Disclaimer: IDOM
AN: It's been awhile, guys, and I again can't thank you enough for your patience with me. Excuses this time: PCAT (did pretty well, by the way!), vacation to visit family in Illinois, and pharmacy school application. I'm behind on PMs as well as song suggestions again. Apologies are necessary.
Now, enough of serious talk. I've got fun news!
Over at the Heart of Camelot site, we held fanfiction awards, and I'm humbled and honored to have had Heart of Gold win 2 of them: Best Original Character and Best Epic Length Story, which made a tie with LadyHeatherlly's Undeniable (brilliant Gwen/Lancelot fic). Something More took Best Characterization: Arthur, Holly Leaves tied with LadyHeatherlly's Breaking the Spell (sweet and genius fic about Vivian and what happened to her after the events of "Sweet Dreams": 2x10) for Best Romantic Pairing (Other), and Only Friend won Best Platonic Relationship (Merlin/Arthur). Other winners included MoonFox, jaqtkd, Estrelle Buscador (also known as Realta Cuardach), Ryne, Wil1969, ExcaliburMaiden, and many others. It was a tough competition, and I loved every fic I read while nominating and voting. If you have a chance, check out the list of winners on the Heart of Camelot and leave them your congratulations. They're a brilliant lot of people over there, and their writing is always worth a read.
Speaking of reading, check out dreamsweetmydear's Build Your Wings and Fly, Love. It's an intense modern Freylin fic that is full of feels of all kinds, and it was a joy to beta and an even greater joy to read. I happily and shamelessly promote it here because I can. :P
Now, guys, THIS is it. Finally. The last part of this never-ending Merlin-Morgana battle. I'm afraid that I'm starting to get really boring and repetitive (there's not a Gwen/Camelot scene either so the chapter's not really broken up like the past few), so I am nervous about this. However, despite all of that, this really is...I'm proud to have finally done this. Strangely written, I'll admit, but yes, I'm excited.
The question of Kay's fate will be answered by the time you reach the last word of the chapter.
"I will dedicate
And sacrifice my everything for just a second's worth
Of how my story's ending
And I wish I could know if the directions that I take
And all the choices that I make won't end up all for nothing
…
I've been crawling in the dark, looking for the answer."
(Song: "Crawling in the Dark" from Hoobastank's debut 2001 album Hoobastank)
[Check out the acoustic version that's been released with their newest album Fight or Flight, if you'd prefer! It's beautifully done.]
Part IV: An Act of Mercy
Morgana inverted Excalibur in her hands, and with an inhuman scream, she stabbed it between her feet, where the blade sank into the floor…
...
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.
…
Everywhere. Nowhere. They came. Like shadows, like spiders, like nightmares and ghosts, silent and emotionless, they crept, snuck, and appeared from everywhere and nowhere, and it was only after they were surrounded that Merlin found he could tear his gaze from Kay to blink around at the blur of darkness and paleness, paleness and darkness. Their fluttering cloaks clung to their malnourished and hopelessly addicted forms, and deep-set, haunted eyes, glinting and slimy and sick and wrong, stared unblinkingly from faces as white as the belly of a bloated fish. Eerie. Dead. And, from within, glowing with the tainted emerald of Morgana's magic, the very same that pulsed and leapt like flames about Excalibur…
While they were no army, so to speak, there were more of them than Merlin had anticipated. That fact alone—that there were so many that had been seduced by her, corrupted by her…powerless, alone, deteriorating, and wholly trapped within their own minds—as anger and determination erupted through him, that was enough to send his vision careening from fuzzy to disturbingly clear and back again. Over and over and over in a dizzying circle that went 'round and 'round.
With her enemies either kneeling before her in their weakness or staring in shock at the power she possessed, Morgana tossed back her head—spilling only half a head of luscious hair over her shoulder in the process, Merlin couldn't help but notice…
…and she cackled.
Something within Merlin snapped at the sound of her so gleeful in her victory, so confident, so mad… and he inwardly growled, for she was too gleeful, too confident, and utterly mad to leave him this time to recuperate fully.
She would never learn, would she?
Because while she (and everyone else, for that matter) was distracted, his subconscious finally, finally felt it safe and apt to allow a wall to fall, toallow himself a second of respite, so, barely clinging to consciousness and searching deep for a sliver of something, he found what he was searching for, extended his mind, and yanked so that a flood of energy surged through him from the philosopher's stone. The blissful feeling of his rejuvenated magic racing in sync with his pumping adrenaline, the pure and ancient energy rejoicing within him—it was beautiful, empowering…
And it was then that he felt it—wrathful, powerful, and above all, worried, worried, worried. It was a familiar mind that brushed his own, and Merlin's heart leapt with renewed hope just as Kilgharrah's pulsed with relief and, after quickly assessing the state of his Dragonlord's mind, renewed rage.
Though Kilgharrah was now in range and capable of projecting into Merlin's mind, the dragon did not speak, and on a nonverbal consensus, the bond broadened, and a tendril of Kilgharrah's magic settled within Merlin, subsequently strengthening, bolstering, widening, and maintaining the flow of energy for the young warlock.
