Disclaimer: IDOM
AN: Guys, I present to you the final chapter of Heart of Gold. My happiness right now is boundless. I will say nothing more but that this is perhaps the most fitting chapter title ever.
Enjoy the chaos:
Chaos
The silence did not break. It shattered.
At first, Gwen couldn't even say what happened. The sludge-shadows that now bubbled and oozed from the lip of the vase made the Gvarath appear less like ghosts and more…real. Their hisses and gurgling and giggling and wretched, hoarse whispers made her entire body seize up in fear because, before, their voices seemed to echo as though she and the monsters stood at opposite ends of a long tunnel. Now, they were so clear, so loud, it was as though she and they stood side-by-side within the same high-ceilinged cavern. Those red eyes blazed as brightly as ever as they danced and dove within that filthy, thick curtain. Sometimes, they passed from the sludge and back through the tear between worlds, and she could see them, pitch black and faceless, prowling.
They were not the only things she saw in that infinite world of blackness. She saw dragons, nearly three times the size of Kilgharrah, covered in lethal spines that arched and spiraled into mighty crowns at the top of their heads. These dragon-beings, too, had no faces, and again and again, in different forms and in different ways, in the dizzying swirl of mist, shadow, and darkness, she saw them fight with each other, with the Gvarath, and with everything else: wolves that walked on two legs, serpents with multiple heads, dark elves, ogres and trolls (she could tell the difference now), wraiths and banshees, animal-hybrids, and winged women-vultures…
There were still more, and their images and forms blurred and swarmed within the tear. Despite the glinting of their eyes and their frenzied movements, there was nothing that drew Gwen's eye more than the spaces in between, the spaces so black they swallowed everything. Everything…
She was falling. She didn't even realize she was falling from the tree until her lower back smacked into lower tree branch, flipping her over in midair. Crying out in pain, Gwen flailed instinctively for something, anything, to grab hold of. Branches tore at her hands, and they soon began to burn when she made multiple attempts to hang on to some of the thicker branches, only to have them ripped from her hands when the speed of her descent overcame the strength of her grip.
It wasn't too far of a fall. In fact, it was so short that Gwen forgot to truly scream. If she hadn't hit so many branches on the way down and if she hadn't been so terrified, she might have felt a little more relieved when she hit the ground. Unfortunately, landing wasn't exactly pleasant enough for her to experience any amount of relief. The force knocked the breath from her, and her head snapped back, causing stars to dance in her vision.
Noise rushed over her. Loud and distorted, it roared like a coursing river, and blinking her eyes clear, Gwen painfully attempted to roll over into a kneeling position. She was not given much chance to recuperate or so much as catch her breath, not when a large something thudded to the ground directly to her right. Instinctively, she jolted up and yanked the sword from her belt. Still disoriented and unbalanced, however, the weapon slipped from her raw and stiff fingers, and she toppled over nearly as soon as she regained her feet, discovering that grass was actually rather cool and soothing underneath one's scratched chee—
Oh.
Suddenly alert and aware, Gwen shrieked and scrambled up again, scooping her sword up in the process. It turns out that the sword was not needed. Someone else had already taken care of it. The offending object—the atrocious scowl of a troll—seemed to have already had its head severed from its shoulders.
That's when she finally decided to look up.
Chaos.
Monsters appeared to have been drawn to the vessel like moths to a flame. Panicking sorcerers flung spells left and right as Crocotta leapt with teeth bared at everyone and everything, even their own kind. She saw wyvern and munchkin elves nibbling on the entrails of the now-dead headless troll and greedy gargoyles and cockatrices fighting over carcasses and ripping out the throats of men. Ogres swung their clubs, knocking assailants into tomorrow and singing childish tunes and rhymes. Ear-piercing shrieks resounded from the wraiths that swooped from above.
Many had fled, but more had entered the Valley, leaving nothing but raised tempers and monster species that obviously did not normally play nicely with each other. Those that weren't fighting lounged around from a safe distance, chewing on their own tails and giggling at all that was happening around them…
And above? The billowing sludge-shadows undulated and seeped further and further into the air, and tendrils that undoubtedly connected to the vase arched like castle buttresses overhead. Some of the demons screeched and hollered victoriously upon seeing it, but the humans looked upon it with just as much fear as Gwen did because even from that distance, they could feel the eyes of those on the Other side watching them.
All it had taken was a second for her world to collapse even more than it already had. It took yet another second to realize that her world would soon end if she didn't move.
The only warning she had was a shrill whistling through the air, but move she did. The projectiles sank into the wood she had recently been pressed against, and as her heart rose to her throat, she whipped her gaze around in time to see an orange-eyed lizard, bristling with striped spines, hiss and make a running leap for her.
