Chapter Twelve.
One month later.
They had to venture further out during the supply runs these days. They had already picked clean the houses of the village nearest to the farm and the quaint neighborhood beyond that. The next logical place to go to was a little less than ten miles north of the farm, and a small group, consisting of Dean, Cas, Yasmin, and one of the men from the watch, went to scout it out.
The town was pretty rundown, looking somewhat like a warzone with its shops with shattered windows and its graffitied buildings and bridges over a polluted canal. It must have been a nice place beforehand. It even had a park, which might have been verdant beneath all the rubble.
However, it didn't look like the town had been invaded or attacked. There were no signs of any fighting or struggles. Apparently, the residences had hung on for a little while after the Silence and Morgana took over. Who knew why they left in the end?
Dean walked up to the glass front of the small grocer and looked down at the heavy metal padlock sealing the door shut. He held it in his palm and gave it a soft tug, hoping it was rusted enough to give way, but it remained strong. Wondering if it was worth it to pick the lock or break the glass, he moved to a window and cupped his hands around his eyes to look inside. It didn't look like very much was left, so he turned away to rejoin Yasmin and Cas a little down the road.
"Anythin'?" he asked once he caught up to them.
"No," Cas said. "This place is in ruins."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Dean agreed, taking another sweeping look around the area. "Wasted outing."
"It makes you wonder what happened here," Yasmin mused. "It looks like everything just died, but there aren't any bodies."
"There's certainly a smell," said Cas, probably expecting Yasmin to laugh. She didn't. She did wince, though.
In the interim, Dean realized they were one short, and he looked around for the fourth member of the group. He wasn't anywhere on the block, and Dean hoped the man knew better than to wander off alone in uncharted territory.
"Hey, where's Carpenter?"
"He went into the liquor store," Yasmin said, pointing her chin in that direction. "I told him to. If we can't find food, we might as well bring back some booze."
"Ah, good girl!" Dean laughed happily, but perhaps he'd spoken too soon.
They heard a gunshot go off from the direction Yasmin had pointed, followed by a loud shout of agony.
The three of them ran towards the shout, pulling out their weapons as they did, and burst through the door of the liquor store. Dean slid to a halt, and Cas and Yasmin did the same close behind him, when he saw what had happened. On the grimy tile floor in front of the aisles was Carpenter, his eyes wide and unseeing and wet, sticky red staining his front and pooling around him. His shirt was torn and ripped where he'd been stabbed and slashed repeatedly on the torso and his gun was still gripped in his hand.
Standing over the body was a middle-aged woman with his blood soaking her clothes. She held a dripping kitchen knife tightly in her fist by the blade, like her hand had slipped on the crimson but she didn't even feel the pain.
Breathing heavily, she looked up towards them, and there was something savage about her. Her nose was in a snarl, her hair was in knots, her face caked in dirt, and her pupils were pinpricks of black. Dean had seen that look before.
The woman let out something close to a battle cry and jumped over the corpse. She raised her knife and rampaged forwards. Before Dean could react, Yasmin raised her rifle and unloaded a shot unto the woman's chest, making her get blown backwards and land lifelessly over Carpenter.
"No!" Dean shouted. He should have thanked Yasmin, but instead he forced the barrel of warm rifle down. "The noise'll only attract 'em."
"Who?" she demanded, fear flashing in her eyes for only a moment before she steeled herself.
As though to answer the question, they heard some grunting and groaning from the other side of the room. Dean looked over his shoulder just in time to see two croats stumble out of an aisle. They spotted the small group immediately and started quickly towards them.
"Run!" Dean shouted, and he, Cas, and Yasmin tore out the door.
They made it to the middle of the street before realizing the outside was worse, however. It was like they'd come out of nowhere, but they were all headed in the direction of the liquor store. If Dean had to guess, he'd say it was at least forty croats surrounding them. Knowing it was no use trying to hide his presence anymore, he held up his Colt and pointed it warningly from head to head. Next to him, Yasmin brought up her rifle and Cas gripped his angel blade.
"Dean, there are too many of them," Cas shouted.
"Back in the liquor store," he ordered. After all, they could handle two over what looked like a whole town.
But when he turned back around, he realized the way was blocked. Thinking fast, he spun around in the direction with the least amount of croats and fired a few shots squarely into their foreheads. When they fell, the others only trampled over them until they, too, were put down.