A smirk grew on Merlin Emrys' face, and upon stretching his magic and reaching for the sky as one would after a good night's rest, his senses probed the edges of the Earth's magic, the very source of himself. She accepted the embrace of Her son and began to help reknit his abused magic and banish the last of remnants of the poison within. Reveling in Her vibrancy, promise, and hope, Emrys finally opened his eyes, and, with Her permission, he saw it. He saw it all. Morgana's magic and the sword's…the ripple, the aura, the wave, the pond, the sea of green and black that smothered everything in its path—it was redistributed, scattered, and hardly as powerful separate as it had been together—and Excalibur called to its master.
Merlin began to laugh.
For one strange moment, both Merlin's chuckles and Morgana's giggling could be heard melding in dark harmony before suddenly clashing in dissonance—his laughter steadily increasing in hilarity and volume, and hers, in her confusion and annoyance, faltering and fading to nonexistence.
"Is there something funny, Merlin?" Morgana hissed through her teeth.
He was unable make any response, and he doubled over in an attempt to catch his breath. Every second that passed, every second that she fumed and didn't understand—it made everything clearer, lighter, and brighter, and by simply observing the pattern of the dark emerald tendrils, which snapped and sparked from the spell's anchor to each of the enchanted men, it became so obvious to him. So, so, obvious.
The sword. The sword in the stone.
Could it be any more ironic? Yes, yes, it was hysterical, and Merlin laughed harder.
The three knights and Escetian king were staring at him with gaping mouths, but Arthur—Arthur was the only one to hear the whisper of Merlin's magic around him and the only one to feel the incessant tug of Excalibur's call. The king's eyes had widened in realization before he rearranged his expression as only the son of Uther Pendragon could, and Merlin saw the subtle glint of something devious, something confident and proud and unwavering…
And Arthur, knowing exactly what it was he had to do, waited and watched.
The others, however, were baffled by Merlin's humor, and gently, so as to not startle them and consequently give himself away, he brushed against their minds. For now, be prepared, he murmured. Kilgharrah will be here within minutes.
While he would have preferred to capitalize on his advantage and attack her when she was hesitant, it was necessary. To keep her attention off of his companions, whose shock had quickly worn off and whose relief was so powerful that it was tangible andpounded like rapids into Merlin's back, he had to speak. He needed the others ready, focused…
"Nothing more funny than whatever it was you were laughing at," the warlock finally snickered aloud, raising his head to look at her. "What happened to your jokes Morgana?" (1)
She was unnerved. He saw it through her mask of fury, but she put on a good show. When her eyes narrowed into a lethal glare that would have petrified any sane man, Merlin merely grinned more broadly than before.
"Go on!" he continued cheerfully. "Don't let me stop you from having your fun."
He sensed the madness raging within her, and suspicious to the core, she shrieked, voice breaking and magic spiking, "No! No, that is it! What. Is. So. Amusing?! Tell me now!"
Kilgharrah's snarl reverberated within his mind, and instead of becoming incensed at Morgana's words—because Kilgharrah had a point: who was she to demand anything of him?—Merlin sobered immediately because…this wasn't funny. No, this was most certainly not funny. This woman once fed hungry refugees, once rode with him to Ealdor, and once made men's jaws drop to the floor. She was once a friend and a genuinely beautiful person, and now, as she stood before him in her ragged black dress, half of her hair shorn off…her eyes and her magic so lost, so wild, so terrifyingly devoid of any light, save that of greed and power…
It struck him again how sad and pathetic she was.
And it hurt to see that her righteous impulsiveness, which had characterized her greatest acts of compassion in the past, had morphed into this—this thoughtless and careless confidence. It had been one of her greatest strengths, and now, twisted beyond all recognition, it was her greatest weakness. For, in following the whims of her heart and the emotions of the moment, she ceased to use her head and contemplate the consequences of her actions, and in her madness and in her complete and utter faith in the infallibility of her magic, she was slipping further and further down a steep precipice and had long since lost any hope of finding a foothold to regain the ground she had lost.
It was too late for her.
Without removing his gaze from Morgana, he slowly uncurled his limbs from the ground. Pleased with the effortlessness of his movements and with the lack of pain of both magical and physical origins, he snapped the connection to the stone and narrowed the bridge between his soul and Kilgharrah's, leaving only enough open so that he could monitor the dragon's approach...
Be ready to cover Arthur and I, he ordered as he raised himself to his feet and, for the first time since escaping the fire, held his stance steady and strong.
She backed awayfrom him…
Excalibur is solely fueling the enchantment over her men, and with it out of her hands now…she's only got her own magic to depend upon for the fight.
…her feral mask cracked ever so slightly, and if that wasn't enough to prove to everyone that she was fully aware of the shift in power, the men, connected through mind and magic, shuffled in response to their mistress' unease.
All except Kay.
Kay.
He stared for a moment at the unresponsive knight, whose timber-wolf aura ebbed and surged like choppy tides, before adding slowly, Kay. Try not to harm him. Something—something's not…
"Stand down, Emrys!" Morgana screamed, forcing him to snap her gaze back to her once more. With a wave of her hand, each of her enchanted men snapped their arms to their side and withdrew their swords. "You may have more lives than a cockroach, but you're outnumbered and outmatched," the witch taunted.
Weak. Such a weak, weak taunt.
And so banal.
Arthur will get the sword…
Despite the growl that edged his voice, it was with a hint of pity and weariness that he pulled his lips into a humorless smile and said, "You've just made a big miscalculation, Morgana."
…And I will deal with her.
Accompanied by a raw shout, his magic, which had been aching for freedom, gushed forth in a glorious burst, feeling not unlike a big belch, but he was neither able to appreciate the relief nor the exhilarating strength and fluidity of it.
