Arthur was growing uncertain. Of course, there was no way he could ignore a probable threat to Camelot, but that didn't mean that he felt good about it. Arthur flexed his fingers, recalling the desperation he had felt in Merlin's grip, had seen in his eyes. The gesture had surprised Arthur. Not the part about Merlin wanting to come along, placing himself in danger for Arthur's sake—no, that had come to be an expectation that came with the idiot warlock. What had surprised him was that Merlin had touched him at all. It hadn't escaped Arthur's notice that Merlin avoided being touched at all costs, as if even the smallest brush of skin would burn him.

He did a good job of hiding it, but Arthur saw how he masked every flinch by drawing attention to something else. It was a good tactic, one that Arthur himself had used before. It tore at his heart to see how damaged Merlin was and how he did his best to hide it. Arthur shivered. He knew trauma like that doesn't just go away, especially if one lacked the freedom to talk about it. By the gods, if they couldn't find a way to get that damned collar off, Arthur was going to rip it off with his bare hands.

Arthur ended up spending a majority of the journey to the Isle of the Blessed wrapped up in his own head. His thoughts kept circling back around to Merlin, who was so noticeably not next to him. The lack of his presence was louder than his mindless chatter had ever been. Arthur's chest ached at the realization that he hadn't heard Merlin's voice in months. Out of desperation to distract himself, Arthur tuned into Gwaine and Percival's current argument.

"—wasn't drunk, if anything, you were—"

"Everyone knows you're a lightweight, Percy. No shame in it."

Elyan didn't even try to hide his snicker. Arthur's mouth pulled into a small smile despite himself.

"How could I be? You're a third of my size!"

"Ah. It's about experience, and I'm afraid I've got you beat in that department, my friend."

"I'm not sure that's something to brag about," said Lancelot from somewhere near the back of the caravan.

"You lot are just jealous," Gwaine said with a convenient flip of his hair.

With an indignant shake of his head, Arthur called them to a stop for the night. When Lancelot offered to collect firewood, the ache returned.

"I wish Merlin were here. He really knows how to spice up a good meal instead of drowning it in salt like Leon, here," Gwaine said, ruffling Leon's golden locks.

Leon scoffed. "I'd like to see you try it sometime."

Arthur watched, but couldn't bring it in himself to smile this time. He turned his glance, instead, towards the white mountains just as the sun slipped behind them with a final splash of gold, as if to say farewell. Arthur shivered, though the sky had not yet grown dark. He wondered if it had more to do with the uneasy feeling that hadn't left his gut since he'd left the citadel.

…

"What do you suppose the witch is up to, then?" Gwaine asked, breaching the apprehensive silence that had encased the group as they neared the ruins. The Isle of the Blessed wasn't in sight yet, thanks to a thick fog, but they could almost feel it.

Arthur shook his head. "I'm not sure, but I know it can't be good."

The sense of foreboding in the air attested to that. If Merlin was with them, he would've said something about having a 'funny feeling' or some other nonsense. Arthur suddenly wondered if his magic was behind them. He supposed it made sense, since Merlin somehow seemed to sense things before the rest of them, despite never being battle-trained.

"I think we should close in before the moon reaches its peak."

Arthur turned, eyebrows raised. It had been Percival who had spoken.

"And why do you say that?"

The knight shrugged. "It's Samhain, if I'm not mistaken, sire. Rituals are often performed on this night, when the veil between our world and the spirit world is thinnest." All the knights halted at that, heads turning to look at him. "What? I've seen a lot in my traveling days."

Arthur just rolled his eyes. It had sounded like something Gaius would've said before everything went sideways. But instead of ignoring the warning like he usually would've, Arthur took it into account.

"We'll dismount now, make the rest of the walk on foot. Stay alert."

His men followed his orders in perfect synchronicity, sliding from their mounts and lashing them to the trees before slinking stealthily into the underbrush with their weapons drawn. Arthur and Leon took the lead, eyes straining to see through the fog as they approached where the isle was known to be. The sun must have set as they trekked, for the light was quickly waning. The temperature began to drop unnaturally, and not a single cricket uttered a sound. It was as if the earth was holding its breath, waiting for the next move.

