For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!
The Destruction of Sennacherib, Lord Byron
It was still dark but there could be no doubt that dawn approached, bringing the inevitable. There was little Mithian could do but watch her men be marshalled by their captains; cavalry preparing and mounting their horses, and foot soldiers gathering their weapons as they prepared to march. Tents for the wounded stood in an ominous line like ghosts of the men that would not be saved, a visceral reminder that even victory, if achieved, came with great loss.
It reminded her too much of the last time they had faced Odin's army, when he'd cut a swarth through the countryside of Nemeth without the chance for her people to properly defend themselves. At least this time they would be meeting on the field face to face, and not caught unawares in the dead of the night.
Still, Mithian's chest constricted as she looked over her soldiers, already depleted from Odin's invasion the previous year, and hopelessly outnumbered. But it gave her heart to see the looks of courage on her men's faces, to feel the ripple of anticipation through the camp - they wanted revenge on Odin as much as she did, and would give their lives to seek justice for their former king her father, who had never recovered after he'd been taken prisoner and had wasted away with sickness and shame. Mithian had to believe she was not leading her men to slaughter, but retribution, and all the suffering Odin had heaped upon them would be repaid tenfold.
"Queen Mithian."
She looked up to see Sir Leon approach, and give her a respectful bow. "Camelot's soldiers are prepared," he told her. "If your men are ready, we will march on your order."
He had been kindness itself on their journey to the Mercian border, telling her stories of better days to keep her mind off the upcoming battle. Mithian thought surely it must have pained him to speak of his comrades who had been lost - Guinevere's brother Elyan and his friend Gwaine - but they had featured prominently, both pranksters who had made for lively adventures and amusing tales. It had worked, and they had laughed together as they rode, the long hours passing easily when he was by her side.
"They are," she confirmed, "and I suppose we cannot wait any longer."
But Leon was looking behind her, and a wide smile split his face. "We don't have to."
She turned to see Merlin on his horse approaching at full gallop, and breathed a sigh of relief.
"We were beginning to think you would not come!" she exclaimed as he dismounted, but then noticed his deathly pallor and the dark bags under his eyes. "Did you ride all night?"
Merlin nodded, tossing his reins to a groom. "And all day yesterday."
"Just in time, as always." Leon clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm sorry you can't rest, we're about to march out."
"I'm fine," Merlin assured them, "and I brought this." He pulled an amber crystal from his pocket, and showed them the smooth edge. "The other half is with the army in Essetir - I can use it to project myself and help them fight."
"What, it's a transport?" Mithian looked warily at the crystal - she trusted Merlin, but such things seemed impossible.
"My body stays here," he told her, pocketing the crystal again. "But I can appear there - as an apparition I guess - and use my magic."
"What do you need from us?" Leon asked, unfazed - clearly he was used to Merlin swooping in with some a miraculous, ridiculous plan.
"I need someone to protect me - when my spirit is there, my body here is vulnerable."
"A guard," Leon nodded, "I'll instruct Sir Holm-"
"No," Merlin cut in. "Sir Gareth."
Leon looked confused, but nodded. "As you wish."
"There's something else," he drew close to Leon, and outlined the attempt on Guinevere's life, and the names of the traitors in their own camp. Mithian was horrified to hear of it, thankful that the plot had been uncovered and that none of her people were named. It only further proved that Odin must be stopped once and for all, and hardened Mithian's resolve to make sure he was.
Leon took the news very badly - he was not the type to rage, but Mithian could see the simmering anger beneath his practiced calm, the ice in his clear blue eyes, and the tight line of his clenched jaw. She could see shame also, that there had been disloyal men under his command, and he had not known or even suspected - Mithian's heart went out to him, and wanted to express it but knew enough of a soldier's pride not to do so, at least when others were present. In any case there was no time - Leon went almost immediately to deal with those traitorous men, as Merlin set about choosing a vantage point above the battlefield; a long stretch of pasture that lined the border between Camelot and Mercia.
The armies were forming their lines, but Mithian hung back momentarily as Merlin took up position atop a small incline that gave him a view over the field.
"Are you sure this will work?" she asked as he drew a circle around himself with magic, creating a ring of fire that burned a few inches off the ground.
Merlin nodded intently as he placed the crystal on the grass in front of him, inside the rim of flame. Mithian looked to the other side of the field; the enemy was massing, she would need to join her men soon.
"I know Guinevere intends to take Odin and Bayard alive if we can," she said quickly, moving as close to the ring of flame as she dared. "So we can hold them for ransom."
Merlin nodded. "She doesn't want any unnecessary bloodshed - and live kings are easier to treat with than dead ones."
To force a treaty at the point of a sword - Mithian knew that tactic well. "I am no warrior," she said lightly. "But I know in battle it is not always possible to capture rather than kill. If you have the chance to end Odin's life, I suggest you take it."
Merlin blinked. "And defy my Queen?"
"As she forbidden you from taking such action?"
Merlin's eyes darted from side to side. "No."
Of course she wouldn't - Mithian knew that Merlin would only be going against her wishes in the broader sense, and that she would of course prefer Odin's death if it came down to it in the heat of battle.
"Then you are free to act as you feel is right."
"Hmm." Merlin crouched down to adjust the position of the crystal. "I once asked Gwen if she had the power of life and death over the man who killed her father, would she let him die?"
He looked up and gave her a wry smile. "She said no - that to do so would make her no better than him."
