Author's Note: Hello to all my lovely readers! I've missed you! Here we are, getting into the last two episodes. WARNING: spoilers for episodes 12 and 13. All my love to you fabulous reviewers who really make writing this story worth every second.

Now here's what's up. There is so much going on in the two-part season finale that, while I would love to cover every single scene and detail in my story, I just can't. So I'm trusting you all to remember all the details of what happened. I'm moving through events quickly, going from this to that, so it may seem choppy or incomplete, and I apologize for that. I made this chapter extra long because... well it just worked out that way, but you can consider it my apology for any under-par writing and for the long periods of time between updates.

Thank you guys for reading!

Mordred was relieved that Hunith had brought him to his senses. He no longer wished for Merlin and Arthur to share in his agony and then to die. But he knew now that Merlin had always been wrong. Arthur could never change. His mind was too set in its beliefs.

In any ordinary man this wouldn't have been a crime deserving of death. But Arthur was no ordinary man. He was King of Camelot, and his false beliefs had already been the cause of too many innocents' deaths. Mordred could no longer live with himself if he chose to stand by and watch this happen again and again and again. Arthur had to be stopped. It wasn't fair, and Mordred didn't like it, but it was the right thing to do.

He didn't seek Arthur's death as vengeance. Killing Arthur wouldn't bring Kara back. It wouldn't repair the newest tear in his heart. And Mordred believed honestly that Arthur wasn't an evil man. He was a good one. The thought of killing Arthur was enough to churn his stomach, but his sense of duty, of right and wrong, had finally overtaken his love for Arthur. Arthur had betrayed him, failed him.

Only now did Mordred realize that he'd been betraying his own people the entire time he'd served as a knight. To atone for this, he owed his people their freedom restored. The young druid man knew there was only one way he could succeed in this mission. So when he left Ealdor early that morning, before the sun had risen, he set out to find the witch Morgana.

A week passed, then two. Merlin was like a ghost in the castle, speaking only when spoken to, and keeping to himself. His friends let him, as most of them were doing just the same. The citadel was a very unhappy place to live.

One day a distracted Percival received a deep cut on his forearm during training. The knight responsible apologized profusely, but Percival brushed him off. It was his fault for letting his mind wander during practice, he knew that. Arthur ordered him off to Gaius' to get the wound cleaned and bandaged.

He sat blankly on a bench in the physician's chambers, allowing Gaius to silently do his job. Just as Gaius was finishing, Merlin entered the room, carrying an armful of supplies. He stopped when he saw Percival. They met eyes, and immediately looked away.

Of all their friends, Percival and Merlin had been avoiding one another the most. They both knew that Merlin had been Mordred's lover and Percival his closest friend. They also both knew that they were the two most responsible for Kara's death, and Mordred's subsequent heartbreak and escape. It may have been Arthur who ordered the execution, but it was they who put Mordred and Kara in their cells. Both were swamped with burning regret, and seeing the other only reminded each man of the shame of their betrayals.

"Well, you're all patched up," said Gaius. "Just be sure not to put too much strain on that arm for a time."

"I won't. Thank you, Gaius."

Not wasting any time, Percival rose to his feet and swiftly tromped out the door. Merlin felt a tightening in his chest. He followed his instincts and raced out the door after the big man.

"I miss him."

Just like that, weeks of silence were broken. Percival stopped in his tracks. Merlin slowly came down the stairs until he stood only a step above the knight. Percival looked at him.

"So do I."

"But he had magic," said Merlin carefully. "Surely that changed your mind about him?" Percival's jaw tightened and his eyes turned away, flickering with annoyance. Merlin's head tilted curiously. "Or maybe it didn't. Did you already know?"

"He never said a word," he answered. "I assume you didn't know either."

"Why?"

"You would've told Arthur," Percival stated, shrugging. "Wouldn't've been in love with him."

"Hmm." For a second Merlin didn't respond. Then he took a deep breath. "Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else. Somewhere more private." Percival raised an eyebrow at him, but Merlin's expression was steady. Shrugging half-heartedly, he jogged away down the stairs. Merlin followed. They traveled in total silence until they reached Percival's bedchamber.

Percival closed the door behind them. "All right, what is it?"

