Hello all!

I'm inexcusably late for the two-week deadline, and I offer my usual apologies. :P My brother came home for an unexpected visit, and then I got to go see Wicked (which was SO AWESOME), and then some friends were in town from far away, and I got to meet one of my future classmates for grad school... yeah... you know. Anyway, I am still sorry for my tardiness.

Anyway, this chapter was written quicker than I'd like, because you'll see (for obvious reasons) that it's rather an important one. I'll leave my assessment at that and say that I really hope it doesn't disappoint. I know you've been waiting for this a /long/ time.

There's a LOT going on at the end-scene, and I tried my best to make it clear.

Enjoy!

"The War on Sorcery started in England, and it is England that everyone looks to now as our country roils with its second civil war in less than thirty years' time.

We face a choice. This time we must see to it that we come out stronger and wiser for the experience. It may be that we could win this war alone; we are strong still. But ours would be an empty victory, were it to come at the cost of many lives and the integrity of our home.

It is not victory we should seek. It is peace. And there will never truly be peace until the two peoples of this country end the cycle of bloodshed, hatred, and vengeance. Fear and violence are the response of a weak man. Both sides of this conflict have suffered great wrongs. Let us show strength and let go of past grievances. The time for fear is over. We share this country, and we share a common duty to protect it. If we stand together in this last and greatest moment of the second civil war, we will have a chance to take back this country and rebuild it stronger and better than before.

"He's posturing."

Lying. Posturing. It was all the same. They were all liars, Morgana reflected silently: Uther, Merlin, Gwen… Arthur. Alvarr, the speaker: he did little but lie. He and General Cenred were cut from the same cloth.

"It doesn't matter." Cenred looked up from the pale screen, eyes narrowed. "Arthur Pendragon is popular. The public trusts him, and we don't have time to fight his media campaign."

"I don't believe Pendragon is the main problem," Alvarr leaned over the table and jabbed a finger at the screen. "What of Emrys?"

"Merlin Astur?" Morgause's tone sharpened. Alvarr inclined his head.

"He's alive. He and Pendragon together could pose a serious threat. We don't have much time to rally the support we need—"

"Your Emrys is a cripple." The scorn in Morgause's voice cut through Alvarr's protest. "He will not trouble us again." Morgana bit the inside of her cheek and slid a sideways look at Alvarr. He didn't seem convinced, but she'd felt it; the flow of magic through her hands—Merlin shivering beneath her touch. Cripple. It seemed a strange word to use for Merlin. Her imagine of him hadn't changed from the bright-eyed, smiling, gangly young man who had sat across from her at a table in a coffee shop not so long ago. He had been her ally—her confidante. He was quick tongued and opinionated, the first to speak when he felt that she was wrong… and the first to defend her brother, despite his own connection to magic.

Did Arthur know, Morgana wondered, that his closest friend and confidante had been lying to him too? Did it matter? If he didn't know now, he might never find out. Merlin wouldn't be casting spells again…

"She's right." Cenred broke the tense silence with an impatient jerk of his head. "The boy will do more damage where he is. He serves as an example for the Druids and for Pendragon, but he is of no importance to us for the moment." The man paused, and his gaze settled briefly on Morgana. No… her heart clenched. No more public appearances… no more shows… She'd hated the cameras the moment they turned on her. "We need a new government in place soon," Cenred resumed in a clipped tone. "The country will crumble without its systems up and running. Our advantage," his gaze turned on Morgause, "Was our influence among the magical populations. Pendragon threatens that. I need to know how much support his little unity campaign might draw away from us."

"Ruadan and I will not be enough," Alvarr answered for her. "The other three have not supported you this far." The former Druid squared his shoulders and leaned over the table, frowning deeply at the paused playback of Arthur's speech. "If Pendragon can coax support from even one of the remaining Druid communities, our position could be jeopardized."

"You told me one was a pacifist." Cenred crossed his arms before him on the table, looking between the two sorcerers.

