Part III: Albion Games
Chapter 9: Arthur's Coming
"Arthur. It's getting light."
He groaned and rolled over, tangling his blanket about his legs. Being a prophesied king with a legendary sword didn't mean he was somehow mysteriously exempt from the misery of sore muscles and bruised bones that came from days of running and fighting and falling and… sleeping on the ground. At least the wyverns hadn't followed them.
Without moving to get up, he opened his eyes and watched through the misty grayness of predawn light as Gwaine, who'd taken the third watch, approached the long low shadow that was Merlin's slumbering body. Split up, Arthur scoffed to himself again. Did you hit your head? he'd immediately asked the sorcerer.
Gwaine hissed to wake Merlin as he'd woken Arthur, but there was no response. Gwaine moved his boot to kick gently at Merlin's feet – and lost his balance as it met no resistance.
Gwaine stumbled right into the middle of the shadow that should have been their friend's sleeping form, and turned a horrified look on Arthur, who scrambled to his feet. The shadow dissipated, drifting with the mist.
"Merlin!" Arthur bellowed, turning as though he might see his friend come stumbling to the campsite with an armload of firewood or a sheepish grin and an excuse of having to relieve himself. No reply. No movement. "Merlin!" Arthur shouted again.
"His things are gone," Gwaine observed, casting a glance around. "The egg is gone. I think he took your old sword, at least."
"Dammit, Merlin!" Arthur roared into the stillness.
Behind him, Gwaine said, "Arthur, he's gone. Probably long gone."
Arthur rounded on him. "He was here to take second watch from me and to turn third watch over to you – why didn't you do a better job of it?"
Gwaine's eyebrows rose. "You're blaming me because a sorcerer was able to sneak out of our camp?" he said. Then he bent to begin rolling his blanket. "You said yourself, he only listens to your orders when it suits him."
"I told him we were going to stay together," Arthur said wrathfully. "The southern bridge, and two days to the pavilion, even if that last warrior causes a delay. I told him we'll outrun Morgana…"
"Yes, because it worked so well for us last time," Gwaine remarked ironically, indicating where Merlin had healed Arthur's shoulder of the arrow-wound.
"I didn't want him to go back to Grettir's bridge and Morgana's ambush," Arthur said, crouching down as Gwaine moved to fold and roll Arthur's blanket tightly. "I didn't want him to keep her distracted or occupied until we made it to the pavilion."
"He knew that," Gwaine said, and the reasonable tone from the normally more volatile knight made Arthur's temper rise. "You made that clear last night."
"Obviously not clear enough," Arthur growled, "and why the hell are you so calm? You're suddenly in a hurry to be on our way?"
"You know we can't go after him," Gwaine said. "The sooner we get to the pavilion, so everyone knows we have the trident and that you're to be high king, the sooner that I, at least, can go after Merlin. Unless he makes it there before us."
Arthur snatched the bedroll from the knight, but rejected the biscuit he offered in place of a more substantial breakfast. "You really believe that will happen?" he demanded.
"He can defeat her," Gwaine said confidently, pouring handful of dust over the smoldering coals of the campfire.
"He can," Arthur mumbled rebelliously. "But will he?"
Gwaine straightened, adjusting his blanket roll and saddlebags before stooping to reclaim the trident he'd carried. "What do you mean?" he said. "Just because he released Alice and Elena? Merlin knows Morgana is an enemy."
Arthur pulled his sword from the earth. A chosen fall… his sacrifice to make. Sometimes the duty of a king requires that he allow another to make that sacrifice… he looked to the west, seeing further the lighter the sky became, but more of the same dead spindles of tree trunks, tussocks of dry grass of the Perilous Lands. No long-legged sorcerer making his way across the countryside. Long gone. He turned to the south – they should make the bridge before midday.
"When Merlin and I entered the amphitheatre," he said, setting a pace that made speaking without panting almost impossible, "there were three combatants who were witches. Merlin killed all three." Gwaine glanced quickly at him, incredulous. "One with a throwing star, as she was trying to knife me. One was near-accidental, I take it, though I was enchanted at the time –" He waved away Gwaine's attempt to question him. "Just shut up and listen. The sorceress' life force was connected to an external source, a crystal, which was hit by an arrow while in Merlin's control. The third…" Arthur hesitated as they marched on, remembering the horror of fighting the undying afanc, the drenched arena, the fireball exploding against Merlin's chest.
