Everyone that could be found in the citadel had been rounded up into the grand hall. Most huddled together in a lump surrounded by the Druids, knights, and armed citizens that had infiltrated the castle. Panes of glass rattled in the window frames, shook not by winds, but unseen hands. Unearthly howls echoed in the courtyard outside.
Elyan ran an eye over the circle of defenders. All of them were on edge, fear potent in their frightened expressions. Those with magic held out their hands and those with weapons brandished them, but what good could any of them do? They were helpless in the face of such evil.
A drawn out wail reverberated in the hall outside the grand hall doors. Elyan swished his sword in the direction of the doors, the tip of his weapon quivering. He tried to still himself and couldn't. The doors vibrated as a ghost slithered through them like corpse churning up from its grave. It hovered for a moment, then shot towards them with an earsplitting shriek. Elyan thrust out his sword, even though the spirit stopped short of the group on the dais, leering, whipping its head back and forth, staring them down with sightless eyes.
Elyan couldn't breathe. People in the huddle began to cry. Will sidled closer to him. Several other ghosts careened through the doors and joined the first, gliding this way and that just out of reach of the hall's weak light. Already the candles had burned to half. With dawning horror, Elyan realized the flames were unlikely to last the night.
Morgana hurried along a path, tracing dark drops of blood. Either Nimueh or Lancelot was hurt badly enough to leave an obvious trail. She couldn't help but hope Nimueh had been wounded and not her husband, though shameful heat rose in her cheeks at the thought.
Gwaine strode next to her, arm linked around her elbow to steady her. She'd tried to shove him off, but when she almost hit the tile trying to walk on her own, she'd given in to his support. Drumming pain thumped inside her head and her sight was blurred around the edges, though she refused to admit such to Gwaine, assuring him she'd just been a little winded in the fall.
The bloody droplets trailed up a crooked stairwell. Morgana climbed each step with effort, struggling to ignore the sharp ringing in her ears. When they reached the landing, they followed the trail through an arch…and found a courtyard overrun with deathly spirits. The specters bore down on a couple of figures—Nimueh and Lancelot. Morgause stood on the other side of the courtyard, grinning with delight.
"Morgause!" Morgana screamed. "Don't do this!"
Surprised, Morgause snapped her attention to Morgana. "Sister!" the self-presumed high priestess exclaimed. Then she smiled again. "You're too late. But you're free." Morgause gestured towards an altar. Someone lay upon it, a knife's hilt protruding from his neck, blood welling up from the wound and pooling under his head.
Morgana dry-heaved. Gwaine held tightly to her until she looked back up and whispered, "Arthur. No."
Mordred stood next to the altar, eyes haunted and round. He had finally gotten his revenge. Morgana screamed aloud, ruing the day she'd ever had compassion on the Druid boy. She raised her hand, adrenaline surging within, but before a spell could burst from her lips, fire shot down from the heavens.
Arthur couldn't breathe. The shock of the knife penetrating his throat had passed, but he instinctively flung a hand up to the wound anyway. Warm blood surged around his fingers, gushing in bursts with every thump of his heart.
"Kill all but the seer!" Morgause was shouting.
Arthur glanced about with foggy sight. The spirits had slowed, moving sluggishly. Liquid gurgled in the back of his throat, and he gagged when its metallic taste sloshed over his tongue. His hand dropped from his neck, and he stared up at the inky black sky dotted with blurry, sparkling diamonds. The jewels were disappearing, winking out of existence. Then for a brief second, light flashed across the darkness. A shadow descended through it, falling upon him, the entire altar quaking with its ominous weight. Death had come to claim him at last.
"Arthur! Arthur, no. No, no!" Merlin leaped from Freya's back the moment she crashed onto the altar in the courtyard of the Isle of the Blessed.
As they'd arrived, he'd taken in the courtyard from above, the Isle's pinnacle lit with glowing blue globes, littered with corpses, and filled with dozens of ghosts converging on Nimueh, Lancelot, Morgana, and Gwaine. And then he'd sighted the golden haired sacrifice stretched out on the altar drenched in red about the neck. He'd shouted to the dragons in their tongue. Fire spewed from their mouths, spitting onto the scene below, scattering both ghost and person alike. And then Freya had alighted on the altar and his worst nightmare had come true.
"What did she do?" Merlin shouted, frantically grasping the hilt of the knife piercing Arthur's throat. Arthur's left hand jerked up to cover his own and his half-lidded blue locked onto Merlin, projecting pain and regret.
Merlin shoved Arthur's hand away and yanked the knife free, letting it clatter to the tile. Blood spurted, splattering his bare chest before he covered the wound with both hands to staunch the flow.
"Don't die! Hang on!" Merlin pleaded. He chanted every healing spell he knew, every phrase he'd ever heard Gaius or his father utter, but each time he glanced beneath his hands the pulsing, gory wound remained.
"Merlin." Lancelot had reached his side. How had he... The ghosts. They were fading and sinking towards the floor. Lancelot held his arm and looked him in the eye, a tear gracing his cheek. "He chose to do this."
"He saves his people, Emrys. Won't you honor him for it?"
Merlin's head snapped to the witch Morgause at her triumphant declaration. "You're dead!" He flung out a bloody hand in her direction, but Freya had morphed into human form and clutched at his shoulder.
"The sword, Merlin," she urged, turning his cheek to hold his gaze. "Give it away. That's what Kilgharrah said. Give it to Arthur."
Merlin looked down at the sword stuck through the belt holding together the makeshift dressing he'd made of Freya's cloak. He withdrew the beautiful weapon but choked out a protest.
"It's too late! Look at him!"
Freya didn't glance at Arthur. Her eyes hardened instead. "Give it to him now."
Merlin blinked back tears as he spied Arthur's right hand thick with his own blood. He laid the sword along Arthur's side and reverently set the hilt to rest in his right palm. The sword crafted for a king of kings would never be used; it would rust away as a symbolic burial trinket.
Merlin jerked his eyes to Morgause and golden red drowned out his vision. He raised his red coated hands and stalked towards her.