"Iseldir. Yes," Morgause said. "He would never contribute active support to a battle. But Alvarr is right. He could still stir up trouble."

"He has argued for a truce these past many years," Alvarr picked up quickly, his scowl deepening, "And Pendragon's proposition no doubt looks appealing to him. More than likely, his influence could turn Aglain or Alator in favor of the idea."

"Which is why it's important," Morgause put in quietly, as if picking up before Alvarr had spoken, "That we reach Pendragon before he has a chance to speak with either of the other representatives." Morgause reached over and turned the tablet-screen off. "Cut him out of the picture."

"We haven't been able to locate him since he slipped through our fingers before your very eyes," Alvarr observed icily. "Have you considered the possibility that Pendragon already has the support of someone in the Druid community?"

"Arthur Pendragon is not beyond our reach." Morgause's eyes gleamed, and her hand on Morgana's shoulder shifted. Yes… Morgana gritted her teeth. They still had their mole in Arthur's little unofficial administration. Another liar. But what difference did it make, she reflected. They seemed to flock around Arthur. "He slipped through our fingers, as you put it, because we were unprepared," Morgause said. "This time, we will have the element of surprise. It will not happen again." Cenred stood.

"See to it that it doesn't. My resources have already been bled enough." He turned on Morgause and Morgana. "I want Rodor and Pendragon both. Either could be dangerous still without the other."

"Both of them," Morgause agreed, rising as well.

"Good. Keep me informed on the movements of the Druids, Alvarr—both Iseldir and the other two representatives. We need to know whether he's speaking with them, whether any of their people are on the move, especially near Camelot. And I want to know the moment Pendragon reappears. We may as well dispose of this ridiculous Druid myth once and for all."

Morgana kept an eye on the two men until they left the room then pushed her chair back and turned.

"Morgana." Morgause's voice stopped her. She looked down, and something scuffed across the table beside her. "Your spell was not strong enough." Morgause placed the tablet in her hands. She'd seen the clip several times already and knew before she looked what Morgause was pointing out. It was difficult to discern whether Merlin was pale, or whether the lighting merely dulled the color. Yet Merlin it undeniably was. He stood between Gwen and the young American, Gwaine, as straight and steady as the others… He had not only survived. He was on his feet… and to all appearances, well. Morgause stared at the screen for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. And she wondered, as she said it, whether she was. The twisting feeling in her gut when she first saw Merlin's face again hadn't been fear or anger.

"Morgana." Morgause's hands slid the tablet out of her grasp and set it aside. "This is a crucial moment for all of us. Your resolve cannot falter again." Morgana lifted her head to look her sister in the eyes.

"It won't," she promised. Morgause smiled.

"Of course it won't." She put a hand on Morgana's arm. "This will all be over soon. We will be free, just as I promised you."

Free… That was what she'd wanted. The freedom to be who she truly was without fear or apology. To fight beside Morgause for that freedom and do whatever it took to earn it.

It was what she'd wanted. Once. At a time when she'd thought she knew who she was.

"You've been very quiet lately." Merlin raised his head, roused from his own quiet thoughts and the hum of the car's engine he'd been listening to for several minutes. He sighed. They couldn't have more than an hour, maybe half an hour's drive left, and he'd been hoping… He laced his fingers over his knees. But what had he expected. Arthur had maintained a demeanor of curious enquiry for the past several days. His usual stubbornness kept him prying tenaciously away at Merlin's silence for the past several days.

"It's called thinking," he offered. Arthur had turned in his seat to look over the back at him. "You might want to try it," Merlin added dryly. Arthur, entirely un-amused, ducked under his seatbelt so he could turn properly towards the dark haired man.

"For God's sake, Merlin, I'm trying to have a conversation. Talking to you right now is like pulling teeth." Merlin fixed his eyes on his hands a moment longer. "Come on. What's eating you? Are you worried about the negotiations? We already brought up most of the concerns at the talks beforehand—"

"I'm not worried about the negotiations," Merlin interrupted. Arthur arched an eyebrow again and held out a hand.