"This way!"
They ran through the clearing as fast as they could, back in the direction they'd come from. Dean fired his gun whenever he had to, and he heard Yasmin's rifle go off a few times, too. But he tried not to look back. That would only slow him down. And he didn't have to look to know how quickly they were being pursued.
Before they got to the end of the block, another group of about a dozen rounded the corner, leaving Dean no choice but to stop in his tracks right outside the grocer shop. They were cornered. No way out.
Cas stood bravely in front of Dean, holding out his blade at arms length.
"Dean!"
"I'm thinking!"
"In here!"
Dean spun around to look at Yasmin. She was holding the door to the grocer open, rapidly gesturing them inside.
"Come on!"
Cas rushed passed Dean to follow her, but Dean stood gaping for a moment. Wasn't there a padlock on that door? How did she pick it so fast?
He heard another savage cry from behind him, knocking him back into the moment. He sped through the open door and Yasmin slammed it behind him and turned the lock.
"That won't hold them," Cas told her.
Someone slammed against the door. Dean risked a look out the windows, where a mass of people were scratching and pounding.
"What the hell are those things?" Yasmin asked, pressing her back against the door and putting all her weight on it. Dean and Cas helped her.
"You really never heard'a the Croatoan virus?" Dean grunted as the door rattled again.
"No!"
"Lucky you."
The window next to them smashed in.
They jumped up from the door and raised their weapons again, backing away as some croats stumbled through the broken window.
"You think there's a back way out?" Dean asked.
"There must be," Yasmin breathed.
"What if there's more outside?" said Cas, much to Dean's dismay.
"Positive vibes, Cas!"
There was a shrill squeaking of breaks from the street, and suddenly the sound of loud, rapid gunshots filled the air. The back of the group of croats piling in the window fell in spurts of red, and it was only a matter of time until the bullets reached the front.
"Down!" Dean shouted, and they dove for cover behind the row of registers. Momentarily, bullets flew over their heads, hitting the steel aisles in loud bangs and making cans and jars explode.
Then it stopped, and everything was relatively quiet.
He heard muffled shouts from outside, and it sounded like someone was ordering others to check the rest of the town. The three of them stayed still and quiet, trying hard to control their labored breathing.
The bell over the door chimed and slow, booted footsteps filled Dean's ears. He took in a deep breath of preparation, reaching inside his jacket to swap his Colt for Ruby's knife. He made eye contact with Cas and Yasmin, and then he held up three fingers.
One finger went down.
Then another.
"Hands up!" someone yelled at once. Dean looked up quickly to see a small black woman standing over the register, pointing an artillery rifle down at them. "Weapons down!" She risked looking over her shoulder, her short curls bouncing around her as she moved. "Porter! Over here!"
There were more footsteps, and a dark-featured man appeared at her side. Another artillery rifle was trained on them.
"We don't have the virus," Dean barked at them. He raised his hands up so they could see them, but his knife was still held firmly in one fist. "See? We're clean."
"Stand up," the woman ordered, and they did as she said. Next, she took a step back and told them to come out from behind the register.
Once they did, she eyed the man next to her and nodded meaningfully. He brought his fingers to his lips and whistled so loudly it made Dean want to cringe. Momentarily, two more armed men filed through the door.
"Search them," the woman told them, and the three men lowered their weapons and started patting Dean, Cas, and Yasmin down.
Every instinct told Dean to rip his man's hands away and punch him in the jaw, especially when Ruby's knife was pulled from his hands. Dean was jostled around as the man moved to his jacket and pulled out the Colt, and then moved lower to check for any more weapons.
When all three were finished, they placed the weapons behind the woman and stood back to attention.
"Well, you're certainly packing," she said, sounding only slightly impressed, Dean thought.
"Girl's gotta protect herself," Yasmin said flatly.
The woman hummed. "You're telling me." She looked back at the pile. "What's in the flask?"
"Water," Dean told her shortly.
She arched a brow at him. "Holy water?"
Dean furrowed his brows. "You know about the demons?"
She snorted. "How can you not? They're in every town, every city. They might as well be in every home. Our lord and mistress' Enforcers."
Taking one hand off her gun, she reached into her belt and pulled out her own flask. She handed it off to one of the men, who unscrewed it and stepped forward.
"Drink it," she ordered Dean.
