OMG, wasn't Arthur so cute when he told Gwen that she could stay and he'd do anything for her. Adorable! Guinevere and Arthur are supposed to be together in the legends. Are the writers angling that way? Can't believe it is the last one next week! NOOOOO! Still, I'm getting the DVD for Christmas, can't wait!
Thanks for the reviews!
Merlin could feel his heart thumping wildly against his ribcage. It was true that he'd performed magic many times before: helping to slay the Griffin, frightening off all of the raiders attacking his village, killing Sofia and her father. Despite all these things he was still unsure of his ability. Gaius always told him that he was destined for great things, or was that the Dragon? Either way, he was constantly being told that he was different to everyone else for a reason. Maybe part of that reason was now. He'd saved Arthur and now he needed to save himself, then he could continue to help Arthur become King of Camelot – King of all Great Britain.
If it was already foretold that he, Merlin the Warlock, would advise and protect Arthur throughout his princely days and then onto his kingship then surely that meant that he couldn't die now. Didn't it? The future isn't set in stone. A small voice whispered in the back of his mind. He could believe he was invincible, that could be his downfall. He just had to believe that he could defeat Nimueh or at least survive this encounter to battle another time, when he was even stronger.
In his time at Camelot Castle, Merlin had witnessed many fights and skirmishes between knights and even villagers. Most of which has been fought with some kind of weapon whether it be a flashing sword or a pitch fork. Sometimes it was even just fists. Never, however, had he seen a non-contact fight, a duel between magical folk; which was not surprising considering the repercussions of being discovered by Uther. Nevertheless, here he was about to participate in a duel against the most feared sorceress in the land with the few spells in his head. He suddenly felt very small, unprepared and insignificant.
"Dear Merlin, you challenge me? You are either very brave or very foolish," Nimueh smirked.
"Or both," Merlin muttered under his breath. He was aware that he'd bent his knees, coiled and ready to spring into action that was what Arthur had always taught him. Even if his master wasn't here and this wasn't a battle with swords he could still take comfort in following the rules his friend had adhered to for so many successful victories.
Nimueh, however, seemed to find this movement highly amusing as her smirk widened even further and a chuckle escaped her lips. She, herself, just faced her opponent face on, her gaze suddenly very intense. Other than that there was no change in her stance.
"Are you prepared, young wizard, to face a sorceress who has at least five times your experience in duelling and double your power? I bet you have never even fought in against another magician in your life, have you?" The witch laughed. Merlin made no reply, there was no point reacting to her taunting. It was just a distraction. He needed to focus on nothing but channelling his magical energy.
"So will it be one on one?" He did manage to hiss through clenched teeth; knuckles white on his clenched fists.
"Of course, my Faeries shall take no part in the fighting. That wouldn't be at all fair and I tell you, Merlin, I am a fair woman."
"But what if I begin to win? What will they do to me then? Will you summon them to your aid?"
"In that unlikelihood, I promise you, Myrddin Emrys, they will leave you in peace." Nimueh nodded firmly, her blue eyes bright and truthful.
"What did you call me?"
"It is Celtic. It is your name."
"But…"
"Thea grydden eila svelta!" The words came almost before the young man had time to register and he only just had time to jump out of the way on instinct. He rolled once on the mossy ground before rising with unfamiliar grace to his feet. A feeling not dissimilar to ice cold water thrummed through his veins, making his body tremble and judder with uncontrollable power. It had to be unleashed.
"Regrydin maxim huvult!" Light leapt from Merlin's fingers like a bolt of lightning, heading straight for Nimueh. She blocked it with a deft slash of the hand and sent the curse straight back at its caster. Fortunately, the boy had time to dodge once more out of the way, ducking close to the ground. This was ridiculous. She was way too experienced and powerful for him, whatever he did she would reflect with ease. There was no hope.
"Ferocite ignavo flamen!" He didn't stand a chance. The spell hit him in the centre of his chest before exploding, showering the rest of his body in immense heat and pain. Whatever Nimueh had sent at him it involved at lot of fire: balls of flames. It wasn't fatal though, that much he could be thankful for. Even though it didn't kill him, Merlin felt his skin burn and blister. His face especially, his cheek felt as if it was ablaze, and his chest – where the curse had initially struck – seared with agony. The manservant doubled over with the pain.