"The third?" Gwaine prompted.
"The third he called lightning down on, after she tried to lay a death-curse on me," Arthur said.
"What are you saying?" Gwaine asked. "Seems to me he has no problem fighting other magic-users, then."
"Not just magic-users," Arthur said. "Women. One was an accident – a lucky accident – and the other two were essentially reactions in my defense. In the labyrinth, there were two sorceresses –"
"Both of whom he fought," Gwaine argued, stepping over a fallen log.
"But who killed them?" Arthur pointed out. "I put a sword into Catrina, and you knifed Morgause." Gwaine reflected, and remained silent. "And here – he lost consciousness doing magic to save Elena and Alice, and –"
"Lamia?" Gwaine said.
"I speared the monster from behind," Arthur said, "he knocked the body over."
"You think he'll find it hard to face Morgana because she's a woman?" Gwaine said.
"We said that about Morgause last year," Arthur reminded him. "I think Merlin has no problem defending me – or you – with deadly force, but when it comes to himself… I'm not so sure."
"He won't let her kill him," Gwaine said. "He won't even let her escape to threaten us."
Arthur didn't answer, just strode faster, searching through the sun's first rays on their left to see if he could make out the area of the land where the gorge lay, in the distance.
"Arthur," Gwaine said. "My riddle said, Once given, it must be kept. Once broken, forever wept." Arthur glanced over at his knight, there was no mirth visible in him. "The answer is oath. I promised myself to look after Merlin, to defend him, but I also vowed my loyalty and service to you, that I would follow you. Sometimes it just isn't possible, to fulfill an oath the way you think it should be done. I think – I think he left because he was worried about us – you heard how he argued to face her himself. I think he wanted to make absolutely certain she was nowhere near us."
Arthur growled, "Idiot."
It was the last thing either of them said until they reached the gorge several hours later. It was nothing more than a break in the land, an off-color ripple cutting through hills from the west toward the southeast, and then the bridge came into sight.
Unlike the bridge Grettir guarded, this had very little cover. The lifelessness of the Perilous Lands extended right to the gorge, and the cover of the forest did not begin for several yards on the opposite side.
"What do you think?" Gwaine said, breaking the silence after they'd studied the layout for a few moments. "There's got to be some catch, some hidden trap, right?"
"I have a feeling," Arthur said slowly, tightening his fingers around the hilt of his extraordinary sword, sheathed at his hip, "that we will have no problem crossing from this side to that, not with these in hand." He took his hand from the sword to flick the shaft of the trident in Gwaine's grasp, its butt-end resting in the dust at their feet.
"And Helios?" Gwaine said.
"I think," Arthur said slowly, "as long as you have that, we have the advantage. Keep a little distance from me, and be on your guard."
It didn't do to be careless, of course, but with this sword in his hand and the prophecies in mind – unite Albion, rule over a golden age of peace – he felt fairly invincible. Still, he kept his eyes searching into the trees for any threat as he strode to the stakes, driven deep in the earth to support the ropes suspending the planks of the bridge.
He was halfway across, at the lowest point of the sagging bridge, testing each step carefully, just in case, when a man appeared. He was dark-skinned, the only hair on his head being a short beard, tattoos down the muscles of his upper arms. He wore a leather torque embossed with gold symbols that Arthur could not make out at that distance, a wide belt, and his trousers tucked into knee-high boots. His sword was ready in his hand, and he moved unhesitatingly to the ropes binding the other end of the bridge to the anchoring poles, laying the blade threateningly on the taut line.
"I want the trident," Helios said. "Give it to me, and I'll leave you both alive – on that side, with the bridge cut."
Arthur smirked. "So we can go back to the other bridge – right into Morgana's hands?" he said.
Helios hesitated, just long enough to confirm Arthur's guess. "You!" he called across to Gwaine. "I want the trident, or I'll split these ropes and your king will fall to his death."
Arthur looked over the side. He could see about ten yards down, and then there was only mist, rising from the bowels of the earth.
"Split the ropes," Gwaine invited, "and I'll drop this." Arthur glanced back to see the knight extending the contested prize over the edge of the gorge.
"I was promised a year's pay if I return with that," Helios mused, and sawed his blade twice over the rope, causing it to split and twist, the broken pieces unraveling. The quivering of the action of his blade vibrated through Arthur's hands and feet. "But I think your king is more valuable to you than that, am I right?"
