AN: Ah, action sequences. My old nemesis, we meet again.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

Chapter Thirty Five

Merlin fell back and veered to the right, watching Arthur disappear through the trees. It didn't sit right, deliberately separating from him when he knew his friend was heading straight into danger. He could feel that wild magic, unpleasantly familiar by this point, and knew the Deilen were nearby. But he also understood the advantages of having the higher ground and the element of surprise. So he shoved his uneasiness aside and began making his way around to the top of the gorge. As he drew near, he abandoned his horse so he could move more freely and stealthily.

It took about three seconds to realize he would not be moving freely or stealthily in those damn skirts, though. It only took him a moment to shed the wig and dress – he didn't want to just destroy it with magic since Gwen had picked it out and he wasn't sure if it was hers – and conjure up some normal clothing. Then he found his way to the edge of the gorge. He breathed a bit easier when he spotted Arthur; his greatest fear had been that Maelor would find Arthur during that brief window when they were separated.

Reassured, Merlin took a step back from the edge, making sure he was well hidden, and slowly reached out with his magic. He'd done his best to keep it contained until now. Arthur had told him Maelor couldn't sense him the last time, and they suspected it was because the magic from the temple had masked his own. He wouldn't have that advantage now. All he could hope was that if he kept it contained, Maelor wouldn't be able to feel it. Or, if he felt it, he would think it weak enough to believe Merlin wasn't nearby.

His eyes widened as soon as he let his magic free. Last time he'd faced the Deilen, he hadn't reached out and tried to get a sense of their magic. Ill as he was, he hadn't done anything beyond basic instinct. That was probably for the best, given the circumstances; he hadn't known enough to be intimated.

Now though…the weight of their power was startling. It wasn't so much the intensity of their individual magic as the strength of their numbers all combined. Pushing away his fear, he probed further, trying to go beyond the power itself to see if he could figure out how many there were and where they were hiding. He'd never done anything quite like this before, but following the trails of magic came instinctively. Unfortunately, there were so many trails crossing each other that he knew pretty quickly he wouldn't be able to pin down numbers.

He was able to identify locations though. They had taken the bait. He could sense them approaching the mouth of the gorge, although a number of them were also climbing to join Merlin at the top, splitting so they could cover both sides.

Merlin could hear his heartbeat. That wasn't normal, was it? To hear your own heartbeat? And he knew it wasn't normal for his hands to shake like this.

It's okay to be nervous. Scared, even. Just stay focused on the fight in front of you. Don't let yourself think about what-ifs.

The memory of Arthur's voice reassured him. Merlin had heard him say those words more than once to some of the younger knights before battle.

Just stay focused, he repeated to himself. He'd saved Arthur from countless magical threats before. True, this one was a bit more thoroughly planned out than his normal fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants methods, and yes, Arthur and the knights would know and would even see him fighting this time. And sure, historically he'd only faced one or maybe two sorcerers at a time instead of thirty. But none of that mattered. At the end of the day, this was just one more time Arthur had gotten in over his head and Merlin had to save him. Just a normal Tuesday, really.

And there they were. Arthur hadn't noticed them yet, still meandering casually down the gorge, but the Deilen began pouring in, blocking his exit. As expected, Maelor stood in the lead.

This was the moment. He had the element of surprise.

And then something happened that had never happened in a fight before.

Merlin froze.

What should he do? He could snap all of their necks. That was an idea he'd been toying with in the back of his mind since the last encounter. It would be fast and painless, and would involve almost no risk for Arthur or the knights. It would be done in an instant.

But now, looking down at them…there had to be at least twenty people in the gorge. Could he do that? Kill twenty-plus people with no warning, never even giving them the chance to surrender or defend themselves?

I admit, Merlin, there's no doubt you could be a monster, if that's the path you chose.

He pushed aside Arwen's words. He had made his decision, back at the meeting of the round table. He had shown them mercy once before. They chose to attack again. They did so knowing the consequences.

His hand shook as he raised it. And even though he'd made his choice, he hesitated.