"That doesn't surprise me," Mithian returned his smile - Guinevere never seemed to hold a grudge, she saw goodness even in the darkest heart. "But I said what you thought was right."
Merlin rose, brushing the dirt off his hands, and stared at her in silence. Leon returned before she could press for an answer, followed by a burly, rosy-cheeked man in knight's livery and his squire; a scrawny, red-headed teenager. Mithian had expected the knight to be a friend of Merlin's, since he had been chosen for the job, but Sir Gareth was complaining to Leon as they approached, and only gave the sorcerer a somewhat petulant nod in greeting.
"We'll be far behind the battle lines," he protested, "I can be of greater use out in the field rather than here playing nursemaid."
"You have the greatest responsibility of all," Leon told him sternly. "Odin will no doubt try to sneak men past the fighting to try and take Merlin out. You must protect him with your life."
"Of course," Gareth said through gritted teeth. "If that's your order, but I don't know why it must be me."
Leon looked to Merlin for an explanation, but his attention was past Sir Gareth to the squire.
"Kay, isn't it?" Merlin addressed him, the boy's mouth dropping open at being spoken to, and returning a nervous nod. "Your father told me you're excited for the battle."
Kay nodded again, and swallowed heavily. "Is he well, sir?"
"Yes, he's protecting the Queen," Merlin said, giving the boy a kind smile. "So what do you think of helping to protect me?"
The boy looked to Sir Gareth, who shrugged and gave a huff, then back to Merlin, unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face.
"It would be my honour sir," he said, the tips of his ears as red as his hair. "But I will be sorry to miss the fighting."
"You may not miss it altogether," Merlin said grimly, looking over at the army assembling on the far side of the field. Then he turned to Leon and gave a nod, something unspoken passing between the two men.
"I must make for the vanguard," Leon said, and Mithian held out her hand. He took it and bowed low, lightly pressing his lips to her knuckles. He looked up and their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and she felt a warm blush rise on her cheeks.
Then he was gone, and when she turned back to Merlin he was looking pointedly away, while Sir Gareth was occupied with instructing Kay as to defence of their position. Mithian tugged lightly on the reins of her horse and patted the animal lightly on the neck to calm his nerves as much as her own. She must leave as well, her men would need to see her riding aloft among them.
"Good luck, my lady," Merlin called out as she mounted the horse. "I'll consider what you said."
Mithian looked down at him in his circle of fire, flanked by Sir Gareth and Kay, and it gave her heart. She thought back to her first visit to Camelot, and the gangly, awkward servant at Arthur's side casting a disparaging eye over her. She had not known then the reason for his animosity, nor that he had magic, only that he had the trust of the King and the strength of his loyalty. How far they'd come since then - and how much they'd lost along the way.
"I'll see you on the other side," she said, and rode to join her men.
Hunith wrung her hands nervously, not even wanting to blink and take her eyes off the ring of stones with the amber crystal in the centre. They had built the small shrine under Merlin's instruction, as his friend Alun had relayed, himself sitting cross-legged beside the circle, sword resting across his knees. They were situated on a ridge above the battlefield, and could see both armies forming their lines in the predawn light - the battle was imminent, and Hunith knew she must soon make for the medical tents to prepare to treat the wounded, but she had to see her son first. It had been more than a year since she had, and her heart longed for him.
He had written to her a letter of great joy and sorrow some months earlier, informing her of Arthur's death and Gwen's pregnancy, and she had cried tears of mixed feeling. Hunith had never known Arthur well, either when he'd come to Ealdor as an arrogant yet well meaning young Prince, or as the humbled King deposed by his sister. But he was important to Merlin, and knew that there must be greatness in a man that would earn such strong devotion from her son.
Her opinion had soured when Gwen had shown up one day close to despair, and through tears the entire story of her banishment had spilled from her lips, as Hunith had only grown more and more incensed that the King had caused her young friend so much pain and left her vulnerable to capture by warlords.
"So you see," Gwen had looked up from the hot barley tea she had clutched in her hands. "I can never return to Camelot. I hoped…"
"That you could stay here?" Hunith finished for her, and reached out to lay a comforting hand on her arm. "Of course my dear, as long as you like. Why did you not come sooner?"
Tears still leaked from Gwen's dark eyes, her face marred by guilt and distress. "I was ashamed," she admitted. "You have always been so kind, and I did not wish for you to...think less of me."
"Of course I don't." Hunith squeezed Gwen's arm, her heart breaking for her. "You made a mistake, and I understand that Arthur is deeply hurt. But to banish you?" She shook her head in disbelief. "It is very cruel."
"No, I deserve it." Gwen put down her tea, utterly despondent. "I betrayed him, and I don't even know why. After so many years of waiting and after sacrificing so much, he kept his promise to me, and I couldn't keep mine in return."
She dissolved into tears again, pressing her hands to her face as her shoulders shook. Hunith shifted to sit closer and drew Gwen into her arms, stroking her hair and letting her cry until she was spent.
"And my son?" she asked. "What did he say?"
"Nothing," Gwen told her softly. "When I left Camelot he was there, but he didn't say anything. He could not defy Arthur's decree."
Hunith knew that wasn't true - she'd seen Merlin do little else but defy him, and it was troubling to think of her son standing meekly by and allowing Gwen to be discarded in such a way.
"He should have gone with you," he said, almost to herself. "Brought you here and made sure that you were safe."
"I saw him again, after Morgana had…" Gwen ducked her head, and Hunith held her closer. "He had to warn Arthur, so please don't blame him."
