AN: Lemme just... breathe for a moment.
~6k of HALF of the magic battle (tough to write, let me tell you...little worried about that one), ~1k Gwen POV, ~1k Kay POV (FUN TIMES, MY FRIENDS)...and somehow there's an extra 2k added in there to equal 'round 10k.
I don't know what happened, but I hope you appreciate it anyway, even if I did a shoddy job of editing because it's kinda very late again.
In record time too...and before a Physics quiz tomorrow. :s Speaking of studying though, the biggest exam of my life (the PCAT - Pharmacy College Admission Test) is coming up next month, so I'm warning you now that the next chapter may take a little while, and I apologize in advance for that. Also, another apology is in order for a few of you: I'm rather behind on responding to PMs. *apologetic grin*
Well. Happy belated birthday, Ocean Mint Leaves! Sorry I couldn't get an update for you on your real birthday, and I hope you enjoy the blast from the past I added into the first scene for you (you'll see what I mean ;P). So, with that, everyone please enjoy *mumbles speedily under breath* Part 3 of 4 *runs out of room*
Part III: Playing With Fire
Panic rose in his throat as Morgana, whose dress was now more white than black, solidified her grip on the sword.
"Dammit," he swore, partially because he botched his chance to reclaim Excalibur and partially because his knees were beginning to tremble from fatigue and partially because his burnt hands were screaming with every twitch of his fingers and partially because the wards surrounding his friends had weakened and he'd have to recast them and furthermore refocus his concentration in maintaining them…
And oh dear, she didn't look particularly pleased with him, did she?
…
"You little rat," Morgana hissed, stalking into the main room.
The knights and king brandished their swords in preparation, but only Merlin saw the flare in her aura, a sign, a warning…
He stumbled between the knights and his opponent without thinking and watched her unblinkingly, and gritting his teeth against the pain shooting up his trembling hands, he felt some of his magic, taking no heed of its master's will to focus itself in the shields, slowly crawl its way to his burned fingers, which curled unwillingly towards his palm and felt as thick as blocks of wood for all the flexibility and responsiveness they had.
His mother, Gaius, and Arthur always did tell him not to play with fire, he recalled almost ludicrously, a dark smile twitching at his lips.
Not that it had ever once stopped him from threading flames through his fingers or from making animals of smoke and embers or from simply poking at the campfire with a big stick…
Or from toying with highly unstable sorceresses who just so happened to have the most revolting, mind-tainting magic he'd ever before witnessed.
He didn't notice the flames leaping from his fingers, caressing his hand and washing away the touch of Morgana's own fire…
And he raised it, still trembling with not only the Lybb's kiss still lingering in his system but also with the shock of his failures—for what else was it to have allowed her come this far? To have allowed her to weaken his magic in the first place? To have allowed her to get so close to destroying Arthur and Kay? To have allowed her to have gotten her army to Camelot so easily? To have allowed her to still have Excalibur in hand? What else could he call it?
And yet he raised it, still trembling, to Morgana because despite his failures and despite the fire he was playing with, fire that only grew hotter and more angry with every poke and prod, he would fight to fix all the wrongs, all of the mistakes he made in ignorance.
And by the gods, if it came to it, he would make it so that this fire was extinguished and unable to burn Camelot ever again.
The stone was warm in his pocket, and without even attempting to reach for it with his mind to tap into its vast stores of energy, it acted of its own accord, and he could feel its warmth seeping into his jittery extremities and into his magic, which, as his head would have done had he taken one of Gaius' hangover remedies after a night in the tavern with Gwaine, blinked its blurry vision clear and ceased its flighty and wild spinning.
Judging by the nearly inconspicuous looks the knights were sending from the corners of their eyes, it obviously wasn't enough to make him appear as though he felt any stronger for it, but he wasn't about to let that bother him, not when the energy he'd just received from the stone began to reweave the broken projective enchantments around his friends.
Morgana's scowl of rage suddenly twisted into a smirk, and her pale eyes haughtily scanned him like a farmer would a prize heifer. "What? No more energy to pull cheap tricks hidden up your sleeve, Merlin? Out of ideas?"
Growing weary and frankly sick of her taunting, Merlin did not respond, and finally, finally hedecided to hell with focusing solely on defense. After what happened in the smaller room, his head had begun to pound, and with his magic and physical strength fading while Morgana's stamina and magic were being continuously bolstered by Excalibur on top of that, he knew he had to end this soon, or he'd collapse (even with the stone in his possession) before Kilgharrah, who was still too far from Livandir for Merlin's liking, made an appearance.
It was time to take a risk, and it was about time that he dictated this fight.
Unfortunately, it didn't quite work out in his favor when Percival, his pale eyes flaring, stated in his defense, "You obviously don't know Merlin well, my Lady."
"And you, Sir Knight," she sneered, her lips splitting further and oozing with beads of blood, "obviously need to be taught a little lesson about your precious Merlin."
Aura leaping like an uncontrollable bonfire, black tendrils growing like weeds from the flares of her disgusting magic, shadows clinging to her like a second skin…
Words more ancient and dark than Merlin could comprehend spilled like vomit from her mouth, and her eyes were dark gold, blazing with demonic power.
"Move!" Merlin shouted, causing the knights to scatter without question, and he erected a shield before him just in time.
The black vipers simultaneously shot forward, and with the exception of the one that ran into his shield with enough force to make the warlock skid backwards and cause his arms to tremble, each head struck mere centimeters from where his friends had been standing and left cracked stone in their wake. While Percival's viper missed him and the floor completely and had instead hit a bench, causing it to erupt into splinters and send a whole array of weapons careening to the floor, Arthur and Lancelot stumbled at the ripple aftereffect of the strike nearest them, and Gwaine was sent sprawling. Kay, too, managed to both avoid his—unintentionally it seemed—and despite the invisible shock of the tendril's attack, he miraculously still managed to hold his position and shield Lot from the shards of broken floor and wood shooting his way.
Breathing heavily, Merlin eyed the tendrils as they withdrew with a speed equal to that of their attack, and in doing so, he raised his flame-encased hand once more and barked, "Áslít!" (1)
The golden fire streamed toward one of the writhing heads, and he was only just able to dodge one of its friend's snapping jaws and send yet another bolt of condensed fire to slice the tendril in half before Morgana could demand it's retreat. Morgana's form seemed to buckle at the heart of the shadowy black magic as, hissing and screeching, the decapitated vipers flailed in what appeared to be what the warlock could only describe as agony, and Merlin felt a smirk touch his lips.