The force of his wave had pushed Morgana over a table and into the wall, stunning her, and every last one of the enchanted men had their feet kicked up from under them. Sick squelching noises and several cracks and snaps could be heard as the men crashed to the floor, and having the decency to cringe at their misfortune—for it was unsettling to realize that these people were so lost that they didn't have the presence of mind to catch themselves or avoid their own weapons as they fell—Merlin realized he didn't have much time to appreciate the benefits of his destructive spell.
Some of them were already beginning to lumber to their feet. Morgana herself had disappeared behind a mass of broken objects, but since there was no telling when she'd reappear or how she'd reappear, he had to take advantage of Morgana's weakness while he had the chance. Because, while the warlock couldn't deny that Morgana had been right in saying that they were physically outnumbered, there was no reason why he couldn't even those odds…
After flashing his gaze around the room and finding nothing more than piles upon piles of stone, destroyed wood and weapons, and shattered glass to work with, it came to him in a blazing fanfare of bits and pieces that formed a remarkably brilliant, yet admittedly crazy, idea.
Merlin quickly glanced to Kay to ensure he was unharmed before jerking his head toward Lancelot, Gwaine, and Arthur, the only three of their party able to stand and fight (though there was no lack of trying from Percival and Lot, whom had taken up arms to protect themselves). While the others began to incapacitate some of Morgana's men so that they could not rejoin the fight, Merlin and Arthur wasted no time. The king dashed to the sword in the middle of the room, and turning to the large pile of rubble and daring to believe that his plan would work despite the immense power it required, Merlin threaded his magic through that of the Earth's and began to chant quickly, "Stánas, scypaþ. Forsciepaþ into þæt gesceap—" (2)
A yelp interrupted him, and recognizing the voice, Merlin promptly ignored the masonry under his control and shouted, "Arthur!"
The king was reaching cautiously toward the hilt of Excalibur with a determined and confused expression on his face, but when the cloud of twilit-emerald energy that shielded the powerful weapon came in contact with his skin, he hissed again and retreated, shaking out his hand as he went. "I can't touch it," Arthur bit out. "The energy field…I can only see it when I—duck!"
Merlin reacted instantly and felt a rush of heat pass over his head. Gritting his teeth, the warlock waved his hand toward his stones, which were molding and folding inward on themselves in midair in expectation for his final order. "Hunda! Hunda!" he commanded. (3)
The drain on his powers was not as significant as he had expected, but he had part two of his plan yet to complete. The warlock had time to see the clay-like stones begin to shape themselves into a vague four-legged creature before Morgana sent another blast of black heat sailing toward him. Merlin barely dodged and shot a bolt of fire towards her at the last second, but when it flew a little wide, she was given the chance to magically bat him to the side like a cat would a dead mouse and command in an imperious shriek, "Áríseaþ! Áríseaþ ond þéowaþ þone færníþ!" (4)
Easily rolling off the table he'd been rammed into, the warlock jumped up by the time that the men, with the exception of the unconscious and dead, had risen to their feet and brandished their weapons. Morgana had been watching his army of stone dogs with a crazed sneer on her face, and he only vaguely heard her repeating some shrill order over and over as he shouted, "Bebiede þe arisan cwicum." (5)
The power it would require to breathe true life into each of the creatures and create them as independent things, as the warlock had done once long ago—not only would the Earth hardly allow so much life to be created by magical means, but it would also be too much for one man. Even for Emrys. However, he had the power to give them mobility and purpose, so when they began to shift in place, pulling their lips over their teeth and flattening their ears against their heads, he reined in his magic to prevent it from going to far and giving them flesh, blood, and minds of their own. To redirect the power, he barked, "Áfiehtaþ balocræfte ond ámundaaþ mín eaxlgesteallum." (6)
The wall of smooth black collided with one of animated stone, and amongst the grating sound of the dogs' snarls, the shings of metal bouncing off them and creating nicks in their false coats, and the thumps of dead bodies, Merlin and Morgana fought. Their shots lit the room with blasts of color and fire, but the warlock only had half a mind on the witch, whose attacks were more like bothersome bugs that needed to be swatted away than anything. Instead, he focused on studying the energy field in the hope that he could…
There! After one particularly forceful stunning spell that Morgana barely managed to block, Merlin saw it. Faltering, spluttering…the spell protecting the blade reacted as Morgana's energy and stamina decreased.
But it wasn't enough, not enough… It was connected to her magic in such a complicated way that the moment she used a spell again, the barrier would flare back up, no matter how disheveled, weak, or tired the witch appeared. Alternatively gauging the strength of her defensive spells, offensive spells, and the reaction of the shield to each, Merlin realized that knocking her unconscious wouldn't even be enough to break through to Excalibur; her magic, so long as she was still alive, would remain active and continue to protect the sword from its true master's touch.
So long as she was still alive…
He was so distracted that, in his attempt to block one of Morgana's spells, he nearly slipped in some of the spilled Lybb on the ground, and recoiling at its proximity to him, he spun away from it and found himself back-to-back with Arthur, who had been holding his position nearest the sword.