That did not excuse him for his inaction the first time, but Hunith did not voice those thoughts, her focus instead on making the poor girl comfortable, and try to ease her pain.
She had upbraided Merlin though, when he'd shown up some weeks later with a wounded Arthur in tow. He'd been full of explanations of course, and Hunith could see how much the situation had grieved him and had not pressed further. She'd been all joy when Gwen had written after the battle that all was well, and to ask her to come to the wedding. It had eased her mind to see the couple reconciled and obviously very much in love, and she and Gwen had kept up regular correspondence in the years since, as Hunith could not visit as much as she would like, but liked to be kept abreast of their endeavors.
She did, however, resist all suggestions that she leave Ealdor and take up residence in Camelot, because worry for Merlin's secret caused her enough anxiety, and she did not think she would be able to cope with the burden of keeping it every day. In the months since Arthur's death and Gwen's repeal of the law against magic, she'd been reconsidering the option, but an outbreak of sickness in Ealdor had required her attention and she had not been able to give it serious thought until Merlin's letter informing her of Lot's army and urging her retreat to Camelot.
Instead she'd rallied the townsfolk, the bulk of whom had recovered well, to meet Camelot's armies and offer assistance. Lot was ten times the tyrant his brother had been; they'd suffered cruelly under his rule and would welcome his downfall, or even for the border to be redrawn so that Ealdor fell under Guinevere's dominion. Most in the village were proud that the young woman who had spent time in their company had become the Queen of Camelot, and still spoke of her fondly, so it had not been a difficult task to convince them to aid her.
It was the least she could do for her son, for Gwen, to make up for the months she had been absent when their grief must have been the strongest and both could have used a mother's love. But nor could she abandon the village, those she had lived among for so long when they had needed her help and so many of their children were in danger from the sickness. A young woman in the village had been of great assistance, and Hunith had been training her in the healing arts to take her place and administer in her absence, so she would not feel she was leaving them bereft.
She longed to Merlin again, to live close by, to talk with him, to look on with pride at the man he had become, to assist Guinevere with the birth of her child, a happy occasion to help alleviate the sorrows of the past year. It seemed it would be a while longer yet before she could embrace them both, but watching the crystal carefully, she held her breath with anticipation as its amber heart began to glow.
The stones in a ring around the gem began to shake, and Hunith took a step back, unsure of exactly what was about to happen. Alun didn't seem concerned, perhaps they had already practiced the ritual, but he rose and stood to attention, hand grasping the hilt of his sword and resting the point on the ground.
The stones turned to fire, and streams of yellow light shone upwards from the circle, so blinding Hunith had to shield her eyes. But then the light fell away like a sheet of water, and there Merlin stood - tall, proud, in a red tunic of the finest velvet and that old easy grin on his face. Hunith moved closer, hand pressed to her heart, drinking in the image of her son.
"Mother!" he exclaimed, surprise quickly shifting to annoyance. "I told you to go to Camelot!"
"I'm not the type to run," she said with a warm smile. "You know that."
Merlin huffed. "Yes, I suppose. How is everything there?"
"The battle is imminent," Alun broke in, gesturing to the field below where the men were forming their lines and the battle drums were thumping out a rhythmic beat.
Merlin cast his eye over the field at the massing enemy and grimaced. "There's more than we expected."
"It's Lot," Hunith told him, "apparently he captured the fleeing Saxon horde from Camlann and pressed them into his service."
"But surely no match for your magic," Alun said, and Merlin looked even more nervous.
"I can only use it in one place at a time." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'll try to switch back and forth as often as I can, but if I'm needed, call my name. I'll hear you."
Merlin looked down at the ground as the gemstone began to glow again, and Hunith couldn't stop herself from reaching for him, trying to pull him into an embrace but her arms went straight through his body and left her touching only air.
"I'm sorry," he said, and reached out. "I can touch you, but you can't touch me."
She felt him grasp her hand, and saw it held within his ghostly one. It was a strange sensation, and tears welled in her eyes as her gaze met his.
"Please be careful," he asked her, squeezing her hand lightly. He began to be enveloped by the yellow light again but Hunith kept her gaze firm even as he began to fade from her sight.
"I'll see you in Camelot," she promised, and then he disappeared.
Guinevere watched the sun crest over the distant hills from her bedroom window, pushing open the casement to breathe in the cold morning air and alleviate the stuffiness of the room where the fire had been built too high. Her new maid Constance had been instructed by Merlin very precisely on how to tend to the fire as he had once done, since Arthur had always liked his room warm above the average. Gwen found it oppressive; she had never been able to stand the fires of her father's forge, or the hot summers in the citadel where heat collected in close quarters and could not escape.
After their marriage she often found herself opening up the windows to let the fresh air in while Arthur huddled close to the fire and she teased him for being cold blooded. In return he'd often pounced on her playfully, drawing her to the bed and proving just how hot his blood ran when she was in his arms. In the summer months he relented and declined to have the fire lit when the sun streaming in was sufficient to keep their quarters cozy, but took to remaining in his chainmail for that added layer of warmth, and together they found an equilibrium of temperature.
Except Arthur was no longer there, and Gwen could have the room to her exact specifications but found herself hesitating to tell Constance to alter the method Merlin had so diligently taught her. In any event it was not the day to do so, since Valeda had taken up residence in Merlin's armchair and seemed to be quite content with the fire's warm glow. Constance herself was flittering about nervously, fixing up the bedclothes that she had already straightened several times and constantly checking if she needed anything. Eventually Gwen sent the girl off to the kitchens for some food just to give her occupation, even though she was sure she could not stomach anything.
