Author's Note: Long time coming, but I finally got this chapter up. The good news is I already have the next couple chapters written, so I am in the editing phase with them and they should both be up in the next few days. We're getting really close to the last arc of this entire fic!

"You old fool," Elyan chided as he assessed Geoffrey's head wound.

"Gaius called me the same." Geoffrey laughed and then winced.

"I don't want anyone sticking their neck out for me."

"You're more important than me."

"We're all important."

Geoffrey huffed in disagreement, but didn't pursue the argument. In truth, Elyan's admiration of the man had grown tenfold. Geoffrey had spent most of his years confined to a stuffy library buried in intellectual tomes. Who would have guessed the man had the willpower to join a rebellion and sacrifice himself for its cause?

"How many died?" Geoffrey asked.

Elyan sighed as he wrapped a clean bandage around the man's head. "Too many. Cenred actually accused Gaius?"

"Gaius implied Cenred was taking advantage of an opportunity to get rid of him."

"But Morgause is really at fault."

"Gaius thinks so."

Elyan leaned back against the table they occupied in one of the houses citizens had offered for their use. Most of the houses were filled with fearful subjects. All last night they had run from the ghosts plaguing the city. Daegal was the first to observe the ghosts avoided light. Elyan and his crew had spent the rest of the night spreading the word and huddling people next to fires, candles, oil lamps, and lanterns, and still, the number of dead at sunrise was devastating.

Elyan rubbed at his eyes and suppressed a yawn. Every time he tried to close his eyes, wide open maws materialized, terrors from the night before eager to swallow him whole. "Can Arthur even stop this?" he muttered. Geoffrey stared solemnly at him without answer.

"Elyan!" Tom greeted as he and Ruadan led the next batch of subjects through their door, including Huelin and a couple of his friends. Huelin, who had once led a protest against Arthur, had been instrumental in aiding them. He'd joined them in assuring there were enough lanterns, lamps, and candles for the coming night.

"The streets are mostly deserted," Tom reported.

"Good," Elyan replied.

Ruadan wrung his hands. "Are we certain our preparations are enough?"

"We have to hope so. Has Siobahn assembled her people?"

Ruadan nodded. "But she doesn't think they can do much."

"They might not be able to keep the ghosts away," Elyan noted, standing up, "but they saved many last night. They can whisk stragglers away if needed."

"King Cenred has locked the citadel gates!" Huelin interjected. "The coward will do nothing for us."

"We can protect each other."

Huelin grunted and lowered his voice. "Rumors are it's the end of the world and our king is truly gone."

"Arthur lives," Elyan retorted. "We can trust in his return."

Huelin glanced over his shoulder at several citizens huddled around a slew of candles in the far corner. The ghosts had fled at daybreak, but they still kept the candles lit, clinging to the sense of protection they offered. "I believe our king lives and will do what he can to return, but if he comes too late, he won't have a kingdom left. We could make sure it still stands when he comes." The man's hand tightened around the handle of an iron hammer stuck in his belt.

"You think to attack the citadel," Elyan intuited.

"Camelot is our city."

"Are you mad?" Elyan hissed, drawing close to Huelin. "We don't need to goad Cenred into sending out his troops and lose more to death."

"We sneak in the way we sneaked out. The catacombs."

"Cenred has those guarded now," Elyan argued. "You can't get in that way."

"We have weapons. We have Druids. We're not going to hide like rats and watch our city fall any longer!" Huelin made to turn but Elyan gripped his arm.

"This isn't the time! Everyone's scared witless. Let's prepare for tonight. We can get through it and talk more about Cenred in the morning."

Huelin narrowed his eyes, then raised his chin. "We'll wait one night."

"Thank you."

Huelin ground his jaw but retreated with his companions.

"Elyan," Tom said, laying a hand on his son's shoulder. "Huelin is right about one thing. People are losing faith, and when people get scared, some hide"—he glanced at the citizens in the corner—"and others lash out to save themselves." He nodded in the direction Huelin had departed.

"Talk to them," Elyan said. "Move among them. Give them every torch or lamp or candle we can find. Tell them we're going to make it through this until Arthur comes back. And he will come back."

Tom squeezed Elyan's shoulder and nodded at Ruadan who continued to wring his hands. Both men moved to the door and left the house.

"You're a good leader," Geoffrey encouraged softly.

Elyan snorted. "You lie as well as our king. He knows what he must say to make us think he isn't afraid when he is."

"You're afraid?"

"I'm afraid I'm giving them false hope." Elyan laughed bitterly. "I'm afraid I'm giving myself false hope. Maybe we'll all be dead at the end of this."

"I was ready to die in the dungeon."

Elyan peered down at the librarian. "How can a man ever be ready to die?"

"Death is inescapable. History is replete with it. When it comes, it comes. Best to make it count."