It was then that Arthur heard the whisper of water nearby. He signalled to his men to slow their pace, before creeping forward again. As his eyes adjusted continually to the growing darkness, he could just make out a shape in the fog. As he inched closer, he realized it was a small dock. Arthur approached warily, searching out any signs of life, but it appeared deserted. That is, until he turned to his right and came face to face with a man in a cloak who was not standing there mere moments before.

Arthur raised his sword on instinct. "Who are you?"

The man just blinked at him, unfazed by the weapon. He then gestured to a small boat behind him and looked back at Arthur, pointedly holding his hand out.

"Did a sorceress come this way?" Arthur asked.

The man's face remained unchanged. His hand, however, stretched out further. Arthur sighed, knowing that this man would likely not even give him any kind of indication towards an answer. The regent pulled out a gold coin from the pack at his waist and placed it into the ferryman's outstretched hand. The man nodded, then beckoned him to the little boat. Arthur waved his men over, and they all clambered in. The ferryman remained silent, but the boat moved of its own accord towards the ruins that Arthur could just barely make out through the fog.

The tense silence had returned as the knights approached the isle, settling over them as thickly as the fog. Arthur strained his hearing, hoping to detect any sign of Morgana's presence. For a while, he heard nothing but the quiet rustling of the water as it crashed against the boat. Then, he heard it: a horrible screeching that tore angrily through the eerie calm.

"What the hell was that?" Elyan demanded, drawing his sword up.

"Let's hope I'm wrong," Gwaine said uneasily.

It wasn't much of an answer, though Arthur also had a pretty good guess as to what had made the awful sound. The ferryman remained silent, even as the boat bumped against the stony edge of the ruins. Arthur leapt up off the boat first, followed quickly by the rest of his men.

"Keep your eyes on the sky," Arthur warned.

Sure enough, Arthur and Gwaine had pegged the cries correctly. Three wyverns closed in on them, swooping swiftly down in a tangle of horns and claws and teeth. Arthur sliced upwards with his sword, landing a lucky blow and catching one of the creature's wings. The wyvern cried out before barreling into one of the towers, bringing a rain of stone down on them. Lancelot pushed them all towards cover on the opposite side of the clearing, just as the other two wyverns lunged at them, hungry for revenge. Leon, Elyan, and Percival held them at bay, slicing their swords in wide arcs above their heads.

"Go, sire! We'll hold them off," Leon shouted.

Arthur nodded, gesturing for Gwaine and Lancelot to follow him. He felt both knights flank him as they approached the courtyard and felt comforted by their presence. Still, there was a pang of longing for one more to fill the gap at his right hand. Arthur shook himself. Now was not the time to allow himself to be distracted. Besides, Merlin was home. Safe.

As they neared the center of the ruins, Arthur crouched down low. He could hear whispers—what sounded like two women. Arthur was willing to bet it was Morgana and Morgause. His blood boiled at the thought of the two of them plotting against him, after everything they'd been through together. Arthur almost staggered to a stop, his determination to protect Camelot the only thing still driving him forward.

Arthur ducked under a stone archway, diving swiftly for cover behind a large piece of rubble scattered at the edge of the courtyard. He felt more than heard Lancelot and Gwaine copy his movements only a few moments later. Arthur traded a glance with them before daring to peek over the rubble. His breath left him in a quick hiss. He'd been right: Morgana and Morgause were huddled in the center of the courtyard, speaking in hushed tones. They were leaning against what looked like a stone altar. Arthur shivered at the mere sight of it. It looked just big enough for a human to lay over it.

Arthur considered his options. They could try their luck and advance on them now, relying on their surprise to overtake them. Or, Arthur could scope the place out more and find a better place to launch an attack from. That seemed like the wiser choice, but he wasn't sure how much time they had before the witches started whatever they'd come here for. What had Percival said? A ritual?

"Boys, do you plan to loiter there all night?" A mocking voice called out.

