Chapter Twenty-One.
He awoke to the sunshine. It was red behind his eyelids, and warm on his skin. He opened his eyes to it, watching it filter through the window and catch twinkling specks of dust.
His side felt stiff and, when he tried to move, a sharp pain shot through his gut. He groaned at it, and something on the other side of him shuffled. He turned his head on the pillow to find Sam, sitting in a chair and resting his head on his crossed arms. Merlin must have woken him up, because he tensed and sat up.
"Hey," he said groggily, blinking at the light and puffing out his chest in a stretch. "Thought we lost you," he then continued. He frowned. "Actually, we did lose you for a second there."
Merlin let out a deflating breath and reached to his wounded side where a large, clean white gauze was taped.
"That always happens to me," he groaned, and Sam gave a warm smile, obviously too tired to chuckle.
"Where's Arthur?"
"Downstairs. We had to pretty much force him out of here to get some rest. He was pretty bruised up after what happened—inside and out—but he's fine." Sam shook his head and brushed his fingers through his hair. "Man, what he did . . . I've never seen anyone retake control like that. People here are goin' nuts. They won't stop talking about it. We've already got people volunteering to come fight for us, saying they wanna leave with us right away. When word of this gets out, people are gonna be lining up to help us."
Merlin couldn't help but smile proudly, no matter how droopily.
"When are we leaving?" he asked.
"When you rest up," Sam told him strictly.
"I am rested," Merlin insisted. He proved it by sitting up, even though he winced at the pain.
"You sure?"
"Yes. We're not waiting here for me. Morgana could come back with reinforcements."
"She hasn't yet, man. It's been two days," Sam said, taking Merlin off guard. Had he really been out that long? "I think she's scared."
"Good."
Sam tried to convince Merlin to keep resting, but Merlin didn't listen. Instead, Sam helped get him redressed and down the stairs into what Merlin realized was the Golovs' living room.
"Look who's up," Sam announced as they entered the room, and everyone present gave Merlin a smile and assorted greetings.
But Merlin only cared for one. He made eye contact with Arthur almost instantly, and Arthur gave him a small, soft smile and a nod hello from across the room.
They were all pretty adamant about leaving, but Mrs. Golov convinced them to stay and fixed them lunch. Afterwards, all three family members walked the group to the door and said goodbye with grateful hugs.
"So, uh, hey," Dean said before they parted for good. "How do you get your guns anyway?"
Mr. Golov narrowed his eyes and pointed a chubby finger at Dean. "Okay. For you? I tell," he said. "Is my wife. She knows how to build them. Her whole family workers at Degtyarev plant for many generations before we move to England."
Dean groaned and leaned back in defeat at the information, but John looked at him and beamed.
"Well, Mr. Golov, it was a pleasure meeting you," John said shaking his hand wildly.
"Yeah, whatever," Dean muttered.
The Golovs waved them off, telling them to come back soon, and the group started down the hill towards the trucks.
The caravan pulled into the car park outside the castle in the early evening and, as they began unloading, Yasmin, Kate, Mary, and Clara exited the castle to greet them. While Dean scooped up Clara and Mary and John shared a moment, Yasmin and Kate went straight up to Merlin and Arthur.
"We were expecting you sooner," Kate told them.
"My apologies," said Arthur, glancing at Merlin. "We ran into some trouble."
"We heard all about it," said Kate, making Merlin look at her in perplexity.
"I'm sorry?"
"About what happened in Warwickshire," Yasmin elaborated. "People won't stop talking about it. You should see the number of people who have come to the castle since then. They're from all over the north and the midlands."
"We've even gotten word of groups making their way from Scotland," Kate added.
"Told you word would spread," Sam said from nearby before directing his focus on Yasmin. "Cas get back yet?"
"A few days ago," she answered. "He and Sherlock are inside."
"And how did your voyage go?" Arthur asked both women. "Did you find anyone from your order?"
A smile pressed Yasmin's lips. "Yes. About half a dozen of them, and more are on their way. We're alerting as many druids as we can find."