Arthur bent his knees, winding his forearms in the hand-ropes. "Go ahead and cut," he said. "The bridge is still attached at this end. I'll climb back up… and you won't get the trident."
"But my lady Morgana will get the two of you," Helios said. "When you travel to the other bridge."
Arthur gave the warrior his widest smile. "I wouldn't bet on that," he said. "My sorcerer has gone after her."
Helios considered him, looked down at the blade of his sword resting atop the fraying strands of bridge-rope. "A straight-up fight, then?" he suggested. "You and me, to the death, for the trident."
It was, Arthur supposed, the lesser of two evils, the shorter of two delays. As much as he wanted to go to Merlin, there was a day's distance between them now. If his sorcerer could hold the witch for a day, or defeat her in a day, it would do them no good to waste the time to go around.
"Done," he said.
Helios moved back, pointing his sword at Gwaine as he retreated. "He stays on that side until one of us is dead," he demanded.
Arthur didn't even bother glancing back. "Gwaine," he said, raising his voice slightly.
"Yes, sire," the knight called back, sounding disappointed.
He drew his new sword as he crossed the last few feet of bridge. Well. His first battle with the legendary blade. Let's see how good you really are, he thought, and attacked.
Helios parried, then counterattacked twice, from the left and a descending blow from overhead. Arthur blocked both, then spun in a tight circle to slash hard across his enemy's middle. Helios leaped back, then beckoned mockingly to Arthur.
So. Skill he could match. That left strength to be discovered… Arthur slung his blade hard cross-handed, and Helios blocked him again. Arthur followed up with a series of attacks at his torso – right, left, right – driving him back, getting the other into a rhythm of blocking a flurry of blows with a minimum of movement required, just a shift of his own blade to the right or left, then switching to a descending blow from overhead.
Arthur had then to twist sideways to block an unexpected attack, the point of the warrior's blade inches from Arthur's chin. He tried a double-handed downward strike, then blocked a blow from his enemy's right, his hilt by his face and his blade downward next to his body, so the other blade would slide off the end rather than catching on the cross-guard.
Instead of losing his balance as his blade met no resistance, Helios danced past Arthur, who rotated on his ankle to face him. He took a deep breath, spinning the immortal blade at his side. It might have been his imagination that he felt stronger, quicker, more daring more perceptive, with this weapon in his hand, but the fact remained that he was worn out, while Helios had spent the last few days resting and waiting. His opponent had skill and strength – but did he have strategy?
The other warrior attacked again, and Arthur blocked twice, from the right, and an overhead blow. Then Helios feinted – and punched Arthur right in the face with the hilt of his sword. Arthur allowed the force of the blow to whirl him around as he dropped to his knees. Grinning in anticipation of his triumph, Helios swung his sword in a wide arc, gathering momentum for a beheading blow. Arthur blocked it, but collapsed sideways to one elbow. He heard Gwaine shouting his name.
Helios stood over him, arranging both hands on the hilt of his weapon in a stabbing grip. He raised the sword, gloating. And Arthur lunged upward, knocking Helios' sword aside as he plunged the immortal blade into his enemy, just below his breastbone – he didn't stop until the hilt was brushing the leather torque.
The gold embossing, he noticed, was a pattern of skulls.
He twisted the blade, and the dark-skinned body jerked reflexively, then toppled slowly down. Arthur kept his hold on his hilt, and allowed the blade to slide free as Helios fell at his feet.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
It wasn't the same without Merlin.
They'd found Helios' horse, and had worked their way south through the forest of Engerd, the rest of that day and most of the next. Without Merlin, it was grim and hasty. Words were short and to the point, there was no chatting, no banter, just two warriors with a goal. Arthur was just as worried as Gwaine, he knew, but the king would do his duty and return to the pavilion, in spite of Merlin's absence. The sorcerer risked himself for Arthur's sake, and they had to respect the sacrifice he was making.
Gwaine only hoped he could get Arthur delivered safely to the pavilion and get back to Merlin in time to prevent him from making the ultimate sacrifice. Falling on your sword was a noble concept – but utter rubbish as far as Gwaine was concerned. He'd go down fighting, any day.
"I'm sure he's fine," Gwaine remarked the second morning, scattering earth over their campfire in preparation to depart, as Arthur saddled Helios' dark brown gelding.
"He is," Arthur said, briefly but confidently.
They rode, they walked. Gwaine carried the trident, Arthur kept his hand on the hilt of the legendary sword in an unconsciously habitual way.