Knowing he really didn't have a choice, he reached for the flask and took a quick swig, making sure she saw it. It tasted dirty and stale, but he forced it down before passing it to Yasmin. When all three of them were finished, the woman still kept her weapon trained on them.
"Your turn," Dean said, nodding towards his own flask. Another man picked it up and splashed some of its contents onto his hand to no effect. The same results came from the other three.
"Alright," the woman said, "you aren't demons, and you don't have the virus. Who are you?"
"Nobodies," Dean told her. "Just passin' through, lookin' to see what supplies we can get from here."
The woman instantly lowered her gun.
"Supplies? Aren't you on a route?" she said, looking back at the pile of weapons. "Where did you get these, then? From Boyd?"
"Those are ours," Yasmin said.
"Who is Boyd?" asked Cas.
She shared a look with the man she'd called Porter.
"You hunters?" Dean asked. "How else would know about the virus?"
She cocked her head in perplexity. "It's been spreading for weeks now."
"What?"
She nodded. "The first outbreak was the day after the attack on London."
"Where?"
"Winchester. The entire city got infected; it had to be quarantined—too late to stop the spread, though. The virus has been cropping up, wiping out entire towns in a matter of days, from here up into Scotland."
"So, you're not hunters?" Dean asked again. There was nothing he could do about the virus, but he could find out who these people were.
She gave an airy laugh, seeming to not know what he was talking about. "No. I'm a merchant. Or . . . at least, I am now."
"A merchant?" Yasmin inquired.
"We bring supplies from London to the rest of the country," she said. "Food, clothing, medicine . . ."
"You're workin' for Morgana?" Dean shouted, his guard going up again.
"It's not what you think!" the woman hurried to say.
"You're supplying weapons," Yasmin thought aloud. "You and this Boyd person. Is he a merchant, too?"
The woman blinked at her, not giving anything away.
"You're not just merchants, are you?" Cas asked, sounding as though he already knew the answer.
The woman seemed to be considering something, but she soon took in a breath and said, "No."
Dean, Cas, and Yasmin were led outside, where one large Jeep and two flatbed trucks with covers on top were parked on the street. More people with heavy guns surveyed the area or stood on guard nearby.
"This town is on our route," the woman explained briskly as she led them towards the vehicles. "That's why we're here. We were scheduled for a drop-off, but apparently they won't be needing it anymore. Most merchant teams travel throughout the UK—us included. We provide supplies for the towns the Committee tells us to. But then there's the unofficial route."
She brought them to a stop behind one of the trucks.
"Not every team is in on that, but the ones who are go to the communes and refugee sights. People from all over have fled the more populated areas, trying to escape and survive—or more. For them, we supply a little something extra."
She undid the fastens on the truck's cover and folded it back. Two of her men got into the back and repositioned a few crates and boxes until they got to a large, metal trunk. Taking it off the truck with them, they placed it at Dean's feet and opened it. It was filled to the brim with guns, knives, jugs of holy water, and large rosary beads. It reminded him a little bit of the Impala's trunk.
"Holy shit," Dean hissed in awe. "Anyone ever get caught?"
"Loads," she said. "But it's worth it. If they need to, people learn how to use these weapons quickly. Trust me, I hadn't even seen a gun in person before all this. Now look at me." She shrugged her shoulder that supported the strap of her rifle.
"There are some people even talking about an uprising. It's scattered and unorganized, of course, but the want is there, and we supply it. We're freedom fighters," she continued. "But you're a Yank, which means you aren't from this town. And, if you aren't on a supply route, I'd think you're not in a town at all."
"Nope," Dean answered her, pretty sure she was asking a question. "Our group's on a farm a few miles south of here."
"How many people?"
"About two hundred."
She gaped. "Two hundred? My lord! How are you caring for them all? What do you do for food?"
"You're lookin' at it," Dean told her. "And sometimes we go hunting or fishing. And, like I said—on a farm. Some people set up a little garden. The tomatoes are comin' along nice."
For a moment, all she did was blink, and then she looked down and let out a thoughtful breath.
"But we could do with a steady supply of food," Yasmin cut in, her tone meaningful.
"Yeah, and some more weapons," said Dean, catching on. "Tell you what, give us a lift back and we'll show ya the place."
She agreed, and they all loaded into the vehicles and headed for the farm.