"A straight answer. I thought you'd given those up," Arthur deadpanned. Beside Merlin, Gwaine huffed.

"Yep. Definitely should've brought Gwen along."

"Rodor only wanted people the Druids had met before—"

"I know, I know," Gwaine cut over Merlin's flat explanation. "I was there. Listened to the General's whole explanation myself." The American offered a lighthearted grin and nudged him. "Relax, Merlin. We're teasing. Don't take it the wrong way, but the princess here is right. You've been wound up in knots for days." Arthur leaned his arms on the seat back and frowned at him.

"Don't tell me you're getting another of your funny feelings?"

"No…" Merlin flitted a glance at Arthur. "Yes… I… maybe. Can we just drop it?" The look on Arthur's face communicated a clear no. Arthur had never been one to leave matters hanging once he'd gotten it into his head to dig to the bottom, and his scrutinizing look was making Merlin increasingly uncomfortable. Arthur seemed to be onto something, and magic-related enquiries were on his mind for more than one reason, between the speech he'd delivered for the country and now the initiation of negotiations with the Druids. "I…" Merlin fumbled for an answer that would turn the conversation elsewhere. "I just don't like leaving Gwen behind." The expression that crept across Arthur's face quickly made him wish he'd thought of something else to say. Twice now they'd left Gwen somewhere 'safe' and nearly lost her.

"If I'm not mistaken," Gwaine intervened, "Gwen has escaped more than one sticky situation on her own and probably saved your lives a couple times to boot. She's a smart girl. She can take care of herself."
"Should've gotten her on that plane." Arthur scowled now.

"If you think anything could've convinced her to take an easy ride out of the country, you don't know the first thing about Gwen," Merlin scoffed. Arthur ignored him. No doubt he didn't need reminding. Gwen was as unhappy about Arthur going without her as Arthur was about leaving her.

"It's a moot point." Gwaine shrugged. "The plane was there to retrieve American citizens from what the government has declared a warzone. The only one they really would've taken was me." His lips twitched in a wry smile. "My grandmother was quite insistent that I go."

"Why didn't you go?" Arthur's attention turned on the American. Gwaine quirked an eyebrow.

"I may have dual citizenship, but I'm not simply going to hop between countries whenever one or the other suits me best. This was my father's country. It's where I chose to make my home. I'm going to stick with it for the duration of the conflict. At any rate…" He lifted his shoulders. "This may be the first time in my life I've found a place where I can be of some real use. I may not be an ambassador, but I can make some good connections for you—catch the attention of the right people across the pond." Arthur's brow furrowed in an anxious frown.

"You didn't have to stay to help me, Gwaine," he said. Gwaine's eyes narrowed in mild amusement.

"Don't flatter yourself. I didn't stay just for you."

"No." Merlin glanced up, and he smiled, forgetting for the moment his malaise. "I was rather under the impression you stayed for someone else."

"Of course, mate." Gwaine grinned. "Someone's got to make sure you don't get yourself into further trouble."

"Come on," Merlin cajoled. "You've been following her around like a puppy all week." Gwaine shrugged, and his grin changed to a subtler, self-deprecating smile.

"Trust me. I'm not Mith's type. She's made that clear in the past." Merlin huffed. Gwaine shifted his gaze back to Arthur with a shrug. "I've got a lot of reasons to stay," he said more soberly. "It's a good thing you're doing here, Arthur, and I'm honored to be a part of it. Anyway," He smiled again. "I put myself on the line for you and Merlin here before I even knew your names. Did you think I'd leave you two in a spot of trouble now?" Arthur's responding smile reached his eyes.

"You liked our odds, if I remember rightly," he said. "What would you bet on our odds today?" Gwaine's answer didn't come. Merlin's seatbelt snapped tight around his chest. Merlin pushed his feet against the seat in front of him and gulped in a breath of air, partially winded. What the hell? The car had slowed. In front of him, Arthur grasped at the seat-back, jaw clenched.