A cry sounded below him, and with a start, he realized Maelor's hand was also raised, his eyes gold. Merlin's gaze shot to Arthur just in time to see him land hard on his back as his horse sprinted away, the priests quickly dodging the running animal so it could escape the gorge.

The plan disappeared, his thoughts disappeared, and instinct took its place.

"Feall!" he hissed under his breath, and in the gorge below, the priests all tripped and fell to the ground.

Maybe he had lied to Arthur. Maybe he did have specific fighting moves he favored.

Unfortunately, this particular move was honed from countless skirmishes with bandits and mercenaries, not from encounters with armies of sneaky sorcerers. The effect would have been comedic, had it not been so embarrassing. He hadn't accomplished anything other than a brief distraction, and he'd given up the advantage of surprise. He could actually see the exasperation on Arthur's face as the king looked around.

He couldn't worry about Arthur's reactions right now though. Not thinking at all was still better than overthinking and doing nothing, so he pushed forward.

"Ymbseten cnotta!" he whispered, and vines shot from the dirt, winding their way around the priests and securing them to the ground.

At that moment, a yell sounded from the entrance to the gorge, and Merlin looked over to see Percival running in full speed, sword raised, shortly followed by the others. Arthur found his feet as well, grabbing his sword and racing at the priests.

Merlin's stomach turned. This didn't seem right either, six men with swords massacring people who were pinned to the ground, helpless to fight back. Apparently the knights felt the same, because they slowed as they approached, swords still drawn, but hesitant to attack.

But the Deilen had their own magic, and it only took a couple of seconds before some of them began to break free from the vines. Maelor managed to get himself upright, although his feet were still tangled, and immediately turned back to Arthur. Merlin barely had time to get a shield between them before the spell – something that felt sharp and bright when it hit – flew from his hand towards the king.

Merlin felt himself starting to panic. He was botching this.

Suddenly, a flash of pain shot through his body, white hot and wiping his mind blank. He fell to the ground, forcing himself to push the pain aside as he turned around and saw his attacker. No, attackers. Three of them. He'd been so focused on the action in the gorge below that he'd forgotten about the priests who had climbed up alongside him.

A man stood behind him, face smug and hand outstretched, two more men standing on either side. Merlin scrambled to his feet, watching them warily.

Then below him, he heard a familiar cry of pain.

Arthur.

In a moment, Merlin's doubts and nervousness disappeared. It didn't matter whether he had a plan, it didn't matter that he was outnumbered, it didn't matter that he'd wasted the advantage of surprise; when Arthur cried out, Merlin's magic surged, ready to fight.

Without another thought, he threw all three of the priests backwards into nearby trees and rocks, then turned his attention back to the gorge without bothering to check if they were still alive or conscious.

Below, Maelor was bleeding; Arthur had apparently landed a blow. But the priest stood over the king now, and Arthur's sword lay several feet away.

Merlin threw Maelor as well – yes, he definitely had moves he favored, he could see that now – and Maelor hit the side of the gorge and fell, but immediately found his feet again.

Behind him, Merlin sensed someone else approaching, and his fists tightened in frustration. He couldn't do this with his attention split. He knew height had its advantages, but he needed to get closer to Arthur. It was too easy to get distracted otherwise.

He flung a blast of power behind him, hopefully knocking out anyone nearby, then began scrambling down the side of the gorge.

The priests were nearly all free from the vines now, battling four-on-one with the knights. Gwaine was holding his side as he fought, clearly injured. Percival had lost his sword.

Damn it, Merlin! Do something!

There was Arthur's voice in his mind again. Merlin had promised Arthur he could count on him to win a magical battle. Arthur had trusted him.

A priestess noticed his approach and ran at him, and Merlin didn't hesitate this time. Her neck snapped and she fell without a sound.

A sharp pain hit him in the side then, making him stumble, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Maelor walking towards him, hand extended.

Good. If Maelor was coming after him, then he wasn't going after Arthur.

"I have Emrys," Maelor shouted, as though he'd heard Merlin's thoughts. "Kill the king!"

