Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Mordred, Iseldir, Disir, Gaius
Author's Notes: some of the Disir and fire-side dialogue are from The Disir by Richard McBrien.
I've always wanted to fix this scene. It drove me crazy when they aired it.
Many thanks to my awesome beta reader, Gwyllion (gwylliondream), who got back to me in record time and made wonderful suggestions on how to make this better!
And thanks so much to the mods for hosting this fest!
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 1
"There can be no place for magic in Camelot."
Camelot's warning bell echoes in the darkness.
Mordred's blood on Arthur's hand. "Must I sacrifice a friend?"
"Embrace the Old Religion." Three figures standing there, immovable. "Your last chance."
A flash of lightning cracking across the sky.
Crows flapping, feasting on rotting corpses.
Red cloaks torn and tossed aside.
The warning bell tolls.
Arthur's face contorting in agony.
"For rejecting magic."
Louder and louder the clang of alarm.
"There can be no place for magic in Camelot."
Mordred standing over Arthur, his blade slick with Arthur's blood.
"No!"
With a shout, Merlin woke. Catching his breath, feeling as if his heart were about to burst from his chest, he threw off his blanket, getting ready to fly to Arthur's chambers when he realised that he wasn't on a battlefield but safe in Camelot. As his heart steadied and he blinked into the darkness, in the distance, he could hear Gaius snoring and the faint trill of a nightingale. No bell sounded, no figures loomed over him, no crows cawing destruction.
It was only a dream.
It took a long time before Merlin got back to sleep. As he did, he remembered Arthur's face and Merlin's own words echoing, "There can be no place for magic in Camelot."
Merlin tried to tell himself that it was only anxiety, that he was worried about the future and Arthur. The prat seemed to love to get into trouble and Merlin rescued him so many times that he'd lost count.
But the dreams only seemed to intensify over the next few nights. Always the same thing, always Arthur dying and the words beating in Merlin's brain. He didn't know what it meant, only that it was trouble, only that destiny was catching up with them all, and Merlin seemed to be the key to it.
For it was Merlin's words haunting his nights. Even though he hadn't said them. Yet.
Merlin could feel his dreams coming true. The Disir, seers of the Old Religion, acolytes to the Triple Goddess, had sent a warning to Arthur, telling him that he had angered the goddess to the point where everything he cherished would come to naught.
Of course, Arthur dismissed it. His hatred of magic ran deep, Uther's poison flowing through Arthur's veins. But when Mordred was hurt trying to protect Arthur from harm, Merlin's worry about his dreams blossomed into panic. It was beginning. And they were not mere night-terrors but visions of the future, much as Morgana's dreams had been.
He could not ignore the visions or react in haste. They always made things worse. Instead, he needed to think things through, to follow them to their horrifying conclusion and see where he might change destiny and save Arthur's life after all.
He only had a day. Frustrated from his research, Gaius being no help at all, and remembering the dragon's continuing emphasis on destroying Mordred so that Arthur might live, Merlin tried to bring forth another vision, hopefully one that made sense. Much as Merlin feared Mordred's potential, Mordred really didn't deserve to be murdered for something he might do in the future. And Merlin already had enough blood on his hands.
Nothing came, no dreams, no visions. He was reluctant to go into the vaults and use the Crystal of Neatid, but in the end, it didn't matter. Before Merlin could act, Arthur was already saddled up, and calling for him.
The Disir were adamant. Learn of the Old Religion, bow to the Goddess, or suffer the consequences.
At least, Arthur had until dawn to decide. As if there were really any choice at all. Merlin knew that Arthur was unlikely to allow magic in Camelot, even to save Mordred's life.
Merlin busied himself, arranging the fire, starting the evening meal, wishing desperately to find some way to come through all this with Arthur's destiny secure and Mordred gone. Arthur was silent, too, obviously thinking through the decisions he had to make. He didn't even react when Merlin told him he was going to fill the waterskins.
Walking down to the sacred spring, trying to find peace in the awful choices, Merlin dipped his hand into the cold water. He drank a little, then shook out his hand, sending droplets into the air.
As he blinked, his heartbeat slowing, around him, beads of water hovered there. Tiny diamonds of light, each containing a world within it.
It wasn't Merlin doing.
His magic was energised, to be sure, but even slowing time took effort and this was outside himself.
As he touched the nearest droplet, hoping to push time into starting again—he didn't want Arthur to see it and accuse him of sorcery—, scenes of the past few days flashed through him.
Mordred unconscious in the cave.
Arthur arguing with the Disir.
The knights trampling through the cave, destroying the objects hanging there.
Merlin tried to pull back, trying to dislodge the water coating his fingertips but there were more scenes, more visions of the future. A reminder of what was to come, but no less terrifying.
Crows cawing as they ripped corpses apart.
Mordred plunging his blade into Arthur.
"So, what should we do? Accept magic? Or let Mordred die?" Arthur staring at Merlin as he waits for an answer.
"There can be no place for magic in Camelot."
Arthur drawing one last breath in Merlin's arms.
Mordred smiling as they return home.
Arthur rejoicing at Mordred's recovery.
Merlin watching, sickened at what he'd done.
But there had to be a way past it, past the threads of destiny driving them toward a horrifying ending. Too many scenes of Arthur's death, too much of despair. He dove back in again, touching more droplets, desperate, searching, searching for a way to save Arthur.
"So, what should we do? Accept magic? Or let Mordred die?"
"Let magic return to Camelot. Mordred doesn't deserve that fate."
Arthur smiling.
Mordred walking away, Druid-cloaked.
When he came back into himself, the ground around him was soaked with water, but there were no droplets still hanging in the air. Merlin's face was wet, too, as if he'd been crying the whole time. He was wrung out, shivering with worry and desperation.
In the earlier visions, Merlin had made the wrong choice, for himself, for magic. Choosing to deny magic so that Arthur might live. And he didn't know what the last vision really meant.
But one thing was clear. If his visions were to be believed, the Disir were lying. They had implied, only a few hours ago, that Mordred would die if Arthur didn't do as they demanded. But the sacred spring and his own magic had shown Mordred alive and well even after Arthur rejected their demands and returned to Camelot.
No matter what Arthur decided—accept magic or reject it—, Mordred lived. The only real choice was whether magic would be allowed once more into Camelot, and Merlin had to wonder if that would make a difference in Arthur's fate.
If Arthur asked him, Merlin knew that his answer would be different. This time.