"That doesn't make me feel any better"

"Maybe you're not old enough to feel ready. But there is still hope. I thought I'd die in the dungeons and I'm here. History speaks of miracle, too. And if ever I saw a miracle, it's King Arthur. Don't give up yet."

"I haven't. Not yet. But if Arthur doesn't return soon, I don't know how much longer everyone else can last."

Time had muddled for Leon. He gathered he'd been settled in a cart with the way his body bumped and thumped along. At one point, he thought Mithian had appeared on a horse, looking down at him, but he recalled nothing else...Until he'd awoken in a room warmly lit by a hearth. It reminded him of Gaius' quarters, stalked with medicines on shelves and clusters of books on every surface. He spied a water jug and his parched throat begged for relief. Then an even greater need eclipsed it, but his legs wouldn't respond to his commands to rise.

A door opened and shut and boots tapped towards him. "Sir Leon?" Mithian came into view hovering over him. "You're awake," she breathed in relief. "We thought we'd lost you a few times on the way here."

"W-where?" he croaked.

Mithian turned away from him, moving to a table, but still speaking. "The Northern Watchtower." She came back to him carrying a cup. He attempted to sit up, but only lifted onto his elbows. Mithian set a hand against his back, supporting him the rest of the way. He grit his teeth against a rippling sensation. Not pain exactly, but prickles, like when his leg pressed against something for too long.

Mithian held the cup to his lips and he drank. Watered wine, soothing, cool, and comfortable, passed down his throat. When he finished, he scanned the room.

"What are you looking for?" Mithian asked as she placed the cup back on the table.

"The physician?"

"Danel's not in the tower. We had need of him elsewhere after he tended you."

Oh. Leon pressed a hand to his abdomen and fought to swing his legs over his cot. He only succeeded in rolling himself to the floor.

"Sir Leon!" Queen Mithian knelt beside him. "You must be careful. You're wounded quite badly."

Leon grimaced. He spied what he'd been looking for under the cot, the object necessary to quell his other urge. "Get...a servant...please."

Mithian tilted her head, then followed the direction of his eyes. She raised her eyebrows and pulled the chamber pot out from under the cot. "I should have guessed. You need to relieve yourself. All right, then." Hands gripped his waistband.

"You can't!"

"Sir Leon. My father was gifted with only one child. As such, he did not shelter me from the world. I have been trained in all ways as any ruler would be, including spending copious amounts of time with the soldiers who would someday live for my commands."

Leon's trousers lowered and his cheeks burned. Mithian grasped his arm and awkwardly lifted him. He helped as he could, bracing his elbows on the ground, arching to knees that didn't seem quite present. Eventually, he achieved an unstable stand. He avoided looking her direction as he reached down to carry out his business. She raised his trousers afterwards and settled him again, then covered the pot and pushed it back under the cot. A stool scraped along the ground and a cool cloth dabbed against his brow.

"You dear man," the queen whispered softly. "You're too loyal, aren't you?"

Leon met her pitying gaze. He was afraid to ask, but he had to know. "How badly am I wounded?"

Her eyelids fluttered a moment. She was fighting tears.

"That bad then," Leon murmured. He'd known it. Felt it. Nothing worked right anymore.

"Danel could be wrong."

"What did he tell you?"

The cloth went still and she stared unflinchingly down at him. "I'm honest, you know."

"I wouldn't want anything less from you."

"They broke your right leg and the left… it's mangled almost beyond use. Danel believes you'll never walk correctly again." She laid a hand on his chest. "You shouldn't have stayed behind."

Nausea welled up in Leon's throat. He closed his eyes, swallowing down bile. "Had to be done."

"It's not just duty, is it?" Mithian spoke quietly. "It's King Arthur himself. You would die for him without hesitation."

Well, yes. Die. He had thought it would come to that. He'd made his peace with such an outcome, but to live broken...

"If I ever command half the loyalty King Arthur does, I will count myself blessed."

Leon fought roiling despair to stare at the queen's sorrowful face again. "You are...remarkable. You will be a good queen to us."

Mithian tilted her head. "To you?"

"You'll take your army to Camelot and you'll win and be our queen." He had to believe Nemeth's army would be enough. And Bayard's and Olaf's, too. He couldn't have given up his body for nothing.

"Oh. No. I told King Arthur I wouldn't have him."

"You...did?"

"Who wants to be a queen whose husband pines after a maid all her life?"

"You know about Gwen."

"They couldn't keep their eyes off of each other. No, Sir Leon. I am as free as I ever was, though I find my state not so pleasurable. Not that I ever really wanted your King Arthur, but with my father's passing...I'm truly alone."

Alone. So was he. What was left for him in Camelot? He had no family. Friends, yes. The knights. But they had their own lives and duties. Oh he didn't doubt Arthur would see him cared for, assign him servants, even grant him a luxurious castle chamber. But his life would never be the same. All he'd worked for and loved and craved was gone. His life as a knight was over.