Even without Constance's fussing Gwen found herself unable to relax, and attempting to divert her mind she sat down in her armchair by the fire and pulled her sewing from the basket that always sat beside it. But her fingers shook and her stitches were messy, and she soon discarded the work with a huff.
"Do not worry, Gwen." Valeda rubbed her hands together and held them out to the fire's warmth. "The Triple Goddess smiles upon you."
"Yes, you've said that before," Gwen said idly. "I'm afraid I still do not know what it means."
"Exactly what I say," Valeda gave her an indulgent smile. "Of course, she does not interfere directly with earthly matters. That is the purpose of the High Priestesses, to interpret her will and act as intermediaries."
"It seems her will has not been kind towards Camelot in the past," Gwen observed - Morgana had been a High Priestess, as had Morgauese and Nimue before her.
"That is true," Valeda agreed, "while magic was suppressed here. But you cannot blame the Goddess for the actions of her followers - as I said, we interpret, and are fallible as any other."
She removed the triskelion pendant from around her neck and held it out. "She is the unending cycle of the world - maiden, mother, and crone." She pointed to each spiral in turn. "Each equal parts of the whole, none less important than the other."
Gwen reached out and lightly traced the spirals of the triskelion. "Like the Round Table."
"You see," Valeda smiled. "We are not so very different." She pressed the necklace into Gwen's palm, closing her fingers around the pendant and covering it with her hand.
"In the form of the maiden she is called the White Goddess - she of love and innocence. I believe you may have been touched by her light yourself."
Gwen's eyes snapped up to Valeda's face. "How do you know that?
"Do not worry," she assured her. "It is not common knowledge, but a vision given to me alone by the Goddess."
Gwen flushed and looked away - she didn't like to think of the time she'd been under the hold of the mandrake root, her love for Arthur twisted into something foul. She hadn't given much thought to her healing in the Cauldron of Arianrhod and the power behind it, she had only been grateful to have broken free from the spell.
"That is how I know the Goddess smiles upon you, Guinevere." Valeda squeezed her hand. "And why I believe you will win the day."
She withdrew back to her chair, leaving Gwen clutching the triskelion pendant and wanting more than anything to believe her words.
There was sharp rapping at the door, and on her confirmation Ector entered the room.
"Is there news?" she asked, heart leaping in her throat.
"No my Lady," Ector said regretfully. "Although based on the last messenger, I expect the battle will be starting about now."
"Then I suppose we must wait." Gwen sighed. "Is all well otherwise?"
Ector nodded. "Camelot is as quiet as I have ever known her. There is...one thing."
"Yes?"
"Lady Nella has asked to see you."
Gwen signed again, and leaned back in her armchair, still clutching the pendant in one hand and resting the other over her belly.
"Not yet," she said, knowing that the poor girl would beg for her father's life and Guinevere couldn't make any decisions yet - her thoughts were too consumed with the impending battle to turn her mind to how to deal with those who conspired for her crown.
"Please make sure she knows I am not angry with her," she impressed on Ector. "I just…"
"Of course my Lady," he nodded again. "I agree completely."
Feeling warm, Guinevere rose and went to the window again, looking out at the road that led to Camelot, willing for it to bring good news. She thought of Merlin, pressing her hand with the pendant to her heart, and asked the Triple Goddess to smile on him too.
Queen Annis had never feared a battle. It was not bloodlust, she had no taste for the taking of life, but nor did it trouble her conscience, not when she knew it to be just. Still, the frisson of tension that ran through an army moments before the battle, the sound of horses whinnying and their hooves testing the earth, the smell of sweat and steel and leather, the hopeful faces of the men as she rode up and down the lines, always exhilarated her. War was how one proved their mettle, and the courage to face an enemy head on mattered far more to Annis than the outcome, to remain defiant against the threat of annihilation the greatest form of valor that would outlast any victory or defeat.
She looked up at the sky, a mottled grey with rain threatening every moment. The time was at hand, and she turned her horse towards the enemy massing on the other side of the field whose numbers far outstripped their own. Sir Percival, commanding the forces of Camelot and Gawant, was further down the line, while Princess Elena was at the rear of the army at Annis' insistence - the girl was brave but untested in battle and accepted that, being a fine horsewoman, she could serve better as a messenger between the flanks of their joined forces.
The trumpets sounded from the enemy camp and they began to charge - the Saxons were in the vanguard; large, brutish men with every desire to revenge themselves upon
Camelot and her allies. Annis called to her men to hold firm, and nodded to her captain to signal the archers.
Percival followed suit, and soon arrows rained in their enemy, taking out close to a third of the first wave but the rest were undeterred, roaring as they advanced with impressive speed. Annis drew her sword and held it aloft with one hand, holding tightly to the reins of her horse with the other.
"Warriors of Caerleon, to victory!" she cried, as Percival signalled his men with, "For the love of Camelot!" and the infantry began to charge. They clashed in the middle, a melee of swords, axes, and pikes - the blood spilled, and within minutes the bodies began to pile up. Percival was in the thick of it, a head taller than even the Saxons, his sword slicing through them like butter. For her part Annis was not about to sit back and watch, and dug her heels into the horse's flank.
"Cavalry," she called, "To me!"
At the Mercian front Merlin wasted no time calling lightning from the sky and raining it down upon the enemy as he had done at Camlann. However at that battle he'd not had Sir Gareth at his side with running commentary and constant advice that while helpful, was starting to fray his nerves.