A priest behind him turned and spotted Arthur, but before he could take more than one step, Merlin threw him back. Lightning lit up the gorge as he flew, thunder shaking the ground as he landed.

Merlin paused. Lightning? It had been a clear day when they rode out. Looking up, he saw a blackened sky, heavy with unfallen rain.

He'd called a storm. He hadn't meant to, but as soon as he saw the clouds, he knew this storm was his. He had created it, and he could command it.

He didn't bother with a spell as he called the lightning and sent it at Maelor, and he didn't waste time watching as the lightning ended the high priest's life.

He sent several more bolts along the top of the gorge, where he knew other Deilen were hiding, most likely casting their own spells on the battle below. He wasn't really trying to kill them – shooting blindly with lightning was hardly an effective strategy for that. He just wanted to make a point. But while several sets of eyes glanced up at the lightshow at the top of the gorge, both sides remained focused on the fighting.

Merlin dropped to one knee, pressing his hand against the ground. "Eorfhrernesse!" he hissed, pushing his power into the earth until he felt it tremble beneath him. As the rumbling grew, he kept his eyes on the sides of the gorge, prepared to stop a rockfall if necessary.

But the earthquake shook nothing loose, and Merlin only needed to hold it a few seconds before priests and knights alike pulled to a halt, looking around in alarm. Slowly, their eyes found Merlin, crouched with his hand to the ground, his eyes glowing gold. Every few seconds, another flash of lightning illuminated his form and reflected in his eyes.

He had their attention.

The only exception was Arthur, who stared at Maelor's body, lying several yards from where Arthur still sat on the ground.

Convinced the king was safe, and forcing himself not to wonder what that look on Arthur's face meant, Merlin slowly stood and turned his attention to the priests. But he couldn't help automatically closing the distance to Arthur, placing himself between him and his enemies.

Maelor was dead. Merlin had proved his power. And staring at the priests gathered before him, Merlin found he really, really did not want to kill the rest of them.

He threw a paralyzing spell across them, making sure to cast it wide enough to include the top of the gorge, cringing in apology at the dirty look in Gwaine's eyes when he realized he'd accidentally included the knights. But they were in the midst of the Deilen, and Merlin didn't have time to try to sort through and separate them out from the enchantment.

And then he caught sight of the face of a priest near Gwaine. He was younger than most of the others, barely older than Merlin. And there was no hatred on his face, as Merlin had expected. No battle rage, no coldness.

No. All he saw was despair.

"I was their last hope," he realized, saying the words softly enough that only Arthur could hear. For some - for Maelor - the attack on Arthur was born out of hatred. But Merlin suspected that at least for that one man, it had come from a place of desperation. And although his ever-present protective instincts for Arthur and the knights didn't fade, his heart broke at the thought.

How could he have missed something so obvious?

Merlin flinched at the pained sound Arthur made as he stood. "What's wrong with them?" he asked as he stepped up to Merlin's side.

"Nothing," Merlin answered sharply. "They've lived in fear for a quarter of a century, Arthur. They've seen their friends and family slaughtered. They thought this was their last bid at freedom."

"No, Merlin," Arthur clarified, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Not 'Why were you their last hope,' you idiot. I mean why aren't they moving?"

"Oh. Because I froze them." He glanced at Arthur out of the corner of his eye, still keeping his focus on the threat in front of them. "What do you want to do?"

"I want to go home and take a bath, and then go to bed," Arthur muttered with a sigh. Then he stepped forward and raised his voice to the booming and confident voice of a king who commanded armies and gave speeches to crowds of hundreds.

"Priests of the Deilen," he declared, "I do not wish to see any more death or bloodshed. I speak not only of today, but of the Camelot I hope to build for the future. It is no secret that I do not follow the Old Religion, or that I have considered magic an enemy in the past. However, I have come to realize that some of my understanding of magic has been…skewed." He glanced at Merlin. "Emrys has helped, and helps me still, to learn the truth of powers that are unfamiliar to me. I cannot promise what the future will bring, but I can promise that I desire peace with you. I will give two options to those of you who are willing to surrender. You can choose to repent of your crimes and swear fealty to myself and to Camelot, and you will be allowed to go free. Or, you can choose to leave Camelot, never to return on penalty of death. Will any among you take my offer?"