The sword in her hand almost acted of its own accord, and the slice she delivered to the underside of the beast's belly as she ducked into cover effectively prevented it from sinking its claws into her. It collapsed to the ground, blue blood seeping from the wound she had given it.
In that moment, she couldn't have been more grateful that her father, the blacksmith, had insisted that she learn how to wield a sword correctly.
When a jet of purple light flew over her shoulder, she was spurred into action again, and ducking automatically, she twirled around to see that a Crocotta that had been sneaking up behind her and had been pummeled into the ground by the spell. Her savior, having sought the same spot for cover, stood meters away, and the woman's eyes widened upon recognizing the queen. "Not—not exactly a great place to be right now, Pendragon!"
For a moment, Gwen blinked in astonishment. The use of Arthur's—her married surname was still new enough to her to catch her off guard, but more importantly… This was one of Morgana's recruits? Protecting her? "You—"
Gods, Gwen suddenly realized, they see me.
Her fingers scrabbled for her neck. All that greeted her touch was the smooth skin of her neck and the cold metal scales of her tunic. The amulet that had hidden her presence was gone, most likely lost when she fell from the tree, and now she stood exposed… in the middle of a war zone.
Hazel eyes scanned her carefully. "You've seen into the abyss," the sorceress said. There was some strange emotion in her voice that Gwen could not comprehend.
"What—?"
Her companion shot another spear of light at the Crocotta, which was growling from where she had trapped half of its body in the ground. It clipped the mutt across the snout, which flopped disgustingly to the ground and was soon followed by its massive head. "Might want to make use of that sword, My Lady," the sorceress said. "Morgana appears to have lost control, and we might as well do our damn best to get out alive, even if that means—NO!"
The woman had caught sight of one of her fellow sorcerers in a tight spot and did not finish her sentence before dashing out of their shared hiding spot to help.
Well, Queen Guinevere thought numbly. Fear and adrenaline coursed through her, and unsure of what else she could do, she sent a quick prayer to whatever gods were listening and turned the sword over in her hand. Protect Camelot; destroy the vessel.
~…~
If anyone ever asked, Arthur had the best time riding the dragon. Truly. He could see the whole world from up on Kilgharrah's back. He could feel the thrill of sitting miles above the ground, the thrill of wind rushing past his body. It was all very exhilarating. Every dip and rise of Kilgharrah's wings was the most exhilarating of all because of course it felt like he was going to fall off with every movement, and who didn't love that?
Shame it was all a lie.
It wasn't that Arthur was afraid. With Gwaine behind him and Merlin in front of him, what did he have to fear? They wouldn't let him fall. Even if they did somehow accidentally neglect to keep him from tumbling from Kilgharrah's back, the dragon would undoubtedly drop Morgana from his talons in order to catch him.
This logic did nothing to quell his…discomfort with the unnatural height they were at, and it most certainly did not do a single thing to make the damn nausea go away.
At one point, he had tried to close his eyes and focus on something else, but since that made him feel like he was out of control—and he had to be in control of his body and balance at all times right now—that solution did not last very long.
At risk of getting sick all over the back of Merlin's head, he had tried to make conversation, but that had failed when Kilgharrah told him what exactly his dear sister had unleashed upon his city.
Now, he almost wished that the nausea he felt were merely caused by Kilgharrah's flight. The nausea caused by worry and dread was far worse. He had thought he exhausted the extent of his worry back in those godforsaken dungeons, but he realized now that that was foolish.
He would never cease worrying about Guinevere or about his people, and right now—right now the king was in sore need of seeing Camelot. He needed to see it, to see his knights and men, to see his wife, because even though it didn't sound like things were alright (an awful, awful understatement), he needed to ensure that they would be…and Gwen—Guinevere had to be safe. She had to be.
Even though the horrors that awaited him at Camelot were worrying enough, that was not all he had to worry about.
If he were honest with himself, though, Merlin always worried him, and right now, Arthur almost wanted to ask Kilgharrah that he kidnap the warlock to keep him away from more fighting. Said young man was grey-faced and shivering, his lips drawn tightly. Exhaustion highlighted his features perhaps even more than the smears of dried, cracking blood and soot did, and sometimes he swayed in place, scaring the king to death nearly half a dozen times. Whenever Merlin swayed and Arthur leaned over ever so slightly to ensure he was alright, the warlock's eyes, seemingly fixated upon some small point far, far into the distance, were glazed over.
One particular incident, in which the warlock nearly went limp before him, had Arthur automatically reaching out to support Merlin's body. "Merlin…"
"Ge'off," he said sleepily.