Upon noticing Merlin, the king retreated slightly from the mass, wiped his brow, and muttered to him, "This is insanity! I don't know how much longer I can keep this up without hurting him. Kay's—" He paused to heave someone away from him and continued swiftly, "—fighting it, but…"
At his tone of voice, Merlin immediately drew his eyes away from the Lybb and sought out the ex-knight, and oh, yes, he found him. He found him fighting Arthur. The king had just locked blades with him and had pushed him away, causing him to stumble and crash into another similarly glassy-eyed man.
It hurt to see him like this, and he wracked his brain for something—anything—to help Kay free himself…
"Ah. I see that he's really fighting it, Arthur," Merlin eventually said grimly, deflecting a stray spell that Morgana had been trying to use against a dog that got its teeth a little too close for her liking.
"No need for sarcasm," the king muttered. "You saw it before all of us. I didn't have reason to believe it until Morgana had to repeat her order multiple times to make him move. His attacks, too, falter—"
Arthur's words were abruptly cut off by a grunt, and without thinking, Merlin summoned a wall of air to push Kay away from his king before redirecting it toward Morgana, who seemed to have not enough to do if her screaming was anything to go by. He didn't necessarily understand why she seemed to think that continuously yelling at her men would make them any smarter. They didn't protect themselves or her from his hounds, which targeted them immediately whenever her dark words were repeated to reinforce the enchantment.
But so long as she was still alive…
Breathing heavily, Arthur shot him a grateful, weary smile and asked, "Have you any idea how to lower that barrier around the sword, Merlin?"
So long as she was still alive…
His eyes drifted back to the slick black potion on the ground, and as he fought with the fear and bile rising in his throat, he said slowly, "I—I'm working on it."
So long as she was still alive…
The idea that had been clambering for dominance finally broke free to the forefront of his mind, and Merlin almost gagged at the reality of it. Because...how could he, in good conscience, do onto her as she did onto him?
Anything but that. No, he couldn't. Wouldn't.
But…how did this compare to outright killing? Killing her was easy; it was a simple solution, and as a dangerous enemy and traitor, Morgana would have been put to death a thousand times over by Arthur or any of the other kings had they been given the chance. It was a fitting punishment for anyone with her sins, and with his energy restored, he could so easily…
And all his problems would be gone.
This, however, wouldn't kill her. Not completely anyway. If he was right, and any amount of the anti-magic was the perfect amount—it was createdof her magic, and because it knew her, the Lybb would dissolve her magic as easily as water did sugar—so if he was right, part of her would die, and maybe, just maybe, without her sister's poison within her, she might have a chance for redemption…
He studied the shell of the woman he once knew, and as he contemplated his options, he wondered if there was any such thing as mercy anymore. If the only options were an easy death without redemption and love or a hard life without magic and a chance to reform, what mercy was there?
But…for him, the answer came immediately. If he had the choice, he knew what he'd choose, and now, he knew what he could…and what he couldn't live with.
~…~
He didn't sink.
He was floating. Just floating. It was comparable to the very moment that Sleep overcame the night or the very moment that Sleep gave way to the new day… except it was perpetual. It was dark, but it wasn't the dark that pervaded all the senses and struck fear into the minds of even the bravest of men. In this darkness, there were no nightmares, and yet it was strong enough that no din or bright light or pain could break through and interrupt him from his state of slumber. Yes, it was comfortable, peaceful, and soothing to feel movement around him as though it were soothing bathwater, to hear the sounds around him as nothing more than musical, muffled murmurs from under the water…He didn't want to leave, he didn't want to think, and he sure as hell didn't want to be anywhere but here. In this moment. In this time.
He liked floating and sleeping. He liked baths. It was nice. It was—
It was as though a servant had suddenly poured a whole jug of cold water onto his head, and his mind jerked at the unwelcome, encompassing chill and began to shudder at the sensation of it.
Get up, the cold whispered to him forcefully.
He was lying down? Huh. He supposed he was, he mused lazily. Logic said that the order wouldn't have been given otherwise, and he liked to think he was a logical person. Logic had kept him alive for this long, hadn't it?
Had it?
The chill stabbed at him again, dragging him further from his half-awake state of consciousness. Get up, and fight!
He didn't find the cold particularly kind for disrupting his peace, so he didn't really care to do as it said. All he wanted was to be left alone in the darkness where there was such a thing as peace. Unfortunately, the cold didn't seem to appreciate being ignored, and he was rewarded for his disobedience by a biting backlash so powerful it hurt.
Detachedly, he felt his body rise in response, and it was odd because it wasn't his decision to rise. The cold, though, wanted him to, and if it was being so insistent about it…
Why, though? Why?
The question seemed to come from nowhere, and his fingers twitched. The fingers that were his—no, not his, the moment was gone. Well. Whatever. Whoever's fingers they were. For one moment, he had led himself to believe that it was a solid, real hilt in those fingers and that he had actually recognized the blade. His, perhaps? For a moment, he might have found comfort in the familiarity. He might have used it to ground himself, but it was lost.
And he floated again.
The murmurs were louder than they were before, and instead of hearing the songs of dreams and nymphs, he could distinguish them as human voices. Part of him strained to understand because he had always hated being kept in the dark—it was a part of the reason why he had been such a good spy, after all...
Wait, that's strange…
Damn those voices! Couldn't they just… go away for a moment? He couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't…
Couldn't. He couldn't do anything. He didn't feel anything, see anything… know anything…
Just the dusk and the water and the peace. No, no, there was turbulence all around him. He could tell. The noises, the movement…he was being protected from it. Smothered? Protected? Was there a difference? He—he didn't know. The world—it wasn't like this. Not the real world anyway.