They finally emerged from the forest on a ridge overlooking the plain where the pavilion was erected, and campsites of the four monarchs of the five kingdoms to the points of the compass.
"Ah, Arthur…" Gwaine said uneasily, looking over the king's shoulder atop their shared mount.
"Word has spread," Arthur remarked.
Each campsite had increased in size almost twofold, Gwaine would guess. At least there would be no denying Arthur's victory. And hopefully no delaying of the proclamation of him as high king of Albion. Gwaine wondered how soon he might be able to slip away.
Arthur urged more speed from the horse, angling to approach from the northeastern corner, between Annis and Alined's encampments. By the time they reached the outer tents, scouts had reported, and spectators had flocked, and the way toward the central pavilion was lined with gawking onlookers.
Arthur rode with his back straight and his eyes forward. Gwaine carried the trident upright to the side, resting the butt on the toe of his boot and letting the three-pronged head fall outward to the length of his arm, as a standard-bearer would do. Awed eyes were on the ancient tarnished weapon, and Gwaine had to restrain himself from pointing out the far more important, and yet completely innocuous weapon riding at Arthur's hip.
The two kings and the queen were waiting outside the pavilion when Arthur reined in. Odin looked like thunder, Alined like he'd just tasted something sour. Annis' lips were pursed with grudging respect. Percival stood with them as Arthur's representative, along with a couple council members, and Geoffrey, Elyan beaming beside him – and Guinevere at his elbow, with one hand over her heart in happy relief.
Then there was Gaius, eyebrow raised in stubborn refusal to be impressed until success was proven, and Freya half behind him, and their eyes were searching for someone else.
"He's alive," Arthur spoke to them first.
Gwaine opened his mouth to qualify the king's words, he was when we saw him last, then shut it again. It would do no good.
Arthur shifted, and Gwaine caught his wordless command, setting the shaft of the trident down on the grass for support as he slid from the horse's back, Arthur moments behind him, more suitably using the stirrup to dismount.
"I call upon all here present today," Arthur said, his eyes on his fellow rulers but his voice raised to carry clearly in the hush, "to bear witness. Camelot has been to the Perilous Lands, and returned with the trident of the Fisher King, according to the terms of the covenant agreed upon and signed by the Five Kingdoms."
Silence. And yet more silence, the crowd taking its cue from the other three.
"It would seem the victory is yours," Odin growled.
"It is not victory I seek," Arthur returned. "It is peace. I hope that today will mark a new beginning for our kingdoms. If the appropriate documentation has been drawn up –" Geoffrey stepped forward and bowed an affirmation. "I see no better time than the present to sign the accord for the unification of the five kingdoms."
Odin whirled, slapping the tent flap aside, and Alined slunk after him, followed by his court sorcerer. Annis gave Arthur a reluctant smile of approval. "There is something about you, Arthur Pendragon," she said, "something which gives me hope for us all."
Gwaine refrained from saying, you know what that something is – we're idiots, the lot of us. He didn't figure Arthur would appreciate that – and it reminded him too much of Merlin, just now.
In a flurry of purple, Guinevere left her place to fling her arms around Arthur, filthy and sweaty and tired as he was, and the king bent to hold her tight and press his face into her shoulder and neck. His shoulders rose and fell with one deep breath, then he pulled back, set a kiss deliberately on her lips, and passed into the tent.
Gwaine tossed a reassuring grin to his friends, and followed Arthur.
Once inside the pavilion and away from the eyes of the observers, Odin snapped, "I, for one, require a full reckoning of events before I believe that Camelot's young king has followed the accord we specified. What, in the event of theft or other law-breaking in the last five days?"
"We can sign contingent upon no such breach of contract coming to light," Annis said.
Arthur strode right to the table where the scroll waited for the signatures, reading through it though Gwaine knew the king trusted Geoffrey's examination of the document. Alined moved to Gwaine to touch the trident, turn it, as though verifying its authenticity. Gwaine gave him his most devilish grin.
"We could wait until the participants of all teams are accounted for," Alined said, turning away again. "Conduct interviews, piece together the truth of the quest, before we acknowledge young Arthur king of all Albion."
Arthur didn't react, but reached for the quill propped in the inkwell, and signed the sheet. "Geoffrey," he said, turning. "There will be copies for the archives of each ruler." It wasn't a question.
"Yes, sire," Geoffrey bowed.
