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Chapter 1:

Camelot Falls.

Year 667

Merlin and Morgana walked out of the huge forest that lay near the Crystal Cave, their home for the last 18 years. Just in words for him though. He now often stayed in Camelot, not recently though, just at the very beginning; leaving her unbound in the hole in the ground.

Morgana had made a fancy home, in there with her powers. She had created creeping grass, a steady light and a not so small cabin. All full with her touch, she was a noble after all she deserved more than just bedding on harsh rock. It was her right.

So their home seemed more like a manor now than a modest house, and everything grew in the cave now and then, a small forest with a small quantities of animals. Rats, Bunnies, even a couple of caribous grazed there.

So when the sounds of battle had been heard, Merlin knew the unthinkable had happened. Morgana had been half amused, to his enormous distaste.

She knew that Arthur's sons had engaged in self-destructive behaviors. Like father, like sons. A chip of the royal-pain-of-an-old-block. So when the old man saw the damage on the enormous plains nearby their homes, he had felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"By the goddess..." The man had whispered. Awe and pain edged in his face. "Llacheou, Loholt... What have you done?!" He said, his voice turned at the end becoming a harsh yell.

He expected a sound, anything, but the battlefield was silent. He begged the goddess for a scream, a yell, a grunt. Morgana poked him, she looked around stoically... "Merlin, let us go by separate. We cover more ground..."

He glared at her, angered for her lack of response, he felt her emotions calm, collected; detached. Merlin pushed her away. Not ignoring the wisdom of her words.

Morgana's apathy infuriated him, he knew that she was able to feel emotions, and the fact that she refused to do it for all these people granted her his hatred.

He snorted. "We will do as you say." He turned around and rushed away, not even glancing back at her... Morgana watched him go.

Quite fast... For his age.

The high priestess knew the smell of death. She was used to it.

She avoided most of the corpses as she moved. Or moved them out of the way, her eyes registered no one alive and she felt no emotion except her own, she tried to send her mind's eye as far as she could.

She actually expected to find near-nothing.

Her eyes registered the colors of the flags, a red-and-gold, and a gold-and-red, two different symbols for Camelot and a last flag lay beneath her feet; colored a dull dark gray.

Cedred.

Or rather Lot.

So, Lot had invaded the battlefield and killed all the fighters. A good strategy, as far as she was concerned. Minimize losses by having others do the heavy lifting. She broke through the remains of a catapult. Why bring a Catapult to a battlefield was beyond her; perhaps one of the Pendragon whelps had done it, their lack of experience was laughable.

The sounds nearby, had her on edge. So she did a logical thing; she called a sword to her hand, if anyone decided to try and take her out they had another thing coming. Not that she needed the piece of metal, her magic would do. But it was good to be prepared.

Every sound had her flinching, until there was one that was worse than those before.

There was a caw.

She turned around, violently; a crook was eating a corpse nearby. Disgust and Anger filled her. "No!"

She raised her hand, eyes flashing gold and the raven fell to the floor. Burned… She hissed at herself for the abrupt behavior, the body was dead. A corpse. After this catastrophe none of them would be left around; they would decay.

Look for living ones, Morgana, survivors. She focused her mind's eye once more. Trying once more to feel even a hint of thought or emotions.

And she felt a bout of pain, one that was not hers. Physical pain. She raised her eyes and scanned the area, finally flashing, to a man in the ground, her mouth fell wide. "Leon."

She buckled and crawled to him, strange emotions she had not felt in years hitting her...

Merlin's hand gripped the staff, his knuckles turning white. His voice fell crooked. "Arthur." He whispered. "Your legacy... I am sorry. I failed you." He saw a man with gray garments look warily at him, he had just pulled his sword out of a poor youth, barely knight material.

Lot! How dare he break the laws of war? Merlin raised his staff and sent the man flying against a tree. His anger getting the worse of him. He followed the man's trajectory and when he realized he had survived he turned back and kept walking, rage and pain tightened across his heart, making him feel an icy fury.