"Leon, what's going on?" Arthur turned halfway to face forward. The hitherto silent Patronus' brow creased, and he raised a hand to touch the small device tucked into his ear.

"There's some trouble up ahead," he said. "Nothing—" Wham.

The car jolted violently sideways. Something connected with the side of Merlin's head. The world tilted wildly. Either Arthur or Gwaine—he couldn't tell—began shouting. Then the voice was gone, drowned by the sound of water roaring in his ears, and Merlin's vision faded away into a sea of velvet-black.

A soft groan: the sound was a spark of light in Merlin's clouded mind. He struggled momentarily for a grasp on consciousness. Breathing came with difficulty. Something was wrapped tight around his chest, constricting his lungs. Merlin shifted, and his body turned freely, as if hanging suspended in the air.

Noises, fumbling, the rustle of cloth… He blinked. A sticky, warm liquid trickled down over his eyes. Someone murmured nearby—above him, next to him… He let his eyes drift closed again.

"Merlin… hey." The voice sent a stab of pain through Merlin's head. A hand brushed some of the damp, stickiness back from his eyes, leaving the skin there cool and stiff. "You still with me? C'mon, Merlin…" Merlin forced his eyes open. The only thing he saw at first as a pale gray-green shirt and a pair of hands reaching out to steady him. He was hanging, he realized—dangling from his seatbelt which stretched tight across his bruised, aching chest. Sideways, he realized dazedly. The car was lying on its side. They had rolled over… Perhaps once or twice… he didn't know. He felt as if he'd taken the force of the collision with his own body.

"Gwaine?" he croaked. He reached up to grasp at the belt, blinking again to clear his eyes as more blood trickled down his forehead. A hand looped under his chest, and he let out a choked gasp.

"Easy. We're gonna get you out of here," Gwaine said quietly. The seatbelt buckle unclipped. Another stab of pain lanced through his head, and his sight darkened again momentarily as he was lifted up free of the belt. His shoulder bumped the edge of the door, and Gwaine hoisted him through. Another pair of hands steadied him as he opened his eyes in the pale evening sunlight, now outside the car.

"Got him?" Gwaine moved up through the door next to him. Someone else grunted affirmation. Merlin closed his eyes fleetingly again as another pair of hands lowered him to the ground. There, he lay still for a moment, shivering while the waves of shock and pain rippled through his weary body.

Several pairs of shoes scuffed on the pavement beside him. He bit back a groan and rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his arms.

"Is everyone alright?" Leon stepped down from the car. Gwaine was standing already, holding up an ashen Arthur Pendragon. Merlin struggled up, and Leon took his arm, helping him to his feet.

"Arthur?" Arthur blinked dazedly at him.

"Hell, Merlin… you look…"

"Better than you," Merlin huffed. Arthur blinked slowly, and Merlin stepped in to duck under his friend's other arm to help support his half-conscious friend. "What happened?" Leon didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the car further down the road.

"The other cars should have been here with us." His eyes narrowed. Something is wrong… Merlin felt as much as inferred it. There were other magic users here, near, but not near enough for him to guess at their strength, let alone identity. His stomach turned. Rodor had taken precautions for this meeting. Someone had tipped Cenred off…

"We need to check on the others." Gwaine gently retracted his arm from around Arthur, leaving the blond to lean his weight heavily on Merlin.

"I'll cover you." Merlin felt Gwaine's hand grip his shoulder briefly.

"Take care." He nodded and watched for a second with a twisting sense of dread as Gwaine jogged across the street towards the other damaged and overturned car.

"Merlin." Leon turned to him. "Move back to the buildings, and be prepared to get Arthur away from here. I'll contact backup. We'll be out of here soon." Merlin closed his eyes, calling on the shaky strength conjured up from the adrenaline of the collision. He hiked the blond's arm a little higher around his shoulders and shuffled back towards the shelter of the buildings, moving with Arthur's stumbling gait.