"Those can be signed at a later time," Arthur decided. He turned to face the three other rulers, and Gwaine was struck by the sight of his friend – his king.
Arthur was pale, and stern. Unwashed, unshaved, travel-stained, his blue eyes piercing and commanding. He was the high king. He took the immortal blade from his sheath, not drawing it across his body, right hand from left hip as he would if expecting to fight, but simply easing it free with his left hand.
"Gaius," he said, and Gwaine noticed that the old physician had joined them in the pavilion. "Can you identify this blade."
The old man took the weapon gingerly, Geoffrey stepping close to study it with interest as well. "Amazing craftsmanship," Gaius said. "Unparalleled design. The runes read, on this side, Take me up, and … Sire, where did you get this?"
Geoffrey said, "This weapon fits the description of the immortal blade of Bruta, the sword thrust magically into stone, not to be released until–"
"Until the unification of Albion," Annis said. "By the once and future king."
"It was in the tower of the Fisher King," Arthur stated emotionlessly. "Sir Gwaine and Lord Merlin both witnessed the drawing of it from the stone by my hand. I am willing to allow whatever experts you wish access to it for authentication."
Annis shook her head, but not in disbelief, and turned to the other two kings. "This contest was none of Arthur's making," she said, "but he is the clear victor – and moreover, seems to have fulfilled prophecy at our instigation. You can refuse no longer." She stepped to Arthur's side, sweeping her skirts in a half-curtsy. "My lord." He moved to allow her access to the table, and she leaned over to sign the document.
"Annis," Arthur said, as she straightened. "Have you means of contact with your sorceress?" Gwaine shuffled around the edge of the central rug, in order to get closer to the queen and his king.
"With Morgana?" Annis looked surprised. "Yes, I have a raven I can send with a message. May I ask why?"
"Were you aware," Arthur said deliberately, "that she held a grudge against myself, Sir Gwaine, and Lord Merlin personally, due to the death of her cousin Morgause last year in the Labyrinth of Gedref?"
Annis stared at him. "She has been very bitter this past year," the queen admitted. "Dissatisfied. She explained – a death in her family…"
"Gwaine and I traveled from the Perilous Lands by the southern bridge," Arthur said, "where your champion Helios waited in ambush."
"You killed him?" Annis guessed.
"Even so. Lord Merlin, however, chose to return by way of the eastern bridge, where we expected Morgana to be waiting. I am concerned that she be notified of the conclusion of the contest as soon as possible."
Annis stared a moment longer. "Your sorcerer would have crossed into the corner of Mercia known as Goblin's Hollow sometime yesterday," she said, and Arthur nodded confirmation. "If the two magic-users met in conflict at that time," she hesitated, curious, "of what use is it to send a message declaring cessation of hostilities this evening? Surely a wizard's duel would not last through the night and a second day as well?"
Arthur glanced at the other men in the tent – Odin, Alined and his simpering court sorcerer, Gaius and Geoffrey, and said softly, "My heart tells me they battle on."
Annis' mask of haughty coolness disappeared. "I recall," she said slowly, "dreams. Morgana mentioned – her destiny and her doom, she said. Emrys. Arthur, if you are the once and future king of prophecy, then your Emrys is –"
"Merlin, yes," Arthur said grimly.
"Morgana was in favor of the idea of unification. She said – a high king – his sorcerer…" Annis bit her lip. "Arthur, I fear she will not cease until he is dead, or she is, despite the conclusion of the quest. I fear she has been studying and searching to learn the identity of Emrys – that she might destroy him before he can destroy her."
"Then she forces her own fate," Arthur said stonily. "Merlin is incapable of holding a grudge – he would not have been her enemy had she not made herself his."
"I will send the message regardless," Annis promised, dipping a slight curtsy. It was odd and a little awing to Gwaine to see such a hard, calculating woman – a queen before Arthur had learned to walk, perhaps – giving him the courtesy of a liege. And Arthur accepting it without another thought.
"Arthur," she added, turning back. "Morgana is a high priestess. I understand little of the Old Religion, the rules, the customs, but I am afraid even someone with the power of Emrys will find it difficult to accomplish her death."
Arthur gave Gwaine a look. Gaius bowed his head respectfully as the queen swept past him to exit the tent. "Now, sire – and you, too, Gwaine –" the old man said. "Have you any injuries for me to tend to? No? good. Where is Merlin?"