Had he had a chance, no soldier from Essetir would be alive now.

And then he felt a small wave of amusement. HE was from Essetir as well.

But he recognized no warrior or Knight, from any side of the war. Not that it did any good in extricating him of his pain. Sometimes he would see one who looked almost familiar, and his old heart would quench on unspeakable emotional pain.

What he did recognize was the signs of magic, relatively new spells had been cast nearby, not very strong in comparison to Morgana's or his... But not that weak, either.

Loholt, of course. Llacheou was too afraid of magic. And Lot did not trust it, no wonder he did not, looking how his predecessor ended up.

He saw a tree, half-burned in the middle of a number of bodies and recognized Lot's surviving knight in it, the one man he had incapacitated himself. He was going on and on in circles, he was wasting time.

Merlin raised his head and screamed in impotence, falling to his knees. Guilt hit him in waves, he wished he could be a little more like Morgana, a little cold. His emotions were clouding his senses, magical or otherwise.

Perhaps he had passed near a survivor, but his pain had not allowed him to see him or feel him.

"Merlin?" A muffled voice muttered. "Is that you?" He looked at a sea of corpses, realizing there were three in a pile, one hand was moving towards him. Distraught, he raised his hand and blasted two of them away. He pulled one out…

"Llacheou!" Merlin grabbed the prince, pulling the youth's body to his arms. "What have you done...? Where is Loholt?" Merlin whispered. The prince was hardly injured, he had a few cuts on his chest and a big laceration in his face, there was an arrow edged in his lower thigh.

"I do not know." Llacheu shook his head. "He did this. He did this." He justified, repeating in a matter that reminded the warlock of Morgana's. "He is to blam-" The warlock still began mending the prince's chest wounds. Thanking the goddess they did not surpass a moderate quality. Healing with magic was not his forte.

Llacheou sobbed, emotional and physical pain fighting for control. "I am so sorry. I should have yielded the throne." His eyes were fresh with tears. Merlin furiously lifted the prince's head, angry at the immaturity.

"Do not cry." He ordered. The seventeen year old glared at him. "I told you. I tried to teach your brother and you." Merlin continued, both fury and terrible sadness laced on his voice. "This is your father's legacy. Your mother's" His voice became laced deep with sarcasm. "Arthur would be proud."

"Do not lecture me, Merlin." Llacheou screamed, sorely. His anger wracking his body."With all your powers and gifts. You could have stopped this. YOU!" The Warlock hit the ground with the staff.

"Do not make me the focus of your faults." Merlin remarked. Healing the big cut on the boy's face. "No Llacheou. You have destroyed everything."

"Leon." She whispered at the knight, hitting him in the cheek.

"Morgan-a?!" The knight gasped, he yearned for his sword, but his arm was broken. She kneeled at him. "Are you here to taunt me, witch?" The accusation made her feel a relatively new kind of self-hate.

But there was no hate in HIM as far as she could sense, just cold resignation. "No, do not move." She said, caressing his face, age had claimed him..."I can heal you."

His hair was white, his body, wrinkled. His beard was long. "No, my lady. My body is broken..." He seemed to understand her redemption, somehow. "You have not aged a day."

The statement was more like a thought slipped from his lip. "How did this happen? Why did we allow them to do this?" She said, pulling him to the withered tree behind them. She lit off the fires that covered it, her hair waving with the winds she summoned. Laying the knight there, as softly and sweetly as she could.

"Prince Llacheou was the heir. Loholt's best claim is mut." Leon said softly, coughing at the end. Morgana felt disagreement in her heart.

"They are BROTHERS, Leon!" She exclaimed, with rageful features. Her hand pulling at her hair, pulling hard, feeling the pain in her calve. And the deeper feeling, that she deserved that pain. Merlin was always the protector, she should have been there too.

How much lives, magical or otherwise, were lost by her inaction?