He did the natural thing: a bolt formed in his hand, and after sculpting the energy into a curve, he threw it like one of those interesting contraptions called boomerangs he had read about in one of Gaius' exotic, rare history books.
Well, it would have been really effective and rather impressive if he knew how to throw a boomerang correctly, but he would have to make do with the satisfaction of distracting Morgana from assaulting them again, even though he would have preferred that his projectile flew a little more true and loped off a few more of those heads.
"What the hell are you doing, Merlin?" Arthur exclaimed when his rapid shots, after hitting their targets (or missing them completely), rebounded against the ceiling, shook the entire room, and sent shavings of stone raining down on them.
Without thinking, Merlin turned to his king with a cocked brow and look of mocking disbelief on his face because honestly, did he not see…?
No, no, they didn't see—that much was obvious by the way they looked around the room with frantic eyes as they tried to predict the next attack and by the way they took turns staring in utter confusion at him, Morgana, the cracked stone, and demolished bench alternatively—and Merlin cursed under his breath.
If they couldn't see, they couldn't fight. And more importantly, without knowing what and where the damn thing was, they couldn't avoid attacks should one of the vipers slip past his defenses.
Thinking quickly, Merlin fumbled for words and began to incant, "Íewaþ mín þære—"
Morgana's shrill, manic laughter interrupted him, and his eyes widened in horror as she, too, began to chant…
The vipers shuddered visibly, and a shimmer of emerald green raced down their lengths, conglomerating at the severed stump where Merlin's golden bolts of fire had dismembered the two heads…
Recovering quickly, he turned back to his friends and finished the incantation. "—bescéawodnesse him!" (2)
A vague haze settled over his vision, and shaking his head to clear the effects of casting such a crude, hasty spell, he heard Kay breathe, "Hell."
When his eyes cleared, Merlin blinked once and thought that there was no word more apt than that to describe what was happening before him.
"It's a damn Hydra!" the warlock hissed, taking a few steps back so that he was next to Arthur and crouching as low as his burning muscles would allow.
Because yes, the bloody thing was indeed a damn Hydra, and in accordance with the ancient Greek myths—in the place of the each severed head, two more grew in its place.
That was when Merlin realized this wasn't just a mere manipulation of Morgana's magic and an illusion enhanced by the sword with physical enough characteristics to draw blood. No, this thing…was something else. Something alive. Something that needed to be banished back to the world from which it came.
If the thing wasn't so dangerous and wrong—because as he watched the emerald magic's movements through the shadowy necks and as he watched those heads reform, he now understood that the beast was feeding off of Morgana like a leech and was using her magic (and by extension, Excalibur's) as an anchor to this world—and if he wasn't so concerned about the heads and where they'd strike next, Merlin might have found it morbidly fascinating.
"What has happened to her, Merlin?" Arthur mumbled in a torn, stressed voice, eyes never once leaving the multi-headed shadow-beast.
Before Merlin could so much as shake his head at his king, Morgana sang, "Sur-pri-i-se." And as she raised her hands and displayed Excalibur to them, the vipers, now fully formed and fully functional, reared their heads…
Gathering his strength and signaling the others to duck with an abrupt gesture of his hand, Merlin shouted, "Áhladeþaþ þæt íren!" (3)
Daggers, swords, maces, and weapons of every shape and size heeded his command, and pushing his hand toward the beast, he barked, "Ábiernaþ!" (4)
Just as the Hydra heads shot towards them again, mouths gaping and fangs forming, each weapon Merlin had under his control glowed red-hot and met the shadows half way. With sweat dripping into his eyes, the warlock didn't wait to see the damage done to the beast or to the room, and guided by an instinct he didn't quite understand and by the knowledge that he would have to land a lethal blow to the thing's "heart" to prevent its heads from growing back again, he tugged viciously at his core, drawing what could only be described as pure energyinto his palm.
And there were two heads. Two heads had been unharmed.
Damn faulty aim. No time.
He had to shoot while she was distracted by the Hydra's regeneration…
Morgana's smirk, highlighted by the eerie glow of emerald green, broadened, and in order to press her advantage, she ignored the injured heads, one of which lay like a dead body in a small puddle of spilt Lybb and broken glass, yelled and threw her arms wide. At her command, they each shot in separate directions…
Distraction didn't work, then, Merlin thought, mind racing. No time. There is no time. Have to take the chance…
But one of the heads was shooting towards him and the other, towards Lancelot and Percival…
Too fast. No time. There is no time.
And Merlin halved the powerful magic in his hand and hurled both balls of energy, which split across the room like a lightning bolt, too fast for the eye to see…
"Merlin!"
Arthur's body collided with his, and skidding across the floor, Merlin realized immediately that the king, in his heroic endeavor to push him out of the way, had idiotically put himself in harm's way, and with fear threatening to swell his throat closed, it took barely the smallest amount of conscious thought on his part to knock Arthur to the side with a wave of his hand.
The attacking Hydra head smashed into the floor, and despite his wooziness—had he hit his head? He might have; he didn't know—he picked up a fallen dagger beside him and threw it, his magic forcing it to correct its flight, before it could dislodge its teeth from the floor.
He needn't have worried; the first of his bolts landed directly where he'd aimed—the heart of the magic, Morgana—and though the wispy emerald and black magical flares and the sword's power physically protected her, the beast itself cringed and shrieked at the touch of Merlin's light, and in a series of internal explosions bursting from the Hydra's core at the point of impact, it finally died, collapsing into formless smoke and shade.
It was a very beautiful, beautiful thing, the warlock decided.
However, his victory was short-lived because for the one ball of energy that flew true, there was a partner, and that partner—
Through foggy eyes, the warlock saw that Lancelot knelt over Percival, who gripped a bloody leg and lay in a crimson pool…
…No.
Shaking like a leaf, Merlin rushed to his feet as quickly as he could without losing his vision and blacking out, and he gasped, voice thick with guilt, "Percival."
"Just a scratch, Merlin," Lancelot was quick to soothe as he tied a tourniquet around the other knight's thigh. "He'll be alright."
No, no. It's not alright. Because Lancelot was resorting to a damn tourniquet and because he—he missed, and now…
He was slipping.