Death paused for a brief moment, and Arthur beheld...Merlin. Of course. The bond had broken and Merlin's spirit had fled to him. A wave of peace washed through him. Arthur stopped fighting and let his body fall limp. He could walk into death more easily with Merlin at his side.
But then Merlin disappeared and a sudden pang spiked in his right hand. The pain flamed into a raging fire within seconds. He screamed, but the cry was garbled by the blood filling his mouth. The fire roared all the more and his hand flexed in distress, closing around a sword's hilt.
Heat shot through him, a lightning spasm traveling from his palm to his wrist, up his arm, then radiating through his body. He bucked and seized as molten fire surged through his veins. His muscles stretched, hardened...bulged? He sprang up, coughing and spewing blood.
"Arthur." The hushed awe came from Lancelot who stared at him in shock. Nimueh stood to the knight's side, blood-streaked but grinning.
"Lancelot!" His knight whirled round at a cry from Morgana. Ghosts surrounded her and Gwaine, but the spirits had been fading moments ago, hadn't they?
Panicked, Arthur felt at his neck. The wound had been sealed with a rough scar. He hadn't saved his people. Instead of sacrificing himself, he'd been forced back into the land of the living. Hundreds of his people would die this night.
The burning river in his veins ignited his heart. It pumped once...twice...driving unbearable heat through his body. He sneered, then screeched a war cry and dove off the altar, careening towards the spirits.
His swing shouldn't have done anything. Spirits were impervious to physical attack, but in his rage, he struck out anyway and the two who met his sword shattered to brittle ashes with ear-splitting howls. The sword in his hand shimmered, glowing along both sides in an etched pattern, and the arm attached to it, his right arm,was strong, well defined with sculpted muscle. He raised the sword, staring in awe a moment until a loud spell broke his concentration. He whirled around and there was Merlin, not ghostly, not a shade, but Merlin alive in the flesh.
And then the sword spoke to him. It wasn't a true voice. More a pulsing vibration thrumming a beat in his hand, but he understood its command nonetheless—Take me up and use me.
He spun on his heel and dived into the thick of the spirits.
When Merlin stomped towards Morgause, she pulled Mordred to her side and shouted a spell at the same time Mordred screamed. More ghosts appeared, popping up right in front of them. Merlin halted and cried aloud in a deep, guttural tone. Fire shot down once more from the red and white dragons hovering above, watching over him like guardian angels. Their fire couldn't destroy the ghosts, but it did distract them, causing them to shy away and make a path to his targets.
Morgause chanted another spell and stone from the courtyard ripped away. Merlin waved a hand in front of him and the rocks collided with an invisible barrier. He marched forward. Morgause held out a hand, shooting first fire, then lightning, then a blast of chill, all ineffective. When Merlin reached the witch and Druid boy, hate exploded in his chest and mind. He shouted his own spell, one he'd never heard, barely even understood. Morgause and Mordred were thrown across the courtyard, slamming into a cracked stone battlement. Each of them gasped, winded, and crumpled onto the tile. Merlin stalked towards them. This would end now. Forever.
Morgause pushed up onto her knees and for the first time, shook with fear. Merlin smirked, hand still held out. One more blast would end it all.
Morgause grasped Mordred and shouted another spell. Mordred cried out, "Kara!" A whipping vortex swirled around them.
"No!" Merlin screamed.
He dragged forth another spell from deep within, blasting a white thread from his palm. Morgause and Mordred were already floating off the ground, lifted up by the vortex and ready to make good their escape, but Merlin's shining thread wrapped around their ankles, preventing their flight.
Morgause kept screaming the spell; Merlin kept chanting his own. He was yanked towards the vortex as it pulled on its occupants, trying to obey the command to whisk them to safety, but he dug in his heels against fractured tile and pulled back hard on his magic cord with both hands. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he played a deadly game of tug-of-war with the whirlwind. They couldn't get away! After what they had done to Arthur, they had to pay in torture and blood!
"Merlin!"
Merlin glanced over his shoulder. Someone was heading his direction, slashing with a brilliant sword, spirits being destroyed in his wake. He gaped. "Arthur?" His king and friend and brother slashed, whirled, leaped, and thrust with an incredible power. And he used his weak hand, his right hand, in his tirade.
A violent tug turned his attention back to the whirlwind, to Morgause and Mordred chanting in unison. He lost his footing and was whipped about by his magic cord as the whirlwind spun ever faster. He ceased his spell. The magic cord collapsed and he dropped to the tile on his knees. Morgana and Mordred vanished.
Arthur reached Merlin. Morgana and Mordred had escaped in a cursed whirlwind, but there was no time to worry about that. He reached down, yanking Merlin to his feet and spinning him around. Their eyes met for only a second before the spirits rushed them in full force.
Arthur lashed out with the shining sword. The first line crumbled before him, but the others weren't in the least deterred. They shrieked and opened wide their gaping maws.
"To my back!" Arthur commanded. He felt Merlin's warm presence take its place behind him and kept swinging, slashing, grinning ferally as the ghosts fell before his prowess. Every death burned triumph and swelled his heart. Blood rushed at lightening speed through him, raging like a ravenous forest fire. Death! He must have it! He needed to kill, to quell the starving lust in his fiery soul.
Without warning, the spirits halted their attack. Their maws remained open but they wailed as if in pain, writhing and twisting in on themselves. The sound was deafening. Arthur knelt to the ground, chest heaving, struggling to stand against the painful shrieks. Merlin knelt at his side, hands clutched to his ears.
"Get up!" Arthur urged, as much to himself as to Merlin.
Merlin obeyed, staggering to his feet. Arthur couldn't follow his own command and watched helplessly as Merlin peered around in frantic confusion.
Merlin couldn't understand why the ghosts had quit their assault. He searched the courtyard. Morgana and Lancelot huddled together behind an arch on the far side, entwined, holding on to each other for dear life. Hadn't Gwaine been here? Where was he… There! By the altar, kneeling, fingers stuffed into his ears, looking up at...
