Distantly, Arthur noted with some surprise that Percival was off his horse and sprinting towards the crater before anyone else seemed to have even registered the crash. There was a slithering sound, like the leaves that were blown across the cobblestone streets in the fall, and then nothing. The king took off after his knight, one arm clasped to his side.

There was a giant furrow carved into the earth and as the party approached a few pebbles skittered down the sides. Merlin was lying in the center of the hollow, almost curled in on himself, and he looked impossibly small compared to the furrow he'd created.

"Merlin!" Arthur slid down the embankment, desperately watching for any sort of movement. There was no answer but as he drew nearer, he saw a rise and fall in the sorcerer's chest and heaved a sigh of relief. "He's alive," he called to the knights waiting at the top of the ridge, and Merlin stirred.

"Not bad for a first landing," he murmured sleepily, and a smile tugged at his lips.

"Are you kidding me? That was awful," Arthur said, and he chuckled, even though it hurt his ribs. "Your flying is as bad as your manservant abilities."

"I'm not a manservant any more, didn't you hear? I got promoted." Merlin sat up slowly, and Arthur caught sight of a thin rivulet of blood threading its way down his face from his temple.

"Not badly hurt then?" There was a shift in the king's voice but Merlin didn't pick up on it.

"Surprisingly, no. I think the tree boughs must have caught the worst of the—"

"Then would you mind telling me what in the hell you were thinking?"

"Sorry?" Merlin staggered to his feet. Arthur looked angry, as angry as he had been when he'd revealed his magic, and he couldn't help but flinch as the king's voice rose.

"I saw you. You saved her." Arthur could hear his own mounting fury and like Merlin he was reminded of Avalon—only he was thinking about how the sorcerer had kept such great and terrible secrets for so long, and he couldn't help but wonder if Morgana had been one of them. "Why?"

"It didn't seem—"

"She's a dragon, Merlin, and you of all people should know what she's capable of! Do you know how many people will die if she decides to strike at the kingdom? Don't you remember what happened the last time a dragon attacked Camelot?"

"I couldn't kill her!" The sorcerer burst out, and he looked at Arthur as if he was pleading with him to understand. "Aithusa, the white dragon—I was the one who hatched her egg, Arthur, I named her and Kilgharrah said she was a good omen for you and for Albion, and she's the last real dragon. It's not her, it's Morgana. She can't help what Morgana makes her do and I can't kill her for that." He paused, about to speak again.

I know what it feels like, he wanted to say, but Arthur didn't know about the Fomorroh and now didn't seem a good time to bring it up.

"It would have been wrong," he mumbled instead.

"And if—" Arthur's lips tightened. "When she comes to Camelot, what then? Could you kill her then?"

"If I had to," Merlin said softly, and at his downcast gaze Arthur softened slightly.

"We should get back," one of the knights called, and the king nodded in assent, starting up the embankment.

"Arthur, I—" For the second time, the sorcerer was about to speak and thought better of it. There was something he had to ask his king, a promise, but it could wait. It had to. "I'm sorry," he lied.

"I don't know what I expected," Arthur said over his shoulder, but his tone was no longer reproachful. "I've always said you couldn't hurt a fly."

"Oh, Merlin," she laughed and the sound was sweet, echoing through the abandoned halls of the abandoned ruins. "Your power may have grown, but you are still so weak. A pity."

She lifted her fingers from the fount and regarded their transparency with a sigh. She wasn't ready to face him, not for a while yet, but she could think of little else. She liked to picture his surprised expression, or maybe one of fear, and then the blankness. He had such a goofy face, but death had a way of fixing all that. He wouldn't get away this time.

Many leagues away, packing herbs in to a bottle, Gaius began to cough.