A flash of purple whistled past his ear, and when it struck pillar behind him, the impact released a sound like thunder and shattered the stonework. Merlin whipped around to see Morgana flinging herself from the lingering shadows that had once formed the Hydra, another cursed ball of magic spinning at Excalibur's tip.
Eyes blazing and adrenaline pumping, the warlock repositioned himself into a protective stance that hid any disorientation and heaviness he was currently experiencing, and he ordered, "Áríse, stán!" (5)
The stones that popped up from the ground were truly meant to trip her and bruise her shins and jab into her stomach, but it was rather unfortunate that she had to be graceful enough to avoid them entirely.
She launched the spiky ball of pulsating magic with a slash of Excalibur, and when it split into four midair and sharply angled to shoot in different directions, Merlin knew he wouldn't be able to stop all of them before exploded quickly muttered, "Áswindeaþ." (6)
It was a stupid, desperate spell. Had he been at his full strength, with a full meal under his belt and a good night's rest beforehand, he might have been able to pull it off, but unfortunately, he hadn't had such luxuries, and yet here he was—trying to dissociate and dissolve the energy of another's magic in its physical form...as it was shooting toward him at a high velocity.
He was an idiot.
Needless to say, despite the strength of Merlin's normally superior magic, the purple magic merely faltered and fizzled before—thank gods—he automatically assumed that that brief hesitation in their path was enough to avert each ball into the ground at their feet.
And while he did so, setting off booms that sounded louder than a dozen giants' footfalls…
He was so focused upon the electrical balls that he failed the true attack from the witch, and it wasn't until a fierce pressure clamped itself around his throat and slammed him back into the nearest wall, raising him so that his feet no longer touched the ground, that he cursed himself for being so foolish.
Struggling against her hold, he tore his gaze from her greedy, jubilant, and victorious eyes and took a chance to see that the others…
Upon seeing their warlock in such a precarious situation, each of them had frozen in place, as though they were afraid that a single movement would set Morgana on a merciless killing rampage, and their faces—chilly with rage and fear. Fear for him.
Arthur and Gwaine exchanged a look, but before the king could so much as shift his grip on his sword—a silly habit that Merlin had teased him about for as long as he had known him, seeing as his hand always managed to find its way back where it had been before—Morgana chided, "Ah ah ah."
Without relenting her grip on Merlin's throat or lowering her hand, she pointed Excalibur to the knights, who were now indignantly shouting something the warlock couldn't quite understand, and laughed.
Each of them cried out as she forced their backs to bend into a bow…and as they, unable to withstand the weight she placed upon them, sank to their knees.
Vaguely, Merlin knew that Arthur would not like this—this, out of any blow she could have dealt…
And though his dimming vision prevented him from seeing Arthur's face, the humiliation and infuriation radiated from his king in waves.
His lungs were heaving and burning from lack of air, yet still Morgana didn't move as she laughed, and gods, the sound was sickening, reverberating like an echo in a cave in his ears…
Air flooded into his lungs unexpectedly, making him choke and gasp, and when he opened his eyes again—he couldn't quite remember when he'd closed them—he wasn't surprised to find her smirking at him.
"How does it feel to find yourself helpless, Merlin?" she asked, cocking her head.
He tried working his mouth to respond to her, but it became clear that while she was kind enough to allow him air, she wasn't too willing to give up his voice just yet, so instead, he glared.
That just made her chuckle, and flickering her gaze to his friends, whose eyes were stuck fast to their knees, she warned him without a word that he wasn't to try anything or she'd do something he'd regret.
So, hating himself and the position that the noble knights of Camelot were in—for no man, no matter his status in life, should have to be forced to bow before a tyrant, to kiss the floor at her feet, to lower their eyes…
Flashes of memories, the taste of dirt and blood in his mouth, the feeling of a boot digging between his shoulder blades…their jeers of 'bastard' and 'devil spawn'…
Will, chasing them away, picking him up from the ground, again and again being thrown into fights he shouldn't have had to fight and often coming out of them bloodier and more humiliated than the young warlock himself and yet always, always putting on a brave, reckless smile, claiming that it was worth every bruise if it kept Merlin from losing and hating himself…
His mother, humbly accepting the verbal abuse of those who didn't understand and whispering to him that it wasn't true and didn't matter because all there was to her was her truth and because he was special, watching as those around her turned a blind eye as their children left him broken and bloody in the dust and deciding to take matters into her own hands, often invoking the wrath of the parents…kneeling before Uther and pleading…
No human being—not a single one.
And most certainly not the Once and Future King or his knights, past and present…and not to Morgana, who epitomized exactly what it was they fought against.
His magic rolled and shifted angrily under his skin like a caged animal, building, building, a dam threatening to burst…
And like a trained hawk, it lay in wait for its handler's command to strike.
Morgana lowered the hand holding Merlin to the wall, to which he remained stuck fast, and sauntered to stand before the knights, and after wrenching each head up with a flick of her wrist, looking at each of them in turn, and sending an absentminded shrug at Lot's stirring form, her lips turned upward, and she slowly, slowly lowered herself into a crouch beside Percival.
Merlin could see the large man's jaw knitting and kneading in his fury, but Morgana neither quaked under his severe glare nor attempted to enforce her control over his body when he began to fight her with everything he had, his limbs trembling and a sheen of sweat coating his skin.
All Morgana did was gently lay Excalibur across her lap and place a hand across Percival's wounded thigh, and Merlin growled noiselessly when her bleeding, cut fingers gripped his chin and violently turned it so that he was looking directly at the warlock. "You see, Sir Knight?" she whispered.
Percival grunted and nearly succeeded in breaking free of her grip, but her nails dug into his jaw, and with a flash of gold eyes and a mutter, the knight ceased his rebellion and hung his head as he struggled to control his breathing.
"Do play nice…or I won't allow you to speak."
When Percival didn't move except to look around the room at his irate, stone-faced king and friends, she whispered a spell, jerked his head back to Merlin, and said aloud, "Now, I ask again, what do you see, Sir Knight?"
His eyes never left Merlin's, asking, seeking, ensuring that the warlock was alright, and apparently satisfied with what he saw in his friend's blazing blue eyes, his gaze hardened, and he deadpanned in a hoarse voice, "I see my friend hanging on the wall by his throat."
Without warning, Morgana dug her fingers into his wound and grinned when Percival involuntarily released a strangled groan. "Wrong answer," she hissed. "I would suggest you look harder, pet."