Incredulously, Arthur released his friend and asked, "Did you just fall asleep? On the back of a dragon?"
"No," Merlin lied. When he saw the stern and pointed look Arthur was giving him, he tacked on, "I'm fine, Arthur."
"Don't seem fine, mate," Gwaine piped up from behind.
Kilgharrah rumbled something under his breath, but it was indistinguishable to Arthur's ears. Judging by Merlin's wince, he understood perfectly. "I'm fine, truly," he insisted.
Arthur's eyes skipped over his friend's haggard appearance. He must have been far more exhausted than Arthur had previously thought to accidentally allow himself to slip into unconsciousness, even if for second. "Merlin," he attempted, "Maybe it'd be best if—"
"Don't finish that sentence," the warlock warned. "You know you don't mean it, and I won't hear it. I'm fighting."
"For once, the Pendragon and I agree, young warlock," the dragon sighed. "However, you're going to need some magic on your side in order to close the tear between the realms."
"I'm fighting," Merlin repeated obstinately and smugly, looking quite like a child who had gotten his way.
"I just don't want you getting hurt because you're half-asleep on the battlefield!" Arthur argued.
"And I'm just resting," Merlin protested. "Not sleeping. Taking the time to actually restore my energy from the stone without yanking so forcefu—"
"What the hell," Gwaine interrupted, "is that?"
That happened to be a cloud of blackness in the distance that shifted and spread through the air like thick smoke, forming a funnel right before their eyes. Upon seeing it, Merlin, suddenly sitting bolt upright, cursed and shuddered, a low growl resounding deep in his throat.
"That's no forest fire," the king muttered, shivering at the growing chill in the air. "No tornado either."
"No," Merlin said slowly, dangerously, as they approached the spiraling funnel cloud of darkness. "That's where we're headed."
"The Valley of the Fallen Kings," Kilgharrah added. "The vessel is using the magic of the place now that the witch's powers are no longer curbing it."
"How the hell did this happen?" Gwaine asked suddenly. Arthur could hear his teeth chattering even above the noise of the wailing winds. "One person goes mad, and the entire world is in jeopardy! If it was so easy to destroy the world with this thing, why the hell didn't some psychopath do this before?"
"No one would be this stupid," Kilgharrah explained. "Dark magic is a tricky force, Sir Gwaine. It can be fragile when tampered with and chaotic when one's grip slips. The people who forged this object—even if they never should have forged it in the first place—would have guarded it most jealously from their enemies and would have known full well how to handle it responsibly." He snorted bitterly. "The witch?"
Nothing more needed to be said, and Arthur, whose nausea was all but forgotten when a pit of dread settled into his stomach, watched as the storm morphed around them. He could see wyvern now, flying haphazardly and wrestling with each other in midair, but free of Morgana's feeble control, they had the sense to scatter upon sensing the approach of their fearsome cousin. Otherwise, the skies were relatively clear but for the looming curtain before them.
He saw the eyes before anyone else did.
"Merlin," Arthur whispered, horror lacing his tone.
Somehow the warlock heard him, and he jumped, obviously startled from either a reverie or another silent conversation with the dragon (Arthur had been learning to read the signs). After shooting a glance over his shoulder and following the king's gaze, his eyes widened, and he murmured, "Those—those...they can't be…"
"No," Kilgharrah snarled."They are false. Memories, echoes, nothing more but wisps of images of times long past, when demons and men walked within the same realm. The Gvarath people walked that line between men and demons, so their shades appear here, where that line has been drawn again. Nothing you see in the shadows can hurt you… unless you cross too far over that line and look too far into the abyss."
The words themselves only added to the chill in the air, and a sense of doom lingered. "What happens then?" Arthur dared to ask, eyeing the shadows warily.
"You might find yourself unable to escape them once they have a reason to claim you as theirs."
~…~
Gwen didn't know how many she had had a hand in defeating. It seemed that the moment one was down, another took its place, so she did not count.
It was a haze for her. At one point, she was sure she stood back-to-back with at least three other sorcerers and fought with them, and at another, she was tricking an ogre into running headlong into a tree. She might have noticed the sludge-shadows still continued to creep skyward, creating walls that entrapped her and all the demons within the Valley, but she certainly didn't keep track of how long it took.
She had enough to worry about with the monsters that seemed to take a liking to her.
Later, she would be so grateful that she'd lose all strength in her legs and sink to the floor, for, if those monsters hadn't been so keen, she might have been dragged away long ago by the seduction of the evil Other magic that had taken root.
Now, however, she was terrified enough by their obvious attention to her to fight without tiring. She wasn't afraid of death. No, not at their hands. That might mostly be because the demons were not trying to kill her. No, odd things were happening, and that was whatterrified her. These instances, she did count.