"Nimueh!" Merlin rushed the altar, weaving amongst twitching spirits. The former high priestess lay on the altar, rasping in shallow breaths. The knife he'd drawn out of Arthur's throat now pierced hers.
"No! No! Why?" Merlin shouted.
He reached for the knife, but Nimueh grabbed his wrist with unnatural strength. She smiled feebly. "I knew...you would...come, but you...can't kill...them all...in one night... Someone had...to stop all of them...in Camelot." She shuddered. "Can't...can't save me...like you did...your king...Must let me...die."
"No," Merlin pleaded, "no." His vision fogged.
"Must happen...this way..." Nimueh sucked in a rattling breath and her voice grew softer. "Th-this...leaves you...free... Hope, my Emrys...always." She drew in one more breath and her eyes widened. "H-he's here...my child...my son..." Tears wet her cheeks. "He's come...to carry me...home." Joyful, she smiled, then her eyes stilled, her hand went limp in his, and a final sigh escaped her lips.
The spirits stopped crying out. Arthur sprang to a stand, twirling round, desperate for an enemy to satisfy his desire for death, but the spirits were gone. The courtyard was still except for the panting breaths of the humans left behind. And a cacophonous weeping.
Arthur turned. A bastet sat back on her haunches not too far away, whining from her throat. Two small dragons perched on her broad shoulders. She wasn't the source of the irritating weeping. He had to find it, put the creature who sobbed out of its misery. His wild eyes fell on the altar where a healthy and hale Merlin, bare from the waist up, grieved over a body.
He stomped towards the altar, raising his sword, but before he could bring it down, the empty eyes of the sorceress Nimueh arrested him. A knife was buried in her throat as it had been in his. Blood poured from the wound, coating the altar below her neck. The spirits were gone because she had sacrificed herself.
Arthur threw his head back, channeling the overwhelming bloodlust into a raw cry at the dark, unfeeling sky.
Someone whimpered. Arthur honed in on Cenred, still incoherent and trembling, incapacitated by horror. Arthur roared like a lion, sprinting towards the king who had stolen his kingdom, executed his subjects, terrorized his people. He lowered the glowing sword with all his might. Cenred's head lopped off and bounced across the tile.
An abrupt silence had descended upon the courtyard after the spirits disappeared. For one moment, Morgana heard nothing. And then there was Arthur, breathing harshly, and Merlin, mourning. She disentangled herself from Lancelot when Arthur screamed. She made for him, but before she could reach him, he swung the shining sword in his hand once more, removing Cenred's head in one fell swoop.
She froze when Arthur turned back round. His eyes were large, wild, beastlike. He was covered in blood from chin to chest and pouring sweat.
"Where's Percival?" he snarled at her. "And Aglain."
"Hurt," she whispered, "but alive. Arthur..."
"Gwaine!"
The knight stumbled their way, glancing at her with round-eyed shock that might have been humorous on the usually arrogant knight if their situation hadn't been so macabre.
"Get a bag," Arthur snapped at Gwaine. "Collect Cenred's head."
"Yes...my lord. I will. With pleasure." The knight moved towards Cenred's headless body.
"Lancelot!"
"Arthur?" Lancelot was at her shoulder. She hadn't heard him approach.
"Make camp in a suitable room."
"Yes, sire. Arthur...are you..."
"Now."
"Yes." Lancelot hurried off.
Arthur fixed his gaze on her, quivering from head to toe.
"Arthur..." she attempted once more.
"Go to Merlin," her brother barked. "Take care of him. See to Nimueh." He pivoted on his heel and darted about the courtyard until he found a set of steps. He fled with the magnificent, beaming sword still clutched in his right hand—the exact sword she had beheld more times than she could count in her horrifying vision.
In the absence of Arthur, Morgana saw that his commands were carried out. She embraced Merlin until his cries ceased, then made Gwaine give up a pair of pants and shirt for the youth. She refrained from asking questions, though her mind burned with them. They needed some time to breathe first. Merlin accepted her ministrations without a word, silent, staring into nothing. She eventually swathed the youth in a blanket and seated him on a bedroll in the room Lancelot had selected for their camp.
Gwaine and Lancelot had returned to Aglain and Percival and had been able to rouse them. The two were bruised and battered, but they would mend. Morgana explained shortly that the spirits had been defeated at the cost of Nimueh's life. And oh, Merlin had shown up fully healed. She'd had to sternly command Aglain not to approach the warlock with inquiries.
Once wood had been gathered and a fire lit, Morgana tasked Percival with handing out their provisions. They sat in a circle round the fire, but none lifted the food to their lips. Well, Gwaine was trying to. He kept fidgeting with the rations in his hands, the only one of them who seemed to have a stomach right now, though she guessed he was too self-conscious to break the somber mood with his typically zealous chomping.
She glanced at Aglain against the far wall, the only one sitting outside their circle. He'd assigned himself as guard over the girl lying unconscious at his side. They had found her alive in the courtyard, one of Morgause's witches they assumed. Aglain's magic hadn't been able to wake her. They would have to see what could be done for her when they returned to the cavern. Not far from the girl lay another figure, this one swaddled from head to toe in a winding cloth—the body of Nimueh.
Morgana pressed a hand into her breast, sensing the unsteady cadence of her heartbeat and fighting off threatening tears. If she wept now, she'd never stop. A hand pulled at her wrist and she let her head fall to Lancelot's shoulder as he slipped an arm around her waist.
"Freya," Morgana spoke softly. The dark-haired girl had taken a seat next to Merlin who still stared blankly into the distance. The dragons, so little they had to be the ones Merlin was meant to hatch someday, laid to her right and left, asleep. "What happened?"
Freya glanced at Merlin before speaking. "I...went to Gaius. I thought he could help Merlin. And we went back to the cave, but there was nothing he could do and Merlin...died."
"He what?" Gwaine blurted.
Morgana shot Gwaine a look that proclaimed, shut up. Gwaine finally stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth, using the unspoken order as an excuse to eat.