Leon coughed. "So were Arthur and Morgana." The knight answered, his voice hoarse. "History repeats itself." Morgana's eyes narrowed. Arthur was a coward, he was Uther's pawn, and she was not his sister. Morgause was her sister, she had fought for rightness.

"I did it for a just purpose…" She answered almost automatically. "A just one."

"And the methods?" He asked, knowing he had hit a nerve. She seemed to pale before becoming red, anger or otherwise he did not know. She growled as she had once as the dethroner; Morgana Le Fay.

"Do not matter."

"Are you sure it is me you try to convince?" Leon responded. She turned to him, and fell his pain, both emotional and physical. Morgana grimaced.

She bit her upper lip, "My people deserved their freedom…" The defense often worked on herself, as she whispered to be able to sleep, but it seemed not to affect him. He was adamant there was a better way, if only Morgana could have seen it.

Now or Then, she saw no better path than that one she had taken.

Leon nodded slowly, "And now my lady? They are free." A strong wind blew her raven hair, making she look as a ghost in the wind. And Leon doubted if this was actually happening.

Perhaps a delusion of a dying man? Was she really there? Or was she speaking to a ghost?

"The methods did not matter, Leon."

Leon looked at the battlefield with surmised grief. "All those deaths you caused. Did you feel nothing?" She went quiet. And only answered when he repeated his question a third time.

"It was what was just." She defended herself looking down at the blood-stained dry grass. The silence that followed told Leon he was breaking into her.

He knew she thought she was doing what was right. And so she did. She believed she was working for a good motive, before she started messing with the darkness. And it changed her plans upside down.

Leon shook his head, coughing and grunting, blood on his lips. "That… is not the question… I asked." He stated.

"I had to do it." Her answer was of one second after, automatically, pre-prepared. And he knew it.

That is how Morgana worked, she was manipulative. She had always gotten her way, and she did whatever to make sure that happened…

No one in Camelot had suspected her change, from the overall good woman and to whatever she turned out to be. Leon remembered a caring woman, alas, with a slight darkness on her otherwise clean soul.

The knight grunted in pain. Looking unbelieving, he looked at her face, as she stared up and back at his. "Do you feel anything, now?" He whispered to her, she blinked. When she was just a lady had their relationship been more than friendly?

"My feelings were and are irrelevant. I had a duty." She answered.

He stared as if he was boring into her soul. "So all you did? Was there no better path?" The knight questioned.

"NO." She answered, almost shouting it up; standing up, looking away from him. The questions he was asking were opening old wounds, wounds that she had thought were already closed...

"Morgana." Leon yelped. "I knew you once, my lady." His head cocked to her. "You do lie, quite a lot. But you don't believe those lies you tell." She wanted to scream at him, how dare he call her a liar?

"Uther was a murderer and a coward! That is no lie Leon!"

"Many say the same about you." He answered, voice hollow. He had little more time.

She looked at the hills, filled with fires, pikes and the warm bodies of the recently deceased. It was then that the age and guilt caught up with her. She lay next to Leon, and lay quiet at the end of everything they knew, Camelot would fall, if it had not already. Lot was not going to wait, he now had the advantage.

"Let me ease your passing, Sir Leon." She offered, turning to look at him.

His mouth closed shut. She raised her hand and prepared a circle of fire around them both, ready to use a powerful numbing spell. "Are you going to kill me?" He asked. He looked wary, of her, or her powers she did not know.

His eyes widened at the fire, and he tried to stand. Roaring in pain as he could not. His body was indeed broken. She grabbed his hand and put it to her cheek. Touching his chest. "No, Brave Knight." She said as she sobbed. Tears slowly falling. "I will take the pain away."

A wave of agreement, thankfulness and relief filled her mind's eye. She knew Leon would not last long, his time was ending. "Rest now, Leon." She kissed his forehead, feeling strangely sad, why would she give such honor to this knight? He was her enemy.