"Queen Mithian is a fine archer," Gareth remarked, and indeed she was, mounted on her white horse and clad in shining chainmail and a white fur cloak, crossbow held aloft and letting the bolt fly into the hearts of her chosen foe. She would shoot and then quickly retreat behind their lines to reload in order to dart back out again and fell another. However Merlin could see Odin's men had caught on to her gambit, an entire squad of them advancing on her position
"Merlin-"
"I see them," he said, twisting his hand to direct lightning to take them all out. But the force of it caused a reverberating shockwave that sent the soldiers flanking Mithian on their backs, and her horse reared in fear.
"Be careful," Gareth scolded him.
"I'm trying," Merlin said through gritted teeth. Mithain kept her seat but was clearly rattled, leading her horse back behind the fighting to calm him. This left the enemy free to advance, Mithian's forces scrambling to reform their lines in her absence, and leaving Merlin wary of trying the same trick again on what might now be slightly unstable ground.
He turned to scan the rest of the battlefield, but Gareth was ahead of him. "There's Odin, but you'll never get him with that lightning unless you want to sacrifice a whole company. Got any other tricks, my lord wizard?"
Merlin ignored the jibe in Gareth's tone, and searched for Bayard but his standard was nowhere to be found. He saw Leon, still mounted on his horse and cutting a swathe through the enemy, and therefore no cause for concern.
"Sir!" Kay pointed to the line of medical tents, already teeming with wounded, and a gaggle of enemy soldiers creeping upon them.
Merlin took a deep breath. "Tricks, huh?" He raised both hands and murmured a spell he'd found in the book but never before attempted.
It worked - the soldiers hit the invisible forcefield he'd constructed, falling back to the ground. Confused, they tried again, whacking the air with their swords and clubs but meeting only resistance.
"Well done, Sir!" Kay let out a whoop of joy. "That got 'em!"
"Can you maintain the barrier?" Gareth asked, and Merlin shook his head, already straining with the effort.
"Then I will go," Gareth strode towards his horse. "Kay, remain here and protect Merlin with your life."
"Yes Sir." Kay nodded, drawing his sword even though there was no immediate threat. Merlin wanted to protest, but his head was pounding, the strain of keeping the forcefield intact against merciless attack wearing on him.
"Merlin!" Like an echo, he heard Alun call from the other side. "We need you!"
He gritted his teeth, holding on for as long as he could and breathing a sigh of relief when Gareth advanced on the raiding party brandishing his sword.
"I'm needed on the Essetir front," he told Kay. "If things are dire here, call me back."
Kay looked stricken, but nodded, adjusting the grip on his sword. Merlin could only hope Gareth would return immediately, and that his body was not left to the defence of a fourteen year old. He closed his eyes, feeling his spirit shoot across the breadth of Camelot, the sounds of one battle fading away to be replaced by another.
He opened his eyes to a massacre - it was raining, turning the battlefield into a veritable swamp of red-stained mud and piles of bodies. Immediately Merlin searched for his mother but she was nowhere to be seen - but of course she would be tending to the wounded, and he could only hope there had not been a similar stealth attack.
"Merlin!" Alun drew his attention, hideous fear lacing through his face. "There are too many of them - quickly please."
Merlin scanned the battlefield, raising one hand to the sky to draw the lightning down. "Where are the lines?" He could not see Camelot's banners through the rain, making it impossible to know where to aim.
"There," Alun pointed, "on the left flank, do you see Queen Annis?"
Her helmet had come off at some point during the battle, her red-gold hair turned dark from the rain and plastered against her cheeks. She led the cavalry and while they seemed to have made progress, there were masses of soldiers behind those that had already been slain. Merlin called the lightning down far enough from Annis not to cause any harm to her men or scare the horses, but to take out dozens of the enemy.
She looked up to the ridge and gave a battle cry, raising her sword before leading her men in another charge. Merlin cast his gaze across the rest of the field, searching for Percival but he was too deep in the scrum to assist. So instead he called his fire down upon the reinforcements massing towards the rear of the army, causing them to scatter and at least some abandon the battle to flee into the woods.
"It's working!" Alun jumped with joy. "Merlin, it's working!"
Merlin was too focused to answer, raising his hands skyward and drawing in the storm under his control, sending a vicious wind through the enemy's ranks and bearing them down into the heavy mud, casting the rain in their direction so they could barely see through it, allowing Percival's forces to advance.
"Merlin!" Alun cried, waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention. "Your mother!"
He whipped his gaze down to the medical tents - the area had been breached and at the head of the raiding party was Lot himself. There was no mistaking him, the spit of his brother Cenred and just as ruthless, disposing of the wounded so they would not rise again, likely knowing that Merlin would not dare send his fire among them lest he hurt Camelot's own men.
Hunith appeared from one of the tents with a sword in her hand, but Lot simply laughed and wrenched the pommel from her hand when she tried to strike, then slapped her hard across the face. Merlin was filled with rage as his mother fell clutching her cheek, and Lot loomed above her with his sword held high. He murmured a spell and clenched his fist tightly; Lot cried out, the sword dropping to the ground and he clutched his wrist, the bones inside shattered into pieces.
He gave a roar and advanced on Hunith again, to kill her or worse. Merlin reached out his hand again, shoving his palm outwards with all the strength of magic he could muster, and Lot was thrown back into a nearby tree with such force his neck snapped. He slumped to the ground, eyes open, head bent at an unnatural angle, never to harm anyone again.