Once, when she had slipped on some wet leaves and fell, a Crocotta had taken her leg in its mouth. No sooner had Guinevere remembered the wounds in the infirmary and started hyperventilating than had a sorcerer killed it, allowing her to escape unscathed. The mutt had not broken her skin with its teeth, even though—even though it had been tugging.
Another time, an ogre recited cryptic and queer rhymes as it tried to trap her in a corner. She easily ducked between its legs and stabbed upward as she went, only to hear it growl, "Lady in blue—" she was covered in blood of all colors, but the blue blood from the spiny lizard that nearly took her head off was most apparent "—they will have you."
There were other times, seven in total, that had sent haunting shivers down her spine, but each time, she was not harmed. Each of those seven times, more of the sorcerers, who had all been driven to the Valley from their patrol zones, unmistakably joined her.
They had all been fighting the same enemy from the beginning, but now—now instead of fighting in the style of every-man-for-himself, they worked as a team, united by one thing.
"Why are you doing this for me?" the queen had asked the sorceress that had rather amusingly trapped one of the Crocotta into the ground, the one with hazel eyes and blonde hair.
Elaine, as she had brusquely called herself the last time they found each other protecting the other's back, answered, "You are brave, Pendragon. I see that now. You do not deserve the fate that awaits you."
Gwen had been confused. "I'm not sure I—"
Once again, the sorceress responded, "You looked into the abyss."
This time, the response left Guinevere cold.
~…~
It was horrid. It was absolutely horrid, and it was like losing his magic all over again, being so near this abomination. The antithesis of his golden magic spawned deep within that curtain, and it clouded his senses, leaving him feeling even more ill and disoriented than he already did due to exhaustion. This world's magic—the Earth herself—screamed and screamed and screamed, begging to be released from its torturous presence.
Arthur couldn't know that it had this effect on him. Not after—not after what had happened with the drug. He wasn't going to burden the king with any more worry because there was plenty enough of that going around.
Despite Kilgharrah's assurances that the Gvarath were nothing to worry about, those eyes unnerved them all, especially the closer and closer they got to the edge of the storm. Even so, he refused to submit to their predatory games. As with the glare of a basilisk, if he were to stare too long, to lose himself in their terror-inducing tricks, he would ensure his ultimate demise.
Instead, he made sure that Arthur and Gwaine, too, kept their minds from the demons dancing in the curtain and knew what would happen when they finally breached the wall of darkness.
Because they were close now, only wing-beats away.
"We're only going to have a small window of opportunity once we break through."
Thwump, thwump...
"From the size of this thing, we're assuming that the whole of the Valley—or at least a good portion of it—has become the eye of the storm."
Thwump, thwump...
"There's no telling what is happening in there, but the vessel...Logically, that should be at the very center."
A little closer...
"Do we know how to destroy it?" Arthur shouted. "To stop all of this?"
Merlin took a moment to shoot a slightly guilty, but determined, look over his shoulder in response to his question.
"Well," Arthur quipped sarcastically, "I guess that'll be the fun part."
Breathe...
"Ready?" Merlin asked, gathering his magic. Within his palm, a tiny spark ignited, and a miniscule ball of light flickered into being.
"And what if we said we weren't?"
"Too bad," Kilgharrah rumbled. Extending his head, the dragon roared and released a continuous jet of flame. The fire hit the black cloud with a sizzling shriek, and for a moment, Merlin thought that the heat alone would disintegrate the stuff and allow them access to the eye of the storm.
Of course it wasn't that easy.
The flames, building and building, began to arch overhead. The false demons in the veil laughed as the dark magic repulsed Kilgharrah's attack, and even though heat seared at his face, Merlin could not look away as the tidal wave of flames threatened to crash upon them.
"Any time now, Merlin!" Arthur ordered, poking him in the back.
"Hold on!" was all he could say in response. He cupped the globe, now the size of an apple, in both hands, compressing the energy within, and with a flash of his eyes, he sent it sailing into the heart of the towering wall of fire. It zipped through the air like a shooting star, nearly too fast for the eye to follow, and upon impact, an explosive boom shook the air as the flames collapsed inward on themselves. It was as though a whirlpool opened, sucking everything into its swirling depths and giving them the briefest glimpse of a chance...
"Go now!" Merlin shouted, but Kilgharrah had already pinned his wings to his sides and was speeding though the tunnel of flames and shadows open to them. Raising his hands over his head, the warlock incanted, "Áwere!" (1) The flames washed over the shield he had erected, and they dove down, narrowly missing the mouth of the entrance closing and swallowing them whole.