Right?
What…what was—?
His fingers twitched as the cold reached for him again, but for some reason, it passed him by and hit…
The cold that had been dumped over him was nothing more than a prick of a needle in comparison to the blaze of the sun.
The sun? No, it may have been golden, bright, bold, alive, but that was magic. He felt it before. He knew this magic, and at the conscious recognition, a spear of awareness suddenly shattered the surface of his prison and drove deep, allowing realityto flood in and a pinprick of light to emerge…
Cai. (7)
Ah, that was his name… and yet not his name? Kay. Kay was his, he remembered. But Cai? Cai had a strange accent to it, a strange inflection and power that wasn't his—Kay knew power was no good for him, so it shouldn't be his—and even though it was impersonal and cold, the sound of it struck him deep, somewhere far beyond his awareness' reach.
The cold jabbed at him and hissed, Cai, ácwylme Arturus. (8)
Kay's eyes—they were his eyes, after all—flickered back from the source of the cold to the sun and sky…
Arthur. But—
Wrong.
Cai, ácwylme Arturus.
That wasn't right, was it? He was pretty sure…there was a reason. He had a reason, and tracking the movement around him, he squinted in an attempt to find something defining, something he could use to figure out what the hell was going on…
No, this makes no sense! Why—why would I…?
The order was given again, and this time, he recognized his target's critical, cautious blue eyes amongst the blur. This time, he saw the source of the sun being rammed into a table and a knight knocking a man down with a single kick to the gut. He saw swords flashing, and he saw the cold.
She was cold.
Cai! Ácwylme! Ácwylme Arturus!
His instincts rebelled against the order, and as his muscles jerked of their own accord and hefted his sword into fighting position without his permission, he struggled to stop himself from doing as the cold bid. Like a marionette on strings, he was forced to lunge forward, and his sword clashed against his opponent's.
The young man shoved him away easily and said, "Kay. Listen to me. You don't want to do this."
The cold burned. It was insatiable, demanding, and tenacious. Even so, the king was right. He didn't want to. He really didn't. This was Arthur. Arthur meant something. Yet still, his sword arm rose, and with a roar that did not belong to him, he swung down again brutishly and haphazardly.
It was done in disgustingly poor form, he realized, and his lips twisted into a dissatisfied scowl.
And for a moment, the marionette strings couldn't force him to move because—because that was his scowl? Not the result of her command?
Hers? Bitterly, he wondered when he became anyone's to command, and oddly enough, a sense of déjà vu swept over him.
Needless to say, Arthur had caught the poor blow with his sword and had easily deflected it. "Dammit, Kay," he shouted. "I know you're in there! You've never once tried to hit me like that! Not even when we were children with our first wooden swords! You were always the most crafty of us all."
Kay could fight better than that, couldn't he? Didn't he take pride in his sword- and dagger-play? And even more than that, didn't he pride in being able to best even the great Arthur Pendragon, who stood before him now with a soot-streaked face, pleading blue eyes, and old, borrowed armor?
Arthur Pendragon. The man he had been ordered to kill.
From the look in his eyes, the king knew that Kay had been ordered to kill him. He knew, but he didn't want to fight him.
"Kay."
When he squinted again at him, the king's golden hair blurred in and out of focus. All around them the black cloaks and sashes swam like smoke, and flashes of silver and color permeated the fog as the warlock and the witch, the knights, and the dogs weaved in and out, in and out…
"Don't forget all that you've done," Arthur murmured.
Don't forget. Remember.
It had been his choice. He was somebody's after all, wasn't he?
The cold goaded Kay with a good jab before he could turn over the king's words in his mind, and sick to his stomach, the ex-knight was dragged into exchanging a flurry of half-hearted blows with Arthur, who remained on the defensive and never once allowed himself to lose ground.
All warriors learned to recognize their fellow knights and enemies' fighting styles. His muscles remembered before his mind could, and when he realized that this Arthur Pendragon was the man he had learned to fight with…
What the hell? What was—what was he doing?
Steel kissed his flesh, and reflexively, he dropped the sword to cling at the injured arm just as he tripped backwards into another person. The fine edge of Arthur's blade dripped with Kay's blood, and stunned by the reality of the pain, the ex-knight pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to pick up the fallen weapon as Arthur retreated to stand back-to-back with the warlock…
Merlin.
The sting of the flesh wound brought him ever closer to the surface, and seeing them together, he burst forth and immediately felt horror gathering in the pit of his stomach when he noticed the insanity and chaos surrounding him.
What had he done?
His king and Merlin both looked unharmed. In fact, Merlin looked far better than he recalled seeing him, and as he relaxed and allowed the horror to uncoil, he felt the enchantment within him tugging him back, back into the cozy cocoon he had been ensnared in…
The wind was nearly knocked out of him by Merlin when he got too close, and he flew backward only to be brought to his feet again.
No more. He wasn't about to let his mind go. Not again, and inwardly, he screamed and thrashed as his body continued to do as Morgana had commanded.
No small amount of fear accompanied the thought of her name, but when he caught sight of her behind Merlin, she seemed to be having some problems with the stone dogs and stray wind from the warlock's spell ripping at the hem of her dress, and Kay wished he had it in his capability to laugh.
