Author's Note - Gosh, I haven't updated in ages! I'm so sorry! Thank you all for the lovely reviews! We're at 900 reviews! Oh my god, what if we actually reach 1000? That would be insane. And awesome, of course!

For this battle scene, if you've scene the movie The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe, imagine the battle at the end of that. That's what I imagined it looking like. Very cinematic :)

The flowing green plains of Camelot stretched as far as the eye could see, broken only by the purple mountains rising in the distance and the dense forestland to the west. Shimmering blades of grass formed a smooth carpet on which the sun shone, high in the flawless blue sky. Where rabbits and deer would have inhabited this great open space usually, they had vanished into the safety of the trees, sensing the approaching bloodshed on the mild breeze. In their place stood a thousand soldiers.

Five hundred of Vortigern's men waited to the east, tired from their travel but still eager to fight and finish this invasion. They were a formidable sight; all dressed in uinform green with a white twisting snake emblazoned across their breasts. Circular shields glinted in the sunshine and lethal swords were gripped tightly in gloved hands. There were some among the army who did not have weapons; it was easy to tell who they were. They had no need for trivial objects such as swords and daggers because they had magic pulsing at their fingertips – all itching to unleash its potency on the enemy. Votigern sat in the centre of them, mounted on the back of his black horse with a rich chestnut beard gracing his dignified chin. On his helmet sat a golden crown, etched into the protective metal, and singling him out as the king. Having never seen him before, the opposing army would never have been able to tell.

At the opposite end of the green pasture, Arthur sat astride Llamrei, surveying his enemy with calculating blue eyes. His army shuffled nervously behind him. The skilled knights of Camelot filled the ranks directly behind him, waiting in uniformed rows, whilst the untrained peasants of the land stood beyond them, a mishmash of young and old scattered across the hillocky ground. The trees towered at the back, protection from any attacks coming from their blind side. Vortigern could only attack from in front.

His throat was his dry and his lips stuck to one another as he waited. Never in his life had Arthur led such a massive army and, in all honesty, it terrified him. There was so much responsibility. Usually, he craved the limelight but right now….well, he would have gladly given it up. All these men had entrusted their lives to his judgement – whether they succeeded or failed today, it was down to him. If every single one of the knights and peasants died then it would be entirely his fault. A bad leader. He didn't want to end his dynasty like that. Therefore he had to win.

Beside him were Segwarides, Erec and Tristram. They were his most trusted knights and he would look to them if he was in need of advice. Glancing over at Seg, he saw the determined line of his jaw as well as the quiver of his hands and in Tristram; he saw the rigid back of the inexperienced and anxious. The youngest knight was taut with the pressure of the situation – a bow string ready to snap at any moment. Only Erec seemed impassive to the impending fight. He, after all, had taken part in battles with Arthur's father when he was still in his prime. The prince knew he was probably just hiding his fear and doubts well but he really admired him for that; he knew that was what he needed to do so that his men would follow him unquestionably.

It would help if Merlin was here though. The idiot still hadn't turned up and Arthur was getting increasingly worried. Surely he would have remembered that Vortigern was arriving this morning and come searching? A nasty little niggling feeling at the back of his mind taunted him with the idea that Merlin had deserted him; had been lying all this time. However, he knew it wasn't true. Merlin wasn't capable of being devious. At least he hoped he wasn't.

Closing his eyes for a few moments and then staring up into the heavens, Arthur blew out a deep breath and turned to Seg.

"He's not here yet," the prince stated, softly.

"He will be," Seg assured him, his tone full of conviction.

"What if he left?"

"Arthur," the other knight admonished, disbelievingly, "How can you even say that? Merlin is the most loyal man I know, especially when it concerns you. Don't you ever doubt his faithfulness, sire."

Arthur nodded his head. "You're right, of course. I'm just being negative."

"Have you seen the dragon yet?" Tristram appeared nearby him, his voice both excited and fearful at the same time, like he didn't want to know the answer. His cheeks were pink with anticipation. "Do you think he'll be bigger than Alizarin?"

"I don't think it's physically possible to be bigger than that damn dragon," Arthur replied, confidently. "And if he is then I'll….wash Merlin's dirty socks for a month."