"Well, if they're here now, I'd quite like to meet them," Arthur answered.
"Me, too," Merlin interjected. "I guess I owe them a thank you."
"They're inside the castle," Yasmin said, trying not to sound too excited. She turned and gestured them forward. "Come with me."
As the weeks went on, people from all over converged on the castle, offering themselves up for battle. It seemed like their forces would double overnight, bringing in merchants, hunters, druids, civilians, and soldiers. Eventually, they had close to two thousand people living in and around the castle, and their alliance with UNIT and assorted rebel groups spread their influence to every part of the UK and Ireland.
They still made their rounds with Gwen's team, but no longer for recruitment. Now, whenever they traveled to the villages and communes, it was for communication and to check on the progress on all the fronts. More riots and skirmishes than ever were breaking out throughout the country, only now the rebels were trained and organized. They were winning.
Morgana responded by sending in more of her Enforcers and, for a short timem there was a massive demonic presence around the Clyde naval base in Scotland, the deployment center for the nuclear weapons. Arthur led the campaign there himself until all the Enforcers were driven out of the port, but no thermonuclear warheads were found. Shortly after, Morgana's broadcasts stopped altogether.
The victories brought high morale throughout the castle, but Arthur believed they shouldn't take their success for granted. Training was still mandatory on a daily basis, and Dean noticed an improvement in the volunteers across the board. However, there were still those new to the efforts who needed work, like Bell, a middle aged man from Plymouth who could never seem to hit his target during practice. Both Dean and John had tried giving him personal attention, but no good seemed to come of it.
The same was true that day as Dean walked in back of the line of soldiers as they fired rounds at the wooden targets that had been set up along the grounds. Bell hadn't hit a single one, but Dean had to hand it to the man: He never stopped trying.
Across the field, Dean caught sight of Mary, wrapped up in a hat and sweater against the chilled air, walking towards him, not flinching at the loud bangs of the guns going off. She appeared as accustomed to it as Dean was. When she reached halfway down the line, she waved him over pleasantly.
"Have you seen my husband?" she asked over the backfire.
"Think he went inside to find you," Dean told her, trying to be helpful. "Said it was lunchtime."
There was a loud cracking sound as a bullet hit a branch of a nearby tree, making it snap off and fall to the grass below.
"Dammit, Bell!" Dean yelled involuntary, eliciting an apology from Bell.
"New guy?" Mary asked with a raised brow.
"Wish I could say that," Dean grumbled. "He's been at it for about three weeks. Hasn't hit a target in all that time."
Mary watched Bell for a pause, studying him. "Well, no wonder. His stance is off," she said, and Dean furrowed his eyebrows at her. She cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted, "Bell! Try moving your left foot back a few inches and lower your right elbow."
Ever open to suggestion, Bell did as he was told. To Dean's amazement, the next bullet Bell loosed hit the edge of its target. It wasn't perfect, but it was definite progress. Mary grinned smugly at Dean, and Dean eyed her in astonishment.
"How the hell did you know that?"
She shrugged innocently. "John's been training people for months, and I've been looking on. You pick up on a few things."
Dean was pleasantly surprised, and he let out a chuckle. "You're one badass lady, Mrs. Watson."
She seemed pleased to hear it.
Merlin stood against the back wall of the castle, watching the grounds before him as Arthur trained a group of soldiers on the opposite side of the pathway from Dean's session. But he was only vaguely aware of the sounds of gunfire in the distance. His full attention was on Arthur and, from the sidelines, a few other people were watching, too: little boys with hero worship in their eyes and giggling and whispering teenaged girls. They, along with those new to training with Arthur, gaped as he impressively twirled his blade with a few flicks of his wrist.
He went easy on the newbies, even though he would never admit it. But, every now and again, he would give the onlookers a show as he demonstrated something to the trainees. Those were the opportunities in which he revealed how talented and ferocious he was with his blade. His skill made it look easy, like a graceful dance instead of a deadly force. People would applaud for him and cheer him on, and Arthur would throw his head back and laugh at the sky as though he were a boy in a game of wooden swords and plastic horses.