But as she looked at him, he saw no enemy.

She muttered a spell, his eyes closed peacefully and she kept her head close to his own head as she softly cried. "My Lady Morgana. Thank you."

And his eyes stared to the sky, even though the smokes of war covered it all, the knight could see the stars.

Queen Guinevere, slid into a chair and she looked out the window. The monarch looked at the portrait of her love, Arthur smiled back with a pompous but caring impression. Where had she failed. What have I done wrong? She looked at the courtyard that now stood half-empty, Arthur? Where did I fail? She thought.

The door cried open.

The Mother Queen turned from her chair and found a servant. Her hair was raven and she was looking down. Guinevere tried to remember someone who fitted those descriptions. She knew all servants, of course, having had been one herself.

She saw tireness in the woman, not a drowsy exhaustion. But more of an emotional one, one only dreamless sleep healed.

Guinevere took special care to know every single one of the help, as personally as possible. She attended weddings, spoke with them in the kitchen, she honored her people as best as she could.

"Yes?" Gwen asked. "What news of the field?" But this girl did not bring any recognition, not at all. That made no sense as far as the monarch was concerned; she was involved in hiring them all. Perhaps she only dressed similarly, a civilian sent to the Queen, or better yet, she was one of her agents disguised.

Perhaps she brought news of the field.

Her hand cleaned her face. The servant swallowed hard, and Gwen found that gesture awfully familiar. Who is this? She thought. It was as if she had known the figure in front of her very well.

"The armies are gone." The servant said with a soft, clear voice. A smoothened voice, whoever it was she was a mistress of disguise.

Gwen paused, her face turned grey. "Lot's soldiers, they intervened, took control of the battle field... Leon. He is gone..." Guinevere stood up in a gasp. Pain for Leon subsided when she thought of her boys.

She released a sob. "No!" She screamed, tears falling out of her eyes.

"What of Llacheou? And Loholt? What of my sons?!" Her hand covered her mouth, she slipped into the bed. The maidservant walked at her and hugged her, Gwen's grief was too strong for her to realize.

Gwen hugged back, she made herself seem strong in front of the masses, but it was not the first time she had cried in front of them. On Arthur's funeral after the hanging of Eira, she had fallen down and crawled inside by the helpings of Leon. Her hormones at the time had not helped her.

Had not it been by Merlin, the only fatherly example to her children she would have been a terrible mother.

"I am sorry Gwen. Llacheou survived, we know nothing of Loholt." The female voice was raspy, her hands balled into fists. Not out of rage, but to prevent crying.

They cried together… Deep inside she knew the servant was not crying because of her sons. But she could not bring herself to care; perhaps she had lost someone else on the brothers quarrel.

"Gwen..." The Queen repeated, noticing suddenly the nickname from the newcomer's lips. "Who are you?" She inquired, raising her voice. The woman gasped, slipping back in the bed, and then lifted her face, for the queen to see; slowly. Very slowly, as in fear of the Queen's reaction, deep inside, Guinevere was saddened further because of it; she had strived to be a just and fair ruler.

Her people should not fear the monarch.

Gwen covered her mouth. As a shocked gasp left it. "You." She croaked. A thousand feelings hit her at once, battering her even more.

Llacheou and Merlin had just found the surviving Knights and soldiers from both sides of the war. And they were terribly few, a small legion of soldiers with different degree of training. Could Camelot be defended just among them? He doubted it.

Camelot would fall without her defenders. He supposed someone else remained back at the city, but they were too few.

Merlin knew neither of them, and all the mixed raging emotions were taking their toll on his powers, which he struggled to keep back.

The young prince walked forward. "Merlin? What is it to become of me, of us?" Merlin looked at the ground; every second that passed his heart seemed to break a little more. The fact that Camelot would be gone, that his home was soon to be gone.

Gaius still survived. And Camelot was still home, he often went there yet, disguised... But in four years not once had he visited the halls.