"Well," Erec interjected, "I think you might be learning how to use a laundry bucket, sire, because look over there."

It was inevitable that Arthur would have to eat his words; even he knew that because that was just how unjust life was. Even from this distance the beast was massive – a snowy white mountain rising up behind the considerable ranks of Vortigern's army. There was a certain harshness to his frame that Alizarin did not possess. Black spikes trailed down his back, deadly, especially as they continued on to the tip of his tail, finishing with a ball of barbs that would undoubtedly gut any man that got in the way. His eyes were a scorching red, indented with black slits that narrowed even further at the sight of the enemy. Zalmon was a fearsome sight – enough to make grown men quake in their boots.

A pair of enormous, jagged wings fanned out behind him like a billowing torn sheet and it was only as his legs coiled beneath him that Arthur understood he was about to take flight. In a movement that shook the earth, the dragon rose into the air like some huge, lethal spirit and began to soar towards them.

Grabbing for his sword, Arthur realised that they would have to begin this battle sooner than he wanted. Without Alizarin, they were in trouble but they certainly couldn't sit back and wait for Zalmon to slaughter them all where they were. Quickly raising the silver blade into the air, the prince signalled for the archers to loose their arrows. The unified ping of the bow strings was followed by silence as the arrows made their way through the sky towards the approaching monster. Arthur's breath caught in his throat.

On impact, the points made a peculiar metallic sound but they did nothing to the armour-like hide of the dragon. Instead, he let out an enraged roar and dived towards the legions of men, fire spewing from his mouth. Several of the soldiers let out screams of pain and shock as the flames engulfed them and Arthur shuddered as he darted out of the way. They needed to move. Now.

Where the hell was Merlin?

Zalmon was coming back for a repeat attack and Arthur could see his army scattering before his eyes like terrified ants. Honestly, he didn't blame them considering the grass was still on fire from the first blast and thick smoke was billowing into the sky. He could feel the heat even at his distance, frazzling the hairs on his skin. He needed to get his men together and launch an attack on Vortigern before the dragon could do any more damage.

"Men!" he bellowed, trying not the cough, "We need to move forward and attack. This could be our only chance."

People began appearing out of the smoke, both on foot and horse back. They were ready to follow his lead. He kicked Llamrei into a gallop and threw an arm over his shoulder, gesturing for them to go after him swiftly. Soon, the noise of thundering hooves filled the smoky air and they charged towards the opposing army. Arthur's sword was extended and his eyes flashed with determination as he came upon the enemy.

The sound of swords clashing was deafening as they descended on Vortigern's men. Soon, it was all Arthur could hear; coupled with screaming and shouting and the roaring from the massive white dragon. A terrible smell reached his nostrils: it was the reek of charred meat. He knew with a heavy heart exactly what had caused it. His men were being slaughtered and there was nothing he could do about it.

Tristram's blond head bobbed a little way from him as he swiped viciously at the green-clad soldiers. His mouth was contorted in a battle cry and his baby blue eyes were hardened with resolve. Several men fell at his well-trained hand and blood spattered onto the coat of his horse and up his legs. Its cloyingly sweet smell was joining the stench of burnt skin and made Arthur feel sick.

Llamrei suddenly jerked and he was aware of a soldier attacking his left side. Turning, swiftly, in the saddle, he whipped his sword down and sliced the fellow's neck, feeling the soft give of the skin and then the hardness of bone. The man fell with a strangled roar, his body thudding on the dirt only to be trampled by a passing rider less horse. Distracted momentarily by his latest victim, Arthur almost lost his life as a deadly arrow sped past his head – it clipped his ear and he let out a grunt of pain. If he hadn't shifted at that exact moment then he would have been killed.

"Watch yourself, Arthur!" Segwarides yelled, in passing, a grin quirking his lips. A moment later he bent down and hacked at a youth with a flailing mace. "Don't want to ruin that pretty face of yours."

"Seg," Arthur grunted, "This is hardly," he knocked over a soldier, "the time, is it?"

"Hey, this could be the last time I ever get to joke with you- take that!"