"Merlin!" Alun screamed again, "watch-" His warning became a bloody gurgle, and Merlin turned too late to see they had been discovered - Alun was holding his belly as blood spilled over his hands, and one of Lot's men advanced on Merlin, sword banished high. He brought his hand up again, grasping for a spell but it was too late, and the man's sword cleaved him in two.
Of course, it passed right through his apparition, but hit the amber dragoneye on the ground and cleaved it in two. Merlin felt a surge of agony as the darkness swallowed him up, shunting his spirit forcefully back into his body in a most unnatural way.
He opened his eyes again to the Mercian front, falling to his knees and breathing hard, clutching at his chest.
"Sir, are you alright?" Kay knelt beside him, but did not dare breach the ring of fire. "What's happening?"
Merlin looked wildly around, and saw the bodies of three enemy soldiers on the ground, Sir Gareth dispatching the last one with a triumphant cry. He ignored Kay's question and rose to his feet, trying to ignore the pounding in his chest.
"How are we doing?" he addressed Gareth, casting his eye over the field which looked similarly bloody, but with far more enemy casualties than in Essetir.
"The day will be ours, I think." Gareth nodded, kicking away the body of the last man. "Half of Bayard's forces fled for fear of your lightning, and the man himself is nowhere to be seen."
"He could be lying in wait," Merlin looked to the battle, and indeed Odin seemed to be lacking reinforcements. "Drawing us into a trap."
"Sir Leon is too smart for that," Gareth said sharply. "If they withdraw, we will not pursue."
"Well if they need the encouragement." Merlin pushed aside his pain and again called on his magic, finding the link with the world that surrounded him to again call lightning from the sky. It scorched the earth in the thick of Odin's army - not as strong as before - but enough to strike fear again into the hearts of the enemy. More men began to flee despite Odin's flustered, angry cries for them to hold firm.
"I must get back to Essetir," he said. "It is not so well there."
But when he closed his eyes, Merlin found the way blocked. No matter how hard he tried he could not find the path back; the dragoneye had been splintered through unnatural means, closing the door on the other side, and he feared, dooming them to failure.
Leon had lost his horse, pierced by a polearm as he'd breached Odin's lines and so he fought on foot, knowing that he must lead his men by example, to give them courage to follow. To his great relief the scrum had thinned out, and he felt that surely victory must soon be theirs, as long as they could capture or kill those remaining - or at least encourage them to turn tail and run.
But unlike Bayard's forces who had fled with no king in sight to lead them forward, Odin's standard still flew high, and the man himself still mounted on his warhorse so large it crushed any daring to come too close. He was an incredible soldier too, armed with a broadsword used to cut his way through Camelot's lines towards the Nemeth companies.
Leon ran after him, his instinct to protect Queen Mithian at all costs. He had always been struck by her beauty and grace, and would never forget the second time she had come to Camelot so pale and forlorn, collapsing in his arms from exhaustion. But in the past few days he'd come to know her charm as well, a keen intellect behind that demure smile such that keeping her company on the march had not been a hardship. In fact, quite the opposite.
She rode from behind the Nemeth line, aiming her crossbow at a pack of enemy soldiers, seemingly unaware of Odin's warhorse bearing down on her. Leon opened his mouth to give a cry of warning, but it seemed she was not so unaware after all, and turned at the last moment to release a bolt from her crossbow in Odin's direction. As close as he was he could not divert his horse in time, and the bolt lodged itself in his shoulder, throwing him from the horse as Mithian darted back behind Nemeth lines.
By the time Odin had pulled out the bolt with an almighty roar and risen to follow her, Leon had arrived, putting his body and sword between them. Odin snarled, and despite his wounded shoulder still clung to his sword, swinging it wildly at Leon's head. He parried and then thrust, driving Odin back, determined to disable the man and take him back to Guinevere in chains, to drag him before all of Camelot and proclaim him the tyrant and perverse villain he had proved himself time and time again to be.
Every time their swords clashed it seemed an echo of Odin's wicked deeds. Sending an assassin to kill Arthur - more than once. Raiding Camelot's northern borders and constantly terrorising the villages there. Invading Nemeth and forcing Mithian to bargain for her father's life, and again attempting to kill Arthur. Reneging on the peace treaty and raising an army against Guinevere, and perhaps most of all, threatening her life and that of her unborn child, two innocents with whom he had no quarrel, no reason to ignite his bloodlust.
Odin was a great swordsman, and Leon had difficulty fending off his powerful blows. He faked a right blow and then came in from above, and Leon could only hold his sword up to parry and brace for the impact. It was considerable, forcing him onto one knee, and Odin laughed as he bore down.
"It's over, sir knight," he sneered, pressing all his weight down onto his sword, Leon's knee sinking into the soft earth as he struggled to hold his own weapon firm against him. "I will take the day, and I will take your Queen."
"Never," Leon said through gritted teeth. He would never let that happen - not to Guinevere, his childhood friend, Arthur's wife, and the Queen and to whom he'd committed his unwavering loyalty. All the death that surrounded them could be lain at Odin's feet, and he would not let him proceed to cause more, to reach Camelot and force Guinevere into marriage, or - as he'd threatened - kill her baby, that small spark of hope they had all clung to in the difficult months since Arthur's passing.