"I knew," said Merlin bluntly. Percival stared at him in shock. "To be precise, I've known for about, oh… ten years."

"Ten years?" he repeated. "But he only came to Camelot-"

"The first time he came he was just a boy. But he was a druid, so, of course, Uther was trying to catch him. If he had, he would've executed him." Dumbstruck by the revelation, Percival simply stared. "I found him, in the square. Hid him from Uther, with Morgana's help. That was back when she… Well, you know. We had to keep him hidden from Arthur when he came around looking. But in the end Arthur helped us smuggle him out of the castle. I've known about his magic ever since then."

"Are you saying that Arthur knew about it?" asked Percival disbelievingly. The manservant shook his head.

"He didn't know. He just thought Mordred was an innocent druid boy. Which he was. But he had no idea that Mordred was also a powerful sorcerer."

"And how did you know it then?"

Merlin almost snorted. "Saw it. The guards caught his father, and executed him. When it happened, Mordred screamed, and Morgana's mirror shattered. Arthur wasn't there to see it."

"Why are you telling me this?" Percival asked, becoming on edge.

Merlin shrugged. "I don't know. Thought it might be something you'd like to know. And I gathered that the fact that Mordred's a sorcerer doesn't bother you. Am I right?"

Slowly, Percival nodded. "Magic wasn't… outlawed… where I was born. It's never really felt right to me, this kingdom-wide prejudice." Finally his wary reservedness vanished, replaced with tension and something near a scowl. "It makes me so angry, I can barely stand to look at the other knights. They used to be his friends, and now they act like he was something bad all along, like his magic makes him that way. They don't see it. They don't see that we drove him to leave. I'm sure I woulda done the same in his place. How anyone could bear living in a place where their kind are thought of with such fear and disgust… I don't understand it."

Merlin barked out a laugh, unable to restrain himself. Percival shot him a sharp look. "Sorry, it's just… you don't…" Merlin sighed, smiling bitterly to himself. "There are reasons for people to do that."

"Right. I s'pose Mordred would've talked to you about it."

"He had hope in Arthur," divulged the warlock softly. "He loved Arthur. I told him, I promised him… that Arthur would change someday. And he will. But I'm afraid Mordred must've given up all hope now. I worry what he'll do."

"What do you mean?"

"Until recently, Mordred was still close to Morgana."

Percival's eyes flew wide open. "He what?" he hissed.

"They've had a bond since he was a child," Merlin snapped back. "He had reasons."

"But- Morgana's- she-"

"I'm afraid he'll return to her."

"He wouldn't."

"He might. He will."

Merlin's gaze was steadfast, leaving no room for doubt. Percival stumbled, then landed himself heavily in a chair, eyes staring at nothingness. "If they attack Camelot together, we won't stand a chance."

"We can't think like that," Merlin lectured. "We've just got to be more alert than ever. If I'm right, Morgana will attack soon. Once Mordred joins her, they'll come."

Mordred was soon across the border, but he continued to travel for weeks. Mostly he stayed in the forests, where he felt most at ease, but he visited the occasional town or village. It was in one of these that he first heard news of troops moving, an army massing.

He picked up every tidbit of information he could find, following the trail in the direction the rumors lead. He developed a routine to his days. He would wake, cook breakfast, walk, rest for lunch, walk, stop for the night, cook dinner, study his book of runes, and sleep. Day by monotonous day passed by.

Finally, nearly two months after Kara's execution, Mordred felt a tingling presence in his mind, one that he recognized well. Morgana was nearby. Taking precaution, Mordred decided to leave his knapsack behind, unwilling to give Morgana its contents. He buried it beside a tree and marked the tree with a pulse of his magic so he would always be able to find it.

The abandoned—though not any longer—fortress where Morgana and her men resided was easy to locate. When he arrived at the gates and spoke his intent, he was herded inside harshly. He was brought to Morgana, who sat on a stone throne, gazing down at him.

Ignoring the ache in his gut, Mordred revealed what he knew. He told her Emrys' true identity, knowing that Merlin was an unrelenting obstacle between his people and their quest for freedom from Arthur. He wished there was another way, but there was not.

