CHAPTER 1: A Dream within a Dream
Melin laid his hand on his best friend's forehead and choked on a sob. No matter what Kilgarrah said, he had failed in his greatest duty. He had helped build the kingdom of Albion, but at too great a cost. He closed his eyes and whispered the words to send the boat across the water and –
jerked his eyes open, waking up with a gasp. Diving across the clearing, he fumbled to check for Arthur's heartbeat and felt lightheaded with relief when the king weakly batted his hand away. "Go away, Merlin," he groused, just as if it were a regular morning and Merlin was opening the curtains too early for his liking.
Merlin fell back on his butt, the corners of his eyes pricking. He was still too trapped in the shattering pain of watching Arthur die to speak.
It was the first night since they'd left Gaius, but that dream. He knew it was more than just a dream. He had lived what was happening, smelled and touched and slept and lived it all. He'd felt Excalibur slide into Morgana's body, heard Arthur's last exhale. It had happened, but somehow it hadn't.
"What? What is it?" Arthur interrupted his thoughts.
Merlin managed a whisper. "It's just...I thought...I thought you..." He couldn't finish.
His pain and fear were so raw, Arthur thawed a little. "No, still here." His words were caustic, but his tone wasn't.
"Good, yeah, good." Merlin ran a hand over his face, talking mostly to himself. "The one thing this bloody magic can't do..." He clenched his fists and something fell out of his left hand.
"Figures," grumbled Arthur. "It probably doesn't want to help a Pendragon." He caught Merlin's eye for a second, giving him a silent 'you good?' look, then closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
Merlin stared at the crystal he'd dropped, that he'd somehow been holding, though he'd never seen it before. His mind was spinning so fast he was almost physically dizzy. Had the crystal caused the living dream? Where had it come from? Was his magic trying to help him? Or was it some sort of trick?
Using the edge of his sleeve to cover his hand, he held the crystal up in the dim firelight and realized that it was very different from any of those in the crystal cave. It had been buffed and polished to be absolutely clear, but far more extraordinary, it had been painstakingly cut and shaped. It had dozens, probably hundreds of tiny, perfect facets. Each reflected the meager light into another and another and another refraction until Merlin was being pulled into a spiral around around around past present future...
He jerked his mind free. Who could have created such a thing? They had taken the raw power of the crystal and honed it into an artifact of great strength. It felt every bit as significant as Excalibur itself. There was nothing malicious he could feel, but Merlin could tell that it had the power to break his mind.
The crystal was not sentient, yet nothing had triggered his magical tripwire. Anything larger than an ant, other than Arthur and himself, should have sent a magical alarm into his mind. So how had it gotten into his hand?
Merlin glanced at his sleeping friend, the shallow breaths and sallow skin. This crystal was beyond dangerous, had appeared from nowhere, and might just destroy him if he touched it again. But he had never been so desperate. He was willing to seek the help of the Sidhe, after all. He had to risk this.
He took a steadying breath, closed his eyes, and slowly closed his fingers.