"So am I, your majesty," he whispered.

Mithian stared at him a moment, tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes. She curled her fingers around his hand. "You gave yourself up for Arthur, for me. I won't let you live alone. You have my solemn word."

Leon smiled for her sake, but her words were simple platitudes. What could she do for him? After all, she was the queen of Nemeth. Her people mattered more than he ever would. When all this was over, his fate could not concern her. And Arthur would need to see to Camelot. In the end, he would spend the rest of his life a solitary and broken cripple.

Morgana clutched at her chest after the last trip, but Lancelot's steady arm wrapped around her waist kept her from toppling over.

"I don't like that spell," her husband grumbled.

"I don't plan on using it much."

"Or ever again if I can stop it."

"You did well." The praise came from Nimueh, and Morgana couldn't help a twinge of pride. The whirlwind spell was dangerous. Aglain had admitted they had no choice but to use it, but he hadn't been happy about it, citing that possible failure could kill her or any of them. But Nimueh had believed in her, bolstered her, and she had done it. Three times. She was exhausted, but they had all made it safely.

"How much rest do you need?" Arthur asked, concerned.

"Go on," she insisted. "Lancelot can walk with me."

"Arthur!" Her brother's attention turned to Gwaine trotting towards them. She'd transported Gwaine, Percival, and Aglain in the first trip. The knight waved at Arthur to join him. Arthur strode away and Morgana followed with Lancelot.

"You should go back to the cave," Lancelot argued.

"You know I can't. Nimueh can't use magic and Aglain might need me."

"I don't like you putting yourself in danger."

"Learn to like it. I'm not going to stop just because you love me."

Lancelot's mouth quirked upwards. "You know I love your spirit. At the same time, I wish you wouldn't indulge it in dangerous cases."

"How do you think I've felt all these years watching you ride out on missions?"
"So. This is revenge."

She nodded.

Lancelot pulled her closer into his side. "Once we're done with this, I'm taking you far away for a private holiday."

She leaned her head into his shoulder. "I admit, that would be nice."

Gwaine halted in front of a home's open door. Morgana had transported them next to the village of Colbury. She'd been here once long ago, and this was the closest she could get them to the Isle of the Blessed with the whirlwind spell.

Arthur poked his head inside the door, then looked gravely at Gwaine. Percival stepped out from a house farther down.

"More like these?" Arthur called out.

"In every home," Percival confirmed, jogging up to Arthur

Morgana peeked around Arthur into the home. Bodies were strewn about, bloodless and pale. She honed in on a man and a woman embracing each other in a corner, their blank eyes frozen open. She turned, pulling away from Lancelot and covering her mouth.

"This is doom," Aglain said. "Camelot's last hour approaches."

"I really wish he'd stop saying things like that," Arthur grumbled under his breath and stalked away from the village. He stopped at its edge next to Nimueh, peering in the direction of the Isle of the Blessed. "When will we reach it?"

"Sundown," the sorceress replied.

"And you say these spirits will appear at dusk?"

"They crave darkness. They will return."

A breath escaped Arthur's clenched teeth.

"If the Dochraid is on the Isle..." Aglain began. Nimueh whirled on him.

"She will not be. Morgause conjured the spirits."

"I don't think you can assume the Dochraid won't lie in wait."

"Ignorance. Spite," Nimueh scoffed. "You know so little of the priestesses' ways." She began walking towards the Isle and continued muttering. "Druids. Hiding away. Never talking to us. And presuming they know anything at all."

Aglain scowled, but as the rest of them, had little choice. He followed after the former high priestess.

"Percival," Arthur called. "The torches."

"Here," Percival said, hefting a bound stack over his shoulder.

"Stay close together. Morgana?"

"I'm fine."

"Let's go then."

Arthur marched forwards, but Morgana hadn't missed the fragility in his expression. He didn't expect to return from the Isle. She grasped Lancelot's hand and followed in Arthur's wake. "Lancelot?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Her husband's hand tightened around hers and his lips found her brow. "And I you. Always."

Gwen gently cleansed the little body placed so carefully on a white cut of cloth. It had taken her some time to find the cloth, but eventually someone had been willing to give it up. She paused, letting her washrag fall still against an angelic cheek, and bowed her head.

"You don't need to do this."

Gwen looked over her shoulder, unsurprised that Hunith had sought her out. "Someone must. And her mother is unable."

Hunith tugged the washrag from Gwen's hand and knelt to cleanse the feet of the little peasant girl whose corpse had been carried to the cave by their most recent arrivals. "No mother should bury a child." Hunith bit her lip, but her eyes filled with tears just the same.

"You shouldn't be here," Gwen spoke tenderly. "Go to Merlin." She reached for the washrag, but the mother didn't relinquish it.

"Merlin's not here anymore."

"Not here... Do you mean...he's dead?"