Morgana took a moment to process the shocking news. Mordred could almost see in her eyes the utter devastation his words brought to her, the total reconstruction of everything she'd once believed true. After the confusion passed, he spotted a moment of annoyance, then hurt, then anger.

"That meddling wretch will die," she snarled, launching herself from her throne and stomping away, past Mordred and to the chamber's exit. Wide-eyed with panic, Mordred lunged to his feet and rushed after her. Seething, Morgana slammed the doors open with her magic, moving swiftly down the empty hall.

"No, Morgana, you mustn't!" cried Mordred, grabbing desperately at her arm. Sneering, she yanked it back, her eyes blazing with fire as they met his. Chastised, the druid pulled his hands back to his body, content that he had her attention. She began to walk again, but her pace was less hurried and he knew that she was listening as he walked steadily beside her. "There must be some other way. We can…" He fumbled quickly for an idea, any idea. "…take him, lock him up until the battle is over."

Morgana shot him a disbelieving look. "With magic as powerful as he has, he will escape."

"There must be something," he pressed. "He will be an ally worth having once all this is past."

"Merlin would never ally with us."

There was a lump in his throat as he softly begged, "Please."

Morgana stopped in her tracks, eyes filling with sudden understanding and incredulity. She stared at Mordred as though she didn't even know him. "Don't tell me you still have feelings for him," she scoffed. "After what he's done to you?"

"I do," he replied with quiet conviction. The witch's lips curled hatefully.

"Then why have you come crawling back to me?" she demanded.

"Because you are right," answered Mordred helplessly, quietly speaking the truth in his heart. "Because… love is more important than anything." Morgana's brow crinkled suspiciously, her eyes flicking between his. Swallowing harshly, Mordred explained further, his words slow. "They killed someone I loved. I believed Arthur would change, but even the plea of one whom he claimed as a brother could not sway him from his course.

"The druids and the sorcerers, my people, my family, those I love, have been long persecuted under the Pendragon rule. I mistakenly believed that Arthur and his knights would be loyal to their chosen family, but they did not have it in their hearts." His jaw clenched, as much from a need to keep himself from tears as from a passionate conviction. "But I am loyal to my family. My true family. You were right about Arthur all along. And I-"

He broke off as his voice cracked. There was no warmth or sympathy in Morgana's expression, but that was good. Cold and calculating judgment was about all he could handle right now. "I was wrong about Merlin. They must be stopped before one more innocent member of my family is killed."

Reports had been flooding into Camelot of an army gathering beyond the border. It was almost a relief to the knights to finally hear news of the war they'd all been expecting. This meant that they had warning, they no longer had to fear a surprise attack. They had time to prepare themselves to face Morgana.

Arthur ordered a large continent of knights to be stationed at the border garrison at Stawell, the closest to the rumored location of Morgana's forces, and the most likely place for an attack. Among them were Gwaine and Leon. Merlin and Percival shared a last meal with their friends the night before their departure, promising to see them soon. Merlin left their company the earliest, saying that he needed a good night's rest, as serving Camelot's king was a tiring occupation. Leon left not too long after, leaving Gwaine and Percival suddenly alone.

The air held an unhappy tension. The two best friends had been on edge lately, barely speaking, and rarely cordially, ever since their brief meeting in the tavern. Both men wanted to speak. Neither knew what to say. War had a way of reminding the knights of the dangers of their job, the constant possibility of never seeing a friend again, and it put altered perspectives back into place. But it could not erase the tension of recent weeks.

When the silence lingered a minute too long, Gwaine huffed out a frustrated breath, shoving his chair back and rising to his feet. Percival's pulse began to race, thoughts consumed with the fear of something bad—and permanent—happening at Stawell that would make this their last meeting. He hoped to death it wouldn't, but what if it did? He couldn't bear to think that their friendship would end here, like this.

"Gwaine, wait!" he burst, hurrying to his feet. Gwaine stopped, but his nostrils flared and he couldn't meet Percival's eyes. "I don't want… Look. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I hurt you, I'm sorry about how things've been for the past couple weeks. I am, really. It's been… a hard time."

"You miss him. Don't you," Gwaine said softly, eyes drifting to Percival. He seemed sure of his words, but it was clear he didn't like them. Percival looked back imploringly.

"Can you honestly say that you don't?" he pressed, taking a step closer to his friend. Gwaine looked away again.