"Merlin was holding Morgana off our backs," Gwaine explained. Gaius' eyebrows rose, and Gwaine held his palms out defensively. "It was his idea – and he slipped off after Arthur told him not to." The old man humphed at his assistant's foolhardiness. "Only – now Annis thinks Merlin might have a rougher time of it than even we thought. Seems Morgana is a high priestess –"
"I had no idea Annis' court sorceress had climbed so high," Gaius breathed. "She would be a formidable opponent, indeed. The high priestesses are not to be killed with mortal weapons."
"He took Arthur's other sword," Gwaine said, "that won't do him any good?"
"You're saying Merlin can't kill her?" Arthur demanded.
"Not can't, sire." Gaius hesitated. "Merlin has unsurpassed power, after all."
Arthur rounded on Gwaine. "Hand that thing off to Percival," he ordered, flicking the shaft of the trident. "Then have a horse saddled and provisioned and ready for me in half an hour."
"But, sire," Gaius protested.
"You and Geoffrey and Percival handle things here," Arthur decided. "Annis will help keep those other two in line, I believe. The other copies can be signed when I return."
"But it's almost dusk. Surely someone else can –"
"Someone else with an immortal blade?" Arthur said softly. "No. This is mine, and he is mine, and I will not lose him to her. Gwaine."
"Sire." He bowed swiftly and exited the tent. The air was cooler now that the sun had slipped past the horizon, and he found it invigorating. In spite of the hardship of the quest they'd just returned from, Gwaine's steps were energetic as he followed Arthur's orders, with only a few quick phrases to those who wanted to stop and question him.
"Can't explain it all now," he told Percival, with Elyan beside him as Gwaine handed over the trident for safekeeping. "We're going after Merlin – sometime, we'll sit down to a tankard or five of ale and I'll tell you the whole thing, beginning to end, I swear. And it'll take all night, too."
To Guinevere's shocked realization of what his hurried preparations meant, he said only, again, "We're going after Merlin, my lady. And I swear to you, I will bring Arthur back." To Freya, Gwen's anxious shadow, he added more softly, "Emrys will be fine, you know." She nodded, and the two girls held both each other's hands together as Gwaine returned to the pavilion for Arthur.
Ye gods, he thought, how many different promises did he have going, now?
The king sent a swift glance over Gwaine's mount, studied his face briefly, then nodded his agreement. "Good," Gwaine told him aloud, cheerfully, "because if you had told me to stay behind, I'd have taken a page from Merlin's book and disobeyed you the moment your back was turned."
Arthur growled blackly at him, and spurred his horse out of the encampment. They galloped through the dusk until safety required them to stop.
"How did you figure we were going to find him?" Gwaine said, as they leaned against the boles of opposite trees to provide their bodies food, water, and rest.
Arthur said, pointing at an invisible map on the palm of his glove, "Here's the valley of the fallen kings, the cave, here's the village where we spent the night, and Goblin Hollow. This the more direct route we took returning. Now, Morgana will not want the goblin's interference, so I'm guessing they're in the forest, here."
"That's still about twelve leagues of forest," Gwaine said.
"It's a wizard's duel," Arthur said. "I'm afraid we're going to have no problem finding them. Come on, the moon's up – we can at least walk."
As it turned out, Arthur's instinctive sense of direction and unerring intuition for the location of his sorcerer got them fairly close by mid-afternoon of the next day. They could feel the quaking of the earth, hear the occasional snap of a tree branch or trunk, catch a flash of a passing fireball in the distance. They crept forward, tree by tree.
"What's the plan?" Gwaine whispered.
"We have to let him know we're here, without her realizing it as well," Arthur decided.
"And you have to get close enough to use that," Gwaine added, pointing at the gleaming blade in Arthur's hand. "Why don't I go around to the right and provide some distraction –" at Arthur's look he amended, "okay, some minimal safe distraction, and you can sneak up on the left."
Arthur shook his head, pressing his lips together. "I don't like it," he said. "Splitting up again – dammit. Okay – go. Go quickly."
Gwaine caught two glimpses of Merlin's back as he skirted the fray, once of the sorcerer crouching to dodge, once of him standing taller than Gwaine recalled him being, leaning forward with hands raised. Where was the egg in its magically-fashioned pouch? Where was Arthur's sword? It didn't matter, he realized, as it would be useless against Morgana anyway.