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"The healer Gaius brought says he isn't but he stopped breathing...he didn't move..." Hunith covered her eyes with a hand.

Gwen bolted upright and hurried through the cavern, ignoring the stares she garnered. She found the space designated for Merlin empty save for the healer Gaius had introduced as Alice. "Where is Merlin?"

The old woman raised her head. She held her fingers to her lips as if she'd been pondering. "Gone."

"Dead?"

"He is Emrys."

"Is he dead?"

"That depends on how you define death."

"Where is Gaius?" Gwen asked sharply, out of patience for this stranger's riddles.

"He hasn't come back since she took Emrys away. A bastet… There's so much I didn't know."

Gwen whirled around and sprinted for the cave entrance. She had seen Freya arrive. Unfortunately, she'd been too angry to greet the girl. Arthur had left less than an hour before and had made it clear in no uncertain terms she would not accompany him to the Isle of the Blessed. He hadn't even possessed the decency to offer a farewell embrace! He'd simply informed her of his command then ordered two knights to prevent her from leaving the cave until he'd departed. They'd done their duty.

Gwen staggered down the path behind the waterfall, caring not a whit how drenched she became in her haste. She had convinced herself Arthur was an idiot for giving up on destiny, but if Merlin was dead, then all hope really was lost.

Gwen stumbled out into the open. She spied the physician perched on a rock by the waterfall's basin. Merlin's kestrel rested in his lap and he was absently running a hand over the bird's feathers. "Gaius!" she called as she approached. "Where is Merlin?" The old physician blinked and peered at her as if waking from a dream. She fell to her knees in front of him. "Is Merlin...dead?"

Gaius glanced up into the sky before answering. "His body gave in. His heart stopped. Alice says he hasn't passed. Maybe...if we believe..." Gaius' chin trembled.

"Where is Merlin?"

"Freya took him to Avalon."

"Avalon?"

Gaius stared at the swirling basin. "A story. A legend. I'd always thought it wishful thinking, but if it's real it will hold power unimaginable." His gaze finally fixed on her, and he spoke forcefully. "We must hope, Gwen. Hope is all we have left."

Great gusts of air buffeted Freya's sides as her wings flapped with desperation. Merlin lay stretched lifeless on her back, a lighter weight than ever he had a right to be. She refused to consider him dead. The promise Kilgharrah had made her swear—to return to the lake when she lost what was most dear—had to mean Merlin. It must. Because if it didn't…

Freya whined and narrowed her feline eyes against the wind. She couldn't lose Merlin, not after all she'd done to rectify her mistakes. Even though he didn't blame her and even though she knew it wasn't entirely her fault, she still couldn't scrub away the disturbing image of a youth ripped through by her claws, bleeding out on a dungeon's floor. A youth she had come to love far deeper than any other in her entire life.

Freya wasn't sure how long she'd been flying. The wind ruffling her fur and the currents nudging her sides produced such joy in her bastet form, she usually flew without thought. She wondered sometimes how much of her mind became animal when in bastet form. Kilgharrah had made it so she kept her human mind, but still, some senses operated by pure instinct. She knew, even though she couldn't divine how, that the lake was nearing.

She dove through a cloud, displacing wisps of condensed water. Her fur coat dampened, sending a chill rippling down her spine, but she broke through and trilled in triumph. Directly below, a lake bluer than any other she'd ever seen shined and flashed with radiant inner light.

She headed towards the grey, sandy shore, alighting as gently as she could so as not to rock Merlin too much. Then she began to panic, glancing back and forth. Merlin had been attached to her with Gaius' magic. She had no power dislodge him. She was a creature of magic, but not a sorcerer. She'd just thought of transforming when a pinprick of light zoomed across the lake towards her. She mewled in question. The light ignored her, crossing the shore and alighting on her back with a warm touch. It flitted away again, twirling and twisting at the edge of the lake until more pinpricks appeared, zipping their way across the lake, tens of them and then hundreds, maybe thousands.

Freya ducked when they converged on her, thumping to her belly in the sand, and tried to hold still. She recalled the little beings made entirely of magic Kilgharrah had revealed to her; the Sidhe, he called them. They would help. Kilgharrah had told her Avalon held the power of death, but life as well. It could give either. It had taken Kilgharrah to death, but certainly it would bring Merlin life.

The weight on Freya's back lifted. The lights drifted back over the shore and above the lake, carrying Merlin with their minuscule hands. Freya transformed and ran after them until her toes touched water. They hovered farther and farther away...and then abruptly dropped their cargo. Merlin's still form plunged into the deep water. The Sidhe scattered in all directions.

"What have you done?" Freya cried out, splashing into the lake. "You were supposed to help him!"

Dizzying dark spun Merlin round and round. He floated, bounced, and bumped, teetering on the verge of waking. Ice cold speared through him, and though he didn't shiver, the jolt unstoppered his ears. His world stilled and gave way to velvety, deep voices.

