A/N Did I promise some people Morgana in this chapter? Umm, sorry! This segues naturally into chapter 44 so I'm leaving it here and will very quickly write the next part this weekend.
I'm considering a beta as a way to get an extra level of feedback on my work. Any takers?
The mistakes we make
Part 5
The sky above him was blue, he noticed; the kind of bleached powder-blue of a bright summer's day. In the air was the heavy scent of sap and he could hear the vibrating consistent clicking of the cicadas in the woods beside him.
A gentle breeze caused the tops of the pine trees to sway slightly and cooled the face if you stood in the warm sun for too long.
It was perfect, he thought. An absolutely perfect day and there was no blood in the field, no dead burnt bodies on the ground. This had not happened. As long as he kept looking up at the few fluffy clouds rolling slowly through the sky, this was a perfect day.
A perfect day.
Lancelot shrieked; an horrifically-alien sound for anyone familiar with the knight's nonchalant heroism. His armour gleamed white-hot as the dragon's inferno engulfed him and then his burnt corpse collapsed in front of an uncomprehending Merlin.
The warlock took an unconscious step toward the charred body of his friend before his stunned mind registered an impossible, inconceivable thought: beside the remains of the noble knight of Camelot lay his father thrown sideways by the blast.
Balinor cried out in surprise and then in pain as his nerve endings relayed the reality of seared flesh to his brain.
Merlin simply stood there; unable to register, let alone to act upon, what his eyes were seeing. He had observed horrors in his life - death and destruction and disease – but never had such devastation been so close to home.
Father, he mouthed silently, unwilling to let out the sounds that would acknowledge what he knew to be true. Lancelot, he whispered voicelessly.
He looked around suddenly, wildly, not knowing where he was or how this had happened. The sky above him was blue, he noticed; the kind of bleached powder-blue of a bright summer's day. In the air was the heavy scent of sap and he could hear the rumbling consistent chatter of the cicadas in the woods beside him.
A gentle breeze caused the tops of the pine trees to sway slightly and cooled the face if you stood in the warm sun for too long.
It was perfect, he thought. An absolutely perfect day and there was no blood in the field, no dead burnt bodies on the ground. This had not happened. As long as he kept looking up at the few fluffy clouds rolling slowly through the sky, this was a perfect day.
A perfect day.
He saw Arthur with Vidor, Peregrine, Caradoc, Yvain and some other very young man – the only Knights left standing – form up into a phalanx to defend against the dragon who was coming around for another pass.
"Father," he managed. His feet finally moved to take him to his side, his hands finally worked to hold his hand and put a palm upon his scorched face, and his mouth finally allowed him to form the words he needed to say.
"Father?" he sobbed and Balinor's eyes cracked open and then rolled around wildly for a moment in confusion.
"My son," he said finally, his damaged throat and lungs causing his voice to wheeze out in an alarming whisper.
"My son."
"Father. I'm here. Father, you'll be alright."
"No," he said vaguely, his susurrant voice no louder than the breeze, "no."
"There's a spell..."
"No... he didn't know.... didn't know..."
"...it takes a lot out of me and I may be weak for a while but...."
"... hatred, Merlin, hatred. Like hope. Hatred. Like hope...."
"....never used it on someone so badly injured but it will work, it has to work...."
"... no time... he didn't know... she... don't judge her...my son, my son, where are you?"
"I'm here, father," said Merlin, his voice hitching as he forced his tears back so he could cast the spell.
"Batian ágíemende háligan forbærnan," he cried and he felt the drain as his own vitality flowed out towards his father and... sank uselessly into the vast depths of his need. Merlin collapsed on the ground beside him, the tears overwhelming him as he realised he could do nothing to save him.
"My son, my son," his father's voice broke through his premature grief and he struggled to sit upright beside him.
"My son?"
"I'm here father."
"Hope, Merlin. Hope."
"I don't understand," admitted Merlin with a sob.
"Hope blinds. Hatred. I told you... told you... lives and grows inside you... until it's so large. Hatred blinds. It's all you see and then when it's gone...
"... I saw his mind, Merlin, his mind. He didn't know it was me until after he...
".. saw his mind. Hatred. Gone now. Gone. All that's left... worse than death... worse... the knowledge. What you've done... hatred's gone now. She's in the forest, hiding. Find her. Forgive her. She is Kilgharrah. Kilgharrah is me. We are all Uther... all Uther in the end. He begets himself. Forgive us... forgive us all... our hatred. Blinds."
He closed his eyes then and Merlin placed his head on his chest and felt the grief dissipate as something like anger flooded through him.
