"Endless" (Rose)

We're coming upon the first anniversary of the disasters that fell upon Camelot. A stern pattern has set in over the last months. Every morning, I rise up early to make breakfast and see Merlin off, and Gaius then goes on his rounds after I've helped him prepare his potions and remedies, and I then go for a ride on Storm. Uther refuses to give up the search for Morgana, Gaius teaches me every day while Merlin works and we all eat dinner together. Merlin and I finish the day with sneaking off to the clearing for him to train my magic. I'm becoming a far more polished rider, healer, and magician. I'm not so tired from using the smaller spells anymore. I'm still too inexperienced to tackle any large feat, but thank goodness, we have Merlin for that.

The days pass, and I fear that the way things have been will grow monotonous. Naturally, almost immediately after the thought occurs to me, a report comes in of slaughtered Camelot soldiers. Of course, Arthur will go and try to pinpoint who did this and make them pay; and that means dragging Merlin along. I hate to see him go. He's taught me so much, and we've grown even closer with training together. I've covered all the basics, for I'm a fast learner, and we were just getting to delve into my particular skills. Not that it matters, for this, the endless cycle we call destiny, will never cease while we breathe.

I am left to tend to the chambers and medicines therein as Gaius seeks council with the king- not to receive it, but to give it. I'm unsure of what to do with myself when I've finished tidying and preparing potions. I suppose the only thing I can do for now is to sit and wait. I hate it so.

"Questions" (Merlin)

We cross the field littered with bodies of the troop from Camelot, stopping for but a moment as Arthur halts us, surveying the villainous sight. "Check for survivors," he commands. The knights with us disband and do as he says. I stick with him as he scouts for the living and tracks left behind from the enemy. I bring my hand to my wet forehead; the dampness has not left the air all day. "Seems their attackers headed north!" Arthur announces, peering into the distance. "Come on!" he stands, making his way over to his steed.

"Do you think we should be going after them?" I ask.

He pauses, giving me an irritated look, "You are such a girl's petticoat," he shakes his head, walking away. I sigh, tolerating his arrogance, as I always do.

My rear end becomes increasingly sore as we ride through the spread of trees. "Ow," I utter.

"Is there something wrong with you?" Arthur teases.

"I've been on a horse all day," I remind him of the obvious.

"Is your little bottom sore?" he feigns pity.

"Yes," I validate, "It's not as fat as yours."

He wheezes a laugh. "You know, you've got a lot of nerve ... for a wimp."

"I may be a wimp," I retort with slight hesitation, "but at least I'm not a dollop-head."

"There's no such word," is his argument.

"It's idiomatic," I elaborate in correction.

"It's what?"

"You need to be more in touch with the people," I tease in rebuke with a twinge of sincerity.

"Describe dollop-head," he challenges.

"In two words?"

"Yeah," he confirms.

"Prince Arthur," I conclude. He then raises the signal to stop, for a second I thought it was because of what I said, but even Arthur isn't that easily provoked. A couple of the horses neigh in protest as we dismount and step through the crackling leaves, searching for who knows what. For a minute, we hear and see nothing but an abandoned camp. However, this scene is all too familiar for me to think it's that simple.

An arrow plunges into the back of one of our men and he falls forward to the forest floor. Screams of rage ring out as a small army of bandits run in at us. "ON ME!" Arthur shouts an order. Seconds fly and the first swords clash without delay. I keep out of the rabble long enough to secure a sword, only to have it smacked out of my hand by a bandit. I pull my hand back, shaking it out, wincing in pain. With my back pressed against the trunk of a tree, I do the only logical thing and cast a spell, magnetizing his weapon. Various pots clang into it with ease. I approve of my work, and rush towards Arthur.

Now, no proper enemy would let this happen so quickly, so another one cuts me off by trying to cut me to ribbons. I lean back, dodging his strike and falling to the ground. He attempts to sent his ax through me while I'm down. I grab a broken branch as big and thick around as a walking staff to defend myself ... to no avail. He slices it in two as soon as I'm on my feet again. I stumble backward, him coming at me again, and I duck, causing him to bury his ax head into a tree. In reality, it only cut halfway through, but with a little magic, he chopped straight through the tree, sending it crashing down onto his person.

I make another run for Arthur, tripping and falling again, to catch a warrior heading right for him, unbeknownst to him. From the ground, I throw a spear into the enemy with one thought. Arthur looks around to find who saved him, but his eyes land on me instead, lying flat on the forest floor. He rolls his eyes, "We're not playing hide and seek, Merlin!"

I tilt my head, holding my tongue just so until I let out a quiet, "Dollop-head." I rise up from my spot, and just as we think all is finished, a shadow begins to approach. Arthur picks his sword up in a defensive position, stepping forward cautiously, holding a hand out to us, seeing that we remain silent and still. The figure stumbles through the mist, revealing it a woman as she neared. Arthur takes another tiny step, keeping his sword and hand upright. My heart rate continues to increase once the thoughts are pumping through my brain. That's not just any woman. She comes into clear air, facing us with ragged hair, dirty face, and tattered clothes.

All expressions mirror each other's- all stunned. So many questions flood my mind as she and I take quavering breaths. Arthur stares at her with wide eyes, "Morgana."