Men shifted in unease, the tension palpable. There was an inclination to wish the waiting was over, but what would come after the waiting, that would be far worse.

Arthur stood on the battlements of the city, looking out over the stretch of ground that lay beyond, and up over to the long rows upon rows of men that were gathered there as the sky streaked red in dawn light. Mordred's army. It was hard to truly accept that was what he was now facing. He could only remember the young boy whom he had helped to save. Was it mercy misplaced? He ran a hand through his hair. His father would certainly have said it was.

An ache ran through him at the memory of Uther. He was surprised by how dreadfully he missed the man suddenly in this moment, as he faced the prospect of his own likely death. Perhaps in the end, there were a great many things that didn't matter as much as you thought they had.

But the past was…well the past. He had rescued Morded, for good or ill, and whatever Uther would or would not have said in the moment was of no real importance. There was no going back

There was only the battle ahead. And there was likely to be very little else after that. At least not for Arthur or most of the men gathered on this wall.

Not much further along on the wall, Merlin stood with the small cluster of magic users that had chosen their side. Arthur could see the way the army seemed to draw strength from Merlin. He had seen more than a few men, blind terror on their faces, catching sight of him, and then turning back to face the druid army, determination etched where fear had been a moment before.

Merlin. Arthur had known he was a friend. He knew he owed him his life. And still, he had under estimated him. He probably always would. Because Merlin was capable of anything and everything. And how could you ever properly estimate a man such as that?

He heard footsteps coming up behind him and turned to see Lancelot. Lancelot nodded a greeting, gave a tight smile, and then stared out across the field.

"When I came to Camelot all those years ago, a commoner looking to become a knight…I never thought this was how it would all end."

"Perhaps it all would have ended differently if we'd let you join then and there. Who knows? The world has a funny way of unfolding…but then again," said Arthur, "you don't know. This might not be the end."

"You haven't fought Mordred's army. I have. It doesn't retreat. Merlin has been the only ever to halt them, but they always succeed in the end." He sighed, and leaned against the wall. "They're coming."

"The battle has not been fought yet."

"I wish I had that faith yet. I used to…but being the leader of men, bearing that weight…it wears the faith down. But having you here…it does restore a little hope." Lancelot smiled.

And Arthur found himself returning that smile. "I'm glad Guinevere had you."

"Are you? Because I must admit, in your position I don't think I would be."

"Yes…I think actually you would. You are a man of honor. And it is an honor to fight alongside of you. And if it is what the fates decree for this day…it will be an honor to die alongside you."

Arthur held out a hand and Lancelot gripped it.

Modred's army began its advance.

When the battle started, there was an explosion of noise. Lightening, fire and earth seemed to strike out in all directions, thrown from the mages of on the walls and flying out from the spells of the druids. Magic was in range first, and already hundreds lay dead before any were in range of bows or swords. But soon the loud cacophony of steel and metal rang out. The air felt electrified. There were screams of agony and pain, mixed with the magic words shouted quickly, overlapping one another.

Morgana had abandoned her original plan. She and Elaine were trying to edge around the battle, avoiding as much combat as they could but it was proving difficult. There was only one thought in Morgana's head, one slim hope.

Elaine was here, who had the knowledge. She had the shards of the orb. And Arthur was out there somewhere in the world again. Could they somehow undo this horrible mess? Could some world be reformed that had once been thought long lost?

She could see the city walls now, clearly. On top of the wall she could make out a figure, sending spell after spell down into the ranks of the druids, flinging them across the field with impossible power. Merlin. It had to be Merlin. A spell shot up out of the druids, hurtling towards him. Without missing a beat Merlin waved his hand and a deflection spell hovered in front of him long enough to stop it and then disappeared, allowing him to send a blast of lightening back in return.

And then there was a loud, deafening crash. A large dust cloud filled the air, and when it cleared there was a gaping hole in the city wall. Merlin was gone. There was yelling and cries, and now the druid army was surging forward as knights on horses charged out of the city to meet them.

Arthur had been in battles before but he had never experienced anything like this. The slow, inching retreat as bit by bit the army was pushed back towards the city. More and more men falling to blade, and arrow, and a magic they had no hope to combat.

There was truly something terrifying in the way the magic swirled around. Caught in the midst of a war where it was wielded so brutally, Arthur could almost understand his father's fear. You felt so helpless in the face of it when it was turned so unmercifully in your direction.

They were fighting in the streets now, pushed back through the wall and into the city. Modred's army at least was slower in the city, the streets and buildings serving as buttresses, splitting and diverting the swarm, into many avenues.

Lancelot rallied the men to form a defense, sending out squadrons to block the paths to the castle. They had to keep it safe for as long as possible. Arthur and Lancelot both joined the group guarding the town square, where the larger portion of Modred's force seemed to be coming.

The enemy charged and were driven back. Once. Twice. But Lyonesse's own forces were dwindling at each onslaught. Each attack was just a little harder to repel. They were all tired as well. Arthur himself was aching from exhaustion. Perhaps that was what did it.

He swung his blade and took an attacker down, but as he pulled his sword back again, he stumbled. He caught himself again, but was forced to pause from the effort, panting. And in that moment he heard his name shouted as a warning.

"Arthur!"

He was knocked aside, falling to the ground. He stared up at the sight of Lancelot, standing where he himself had been a moment ago, as a spear of shadow slammed into his side, and then melted away.

Lancelot staggered and then dropped to his knees.

"No. No, no, no, no, no!" Arthur crawled over to him, catching him before he fell back onto the cobblestones. "Lancelot!"

Blood was seeping from the wound.

Arthur looked up wildly, about to call for help, but he saw instantly that no help was going to come. The enemy was pouring into the square and he could already see the few remaining knights being driven, once again, further back.

He pulled Lancelot's arm around his shoulders, and hefted him up, ignoring his own aching limbs and his already exhausted muscles complaining in agony.

"Leave," ground out Lancelot.

"I'm not abandoning you!" he snapped back.

It was a miracle they got out of the square at all, slipping by in the confusion, and into an alley.

Arthur paused a moment at the end of it, struggling to catch his breath.

"It's too late for me," muttered Lancelot. "Just leave me."

"It's too late for all of us. And my last act in this world isn't going to be to leave you alone to die."