"At least, I thought he did," Freya continued. "But the healer said he wasn't exactly dead..."
Freya spoke on. Morgana interrupted a few times, asking clarifying questions. When Freya finished, Morgana took stock of the reactions. The tale was fantastic, practically unbelievable, except all of them had been witness to the veracity of Merlin's destiny a dozen times over. Once again, he'd been revealed to be more than they knew, more than he knew. Morgana's vision of Merlin popped into her mind again, the warlock hovering above a battlefield proclaiming doom. Such a sight was incongruous with the kind and good soul of the youth sitting nearby. The vision could never come to pass. Would never come to pass. Even if the sword she'd seen had made good its appearance.
"They should sleep," Lancelot murmured in her ear. He was right. Heads were starting bow, eyes to close. They were exhausted, worn, and overburdened.
"See to them," she replied. "I have something to do."
"Find Arthur? I'll do it."
"No." She laid a firm hand on Lancelot's shoulder. "I will." Lancelot stared at her a moment, then nodded.
She stood and moved to the doorway. She thought it might take her some time to track down her brother, but she found him leaning against the stone wall not a few feet down the hall, still gripping the magnificent sword. He didn't look up when she approached, but grumbled under his breath.
"Get out of here, Morgana."
She ran an eye over him. He was dirtier and bloodier than when she had last seen him. "Where have you been?"
"I said get away from me."
Morgana stuck her hands on her hips. "You need to remove your armor. Eat. Sleep."
His head snapped up. His eyes were illuminated by the glowing sword, revealing an expression of barely contained rage. He stepped towards her as she stepped back. "You don't want to know what this is doing to me!" He held up his right hand clenching and unclenching on the hilt of the sword.
Morgana swallowed hard. "Did you hear all Freya said in there?"
Arthur nodded stiffly.
"Maybe Merlin can help you."
"I can't talk to him," Arthur hissed through gritted teeth.
"But—"
He slammed his left fist into the wall and Morgana gasped at the resounding crack. Arthur held up his hand, the knuckles torn and bloody.
"Arthur..."
"It doesn't matter." Morgana gaped as the skin knit before her eyes, leaving only minor telltale markings. His hand shook as he stared at it with his fierce gaze. "I gave up," he growled. "I laid down on that altar." His hand balled into a fist.
"I know."
"I chose to die."
"Like Nimueh." She reached out for him, but he jerked away.
"I gave up," he repeated through clenched teeth.
"So did I." Merlin had appeared a few feet away. Morgana backed away towards the warlock. He nodded to her. She gently touched his shoulder, then retreated back to the room.
Arthur refused to face Merlin's penetrating gaze, huffing round to push his back into the stone wall. His ward's faltering steps slowly approached and Merlin's physical presence took up a place next to him.
Arthur silenced tormenting thoughts by concentrating on the throbbing ache in his right hand. It wasn't the aggravating pain he'd been forced to deal with over the last month. This hurt came from his inability to release the weapon. It clung to his flesh like it meant to fuse with him, become a natural extension of his arm. He traced the etched writing. Had the Great Dragon really burnished this sword in blood and fire for him?
"I can't let go of it," he finally hissed.
He felt Merlin's fingers curl around his hand and the warlock whispered words of magic. Arthur's hand lost strength and the sword clanged against the floor. Its golden gleam extinguished, leaving them in darkness lit only by what light escaped the doorway down the hall. Arthur slid down the wall, exhausted, and slumped over his knees.
"How did you...do that?" he asked, gasping.
"The words on the sword," Merlin answered, kneeling next to him.
"What do they say?"
"'Take me up' on one side. The other says 'Cast me away.'"
"Will you have to release me every time I touch that thing?"
Merlin leaned over to take up the blade. "I'm not sure."
Arthur stretched the fingers of his right hand and bit his lip. The weakness was back in full force; his arm flopped at his side like dead weight. The rest of his body lodged angry protests against him. He finally looked at Merlin who cradled the sword protectively against his breast. "It strengthens me," he realized. "When I held it...I felt invincible."
"Dragon strength," Merlin spoke in a hushed tone. "Kilgharrah's heartblood in you."
The strength of dragons available for him, a mere mortal. Arthur sucked in a long breath. "You don't feel it?"
Merlin looked down at the sword and shook his head. "It's not for me."
"What happens if someone else uses it?"
"Kilgharrah didn't say."
Arthur stared at Merlin a moment. The warlock wasn't looking at him, just staring at the floor. Arthur tentatively reached out and ran his fingers through Merlin's hair with his left hand, a slow imitation of the hair ruffle that was his habit to give the lad turned brother. The hairs were smooth as silk, like a newborn babe's. Is that what had happened at the Lake of Avalon? Had Merlin somehow been reborn?
"You're truly well." Arthur withdrew his hand and swallowed a lump in his throat. "I gave up on us. On your destiny and mine. I thought it all a lie."
Merlin raised his head. Characteristic tears welled in his eyes. "I gave up, too. I said I wanted to die."
Arthur pressed on, forcing out words before they choked in his constricting throat. "I almost killed us both up there. I know I said I'd never break the bond..." His throat closed up.
"You would break it," Merlin whispered. "For my good."
Arthur laid his head back against the wall, staring at the stone ceiling, coughing to clear his throat.
"That's...okay."
"And what if it happens again? What if there comes a time..."
"Then break it. I trust you."
Arthur let out a sad laugh. "Trust? I almost get us killed, give up my throne, and you still trust me."
"We all do," Merlin spoke softly.
Arthur rested a hand over his eyes. "I don't know why. I don't deserve it."
"Maybe not."
Arthur pulled his hand away and looked down at Merlin. He hadn't expected agreement.
"I mean, you're not perfect. Neither am I. Maybe, I don't know, maybe neither of us deserves it. Nimueh..." Tears spilled down his cheeks. "I thought after Kilgharrah healed me and I called the dragons and got to you... It was all supposed to come out right. I couldn't save her."