~…~
The explosion that erupted above their heads made the ground tremble to such a degree that several people, Guinevere included, stumbled and nearly fell. It seemed that every eye swung upward in order to see a huge jet of fire streaming in through a breach in the wall of shadows. The tendrils that had formed a spider-web of support for the massive walls snapped as the fire flooded through the funnel, and before fire completely obscured her view of the sky, she saw Kilgharrah dive.
Kilgharrah… A choked sob erupted from her throat before she could stop it, and in the same moment, a broad smile spread across her face. If Kilgharrah was here, that meant that Arthur and Merlin were alright—as alright as they could be given the circumstances, anyway.
Thank gods. They were alright.
Looking up, even for that brief second, cost her. She allowed her guard to slip, and in doing so, she did not realize that something had crept up on her until Elaine cried out a delayed warning and a thick hand wrapped around her ankle.
Gwen's world was upended, and now dangling by her ankle meters above the ground, her sword slipped from her fingers and flipped end-over-end as it dropped. Perhaps it wasn't in her best interest to fight the thing, seeing as she would land on her head if she managed to get free, but she fought anyway, flailing her body this way and that. Several spells hit the beast as Gwen struggled and panted in exertion and fear, but they did nothing against its thick hide.
Completely unfazed by all efforts to get it to release her, the troll simply waggled its massive ears and brought her closer, peering at her with its tiny pig eyes. "Up, up, up," it grunted, and her heart skipped a beat when it tossed her straight up into the air.
The web of shadow-sludge caught her before she reached the pinnacle of her climb, and the tendrils came to life, slowly wrapping around her limbs and torso. Indistinguishable whispers began to echo in her ear.
NO! NO. GET OFF. GET—GET…
It was cold, it was slick like lantern oil, and it was wrong. It had no business touching her. None. None at all.
Get away!
Her terror made her body react, and she thought she heard herself scream, but her thoughts were steadily becoming languid, losing all lucidity and capacity for logic…
Get—get away…
The last thing she felt was the disgusting sludge sealing her mouth shut before the dark magic dragged her under.
~…~
Arthur would later deny that he was holding onto Merlin for dear life when it felt as though Kilgharrah's back dropped from beneath him. It wasn't that he was scared. No, of course he wasn't. An inferno raged around him, but he had complete faith in both Kilgharrah's flying abilities and Merlin's capacity to protect them from the fire. He just really did not like the feeling of his stomach leaving his body and falling, falling, falling…
Despite everything happening around him, he took the brief second to promise himself never again. It made him feel better, and it certainly made him feel better to realize that they'd be on the ground soon, actively doing something but staring at the ominous signs that the world was ending. That thought alone was enough to keep him from completely losing his mind. He'd have Excalibur in hand and a warlock, dragon, and great knight by his side, and he'd do as he said to Merlin before they left Livandir: he'd kick the bastards out of his kingdom.
He'd fight, and he'd win. For Camelot.
The flames parted as they dove, and though he saw glimpses of what they faced, Arthur was not truly intimidated. He knew the stakes. He knew what would happen if they failed, but it seemed that all his emotion, all his worry had been forgotten in favor of preparing for this last fight. Right now, all he wanted was for it to end, and end it he would.
All of his mental preparation, all of his sketches of plans and all of his strategy—all of it…gone—the moment he heard her scream.
His mind locked, and pushing Merlin's head out of his line of vision and ignoring his protest, he squinted ahead. "Guinevere."
"Arthur, listen to me," Merlin voice cut through his panic-induced haze. "There are Crocotta down there. They might be luring—"
"The mutts be damned, Merlin! My wife is down there!" Arthur yelled furiously, scanning the tangle of webbing, which snapped and writhed and reformed as they passed by. His eye caught where the conglomeration was thickest, where the tendrils sprouted like porcupine quills, but otherwise, too many things drew his eye, and his panic made it almost too hard to focus, to think, to breathe…
Kilgharrah, who had better eyes than the rest of them, suddenly growled, and since they were nearing the ground quickly, he was starting to pull out of his dive. "There!"
And suddenly Arthur was able to distinguish her in the layer below. Wrapped in a cocoon of shadow, Guinevere's prone form was unmistakable.
She had looked too far into the abyss.
Arthur did the only sane thing a man in his position would do. He forgot his plans, his strategies, and his logic. He forgot that demons were attacking his kingdom. He forgot his fear of heights, and he forgot that he was trying to deny that fear.
Drawing Excalibur, he launched himself off the back of the dragon.
It wasn't as though Merlin wouldn't follow him anyway.
~…~
And so Merlin did.
