The party loaded their horses and moved out, pushing through the snow as quickly as the dismounted guards could move. Merlin's legs ached and burned, and he clung hard onto the side of Master's saddle to stay upright. His legs eventually found their up-down rhythm from the day before. He idly watched the snow fall in fat flakes that piled on their hoods and shoulders, trusting Master's guidance and his hold on the saddle to keep him from falling. Everyone feared pursuit, and looked over their shoulders when they weren't watching at him, curious glances that probed his back and turned away whenever he tried to see who was staring.

Black spots ranged in his vision, dancing against the snow and fading again when he blinked. Merlin shook his head and struggled on. When had they reached this part of the forest? He drifted, oddly light, and woke to a slap of cold across his face.

He was belly down in the snow, a horse almost on top of him, picking up its hooves and turning to nudge at him with its warm nose.

"Hold!" Sir Ector called.

The gray knight was there even before Master got himself out of the saddle, hands clasping around Merlin to lift him. He staggered, leaning blearily against the man while the black spots swam again. They would leave him behind if he couldn't walk. Merlin tried to press forward and fell on his hands and knees, flinching when two feet met the snow next to him as the prince dismounted.

Get up.

He pulled his feet underneath him and started to straighten his legs. They trembled violently and betrayed him to fall heavily in the snow again.

"Stop it."

Master's voice was kind, and so were his hands when he pulled Merlin up to his knees.

"Arms round my neck, hey?"

He hung on, his arms a little stronger than his exhausted legs, and Master stood for both of them. Merlin leaned into the warmth of the prince's chest, safe, content, his body pleading to be allowed to relax.

"Hey." Master shook him, jarring loose some of the warmth. "Stay with me. No sleeping."

Sleep. That would be wonderful. But no, Master forbid it. Merlin pushed his eyes open. "No sleep."

"That's right. Stay awake."

The wrinkled face of Gaius swam into Merlin's view, old, calloused hands touching his face, looking into his eyes.

"Hypothermia, sire. His body cannot produce the heat it needs."

"We treated them only last night," Sir Ector protested.

"Recovery from anything depends greatly on the previous condition of the patient." Gaius looked at Master. "Did anything happen to him when you left the castle?"

"He was reacting to Morgause's spellcasting."

"What were his symptoms?"

"Shaking, screaming, vomiting. His eyes went funny, like he was somewhere else, seeing other things." Master paused. "Terence was the same."

"Sir Ector, it is my advice that we camp posthaste."

"There was once an abandoned watchtower some half-hour's ride from here." Sir Ector looked at the prince.

"We use it for a hunting camp," Master nodded. "We'll have good shelter there."

Merlin yawned, trying to stay awake while they decided, and was very content when he found himself put astride the horse with Master behind him where he could snuggle back into his lord's cloak and feel the extra warmth radiating against his back. He tried hard to stay awake as Master said, despite the gentle rock of the horse and the snow that fell so lazily to kiss the tree branches and the horse's ears.

He saw the watchtower when the horse changed gait to climb the hill, the second story reaching for the sky in broken corners of stone, the lower walls braced and repaired with the rubble of the upper ones. Master dismounted and led his horse right through the door, and Merlin ducked over its neck so he wouldn't hit his head. The arrow slits gave them dim light, and he could see a stone floor, a covered well, and not much else.

The others rushed around them, so busy, all talking and jangling horse harness. Merlin tried to walk as Master brought him to the fire pit. His legs felt odd and wouldn't quite respond to his direction. A soft blanket met his back, and he was staring up at the ceiling now, Master's hands roaming for the laces of his clothes. If Merlin could not walk, he was pleased that he could still arch himself and shift and put his arms up so Master would not have difficulty stripping him.

Merlin lifted his limbs to accommodate Master as the young man rubbed him all over with a blanket, first out of submission, then because it felt good, like life bursting forth and running back down to his toes and fingers and back again. His mind woke as he found himself sitting up, leaning back against Master's chest and swathed in warm blankets. Someone put a warm bowl in his hands, and it felt heavy. He struggled with it, and Master caught the bowl just before it spilled. Merlin ignored the spoon and pulled Master's hands close so he could drink straight out of the bowl cupped in them. Broth, like last night, but with chunks of meat near the bottom that he had to stop and chew at.

There was not a fire.

Merlin looked from his still-steaming bowl of broth and warm blankets to the cold firepit and the definitely not on fire pyramid of wood at its center. Terence crouched over the wood, lifting his hand.

"Forbearnan," he whispered.

Flames crackled up, casting light across the inside of the tower and illuminating red-cheeked faces who watched Terence with caution. The manservant dropped cakes of dried meat and vegetables into the pot and heated it to steaming with a flash of his eyes.