"Merlin," Arthur breathed. He laid an arm across Merlin's quivering shoulders. "She told me that to stop the spirits, I had to get her here. She didn't say what she was going to do. She meant to do this. She didn't tell me because she knew I'd stop her." Arthur huffed a laugh. "She trusted me, too, after everything my father did to her... We'll give her a proper bier. Her ashes will rest among the most worthy in the burial vaults." His own eyes glazed. He ran the back of his hand across them.
"There's something worse out there, Arthur," Merlin said shakily. "Kilgharrah told me it's going to fight against us. I thought it'd be easy, but now..."
"I know about it. Aglain says there's a woman out there powered by hell or something like that. Makes sense, doesn't it? We've fought pretty much everything. What else was left to send at us?"
Merlin huffed a small laugh. "Yeah."
"One step at a time. We get back to Camelot first and see how much of a kingdom I have left."
A heavy cloak fell over Gwen's shoulders and Gaius sat down, sharing the rock she perched on next to the waterfall's swirling basin.
"It isn't good for you to stay out here like this," the physician advised.
"How is Hunith?" Gwen asked. She didn't need to argue with Gaius. He knew she wouldn't listen. She'd wait as long as she must, until Arthur—or his body—returned.
"She worries. She covers her emotion by tending to the refugees."
"And your Alice?"
"I believe Alice is...disturbed by all this. She thought following Morgause was correct and everything she's seeing now reveals how wrong she was."
"She might be disturbed by her mistakes," Gwen said, smiling at Gaius, "but not by you." Gaius flushed and Gwen chuckled. "I've never seen you blush before."
Gaius peered up into the cloudy morning sky. "My love for her has remained intact after all these years. Perhaps hers has as well. But time has not been kind to either of us."
"It's a second chance," Gwen said, tenderly clasping the physician's wrinkled hand. "You can begin anew."
"Maybe." Gaius frowned and pointed. "Is that...Freya?"
Gwen glanced upwards, then leaped to her feet, the cloak Gaius had set upon her shoulders slipping to the ground. "I think its her, but there are other creatures at her side. Birds?"
Gaius squinted at the bastet, then breathed out slowly. "Dragons."
"Are you sure?"
"Newly hatched by the size."
The bastet circled above the basin a couple times, then came in for a landing on the far shore.
"T-that's… On her back..." Gwen stuttered.
"Merlin."
The warlock slid off the bastet's back and peered across at them, standing straight and tall. His skin bore a healthy sheen and his hair appeared as dark as it had ever been. His clothes, though, were ill-fitting, and more styled after Gwaine than Merlin.
Merlin headed towards them, but Gwen met him along the way, flinging her arms round him when they and relishing his return embrace.
"Merlin! You're alive! And healed!"
"Gwen," he murmured into her hair.
When she released him, Gaius took her place, swallowing up the youth in his own hearty hug. "Merlin! How did this come to be?"
Merlin smiled, though Gwen thought she spied a bit of sorrow behind his expression. "Kilgharrah spoke to me in the lake. I think he and his dragon friends restored my magic. But for my health, I have these to thank." He gestured to the two thigh-high dragons, one white and one red, waddling on the edge of the shore, kicking at rocks and dipping their snouts into the cold, spinning water.
"They healed you?"
"Kilgharrah said they can heal the dragonlord who calls them forth right after they are born. Something about the strength of the bond between them."
"Freya," Gwen greeted, holding out her hands to the girl who had morphed back into human form. Freya gripped her hands, grinning. Gwen released her and faced Merlin again. "Do you know Arthur isn't here?"
Merlin nodded. "We went to the Isle of the Blessed after I was healed."
"Is he all right?" Gwen asked, heart racing.
"He's all right. But...Nimueh's dead."
"Nimueh?" Gaius questioned in disbelief.
"She stopped the spirits. She sacrificed her life to make them leave. They can't come back."
Gwen blinked back tears. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah." Merlin wiped at his eyes.
A rush of wind came from the other side of the pool, and Gwen looked over just in time to see four figures appear out of a whirlwind—Morgana, Gwaine, and Percival carrying a slighter form. Percival rushed towards them and Gwen saw he bore a pale girl in his arms.
"Gaius, she needs your aid."
"Who is she?" Gaius asked.
"The story's too long," Percival said.
"Bring her inside." Gaius hurried at Percival's side as they made for the cavern.
Gwaine acknowledged Gwen with a greeting and a nod, but didn't waste time stopping. He sprinted past toting a bag over his shoulder. Sefa would be so relieved to see him again.
Morgana disappeared in a swirl of wind. Gwen's heart leaped into her throat as minutes passed by, then the whirlwind appeared once more. Morgana hunched over in its center, grasping onto Lancelot for support. Gwen dearly hoped she wouldn't have to use that spell anymore. It always took far too much out of her.
Aglain stood on Morgana's right, a wrapped body in his arms—Nimueh. Gwen felt a pang of grief, but couldn't hold onto it long, not when she beheld the fourth person in the group. She ran, racing around the pool. Words wouldn't form, so she threw herself into Arthur's arms and hung onto him with all her strength.
He enveloped her, practically crushing her into his chest. She didn't care. For a long while they didn't move or speak. Tears dripped down her cheeks and fell from her chin, darkening his red, woolen shirt, one she had sewn for him long ago. Eventually, Arthur gently pushed her back, but only to cup her chin with both his hands and kiss her long and hard. When he pulled away, she stared up into his hazy blue eyes and slapped him hard in the chest.
"Don't you ever make me stay behind again!"
Arthur smiled and laughed, but then stared at her seriously. "I can't ever lose my queen."
"I'm not your queen."
"You will be. Day after we get back, we're getting married."
"Married?" she repeated, heart fluttering against her rib cage.
He squeezed her hands. "As soon as I can get us home."
The gates were open. That was the first thing Arthur noticed. Then the warning bells sounded. They hadn't met any soldiers from Essetir or Deorham on their way home. Still, Arthur had advised caution as they approached the gates to the capital. Now it appeared they had been seen. Cenred may have been defeated, but Alined was still out there somewhere. Had the King of Deorham taken over where Cenred had left off?