It wasn't as though he had much of a choice. Not only was his friend ensnarled by the black magic of the Other realm, but his best friend had also just jumped off a dragon. Of course he would follow. Even though they were rather near to the ground now, just above the last layer of sludgy shadow-web that arched above the Valley, and even though Kilgharrah's fire had mostly dissipated into the air by now, they were far from safe. They would die upon impact if they hit the ground. If they were lucky, they'd break their bones and then die when the demons down there devoured them alive.
And who knows what would happen if they touched those tendrils…
If Merlin weren't so terrified for the life of Gwen and Arthur, he would have thought something along the lines of: I'm going to kill him.
So yes, he jumped right after his king, manipulating the air around him so that he could protect himself and Arthur, who had the sense to hack at any shadows that neared them. They retreated immediately at Excalibur's touch.
"I want you to catch her, Merlin," Arthur yelled to him.
Eyes blazing gold, he had been struggling to orchestrate the howling winds to his will when he heard Arthur's command. Apparently, he had not been specific enough when he crafted the first spell, and another spell—a spell to slow them down—was just lingering at the tip of his tongue. "What are you—?"
He didn't know what happened, it happened so fast. Maybe he wasn't quick enough in his spell-casting; maybe they had been far closer to Gwen than he judged. Whatever happened, he knew that when one of those shadows got past his guard and brushed against him, his world went dark. His magic, smothered by the presence of the evil, faltered for the briefest second, and he couldn't breathe.
There had been no time…no time…
Arthur landed on the tangle of webbing that begun to thicken in order to support Gwen's body as it lugged her away—toward the giant hole in the realms—so it supported him just as well.
Just as the tendrils began to creep up Arthur's legs, he began to chop at the shadows holding her prisoner, and Merlin's magic flooded back. He tumbled past his friends, and all he could think to do was flip onto his back and focus all of his energy into a single thought: protect.
The magic exploded from him chaotically, eager to fulfill his command, and he heard Kilgharrah roaring his name above him. The dragon's power washed over him, as did quite a bit of foreign power from below.
He landed on his feet, and the murmurs of "Emrys" were enough to tell him who had had a hand in saving his life. The yips and grunts and screams that followed a resounding snarl and blast of fire from Kilgharrah, who was attacking from above, indicated that his back was protected, and he was unable to thank him or any of those who helped. Instead, his eyes remained skyward. Good thing, too. Gwen was soon cut lose, and as her body fell, Merlin followed her path with his hand, slowing her descent.
Got her. Arthur's relief upon hearing his voice in his mind was nearly palpable.
Gwen landed softly at his feet, and she blinked blearily at him. "Merlin?" she whispered. "What—?" Suddenly her eyes widened, and sitting straight up, she gasped, hand reaching up to cover her mouth.
Judging by her expression, he didn't look too great, but that was not a cause for concern right now.
Because Arthur hadn't jumped down yet.
Mind racing, he quickly helped her to her feet, and Gwaine, who had somehow dropped from Kilgharrah's back, came running up behind, along with a sorceress whose fierce hazel eyes only passed over him before locking on the queen. "I'll take Gwen. Go!" the knight ordered. "He's still up there!"
"What do you mean?" Gwen asked, her face horribly pale as Merlin eased her into Gwaine's arms. "Arthur's…"
"Go!" the knight said to Merlin again, interrupting Gwen. The sorceress, much to Merlin's shock, had already begun muttering apologies and words of healing to the queen, who looked as though she were about to pass out again. "We'll keep them off you."
After nodding his thanks and flashing his gaze across the hodge-podge of sorcerers, magical mercenaries, and renegade Druids that had seemingly banded together, he ran. He shot down everything that blocked his path and found Kilgharrah waiting for him. The dragon was hovering just above the ground, Morgana still limp in his claws.
"That was incredibly stupid of you, young warlock," the dragon chastised as the warlock used magic to propel himself into the air and grab onto one of his spines. "You realize you could have fought from my back?"
No, the thought really hadn't occurred to him, but he was sure that there were good reasons for not fighting from Kilgharrah's back. He'd think of them later, he was sure. "Priorities, Kilgharrah!" he snapped, fear lacing his tone. He had an awful feeling about this. "Arthur's in trouble, so you can yell at me later! Fly!"
~…~
Merlin couldn't have cast that spell at a more opportune time. His mind was just beginning to slip and his muscles were nearly unresponsive when he felt his warlock's magic washing over him, and whatever it was that Merlin did, it made the effects of the dark magic on his mind and ability to move disappear entirely.
Unfortunately, he couldn't say that the shadows had stopped crawling up his body, but he was grateful that he still had the chance to cut Guinevere free and that he still had his wits about him after it was done. He almost wished he had been unconscious at one point, though: despite his trust in Merlin, it nearly tore him apart to watch her just…fall.