John stood by the splintered fence separating the property from the green hills beyond, his eyes on the horizon. For a moment, he considered hopping over the fence, out of the barrier of protection, and making his way over the hills. He'd considered doing that quite a bit in the past few weeks, but he could never bring himself to take the first step, especially with the chest infection that had been spreading throughout the camp. They needed him there, but there was someone else who needed him, too.
"Is today the day?" he heard someone say behind him. He didn't look over his shoulder, knowing that Sherlock would walk the last few paces to the fence and wrap his palms around its wood. He, too, looked out towards the distance.
"It's been a month today since I told Mary I'd be home in time for tea," John said, and Sherlock made no attempt at repose.
John let out a breath and shook his head.
"One month." He pointed outward. "And she's still out there somewhere—if I'm very lucky. I should be looking for her."
"And where would you start?" Sherlock asked, bringing John back to reality.
Sherlock released the fence and turned around to lean on it instead. His eyes surveyed John for only a moment before looking straight, across the farm and towards the trees.
"Anywhere," John decided, trying to convince himself to do it. He turned sideways to face Sherlock fully. "It won't matter where I start, as long as I find her. And you have to help me. You promised you'd help me . . . Sherlock?"
Sherlock didn't answer. He kept his eyes forward.
"Are you even listening?"
Then, John realized that Sherlock was staring fixedly at something. His brows were knitted in some mild curiosity. John followed his line of vision, and what he saw almost knocked the wind out of him. Three large vehicles were kicking up the dirt of the drive as they broke the tree line. A few people from the watch surrounded the car and trucks warningly, and the first vehicle in the line stopped.
The passenger side door opened and Dean stepped out of it. He had a few words with one of the men from the watch, pointing towards the house as he did so. When Dean walked away, the man he'd been talking to waved off his team, and the cars drove through.
"Where the hell did he find those?" John breathed.
Sherlock didn't answer. He quickly stood up from his lean, shoved his hands into his coat pockets, and hustled towards the house.
"Come on!" he called over his shoulder at John, and John didn't think to cast another longing look at the hills before he followed.
Sam had seen the trucks roll in from a second floor window of the house. He ran down the steps as quickly as could, passed the closed double doors of the living room, and outside to the front porch, where he met Dean, Cas, Yasmin, and another woman.
"Dean, Cas," he said, his wide eyes turning to the woman. "Who's—?"
"Where's Arthur and the Doc?" Dean interrupted him.
"Arthur is in the barn," Sherlock said, making his and John's presence known as they walked up to the porch.
"Get 'im," Dean said, and John nodded before running off in that direction.
"And the Doc?"
"Uh—he's inside," Sam said, nodding behind him. He turned around and led the group through the front door, where savory smells wafted from the kitchen down the hall. He could already hear the muffled tunes of a Santana song leaking through the walls of the living room.
Got a black magic woman.
I got a black magic woman
Got me so blind I can't see
That she's a black magic woman
She's tryin' to make a devil out of me.
Sam opened the double doors and walked into the room, where Merlin was sitting on the couch on the tablet again and the Doctor was standing by the window looking out.
"What the hell?" Dean asked. "Was there another broadcast today?"
"About an hour ago," Merlin told him, putting the tablet down to give Dean his attention. He leaned forward on the couch and rested his elbows on his knees. The Doctor remained aloof.
"What'd it say this time?"
"There was a riot is Glasgow," Merlin said, "against the Enforcers. Nearly three hundred people."
"What happened?" Cas asked apprehensively.
"They were massacred," the Doctor spoke up, a dangerous edge to his tone, but he kept on staring blankly out the window.
The music scratched to a halt as the record player lost power, and the lights flickered off. No one flinched, except to glance upwards at the dead light. The gaps of electricity were getting shorter with every broadcast, but no one talked about it.
Dean ignored the loss of power and got back to the matter at hand. "Why have a broadcast about that?" he asked. "Usually, when there's a revolt, people try to get it under wraps so no one'll get the same idea."
"Morgana learned from Father," Arthur's voice filled the room. Sam, Dean, and everyone else swiveled their heads around to find him walking briskly through the door. John and Clara were in his wake.
"She wanted to make an example of them," he continued as he moved to the front of the group. He leaned on the armchair closest to the fire and his eyes flashed to the new woman. "Who's this?"
Dean, Cas, and Yasmin explained everything that had happened. When they were finished, Arthur asked, "What is this Croatoan?"