With Arthur's death, Merlin the Manservant had followed him to the grave. And he was ignored, mostly; there were still some that remembered him as the loyal friend of the King. And they did so fondly. They thought of him as a hero, as he had personally engaged Morgana to defend his ruler… Children now learned of him, as the epitome of Loyalty, even knights were showed to strive to be as he; and it touched his heart.

Merlin did not. But Dragoon still came to the citadel.

Llacheou and Loholt did not need his teachings anymore, or perhaps they did. If he had been there, preventing the teenagers from drifting so apart. Could he have prevented this war? He would not go as far as blaming himself for all of it, but he had not so small of a share in it.

Leon and Loholt dead, he couldn't help the pain that his voice gave, making him truly feel as if he was the age he pretended. He was Dragoon, just now, old and filled with madness, suffering and in pain. He was alone, the last of the warriors of the past.

"You shall go to Camelot, take your people and leave through the tunnels... Some gold if it spared, you can take as well... Morgana and I will distract Lot. And rejoin you, so you can cross to..." His voice whispered. "Louernia." (1) The last knowledge was for the prince, and he alone. He did not trust the knights completely. Who knew if one was really another agent.

"Morgana." Arthur's son repeated, unable to hold back the fear. "Merlin... And Camelot?" The question burned the warlock's throat as he struggled to answer.

"I will hold off Lot. Camelot might yet survive, in her people." (2) Merlin answered, he turned back to look at the field of death. Grief tearing him appart, when he leaves he was sure to bring some rain, to cleanse the land.

Too bad, he could not cleanse with rain, his pain away.

Llacheou opened his mouth to protest, before nodding. One of Loholt's main knights frowned. "And the capital?" He asked. Llacheou looked at him grievously before turning to the small force.

He cleared his throat and repeated the plans to his knights.

Leaving out Louernia as he spoke. There were words of comfort and the answering of questions, Merlin did not truly heard either, anyhow.

Most of Llacheou's closest knights were there, standing upfront. But none of them would become knights of the round table anymore, the concept was not lost to Gwen. But neither of the knights that stood there actually deserved it.

Merlin felt a pang of pain in his heart, as he saw his friends in their son. Arthur's and Gwen's son after all.

Llacheou looked as Merlin stared at the plains in sudden surprise, and blinked when the sorcerer swallowed loudly. "Merlin? Are you-" The boy seemed honestly worried over him, and Merlin felt sweet care, few people truly cared for him nowadays.

"I will be fine. Start walking." He commanded. "I will catch up, soon enough." Llacheou looked shocked.

The prince went white. "We are walking to Camelot?!" He asked. Merlin chuckled at his stunned face. "Were you not taking us with your powers?!" He looked demanding, looking just as Arthur did, and for this once the Warlock did not feel pain.

"Make an effort!" Merlin laughed. "Walking is good for you!"

Llacheou spluttered indignantly, he glared at Merlin. Arthur would be proud of their behavior, now he bantered with his son. As he began walking, in an attempt to make sure, how annoyed he was on statement.

He turned back at the field seeing then the figure waving at him once more, and Merlin began walking towards her. Llacheou looked confusedly at the spot Merlin was looking at, could he not see her? Was it Morgana?

He dodged the bodies of the fallen. But they seemed not to have fallen nearby her. Or they were moved, perhaps.

When he arrived at the woman, she was soaking wet, but she seemed fine. Happy. Unaffected. Funnily this was such a cold and windy night.

As he realized who she was, Merlin could not avoid having his jaw drop, that red dress. "I've missed you, Merlin."

Merlin blinked, and then smiled at the woman. "Freya?" He whispered. "How are you here?"

"I am here to fetch souls." She laughed. "Seeing you is a plus." Her hand stretched and grabbed his, and she saw right through the disguise. Had Merlin accepted how powerful he truly was, even she, a goddess in her own right, would not be able to do so.

But he held to his humanity, which she loved of him. Which made what she was to tell him, harder still.