Hoofbeats sounded. Arthur called over his shoulder to those following him, "Get down!" He crouched in the brush until several knights appeared on horseback.
"My lord! King Arthur!"
He knew these men. With relief, he stood and moved towards them. They shouted a cheer, dismounted, and ran to him, shaking his wrist and pounding him on the back. Then one of them shouted towards the gates, "He's here!" A volley of cheers sounded.
"Sire, please." One of the knights directed Arthur to his horse, insisting he mount. Arthur did so, then looked over his shoulder to see Merlin and Morgana being afforded the same courtesy.
"If you please," Arthur said, looking down at the knight who's horse he sat upon, "the armies from Essetir and Deorham..."
"Gone, sire. Fled. The city is ours."
Arthur glanced through the gates. People lined the main thoroughfare like they would the day of a tournament parade. Another knight marched through the gate. "Sir Lucan!"
"Welcome home, my king!" The knight held his sword aloft in triumph. "Sir Elyan has been watching for you day and night. He saw you from the battlements. Word traveled."
Arthur gazed in awe at the scene inside the gates. "So I still have a kingdom."
"Of course you do. You don't think we would let you lose it? Some of us attacked the Citadel. Cenred had shut the gates, but we got in. He had already fled, sire. Then the spirits came a second night… You know of the spirits?"
"I know of them."
"Sir Elyan said you must because just as we thought they would kill us"—Sir Lucan snapped his fingers—"They sank back into the earth. Not one spirit left in the city. Sir Elyan said it had to be you that rescued us. Was it, my lord?"
"No," Arthur replied. "It was Nimueh."
"The witch?"
"She was no witch!" Arthur reprimanded.
Sir Lucan bowed his head. "Forgive me, my lord, for my tongue."
Arthur took a deep breath to calm his abrupt anger. His knight hadn't seen what he had. "She gave her life to stop the spirits, Sir Lucan. She will be honored."
"Yes, sire."
Someone nudged his thigh. He looked down to find Gwaine offering up a bag. "It's your victory, too," the rogue knight insisted, grinning fiercely.
Arthur stared at the bag uncertainly.
"Do it, Arthur." He looked back at Morgana. "You're king. Show them."
Arthur beckoned Merlin forwards. His ward trotted his horse up next to his own steed.
"This wouldn't be my victory," Arthur muttered, "if you hadn't brought that sword. If magic hadn't won the day. If we display that,"—Arthur nodded at the bag Gwaine still held—"then we show it, too." He pointed at Merlin's side. They'd created a makeshift sheathe for the dragonblood sword until a proper one could be fashioned. Arthur had declared Merlin its guardian.
Merlin drew forth the blade like no other. Even after all its use, it bore not a dent or mark and it easily caught the light, reflecting the sun's brilliance. Merlin held it out to him, but Arthur shook his head.
"I don't know what it'll do to me. You hold it."
Merlin smiled and nodded shortly. Arthur reached into the bag and grasped the long hair of the grisly head inside. He glanced through the gates once more. His triumph—a procession that would reassert his power and authority. It made sense, yet a small part of him rebelled against such a display. He was about to act exactly like his father.
"Forget Uther," Morgana prompted. He looked back at her again, startled by her reading of his thoughts. "He made everything about him. You do this so the people believe you'll always defend and protect them."
Arthur turned back to the gates. He glanced at Merlin who held up the sword up at his side. Arthur sat up tall in his saddle. "Let's go." He thrust the head of King Cenred into the air the moment his steed hit the gates.
So many had taken to the streets. A chorus of cheers and shouts ushered them up the main street, most of the crowd calling out, "Long live Camelot!" as they passed. Even though the damage to the city was obvious, the people still welcomed their king home. By the time they reached the citadel, Arthur could barely speak for the emotion that had swollen in his chest.
They were greeted in the courtyard by more of his knights and then they were rushed by close friends. Will and Daegal about pulled Merlin from his horse in their exuberance. Gwen met Elyan first and the siblings shared a long and tearful embrace. Geoffrey and Gaius clapped each other on the backs. Arthur was about overrun with people bowing and kneeling before him, declaring their joy.
Eventually he managed to break away and approach the main entrance steps. He halted before them, gazing up at the beauty of the white castle gleaming in sunlight, a sight he never thought to behold again. He lifted up the head of King Cenred, meeting it face to face.
"Let it be known," he muttered, "that anyone who hurts my people will end up just like you." He set the head down in the center of the lowest step, then climbed the rest to enter his home and survey its damage.
Night came, but Merlin didn't budge. He knew the royal formality, though he hadn't been present when Arthur had held vigil over his father's body. Arthur would have been here, but Merlin had argued until the king gave up the duty to him. Arthur had his city to see to. Besides, Merlin felt no one else could honor the body on the bier like he could.
He gently laid a hand on the bier and surveyed the woman atop it. She had been dressed in finery, a red dress with precious jewels sewn into its hems. Her hair had been brushed and freshly braided. Make-up had been applied to disguise the paleness of death. Merlin smiled sadly. She would have hated all the fuss.
"I'm sorry," he apologized quietly. "I didn't listen well enough. I got too frustrated. You were just trying to help me. I wasn't a good student."
"She knew you cared for her."
Merlin spun round. "Father!" Balinor had appeared at the grand hall doors. They locked eyes a moment, then Balinor rushed towards him and pulled him into an embrace.
"Merlin. My son, my son." The dragonlord shook with emotion. After a time, he pushed Merlin back and held him by the arms, looking into his face. "It was you who hatched the dragons and from so far away!"
"I didn't really know what I was doing," Merlin confessed.
Balinor laughed. "How many times I've said the same. The ways of a dragonlord often come by instinct rather than rote memory."
Merlin glanced behind his father at two more figures who had followed him in. "Mother. Freya."
His mother reached out to hug him. Then Freya plastered herself to his side, clutching him round the waist. "You told him everything?" Merlin asked, indicating his father.