"He was a traitor and a sorcerer."

"He was our friend and our brother."

Gwaine's eyes snapped to him almost of their own accord. "You really cared about Mordred, didn't you?" Percival looked surprised.

"Of course."

"You did spend a lot of time with him before… it happened."

"We'd become very close," agreed Percival. Gwaine's expression hardened again. A fire of anger lit in Percival's belly. "You know, funny enough, I thought you were better than them."

Gwaine's eyes flashed with wounded shock. "Who?"

"The other knights. I thought at least that you wouldn't be so ignorant, so… unkind as to think that Mordred was never a good friend. His magic made no difference. He was as good a friend to me as you've been."

The other knight only looked more annoyed at this. "Well. I'm glad that you and Mordred bonded so tightly. I didn't realize. I'll leave you to your grief."

"Gwaine." Percival's large hand snapped forward and wrapped around Gwaine's forearm, halting him in his attempt towards the door. Gwaine's eyes flashed to meet his. Not releasing his tight grip, Percival's expression softened considerably. He inhaled tightly. "Gwaine, you're the best friend I have and I'd never forgive myself if you left now and something happened to you at Stawell. Please… can we sort this out?"

The tension bled out of Gwaine as the quietly sad feeling that Percival was exuding infected him. The taller man slowly let go of his arm. A minute of silence drifted past, Gwaine lost in his thoughts and Percival watching his friend patiently. When Gwaine looked at him again, he gave a softly teasing smile and said, "I don't know what I'll do in Stawell without my human shield to hide behind if any fighting breaks out."

Percival chuckled his relief. "Right. Like you would ever run and hide from a fight."

"Well, I'll… miss you all the same." He clapped a hand on Percival's shoulder. Rolling his eyes, Percival grinned and wrapped his arms around Gwaine, pulling his best friend into a tight, nearly suffocating hug. Gwaine squeezed back just as hard, as Percival had known he would.

"When you make it home," Percival said after releasing the smaller man, "we'll get to work really making things right again."

"Agreed. But I'm glad we talked. I don't know how I could get through this thing without you."

"Don't worry," assured Percival with a smile. "You won't have to. You never will."

"No?"

"Nope. We're never gonna leave each other. We're gonna grow old and fat together, and we'll always be there by each others' sides. That's what we're gonna do."

"Well you may grow fat," teased Gwaine, poking the other man's stomach, "but I will always have this fine, toned muscle. How else am I gonna seduce the ladies?"

"Definitely not with your less than charming personality," Percival agreed. Gwaine punched him in the arm, and he laughed.

Once the ball got rolling, it just didn't stop. Everything was moving so quickly. Morgana tested her ability to rob a man of his magic. The cruelty of the act disgusted Mordred, but so grateful was he that she'd acquiesced to his pleas not to kill Merlin that he couldn't bring himself to seriously protest. There was a part of his brain that whispered mockingly, Losing his magic will be worse than death to Merlin. Being unable to protect Arthur will be worse than dying.

But Arthur had to die. And Mordred was selfish. He didn't want Merlin to get what Merlin wanted. He just couldn't live knowing that Merlin was dead. He was being selfish, and he knew it. He didn't try to curb the impulse.

Only days later, their plan to take Merlin's magic from him was executed, and then the war began. Mordred and Morgana sent men into Stawell, one of the border towns of Camelot. The two sorcerers remained outside the city and used their magic to wreck even more destruction, burning the city to the ground. The screams of the dying echoed in Mordred's ears that night. Walls grew up around his heart to keep them out and his sanity in.

More days went by. Mordred and Morgana waited to hear word of the king's response to their first attack. Morgana, knowing her brother's noble heart, predicted that he would risk losing everything by riding out to meet her army, for the sake of protecting Camelot's people. Mordred couldn't help but agree. Morgana seemed to sneer at her perception of Arthur, and the young man kept his opinion to himself.

The time came for their arranged meeting with the traitor girl, Eira. As he watched her ride nearer, a passionate disdain flooded him. She was a vile creature, nothing more than a selfish whore, giving her body to Gwaine and betraying his trust just to get a few gold coins from Morgana. Mordred regretted having to associate with her in any way. He couldn't respect her, and he couldn't keep himself from hating a woman who would betray his friends, betray Gwaine, in the way that she was. Every cell in his body ached for her elimination.