Perspiration dotted his brow as he stared at the spot where she disappeared. Why she was out here in the first place didn't matter so much as the fact that she was safe, and it was only after Merlin confirmed her safety via mind-speech that he began to move again.
He couldn't move much. His legs were already trapped, but it was imperative that his sword arm remained free, at least until he got out of this mess. He began to hack at said mess, which, for some reason, was more resilient to his blade than it had been mere minutes ago, and having released its previous prey, it seemed more persistent.
When whispers from the Other side, whispers so bleak and so cold Arthur felt Merlin's protective spell around his mind shudder, started to break through, his graceful, measured swings became a frantic flurry of slashing.
…born of magic…
…Much better prize…
He felt more than saw Merlin and Kilgharrah's attempts to help him. The fire and magic seemed to do little more than what Excalibur was doing.
…forget the queen…
…We have THE king…
…The king once and future…
The look on Merlin's face was haunting. It triggered a memory of the last time he had seen that look, and he fought harder because even though he was quickly tiring, Merlin, Gwen, the knights…his people would never forgive him if he didn't.
…look at the Emrys struggle…
…ignore him. This is the one we want…
Gvarath eyes were on him. They were everywhere.
…a fighter, this one…
…his soul…
…delicious…
His sword arm, miraculously, was still free, as was a good deal of his upper body. Dignity was forgotten, and he fought with everything he had, especially when he saw where it was the embodiment of dark magic was dragging him off to.
…born of magic…
The ugly vase, bristling with evil, stood tall and proud, and just above it was the tear, wide and wanting.
~…~
Merlin yelled in frustration, pouring everything he had into his spells, but the results were hardly satisfactory. No, instead, it only made him angry and more aware of how exhausted and cold he was, and he—he…
He was useless.
"Why isn't it working?" Merlin asked Kilgharrah, whose flames were just as ineffective as his magic.
His magic had never failed him before. Not like this. Not when Arthur was in danger. Even when he was supposed to be under the control of a magic-suppressing drug, it had rose to the occasion, if a bit late to save Arthur from twenty-three lashes. He'd remember that number all his life, but at least his magic had done something. Of all the horrors and evils he'd faced, never once had it done nothing.
"This is more than dark magic," Kilgharrah murmured. "This is older than the Earth. We would be able to fight it otherwise."
"Then what the hell is it?"
"Evil."
Merlin was almost tempted to shoot the dragon a sarcastic retort, but instead he asked, "What do we do?" He could see the vessel just above the ridge, and even more disturbingly, he imagined that the tear above it was working itself into a grin. One shot of concentrated, pure magic was enough to tell him that the vase was protected from his powers. "What do we do? What do we do?"
That's when he remembered, and hope flared in his chest.
"Kilgharrah, get us as close as you can to the tear, somewhere we have clear sight of Arthur. Hurry!"
The dragon did as he was bid, though neither of them, being creatures of the Old Religion, took pleasure in getting anywhere near the thing that spewed an anti-dark-magic far older and wilder than the magic of the Earth. The moment he was near enough to the ground, Merlin slipped off the back of the dragon and raised his arms, gesturing for him to drop the still-unconscious witch.
Kilgharrah was keen to get rid of her. Morgana toppled limply out of the safety of his hold, black locks spilling over her face and shoulders. No sooner had Merlin settled her into the dirt than had he ordered, "Kilgharrah, go continue to try to free Arthur. I'll be fine!"
The dragon looked like he wanted to argue, but after surveying the warlock for a moment, he flew off, as commanded. Once he was gone, Merlin turned to Morgana and barked, "Áwace!" (2)
Her pale eyes blinked open far too slowly for Merlin's liking, but the emotions that flickered through her eyes upon seeing him were almost too fast for the warlock to register: confusion, relief, rage, hatred, fear, and finally…defeat.
"Merlin," she whispered, her voice cracking. All of her sneering, smugness, and superiority was nowhere to be seen.
"Look around, Morgana," he ordered, holding out an arm stepping aside to give her a clear view of the tear between realms and the shadows and shade that surrounded them. "Look at what you've done. The demon realm is spilling into this one. Is this what you wanted?" His tone was mercilessly harsh and hard, but when he saw her comply without so much as a smirk and look around with dawning horror, he almost felt sorry for her.
"Merlin…"
"Not now," Merlin commanded sternly. "You need to tell me how to stop it, Morgana."
A hint of brassiness flared in her eyes. "If you hadn't taken my magic, none of this would be happening!"
Merlin recoiled as though he'd been slapped, and after feeling a flash of overwhelming repugnance at her accusation, guilt fell hard on him. His gaze switched from her to Arthur, whose struggles were more pronounced than before, and swallowing thickly, he said, "We can point fingers all day, but in the end, you started this."