"Dinner?" he asked, looking up at the others.

Their tired party ate while Master Gawain yelled at Terence to "warn me next time before you pull something like that for God's sake!"

His shouting made Merlin shiver until he saw Master Gawain touch Terence's shoulder gently despite his tirade and realized it was that strange, affectionate anger he did not quite understand.

The food and warmth settled in, and he got his clothes back, dry and snug. Merlin studiously put his trousers on his head, long legs of fabric trailing down over his shoulders and onto the ground, and grinned at Master from under the waistband. That got him a chuckle and a smile that did not fade. Master yanked a trouser leg down all the way over Merlin's head, blinding him, and playfully knuckled his hair while he squirmed, the tension of the last few days turning to giggles.

When Master released him - a little light back in the prince's eyes that had gone dull since Morgause attacked - Merlin put on his clothes properly and lay back, stretching from toes to fingertips until his spine popped.

Everyone had their food, the camp was settled and the horses hobbled and crunching their nosebags on the other side of the tower. He should draw water for washing the dishes.

"You rest," Master said, pushing him back down.

Merlin obeyed uncomfortably, his body itching for something to do. Instead, he lay on the floor like the wounded knights, waiting for his turn to be checked by the physician. No one seemed to resent his laziness. He sat up anyway, as soon as Master was paying attention to something else, dragging one of the blankets with him and draping it around himself as he settled on his knees, properly in attendance without disobeying the command to rest. He hoped. Master only sighed to see him, and shook his head without saying anything.

The door banged open and Merlin startled, shuddering in the cold blast of wind and wondering why no once seemed to notice, even as the fire guttered and went out.

Thick blue fog wiped their small camp away. The others vanished, all of them, save Terence, who sprang to his feet. In the same breath a woman appeared in the middle of the room, pale and wrinkled with age, her eyes bitter with unmeasured sorrow. The mist crawled around her, the edges of her thick dress and sleeves worn to tatters that fluttered in a breeze Merlin could not feel. Her hair was gray under her black hood, and she and carried a twisting staff.

"Your Grace." She bowed to Terence. The woman's voice seemed dragged from the bottom of the grave. Her eyes turned on Merlin, and he clutched his blanket around him protectively. "You? A slave-child?"

Merlin cringed back as she approached and stroked the side of his face with her knuckles, icy fingers trailing down to his collar and across it, back under his chin to draw him to his feet.

"You've no idea what you are."

He stepped back, hugging himself and glancing around for Master, the fire, their safe little tower.

"I am the Cailleach, the gatekeeper to the spirit world." The woman turned back to Terence. "Morgause has offered a blood sacrifice, Your Grace. Four kings, two princesses, ten knights, and five hundred thirty-two of her own hired men."

"What does she want?" Terence whispered.

"She wishes to open the veil between the worlds and command the spirits of the restless dead. At midnight tonight, the veil will open, and she will be permitted to call any to her who choose to go."

"Can you stop her?"

"I am a neutral party, Your Grace. I will not interfere with the dispute."

"Neither should the dead."

"She has presented the sacrifice."

"But not made it."

"No."

"The laws of sacrifice are not absolute." Terence stepped forward. "They must be accepted by the receiving party. Deny her."

The Cailleach smirked. "Duke of Avalon or not, you cannot command me."

"Seelie will stand against you in this."

The woman's laughter was bitter and cold as a winter's night with no fire or shelter. "What do I care for the factions of Men or the Fae? They all send me their souls. Even you, brave Duke of Isle Avalon, humble servant of an exiled prince of Men, will come screaming to me in the end."

Terence said nothing, and it was the Cailleach who turned her eyes away from his first.

"Innocent people will die, my lady."

"The innocent are always dying alongside the guilty." She ran her fingers over her staff. "The world does not measure life and death by who is innocent and who is not, or by who wishes to go. Many times did this slave-child call out to me to come and steal his life out of his body and end his torment. Tell me, boy, do you wish I had taken it?"

Merlin shook his head, chilled by her keen, sad gaze.

"The judgment of the living and the dead is not within us, Your Grace, nor the purposes of their suffering."

"That is no reason to kill more. Will you not stop it?" Terence pressed.

The Cailleach turned away. "She cannot force the dead to come to her. I cannot stop them from going. What happens after is their doing, not mine. Let the wicked bear their own sins, son of Ganscotter, and do not join them."

She was gone in a moment, and the light of the fire washed over them as the mist cleared and they saw their companions again.

"Terence, what is it?" Master Gawain demanded. "Who were you speaking to?"

"The Cailleach." Terence wavered as he huddled down by the fire, arms wrapped around his knees.

"The which?"

"She is the gatekeeper to the spirit world."

"Why was she here?" Kai asked bluntly. "Just a nice chat?"