"Ah, Merlin, you didn't really think you stood a chance, did you?" The unnaturally beautiful woman stated almost pityingly. That tone riled Merlin; he couldn't just allow himself to be finished off like this. With strength he didn't think he was possible of, the young man forced himself to ignore the hurt and concentrate on the escape. What did you counter fire with?
"Frigio dunfa!" Shards of ice shot from Merlin's palm like deadly arrows and headed straight for Nimueh. There was a startled look in her eyes as they found their mark and shattered on her. Fortunately for her, because the warlock was so weak, the usually lethal icicles did not kill her. Instead, they enveloped her in an icy shell, rendering her completely frozen. There was no way she would be able to move until she melted. This gave the injured Merlin enough time to flee the scene. With a wrench of pain, he tried to heave himself onto the horse's back.
As he did this, he spotted the Faeries moving forward, staring at him. Had it just been the mature Faerie he may have been able to take her but as the younglings had rejoined the group he didn't stand a chance in this state. Dangling in the stirrup he waited for the inevitable.
"Please…" he whispered. After all this he was going to be dead anyway.
"We're not going to hurt you, young warlock," the adult smiled slightly, her eyes giving little away, "We heard the promise Nimueh made to you. We do not break promises."
"But, I haven't killed her, she'll be angry." Merlin wasn't quite sure why he was arguing for them to kill him. He gave himself the excuse that he really wasn't in a great state of mind.
"So, I think its time for us to move on anyway. There is only so long you can serve one mistress….or a master." The Faerie added, her gaze piercing.
"I think I'll be serving mine til the day I die," Merlin replied before completing the last step of mounting his horse. "Thank you." He nodded to the group and the frozen ice block that was Nimueh before kicking his mare into a gallop.
The next phase of his journey passed in a haze. Looking back, Merlin himself wasn't even sure how he made it back to the castle on a horse that had never been there before. Still he did, and the final leg of his ride was known by everyone.
A weary horse plodded slowly into the town that sprawled out beside the castle. It was obviously exhausted - in need of a bucket of water and a bed of straw – with its large head hung low and its flanks heaving with exertion. The steady clip clop of its shoe studded hooves on the cobbled street of Camelot drew the attention of several peasant children who were playing with a ball.
They caught the first glimpse of the tired mare and then the wreck of a man who sat atop her. When one says sat it was really not true; the rider was slumped on her back with his weak arms encircling her broad neck in an effort to stay in the saddle. His clothes were in tatters, stained with mud and, more disturbingly, blood. The raven hair on his head was just as matted and filthy but what was most shocking, other than his unseemly appearance, was the red raw burn splashed across his pale cheek like a morbid piece of artwork. There were more dark markings protruding from beneath his charred shirt, near the base of his throat.
The eldest of the children: a fearless boy aged about ten, hurried forward, when he saw the injured man. He had recognised him despite the burns as Merlin, the prince's trusted manservant. Even though he had no idea what had befallen the young man, he knew that he was never going to get to the castle on his own. So, with a decision set firmly in his mind, the lad stepped forward and took the reins of the mare from the semi-conscious man and began to lead her through the town. His friends followed, curiously.
As they passed through the streets, people stopped and stared at the entourage. Many of them too, realised who the wounded horseman was and mutterings soon erupted around the entire town. The group finally reached the castle courtyard entrance and the boy called out boldly to the guards posted there.
"Good soldiers, I believe this is, Merlin, the manservant of Prince Arthur. He is seriously wounded and needs help immediately. Will you let us by?"
Just as the men stepped forward to peer at the now unconscious man a voice echoed across the courtyard. Everyone turned to look towards the source.
"Is that him? Is that Merlin? Please don't tell me he's dead?!" The worry in his voice was evident. No doubt, from his position, it did look like the man on the horse was dead.
Prince Arthur was dressed in little more than a thin linen shirt with all the buttons undone and flannel trousers. His feet were bare and his face was pale and pinched with pain. The cause of his condition was plain to see as thick, white bandages were wrapped tightly round the majority of his torso. None of the people present had ever seen the Prince so unkempt and, well, un-princely, with his hair sticking up all over the place. There was complete silence.
"Well?!" He practically yelled, still struggling to reach the horse and its rider.
"Um…well, my lord, we don't really know." One guard said, looking at the children for assistance. Finally, Arthur reached them and caught sight of Merlin's burnt face. He drew a sharp intake of breath.