Arthur's blood ran cold. So much for a surprise attack. Arthur rolled his shoulders, steeling his nerves, before stepping forward to meet the sorceresses. Lancelot and Gwaine were solid rocks at his flanks.

The moonlight was beginning to peek through the heavy fog, shining almost deliberately on the two high priestesses. Morgana looked as hauntingly beautiful as ever, her green eyes sharp and piercing as she watched Arthur approach. She practically smirked down at his sword, held out towards her. Morgause, however, looked quite different from when Arthur had last seen her. The sorceress was leaning heavily on Morgana for support, and her face was mangled with scars. Her right eye was now milky-white and unseeing. Arthur would've felt pity at the sight of her if he didn't know her for what she was. It gave them an advantage—hopefully Morgause's magic was just as weak as she appeared to be.

"What's your business here, Morgana?" Arthur ground out.

His sister laughed coldly. "It is I who should be asking you that, don't you think?"

"You made it my business, the moment you betrayed Camelot," Arthur said, fighting to keep his voice from wavering.

Morgana scoffed. "Please, like Camelot ever meant anything to me. If anyone had found out who I really am, I would've been killed for it."

Arthur's heart clenched with guilt. He'd been able to accept Merlin, but never had the chance to prove himself to his own sister. Arthur was not his father.

"It doesn't have to be like that anymore. We can fix things. You can come home." And he meant it. Every word.

Morgana's expression wavered for a fraction of a second before the cold indifference returned. "It's much too late for that, I think. Hathian!"

Arthur's sword suddenly grew scorching hot in his hands. He yelped, dropping it before his mind could catch up with him. He heard a muffled curse next to him and knew that the same had happened to his comrades.

Morgana made a sound then, too shrill and humorless to really be a laugh. "As it happens, I'm actually quite glad to see you all here. I was prepared to sacrifice my own sister here for our cause, but now it seems I won't have to, as you all have so generously offered yourselves up to me."

Sister? The thought turned Arthur's stomach. So what did that make him in relation to Morgause?

"You'll have to go through us if you want to sacrifice him," Gwaine spat, lurching forward.

Morgana's gaze never strayed from Arthur's, even as she responded. "I have no intention to sacrifice the future king tonight. No, tonight he will witness a horror so terrible, it will destroy him and his kingdom forever."

Arthur tried his best not to react, to show weakness, but he flinched nonetheless at her cutting words. He laid a hand over the concealed dagger on his belt, inching forward as discreetly as he could.

"Which one of you pretty boys would like the honor of being my sacrifice?" Morgana said, her teeth glinting in the moonlight as she grinned wickedly.

Arthur snapped. He whipped his dagger out as he lunged at Morgana. She looked surprised for a moment, before quickly knocking Morgause to the side and falling over her in a protective stance. The sight angered Arthur even further. Morgana whirled around, her eyes round. Arthur hesitated.

"Ástryce!" Morgana cried.

The spell sent Arthur flying backwards. He collided with the edge of the altar. Arthur grunted in pain as his head and leg connected with the cold stone. His vision was swimming, sound muffling in his ears, and his leg throbbed painfully. Arthur watched detachedly as Morgana dispatched Gwaine and Lancelot with a mere flick of her wrist and a scream of fury.

"Camelot will pay for all that you and your father have put me through, Arthur Pendragon! Starting with your precious knights!"

Arthur shook, pushing himself away from the altar before falling back on it. Morgana was dragging Lancelot by his hair to the altar, brandishing Arthur's discarded knife. Arthur yelled, fighting to regain his footing, while Morgana began chanting. As the spell grew in strength, the very air grew cold and turbulent around them.

"Morgana, please!" Arthur shouted.

Morgana ignored him, her voice growing louder. Arthur pushed himself forward again, this time pitching forward onto his hands and knees. He noticed a figure swiftly approaching and assumed it was Gwaine in a last ditch effort to save Lancelot. Arthur frowned when he realized that Gwaine was lying unconscious a few feet away, and the figure approaching was far more lean, but familiar. Painfully so.