He swallowed hard, keeping back the tears. "I thought you lost, to me."

She pulled him into a deep hug, her eyes sparkling like water. "I am." She mumbled to his ear. "For a very long time you and I will not meet again." He raised his eyes to look at her. "Merlin…" She said. "This is goodbye."

"Will I be able to summon you?" He asked, not pulling back. His heart could not stand much more pain.

"No." She answered softly. "The Old Religion will retreat into the corners of life. Untouched. And I…" She whispered. "I with it."

"No. Freya…"

"It is necessary." She whispered tears on her eyes. "The Old Religion will attempt to regain the balance lost today… And it will be forced to make some sacrifices."

"I can be one." He offered, she flinched. "The soul of Emrys, may restore balance. Right?" He was willing, sacrifice himself to bring back all the unjustly dead. Turn back time.

"Yes. Eventually. But not now. Not like this. I am sorry." She swallowed hard, looking disapprovingly at him.

He sighed, looking at the hill. "As am I." Llacheou stared at him from the distance, he looked worryingly at the wizard, he knew now that she could not see her. Freya was what they called the Reaper, unseen to all living beings.

And yet he saw her, clearly.

"I will see you again, Merlin." She promised, kissing his lips sweetly. "Someday."

"I will await for you." He vowed back.

She shook her head. "Do not; it will be in a long future from now."

"What about Morgana?" He asked. Freya's wisdom would be greatly appreciated, whatever the Priestess would become, he needed to know.

"Merlin. I cannot linger here."

"But… I have so much questions." He whined.

"Trust in the Old Religion, Merlin." Freya said, becoming whitish mist, her voiced echoed. "As it trusts you." He stretched his hand towards his love, she stretched back, but now he did not feel her at all. "Farewell." She said.

And like that, he had lost her yet again.

Gwen rushed forward and slapped Morgana as hard as she could. The priestess tasted blood as she fell to her knees, and out of the bed. Her head was somehow spinning, and she felt that now she could stay on the floor instead of lifting herself up to stare at her former bestfriend.

I most definitely deserved that. The witch thought.

Gwen stretched her arms and pulled the shocked woman into her arms, lifting her off the floor. Hugging sweetly, as a mother a child. "I am sorry." Morgana mumbled, her lips quivering. She was tired beyond sleep and her emotions were going haywire. The priestess could barely think.

"I am glad you return to your senses." Guinevere answered sweetly. "I lose a son, I get back a sister." The last words had Morgana reeling in surprise, her eyes were swiftly filling with tears. And she was bitting her lips so hard that it may bleed.

But Gwen did not look or feel happy at all. She was sure she would feel happy later on, but now her emotions were in no good state as Morgana's.

Morgana swallowed. "I am so sorry Gwen. I will burn in Avalon a thousand times for what I have done." She proclaimed.

"That fate Morgana Le Fay has earned." Gwen answered, Morgana looked down, feeling gutting pain as she mentioned the title the people had given her... A title to mock her now that she was not around anymore…"But Morgana Pendragon, has little deservance for such misery." The Queen refixed the hair of the priestess as they laid on the floor, as they had done before when they were maidservant and ward. "You have been given a new opportunity." And then added. "I just hope Loholt got that chance."

"Gwen..." Morgana hugged her, sharing the enormous pain of a mother who just lost her son, as they cried.

"I forgive you Morgana, for everything." And they both cried on each other's embrace. In which Gwen now felt as if her heart itself hurt.

Camelot. I am home. Merlin edged his fingers to the arch, when he was a servant he walked through the very same arch, every day. "Llacheou..." He called. The dark haired boy walked forward. "Yes?"

Merlin stared behind the boy, looking at the staircase. Arthur's room used to be up there, when he was the crown prince.

"Find your people; send them to the tunnels entrance." The prince nodded. He turned around and ordered the knights. "Merlin! My mother..." Llacheou said. Turning back at him... The aged face nodded.