"A demonic plague," Sherlock said before Sam or Dean could jump to it, "spread through blood contact. It makes the infected homicidal."
"More like batshit crazy," Dean clarified.
"Is there a cure?"
"A bullet through the head."
Arthur nodded, looking back at the woman. "Then we owe you our thanks."
"Just your thanks?" the woman asked as though the gratitude was good for nothing.
"Yes," Arthur said resolutely. "You're a merchant? You charge people money for your supplies? People with nothing."
She raised her brows at him, looking offended by the judgment but also a little guilty. "It's the law," she excused. He didn't seem convinced, so she let out a breath and explained further, "We aren't supposed to, but we let people off who can't pay. They give us other things—like a bunk for the night. We're not evil; we're just trying to make our way in this new world."
"You can do more than that," the Doctor told her. "You and your team travel all over. That means you can get through any checkpoints?"
"Yes," she said, seeming a little confused. "We have all our documents."
"That's how you can get the guns through so easily?"
She nodded. "If you have the right papers, the Enforcers rarely check your load."
"Rarely? People have gotten caught doing what you do?" the Doctor continued on.
"Unfortunately," she said. "But apparently they weren't as smart as me."
"Do you have access to London?" Arthur asked her before the Doctor could say anything else.
"Of course," she laughed.
"Can you get us into the city?"
Her face fell, and she blinked at him for a long time with a neutral expression.
"Yes . . . but I won't," she told him. "Do you think Glasgow is the only place where people are rioting? Groups from all over the UK are trying to fight back. I've seen good people die for nothing, while you've been sitting here growing tomatoes! I can put you on our supply route and I can provide you with weapons, but why on Earth should I risk my people's lives for any of you?"
Arthur turned away from her, running his palm over the curves of the armchair as he walked around it, apparently in thought.
"Because Morgana sees us as a threat," he decided to divulge. "During her first public address, she warned the citizens about a group of supposed terrorists. She showed three pictures."
He left the chair behind and walked up to her, standing close so she could see his face fully.
"Look hard," he told her. "Who do you see here?"
She studied his face for a long moment, and then her lips parted in realization.
"Oh, my god," she breathed, her eyes going wide at him. They flashed behind him, catching sight of Merlin and then getting a better look at the Doctor. "Oh, my god!"
"You probably have half a mind to turn us in," the Doctor said, taking a few steps towards her and holding his hand out gently. "But I think you know we had nothing to do with the attacks. Otherwise, you wouldn't be a freedom fighter."
She appeared to be having some kind of internal struggle, and Sam really hoped the Silence's hypnosis wasn't as strong as the Doctor said it was. Soon, she rattled her head and said, "No. No, of course, not. But . . . Why did she say you did it, then? Who are you?"
"I am Arthur Pendragon," he said. "And with your help, I can stop Morgana."
She seemed to consider this.
"Then, I will do what I can," she said at last. "But I won't risk smuggling all of you into London—not this time. I'm not scheduled for a pick-up in the city for another two weeks. I will return then and bring only a few of you. That's all I can promise for now."
Arthur nodded, accepting it. "Then it is enough for the time being," he said. "You and your team can stay here tonight."
She nodded in agreement and turned around to leave.
"Wait," he called in an afterthought, regaining her attention. "I've told you my name." He gave a lofty wave of his hand. "What is yours?"
She studied him again, her eyes scanning him up and down.
"Gwen."
Sam's eyes immediately snapped to Merlin, but Merlin was looking at Arthur with an expression of carefully constructed neutrality. Arthur, however, had his eyes locked on Gwen as though he wasn't quite seeing her, but rather passed her. Realizing that he was staring, Arthur closed his mouth and corrected his posture.
"Goodnight, Gwen," he said simply, and she walked out of the room.
She left them to a long gap of silence, into which everyone knew they suddenly had a lot to plan for but didn't know where to start.
"Two weeks," the Doctor spoke up, clapping his hands together. "We'd better start scheming."
As the days rolled by, they tried to keep their plans secret, not wanting to cause too much of a stir throughout the farm. Business went on as usual, except now they had an abundance of food and weapons for those on the watch. Gwen's team had left them all the supplies that were meant to go to the infected town.
Dean exited the front door of the farmhouse and stopped before the porch steps. He looked to the side at Merlin, who was sitting on the bench, and took a breath.