It hurt to try. Any attempt to regain control of his movements was nullified by the frigidness of the poison and amplified enchantment that had yet to leave his system, and when he had to make a conscientious effort to prevent himself from sliding back…
Stalking toward the pair of men, Kay caught Merlin's blank, distant gaze, and the Court Sorcerer was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly saw him skewered by one of Morgana's stray spells. It was only thanks to a quick reaction from Arthur and a hiss of "pay attention, Merlin!" that snapped the warlock from his daze.
In that moment, the warlock's eyes met Kay's, but before he could find some way to get a message to either of them—to tell them that they'd better stop playing the hero and bloody knock him out already because he couldn't stop it—a dog shot out of nowhere and tackled Merlin to the ground just as Kay, who had been cursing the cost of trying to fight, who had been pulling and pulling and pulling to no avail, finally swung for Arthur's head. The sound of cracking ribs and Morgana's insane laughter broke through the noise of battle.
"Merlin!" Gwaine, who, along with Lancelot, had been forced from his defensive position near Arthur and Excalibur when Percival and Lot had become stuck in a tough spot, cried from across the room. "Arthur, she's gained control of some dogs!"
Arthur gritted his teeth and couldn't help but try to turn his head to seek out his friends, but Kay demanded his attention with a tricky side cut. However, due to his worry for Merlin, Kay slipped, and despite all previous promises to himself… under he went. Back under the surface of darkness, bathwater, and sleep, where there were no troubles, no worries, no battles, and no irritation or pain…
Before he could be submerged to the point of no return, Kay shoved aside the damning comfort of the enchantment—it is a trap, he screamed at himself repeatedly, a trap—and by the skin of his teeth, he managed to grip the edge.
Hanging there—it felt like he'd been drawn and quartered, a horrific punishment that Kay had only bore witness to while visiting the tribesman of the Nemetonan Plains with Cenred to negotiate a war treaty. (9) It was a memory he had tried so hard to forget, but that hadn't stopped it from replaying in his dreams. This, though, was worse than the dreams because here, his fears were real, and half of him was holding on for dear life while the other was being beaten and dragged along…
The commotion around him faded in and out, as did his control over what he could and couldn't see, but when he heard the screaming and when a strange vibration reverberated along his sword-arm, he knew he had to get back into his head immediately.
It was so heavy and cold.
So cold.
Yet he remembered. He wasn't so gone that he couldn't remember, and with his own vows whispering in his ears, he heaved…
After a great deal of indescribable effort, his consciousness regained its proper place, and he almost wished he could go back under and stay there.
Lot was bleeding from a new head wound, but miraculously, he was still awake. Percival couldn't move as his wounded leg was trapped underneath the body of a beheaded stone dog, but he struggled and yelled himself hoarse. He struggled, and tears streaked down the grime and blood coating his face.
Morgana was straddling and choking Merlin, whose eyes were ablaze with fury, and it—it was in her hand. A vial was in her hand, but she was turning. Turning to watch...
Lancelot and Gwaine—they were too far away. Surrounded by men of the Lybb, they were too far away to stop her. Too far away to stop him.
Arthur was sprawled before him. Unarmed. Vulnerable. Somehow, while he had been battling for his mind, the damn enchanted body of his had disarmed his king and was now approaching, stalking…
The sword in his shaking hand was rising.
Those blue eyes bore through him, and even as those who were fearful for the king's life called their names, even as Morgana's lips started to twist cruelly at the approaching death of her brother…Arthur did not speak. He had already backed himself as far away from Kay as he could before running into Excalibur's barrier of emerald green.
The king didn't need to speak. He didn't need to move. The eyes were enough, but those soon slid shut in preparation for his strike.
Tears began to spill, but the sword continued to rise.
No, no, not this. He couldn't. Wouldn't. Not after everything.
He remembered the monster he could become. He remembered strength of the hallucinations: the blood on his hands and the haunted eyes. He remembered himself at his most cowardly…and at his most brave.
He had been given a second chance. He had been given a chance because Merlin and his oldest friend had not only found it in themselves to forgive him but had also seen something in him that he thought had been absent for a long time. Faith. Loyalty. Trust. Dedication. Pride. They had given him his confidence back, and they had thought his friendship had been worth fighting for.
And hadn't that been the question whose answer he had been seeking since he'd been sent away to serve as a spy under Cenred? Since his father died? Since before he could remember?
What is it you live for? And what is it you'd die for?
"Goodbye, dear brother," Morgana purred.
Arthur reopened his eyes, and without a sound, Kay gathered what strength he could and swung the sword down.
And Arthur was soaked through with blood.
.
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The hand that Kay had just sacrificed for his king, for his freedom, fell from his wrist and lay twitching in the rapidly growing puddle of crimson.
Abruptly lightheaded from the pain, the shock, and the blood loss, Kay let his sword fall, clutched his stump to his chest, and fell to his knees, but it wasn't until Morgana released a blood-curdling scream of rage, followed by one of pain, and until the loud boom indicating the arrival of Merlin's dragon suddenly shook the underground chambers that Kay knew he did well.
Curling inward on himself, Kay watched his blood pool around him with a detached, morbid fascination, and as the chambers continued to shake with the force of Kilgharrah's roars and fire and as his claws and mighty jaws dug and dug away at the courtyard above, the knight weakly looked toward the ceiling, where a sliver of sunlight and blue sky was beginning to peek through.