Merlin assumed, in the grand scheme of things, that's all any of them were. But Arthur had always been so much more. He'd been back in Merlin's world for such a short period, and already Merlin could not seem to place himself in a life with Arthur. And he also knew that life was nearing its end again.
He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes, allowing himself to slide down the brick to sit down. But he soon felt the presence of another standing before him, and he opened his eyes again.
"Hello," James said timidly. Merlin peered behind James to see three other children standing in a huddle, surreptitiously looking over at them in turn. Obviously, James had lost some sort of bet.
"Alright, James," Merlin said back.
The boy looked down at his shoes and crushed pieces of grass with the toes of his trainers, and Merlin wondered if he had ever been that young.
"Would you like to sit?" Merlin reached. James was hesitant, but he plopped down next to Merlin and let out a breath, obviously wanting to get this over with. Merlin looked at him expectantly.
"Me and the other kids were wondering," the boy said, hardly meeting Merlin's gaze. "If you're really Merlin, how come you don't have a pointy beard?"
Merlin let out a soft laugh. He didn't know why, but he was relieved. "You don't think I'm really him, then?"
James shrugged.
Merlin thought for a moment. "What's your favorite sweet, James?"
James seemed to perk up a bit. "I like chocolate," he said enthusiastically.
Merlin beamed at him. "Me, too." Promptly, he reached behind James' ear and his eyes flashed gold. When he brought his hand back down, there was a small brightly wrapped square of chocolate between his fingers. "There you are."
However, James looked unimpressed. "I've got an uncle who can do that," he taunted. "Not the eyes thing, though."
"Oh, yeah?" said Merlin with an air of a man who was taking the gloves off. "Can your uncle do this?"
He crossed his legs and placed both palms flat on the grass in front of him. His eyes flashed again, and then he lifted both hands to reveal three narrow Cadbury bars under them. James gasped, his eyes wide, and Merlin grinned wildly as the children nearby began to clap happily.
He collected the chocolate and handed it to James. "Go on," he told him. "Go share these with your mates."
James hopped to his feet, already salivating over the candy. "Thanks, Mr. Smith—er, Merlin!" he said, and scampered off to meet his friends. Merlin watched them go until he felt another pair of eyes on him.
He turned his head to see Sam slowly pacing over. Sam pulled a frown and flapped his arms at his sides. "Any chance you can drum up a Chicago deep dish—extra onions?"
Merlin chuckled warmly. "I'd be your brother's hero."
"Just a little."
Sam sat down next to him, and there was a quiet pause before Merlin asked, "How is training going?"
Sam shrugged. "Pretty good. I think people are itching for a fight, but . . ." He shook his head thoughtfully. "They're scared. They aren't soldiers, man."
"They seem to be coming along," Merlin told him. "Don't doubt them. They have a cause—and a leader. I've seen many men go into battle to preserve their homes, and I've even seen some of them win. Give them a chance; they'll rise to the occasion."
"Huh," Sam thought aloud after a moment.
"What?" Merlin wondered.
"Nothin'," Sam said. "Just, for a second there, you sounded like the Doctor."
Merlin brought his attention back to the grass before him, wondering whether or not he should take that as a compliment.
Before he could figure it out, Sam nudged his shoulder. "I hear we're not the only trainers anymore. Yasmin said you were teaching a few tricks to the other druids."
Merlin laughed bashfully. "Only when they ask," he said, but then a look of realization came to him. "Which is quite often, actually."
"Well, you're kinda a rock star to them."
"No! I just think they're keen to learn the ways of the Old Religion, Yasmin especially."
"Yeah, sure, dude. You have groupies. Just like Arthur does."