"Morgause is making another blood sacrifice."

Kai fell silent.

"Another four?" Master Gawain ran a hand over his face.

"Over five hundred."

A spoon clattered to the ground as one of the soldiers dropped in it shock. "Why?" he gasped.

"To call forth the spirits of the dead. The Cailleach claims she cannot stop her."

"Will you see them like you did the last four?" Master Gawain asked, gripping Terence's shoulder.

Terence did not look at him. "Probably."

"Like the last four?" Ector asked.

Master Gawain did not take his eyes from his servant. "Both Terence and Merlin found themselves in the minds of the victims during their final moments when Morgause made last blood sacrifice. It was…disturbing to them."

"To put it mildly." Terence's lips twisted into an excuse for a smile.

Merlin turned from staring at the place where the Cailleach had stood. "We see these too?" he whispered, blood running cold at the thought.

"Most likely." Terence's eyes were haunted.

Once, a master had tied him to the bedpost, and said he would whip him five hundred times. That was the closet Merlin knew to how many five hundred might be, and he had fainted from the pain before all five hundred were done. This was more than five hundred. Four was unbearable. Five hundred…

Master caught him before he even knew he started to fall, and his knees sagged. He knew how to sidestep the brunt of anger, of pain, how to satisfy an owner's need for power with abject pleading instead of his own misery, but there was no avoiding this, the decision made and having nothing to do with him or anything he had done. Master looked just as helpless as he.

"When?" Master Gawain asked.

Terence wrapped his arms closer around his knees. "Today is Midwinter's Eve, and the sacrifice must be made under cover of darkness. She'll start at midnight tonight."

Gaius knew the times by the stars and gave both Merlin an Terence herbs as midnight drew close. He knew nothing for pain of the mind, the physician explained, but a little delirium would at least help to ease the shock and fade the memory.

Merlin recognized the echo of Morgause's power this time as it gathered itself, knew the moment she lit her casting fire. It flared up, and he saw the unfamiliar courtyard in a flash. Three levels of cold, weather-worn arches glared down on them on four sides, larger than life, fading into the star-pricked sky. The open cobblestones were covered with people, the casting fire in its brazier and an altar at the center, Morgause standing beside them. Two rough guards grabbed him, and he screamed like a young woman, blond hair in his face, a noblewoman's tattered sleeves of green silk hanging from his arms as he - she? - struggled fruitlessly against to two men. Cold stone on his back, and the knife was like a whip cut to the chest before his eyes went dark.

They opened again to chaos. Screaming. Skirt and limbs draped across the altar at the edge of his vision until Morgause shoved them to the ground. He was fighting with the others to get away, hearing cries of rage, begging hysterically as he was yanked back onto the stone altar by the witch's powers. Another merciless cut bit into his chest.

"Merlin!"

Merlin fought to get his eyes open again, coming into quiet, low light, Percival murmuring gently in a language Merlin did not know with wooden beads wrapped through his fingers, Master's face above him.

"You aren't them, okay?"

Terence whimpered, and Merlin flashed back to the courtyard in time to see Morgause's face over him, the dagger dripping blood before it pierced his heart a third time. He was a king, then, full of rage, betrayed by his ally, and how dare she this was not what they had agreed to-

He died as easily as the others.

"Get his head up, Sire."

A cup was pressed to Merlin's lips, and he gulped down more herbs. His vision blurred, and the times he died became less precise, marked only by the sharp cut of the knife. He was half himself, half someone else, sobbing in fear, shouting in rage as he was dragged to the witch's thirsty knife.

His chest hurt horribly. He clawed at wounds that were not there until Master pinned his wrists.

"Please!"

"You're going to hurt yourself."

He was already hurting, dying, over and over again, until his chest felt like one gaping hole where his heart and lungs strained. Morgause's eyes were full of bloody satisfaction, and Master's hands laid on his shoulders. He barely understood where he was, and knew exactly where he wanted to be. Merlin tried to stay there, beside the warm and crackling fire, but the knife burrowed into his body, deeper and harder with each cut.

"Please," he whispered, automatic words that would do no good. "Please, Master. No punish. I be very good."

"I'm not angry." Master's voice was full of pain. "It's the witch, remember?"

"Make stop."

"I can't."

I can't, I can't, I can't, "I can't give him more herbs, Sire. It is too dangerous in his weakened condition."

He died again.

The courtyard had more dead bodies than live ones now. Morgause stood in a pool of blood, and the cobblestones ran red. This one cried and prayed as he was thrown on his back.

"Hush."