He thought he laughed. Or at least tried to. He didn't know why he did, but he did anyway. He might be a dead man, but he was free. Arthur was alive and had been at his side from the moment he fell, trying to stem the flow of blood and muttering things that Kay could not understand, and Merlin—Merlin had escaped Morgana's hold and now stood over her.
And it appeared that Kilgharrah accidentally came across the courtyard's well while trying to get into the room, and that just made him laugh anyway.
Because while Kay blinked at the sight of his blood being washed away and while he mused airily that his cousin and the townspeople wouldn't be too pleased that their most popular well was now out of commission, Merlin took advantage of the water pouring from above, and it was a beautiful thing.
So beautiful.
He felt a deep peace and satisfaction when Merlin, eyes full of pity, disgust, and determination, took a vial of Lybb and served it to the witch trapped within the glistening prison he'd made for her, and after toppling sideways into the mixture of water and blood without the solid presence of his king to hold him up, the last thing Kay saw was Arthur reuniting with Excalibur.
He finally sighed…
And let go.
~…~
Some say that everyone has a purpose in life, that each human being is each put on this Earth to do something and to be somebody. A portion of these people might think that they were born into their calling, and they realize it, embrace it, and strive for it their entire lives. The other portion struggles to find their individual paths and finds solace in the fact that there are paths waiting for them at all. Others would rather scoff at the notion of fate and instead just live and love in the moment, for nothing can deny them the freedom of being true to themselves.
Kay had been crawling in the dark. All these years…and now, Arthur thought that he had finally found the light. Had he been directed by fate? Offered the choice? Arthur couldn't say, but as he watched Kay's eyes beading with infuriated, sad tears, he knew they were tears of a man who was fighting for the right to follow his path….and who realized that he might just fail.
Arthur had backed up to the emerald barrier. He heard his knights and Merlin thrashing, pushing, and yelling, but there was no time for any of them to reach him. Not even Merlin could reach him now, injured as he was. He knew that he was alone. Kay couldn't stop, and even though Arthur tried to reach through to him, he realized that there was nothing that could make him stop now. When the sword rose above Kay's head, the Once and Future King finally closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and prayed that with his death, Merlin, Gwen, and the others wouldn't blame themselves. That they would continue to fight and live and laugh and love without him.
And that the whole of Camelot would finally be at peace after his warlock slayed his sister.
He didn't regret the lost chance to say goodbye. For a man like him, a goodbye was like giving into failure. It was like accepting an ending… when all he had ever fought for was to preserve the chance to begin. No, his only regret was that he wouldn't be there with them to see it all happen.
He wasn't afraid, and he wanted to be sure that Kay knew that there was nothing that could be done, that it wasn't his fault or his responsibility. So, with Morgana's goodbye echoing in his ears, Arthur opened his eyes in time to see the sword slashing downwards, to see Kay's left arm shooting into its path, to see the calculated concentration in his eyes, to see the severed hand fall…
It may have just been the bravest thing that Arthur had ever witnessed in his life, and his heart nearly stopped when Kay crumpled to the floor...
While he remained unharmed.
Merlin's distraught and livid cry was more powerful than even Morgana's loud shrieks of rage, and the uncontrollable magic accompanying his voice shattered stonework all around the king. From the corner of his eye, he saw the warlock blast Morgana in the face. She retreated with a shrill scream of pain as the flesh on her face melted away while Merlin rolled shakily to his feet and scooped up the small object that had fallen from her hand.
Lybb. He had it.
"Kilgharrah's here!" Merlin growled unnecessarily as the dragon landed above them.
He and Merlin caught each other's gaze and exchanged a look that said nothing and everything, and with an unreadable expression flashing in his eyes, Merlin turned back to the witch convulsing on the ground and clutching at her face. Simultaneously, Arthur, coated in Kay's blood, returned his attention to the knight, who had tucked his arm to his chest in a vain effort to shield himself from further harm, and skidded to his side. It amazed him that the knight was still conscious, but the tears glazing his pain-filled teal eyes and the sobs and quivers wracking his frame told him all.
Releasing a sob of his own and ignoring the rest of the world around him, Arthur tried to gently ease Kay's arm into the open, but since the knight's muscles had locked, he didn't want to cause any more damage and had to make do.
"I can't believe you did that," Arthur muttered as he began to tear apart his shirt. His fingers were trembling and slick with the blood of sacrifice. "Hell. I can't believe you did that. I—I remember how much you loved to trick us… by pulling a dagger on us while sparring on the training fields, d'you remember? You did that back in Camelot all the time, and you got into a lot of trouble by pulling that stunt against the senior knights when they were trying to instruct us on how to be honorable in battle. You always joked that a purely honorable fighter was always the first one dead. And now—now y-you…for me. Because I was-wasn't good enough to help prevent this from happening. Dammit, Kay. I always—" Fear gripped him when Kay's eyelids suddenly fluttered, and without thinking, he shook the knight's shoulders and shouted above Kilgharrah's booming snarls and pounding claws, "C'mon, stay with me, Kay!"
A rush of roaring drowned most of his words, and he looked up into a geyser of mist.
"Well, there goes the well!" Lot shouted, sounding slightly dazed and hysterical.
Kay, wobbling on his knees and bracing himself against Arthur, blinked and attempted what the king assumed was supposed to be a laugh, and he too dragged his head up to watch.
Morgana didn't stand a chance.