His father, Lancelot, the other Knights and how many innocents of Camelot? All perished, burned, tortured or deprived of their crops and homes and families. All of this... and his father wanted him to forgive him? Forgive the beast his acts of anger and hatred against innocents who had no part in his capture and probably, like Arthur, hadn't even known that he was there?
He lifted his head and saw Kilgharrah swoop down on the unnamed knight and use one fierce claw to slit his throat. The dragon knocked Arthur down as he flew by, spears and arrows bouncing off his hide as if it was metal. The blood flew from the young knight's jugular and splattered his liege as he lay injured on the ground.
Arthur struggled upright and grabbed his ribs momentarily in a telltale sign that they were broken. Merlin looked up at the sky at the monstrous lizard flying overhead.
"Why? You said he was the once and future king! You told me to protect him! Why would you threaten his life? His heritage? The Kingdom he will one day inherit?"
"Why?" he screamed at the perfect sky, "Why? Come here and answer me, you pathetic bastard. Why?
"Lancelot was a champion of magic. We worked together to bring it back to the land. Why?
"My father was your friend, a Dragonlord. Why? Why? Why?"
Merlin stopped and rested his hands on his knees, his voice hoarse from screeching at the uncaring sky.
"The power's yours now," he heard a whispered voice behind him, "use it wisely. Don't fall into our trap, my son. Don't fall into hatred."
He whirled around and saw Balinor open his brown eyes one last time and then shudder as he slid into death.
"Merlin?" a tentative voice spoke his name. He came to and realised he was sitting in shadow, still beside his father's body.
"Merlin?"
He looked up and saw Arthur and Caradoc blocking out the midday sun.
"We're returning to Camelot and regrouping. Apparently we need to find some arrowroot..."
"I have arrowroot," said Merlin vaguely and he handed over his bag. "Some other healing herbs as well. Take them. Say you... found them..."
"Found them?" queried Arthur, confused.
"You and I aren't here," explained Merlin, his eyes still unfocused. "It's not enough time. People will ask questions and we don't have good answers. I... I...," he paused and shook his head to clear it, "I'm the Dragonlord now. I'll deal with Kilgharrah. Arthur, I'll send you back to Ealdor and I'll find Morgana. She must be here somewhere; probably hiding from the dragon's attack."
"I'll come with you," Vidor stated.
"No," Merlin said, sharply, adamantly, "no. I have to go alone. If anyone asks, she is still in Ealdor. We'll come up with a better story... later... yes, later."
"Merlin, what do we tell them about the dragon?" asked Caradoc.
"Lancelot... Lancelot was a hero. He slew the dragon and lost his life in the process."
The knights nodded in pleased agreement, although Vidor looked dissatisfied at being forced to return to Camelot.
"Caradoc," said Arthur, "you're in charge of the Knights for now. Leon?"
"Seriously injured."
"Then lead them until he is fit for battle. I'll head straight back to Camelot on foot with the servants as soon as I arrive back in Ealdor. We'll be here in three days. I can't hurry because I'm not supposed to know about the threat to the Kingdom."
The knights nodded again and then began the gruesome task of slinging the dead bodies over the horses to take them back to the castle. Tristan, alive but unconscious, was strapped back to his horse. Caradoc gave his leg a forlorn look; it was unlikely he would be able to use it fully again. Yvain paused before they began their journey, taking a tentative step in Merlin's direction and then changing his mind and turning the horses toward home instead.
Arthur walked up to Merlin and put his hand on his shoulder.
"Are you sure you can do this?"
Merlin nodded.
"I won't kill him," he said, as if it was a decision that surprised even him.
"What?" Arthur gave him a stunned look. "After what he did..."
"I can control him now. Make sure he never attacks Camelot again."
He looked at Arthur and grasped the hand at his shoulder and held it with firm affection.
"It was my father's dying wish. I promise the dragon will never harm us again. But I won't kill him."
Arthur pulled his hand away, turned his back on his friend and then swung back again.
"If that's your decision, I have to respect it. But after all he's done..."
"I know. But the decision is mine."
Arthur hesitated and then tentatively asked, "How well did you know him, Merlin? You say you found out about him from the archives and he saved us from Sigan. But how often did you speak with him? How much have you really kept from me all these years?"
Merlin looked him in directly in the eyes, blue on blue, and said staunchly, unwaveringly "I found out about him from the archives. I spoke to him that one time and saw his need so I never went back. I don't know how he got free."
Then he waved his hand and, with a flash of golden eyes, Arthur was sent back to Ealdor and Merlin turned to the east and called out in his mind.
It is time, Kilgharrah. Come to me. It is time.