"This is the one, eh?"

"Skinny thing. Not what I pictured, you know."

"Hardly worthy, I should think, but then destiny has never been predictable. Ha, ha! Predictable! It's a joke."

"Oh, yes, so droll. Please. Eternity is becoming quite tedious with you here."

"You two never could let bygones be bygones. How pitiful nonexistence hasn't changed either of you."

"Enough chatter. Kilgharrah, you made us go through all this trouble. Now that it's time, wake him for Providence's sake!"

"He's already awake," a familiar voice spoke. "He just doesn't know it."

Merlin… The voice hissed in his mind, tickling like a downy feather. Then it boomed loud. Merlin! An icy shard pierced through Merlin's brain and he exploded into consciousness. He could make out figures...large, scaled...dragons? He hadn't opened his eyes. At least, he didn't think he had, and yet, he could see.

"H-how..." His mouth didn't move either.

The dragons across from him chuckled. One was bronze in tone, the other purple. He had never seen them before.

"You hear and see and speak to us in the between." There was that familiar voice again, the one who'd called to him. It belonged to...

"Kilgharrah!" Merlin felt himself whirl round and he was facing the dragon he had known in life, gold scaled and...shining. The Great Dragon had never looked so bright before. Two other dragons flanked him, one bluish green and the other a shimmering silver. Merlin peered around. He couldn't tell where they were. The place was blank, bathed in a glowing blue.

"Welcome, young warlock," Kilgharrah said and his open mouth seemed to smile.

"You're...dead," Merlin stammered. More chuckling from the dragons.

"You are in the Lake of Avalon. Here, time has no meaning."

Merlin noticed the hilt of a sword protruding from Kilgharrah's breast. "You were mortally wounded."

"So I was. But I have been preserved. I exist in between, not dead nor alive."

Merlin twisted round once more as he took in the other four dragons surrounding him.

"Let me introduce my brothers. Eorios." The silver dragon bowed his head. "Femmet." This time the bluish green one. "Zayndru." The purple dragon inclined his neck. "And my sister—Fryrvin." The bronze dragon bowed and lifted a paw.

"You have siblings?"

"These are not my egg-fellows, but all dragons are related in some way. We were the last."

"Uther meant to kill us," Fryrvin said.

Zayndru spat out a stream of harsh dragon tongue. Merlin didn't understand the words, but he guessed from the other dragons chuckling they were something derogatory about the former king of Camelot.

"Calm yourself," Eorios commanded. "Let Kilgharrah continue to instruct the child."

"Each of us," Kilgharrah went on, "came here when wounded unto death to await the time of Emrys. It is unfortunate two of our number did not make it, but they did try."

"Who?"

"Rirdunth and Learvan."

"They sacrificed for others," Femmet said.

"They saw the last two dragon eggs to the Sanctuary before their deaths," Kilgharrah explained.

"The eggs?" Merlin asked. "Dragons put them there?"

"With the help of Dragonlord Lucien. He was captured by witchfinders soon after."

"I thought you didn't know how the eggs got to the Sanctuary."

"I didn't until I entered the Lake. The Sidhe see much and share much with those between."

"Kilgharrah, why am I here? Am I...between?"

"Yes, young warlock. This is why you can hear me once again. You are not dead. You are not alive. You are caught as we in motionless eternity."

"I'll live here forever?"

Chuckling again. "How can the time of Emrys arise if you remain here?" Kilgharrah asked. "How can Albion come to peace without its warlock?"

"Or the Golden King," Femmet added.

Kilgharrah nodded.

"Arthur?" Merlin had almost forgotten his friend and king floating in this timeless place. "The prophecy! You mean, it's coming true? Now?"

"It is in progress," Kilgharrah said. "There is much more to face. Merlin, the danger is more than you understand. Even we who perceived the end of Uther's rule and the rise of the sons of Bruta and Sigan did not foresee the prophecy's true purpose."

"Bruta and Sigan? Nimueh told me about them."

"She did not reveal you bear the blood of Sigan and Arthur Pendragon the blood of Bruta."

"We do?"

"This is why your blood called out for the son of Camelot. It is why he haunted your dreams. Do you know what happened to the king and warlock of old?"

"Bruta broke the bond. Sigan died. And Bruta soon after."

"A bond is difficult. And difficult times lay ahead of you. When you become Emrys once more, much will be demanded of you and much required. And if you fail, much will be taken from you."

Merlin stared. "What will be taken?"

"I wish I could perceive it. We only know that a great threat has revealed itself, greater than any other. We thought in our time Uther was the threat to the prophecy of Emrys and Albion, but we were wrong. The veil of death has been opened. Such a thing signals deeper forces at work, forces ancient and evil. They will come against you and your king and you must do all in your power to stop them or Camelot and Albion will be lost for all time."