Bristling at the degrading epithet, Percival bit out, "I won't submit to your games, Morgana."
"Oh, you really are no fun, Sir Knight," she pouted with a repulsively sweet smile. "I really don't understand why it matters when you're going to die anyway, but I will indulge you because I tire of your defiance. It's always so misguided."
Merlin's gut dropped at her words, and even though Percival continued to send him a steady look full of faith and reassurance, the warlock felt fear, genuine fear, because that faith, he knew, was misplaced in someone like him, who hung on the wall like an old tapestry, useless and on display.
And Arthur, dear gods, Merlin could not even look at him in shame for letting her have this advantage over them, and when he did, all he could see was the same expression of faith, the same blazing rage...
What the hell are you doing, Merlin? It sounded like Will's voice, like Gwaine's and Arthur's and Gaius' voices…
And his own voice asked in agreement, Yes, Merlin, what the hell are you doing?
Nothing.
Nothing yet.
"Look at him, Sir Knight. You see now? Your Merlin is weak," Morgana hissed, pushing Percival's face away before standing and stalking toward Merlin, "and he cares not for you. Oh, yes, he may insist he cares—"
She was centimeters from him.
"—he may appear as though he cares—"
She wrenched him downward so that they stood eye-to-eye, face-to-face. He felt her hot breath against his cheek, and those green orbs bored through him, straight through to the soul.
"—but you and your friends will only ever be second place to him with my brother around—as he proved here today and time and time again in the past—and you would do well to remember that. Because worse than his weakness…"
Merlin couldn't help but flinch away when her fingers gently traced his cheekbone.
"…worse than his lies…"
She pinched his cheek in the same manner a mother would her daughter's babe had it not been accompanied by a small magical shock that shook his bones.
"…is the knowledge that you can never truly depend on him to be there for you, can you?"
The dam burst, the hawk was released, and Merlin's magic, in its eagerness to shut her up and to act without thinking for once (a dangerous, yet utterly glorious thing, indeed, to ignore caution) and to be free, surged forth, dissolving the enchantments that held him to the wall and enforced the invisible grip around his throat and tossing Morgana as though she was nothing more than a rag doll.
As she crashed into what remained of one of the tables and the puddle of spilt Lybb, he dropped to the floor, and inevitably, his legs gave out the second his feet touched the floor. However, despite the numbness creeping up his neck, he didn't skip a beat and released the knights with a wave of his hand.
Arthur was the first to roll to his feet, and in a blink of an eye, he was offering a hand to Merlin.
The king's blue eyes were unreadable as he scanned Merlin, who did not miss the wince when his gaze passed over the forming bruises on his neck. "She's going to pay for this."
His eyes were blazing gold, and without removing his eyes from the witch's form or responding to Arthur, he allowed himself to reach for the stone's stores of energy with his mind and shuddered…because the stuff was all over her, and he couldn't imagine…
She had open wounds on her face and hands. If any of the drug got into her system…
But it was created of her magic.
Arthur's voice broke through his thoughts, just as a niggling idea wormed its way into his mind and started to burrow there. "Are you alright?"
For some reason, Merlin managed to bark a laugh and mutter sarcastically, "Never better. You?"
That sarcasm and humor seemed to convince Arthur more than anything else would that he truly was alright, in a sense, and a small smile twitched at his lips. "Right as rain."
Despite the obnoxious, ironic cheer in his voice, his tone was tight, and Merlin finally said slowly, "Arthur, I think—"
"Kay, no!" Lancelot shouted.
Both the young king and warlock tensed, and…
Kay might have seen it as an opportunity to rid the world of Morgana once and for all, but Merlin knew better from the wild light in his teal eyes. For all the self-revelations the warlock knew that the older man had had, despite what he had come to see in himself and what he had begun to change, there was still that part of him that was still self-conscious enough to find a hurt pride more unbearable than the pain of losing a limb.
And a hurt pride, apparently, led him do to stupid, reckless things like trying to stab a powerful priestess of the Old Religion when said priestess looked as though she was weakened and vulnerable.
Every warrior, magical or otherwise, knew a downed opponent—unless knocked out or dead…well, it was said that an enemy at their most desperate was when they were at their most dangerous.
Merlin had no time to flex his magic in order to grip Kay around the midsection and drag him back, so he had to make do with preventing Kay's head from colliding with the wall when Morgana tripped him—without magic, which would have been an amusing sight if it had been friendly roughhousing on the training fields in Camelot—and pushed him across the floor, most likely rubbing his back raw in the process as he skimmed over the rough floor.
The moment Kay slid to a stop and flopped back his head into a table leg with a low moan, Merlin swung his golden gaze to Morgana only to be forced to hesitate when Arthur, who grabbed the warlock's upper arm and whispered, "Whatever it takes, Merlin, stay away from that stuff."
"Why would—?"
"Merlin." Arthur's gaze and tone left no room for cheek (or much of any response for that matter), and when the king barely deflected a dagger that came flying from the witch, Merlin immediately retorted with a stunning charm, which rammed directly into her stomach and made her double over.
Taking advantage of the time she gave him as she tried to compose herself, Merlin twisted his wrist sharply in circles, over and over and over, and, thanking the gods for drafty dungeons, he commanded, "Lis eafoðe se byre ond tóblæw! Bebít!" (7)
Wind whistled and roared through the tunnels, and following the direction of Merlin's pointed finger, it flew.
The winds were meant to knock her off her feet again—to down her so that he could finally have the chance to keep her there long enough to get the sword because with the sword back in Arthur's possession, Morgana would be no match for him, even as weak as he was…
Twisting her body at the last possible second, Morgana narrowly avoided blast of air, but in the attempt, the spelled wind caught her hair as it sailed by, and…
The whole room went silent—no spells flew, no swords flashed…not a single one of them moved a muscle. Silence, stillness—it was as though they were unable to believe what just happened, holding their breaths…
And they watched with wide, disbelieving eyes as half a head of Morgana's hair fluttered to the ground.
When the clump of curls settled on the stone and when Morgana, whose eyes had cooled of their fire and insanity and could be compared to a little girl's when denied sweetmeats by her father, fingered at the side of her head, Merlin looked at his hand in confusion, as though it would be able to tell him what he had accidentally done to make the wind sharp enough to slice hair (he didn't want to think of what could have happened if she hadn't avoided the blast), and if that thought wasn't enough to make him snigger, raising his eyes to Morgana, who was still in a state of shock, the knights, who looked like they were in various stages of tense hysterics, and the hair—he cut off her hair.