When he stepped out to meet her, his sword went straight to her throat, perhaps with a little more venom in the action than there ought to have been. Only her usefulness kept him from cutting. Morgana gently reprimanded him, and he reluctantly drew the sword away, the hate inside of him not diminishing in the slightest.

Eira confirmed their predictions. Arthur did plan to ride out and meet them, and Eira helpfully supplied the location. Just as the distasteful woman began to leave—bag of gold in hand—she turned back, seeming almost hesitant for the first time.

"Something else," she said. "The knight said he was taking Merlin somewhere. The Valley of the Fallen Kings, I think." This time she left.

The witch was visibly panicking, unthinkingly stepping towards the spot Eira had just vacated. Much calmer, Mordred was simply confused. What was Merlin doing? Surely not an errand for Gaius at such a time.

If I were in Merlin's place, what would I do? What plan would he reveal to me were I still with him?

"Merlin?" repeated Morgana. "Why would Merlin leave Arthur now?"

"Why shouldn't he?" was his reply. He didn't even believe his own words, but his mind was drawing a blank and it frightened him. He'd rather think that Merlin was running away than was up to something that would make him a threat once again. "He's of no further use to his king, after all."

"Perhaps. But why the Valley of the Fallen Kings?"

Mordred looked away, thinking. What significance did the Valley of the Fallen Kings hold? A vague collection of memories stirred in his brain.

"What is it, Mordred?" Morgana asked, noticing his thoughtful expression.

"When I was a boy," he explained slowly, "the druids told me of this special place, a place where magic itself was born. It was said to lie within the valley." The sorcerers realized the truth of the situation at the same time. Pure anger showed on Morgana's face. Mordred felt annoyed with himself for not seeing it sooner. He should have understood immediately. He knew all about the Crystal Cave, of course. It was, after all, where the Crystal of Neahtid originated.

Even so, this feeling was overpowered by a confusing blend of annoyed despair, for now Morgana would feel she had no choice but to kill Merlin, the fate Mordred had done his utmost to prevent, and loyal pride, for it would hardly be Merlin if he simply gave up. "They called it the Crystal Cave."

"This can mean only one thing," said Morgana. "Emrys means to get his powers back."

Morgana set off immediately for the cave, intent on… Mordred didn't want to think about it. Why did Eira have to tell them this news?! Why couldn't she have simply reported the information Morgana had asked for and then left? Mordred's brain pulsed inside his skull, giving him the worst headache he could ever recall having.

Somehow, despite the fear, the heartbreak, the confusion, the guilt, despite every little thought and feeling that flitted however briefly across Mordred's consciousness, there was one thing of which his heart was so certain that not even his brain could refute it. Whatever happened between Morgana and Merlin in the cave, Merlin would live. He had to. It was Merlin. Mordred had faith in his ability to survive, if nothing else.

Or the alternative was simply too terrible to consider.

It was only when Mordred was sitting in his tent later that night that he sat bolt upright in realization. Merlin was going to the Crystal Cave, presumably to get his powers back. The very same cave that was filled with a million crystals exactly like the Crystal of Neahtid. Which meant…

Merlin would look into the crystals and glimpse the future. He would gain an advantage over Mordred by knowing what was to come in the battle. He would be able to shape events in Arthur's favor if the future looked bad for them.

That wasn't acceptable. But the solution was, at least, an easy one. Mordred needed to level the playing field. He had to know what Merlin would know.

Mordred rushed out of his tent, putting on a cape as he raced out of the camp. The soldiers ignored him, knowing better than to question their second-in-command. Mordred's feet sped over the ground, sometimes walking sometimes jogging over branches and through trees, following the pull of his own magic that directed him, the light of the moon and stars guiding his way.

It was nearly two hours later that Mordred came to a stop. He knelt on the ground beside the tree and used his magic to dig away the dirt until his bag was uncovered. He drew it out, reached inside, and took out the Crystal of Neahtid. It thrummed with power as it sat in his palm, a power that frightened him, but in the best way. It was addictive; it wanted him to dive deep within his own magic to access that of the crystal.