Merlin glanced at the solemn dragon faces. "I'll do what I can."

"Give everything, young warlock. Even your very self if you must. Swear to us."

Merlin felt like he swallowed, though his neck never moved. "I swear I will."

"Good. Now it is time for you to become more than you have been. Sigan's blood in you makes you a powerful warlock and bonds you to Arthur Pendragon. But there is another blood in you. The convergence of the blood of the greatest warlock that lived and the blood of the dragonlord. These two bloods combined create the mighty Emrys." Kilgharrah pitched his head back and laughed. "Destiny is a strange thing. I could have never guessed that Balinor's uniting with a simple peasant woman would bring about the birth of Emrys. Your father chose the one woman left in existence who bore the blood of Sigan."

Merlin's mind alit with sudden enlightenment. What seemed happenstance had aligned, making way for the prophecy. "Does this mean we'll win?"

"Ah, young warlock. How often have I counseled you to beware the reliance on future prediction? The prophecy can be fulfilled in many ways. Arthur Pendragon could have chosen to kill you and enforced unity in Albion through war. You yourself saw visions of such a future where magic was destroyed for peace. You would still have played a part in the story, but a very different one."

"But now that we're bonded, won't it turn out all right?"

"Have you not been listening, Merlin? The bond is still in play. It is currently intact. It could still break. The time of testing is near. Be strong. Do not give in to who you become."

"Who I become?"

Kilgharrah looked beyond him, nodding to the other dragons surrounding him. Then he opened his mouth and a beam of golden light washed over Merlin. Warmth sprang up within the center of his chest and another beam fell over him, an intense green coming from the dragon Femmet. He grew warmer. More lights joined, vibrant colors of lavender, teal, and orange. His soul began to burn. He wanted to scream; he couldn't. Heat spread outwards from his heart to his head and his mind filled with the unintelligible made clear.

"Call them, Merlin!" Kilgharrah shouted. "Make them come and restore what was lost!"

Merlin opened his mouth in return, screaming in a language he'd never mastered yet understanding every word.

Balinor lay on his cot in his cavern room next to the Dragon Sanctuary, an arm draped over his eyes. He'd ceased his worried pacing, but not his internal castigation.

He kept replaying the night he had left Ealdor, had left his wife and child. Even now, he could recall the softness of the cloth swaddling his infant son and the way Merlin nuzzled into his warmth as he drifted off to sleep. At the time, fear had tormented him with images of his son covered in blood, butchered at the hands of Camelot knights. So he'd fled. He'd given up his role as father. Chosen dragons not even hatched over his son.

And now, his son suffered, facing an eternity of painful wasting away. In the dark of his heart, Balinor wished he had never met Hunith. Then Merlin would not have been born, would not have been tortured day by day. In truth, sending Nero to Gaius was the last act of a desperate father grasping at straws. Gaius was a skilled man, but he had no hope of healing Merlin.

Tears welled and dripped down Balinor's cheeks. He was alone. He could indulge in grief without shame.

The frame of Balinor's cot shook. He lowered his arm to study the stone ceiling. It trembled, then released bits of rock that cascaded over him as grainy dust. Balinor pulled himself up and frowned. The trembling increased. Was this a quake? More pieces of the ceiling gave way, larger chunks pinging against the cavern floor. Balinor bolted to his feet. The eggs!

Balinor ran. If the Sanctuary collapsed, the eggs could crack and the dragons inside would be doomed to death. And if they died, everything he'd given up for the last seventeen years would be worthless.

Balinor shoved his shoulder against the Sanctuary door and passed inside. He pressed a hand against a stone, lighting up the Sanctuary, its murals and etched columns. He hurried towards the pedestals then skidded to a stop. The eggs...they were open, each split in two, and they were...empty.

Balinor cautiously approached the shells. Their insides shined with albumen as if dragons had hatched, but they couldn't have. Merlin wasn't here to call them forth and even if he were, he had no connection to magic. Balinor touched a portion of shell thicker than any other animal's in existence. The mountain had ceased shaking.

A chattering sounded above. Balinor looked to the ceiling and gaped. This couldn't be. Dragons never hatched on their own. If they weren't called… Stories of insanity and destruction passed through his mind.

A red scaly reptile no larger than a small dog swept down at him followed by another streaking white. Balinor ducked as they narrowly missed him and flew through the Sanctuary door. Balinor sprinted after them, crying out in dragon language, but they paid no heed. By the time he followed them out onto the mountain ledge high in the sky, they were dots in the distance flying who knew where.

Balinor sank to his knees, horrified at what had just been released onto the world without his bidding.

Arthur swayed at the back of a boat moving of its own accord, shivering as the sun set. He stared at the backs of his companions who'd insisted they sit ahead of him as protection. The castle in the middle of the lake loomed large. What awaited them? Fate? Destiny? Or doom after all.