A giggle threatened to bubble past his lips, but suddenly a rough hand fixed itself over his mouth. "What have you done?" Arthur whispered in a strange tone into his ear.
Merlin pushed the hand off his face and realized upon seeing the king's jumpiness and the way in which he didn't take his eyes off Morgana or relax his battle stance that this was a serious matter.
"You don't touch Morgana's hair, Merlin," Arthur mumbled in an undertone so that others could not overhear and break Morgana from her numb trance. "Not. Ever. I learned that the hard way when we were children. Multiple times over."
"…You're kidding," the warlock deadpanned, wiping the sweat from his forehead and eyeing Excalibur.
Her knuckles were bone-white with the force of her grip.
"Do I look like I am? And it doesn't help that the Dark magic's twisted her sanity. She threw fits then—before all of this…Now? Now, I don't—"
In retrospect, it was a bad case of self-fulfilling prophecy, and when Gwaine, unable to control himself any longer, interrupted the king by releasing a guffaw, Morgana, her eyes raging, moved.
She had finally snapped, and she shrieked, unleashing a tidal wave of magic that bowled them over onto each other in a heap of limbs and chainmail. Before Merlin could untangle himself from Lancelot, Morgana had him by the wrist and dragged him from the pile, throwing him back with enough force that his head snapped back and cracked against the stone.
Stars fluttered and swirled before his eyes, and though he only vaguely heard her cussing and ranting about her hair and look at what you've done, you bastard, or something of the sort, he definitely felt the pressure of her boot crushing his chest, and his hands automatically wrapped around it. Magic blazed through his fingers, and after a weak flash of gold lit the warlock's eyes, Morgana yelped at the shock and retreated, giving him the chance to roll out of the way before the boot came crashing back down on his face.
Staggering to his feet and blinking owlishly, Merlin tried to banish the damned spots because he couldn't see and swallow the nausea and still his breathing and remember which way was up and keep his feet on the ground and gods, the noise all around, clanging, banging, shrieking, shrieking…
"Enough!"
His voice was unrecognizable even to himself, and the power of the authority in it made everyone, even Arthur, who was in the middle of a backswing that might have sliced Morgana's arm open had he followed through, halt yet again.
This spell of silence was broken far more quickly than the first when the warlock finally gave in to his headache and dropped into a crouch so low to the floor that he was able to use one hand to brace himself against the stone. Once he was down, the witch herself batted Arthur, Gwaine, Kay, and Lancelot, all of whom had been protecting him and engaging her themselves, to the side and holding them still so that she could face Merlin directly, and with steely cold eyes, she stalked slowly to him. "Enough? Enough?!No, this is my game, my rules, and you!" she hissed. "You, you, you, you. Not you, Merlin Emrys, not my daft brother or his pretty-boy knights—no, not a single one of you will make a fool of me."
"No, you don't need anyone's help for that. You do it well enough on your own," he spat, loathing that he had to look up to meet her gaze as he inconspicuously rubbed his temples.
For a moment, a mad grin contorted her face, but an odd sort of amused snarl quickly replaced it. "Such wit, Emrys. I do believe that I'm going to kill you all now," she sang to the group, completely ignoring his bait. "And Merlin…while it has been so much fun, I am done with you. Say your goodbyes to your free will, for it will assuredly be yours no longer."
No. No, no, no. His thighs trembled with the effort of attempting to stand.
"MERLIN!"
He couldn't bear their worried eyes or their insistences that he get up, and reaching for the vat energy in his pocket—there'd been no time before…
And now it was too late.
"Bíedaþ þá þone unlybban mé! Mínto wieldan béoþ!" (8)
Morgana inverted Excalibur in her hands, and with an inhuman scream, she stabbed it between her feet, where the blade sank into the floor…
A pained cry erupted from Merlin's mouth, and when he collapsed again and a raging fire tore through his mind, he didn't feel himself crumple the rest of the way to the floor, for all he could feel was the fire; he didn't hear the soft crack of his kneecaps hitting the ground, for all he could hear was his pounding heartbeat thud-thud-thudding like a drum in his ears. And with each beat—a new wave of pain that ravaged his magic, which, stubborn as its master, fought back.
An echo—his name—Kay—Kay's name, demanding, loud, icy…a clang of a dagger, a subdued moan and stumbling, crashing, and one of Merlin's hands cradled his imploding head while the other hugged his chest because the fire was so cold…because lungs shrinking, ribs bending inward to stab his innards, too small, too dark, too tight, heart—slow, constricted, languid, pained, pained—every beat… he couldn't breathe.
Stand up, Emrys.
Her command…sharp and biting. Tears gathered in his eyes, but he gripped his bucking, shying magic, fighting, fighting—
No.
—and shoved her out.
And suddenly, it was bearable. He could breathe, and he gulped the air down as a drowning sailor would after a shipwreck.
The look on Morgana's face was nothing short of terrifying, and it was the first time that Merlin couldn't tell—there was no distinction between hatred and anger and insanity and glee.
The last time he'd seen such an impossible look was in the eyes of the Crocotta. Beasts. Monsters. Animals…that found the hunt their greatest pleasure in life and yet got far too testy when their meal bit back…
"Shame," Morgana sighed, moving away from the sword, now completely surrounded by an energy field of spitting black and green, and kicking Merlin over so that he lay on his back. "I had hoped that there was a little more there. I would have liked to see what I could do with you, but I suppose watching you tremble was satisfactory enough until I can complete the ceremony. I guess I'll have to make do with Kay as my plaything for now."
Merlin's eyes flashed open, and ignoring all of his body's screaming requests that he just stay still, he immediately sought Kay.
The young knight, his eyes glazed, had stiffened, and even though Lot, who had rejoined the world of the conscious, was speaking to him in a raspy, weak timbre, Kay still stared straight ahead without acknowledging the Escetian king, and no sign of recognition broke the stoic, dead mask fixed on his face.
And all Merlin could do was freeze in horror as the realization dawned upon him.
The Lybb—it was still in their systems, and while he…he could break free, it—it still had a hold over Kay.
Down the hall, there came the sound of rustling clothes, heavy footsteps, and swords being drawn.
~…~
Gwen could compare it to trying to run in her dreams...while sleepwalking.