Crack. Another enemy knight's life was ended with a killer blow to the head and he dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes; eyes rolling like white marbles. The grass was now splashed with blood, like a gruesome piece of artwork, trailing dark patterns and smears across the earth. Young men writhed on the floor in agony – both dressed in red and green.

Perspiration slipped down Arthur's forehead and trickled into his eyes, salty and stinging. He tried to wipe it away, viciously, but only served in spreading it further. Blinking, furiously, he managed to turn Llamrei in the direction of a fray of opposing soldiers and barrelled them over – the horse's sharp hooves delivered several fatal kicks. One man lay on the floor, blood pooling beside him from the cavernous hole that had been smashed into his skull; splinters of bone flashed in the sunlight.

Suddenly, there was a blinding purple light that threw both him and Segwarides backwards. His friend was blown clean off his horse whilst Arthur only just retained his hold on Llamrei's reins. His arms were yanked so hard that they felt like they could have been pulled from their sockets. Searing pain worked its way through his joints and he winced, trying to work out what happened. Beneath him, Llamrei skittered and stumbled over corpses, absolutely terrified out of her mind.

Looking wildly around him, he realised where the blast had come from…

The sorcerers.

He couldn't count how many of them there were but plenty enough to start turning the tables in favour of Vortigern once more. It didn't help that they literally exploded the ground beneath your feet. Arthur had never seen anything so devastating in his life. The sorcerers he'd fought previously had nothing on these ruthless men.

Flashes of multi-coloured light obscured his vision and it would have been a pretty spectacle had it not been for the absolute carnage such explosions caused. Men were thrown like ragdolls through the air – their bodies taking an almost elegant trajectory before plummeting to earth. Shattered corpses littered the grassy plain.

It wasn't only demolishing blasts they cast on Arthur's army but they also could use invisible forces to strangle the helpless men. He watched several youngsters clutch desperately at their necks for a few minutes before collapsing: blue lipped and lifeless. Others conjured up ferocious beasts to annihilate his knights. There were ones he recognised: pitch black wolves; striped tigers and snapping jackals – eyes blood red and merciless. There were even griffins. But then there were those that he'd never seen before: half men half bulls with menacing horns that could gut you in a second; women with wings and talons the length of his sword; huge snakes with massive fangs and ugly looking things that he guessed were ogres.

It was like they'd conjured their monsters from the nightmares of children.

These dreadful creatures viciously tore apart Arthur's army and he watched as peasants, who had only come because they had to, were subjected to grisly murders. There didn't seem to be any way to stop the wave of fur and claws and teeth.

And not only did they have to fight through all these unfair advantages, they still had Zalmon on their backs, coating the once green fields in jumping flames and black ash. No doubt this battle would be able to been seen for miles around because of the thick smoke that billowed into the air. Therefore, Arthur didn't understand how Merlin still hadn't arrived. Things were looking desperate without him.

Llamrei let out a scream of fear as a Minotaur lunged beneath her, making her rear, and almost ripped open her vulnerable underbelly. Fortunately, Arthur yanked the screeching mare to one side and they both hit the ground with a thud. A yell of pain was torn from the prince's lungs as he felt the animal's weight crush his leg. He desperately struggled beneath her but he was pinned down, unable to move and escape the agony. The Minotaur, having realised it missed, was launching another attack.

Arthur's eyes widened as he saw the beast stampede towards them. The creature's hair was dark and matted with blood – no doubt from previous victims. It had wild, yellowed eyes that sought out the ensnared human immediately. Arthur's fingernails continued to scrabble uselessly against the heavy body of his horse but she was obviously injured somehow in the fall and could not move. Both animal and master were trapped.

All of a sudden, a spear appeared from nowhere and sliced into the Minotaur's massive shoulder. It let out a roar of pain and stumbled backwards, aggrieved. That's when a horse thundered over Arthur's head and another spear was launched at the monster. This one caught it in the chest and its legs buckled before it collapsed onto the dirt. Arthur would have breathed a sigh of relief if he hadn't been in so much agony.

"Help!" he shouted.

"Hold your horses!" Tristram's voice replied teasingly but he gasped, abruptly. "I mean…sorry…that was a bad choice of words. It won't happen again, sire."

"I don't bloody care! Just get Llamrei off me!"

"Yes, sire!"