The boat slid to a stop, knocking against another dock. Aglain and Morgana disembarked, the two with magic a first line of possible defense. Morgause was certainly here somewhere and most likely the boy sorcerer Mordred, too.

Percvial and Gwaine exited next, then Lancelot who reached back to give Nimueh a hand out of the boat. Finally, Arthur stepped up onto the dock. Percival passed out the torches. Gwaine and Lancelot each lit one to begin with. Aglain whispered softly and his hand glowed with a ball of bluish light.

"Aglain, Morgana. Keep close to me," Nimueh commanded. "This place can manipulate and I would be surprised if Morgause has not seen us arrive. She will seek to prevent me from getting to the courtyard." The three moved ahead.

Lancelot glanced at Arthur. Arthur gestured ahead. "Stay near your wife." Lancelot nodded gratefully and bustled up ahead. Percival and Gwaine flanked their king.

"I should have made you stay, Gwaine," Arthur said as they climbed a series of steps into the castle. "Sefa shouldn't be left a widow."

"You're a dollophead," Gwaine retorted. "You truly are."

"Because I want to preserve your family?"

"Because you want to give up your throne as if you don't care anymore what happens to us and then all you can think about is us."

Arthur hissed through clenched teeth. "I. Do. Care. That's why I want my throne to go to someone better!"

"That's why you're such a dollophead. You want to give it up and still, you're here, aren't you? You keep acting like our king when you say you don't want to be our king."

"Because no one else has taken my place yet!"

"Because you can't stop caring, mate. You were born to be a king. It's in your blood."

"What do you know of my blood? Did Morgana tell you?"

Gwaine paused on the steps. "Eh...sure...yeah. Why don't you remind me?"

Percival's steady voice sounded behind them. "Morgana told us nothing."

Gwaine scowled at his friend.

"Well she didn't tell me either," Arthur grumbled, pushing ahead of his knights. He heard Percvial launch into chastising Gwaine for being so forthcoming, but the damage had been done. Gwaine had hit far too close to home. He had been born to be king, specifically magicked into existence as heir to a kingdom. His entire life had been training for kingship. Caring for his people to the best of his ability was ingrained in him.

Arthur glanced ahead at Lancelot. He was a good man, but a good king? He hadn't been raised as Arthur. He'd had more freedom, been more carefree with his days than Arthur ever had. Arthur rubbed at his stubbly chin. His father hadn't been raised to be king, either. Uther had been a knight like Lancelot, a good one. His father had made a good knight but in the end, a bad king.

Why am I here? Arthur stifled a whine when he balled up his sore hand attached to his weak and injured arm. He was here because seeing the body of a little girl drained of life by spirits had spurred the fiery rage that burned whenever his people were targeted.

Arthur's cheeks grew hot. He'd been so close to ending his pain, giving up his burdens, freeing himself forever. He could walk away...and leave his people in the hands of cruelty and wickedness and evil. No! There had to be a way to defeat Morgause. Stop the insanity the world had been plunged into at her hand.

"Halt!" Nimueh commanded ahead as they reached a hallway. "There's something here. Ah. A rune. She thinks to trap us. Stupid girl. This was my home longer than it was hers and she does not know all its secrets. Aglain."

The Druid held out his hand, speaking a spell. Fire shot out and smoked up from a red pattern flashing on the tiled floor. The rune faded. Nimueh, Aglain, Morgana, and Lancelot continued ahead. Arthur followed, glancing back momentarily at Gwaine and Percival still arguing. He stepped over the charred place where the rune had been...and the corridor vanished.

Arthur whirled around, scrambling for his sword, awkwardly extracting it with his left hand. He was alone in a small stone room and across from him was a gaping hole. A voice beckoned him.

"Come, King Arthur. Come save your people if you dare."

Freya breached the lake once more, breathing hard. She'd never been good at swimming. Her parents had said the bastet nature warred against such a skill. She pulled back to the lake's edge, then crawled onto the shore and pitched over, sucking in gasps of air. The lake pulsed calmly with shining blue, its waters undisturbed.. "Please," she begged. "Give him back to me."

She lay unmoving for some time, then frowned. Had the lake's color...changed? She pushed up onto her elbows. Yes! It was flashing with gold now...and purple...orange. Freya leaped to a stand as wind whipped across the lake, churning its waves into froth. A column of water shot upwards, twisting and whirling and inside it... Merlin! The column curved, rushing for the shore. Freya backed away as it hit ground and desposited its contents. Merlin slumped forwards like a dead man. Freya rushed to his side.

"Merlin? Merlin!" His chest didn't rise or fall. She shouted at the lake. "What did you do to him?"

The water churned once more, this time emitting several enormous, shimmering forms. Dragons. Five of them. And Kilgharrah at their head.

"Kittling." Kilgharrah chuckled. "Be patient."

"Kilgharrah!" Freya breathed, hardly believing her sight.