She did not deny it, and all of the fire in her eyes dwindled. "It wasn't supposed to come to this…"
"I know," Merlin said, a little sympathy trickling into his voice, "but I think that even if it did work in your favor, this power would have overcame you. That's not the point. I need to stop it, and I'm asking that you at least value your own life enough to give me the information I need!"
To her credit, she did not even look amused by his pleading. Instead, it appeared to terrify her. Eyes flickering about, Morgana's mouth worked around words, but Merlin would have none of that. "How do you destroy the vase?" Merlin demanded, desperation tearing his voice. "Please, Morgana!"
"I can't!" she cried. "I can't stop this! I don't know how."
She wasn't lying. No, her fear and vulnerability were too real, and with his last hope squashed, Merlin's heart plummeted to his feet. For a second, his eyes slid closed.
"I'm sorry."
If possible, his heart fell even further. He put her to sleep again almost absentmindedly, and turning away from the broken woman, he began to sprint toward the tear.
It seemed it was time to do something stupid.
The first stupid thing he did was trip. That cost him time, and the Gvarath seemed to find it comical, which was more degrading than begging to Morgana. In the end, he was glad he tripped, for when he fell, the philosopher's stone in his pocket jabbed into his thigh, giving him an idea. It was crazy, but it might just work.
It had to. There was no time for anything else.
Flipping over, he dug it out, and feeling a pang in his heart, an acknowledgment of all this stone meant and all that it had done, he whispered to it, "I have one more task for you."
Arthur's sword arm was losing mobility, he could see, and his blue eyes caught Merlin's just as the warlock turned the stone over in his hand. The king, close enough now to see what it was he was holding, knew immediately what he was planning and nodded as much as he was able.
So Merlin threw the stone with all his might into the tear, and once it slipped through, he raised his palm, commanding, "BRIC!" (3)
The agonized screeching that resulted was even louder than the sound of the stone releasing the rest of the Avalonian energy that it still contained in a single, glorious explosion. Red eyes flickered and died, demons all around began to whimper and cry, and the entire structure of shadows, from the arching buttresses and tangle of webbing to the funnel-cloud-like walls that trapped them in the Valley, shifted and began to collapse…
Not quickly enough.
The winds howled, tearing branches and leaves from trees and whipping dirt into Merlin's eyes, but despite the lack of visibility and all the destruction occurring around him, he could see that Arthur was still trapped and that the Other realm was not quite ready to let him go.
"NO!" Merlin shouted, his magic rushing, rushing...
The king took a swing at the vessel, but his sword ricocheted off with such force that Excalibur was wrenched from his hand…
…but in the process, Arthur's elbow jammed into the vase. That simple touch, of all things, knocked it over, and the moment it hit the rocky ground, it shattered into a hundred shards.
Instantaneously, the shrieking increased, and the shadows writhed, losing all corporeality and dissipating into like smoke into the sunshine that burst into the Valley. Arthur collapsed to the ground across from Merlin with an oomph, and as the tear sealed closed, the shards of the vessel crumbled to dust, and the stone—his stone—popped back out and rolled to him.
The only sound that followed was the scampering of the monsters that had homes on this plane. Now that the vessel was gone and no longer held any attraction for them, they realized that they actually had homes to return to at all. Flocks upon flocks of wyvern passed overhead, all heading back to the mountains, where they belonged.
Cheers and whoops from the group of magicians below soon followed, and after staring at each other, Merlin and Arthur flopped backwards and started laughing hysterically. As though adding kindling to fire, each man's laughter only encouraged the other to laugh harder. The warlock and king laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks, and as the hysterics died down, Merlin's fingers closed over the stone. Even though it was empty, he clenched it tight.
They could finally go home.
(1) Translation: Defend/Enclose/Ward off!
(2) Translation: Awake!
(3) Translation: Break/shatter/burst/tear/injure/curtail/violate/destroy!
AN: You cannot believe how many fantasy/sci-fi allusions are in here: the troll scene from Sorcerer's Stone, the tear in reality (crack in the wall) from the Ponds' season of Doctor Who mixed with the Veil from 4x01/4x02 of Merlin, Greek mythology, the symbiote (aka Venom stuff) from Spiderman 3…. A line inspired by How to Train Your Dragon dialogue is buried in this chapter, too. The description of the ogre in the previous chapter was inspired by T.A. Barron's Lost Years of Merlin series. Kudos to anyone who caught all those parallels! I own none of them.
An epilogue will be upcoming in the next few days. I have things to tie up, and of course I want an excuse to write Kay one last time.