A different face replaced Morgause's, looking down at him, framed with tendrils of auburn hair, rather than blond. The lady, Isobel, they called her, cradled his head in her lap, rubbing gentle fingers across his scalp. Merlin twisted his head to brush his lips against her hand, crying out as the knife struck again. Master held his hands down when he tried to reach for the gash, and he glanced down at his chest. No knife wounds, only a rumpled tunic that half-covered bloody scratches. He could do nothing for his pain except injure himself more. Merlin kicked against the ground and sobbed wretchedly as the vision of death dragged him down again.

No more. Please, no more. There was too much blood already, too many lying dead. Morgause's arms and the front of her dress were splashed in red gore, even to her face where she had swiped back her hair. She was cold, and heartless, and-

This one was not afraid. He was she again, standing straight, hands folded inside wide sleeves, skirt and hair tugging in the wind - a princess, who would die a princess and no less. She looked Morgause in the eye and shook off her guards, walking through the blood to the altar without being pressed.

"May God in heaven witness this, Morgause, and not hold you guiltless."

"You are a silly girl," hissed the witch. She did not believe it, and the princess knew, and smiled in Morgause's face.

Merlin did not want her to die. The princess did not desire death either, but she did not fear it. When it came, she did not fight.

Silence hung in the courtyard. Morgause flung her bloody dagger into the casting fire, and it leapt up eagerly, clawing at the sky. A gash tore through the air along it, and the brazier clattered to the ground, scattered embers burning out. The dead screamed, and Merlin screamed with them.

He woke exhausted, an echo of pain still burning in his chest. His head rested in Lady Isobel's lap, and Master leaned over him, propped up on one elbow.

"You with us?" he whispered.

Merlin nodded, slowing taking in his surroundings. Terence lay huddled in a blanket, Garth and Garis snuggled up against him and offering what comfort they knew. Master Gawain sat close against his servant, head buried against his drawn-up knees. No one was sleeping, though the bedrolls were laid out. Most of the soldiers were with the horses, who shifted nervously on the other side of the tower. Gaius poured over a small stack of books, glasses perched on the end of his nose and a small hourglass measuring time beside him.

The sand ran out as Merlin watched, and the old man unfolded himself from beside the fire, picking up two cups. He approached Terence first, Gawain propping the young man up and rubbing his throat to help him swallow.

"Will it help?" Master asked as the physician came to them.

Gaius pressed the cup to Merlin's lips, and he gulped at it, grimacing.

"With luck, it will dull their memory of the event," the physician replied.

Ector picked up the books, looking at the pages Gaius had left open. "Did you find anything?"

"I believe Morgause has summoned the Dorocha - the spirits of the evil and restless dead. They may haunt the night only, but there is no defense against them, save their fear of fire."

"Why would she do this?"

"I expect it is the desire to strike fear into the hearts of any who dare to oppose her. Her army is now more or less invincible."

Merlin turned his face away, sick of this witch and not wanting to hear any more about her. The watch changed, the soldier's feet stumbling as they sought their bedrolls. Lady Isobel cupped his head in her hands while she shifted herself and lay it back into his blankets. He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles gratefully, receiving a kind smile in return before she turned away, the hem of her skirt just brushing him.

"She's left us an advantage."

All conversations stopped as the group turned to Master, who sat cross-legged at Merlin's side, arms resting on his knees.

"She's bound everything up in her spells, relied on them to the exclusion of everything else. She's destroyed her alliances." Master clenched his fist with grim satisfaction. "If her enchantments are broken, so is she."

"How, sire?"

"Well, we do have two sorcerers."

Nervous laughter echoed off the stones.

"If they're with us?"

Terence opened one eye and made a face that was half-hidden by his snugly wrapped blankets. "If I wake up tomorrow. What 'bout you, Merls?"

Merlin smiled at his liege. "With Master always."

"And the rest of you?" Master skimmed the group.

Not a one hesitated to join in the sturdy, "Aye."

A/N: So sorry for the wait. I would much rather have beat this chapter with a stick than post it, for all the trouble it gave me. But here it is, the end of Part One, I think. I'm writing this by feel, and despite my ultimate knowledge of where I want my characters to end up, I don't know a lot about how they're going to get there, or even how long it will take.

Manni: Yay for noble Arthur! Our boys are going through the wringer, but seem to be coming out with some wisdom about them. :)

Guest: Merlin's getting a bit of nerve back, and just in time, too. You are very welcome.

Anon37idk: So glad you are having a fun read. :)

Kate: Frankly, I didn't think it would make much sense for Morgause to kill most of the peasant/merchant class, since she kind of needs them to support the kingdom's economy. Merlin has more spunk than he knows, and Arthur is getting some space to call his own shots - thankfully with some honorable folks who are willing to back him up. Glad you liked the ending.

Waffle: Is six days soon? I say this a lot, but it just makes me really happy to help other people be happy by writing stories for them to read. So so happy you're having fun.