Everything was fluid around her, and she would try, try, try to run, to escape, to save Arthur's life only to fail and see him felled by Morgana, by bandits, by an enemy king…whatever the case, she would try so hard to run and yet find herself constricted, unable to move, distances growing longer when they logically should be doing the opposite.
Ironically enough, she was not afraid, and it was an almost out of body feeling. It was easy to lie and slip away. In the chaos of the infirmary, servants ran in and out, the healers ran to and fro, and the injured were carried in…the dead, out. So when Gaius needed more of his prepared medicines from his chambers during a strange lull in the bustling action, well, Gwen was all too happy to offer her services and have no one aware of her true plans. The only time that she might have been compromised was when she gently stopped one maid and passed the duty onto the younger girl along with the task of finding friends to collect more linens, but she supposed being queen had its perks. The maid didn't question, and Gwen had the time she needed before they came searching for her.
That was the easy part.
The hard part…was being conscious of her every move—her expression, her gait, her speed—nothing about her countenance or manner could indicate that she was in a rush for anything more than just that: supplies for Gaius; that was why, even when she managed to find herself in empty corridors, away from the main routes of the castle, the queen couldn't break out into a dead sprint or allow her mask to falter for fear that a random member of the staff would pass through and see her doing something suspicious or borderline mischievous or stupid or something else worthy of their attentions, and she didn't want that.
And so even as she grew closer and closer to her destination, she felt like she was moving through molasses, and what made it worse was knowing that once she got there…
Gwen had no true plan. Not really. After deciding what she must do, it took only a few moments of absolute panic before she settled into a strange calm, and it was within this state of mind that the queen considered and planned.
And above all, she scrambled for every last minute detail she could remember from some of Merlin's ramblings.
After naming Merlin Court Sorcerer, Arthur had given him the task of sorting the Vaults and cataloguing the items there, and Merlin, of course, had been more than thrilled to do it. A brief smile flittered across Gwen's face as she recalled her eccentric friend bursting into her chambers or Arthur's chambers or the council chambers so that he could either gush about some new discovery he had made and any and all new theories he had or rant about how moronic certain hoarding kings were and how equally moronic certain others were for not doing their research and allowing certain dangerous items to remain beneath their feet.
She'd heard quite a few of those rants and rambles over the last month, but the one item he was more interested in than all others—and one he constantly and repeatedly talked about after finding it—had been an amulet that distorted reality. In fact, he had been excited enough about this artifact to demonstrate for them, just a few days before he left with the party to Lot's kingdom.
It had been amusing to see the look on Gwaine's face when Arthur caught him trying to sneak into the council chambers, where he and Gwen were eating a private dinner, and to hear him splutter in confusion, "But Merlin said…"
And indeed, Merlin had said, but he hadn't said all. The truth came out when the warlock, who had followed the knight in, explained that he had wanted to do an experiment and that it had taken very little to convince Gwaine to attempt to pull a prank on the royal couple.
"Your intentions," Merlin had said as he took the amulet back from an annoyed Gwaine, "have to be pure and honorable in order to use this. Gwaine wanted to cause mischief, and the amulet sensed it. He could not bend reality and remove himself from your vision and hearing. But me?"
Merlin had proceeded to prove that, when he focused solely on the benefits of using the power for the protection of Camelot, during scouting missions, or even in the middle of famines, the amulet could completely mask the entire presence of a person.
"But I discovered you have to beware," the warlock had said seriously when Arthur's eyes gleamed with interest. "An enemy whose goals don't match ours—one who thinks that their cause is honorable and noble…well, they can use this just as easily. And another thing: if your resolve falters at any time while using it, a footstep might be heard, a flash of your clothes might be seen, or you might completely lose control over its power…"
She needed that amulet. Without it, everything would fall apart, and she wouldn't be able to sneak out to find that vessel. To actually demolish it? No problem. Merlin had plenty to say about the enchanted weapons that he'd felt fit to save for the sole purpose of replicating and remodeling some of the spells for the current knights' swords and guards' spears.
That was where her plan ended, and understandably, when she began to descend into the Vaults, the sense of calm and fierce control with which she held her expression and posture completely dissolved, leaving her alone with the enormity of her decision.
Because once Gwen retrieved the amulet, which was guarded by wards quite like Merlin's chambers were, what was she to do? She was to slip behind the enemy lines—enemy lines filled with brigands, sorcerers, and beasts (and it'd be quite an understatement to say that they outnumbered her)—and somehow find this vessel, which would undoubtedly be heavily guarded, and destroy it? What then? Would the organization of the demons Morgana summoned break apart? Would they turn on each other?
Or would they turn on her once her mission was complete?
Her hand trembled as she pushed open the gate, and the familiar feeling of Merlin's magic washing over her as she entered the organized room did nothing to soothe her nerves.
Because if—when she succeeded, what was the intent that kept her in control of the amulet's power? Was there a guarantee that it would find her desire to survive honorable enough when she wanted nothing more than to live to see Camelot free of Morgana's evil…or would the magic sense her innate sense of self-preservation and fear as selfish and ultimately expose her?
There wasn't; there was no guarantee that the amulet would keep her safe when the deed was done.
Swallowing hard, Gwen staggered and braced herself against the wall, and after closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths and struggled to push the thought of the Crocotta…
Oh gods. If she wasn't killed by the mutts or by renegade sorcerers, Arthur was going to in their place. No, no, he wasn't going to react too kindly to this.
But that was just it. She wasn't just a wife. She wasn't just a queen. She was Arthur Pendragon's wife and queen, and even before she could call herself as such, she hadn't one to be passive when there was something she could do to help.
Besides, it was practically inevitable that he, his servant-warlock, and his knights would rub some of their more idiotic brand recklessness off on her eventually.
So, despite the unknowns—when everything was hanging in the balance…for Camelot, what better way was there to go?
When she opened her eyes, her resolve solidified, and locating the amulet right where Merlin had left it, she reached for it and slipped the chain over her head, and within seconds, the only sign Gwen's presence was a floating sword.
Yet that, too, disappeared in the blink of an eye, and the Vaults were empty.
~…~
Kay had never felt more relieved when he saw Merlin, covered head to toe in dust, emerge from the collapsing room.
And he had never felt more horrified when his vision was stolen from him…only to return milliseconds later with a very clear view of exactly what it was that they were up against.