It was this final indignity that sent a white-hot anger through Leon's blood, that gave him the strength to push upwards with all his might, the steel of his sword scraping against Odin's and casting him back. Leon pushed to his feet again and lunged forward, cutting and slashing at Odin who was now forced onto the defensive. It was a frenzied attack, so unlike Leon's usual precise style, but confused Odin for a moment that he had to parry and step back rather than lunge. Leon took the moment to strike a powerful blow from the side, forcing Odin's sword into one hand as the other faltered due to his injured shoulder, and before he could react, slice through his wrist and sever it completely.
Odin cried out in pain, falling to his knees as he dropped his sword to cradle the stump of his arm as blood poured from the wound, and Leon held the tip of his weapon to his enemy's throat.
"Tell your men to surrender," he ordered. The fighting around them had stilled - Odin's soldiers as well as Leon's own watching for the outcome that would determine the battle. With Bayard fled and Odin captured, it was likely that it was over.
But Odin remained defiant, and spit at Leon's feet. "That's all you'll get from me."
Leon looked to his men and was about to tell two of his company to take Odin prisoner, when Mithain appeared at his side. She'd dismounted her horse but still held her armed crossbow pointed directly at Odin's heart. Her dark hair had fallen free from its binding, her pale face was flushed, the hem of her white cloak stained brown and red, but she still looked beautiful even as her cold gaze pierced Odin, his eyes widening slightly as he looked up at her, their positions completely reversed from their last meeting.
He opened his mouth to speak but Mithian released the final bolt from her crossbow, and it drove itself clean through Odin's chest to strike the ground on the other side. He let out a pitiful gasp and then fell to the ground dead as the men of Nemeth cheered.
Mithian turned to Leon, chin held high. "For my father," she said simply, and he nodded, unable to fault her for it.
Elena urged her horse faster across the sodden battlefield; it was no easy task to avoid the men fighting as well as those who lay dead, and rain had engorged the ground so it was never clear how deep the plots of mud and water were, every treacherous step a danger that her mount would trip or falter on unstable ground. But she was not the best horsewoman in Albion for nothing, her chestnut stallion trusted her firm hand on the rein and followed her command to increase speed.
"Deploy the reserve!" she shouted at the captains as she rode down the line. "By Queen Annis' command!"
She could do little but watch them go - the last of their forces deployed against a still insurmountable enemy. There would be no more messages to carry between the remaining commanders - all they could do was fight, or surrender, and she well knew the latter would never be contemplated, not while Annis and Percival remained in charge.
The tide had been turning, when Merlin had drawn the storm and cast it against their enemy. Lot had disappeared from the field and his men, without a leader to rally them, had looked close to retreat. But then the storm had stopped suddenly, the lightning gone leaving only the bitter rain and giving Alined time to regroup both his and Lot's forces and attack once more.
Elena looked to the ridge behind them, but could not see Merlin as she had before, like a ghost calling down fire from the sky above. He must have been needed on the Mercian front, and fear gripped her heart to think they were faring as poorly. She cast her eye over the battlefield again, searching for some way to be of use but it had become a riot of clashing swords and bodies, their last reserves making a final push to support the vanguard that had been thoroughly routed by the Saxons seeking their revenge for Camlann.
She saw old Sir Bedivere leading the charge - he'd lost his helmet, silver hair flying in the wind and blood trailing down his forehead as he urged his horse forward.
"For the love of Camelot," he roared, brandishing his sword high. "For Queen Guinevere!"
The men answered his rallying cry and followed, but Elena feared the centre could not hold, and they would soon be overrun. She looked back up at the ridge again, but still Merlin did not appear and this time Elena knew they could not wait any longer.
She jerked on the reins of her horse, leading it past the medical tents overflowing with wounded, and up the path to the ridge as fast she could. What she found was even worse than she feared - Merlin nowhere to be seen and two bodies on the ground.
"No," she cried as she dismounted and knelt by the nearest one. "Alun!"
She turned him over but he was beyond help, eyes unseeing and glassy and a deep wound in his gut. One of Lot's men lay dead on the ground nearby, his leg severed and a dagger still lodged in his chest - Alun must have used his last strength to do so.
The circle of stones he had so carefully built had been scattered, the amber gem at its centre split right down the middle. Elena scrambled through the mud to collect the stones and reform the circle, her hands shaking with the cold and fear and responsibility.
"Merlin?" she called through the haze of rain. "Merlin, please, come back!"
There was no answer, and nor did the stones melt into a ring of fire like they had before - they were cold as ice. She reached for the two pieces of the amber gem, pressing them back together and calling Merlin's name again.
The gemstone fused and became hot to touch even through the leather of her gloves, and she dropped it with a cry, falling back onto the muddy ground. But it had worked; the ring of fire had returned and light streamed upwards, but it seemed to waver, as if the connection was not quite firm. Shielding her eyes, Elena looked to the gemstone and saw it was still cracked, and when Merlin finally appeared the vision of him flickered.
"Elena," he said, his brow furrowing. "Are you alright?"
Sprawled on the ground in the mud and drenched through, she realised she must have looked awful. "I'm fine," she said as she rose. "But our last reserves have been deployed, we need your help."
Merlin nodded and looked over at the grim prospect that was the battlefield. He raised his hands again she saw the glow of his eyes, but nothing happened - he grimaced and tried again, but there was no lightning, no fire, no mastery of the storm to target only their enemy.
"I can't." Merlin's hands dropped to his side, and the vision of him flickered again. "The connection's been damaged, my magic can't get through."