Standing up slowly, Mordred breathed in and out, bringing his body to a calm state and clearing his thoughts. Then his eyes locked on the mesmerizing object, and he was unable to look away as the pool of his magic was forcibly yanked from him until it wrapped around the crystal, invisibly binding Mordred's core to the Crystal of Neahtid. Mordred then shut his eyes tight, fighting the temptation to open, knowing that if he opened them with his mind still blank, the crystal would show him whatever it pleased. He could not let it be in control. He was the one in control.

He focused his thoughts on the future, on the battle. On Arthur Pendragon, war, the future, Camlann. When he was certain that the crystal would bend to his will, Mordred opened his eyes, the blue of his irises shining in the light now pouring from the crystal. The knight was sucked into the vision of the future awaiting him.

Men fought. Screams echoed. The clang of sword on sword rung loud in his ears. The taste of blood was in his mouth, the smell of sweat and death in the air. It was hot, much too hot, even though the sun was not yet in the sky.

Mordred strutted through the battle. Some foes he cut down with his sword. Others he defeated easily with his magic. None were a match for him. A ring of Camelot knights—none that had known Mordred intimately—tried to surround him. As one, they all flew backwards through the air, all landing either dead or unconscious. Mordred took only a second to recover from this burst of powerful magic before he attacked his next opponent.

Colors and sounds shifted. A figure, an old man, appeared suddenly at the top of the cliff. Merlin. The enemy knights around Arthur were the first to be blown off their feet. Arthur stared in shock at his savior as Old Merlin then knocked Morgana unconscious. As soon as he witnessed this, Mordred threw himself aside, hiding out of Merlin's sight. Lightning roiled and a terrible power pushed Morgana's forces back. Aithusa was called off her attack by the Dragonlord. Mordred watched as the Camelot knights pushed forward, regaining hope in their fight.

Again the image shifted. The sounds of battle were still clear in the air, but Arthur had separated himself from his knights, going over to a wounded man, who died only seconds later. Still hidden, Mordred saw the opportunity, and took it.

Hearing the sound of boots, the king's jaw tightened. He rose, spinning around with his sword up high, all set and prepared to fight. Then he stopped, his limbs losing their tension as it became clear that attack wasn't quite upon him. Arthur only looked surprised to see Mordred approaching him for a split second. Then it was as if he'd been expecting it all along.

"This is your last chance, Arthur," Mordred decried. He leveled his sword threateningly at the King of Camelot. "Accept magic, or pay the ultimate price."

Arthur's countenance was grim. "That is something I cannot do."

"So be it."

The two knights met with a clash of swords and a flurry of movement. Their swords locked together, and they struggled against each other in a play for the upper hand. Mordred grit his teeth and succeeded in breaking the hold, spinning away from the other man, carefully not tripping over any of the corpses littered all over the ground. They circled slowly round each other, eyes locked together more tightly than their swords had been.

"Why are you doing this, Mordred?" asked Arthur with resigned sadness. "I thought we were friends."

"As did I!" Mordred shouted angrily. "I fought beside you, I protected you. Twice I saved your life! I did my duty as a knight, and I loved you, Arthur. And yet you betrayed me. You took from me the last precious thing in the world that was mine."

"I had no choice."

"There is always a choice."

"Then choose to end this, now."

"Not until I've gotten what I came for."

"And what's that? My head?" asked Arthur dryly. Mordred sneered.

"You are nothing more than a pawn, Arthur Pendragon. This is about so much more than you, than one foolish man who sits upon a throne."

"What then?"

"I will see magic restored to this land," he declared. "If that means killing a man I once loved, tis a price I'm willing to pay."

"You would see the kingdom ruled by Morgana's hand?"

"Better she than you."

"You truly believe that?" Arthur was clearly stunned, if not mildly heartbroken, by this knowledge.

The sorcerer's lips twisted up in a cruel smile. "With all my heart, Arthur." The words brought a look of poorly concealed pain to the king's face, his body flinching backwards from the obviously intentional use of Guinevere's words. "And now, your time has come."