Merlin reluctantly turned loose of the spell and vanished the vines still entangling a few sets of feet. He stayed ready though, in case anyone took advantage of the opportunity to attack again.

Instead, the young man near Gwaine called out, not to Arthur, but to Merlin.

"You trust him? You truly believe a Pendragon would ever allow us to live in freedom?" he asked skeptically.

"I do," Merlin affirmed. "I have seen the manner of king and the kind of man he is. I believe he will rule justly and fairly to the best of his knowledge and ability. You will notice I'm still alive and free, despite the king knowing about my magic for many months now."

"Only because he forces you to use it in his service," a woman protested bitterly.

A snorting laugh broke out from the back of the crowd. Merlin immediately looked at Gwaine, but Gwaine was staring in amused surprise at Leon.

"Sorry," Leon said, blushing slightly. "It's just…I don't think anyone forces Merlin - sorry, Emrys - to do anything he's not willing to do."

Merlin couldn't resist a smile in response to that. "King Arthur has never compelled me into his service," he confirmed. "I serve him because I choose to."

"No amount of freedom in the future can bring back the dead," another man called out, and Merlin recognized Arven. He sounded just as bitter as the woman, but Merlin also heard weariness and grief in his voice.

"I know," Arthur admitted. "Nor can any number of apologies. I cannot change what my father did, nor can I undo what I have done. All I can do is give you my word that I intend to build a different Camelot from the one my father ruled, and that includes not persecuting the innocent. Including those who have magic and choose not to use it for harm."

There was a long silence, and then the woman who had spoken stepped forward. "I will surrender," she said with a wary glance at Merlin, "but I have no interest in living in a kingdom with a Pendragon on the throne. I will leave Camelot."

Several others echoed her. Arthur's face remained stoic as he nodded in acknowledgment to each one, but Merlin could see the disappointment and relief battling in his eyes.

Finally, the young man stepped forward. Not just by a step or two, like the others, but walking through the crowd until he stood before Merlin and Arthur.

"You're sure of him, Emrys?" he asked again. The despair had faded, although Merlin wouldn't say he saw hope in his eyes. It was more like cautious uncertainty. But Merlin counted it a victory nonetheless. Maybe hope would come with time.

"I'm sure," he confirmed.

The young man nodded and turned his attention to Arthur. He swallowed, then hesitantly knelt and bowed his head.

"I will accept your offer," he said quietly. "I, Alder, son of Brent, swear fealty to you, King Arthur, and to Camelot. I give you my word, I will not willfully act to harm you or your kingdom in any way."

It took Arthur a moment to answer, and when he did, his voice was rough. "I accept your fealty. And in return, I give you my word that I will not willfully act to harm you or others with magic unless they prove themselves criminals by their actions." Then he added in a low voice, "I thank you for your courage, Alder, son of Brent."

Alder nodded once and stood. "I'm taking a risk," he said evenly, looking Arthur in the eye, "choosing to stay in Camelot. But this is my home." He paused then, eyeing Arthur curiously. "And I suppose you're taking a risk with me. You're really going to allow someone who tried to kill you to continue living in your kingdom?"

"It's a risk worth taking, if it will bring peace," Arthur answered firmly, meeting his gaze.

Then he reached out, and after a moment, Alder reached back, clasping Arthur's forearm with a trembling hand.

Merlin looked away, trying to control the tears in his eyes. Arthur may call him a girl later, but he couldn't help it. It was great – amazing, really – that Arthur hadn't killed him when he'd found out about Merlin's magic. And yes, those papers outlining a plan for revoking the ban on magic were wonderful, and the meeting with the druids had been encouraging.

But he knew he would remember this moment for the rest of his life.

This was the moment Camelot began to heal.