Merlin smirked as he directed his attention back to Arthur, but then he saw another flash of movement in his peripheral vision. On the edge of the grounds, right before the pathway led into the gardens, about a dozen people appeared out of thin air. Suddenly, nearly a dozen more joined them.
Sam must have seen it, too, because his expression was set and he jumped up. He pulled out his dagger as Merlin also scrambled to his feet. They hadn't been the only ones who noticed the newcomers, either. On either side of the pathway, both Dean and Arthur were on high alert, and their soldiers broke into a new defensive formation.
However, from the center of the group of newcomers, a teenage boy made his way to the front and held up his palms as though he meant no harm. He said something that Merlin couldn't quite hear, so he and Sam rushed down the walkway to be level with where Dean and Arthur were standing.
"If you're not demons, what are you?" Arthur was asking.
The teenager answered, "My name is Ambriel. Castiel sought me out, and I've brought reinforcements." He gestured to the group behind him.
"You're an angel?" Sam asked, and Merlin noticed Dean eyeing him warily. Merlin couldn't help staring at Sam out of the corner of his eyes, either. He felt like he was holding in a breath.
"Ambriel!" someone shouted from behind them, and Castiel soon pushed passed Sam and Merlin to greet the young angel.
"Castiel," Ambriel said with reverence as Cas approached.
"I was beginning to lose faith."
"Forgive me, brother," Ambriel said. "I searched everywhere for help." He looked over his shoulder, seeming apologetic and timid. "These are all I could find."
Cas looked behind Ambriel at the other angels, and a wide grin spread across his face. He looked like he hadn't expected such a large turnout.
"It is more than enough," he told Ambriel thankfully, which seemed to please Ambriel very much. Castiel turned around and said, "These are my friends: Arthur, Merlin, and—"
"Dean and Sam Winchester," Ambriel finished for him, looking at both of them in turn. He walked forward and held out his hand to Sam. Sam looked down at it like he didn't quite understand what it was for.
"I believe it's customary to shake hands on Earth?" Ambriel asked. Sam nodded and took the angel's hand in his own.
Both Merlin and Dean watched the exchange tensely but, when the handshake broke, Ambriel's face remained pleasant. Merlin met Dean's eyes again and let out the breath he'd been holding.
Sam, Dean, and Cas tried to keep the fact of there being angels in the castle under wraps as much as possible. They didn't want to spread panic or cause any more religious debates, but those who had been present during Ambriel's arrival told anyone who would listen. Most people brushed them off, which was a good thing, but it made Sam wonder why people were so accepting of demons walking amongst them, but not angels. He guessed that was a philosophical debate for another time, and he didn't have the hours to ponder it between training and excursions.
About a week after the angels' appearance, Sam and Dean arrived back at the castle after another trip to the midlands. There, they'd met up with a group of people that Dean was eager to inform Arthur about.
The Winchesters stood outside the door to Arthur's chambers and Dean gave it a musical knock. Moments later, high pitched giggling emitted from inside, causing Sam and Dean to share a look between them. It sounded like multiple girls were on the other side of the room, and Sam was all for walking away and never speaking of this again, but then the door opened.
Four teenagers, three girls and boy, scurried out, all of them holding loose pieces of paper in their hands and laughing giddily to one another as they compared what was written and disappeared down the corridor. After sharing another look, Dean and Sam pushed inside the room to a flustered looking Arthur.
"Somethin' kinky happenin' here?" Dean asked with a sideways smile, pointing his thumb behind him at the door.
Arthur looked confused by his words. "What? No, I—They asked me to write my name on blank pages," he said like the notion was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Sam had to stifle a laugh. "I have no idea why. People have been coming up to me asking for that as of late."
"They wanted your autograph?" Dean asked, sounded amused.
Arthur looked even more lost. "What does that mean?"
"It means you got fangirls," Dean mocked. "They're probably writin' porn about'cha right now."
Immediately, Arthur's eyes went wide. "What?" he shouted. "Tell them to stop!"
Dean was enjoying this way too much. "Can't."