Freya nodded. "He knows all that happened."
His mother brushed fringe off Merlin's forehead. "We almost lost you."
"I'm all right, mother."
"Yes, but there's more to come, isn't there? This hasn't ended."
Merlin glanced at his father whose cheer and relief gave way to tension and worry. "It hasn't," he admitted.
"It's time," Balinor stated, lifting his jaw defiantly. "The hatching of the dragons is a sign. Albion needs them. Needs all of us."
Merlin's brow drew downward. "What do you mean 'all of us'?"
"If you must fight, we will fight with you."
"But you and mother..."
"You're our son," his mother interrupted. "And this is your destiny. We'll see it to whatever end."
Merlin swallowed a lump in his throat and his eyes watered. "You could all die."
"We know," Freya said, looking at Balinor and Hunith. "But we decided we don't care."
"Nimueh gave her life," Balinor said, eyes on the dead high priestess. "We won't do anything less."
Arthur fixed his gaze on the flickering pyre as the low dirge came to an end. Less than a day had passed since the woman burning away had saved them all. His gut roiled. If not for her, he would be dead, no longer able to fight for his people.
A hand folded around his and held on tight. He glanced down at Gwen, standing tall and strong despite the wet in her eyes. Ever since he'd declared his intention to marry her on the morrow she'd stayed near him, determined to be his strength. He still wasn't sure what he had ever done to be gifted such unflagging devotion.
In front of the pyre, a youth knelt, backlit by the flames. As much as Merlin had complained about Nimueh, she had meant a great deal to him. Arthur glanced around the courtyard at the other mourners. What would his father think about so many knights and councilors and citizens gathered to honor the sorceress he blamed for all his troubles? He would have been disgusted.
"This is my kingdom," Arthur spoke under his breath, "not yours, father."
"Arthur?" Gwen looked up at him quizzically.
Arthur squeezed her hand. "Go to Merlin. I need to think." He moved away. He hadn't reached his destination before a voice stalled him.
"My lord, I wanted to speak with you."
Arthur pivoted to Elyan who nervously wrung his hands. "To apologize?"
"Yes, sire, I..."
"I like you, Elyan," Arthur interrupted. "And I trust you. If I didn't, I wouldn't have ever made you a knight. You did well."
"I could have done more."
"You don't have to keep proving yourself to me. Do you think I expected to return to a city without damage and no bodies to bury? I knew what I'd find." He had known. Didn't mean all the corpses from Cenred's executions and Morgause's spirits hadn't socked him right in the gut. Once more, his people had taken the brunt of the hate directed at him and his father. "I'm grateful to you, Elyan. Accept it." He hurried up a set of spiral steps before Elyan could utter another word.
Arthur reached the top of the stairs and strode out onto a flat space. He paced up to part of the citadel battlement and peered down on the city. Lights glinted here and there indicating those who had lived through the last month's events. How many had died, they weren't sure yet. He suspected they'd be adding names to the lists of dead for some time, and Nimueh would be another soul joining the count.
Arthur braced his palms against the battlement. His heart pumped hard and he could taste the bloodlust of Kilgharrah's burnished sword on his tongue. He'd need that sword. To protect those left to him. He still couldn't quite believe how many of his people below had stood on the road cheering him on his way to the citadel.
Arthur ran a hand over hair grown thick on a chin he hadn't shaved in more than a month. He'd finally gotten a good look at himself when he'd made it to his chambers earlier in the day. His room was, thankfully, mostly intact, even the full length mirror propped up in a corner. He'd stared at himself, hardly recognizing the man staring back. He was drawn and tired, more wrinkled on his forehead and about the eyes. The visage made him appear older, and yet strangely wiser as well.
Booted steps pattered behind him and Merlin appeared at his side. Arthur ran a critical eye over his ward. He, too, had changed. He seemed taller, broader about the shoulders, and he carried himself with an air of confidence and determination. Merlin looked down at the city and a scowl took shape, twisting his features.
"What are you thinking?" Arthur inquired.
Merlin gripped the battlement with his own hands, fingernails digging into the railing like a hawk's talons into prey. "That this has to stop."
Arthur let out a breath. "I'm thinking the same thing."
Merlin looked over at him. "So what do you want to do?"
"The only thing we can do." More footsteps sounded. Arthur turned to find several people filing out onto the battlement. "You brought them all?"
"They followed, I guess."
His closest friends, the inner circle. Morgana and Lancelot, his sister and childhood friend. His elite knights Lucan, Gwaine, Percival...and Elyan hanging back. How long it would take that man to gain enough self esteem was anyone's guess. Gwen stood with her brother, arm wrapped in his, dark eyes meeting Arthur's. The admiration there could fuel him for a lifetime. Aglain, a Druid who had sworn himself to the support of a king whose father had about wiped his people off the kingdom's map. Gaius, looking even older and frailer, yet standing with his chest puffed out along with Geoffrey, both of the elders eager to see Camelot rise from its ashes once more. And at the top of the steps, Merlin's contingent, Balinor, Hunith, and Freya, three people Arthur eagerly accepted as part of their close knit group.
"Arthur. What are we going to do?"
Arthur looked back at Merlin, at Emrys, the warlock of prophecy. He reached out a hand and rested it on Merlin's shoulder. "We're taking destiny by the horns."
He turned, holding up his hands and speaking loudly to address his friends. "This is our kingdom, our land. All of you have followed me so far; I ask you to follow me a little farther. It won't be easy. We're likely going to walk straight into death."
"Then let's do it," Gwaine said, throwing an arm across his chest. The other knights followed his lead, and soon every other person saluted their king. Morgana nodded at him, glowing with pride.
"Aglain," Arthur called.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Can you find the Dochraid again?"
"I believe I can. Do you wish to monitor her?"
Arthur looked at Merlin who nodded eagerly in agreement. "I wish to destroy her. We're going to end this once and for all."
Morgause stumbled, gasping in shallow breaths and clutching at ribs that crunched. "Come on. Hurry!"