"Breathe, Arthur," Merlin murmured. He stopped to lean both of them against the building wall, listening to the sound of footsteps on the street out past him—Gwaine's as he approached the car. The sound of the car door among others… perhaps the other van was as damaged as theirs had been.

Arthur leaned sideways against Merlin, shivering a little. His eyes had drifted shut again when voices on the street rose in volume, and a single voice at once stood out over the others.

"No! No, please!" Mithain. He'd come to recognize her voice in the past few days, and it chilled him to the bone.

"Merlin, go!" Leon barked. That was a trap too. Ice crept into Merlin's chest. They were surrounded.

He didn't for the gunfire to start, as it inevitably did. He had already gripped Arthur's shirt by the back and retreated, dragging Arthur back and around the corner. Out of sight… for just a second. That at least might buy him some time as he fumbled in mute panic for some way to get Arthur away, to protect the others, to figure out what was happening out on the street, or even who was attacking.

"Come on, prat." He hauled Arthur's arm higher around his shoulders. "I can't carry all of your weight." Arthur stumbled.

"I can't," he gasped, pulling his arm away from Merlin's shoulders. "Merlin, please."

Merlin staggered trying to hold him upright. He didn't like the idea. They weren't in a safe place. But Arthur's breathing was starting to concern him seriously. The man was hurt. Badly hurt. He might have a fractured rib or two… maybe something deeper and more internal.

"Okay… just a minute," he relented, fighting the roiling distress in his chest. Arthur steadied himself with the wall and leaned his forehead against it, fingers curling as if seeking something to grasp there.

The voices were closer now—shouting again. Merlin stopped, listened. The gunshots had stopped. Was that a good sign, or a bad one? If Leon wasn't firing, had he been taken out, or had he retreated somewhere safe? What had happened to Mithian, the General, Gwaine… He shut the thoughts out harshly and turned.

"How bad is it? Let me see." Merlin took the hem of Arthur's shirt gingerly. Perhaps he could mitigate the pain enough to buy them some time, let them move further— Arthur caught his wrist.

"Merlin, it's over," he breathed. "It's too late. They're looking… for me… not you. You have to go."

"I won't leave you," said Merlin fiercely. He leaned forward, scanning the surroundings with his consciousness, and counted two... no, three, maybe more people approaching. His head was starting to pound again. But he could feel his magic tingling in his hands, restless, alive… Three he could manage easily. He reached out with a cautious tendril of consciousness, feeling along the edge of the building beside him, and he instinctively felt for the flaws in the structure. He could bring down debris, even block the alley between them. But a collapse was too unpredictable. It might hurt Arthur as well. He would have to find a way to take the men out face to face. Maybe he could leave Arthur here, just for a moment…

"You can't help me." Arthur shuffled back, clutching at the wall. "Please, Merlin, just go."

"Shut up," he growled. "They'll hear us." Arthur fumbled and caught Merlin's sleeve, and he lunged forward to catch the blond before he crumpled to the ground. "Okay…" Merlin slipped an arm around Arthur's back and guided him down. "It's alright. We'll find a way out of this," he murmured.

"Merlin—" Arthur stopped when they both heard the voices, now close enough to make out some of the words they were speaking to one another. Merlin's head snapped up. They could have heard us. His body thrummed with warning and the undercurrent of strong, protective magic. His fingers twitched. Arthur had gone quiet. The footsteps grew closer, and the presence Merlin had noted earlier washed over him with sickening clarity. There were at least two sorcerers. Powerful ones. And he was alone and injured…

The footsteps never reached them. His only warning of their approach was a soft clink. A small object struck the ground near him and rolled towards his feet.

"Merlin!" Merlin turned to face the object with Arthur's frantic shout still ringing in his ears. There were no two options in the moment. The hand-grenade might have ten seconds left. It might have zero. He couldn't risk finding out. He caught a single glimpse of Arthur's ghostly-white face before he dropped to his knees mere inches away from Arthur, minimizing the space he needed to shelter. Just like Kilgarrah's fire… He threw out his hands, and prayed that he was right.

