Merlin leaned back with a sigh, running a weary hand over his face. He had passed the night at the Round Table, poring over Geoffrey's texts, and now he watched the sun rise. It was a beautiful sight. The day was cloudy; it would likely rain later, but for the moment, the coverage was spotty enough that the gold of the sun was visible through it, starting at the horizon and slowly creeping upwards. The entire sky was cast with bronze.

Outside the room where Merlin sat, the castle was awakening. He could hear servants chattering softly as they began their rounds.

"Merlin?" Percival edged through the doorway, not meeting the sorcerer's eyes. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," he lied.

"I just… We're, ah…" Merlin had never seen the man so flustered before, and he was about to laugh when Percival began again. "They're getting Gaius ready right now. For the… They were thinking mid-morning."

"Where?" His voice sounded hoarse.

"Still in his chambers, but they're building the pyre in the courtyard." Percival looked helpless, which was rare. "Arthur sent me with these." He held out a parcel which Merlin hadn't noticed in his hands. It was his Royal Sorcerer robes, and he noticed with a detached sense of amusement how fitting it was that they were black. On top was his red kerchief, probably from Gwen. "He thought you might not want to go back to Gaius's rooms. I'll be outside."

Percival left, closing the doors to the hall behind him, and Merlin knew that he was standing watch outside. He dressed quickly, but hesitated before calling the knight. Instead, he walked to the window and looked out- not at the sunrise this time, but at the men stacking wood in the courtyard. Around them, people were gathered, watching. Some appeared to be crying. By now the news of Gaius's death had spread through the castle, and Merlin thought to himself that most of them would be in attendance. The physician had been well loved.

There was nothing to do, so Merlin stayed in the same room. Percival opened the door and said goodbye, but he stayed in the hall, out of sight. The knight probably wanted to ensure nobody bothered Merlin, but it was doubtful that anyone would have entered anyways. Their voices, so loud in the stone hallways, grew silent when they passed the open door. A few cast furtive glances inside, and waited until they turned a corner to resume talking (even though Merlin could still hear them, regardless).

He sat listlessly, watching the sun carve its path through the sky. The clouds were building. It had begun to drizzle when Arthur walked into the chamber.

"It's time," he said.

The procession was very small, as there wasn't much of a distance to travel. Someone (presumably Gwen) had changed Gaius into fine robes that Merlin had never seen before, and laid him out on a bier. Several knights in full armor, including Percival, lifted him slowly and began the short walk to the courtyard. When they emerged from the castle, Merlin was taken aback. The crowd he had imagined had arrived threefold. It seemed people had made the journey from all around the kingdom, and at the front of the throngs, nearest to the pyre, stood Alice. She staggered a little when she saw the body, her hand over her heart.

The knights who weren't holding the bier were in formation on the castle steps, bearing crimson flags. At the very top step stood Arthur and Gwen.

The procession reached the pyre and gently lowered the body to waist level so Merlin could cover Gaius with a shroud. He held onto the fabric for a moment. It was a rich material, the likes of which covered only the highest noblemen, and he watched it ripple in the breeze before letting it descend onto the body. He pulled the shroud over the physician's face with agonizing slowness, lingering over the closed eyes as his hands began to shake.

"Goodbye," he whispered, and stepped back.

The knights raised the bier again and positioned it carefully on the pyre before joining the formation on the steps. Merlin stood alone. He reached out and touched the wood, and fought to control his breathing. He no longer needed a word to conjure flame. It raced from his fingertips, racing up the pyre with no heed to the dampness of the wood.

The rain continued, not heavy but constant and cold as ice. The fire, fueled by magic, burned anyways. Nobody left. If Merlin had looked around, he would have seen grief in every face in the courtyard; he could hear the cries, but he had eyes only for the figure at the top of the pyre.

Goodbye.

It had been a long, long time since Morgana left her hut. The last time she was outside, she had literally had her face burned off, after which her bed had suited her just fine. She walked unsteadily, faltering on disused legs, and Aithusa stayed patiently next to her. By now she had grown so large that she eclipsed her mistress, and even her mistress's hut, and so Morgana could only reach the lower half of the dragon's leg. This she clung to, her other hand sweeping the air in shaky passes. It was time to meet her sister.

Aithusa gently gathered a heap of the back of Morgana's dress between her teeth, being careful not to rip the fabric, and lifted the witch onto her own back. Morgana had been gripping the scale necklace, and for a moment after the dragon had set her down, she caught a glimpse of herself. She felt like vomiting. A fresh wave of hatred for Merlin gripped her.

She was used to watching Aithusa flying from her bed, but she had forgotten the feeling of actual flight. The wind buffeted her back, shooting stinging, harsh pellets of rain at her face, but she relished the cool. Sometimes Aithusa would find a draft to ride, and they would suddenly jolt up or down and Morgana would make a garbled noise of excitement.

Aithusa wished they were riding somewhere else. It had been a long time since she had felt her mistress's happiness, but Aithusa couldn't feel much joy because she could see the ruins drifting slowly towards them from the horizon. She had a terrible feeling about whatever was on that island.

A/N: Admittedly, I know very little about traditional Anglo-Saxon 5th-6th century burials. I did a little research and found that cremation was the most common choice. I could have done more reading, but in the interest of posting a chapter tonight, I decided to go with a simple ritual. Apologies if anyone finds offense at any inaccuracy, but in the immortal words of Daniel Radcliffe, "I tried, and therefore no one should criticize me." -X