Mordred glared at her, but didn't speak a word. He'd been silent ever since she told him to shut it about leaving Kara behind. Was he so dimwitted not to understand they hadn't had time to grab the girl?
Morgause paused and kicked at a rock, sending it flying. How was it that Emrys could show up every single time she planned something and defeat her! He was magic. He should have been at her side fighting their enemies. Instead he kept betraying the very magic wielders he should have championed! The great Emrys was a farce. A cosmic joke. He wasn't the savior of magic; he was putty in the hands of their enemies.
Morgause staggered into a clearing. Finally! There it was. The Dochraid's hole in the ground. She'd find the blasted witch, get these ribs healed, and then berate her for devising such a ridiculous plan as raising spirits from the dead.
Mordred stopped walking a few yards shy of the hole. She continued on until she stood on the edge the dark circular gash in the landscape. "Get over here," she snapped at the Druid boy.
"I'm not going down there."
Morgause flung out her hand. "Get over her or I'll—"
Mordred gasped. He scrambled backwards several steps and toppled onto his rear when his heel caught a root.
"What is wron—"
"You've returned to me," a familiar voice rasped.
Morgause whipped round. The skeletal, sightless Dochraid had emerged from the trees surrounding the clearing, but she wasn't alone. Creatures Morgause had never seen except in bestiaries of horror surrounded them, crawling and creeping and skittering about. Scorpions as large as horses switched tails dripping with poison. Multi-legged, slimy vermin rising to the knee clacked jaws filled with razor sharp teeth. Reptiles with forked tongues and plates jutting from their backs hissed and spit. Eight legged monstrosities resembling spiders twitched hairy limbs. Serpents of various kinds undulated in ecstasy, including a giant one that could only be the lamia she had once thought beholden to her.
"You failed," the Dochraid spat at her.
"What is... What..." Morgause stammered before she managed to swallow down her fear and pull herself upright, ignoring the sharp pain in her ribs. "I did not fail. I have this." She plunged her hand into her satchel and presented the document King Arthur had signed. The Dochraid pointed one finger. Fire burst forth and Morgause yelped as the parchment flamed out of existence. "How dare you!"
"Do you really think they'd so easily give you this land?" The Dochraid cackled. "Yet you've done well, exactly as I intended."
"You intended? You've done nothing but cower in fear underground."
The Dochraid grinned wickedly, her yellow teeth fully on display. "You failed. Again and again. But you kept them looking for you, obsessed with you. And you weakened them. Made them ripe for me."
Morgause glanced nervously at the ugly creatures that had encircled them. Mordred had crawled over to her, huddling next to her ankles. "What do you mean?" she confronted the Dochraid.
"Time, I needed. Time to grow them. Hundreds of years. And time to teach them. Teach them to obey." The Dochraid raised her hand. Red light seeped out of her palm and the creatures responded with a cacophony of hisses and chitters and squeals. She balled her hand into a fist and they quieted. "The Druids suspected. But they forgot me when Uther Pendragon sought them. So close. Only a little more time. And you came. You asked. I told. You listened. You earned their attention. They didn't see me. Didn't look for me. Until… But no matter. The time. It is here."
The Dochraid stepped towards Morgause. She held her ground, fighting the urge to flee. She wouldn't be intimidated by this witch anymore. She wouldn't bend!
The witch reached down to Mordred, who jerked back from her hand. The Dochraid snatched Mordred by his collar and slapped him across the face. He yelped and she clapped her palm over his mouth. "He has discovered his power?" she asked.
Morgause blinked. "He… Let him go!"
"His power!" the Dochraid screeched.
"Power?" Morgause echoed.
"He can call up the dead, yes?"
"How did you know?"
"He had to find it. He did."
The Dochraid pressed hard into Mordred's mouth. Mordred struggled within her grasp. She released him and Morgause gasped. A dark slug covered his mouth. Mordred squealed behind his sealed lips and clawed at the creature, but it could not be dislodged.
"He will use his power for me," the Dochraid declared.
"You can't do this, you can't..."
The Dochraid fell to the earth, digging and chanting. Morgause backed away; Mordred clutched at her feet, his face stretched as if he wanted to scream but the slug prevented any sound. The Dochraid pulled a pair of wriggling insects out of the ground, pale, ropy, about three inches long, and advanced on them once more.
Morgause turned to flee but staggered straight into a hissing reptile. The creatures had closed in, leaving no room for escape. The Dochraid chanted once more and the earth moved under Morgause's feet, churning up slithering black serpents. Morgause lost her footing, crashing into the dirt. The serpents twisted around her body, squeezing tight. She started to cry out the whirlwind spell, but the Dochraid leapt upon her, crushing her onto her back and ringing her bony hands round her neck. "I can silence you like the boy," the witch croaked.
Morgause snapped her mouth shut.
"I must be careful. Too many have turned against me."
The Dochraid pressed something against her skin and the sorceress felt a sharp prick. Her body went warm then cold and her head swam. Something squirmed inside the base of her neck. Bile rose in her throat as the Dochraid turn to Mordred, likewise incapacitated by serpents and face down in the dirt. The Dochraid lowered the second insect between her fingers until it brushed Mordred's skin. The insect latched on with hooked pincers and dug into the flesh. Morgause gagged and heaved as she watched the insect worm its way inside the Druid boy.
The Dochraid rose and stood over them. "Now you will obey. Come. Follow."
Morgause's body rose without her permission and followed after the witch. Mordred did the same.
"So long, so long," the Dochraid muttered as they passed from the clearing into the woods. "Nurturing. Training. My army. Yes. My army. My land. They took it from me. They craved it, destroyed it, fought over it. They will be punished. They will suffer." She raised her hands, letting the red gleam seep out once more, cackling along with the creatures' hissing and clacking and chattering. "Albion will be ours!"
Author's Note: Thus concludes this story arc. Now we head into the final arc and finale of this entire story! Thank you again to everyone who has followed, commented, and messaged me. I am so grateful for your encouragement!