"Scildan!"

For some moments, Merlin felt and saw nothing save the color and heat. It curled and rippled at the edges of the transparent shield. Merlin squeezed his golden eyes shut against the bright, molten orange of the explosion around him. Fire seared at the edges of his protection, stifling his breathing, but the shield held. He crouched for some seconds after the blaze subsided, shaking with adrenaline. Then he rose to his feet, feeling as if his knees might give way at any second. "We need to go." He didn't stop to look at the expression of shock on his friend's face but reached blindly for Arthur's arm and hauled it over his shoulders again, heading for the first door near them. "Tospringe." He kicked it open with a foot and staggered just inside.

Then the arm around his neck locked tight, and he was suddenly forced backward so his back connected with the wall.

"A-Arthur…" he choked. "What… what are you…?" Arthur had regained none of his color. He still looked paper-white, but his eyes blazed with a mixture of panic and anger.

"Who the hell are you?" Arthur snarled close to his ear.

"I…" Merlin reached for Arthur's arm, and the blond's grip tightened. "Arthur, you know who I am. Let go. Please, let go. You're only hurting yourself," he gasped.

"Do I?" Arthur didn't slacken his hold. "You're the son of a dragon-lord, an associate of the Druids'." His fingers curled around Merlin's shirt. "You're a liar." How…?

"Arthur—" Merlin tried to twist free of his grip, then abruptly, the fire died from Arthur's eyes, and the hand twisting Merlin's shirt released. Merlin ducked out from under Arthur's arm to catch him before he collapsed. Arthur's eyes slipped shut, and he bent forward, clutching at his ribs. Merlin slid an arm around the blond, ignoring the feeble attempts to brush his support aside, and he steadied Arthur while the man gasped and fought for air. "Breathe. You need to breathe," he urged, leaning over his friend worriedly. Arthur's eyes were rolling back. His hand reached up again to clench in the fabric of Merlin's shirt, twisting it tight around Merlin's shoulders. Merlin leaned on the wall and guided Arthur's head to his own shoulder to keep him steady and partially sitting up. "Hold still," he murmured. He tucked his hand under Arthur's arm and brushed away the protective hand Arthur had over his injury. He could feel the damage easily by a cautious probe. At this point he didn't care if Arthur saw. He couldn't make the man any angrier than he already was. His eyes opened again, blazing gold as he set the break in place and held it for a moment until Arthur's breathing became slow, shaky wheeze. He couldn't fix a break. He'd never learned much with regards to healing magic—nothing beyond repairing simple cuts. The shuffle of feet outside alerted Merlin to further danger. He tried to pull away, but Arthur was gripping his shirt again, keeping him still.

"You've lied to me," Arthur muttered. "All… this time." Merlin swallowed and silently pulled free of Arthur's hold to rise unsteadily to his feet.

"I'm sorry." His voice sounded empty. With every second, he felt more light headed and utterly drained, but he could hear more voices nearby—now muddled with the soft rush of water in his ears—the threat of fading consciousness. Arthur too was slumped against the wall, eyes barely open, and Merlin couldn't tell if the blond had really stopped fighting against his help or if he was merely in too much pain to respond negatively. They were alone. Leon and Gwaine were gone—perhaps even shot. Mithian and General Rodor were no doubt captured if still alive. He was scarcely able to stay on his feet. And he and Arthur… they were going to die here. He didn't think he could stop another hand-grenade if he tried. He turned slowly to look Arthur in the eye, and his throat tightened.

"I have magic." Merlin's voice shook. "And… I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you." What little of it was left. It didn't matter anyways. Arthur probably wouldn't remember a word of this…

He'd never told Arthur… and now his friend would die thinking he was a liar.

No… He felt his heart sink into his shoes with cold finality. This was his fault. Arthur would die because he was a liar.

The door Merlin had staggered through moments ago clicked open.