"Listen to your heart. Do you not feel something?"

Freya placed her hand against her breast as she became aware of a pleasant warmth. "What is it?"

"Look up, my lady."

Freya raised her eyes. Two flapping birds were winging their way across the lake. Wait. No, not birds, more like scaled lizards, perfect miniature renditions of the larger forms that had risen from the lake. They had to be...

"The eggs! The dragons hatched?"

"Move back," Kilgharrah commanded in booming tones. Freya scooted away, instinctively obeying the Great Dragon as she had so often before his death.

The small dragons swooped down and hovered over Merlin.

"So he has commanded you," Kilgharrah said. "So you must do."

The newborns opened their mouths and spewed forth fire, shrouding Merlin's body in flame.

"No!" Freya cried.

Merlin bucked and arched and screamed a piercing wail. The dragon fire ceased. Merlin gasped audibly, opened his eyes, and grinned from ear to ear at the dragons flapping above him. "Aithusa, Grenned, thank you."

The dragons floated downward as he pushed to his feet, coming to rest one on each of his shoulders. Freya stared in disbelief. Merlin was nude as the day he was born, but every inch of his body was healthy and hale, clean and smooth and flush with life.

"Merlin," Freya breathed, then she rushed him, throwing her arms around him. He held onto her for a time then released her to cup her chin and press his lips to hers. Freya could barely breathe when he pulled away. She stared at his naked chest. He followed her gaze and his cheeks flushed brightly as he whirled on Kilgharrah.

"You didn't warn they'd burn my clothes away!"

"Would you have refused to call them?"

"I...guess not."

"Merlin." Freya rounded him and gently laid a hand on his chest. "They're gone." The claw scars he had carried since they first met, every one had disappeared, leaving not a trace.

"The healing power of a freshly born dragon is powerful," Kilgahrrah explained, "and the power of two unparalleled. For a short time, they may choose to pour their own life energy into the dragonlord they have bonded with. They are bound to you, young warlock. You may command them what you will."

"We have to get back to the cave and tell everyone!" Freya exclaimed. "Your mother and father and Gaius. And Arthur. They'll be so happy." She unclasped the cloak around her shoulders and threw it over Merlin, who flushed once more, but nodded to her gratefully as he tucked it around himself to recapture some semblance of modesty.

"My lady, we are not finished here." Kilgharah began to glide towards them, floating up to the shore's edge. "The bond between you and I is stronger even than the bond between dragon and dragonlord. Only you can relieve me of my burden."

Freya stepped up to the Great Dragon, blinking back tears as he bent his forehead to touch hers. She cradled his jaw with her hands. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"This had to be. We each play our parts for Emrys. Mine will end this day. Yours will continue."

Freya shuddered. "You're going to really die?"

"I bargained with the Sidhe. They will let me and my brothers and sister pass from here. We awaited Emrys. He has come and we have given him our own connections to magic. He will wield great power."

Merlin had stepped close to them, stunned. "Why didn't you tell Freya to bring me to the lake sooner?"

"Your king. I perceived his need. I trusted a vision."

"You trusted a vision?"

Kilgharrah guffawed. "Yes. A foolish indulgence, perhaps, but I allowed myself to believe." Kilgharrah raised his head and proffered his chest. "King Uther's reign was to end when I gave up my life. So I did. But there was more he did not know. The sword that would take his reign would become the foundation of his son's. Over these many months, I have burnished the king's sword with the blood of my heart. With this sword, Arthur Pendragon will possess a power unequaled among his peers. My lady, draw forth my burden!"

Freya stared at the sword's hilt in Kilgharrah's breast. She tentatively set her hand upon it and Kilgharrah grimaced. "I'm hurting you."

"My pain means nothing. Remove it. Quickly!"

Freya gripped the hilt and pulled as hard as she could. She stumbled back as the sword slid away, then cringed at its state. Red dragon blood coated its length.

"Hold it aloft," Kilgharrah ordered hoarsely.

Freya obeyed. Fire as thin as a ribbon issued from Kilgharrah's mouth, dancing along the blade. The blood separated and joined in various patterns, then hardened into a golden etching.

"Emrys," Kilgharrah said. "She took it up. You must cast it away."

Wide-eyed, Freya held out the sword to Merlin. He accepted it, then went stock still, his eyes alighting with golden fire. A guttural chant boomed in the air. Freya recognized the dragon tongue, though she had never heard it from Merlin. The sword began to glow. The dragons lifted from Merlin's shoulders, rounded the sword once, and flapped away to the west.

"Follow them, my younglings!" Kilgharrah cried out. "Hurry!"

Freya morphed into the bastet and Merlin climbed onto her back. She ran for all she was worth, then lifted into the air, soaring upwards after the newborn dragons. She chanced one last glance behind. Kilgharrah bowed his head to her, then waded back into the lake and faded away with the last of his generation.