Mordred lunged forward, swinging his sword at Arthur's side. Arthur blocked and parried, but Mordred dodged and countered. Metallic clangs and the scuffling of feet were the only sounds to be heard in the abandoned area of the battlefield. The former friends continued the bout in this way for another minute, slashing and blocking and turning and thrusting, neither knight gaining an advantage, and both men starting to tire and sweat heavily, the strain in their muscles becoming woefully apparent.

Suddenly, a feeling, or thought, or glance—Mordred couldn't be sure what it was—set off warning bells inside of his head. The druid immediately whispered hurried words under his breath, throwing his arms up as his eyes flashed golden with magic.

An invisible barrier of pure energy surrounded him. The protective bubble was meant to block out everything magical, and Mordred was pleased to feel the sensation of Merlin's magic crashing against it, proving that the spell was holding up. Because the enchantment blocked all things magical, Arthur quickly discovered that his sword could not penetrate the air around Mordred (just as Mordred's could not leave the bubble). Arthur yelled in frustration, but Mordred ignored his words, his eyes turning up towards the tops of the cliffs instead. There he spotted Merlin.

"Emrys!" he roared, the anger in his heart filling his voice. Arthur even stopped his attempts to penetrate the barrier with Excalibur, spinning instead, with surprise, to follow the direction of Mordred's gaze. He saw the old sorcerer that had, for some unknown reason, intervened on behalf of Camelot earlier in the battle. Confusion knit his brow together.

"Come down, you coward! Face me as a man!" Mordred continued to shout. Old Merlin said nothing, merely stared down at him coldly. "Are you pleased with yourself? This is what has come of your arrogance and your malice. This is your fault, Emrys! It all rests on your shoulders. You destroyed me; you destroyed everything. It is because of you that Morgana became what she is. Because of you that all this has happened!"

"I am not responsible for your decision to kill innocent people," answered Merlin sharply. "To murder your own friends."

"My friends?" the druid practically shrieked. He gave a humorless laugh, so empty that it sent shivers down the spines of the other two men present. "What friends have I? Not you, Emrys! None of them. Arthur betrayed me as the rest stood by and watched. I would have given my life for any of theirs, and yet not one of them would speak even a word on my behalf! Least of all you."

The fury at his betrayal boiled in his gut, twisting his insides like a tornado. It enraged him even more that Merlin was still just standing there, staring blankly down at him, not responding in any way to his accusations.

"You… You killed Kara with your meddling! It's because of you that she and so many like her are dead!" he yelled. Still, Merlin said nothing. Mordred clenched his jaw. "You cannot argue because you know it is true," he continued. His lips twitched with disgust and hate. "Well, come down, you monster. Come down and finish it. Take the life of yet another person that you ruined, that you abandoned for the sake of this one stupid, hateful, ignorant man!" His expression relaxed into a mocking smile. "Or better still, come and watch as I rip your heart from you the way that you ripped mine from me."

"You will not harm Arthur," the warlock declared firmly. Mordred was struck dumb for all of a moment. Merlin had finally spoken again, after all of Mordred's angry accusations, and that is all that he had to say?

"You truly care about nothing else, do you? All the time I spent trying to prove myself to you, to assure you of my affections." The two former lovers didn't notice Arthur reeling backwards with shock. "But it seems I was the one fooled more soundly. I thought you cared. But you never cared for me. Not like you care for him." Mordred pointed his sword at Arthur without moving his eyes from Merlin. "You would forsake anyone and anything in this kingdom for him, wouldn't you? And yet still he knows nothing. Why not tell him the truth? Or shall I do it for you?"

Merlin's nostrils flared at the threat. "Mordred, the path you have chosen will accomplish nothing-"

"Will it not?" he interrupted. "I'd say that Arthur's end is a great accomplishment."

"Those are Morgana's words, not yours."

"I believed in him. I believed in you when you said to give him time, that he would change. Well you were wrong."

"No. He will still fulfill his destiny."

"Open your eyes, you blind fool!" Mordred yelled. His chest heaved with each breath. How could Merlin still be so goddamned stubborn? "Even now he refuses to see sorcery as anything but evil! Even after you have saved him, time and time again, even this very day in battle. You have come to his aid, as you always do, and he learns nothing from it!"