"Then we are lost," Elena said, despair clutching at her heart for only a moment before it quickly turned to resolve. She did not intend to leave her men to face the enemy alone, and if they should fall, she would be at their side - she had pulled them into this fight, and would take the consequences. Her horse could sense her fear, but Elena patted his neck and whispered comforting words, asking of him one final service.
"Wait Elena," Merlin caught her attention. "Look." He pointed beyond the battlefield to the woods, and she shielded her eyes from the still falling rain, straining to see what he did.
There were people emerging from the trees - perhaps a hundred or so - but not clad in the livery of either side, or even dressed for battle. They did not advance far beyond the safety of the woods, instead standing in a line on the edge, raising their hands or lifting their arms as they began to chant in a strange language.
"It's the druids," Merlin said with mixed wonder and relief. "They've come to fight with us."
Elena watched in fascination as the druids attacked Alined's forces with their magic - it seemed they did not have the command of the storm as Merlin did, but had skills of their own - some casting balls of fire and flame, others targeted individual soldiers with attacks that threw them back into the muddy ground, and a few even used mind powers to lift weapons from fallen men and use them against the enemy.
The impact was swift, the tide turned, and Sir Percival called to his men to reform their lines in front of the druids, to protect them from counterattack. This allowed Annis to outflank Alined's forces on the other side, and Elena felt a surge of joy and relief as she watched what she felt sure was the beginning of victory.
Her stallion nudged her shoulder, having been expected to be mounted and then left confused. Elena laughed and pressed her cheek into the horse's neck, thankful that there would be many more rides ahead of them.
The aftermath of a battle was always different. Although there had been few Merlin had fought in himself, he would always tend to Arthur who had lived a soldier's life, and would sometimes be elated afterwards, wanting to drink and carouse and celebrate with his men. Other times he would be brooding, the weight of death upon him even if it had been a victory. Merlin had always been there whatever Arthur's reaction, to prattle endlessly and keep his mind off the day's events, needling Arthur until he'd been told to shut up, but always with a wry smile that meant he'd succeeded.
Now Merlin knew what it was to be bone weary after a long day's fighting, to mourn the deaths of those he could not save, to commiserate with those that had stood alongside him. Sir Gareth seemed to have a newfound respect for him - insisting they share a drink as he related to his fellow knights the events of the day - the attack on the the medical tents he himself had helped fend off, the assassins that had come for Merlin and met a grisly fate. He also gave young Kay his due, the boy's face bright red under the praise of his mentor and the other knights. Merlin too, gave the boy his thanks, relieved he could send Kay back to his father intact and with a great story to tell.
But he had not lingered with the other knights too long - his magic was spent and he seemed immune to the restorative powers of ale the others swore by. Instead he made his way through the camp alive with a mix of celebration and sadness - joy at their victory, but sorrow at the price they had paid.
Sir Bedivere had fallen at Essetir, Elena had told him, and of course he'd seen poor Alun's body where he'd died protecting the dragonstone. Annis had lost her man-at-arms, a close friend, and her forces made up the brunt of the casualties. Percival had survived, he had been relieved to hear, although he had not been able to linger at the Essetir front as he'd wanted to, since the connection via the dragonstone was weak. He'd been able to return long enough to hear Elena's report of the outcome in their favour, and left her to make his thanks to the druids who had come to their aid.
Merlin still could not quite credit it - after Iseldir and Valeda's suspicion at Camelot that Gwen would ask for their help and she had assured them she would not, they had turned up anyway? And Iseldir himself, a pacifist who had been at the centre of the druid line, the others following his lead to attack the enemies of Camelot, to turn the tide of the battle and ensure their victory. But it was a quandary for another day, and Merlin, tired as he was, could only be grateful to them.
He sought out Sir Leon's tent thinking it would be empty, but instead found him within, Mithian held tightly in his arms. They broke apart when he entered, Mithian wiping tears from her cheeks and Leon looking rather shame-faced.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Merlin said, looking away, flooded with embarrassment. "I...I thought you'd be out celebrating. I'll go."
"No," Mithian called to him, and when he turned back she had composed herself although the evidence of her distress remained on her face. "It's alright, I should be with my men. I just…" She trailed off, and Leon put a hand on her arm but clearly wanted to pull her back into his embrace.
"It's not easy," Merlin said softly, "to take another's life."
Mithian lifted her chin slightly. "I don't regret it."
"But it still takes a toll," Merlin nodded. "As it should, my lady. Death should never feel easy, even if it is justice."
Mithian gave him a sad smile - perhaps Leon had told her something similar. "I know I asked you to, before the battle. But...I'm glad it was me. I think it had to be."
Merlin was glad too - he would have done it of course, Mithian needn't have asked, he'd already made up his mind to do what was necessary. But Gwen was still so worried about him, that he would get carried away with revenge and call it justice, that it would begin to change him. It was different with Lot; he'd killed him in defence of his mother's life, and felt no particular satisfaction in it other than in stopping his rampage. But Odin, with whom Merlin had greater history and hate, to take his life could have been too close to dark vengeance.
"To the victor, the spoils," he said, and gave a small bow. "And to me...bed, if at all possible."
"Oh, of course." Leon stepped aside and gestured to his sleeping area. "Please, take mine - you look exhausted."
"Thank you," Merlin breathed, crossing the tent and collapsing in the cot without even bothering to remove his boots.
"Yes, rest Merlin," Mithian said as she and Leon departed. "You deserve it."
Merlin let his eyes drift closed, too tired to answer, but breathing easy for the first time in months as he fell immediately into a deep sleep.