"Hey," he said a little awkwardly. "You, uh—Have you found anythin' yet?"
Merlin shot him a warning look out of the corner of his eyes, so Dean relented.
"Alrighty then," he said sarcastically before changing the subject. "You seen Arthur?"
Merlin looked forward again and nodded in Arthur's direction, and Dean followed the gesture. Arthur was walking towards one of the fires, a bundle of wood in his arms, and talking with two people. They seemed amused by whatever he was saying, but they soon left him to drop their own piles by other fires. Dean started in that direction.
"Hey, man, can I get a sec?" he asked once he was standing over Arthur, who was busy adding logs to the flames and poking the embers into place. He glanced up at Dean.
"Of course," he said, standing up and brushing the dirt off his palms before gesturing for Dean to go on.
"So, uh—I was just thinkin'," Dean started. "Gwen only wants to take a small group into London, right? Well, if no one else has called it, I wanna sign up."
Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "Very well," he said. "You'll need backup. I won't send you alone."
"Yeah, actually, some of us have been talkin' about that," Dean told him. "Chances are, if we're doin' some recon, we're gonna have to do a little bit of hacking, right? Well. Clara's pretty handy with computers."
"So, you'll be her backup?" Arthur clarified, and Dean shrugged.
"She's pretty gung-ho on going," he said, "and we shouldn't let the Doc go into the belly of beast. The Silence'll be too close. And then Morgana's got all her dogs on you and Merlin, so."
"Tell the Doctor he can rest assured that you'll be with her," Arthur said, and he went back to tending the fire.
Feeling a little better about the situation, Dean turned around to walk away, but Arthur called him back.
"Merlin tells me I knighted you and your brother," he said, his gaze on what he was doing.
Dean felt his stomach lurch. "Uh, yeah," he said a little nervously, but he let out a laugh to cover it. "Guess you wanna take that back, huh?"
Arthur's forehead creased in perplexity as he looked up at Dean. "Quite the opposite," he said. "In fact, it saves time. I won't have to do it again."
Dean let out the breath he'd been holding, and he couldn't stop the corners of his lips from quirking upward. Arthur smirked back.
Then, as Dean watched him, his expression fell. He jumped up to his feet, looking passed Dean in alarm at the forest. Dean looked over his shoulder quickly and saw a commotion around the entrance on the dirt path. Members of the watch were running in that direction to provide backup, and the ones who were already there were shouting and pointing their weapons up.
Dean and Arthur ran towards the huddle and pushed their way to the front. A little into the trees, Dean caught sight of an old, decrepit woman shuffling slowly down the path towards them. Blood was dripping down from her hands and stained her front. The blood looked like it was her own. She seemed in pain, stumbling with every step.
"Stay where you are!" someone was shouting at her, and the guns remained pointed at her. Next to Dean, Arthur drew his sword.
"It could be a trick," he said.
The old woman let out a loud wheeze of excruciation.
"Emrys," she said, her voice sounding weak and leathery, like she hadn't used it quite some time.
Dean took out his gun and put a hand on Arthur's chest, pushing him back. "It could be a demon!"
"No!" someone from behind the group shouted loudly, desperately. "Stop it! Leave her! Let her through!"
Merlin forced his way through the crowd, pushing people out of the way as he did so.
"Merlin?" Arthur shouted, but Merlin didn't pay him any attention.
"Emrys," the woman wheezed again, sounding weaker this time. She collapsed into the dirt.
Merlin broke through the front of the crowd and ran to her side, sliding to his knees. He turned her over onto her back and supported her upper half on his lap, cradling her in his arms. Dean shot Arthur a look, and they both walked over to the woman. They stayed standing, looking down warily.
"It's alright," Merlin was cooing, smiling sadly down at the woman, who was already unconscious. "I'm here. You've found me." He whispered something else to her. Dean couldn't understand what he said, but he recognized it as some kind of Latin.
Merlin tore his eyes away from the woman and directed them at the group of onlookers.
"Help me!" he ordered, no longer gentle. "Get her inside!"
A few men scurried forward and picked the woman up. They carried her towards the house, and Merlin stood up to watch them go.
"Merlin!" Arthur said, trying to get his attention. "What's going on? Who is that woman?"
Merlin forced himself to look at Arthur. "She isn't a woman," he said. "Her name is Aithusa."