The warlock's voice was still loud but calm, trying to placate the younger man. "It doesn't have to be like this, Mordred-"

"I loved you!" he screamed, the words ripping from his raw throat. There were tears gathering in his eyes, and his expression quivered on the brink between anger and anguish. "I loved you, Emrys, with every piece of my soul! I would have given up everything for you. I would have stayed by your side always."

"So you say," said Merlin dryly. "And yet here we are."

Mordred was shrieking now, lines of tears racing down his cheeks unheeded. "Because you betrayed me! You sacrificed a good person." His body shook. He forced his hands into trembling fists. "I loved her, damn you! All you had to do was keep quiet," he snapped. "You just had to let us escape. And you did not. That was all I asked from you. I would have done anything for you, and you repaid my loyalty by turning me in!"

"I did my best," Merlin shot back sharply, finally allowing real emotion—frustration, desperation—to infect his voice. "She was offered a chance to live. She chose not to take it."

"I have always kept your secret, Emrys. From Morgana. From Arthur. From everyone. And yet, you could not keep one secret for me."

"I kept secrets for you, Mordred. Don't pretend otherwise. I kept your secrets from Arthur as well. It was treason, what I did for you."

Mordred shook his head, tears still glistening on his cheeks. "Enough. Enough of this. I am done with you. You have lost your chance to be honest with him. This ends."

"I'm warning you, Mordred-"

The scream that Mordred released was powerful, more powerful than any he'd done before. It exploded the protective bubble around him and sent Arthur flying through the air in one shrill blast of pure magical power.

But the scream was not only an audible vocalization of his rage. It was also inside his very mind, radiating out from the roots of his power, the very core of his being, shoving its way through his telepathy into Merlin's mind. Merlin gave a great roaring cry of surprised pain, crumpling helplessly to the ground.

The scream had used up every last drop of magic that Mordred had within him. His soul felt weak.

But no matter. Merlin had clearly been rendered unconscious by the force of the telepathic blow, so was out of the way for now. And physically, Mordred was fine. He could survive this. At least long enough to accomplish one last deed.

A dark Mordred turned eyes back on his king, and he walked steadily over to where the golden-haired man was hurriedly pushing himself back onto his feet. Sweat and dirt covered his face, and it was clear from the harsh state of his breathing that he was already exhausted. And still he insisted on fighting, standing his ground. Never one to give up, that was Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King.

Mordred stopped, meeting Arthur's eyes, even as Arthur swayed on his feet. The druid lifted his sword slowly.

With no warning he attacked, dashing forward and slicing the sword down upon Arthur's head. Arthur impressively managed to block the swing, but the effort was already too much for him. He was panting, his knees shaking, as Mordred's sword pressed down against his.

"Goodbye, Arthur Pendragon," whispered Mordred. His sword drew back, the sun glancing off of it, and then-

Arthur's eyes drifted down, staring at the sword sticking out of his body. The sight of his own demise seemed to fuel in him the strength for one last desperate act.

Mordred's eyes flew wide open at the impact of an angry sword being driven through his gut and twisted. He gave a choked sound. Then, still standing, the light went from his eyes. His body collapsed.

Mordred's shaking hands dropped the crystal. He gasped for air, stumbling backwards. He could feel the phantom pain in his own stomach, though there was no wound there. Yet.

His whole body shuddered with exhaustion, fear, and absolute heartbreak. To see such things before they came to pass…

Mordred felt sickness rising within him. Sure enough, he dropped to his knees and vomited. When his stomach was empty, he remained in place, trembling for another minute. Exerting a great mental and physical effort, the young man rose to his feet and carefully approached the crystal once more.

He'd seen his own death, and that had been… unpleasant. Witnessing his triumph over Arthur had held a certain satisfaction… but mostly it had only served to make him ill. He didn't truly wish to watch Arthur die, even if he knew that Arthur's death was the only option.

But there was more yet that needed to be seen. He had to know the ending of this saga. With himself dead, and Arthur quickly following, what would become of Merlin and Morgana? Of Camelot? Had his sacrifice, the sacrifice of so many lives, been worth it? That's all the assurance that Mordred needed. Just that one thing. Anything at all to make his messy waste of a life worth something.

Taking a shaky breath, Mordred picked up the crystal once more. He dove into the pool of his magic, latching onto an idea, a thought, so that the crystal would know what he needed to see.