"Merlin?" It came out as a whisper, a wish, on his tongue.

Morgana, wholly engrossed in her incantation, remained oblivious to Merlin's appearance. Arthur stared dumbly as the warlock grinned at him and held a finger to his lips. He then proceeded to barrel into Morgana, choking her words and knocking her away from the altar. The sorceress cried out in alarm, slashing the knife wildly through the air. Merlin just barely managed to avoid getting stabbed in the face.

Merlin untangled himself from Morgana's flailing limbs and returned to the altar, pushing Lancelot off of it in one fluid motion.

"Merlin! I should've known, damn you!" Morgana screeched as she returned unsteadily to her feet.

Merlin said nothing as he straightened up, the collar glinting in the moonlight under his neckerchief. He met Morgana's wild stare with calm eyes.

"The time has passed, sister. The Veil cannot be opened," Morgause said weakly from where she still laid sprawled on the ground.

Morgana rolled her shoulders, an eerie blank look falling over her face. It was more chilling than her wrathful madness.

"Very well. This has gone on long enough. Merlin, say goodbye to your king," Morgana spat.

Arthur hardly had time to comprehend the threat before a searing pain enveloped him. He gasped, biting at his lip to keep from screaming. It was futile—the pain was like fire pulsing in his veins, charring him from the inside. It consumed his every thought and sensation until there was nothing but the endless pain and all he could do was scream.

But then it stopped. Arthur grew cold, the fire fleeing and leaving him hollowed out. It was hard to breathe, but still Arthur fought to pull in one breath after another. His eyes were still open, somehow, and he lazily tracked the scene playing out before him. Perhaps he was dreaming, however, because what he saw didn't make much sense.

Merlin was glowing, like he had been positively drenched in molten gold. Arthur blinked, but the vision remained. In fact, he could feel a buzzing around him, as if the very air around them was humming with power. The light suddenly faded, and Morgana was shouting something—it sounded like a name, a name Arthur didn't recognize. Then more light appeared, but it was dimmer, coming from Morgana's hands. Merlin hardly even blinked.

"Flee now, or I'll have to end you." It was Merlin who had spoken. Merlin had spoken.

And Morgana actually did. She grabbed Morgause and disappeared into the night. Arthur tried to move, but a pathetic groan ripped from his lips.

"Arthur, hold on."

Then Merlin was there, holding him, and Arthur felt warmer. It was getting harder to breathe. Merlin frowned at him for a moment before placing a hand on Arthur's forehead. He shut his eyes tightly, rocking Arthur soothingly as he began whispering some kind of spell. Arthur felt Merlin's magic flow over him, and it felt incredibly safe and somehow familiar. The next breath Arthur took was deep and filling, and he coughed out of surprise.

"You're alright," Merlin whispered, a smile gracing his lips.

Arthur sat up, feeling invigorated. "Merlin, how on earth did you—"

It was then, as his head finally cleared, that Arthur realized how much Merlin was trembling against him. Merlin was panting, his nose gushing blood and his eyelids fluttered. The collar was gone, truly gone, leaving exposed scorch marks that had to hurt like hell. But Arthur had seen it on Merlin's neck, mere minutes before that extensive display of magic. Had he broken out of it somehow? Arthur didn't think such a thing was possible.

"Merlin, what did you do? Gods, you're shaking."

Merlin just grinned half-heartedly, his eyes shining. "I couldn't let her do it."

The warlock's eyes fluttered again and then he was falling against Arthur. Arthur caught him, cradling his head to his chest. He pressed his palm to Merlin's chest, sighing in relief at the weak pulse he felt there. At least it was something.

"What am I going to do with you, you idiot?" Arthur whispered into his dark hair.

Arthur removed his cloak, wrapping Merlin in it despite the chill in the air. Even when his knights came to find them, Arthur refused to let go.

…

I know, it's been a while. This chapter turned into a novel somehow, so I hope you all enjoyed it! I have a few more chapters in mind to wrap this story up. Thanks for reading and reviewing, as always. Much love.