Tristram leapt off his horse and hurried over, adding his strength to Arthur's so the two of them could slide the mare's bulk off his leg. As soon as he was free, the prince stumbled to his feet. His leg hurt like hell but, after tentatively putting weight on it, he knew it wasn't broken. Thank the gods, that was the last thing he wanted.

"Are you all right, sire?" Tristram asked, concerned.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Arthur waved him off and hobbled over to his fallen horse. Crouching down and trying not the wince, he checked her over. He sighed. "Her hip is dislocated." He swore under his breath and raked a hand through his hair.

"Do you want my horse?"

"No, I'll continue on foot."

"Are you sure?" the boy persisted.

Arthur snapped. "Damn it, yes, Tristram!"

"Whoa! All right!" The knight held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"No, sorry," the prince sighed again, "I didn't mean to shout. Look, thanks for saving my life."

The youth smiled. "That's fine."

"But we must get back to the fight. This war can't be won on its own."

"What about Merlin?"

"What about him?" Arthur said, gruffly, grabbing his fallen sword and giving Llamrei one last stroke of comfort. He would come back for her.

"Where is he?"

"How should I know?" the prince snapped, angrily, and then stalked off, wiping grime from his cheek.

Tristram watched him go and then realised there was still a battle going on. Swinging up onto his steed, he tried not to think about the manservant's absence and threw himself back into the fray.

With renewed vigour, Arthur slashed and thrust at his enemy, trying to fight his way through the masses to get to Vortigern. It was proving very, very difficult. Already, his weakened leg was giving him twinges of pain and his arms were aching from the effort of constantly swinging his blade. Attack came from all sides and he'd already been cut on the thigh and the shoulder. His ear was still smarting from the earlier wound and he could feel his skin tightening with the dried blood. Not only did he have to contend with the normal soldiers but the sorcerers were trying to blast him away. Twice, he had been knocked over with his head ringing from the noise and the shock. Bruises littered his battered form.

As he continued to wade through the enemy, the prince was aware of a sudden change in the atmosphere. Wide eyes turned up to the skies and mouths dropped open. Feeling hope well in his chest, he wondered whether his prayers had been answered. Hardly daring to look – not only because he was still being attacked – Arthur managed to throw a glance into the heavens and saw exactly what he wanted to.

Outlined against the unblemished blue backdrop were now two dragons. Alizarin had arrived. Arthur never would have believed he could be so happy to see a dragon. It filled him with optimism once more – something that had been sorely lacking considering the sorry state of the situation.

One pure white and one fiery red, they clashed above the warring soldiers. A truly astounding sight. Leathery wings flapped wildly as they tussled in the sky: twisting and turning and twirling like they were performing some kind of dance. Sometimes they would break apart and take a moment's respite before colliding once more. Balls of flame were thrown haphazardly through space but they never reached their marks because of the astonishing agility of the dragons. Arthur stood, enraptured.

Although Alizarin looked terribly small compared to Zalmon, he was giving a good fight. Considering he'd only been flying for a couple of days, he was doing magnificently. Arthur couldn't believe he'd ever doubted that he could be a proper dragon. It seemed ludicrous now.

Suddenly, he realised that something was missing. Alizarin's back was empty.

So where was Merlin?

Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he glanced around, panicking. He couldn't see the raven haired boy anywhere. Surely nothing could have happened to him?

Boom.

The explosion was so enormous that the prince was thrown to the ground in an instant. The immense heat created a scorching hot pressure on his back so he flattened himself as far as possible into the cool ground, hoping that he could sink right into it in order to escape the deafening roar and burning sensation enveloping his entire body. It was like being stuck in a dreadful limbo.

Suddenly it stopped. He had space to breathe again. His ribs hurt from the impact of hitting the hard ground but, as he sat gingerly up, he realised he hadn't sustained any lasting damage. Peeling himself off the turf, Arthur saw that half the battlefield had been wiped out by the blast. A huge, smoking crater sat in the centre of what had once been grassy meadows. At one end of it stood a straight-backed man with sharp eyes and a proud chin, his hands held out in front of him.

And there, hovering just above the devastation, like some skinny fairy, was Merlin. That blast had been intended for him.

Why Merlin was so late will be explained! Review!