Merlin himself—As Kay dodged and swiped rather ineffectively at the Hydra heads when they came too close to him or Lot, he watched the warlock with awe. Merlin looked more fierce than the ex-knight had ever seen him: his teeth gritted in his determination, his body darting here and there, attempting to be everywhere and nowhere at once, his eyes fixed upon the beast, blazing gold and flooding with power…
It moved so fast—and in such a blur of light, noise, and color—that Kay didn't realize what had happened until the beast was dissolving into smoke, Arthur was picking himself up from the floor, Percival was bleeding, Merlin was pinned to the wall, and Morgana stood, laughing…
"Ah, ah, ah," she sang, and her magic coiled around his limbs like chains, whispering, Bow. Bow to me.
When he refused and fought, his spine was bent by force, and after the back of his head was on display for her to see, his knees were knocked out from under him. He released a cry, which was choked off by a new feeler of black magic that crept to his neck and latched there to suck away his voice, as a leech would blood, and it was no different for the others. Unlike them however…his body and mind recognized the blackness as a lover and yet repelled it as though it was an unwanted whore, and it made his skin squirm to again be touched by her magic, to be controlled by it…
And after everything she had done to him, after all that she'd taken from him, he would not allow her to abuse him anymore.
No. No more.
Morgana was speaking to Percival, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. Eyes of pale ice swung to Merlin, whose glare would have sent Kay running for the hills had it been directed towards him…
Rage blazed, boiling his blood and enflaming any remaining control he had over his temper and logic…
A vicious surge of pleasure and bloodlust thrilled him as Merlin blasted Morgana off her feet, sending her crashing to the floor, and when the warlock's warm magic brushed off the chains of dark magic in a single glorious sweep, Kay was ready to press the advantage.
It was a little embarrassing how long it took him to get to his feet (especially considering Arthur rolled to his feet without trouble), so great was the effect of her spell on his already magic-abused body, but no one was watching, and even if they were, it wouldn't deter him. Not even Lot, who was stirring and muttering for the first time since falling unconscious, could stop him.
He would attack her while she was at a disadvantage and hopefully land a hit on the bitch once for himself and then again for Camelot…
Arthur had always joked that he was so hotheaded that he would sooner trip over a root in his eagerness to beat him in a tree-climbing contest than actually have a chance to win the contest at all, and when Kay did trip over Morgana's foot and felt his back chafe against the stone as he was forcefully pushed away, he couldn't help but be even more dreadfully embarrassed and think that if he got out of this alive, the king was going to tease him relentlessly.
But after his head hit one of the wooden bench's legs, he lay stunned and unable to move as resentment and pain, accompanied by a brutal stab of disappointment and self-loathing, flooded him…because she tripped him. He had a chance (and a bloody wide open chance) to end her—or at least assist Merlin in doing so—and he was tripped.
Of all the stupid…
Before he could continue to berate himself further, Lot coughed from his corner and croaked something in an undertone, and Kay immediately registered that he was being summoned.
"Kay?"
His head throbbed like hell, but the younger man flipped over and inched his way to Lot, whose jade eyes were surprisingly clear and aware.
"Are you—?" Kay cut himself off when an eerie, tense silence pervaded the room, and panicking, the ex-knight slipped another long-bladed dagger into his hand and raised his sharp eyes…
His initial reaction was one of relief: no one was dying, no one was dead, Arthur was staring, and Merlin was staring at his hand... Morgana, too, was staring…
What the hell?
Lot must have sensed the change in the atmosphere because he was silent and merely watched Kay's face morph from relief to utter confusion as the younger man slowly, carefully shifted his body to see...
Hair. Merlin had cut off her hair.
Flashes of memories of pranking Uther's new ward, pulling her hair, launching food and spit and whatever else they could think of to torment her…
She usually took their other pranks in good grace and had pulled quite a number on them herself in retaliation, but gods forbid—you touch her hair…you may just lose a finger.
The odd truce of silence ended when Gwaine laughed, and Kay could have groaned and yelled at him for it had Morgana not snapped, screamed, and released a wave of magic that shoved him and Lot against the wall before he could so much as take a breath of air.
Reacting instinctively, Kay caught a bench before it could topple over and smash their heads into the ground, and grateful that no pointy objects had been resting upon it, he pushed it off and leapt to his feet.
"What's happening?" Lot said, unable to raise himself up high enough to see over the mess before him.
"Merlin—Merlin's down," he whispered, wincing as the warlock's head cracked against the ground.
"Go! I'll be fine."
Even before the order was issued, Kay was in motion, and just Gwaine attacked the witch, who screamed and raved at the warlock, from behind, he was in the perfect position to get his body between Merlin and Morgana. Morgana herself was livid, and when Arthur joined Gwaine, she took no notice of Lancelot as he slipped next to Kay to prepare backup for their king and fellow knight and to help him protect Merlin as he collected himself.
"He's fading," Lancelot whispered as they took their positions and as Morgana parried a backhand from Arthur with Excalibur. Gwaine's follow-up came seconds too late, and she easily avoided his overhand and shot a ball of magic toward both the roguish knight and the vulnerable Percival, who shielded himself by dodging behind an overturned table. "He's focusing too much on us. Using too much of his magic to guard us."
Kay's gaze flickered over his shoulder to Merlin, and he really looked.
He had realized that the man was weaker than usual and was still very ill from the drug, but…he bit his lip. As the warlock struggled to recover from Morgana's last attack, his breathing was uneven, labored, and shallow, his whole body shook, and his skin was a shade of white that scared him. However, what filled him with hope was that despite the glazed and slightly unfocused quality those cobalt eyes had adopted, they were still alight with his life force, his unique fire.
He hated seeing him like this, and he jerked his gaze away.
"He can't go on much longer like this," Kay agreed in a whisper, his heart panging for his friend and simultaneously hardening with determination. "We have to end thi—"
"Enough!"
Power radiated from the Court Sorcerer's voice, which was cast in a deeper and more dangerous tone than Kay had ever heard before from him, and everyone—including Morgana—immediately stopped what they were dong to turn to the warlock, who stood tall and proud.
However, no sooner had they all begun to stare, pain ravaged the warlock's face and contorted his stern frown into a grimace, and though he lost his balance, lowered himself to the ground, and had to brace himself against the floor, his eyes never once lost their fury and defiance, and they never once left Morgana.