"Yeah, trust me, me and Dean have been there," Sam said, biting back a chuckle in attempt to make the situation seem more dire. "You just have to accept it."
Arthur placed his hands on his hips, looking distraught, but he nodded after a moment. "Very well," he said. "What news do you bring?"
"We got something better than news," Dean said. "We got people—more military guys."
"British forces?" Arthur asked attentively.
"Not exactly," Sam said. He and Dean walked across the room to the back door that led to the drawing room, where they'd set up the group. "They're in here. Come on."
On the other side of the door, Sherlock and the Doctor sat at the table, watching a handful of rowdy men and women chat in the center of the room. However, they stopped talking as soon as they saw Arthur and the Winchesters. One man, broad and brunette, stepped to the front of the group and said in an accent from the American South, "Arthur Pendragon? Name's Sergeant Davis of the US Army. These fellas here tell me you're the man to talk to."
Arthur blinked at him for a moment before saying, "I am. You're American soldiers?"
"Yessir."
"I wasn't aware America was coming to our aid," Sherlock said, and the Doctor shot him a sidelong look.
"You know it's not that simple," the Doctor said. "Sending in troops would start a war."
"That's right," Davis said, and he didn't look too offended either way. "But I'm afraid I can't give you too much intel on that. We've been stranded here for months."
"Remember those planes we saw way back when?" Dean reminded Arthur.
"Of course," Arthur recalled. "You were flying to London in the days after the attack."
Davis nodded. "London and other cities. My squad was set en route to Edinburgh for the American Embassy there. It was a search and rescue mission—get the Americans out and fly back home. We weren't counting on supernatural forces at work."
"And you've had communication with the States since?" Arthur asked.
"No, sir. We lost radio contact about twenty miles outta Edinburgh, but we decided to keep on target and land. Lost a few good men that day, and a few more since. Word is, you're looking to fight back and, well—"
He looked behind him, scanning the faces of his squad. They nodded in solidarity, so Davis turned back to Arthur with a handsome smile.
"I think I speak for all of us when I say we'd really like to get back home."
"Then, you're more than welcome," Arthur told them gratefully. "Go down to the bailey. One of the soldiers on watch will find you living quarters."
"Yessir," Davis said, and he and his squad filed out of the room.
Dean and Sam were just about to follow them out when Arthur called them back.
"We—," he nodded to Sherlock and the Doctor, "—along with John, Kate, and Yasmin have been drawing up strategies for our attack against Morgana."
Sam's brows darted upward. "Really? Already?"
"I believe the people are almost ready," Arthur told them. "We promised them a battle, and this is the one that will win the war. We need tactics for it."
"Well, what are ya thinkin'?" Dean asked, stepping over to the maps on the table. Sam followed after him. Meanwhile, Arthur was shuffling the maps until one of London was on top.
"We plan to contain the fight to Central London, where Morgana's operation is concentrated, and a few other key locations," he said.
"Yeah, and Gwen told me and Clara most civilians moved away from City Center," Dean remembered.
"Exactly," Arthur agreed. He looked back down at the map and ran his finger along it as he spoke. "John and his company will be the first into the city. We have enough merchants working with us to smuggle them into London. From there, he'll lead them to St. Paul's. That will be our medical station."
"Good idea," Sam praised. "Demons aren't gonna set foot into a church."
"It's hallowed ground," Sherlock interjected, and Sam realized it must have been his idea in the first place.
Arthur continued on, "The rest us will need to get through the checkpoints. Those are located on the M1, four, and twenty-three. The rest of the motorways are blocked off, so we can't use them. Kate will lead a number of UNIT soldiers to clear the checkpoint on the M1, and Yasmin and the druids will take the M4. We have a rebel group from Canterbury taking the M23.
"Those attacks have to be simultaneous, and the rest of us have to be standing by at that point. The moment those checkpoints fall, Morgana will be alerted to our attack, so we must be ready," he said clearly. "From there, Kate will move to the Tower of London. The druids will make their way to Piccadilly."
