana to strike.

"Arthur!"

The prince rolled out of the way just as the sword planted itself in the ground, exactly where his head had been moments before.

He had no time to worry about Merlin, though he knew the boy must have recovered, for he could hear him shouting a spell. He had no time as his eyes locked onto that traitor of an uncle of his.

"Hello Arthur" Agravaine smiled, then swung his sword at him.


Gwaine was winning. Yes, he was aware that they, as a group-as a side-were losing, but he himself was winning. Every adversary he had faced until then had fallen under his swift and steady sword.

He was tired, yes, but he grinned as he managed to strike down two bulky and stupid mercenaries (that he believed were twins) with one careful swing of his sword.

The knight had no idea where the others were, but there was this thin druid with a broken arm hovering behind him. The lad was barely seventeen, he suspected, lanky and small for his age, and was shaking furiously. However, the knight admired the fact that he remained at his side, sending a weak, yet very useful spell now and then, tripping his foes or deflecting balls of fire he could not be bothered with.

Gwaine shot him a look. His cloak was nearly ripped to pieces, torn and burnt, and his clothes were dirty, but otherwise he was fine. Well, except for shaking like a leaf in the wind, that is, but even Gwaine wasn't cruel enough to mock him at the moment.

"You alright there, mate?"

The boy nodded shakily, and Gwaine looked around, trying to spot any of his friends.

That was when he heard a loud bang coming from somewhere to the east, and he narrowed his eyes, squinting and trying to see where exactly it had come from. Gwaine's eyes widened and he suddenly turned on the boy.

"Go and hide in the trees" he ordered, and didn't look back to see if the lad had listened as he sprinted towards Arthur.

A large thug suddenly cut his path, but the knight turned in a swift circle, drawing the blade of his sword graciously across the other man's chest as he twirled, then stepped to the side and ran even faster, not missing a single beat.

He could see Morgana and Merlin running in circles around each other, throwing themselves to the ground and sprinting from here to there, shouting nonsense, and were it not for the colorful lights and fire shooting to and fro, he would have labeled them as two madmen doing some weird tribal dance.

As it was, his stomach gripped in both fear for his friend and hatred for the woman he was fighting, but he was smart enough to know there was nothing he could do to help. Whatever the warlock had begun he would have to end by himself.

However, Gwaine sped up, running as fast as his feet could carry him, his attention switching and locking on the somehow weaponless prince, who barely seemed to be able to dodge the attacks of his uncle. How had the prat (to use Merlin's word) managed to get himself into a swordless position, the knight would never understand.

Just as Agravaine lifted his sword again, ready to strike, Gwaine leapt one last time and threw his sword at Arthur's head, hoping he wouldn't accidentally kill the prince. (He had a nagging sensation a certain very powerful warlock friend of his would not like that very much)

"Arthur!" he yelled.

To his horror, he saw Agravaine catching to his idea at the same time as the prince of Camelot and something he hadn't even considered happened: Agravaine caught the sword.

The look Arthur threw him would have been very amusing in any other situation.

Gwaine started to run again, trying to stop the (now two) swords from reaching the prince's chest, even though he knew he was too late, even though the horror gripped his stomach and twisted a knife in his heart.

The two blades came down in slow motion, and the knight knew he wouldn't make it, couldn't make it, it was over. He couldn't help the desperate yell from escaping his lips.

"ARTHUR!"


There you go. I was actually planning on adding a lot more stuff in this chapter, but somehow it ended up half of what it was supposed to be. It all took much more longer than I expected, and I am aware that some of you might think it's moving too slow. I have big plans including lots more events unfolding in the next chapter though, as well as that explanation of how things came to be the way they are.

I can't help the words from getting their way, however, so I make no promises. I'm as curious as you are to see what exactly will happen next. Yes, I do know what will happen, but as always, it is merely a rough sketch.

Thank you for reading and sticking up with this story:D I will try and keep away from cliffhangers, but they're just so fun and, quite frankly, addictive.

Until either this Saturday or Sunday^^ (I have a nagging feeling it will be this Saturday, though)