"Enough?" the witch whispered before repeating in a shriek, "Enough?! No,this is my game, my rules, and you! You, you, you, you. Not you, Merlin Emrys, not my daft brother or his pretty-boy knights—no, not a single one of you will make a fool of me."
Kay swallowed a snort when Merlin responded bitterly, "No, you don't need anyone's help for that. You do it well enough on your own."
Morgana sneered. "Such wit, Emrys."
Lancelot nudged him and motioned with his shoulder, and Kay followed Lancelot's dark eyes to the sword. Where it once had thrown its own intriguing silvery-golden glow day and night, it now looked tarnished, spoiled, dulled, and blackened by her negative, malicious energy, and within the blade, veins of gooey black—sweet, sweet, sickly sweet…
Kay shook his head, but that didn't dislodge the ice locking everything in place, and even behind closed eyelids, he saw it poisoning the sword, staining it…
Enhancing it.
"I do believe that I'm going to kill you all now," she simpered. "And Merlin…while it has been so much fun, I am done with you. Say your goodbyes to your free will, for it will assuredly be yours no longer."
No. It—no, no. She couldn't. How could she…when they were free of it? It wouldn't work. She couldn't. Not here, not now. She couldn't take him now.
The sword. Dear gods the sword.
Merlin was struggling to stand upright, the others were rushing forward, calling his name, and terror erupted as he came to the full realization of what was about to happen.
"MERLIN!" he screamed…because there was no other way to warn him, no other way…
There was nowhere to run when Morgana hissed an incantation and stabbed Excalibur into the ground.
The monster stirred and purred—loving, tender, soft, and warm…like slipping into a warm bath after training in the rain or like ridding oneself of wet socks after a ride in the snow and replacing them with a pair that had just been laundered and dried by the fire… and Kay growled in response to its seductive invitation, shoving it back down and away. As far away from him as he could get it.
Oh, Kay, the enchantress whispered through the monster.
The knight grabbed his head as the words rebounded in his head, piercing through his conscious like an arrow, and shouting wordlessly, he pushed it away and stumbled hard when it pushed back.
You can't escape it.
No, he can escape it. He would escape it. It wasn't him. Not him. He was in control of himself, not Morgana. Not her magic, not the beast she's left him to live with for the remainder of his life…
It chuckled. It is you. You are it. Come. Come.
He ran into a bench—he knew he did…he must have, judging by the crash it made—but he felt no pain but that of the monster's bite, which held onto him in a death grip…
"What're you doing to them? Merlin! MERLIN! Kay! KAY!"
"Get out of their heads! Merlin! Come on!"
"KAY!"
Who is…no, you're Kay. You're Kay. Don't forget it.
"Kay," someone said softly. Outside of his head? Inside of his head? He didn't know anymore. He didn't know.
Come to me, pet. Join me.
"Kay, look at me."
Tears trailed down Kay's cheeks, and he hardly dare open his eyes because that'd be just one less defense he had, one less chance he had of fighting it and maintaining concentration…
"Kay."
Who was speaking to him? Was it her? Was it that? Trying to wheedle it's way back into control? Break through his mind? Where were the other voices? The one's…
His name was it? Was that what they were saying?
Come here, love. We will take care of you.
Sweet, sweet, sickly…no, it was so sweet. So warm and comforting. So good.
"Kay, please. Look at me."
Please. Please? Lot never said please.
Shock jolted Kay back, and his eyes flashed open to meet Lot's steady jade gaze.
"I—" the young man stuttered in confusion, working muscles he forgot he'd had.
"Fight it, Kay," Lot said in a hoarse voice.
"It—I—" The beast slithered within, and Kay groaned and ground his teeth against the wave of her inside him—it was her that was trying to lead him astray; he had to remember…he had to.
He lies to you. You fight, you die. You fight, you lose. You fight…
"Kay, listen to me."
Kay's eyes snapped back to the man, and he worked his lips and yet made no sound, begging, begging to be saved from this confusion, this torment of sweetness and pain and noise and voices and reality and insanity melding and mixing and mixing and melding.
It was indefinable. Fire, ice. Dry, wet. Mind, body. Faith, doubt. Love, hate. Friend, enemy. Self…self. What did it matter?
It was all the same.
"Kay, dammit, look at me."
Teal eyes met jade once more, and Lot, holding his eyes, said, "You can fight it. I know you can, Kay. Your mind is stronger than Morgana's magic..."
Magic. Morgana.
Merlin. Arthur. Lot. Kay. Camelot.
Camelot.
Ours, pet. Glory will be ours if you let me…
Kay found himself shaking his head and saying, "I can't—I—"
"You can. You did it once, you can do it again."
Lot believed that. He did—Kay saw it, and remorse filled him, kicking the beast back and giving him a second of complete clarity.
Merlin was wrong. Arthur, the knights, and Lot—they were wrong—and all Kay could do…was give his cousin a sad, apologetic smile…because he wasn't good enough, because Morgana's magic, fueled by Excalibur…he couldn't stop it, not like Merlin could, not without a light like his…
So with that last second he had as himself—as Kay—he smiled.
Powered by the witch's magic, the beast gurgled happily and pounced, and he slipped below the surface.
(1) Translation: Slit/Cleave/Cut off/Destroy.
(2) Translation: Reveal my sight to them.
(3) Translation: Draw forth the metal.
(4) Translation: Burn.
(5) Translation: Rise, stone.
(6) Translation: Become weak/fade/shrink/dissolve
(7) Translation: Collect/Gather strength, strong wind, and blast! Bite!
(8) Translation: Summon [call out an army, specifically] those of the drug (of the Lybb) to me! They are mine to have power over/control [written more like Yoda-speech, if you're curious to know, because in Latin, the verb is usually at the end of the sentence: Mine to control they are. :P]
AN: Yup. *devil grins* Don't worry, by the way, Merlin will have his turn soon. ;D
Some things I need to say (mostly for myself so that I follow through and don't stick with my bad habits): after this fic is done (and yes, it WILL be completed...sometime...hopefully), I have a few new ideas that are faaaar from this the Prophesized arc, and I've decided to 1) never do chapters this long again because let me tell you, they drain you dead and 2) never ever ever write-as-I-go ever again and instead begin to write most of the fic before posting so that I can set up a schedule *gasps*
In other news, I have an original (read: non-fanfiction and novel-like) story idea! Yaaaay!
Love you all! Thanks for reading, and I'm sorry for any and all mistakes. :)
Oz out