The two faced each other across a clearing, looking eerily alike – both pale as bone and grim as death, black hair matted and disheveled, glaring and spitting spells and curses, gesticulating, ducking, sometimes advancing a few steps and sometimes dropping back a few.
Gwaine maneuvered closer to Morgana, hoping that Merlin would notice him, but not lose his concentration. As he prowled toward her, the two magic-users seemed to draw together, step by step, til they faced each other from a ten-foot distance.
There was a dagger in Morgana's hand – Gwaine charged.
The witch's head snapped around to face him. Her green eyes glittered, her sneer widened – and Gwaine was catapulted backward, swift and high. He shouted, "M-" and slammed into a tree.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Merlin was exhausted.
He'd hoped to be allowed to make amends to Morgana for her cousin's death. He'd hoped to reassure her that he never had any intentions of being anyone's doom. He'd been told, before, that he was hopelessly optimistic, and he guessed it was true. Five times the first day, he'd fought her to a standstill, attempting to reason with her.
He'd underestimated the strength of the witch's anger and hatred.
The second day he didn't try to speak to her, just focused on defending himself and preventing her from getting any closer to Arthur – who traveled south at a decent pace, he gathered from the connection inside. For his pains, he'd been battered, singed, punctured, choked, and soaked. His lower left leg had been broken when she'd managed to knock him down into a ravine, and he'd been unlucky enough to land wrong, but he'd trapped her in an upsurge of rocky forest detritus long enough to knit the bone sufficiently to hold his weight.
By the end of the second day, Merlin recognized that she held the advantage, greatest-sorcerer-prophecy notwithstanding. She might have gone months without doing any significant magic, preparing for Annis to present the proposal to the kings. Aside from killing Alator and Jarl and causing the cave-in, she might not have done any other magic since the start of the quest, while he had drawn and drawn again from the deep golden well of his magic. They'd been fairly matched when he crossed Grettir's bridge to find no sign of hut, fire, or bridgekeeper.
However, defensive magic actually took more strength and energy, because the defense needed to be in place before it became necessary, during the attack, and afterwards to be sure the attack was over.
She would retreat, occasionally, temporarily, and Merlin let her go. But his magic was always wary, ready to alert him to her movements, her approach. Even as he slept, a poor and broken rest, a trickle of magic extended to keep watch and provide warning.
And that on top of the spell he maintained over the entire forest to counter any attempt at teleportation.
The dragon's egg he had hidden in a small cave. The goblins had taken cover the second day, drawing so far back into their hollow that he could no longer sense them.
As the third day dawned, Merlin was forced to acknowledge another sense he'd tried to convince himself he'd imagined during the night.
Arthur was coming.
Kid gloves be damned. He had to end it before his king arrived.
Only – the third day, the strength of the magic available for his sustainable use was less than the witch's. He'd hurled her against the trunks of trees, against the ground, had caused the earth to open beneath her – but she could still transport herself within his spell of containment, away from his threat. He'd considered poisoning the water source – but it was his water source, as well as that for the wildlife and vegetation. He'd been close enough to wound her twice with Arthur's borrowed blade, once a slash across her side – she'd thrown him back and disappeared almost instantly – and once a solid hit, half the blade through center of mass, as Arthur and Leon had taught him.
She'd gasped and doubled over – then laughed as Merlin stepped back. "I am a high priestess!" she'd spat at him, "no mortal blade can kill me!"
That was when she'd broken his leg flinging him down the rocky ravine.
He limped into a clearing contemplating what calling up a thunderstorm would cost him in strength and endurance, the likelihood of setting the forest on fire trying to get the lightning to strike the witch instead of the trees, how long he'd have to let it rain so that wasn't a danger – and then the trouble of locating her in the dark to try to direct the strike…
Merlin realized two things with a shock. First, that Arthur had gotten within hailing distance. And second, that Morgana faced him across the clearing, dagger in hand.
He unleashed the magic that remained to him in a barrage of attacks – which she countered as she launched her own. He defended, and it was a stalemate of chaos.
Arthur was coming. Arthur, who he guessed had returned to the pavilion to gain the acclamation of high king – and was now here because of him. Instead of protecting his friend, his king, he'd been the cause of Arthur once again putting himself in danger.
Arthur hadn't come alone. In the trees to his right, Merlin glimpsed the lean swordsman's build, the longish dark hair of their companion-knight. Gwaine.