Merlin turned with shuffling step and lifted his chin. He recognized almost at once Morgause and her companion—the dark-haired sorcerer who had been with her when Arthur came to bargain his life for Gwen's.

Merlin's knees threatened to buckle beneath him, and his head and vision spun. His magic seemed to falter, like the rest of his flagging, weary body, but he braced himself, calling on every last scrap of energy within him.

"Leave Arthur." He raised a hand in warning. "I'll come with you as long as you leave him."

"Oh, we'll leave him." Fox's voice was filled with scorn. "Have no fear of that." Merlin's other hand curled into a trembling fist. "Well done, Emrys," she added in a sneer. "I didn't think you still had it in you." Merlin braced his feet apart. Both of his hands shook now. He was still feeling the effects of her curse in every inch of his weakened body and in his sapped energy. But he kept his hand up.

"If you want him," he growled, "You'll have to kill me first."

"Come, Merlin," Morgause's voice changed to soft, silken cajoling. "Drop the act. No one is coming to help you. There's nothing left you can do to save him." And in the cloying atmosphere of thick, smothering magic that followed Morgause, Merlin felt a brush of something else—a familiar presence which trickled into his consciousness like a ray of sunshine in the dark. The same gentle presence that had brought his magic back to his fingertips in Dartmoor. Aithusa. Merlin lifted his head to look the sorceress in the eye, and for a moment his hand stopped trembling. He turned his hand and his eyes lit gold.

"Astrice!" he barked. The flash of fire and light caught in Morgause's palm and dispersed in a burst of flame. The sorceress laughed.

"Child's play." Without a second's warning, Merlin was slammed back against the wall. The impact drove breath from lungs and sent black spots dancing across his vision once more, fogging his already pain-muddled thoughts.

Merlin… Merlin's fingers twitched. That voice… he'd never expected to hear again. A voice that reminded him of amber eyes, long dark hair, a shy smile… magic, strawberries, a fleeting moment of peace before the storm. If he was hearing her voice again… surely he was dying. We're here. Merlin, you need to stay close to Arthur, just for one moment. We don't have long to reach you and get the two of you away. Can you do that?

Freya, I'm sorry…

Someone had a hold in the back of his shirt. His collar was choking him. Merlin's feet dragged on the ground, bumping the doorframe on his way through.

Hold on. Just a little longer.

The arm was uniform-clad. One of Cenred's. Merlin squinted through half-open eyes. He was being dragged outside into the alley.

The first cry of fear roused Merlin back to full consciousness. A pale winged figure materialized out of the air and plunged towards Merlin. A plume of fire blossomed above Merlin. The shouts turned to screams. The hand on Merlin's collar let go. Merlin rolled away from the burning figure and rose to his knees. Wings spread wide, Aithusa lit on the ground in front of another figure—a prone, blond-haired one. She lashed her long white tail back and forth and let out a feral snarl.

"Ic þé wiþdrífe!" Merlin flung out a hand. Through the dark spots blurring his vision, he saw half a dozen of the soldiers, guns trained on Aithusa, flung back like ragdolls. He lurched forward and collapsed beside Arthur.

Morgause's voice was screaming furiously—perhaps a spell. He wasn't sure. Merlin reached for his magic, trying to shield himself, Arthur, and Aithusa again. Then someone was kneeling beside him.

"Merlin." A slender hand gripped his shoulder. He reached blindly for Arthur, and his hands curled around the cloth of his companion's shirt as his vision faded out once again. "We have him. It's alright." They were the last words Merlin heard before the blood roaring in his ears drowned out all else. The last thing he felt was the gentle touch of Aithusa's snout, then wind whipping around him, spinning him away into darkness.

AN2: Let it never be said that I can't write a cliffhanger... . Again. I'm sorry.

But I'd really like you hear your thoughts... So it's a good day to leave me a review!

Incidentally... it's also my birthday. ;-)

I'll be back in a couple weeks (or maybe less) to pick up where I left off!
Cheers!
Sandyy