Sparkling in the sunlight and spraying high into the air, the water was directed directly into Morgana's midsection, and it knocked her over and trapped her, along with quite a few of her followers, in a continuously rolling wave that forced their heads under. All the while, Merlin draped one arm across his broken ribs, and with his other hand, he conducted the water to form streams and columns of ice.
The underground chambers became a cathedral of winter, and at the center, where there should have been a carved and ornate altar, there was Morgana, unconscious and trapped within a shell of thick ice.
Arthur was loath to leave Kay, but he had to play his part. He shifted his friend over and stumbled to his feet as Merlin approached his sister's head, the only part of her body that was free of the prison, and uncorked the vial of Lybb. The warlock hesitated for a single moment to look to his king, but when Arthur, heart in his throat, nodded, Merlin closed his eyes, whispered a spell, and pressed the trembling vial to her lips.
Morgana's puppets came to a complete standstill, and just as Merlin coaxed the witch to swallow, Arthur reached for Excalibur's familiar hilt and pulled it from the ground, and those black-cloaked bastards fell as a single entity.
For a moment, there was complete silence. The only sound that could be heard was stone crumbling, the ebbing flow of water, and Kilgharrah's breathing, and it was he who melted the ice so that Morgana's limp form fell into Gwaine's arms.
Scowling deeply, the knight dropped her the few meters from his arms to the ground immediately after catching her. He and Lancelot, who had rushed to help remove the stone dog from Percival's leg, followed right behind Merlin once the giant of a knight and Lot assured them that they were not lethally injured and could be looked to after Kay.
Merlin hadn't stayed behind to watch Morgana's mutilated face twist into a grimace as the drug she'd developed for Emrys worked its way through her body and destroyed her magic.
None of them did.
Muttering spells to heal his ribs under his breath as he went, the warlock hobbled directly to Kay. In anticipation for the magic Merlin would need to perform and the space he would require, Arthur flipped the man over and quickly backed away so that Merlin could kneel and immediately begin to work on his severed wrist.
"That was an incredible thing you did, Kay," Merlin said to the unconscious man as he drew a shaky breath and brushed away tears. Long fingers beginning to trace healing runes in the air above Kay's chest, he closed his eyes and called, "'Gharrah, I need your help!"
There was a warning growl—Lot's men must be petrified up there, Arthur realized—before the dragon's head snaked in through the hole he had created from the courtyard. After studying Kay, he said regretfully, "It is too late to save his hand, and he might be too far gone, young warlock. We must make haste. His life fades, and Camelot beckons."
"Do everything you can," Arthur demanded, his voice unsteady. "Whatever you can."
Kilgharrah bowed his head, and as Merlin's eyes began to glow so brightly that gold overcame his pupils, the dragon exhaled onto Kay.
Kay was pale as death, and every second that passed felt like an eternity to Arthur. He watched Merlin's hands tracing runes and watched his lips move as the spells spilled off of his lips, and he hoped it was enough. He couldn't watch Kay die because of this, and he sure as hell didn't want to let him go now that he had him back.
Eventually, the gold faded from Merlin's eyes, and he gasped weakly, leaned away, and laced his fingers through his hair.
Kay didn't look any better, and Arthur flashed his gaze from the wounded knight to Merlin, who looked exhausted in every sense of the word, and back again, the one question that he wanted to ask stuck in his throat.
It turned out that the question hadn't needed to be asked at all, for slowly, while Merlin opened his eyes, a grin began to spread across his face.
"He's a fighter."
There were celebratory shouts from their party. Arthur himself choked on a giddy bubble of relieved, happy, and overwhelmed laughter, and when he drew his arm around Merlin's shoulders, the warlock said quietly, "Arthur, we're all okay. We're all going to be alright. We won."
(1) Just a reminder because it's been MONTHS… refer to the taunting in Part I
(2) Translation: Stones, take shape. Transform into the form—
(3) Translation: Of hounds! Of hounds!
(4) Translation: Get up! Get up and press the hostile attack!
(5) Translation: (according to Merlin Spells Wiki – used in 1x02) I command you to rise up to life.
(6) Translation: Fight the pernicious art/magic and defend my friends/shoulder-companions.
(7) Yes, I do realize that Kay and Cai are the same names and are interchangeable. I just thought it'd be cool if characters had a different form of their names for spells in the "Old Tongue."
(8) Translation: Kay, kill Arthur. (Also check out the origins of Arthur's name if you want to learn more about where I got 'Arturus.')
(9) In 5x03, Arthur and Merlin travel to the Stones of Nemeton. According to Wikipedia, a nemeton was a sacred place to those who were of the ancient Celtic religion. I have taken the liberty to name the plains they rode through after the Nemetes/Nemeti (tribe's) goddess Nemetona, whose name is closely related to the word "nemeton" (obviously). I know drawing and quartering was a very real punishment in England for high treason, but since the only major punishments in Camelot were for that of sorcery (death by drowning, beheading, or fire) or for treason (hanging) or for speaking the truth (exile), I decided to use it in this way. SO, YES, THIS IS HISTORICALLY INACCURATE. On another note: fascinating things you learn by clicking all the hyperlinks on a Wikipedia page.
AN: ...well, there we have it! I hope I managed to surprise you all! Back to Camelot next chapter...and honestly, I do think that there's not too much of this fic left! No worries, however, I have another fic in the works. Completely new AU universe, too. :D
Sorry for any and all mistakes. Thanks for reading!
Oz out.