Ye gods, how useless his venture had been. Both his friends, here, now. And the witch. Morgana holding Gwaine's face between her hands, his skin white and his eyes black with unspeakable agony. Arthur falling to his knees, pale and gaunt, the macabre red smile of a wound in his chest drooling blood as the light left his eyes. All that he'd meant to prevent, now in direst danger of all.
Morgana didn't know they were here – he had to keep it that way, had to hold her attention. No mortal blade can kill me – he had to allow Arthur to get close enough to use the sword from the stone. Merlin put all his strength and energy into slowing time in the clearing, into a thickened air-shield between him and the witch.
And then he deliberately faltered.
She took a step closer, the knife extended. She took another step, pushing against Merlin's shield, breaking it for an instant before he reformed it, weaker and thinner. Her eyes burned with a fanatical loathing, her lips drew back from her teeth with a snarl. Another step.
To the right, Gwaine suddenly burst from cover, brandishing his sword to attack her. Hells, Gwaine, no! She looked to the side and lifted her chin sharply, and his friend went flying. Merlin used no magic to cushion the impact or the fall.
Here, witch. See how weak I am? No magic left to protect my friend.
The shield wavered, and she came closer.
Arthur was coming.
All your attention, focused on me. See how close your vengeance is? See how close your freedom from the prophesied doom? See how helpless Emrys is?
Oh, hells, Arthur. Hurry.
Merlin put out his hand, bypassed the blade she held to curl his fingers around her wrist, hard as bone as all her strength leaned into the weapon.
Only one chance. They would not have another. He must keep her attention. The shield between them thinned. Her sleeve in his grasp slipped up to her elbow as she pushed forward. The edge of his jacket brushed the tip of the knife as it lightly touched his shirt. Morgana's eyes left Merlin's face for that one inch of filthy blue fabric, between the third and fourth ribs on his right side. To his vision, the blade took on a reflective glow of that blue. Magic.
Here and now. Me and you. So close – can you taste it? Can you feel it? Victory in your grasp. Moments only had passed since Gwaine's charge.
Arthur – oh, all ye gods and the monsters that roam the earth –
The visions in crystal that hadn't left him since the Labyrinth of Gedref. Arthur falling to his knees, pale and gaunt, the macabre red smile of a wound in his chest drooling blood as the light left his eyes. A newer vision - himself lying on the floor of the cave, the macabre red smile of a wound in his chest drooling blood.
The sacrifice was his decision to make, his oath the vow to be kept.
A chosen fall.
Merlin released the shield entirely. Eight inches of blade entered his body, fiery cold. As two feet of immortal, legendary steel entered hers.
He stood still. Her hand left the hilt of the knife to grasp Arthur's on the hilt of the sword. The runes on the side Merlin could see read Cast me – and the rest was inside the witch's body.
"Goodbye, Morgana," Arthur said coldly. Then he lowered her body to the ground, drawing his unique weapon free.
Her face, pale and frozen in a grimace of fear and pain, stilled, yet Merlin couldn't take his eyes away. What if she was pretending, too?
"It's finished," Arthur told him. He slammed the point of his sword into the earth and came to support Merlin carefully, gently – then roughly and awkwardly as Merlin's knees buckled and his legs refused to hold him.
"Arthur – you came," he said stupidly. "You weren't supposed to –"
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur said, his voice at once tense and fond. "This isn't bad – I've seen worse –"
"On a dead man," Merlin joked, managing a smile.
"You can heal yourself, though, right?" Arthur said, as Merlin slipped lower in his arms. "Dammit – Gwaine!" he roared, raising himself higher on his knees to search the forest for the knight.
"Arthur," Merlin whispered. There was blood on the hand he raised, so he stopped short of touching Arthur's face as he'd intended. Arthur caught the hand in his anyway.
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur growled. "I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth that's not a healing spell. Gwaine!"
"You know I never do as I'm told," Merlin said. "Arthur –"
"What, then, Merlin?" There was agony on Arthur's face, and Merlin was sorry to have caused it.
He smiled and whispered, "I'm glad you came."
A/N: So this chapter really got away from me – ten pages and I wasn't half done with what I wanted to write. There will be two more chapters after this (though I hate to break my pattern of 10 chapters for each of the 3 parts), and that will be my penance for the cliff-hangers…
Thanks to guest reviewers who enjoy my work as well as my regular reviewers! So much encouragement is – encouraging!
Also, dialogue from ep. 4.5 "His Father's Son". And a couple of others I didn't bother to cite.