Arthur pressed his finger over Westminster on the map and continued, "Dean, you and Castiel will lead a group to Parliament. It's paramount we win back that area. Sam, you'll be stationed in Trafalgar Square. Between you is Whitehall. Ensure you send men along that strip. It'll allow us to capture Downing Street."
"Got it," Sam and Dean said in perfect synchronization.
"And where are you gonna be?" Dean asked.
Arthur moved his finger to a patch of green. "St. James' Park," he said pointedly.
"Buckingham Palace," Sherlock interpreted.
"That's where Morgana will be," the Doctor said.
"And where her strongest soldiers will be," Arthur told them. "Gwen will accompany me. Once we take the Palace and capture my sister, the war is over. I'm ending this once and for all."
"And what if she finds you first?" Sherlock posed.
"Tell her to come," Arthur challenged. "I'll be the one wearing red."
Dean nodded, and Sam could see the gears turning behind his eyes. "Sounds like fun," he said at last. Sam agreed.
"Actually, while we're scheming, I've been coming up with a plan of my own," the Doctor said, leaning forward to gain everyone's attention. "I think I have a way to save some people instead of massacring all the vessels."
"I'm open to suggestion," Arthur told him. "What is it?"
"Exorcism," the Doctor revealed like it was a groundbreaking idea.
Everyone's face remained neutral and unimpressed.
"You know how long that takes?" Dean finally broke the silence. "One or two demons, fine—but an army?"
"Not if we get them all at once," the Doctor told him, making Dean tilt his head in puzzlement.
"A mass exorcism?" Sam inquired.
"Is that possible?" Arthur posed to Sam and Dean.
However, before they could answer, the Doctor said, "If you do it right."
"What do you need?" asked Arthur.
The Doctor sat back again and crossed his legs, looking pleased with himself. "For starters, safe passage through the city. I'll need to slip under the radar."
"My homeless network can provide that," Sherlock offered.
"Your what?" asked Dean, but he was ignored.
"The next time the merchants have to reload in London, I will accompany them and get in touch with my contacts."
The Doctor snapped his fingers and pointed at Sherlock in thanks. Then he turned back to Arthur. "One more thing. Electricity."
"Then, your plan won't work," Arthur told him, sounding impatient. "We don't have any."
"We did for the broadcasts," Sam reminded him. "That means the grids work. Morgana's just keeping them off. She wants to bring us back to the Dark Ages."
"Not her, though," Dean said, his eyes lighting up. "Buckingham's got power. Everyone was on computers when I was inside."
"But we don't know if it's citywide," Arthur said, "and there hasn't been a broadcast for months. I doubt she'll start again now."
"Yes, but we don't need that if all we have to do is flip a switch," Sherlock said. "The power station in London is located at Battersea on the other side of the Thames from where we'll be. You already said the group from Canterbury will be coming from that direction off the M23. If they take the power station, the Doctor's plan will work."
Arthur seemed to consider this before saying, "Then, that's what we'll do."
"Great," Dean said. "So when's this all goin' down?"
"To get John's men inside, we need to strike on a day when enough merchants are scheduled for pickup in London," Arthur answered. "But we aren't ready for that yet. London is our first priority, but it should be our last move. We have to work on liberating the other major cities first. Our allies already have control of Cardiff, Manchester, Aberdeen, Dublin, and Cork so far, but it isn't enough."
"Then, we better get to it," Sam said, and he and Dean took that as their cue to leave.
However, Dean seemed to remember something before they reached the door. He turned around and said to the Doctor, "Oh, hey, by the way. I ran into someone during me and Sam's last run. Said he knew you. Told me to say hi, and that he wished he could stop by but him and the missus were takin' the fight to Northern Ireland."
The Doctor knitted his brows together in wonder. "What was his name?"
"Ah, I don't remember," Dean admitted, searching his mind. "Ricky or somethin'."
That must have meant something to the Doctor. A fond, warm smile spread across his features, and he looked down at the table as though in memory.