"Morgana will fetch her." Llacheou shook his head but Merlin silenced him with a look. The prince turned around and through the courtyard. Merlin stood and shook his head. He couldn't stand up to Lot with this age. He raised his hand and de-aged himself a bit. He did not want to be recognized, no one would answer to Merlin the manservant. Or Dragoon, the insane wizard. But Lord Emrys would be heard.

He kept the beard, but now it was black. And his age was still a length older than Gwen now, but little more than Uther's. He transformed the rags into a cloak, a red and golden one. He placed a invoked gold headpiece in his eyebrows. He grabbed the staff.

Time to make a statement.

"Merlin?" Llacheou came back and blinked. "Whoa! You look..." Merlin chuckled.

"Alright, I hope." He followed the crown prince down to the dungeon with one thought on his mind. Old Lot would not know what hit him.

Camelot was not dead, but it might well had been. Silence, silence; as far as any could hear. But Lot was not fool, he was more intelligent than any Camelotian.

They were there. The Queen was a failure, the princes dead.

It would fall before the dawn rose... He would not fail.

Uther's magnificent city would be his. It would be his birthright and that of his children.

Merlin looked at the people in front of him. He recognized the cook, some of the younger knights that had not been taken to Camlaan; and, that had survived Arthur's sons disarray, as well. Elder Knights from Uther's guard. There was young Lohengrim, son of Percival.

His smile appeared and disappeared, in a flash. The young boy was younger than the prince, but he already exceeded Llacheou with an entire arm length.

Then some guards remained, some knights and the rest were common folk. Some nobles were causing problems. They yelled at the prince, who seemed to be running out of patience. They accused him of weakness, of being a failure, and many other things overall.

"We are all going to die!" A noble screamed. "No!" Llacheou answered, he raised his voice but the nobles did not shut up. They raised their voices as well.

And children cried, and women sobbed.

"Enough!" Merlin roared. Enhancing his voice with his magic. Everyone turned to stare at him and he felt his tongue catch on his throat. He wrote some of Arthur's speeches but he could never speak to a noble. Even less order one.

"I..." He tried. "Camelot." That did not work... "Erggh?". Stage fright, he berated himself, really Merlin?

The loud screams came back. "Listen up!" Guinevere screamed. Everyone silenced again, Merlin saw Morgana walk behind Gwen. And a noble pointed at her.

"Is the Witch!" The place was a sudden movement, every knight, soldier and a few lords, walked towards the Priestess in one menacing motion. While the women and children pulled back.

"Stop." Guinevere commanded. "She is with me." She jumped in front of the few soldiers.

They unwilling to attack their ruler, stopped looking at each other in surprise.

"Camelot will fall." Gwen continued. "These brave sorcerers will fall back and stay, while we pack and take off... They will hold up Lot and rejoin us later on... Then we will leave, we will rebuild. If any feels like trying their luck in the wilderness, you can with my blessing." She continued.

Lahaghrim looked around to see for anyone that might want to agree for those terms. He was tall, as tall as his father had been.

"And if we want to stay and help?" He asked.

"If you are of age. You may." Gwen conditioned. Lahaghrim snorted, looking down. Merlin chuckled.

"For Arthur! For the Love of Camelot!" And Merlin felt a pang of pain as he screamed… Percival had succumbed to disease a couple of years ago. And his son was a living image of himself.

They echoed the last phrase. Merlin looked at Morgana and nodded they turned away leaving to protect the castle.

For the first time, they seemed to agree… None would hurt any Camelotian, ever again.

She whispered something in his ear as they left the underground. "Gotta love the new look, Emrys."

1. Louernia is the counterpart name of Albion, given to Ireland.

2. Camelot is a land… That makes it a female… Hence HER People

A'N. Please Review!

A'N. I am far from perfect; if you spot any grammatical errors please point them out!

A'N. Hope the improved version makes you all happier, it is working for me! ;D