"Always Right" (Rose)
We practically chase after Arthur to the top of the castle wall only to see the Knights of Medhir riding in on their black horses, following another on a white steed.
"According to the legend, there are only seven Knights of Medhir," Merlin affirms.
"Then who's the extra rider?" Arthur probes.
"I don't know," he replies, although we both know he has a suspicion, "But Camelot is defenseless."
"We have to get back to my father," Arthur wastes not one second.
As we run, I feel the fatigue really eating at me. I won't be able to last much longer.
"This'll be one of the first places they look," Arthur presumes, "We have to get him somewhere else."
"What's going on?" a jittery Morgana inquires.
"We're under attack," Arthur informs, lifting his father, "No time to explain. Grab his legs. Carry him- not you, Rose. You're about to pass out." Since the two of them aren't supporting the king well enough on their own, Arthur snaps at Merlin, "You're not meant to be sweeping the floor with him! Pick his feet up!"
"His feet aren't the problem," huffs Merlin.
"Morgana, give him a hand," Arthur demands, and she takes one leg from Merlin. I secure the sword Arthur left with her, and walk along behind them, keeping my eyes and ears open for anything.
As we slowly make our way through the hall, Uther begins to snore, evoking laughter from Merlin, and I very nearly slip, were it not for Arthur's fuming mind-set. "It is not funny, Merlin," he reprimands.
"It kind of is," I mumble, making Merlin smile as Arthur looks away.
"Did you find the potion Morgana took?" he asks.
"Uh, no," Merlin replies with some dithering.
Arthur makes no rejoin as we come upon another room in which to conceal the king. They release their hold on him and Arthur protests, "We can't leave him here! We have to lift him onto the bed!"
"Why? He's asleep- he's not gonna know!" suggests Merlin.
"Merlin!" Arthur exclaims disapprovingly.
"Well," he shrugs, "I'll get him a pillow!"
"He's the king!" Arthur insists.
"Alright," Merlin compromises, "Two pillows!" I stifle a giggle or two whilst Arthur yields unwillingly and appalled. They work together in setting the cushioning under Uther's head and shoulders.
"Neither of you look well," I indicate with growing concern, noticing their tired faces, now soiled with sweat.
"Are you alright?" Merlin asks Arthur.
"You feeling the same?" Arthur infers.
Merlin brings his hand to his forehead, "We're getting sick."
"Oh, no," I murmur.
"We can't let that happen. We must keep my father hidden," the prince defies the thought.
A brief silence passes, and then Merlin has a revelation, "Why don't we disguise him?"
"That might just work," grasps Arthur.
"We could dress him as a woman," Merlin sputters.
Arthur pauses, "That, on the other hand..."
Merlin recovers, "We could dress him as a servant."
"That's better," Arthur approves.
"I'll get him some clothes," Merlin grabs my hand, dragging me with him. Once a proper distance from the room, he stares at me in awe.
"What?" I solicit.
"How is it that you are always right? Doesn't that get old?" he teases, but worry is in his voice.
"Not really," I offer him a smile and we continue with our task.
"The Odds" (Merlin)
We don't get very far before we stumble across a single Knight of Medhir. I redirect our path, pulling Rose into a room and shutting the door, leaving it the only current barrier between the enemy and us.
I do a quick search of the room, and proceed to open the wardrobe next to us, and shove us both in there. The other door opens, and we stand stiff with fear, eyes wide and darting from the wood enclosing us and then to each other. We steady ourselves by tightening on grip on each other's hand.
When the Knight leaves without discovering us, we both let out a wavering breath. I slowly push the wardrobe door open and step into the vacant room. She does the same, letting the door shut after her.
With the odds totally stacked against us, I set my sights on the only known solution in my mind. "Come on," I give her hand a squeeze, taking her with me on another detour.
I secure a torch as I always do, light it with a bit of magic, and lead her down the same stairs to the same cavern to the same dragon hoping that this is less intimidating the second time around. She seems stable enough, although the illness is really showing now. Her skin is ghostly pale. I don't even know how she's still standing.
We come to find the Great Dragon curled up into ball as if he were a large, scaly cat with wings and talons. I waste no time with greeting him, "What's going on? Why is everyone asleep?" I demand resolve. He snores in reply. I am taken aback, "Please, not you as well." I wait and then shout, "I need your help! What am I going to do?" I lean back a bit, skepticism setting in, "Don't pretend," I eye him carefully, "I know you're listening to me."
With that, he yawns and faces us. In a tired voice he responds, "I don't need to listen to you, Merlin. You always say the same thing, 'Help me!'" I tilt my head at his ridicule. "And yet, you refuse to give anything in return. Now you will face the consequence of that decision. Camelot's end is night, and there's nothing you can do about it."
"I know, I promised to set you free," I see his argument, "And I will."He cackles at this, so I recap, "I will. I promise."
"I no longer trust your promises," he says callously.
"I swear on my mother's life!" I persist, becoming more distressed as the moments roll on.
"Merlin," gasps Rose.
"Careful what you say," he warns.
"Statements like that are not futile amongst such prevailing creatures of magic," she advises.
I forfeit, "You have to help me. Please?"
"Her life matters more to you than your own ... This is an oath I believe you will honor," the dragon allays, relieving me greatly.
"I will," I verify.
"It is one thing to cast a spell that puts everyone to sleep- the power to maintain it is a very different matter," he elaborates, "It will need more than just words to break this enchantment."
"What do you mean?"
"You must eradicate the source, Merlin," he says knowingly.
"Great! What is that?"
"Not 'what', but who," he corrects, "Such spells need a vessel- a constant living presence to give them strength. The source of this pestilence is the witch, the Lady Morgana."
"Oh," Rose exhales in an undertone, "I knew it."
I gawk at him, "It can't be."
"I have warned you about her in the past, but you have failed to take heed," he prompts, "She is dangerous."
"He's right, Merlin," Rose throws in, "I saw it myself."
I exhale, "No ..."
"And now she has chosen to turn her back on her own," he concludes.
"I'm sorry, Merlin. I don't want to believe it anymore than you do, but it's true," she says despondently.
"How do I stop her?" I reluctantly inquire.
"That is easy, young warlock," he informs, "You must kill her."
"Is there no other way?" Rose cries out.
"No," I murmur in feebleness.
"The spell is woven with magic of such power that even you are not immune," he is resolute, "You must act now, before it's too late. If you do not, then Camelot will fall and Arthur will die. And the future you were destined to share ... will die with you."
"We really don't have much of a choice, then," she wraps up the conversation in one sentence.
"No," I look at her with regret, "We don't."