From the Other Side

by Penelope-Jane-Avalon

While Lancelot's spirit roams the world in an endless search for peace, in Camelot, Merlin and Arthur must face heartbreaking loss and a battle with 'the citizens' of The World of the Dead.

From The Other Side

Chapter 1

Lancelot had not had time to give much thought to what would happen to him once he walked through the veil into the realm of the dead. In his mind his promise to Gwen had given him no choice. Arthur had to return to the woman who loved him and the people of Camelot and so Lancelot had to sacrifice himself to allow this to happen

But as he looked back one last time, before giving up his life, he had thought that at the very least he would finally see his family again. His grandmother, mother, father and little sister, killed so many years ago by raiders, would surely be waiting for him on the other side of the veil.

But all that greeted him was darkness.

Even the gatekeeper to this world had vanished, and it seemed to him as if he had stepped into a great black hole.

Frantically, he reached out. There had to be a way to find the light. Where were the star people? Where were his ancestors? Where were his family? Why had they not come to greet him?

For one terrible moment he wondered if he had been thrown into this darkness because he of his own actions. For by walking through the veil he had ended his life just as surely as a man who had hanged himself.

He had heard rumours about a new religion that condemned suicides to some terrible place of darkness, a religion which said that to take one's own life was an unforgiveable sin and as his confused mind remembered this, Lancelot felt a suffocating sense of fear. He looked in every direction and then started turning round and round, looking for some pin pick of light, anything that he could walk towards.

He told himself to be calm. He had done what he thought was right. He had given up his life to fulfil a promise and to allow a great king to live on. This horror could not be his only reward?

Maybe it was just a test, some trick of the Cailleach's to make him suffer. All he had to do was find the light.

And so, with hands outstretched, he picked a direction at random and stumbled forward. Immediately, something moved past him just out of reach and then something else. He strained his eyes and realised that in the darkness were other figures, men, women and even children.

Full of renewed hope, he searched their faces looking for someone he might recognise. But all he saw were strangers and worse than that on each ghostly face was a kind of desolation and misery the like of which Lancelot had rarely seen.

"Who…who are you?" he asked.

But either they could not hear him or chose not to. They came closer and closer and then suddenly Lancelot realised they were behind him and drifting away into the darkness.

Slowly, as he stared harder into the blackness, he realised there were people everywhere. Obviously, they were spirits, but why were they here in the darkness? Were they all looking for the light too? Could he follow them?

Though Lancelot was totally unaware, The Cailleach was watching him. What a fine prize she had got for herself. A satisfied smile crossed her face. Time to let Lancelot understand his new existence. He was hers now, trapped behind the veil for eternity.

Lancelot stumbled after a group of children. They seemed marginally less horrifying than the adult spirits and gradually to his relief, the blackness seemed to be dissipating. Suddenly he could see the ruined castle he had left, just minutes before.

Arthur and Merlin were staring into the place where the tear in the veil had opened, a look of horror on both their faces.

Arthur was shaking his head, "No! No! He shouldn't have done that. It should have been me! It should have been me! Merlin, why, why did he do that?"

For a moment, Merlin appeared speechless.

Then he said quietly, "I wanted to be the one…but then who would….how could I….."

He could not finish his sentence. Arthur would not understand. Arthur would never understand anything about Merlin's role in his life until the day when Merlin could reveal his magic. Only then would Arthur realise that Merlin had been and would forever be sometimes the only thing to stand between Arthur and certain death.

Lancelot watched in dismay as Merlin's eyes filled with tears.

"It's all right, Merlin," Lancelot said, coming as close to the two men.

But neither of them heard him and in that moment, Lancelot realised that they never would.

He watched helplessly as Merlin tried to blink away his tears and then grabbed Arthur's arm.

"Come on, Arthur. Let's get away from this place. There is nothing to be gained from staying here."

Arthur did not resist, nor did he answer. He looked back one last time at the place where Lancelot had met his death and then walked away.

Lancelot followed.

He too seemed to walk and yet his footsteps made no sound on the stone floor of the ruined building and when Arthur, Merlin and the others boarded a boat to leave the island, Lancelot found that he could float in the air above them.

He did not know how he moved exactly, only that he did and that it was effortless. As they reached dry land Merlin offered Lancelot's horse to Arthur to ride and his own, to the knights. None accepted his offer but Arthur, trying to show some leadership, suggested that they take turns riding the two beasts until they got back to the place where they hoped the rest of the horses would be waiting.

Nobody wanted to go back through the tunnels they had used to speed their way to the Isle of the Blessed and so it was decided they take the overground route. The discomfort of the longer route with only two horses between them seemed far preferable to facing the ghastly Wilderen, the fearsome creatures that roamed the tunnels below.

Lancelot did not try to follow his friends. He murmured the goodbyes that he now knew no one would hear and watched them disappear into the trees. Then, he looked upwards and began to ascend towards the sky, which was rapidly lightening as dawn approached.

He had to leave the earth and all the desolation of the spirits that he could see and hear all around him. There was nothing to keep him here. He had to find the stars. He had to find his family, his ancestors. Then, he was sure he would find peace.

Up he went, up and up. The first rays of the sun seemed to reflect on his chain mail, but he felt no warmth on his face and as he went higher, the sky darkened once more.

They would come for him now. He was sure of it. Above, he thought he saw the stars again and figures moving towards him, stretching out their hands in welcome.

He reached for them, but just as he thought the shining fingers might touch his own, he began to fall back towards the earth.

He did not fall as a living creature but rather drifted slowly but inexorably downwards, down to the noise and misery of the earthbound spirits.

Over and over, he tried to reach the stars, but every attempt ended in failure and so eventually he turned and headed for Camelot, for the only place he could think of as home.

He travelled faster than any living being could travel and soon he could see the spires and turrets of the white castle.

While it had been full daylight, the spirits had been fewer and quieter, but as dusk fell, he was once again aware of other spirits all around him. The sounds of the night were disturbed by crying and wailing and Lancelot wondered if he would ever find any rest or peace.

Something drew him to the stables and once inside he found a corner in the stall of an elderly mare, named, Star for the white marking on her nose. Lancelot had heard people say that animals could sense the presence of spirits and so he wondered if he would disturb the horse. But the horses all remained quiet and with Star blowing contently down her nostrils, Lancelot lay down on the straw in her stall.

At least he felt as if he were lying down although there was no indentation in the straw underneath him. He was as weightless as fog.

Apart from the movements of the horses and the odd mouse, the stables were gloriously quiet. There were no other spirits.

Lancelot did not know if he really slept, or just let the peace wash over him but he was brought back to full consciousness by the sound of, Porrig, the groom, scooping oats into feeding troughs for the horses. As Porrig entered Star's stall, he paused. Star came forward to nuzzle at the sack of oats and Porrig stroked her nose absentmindedly.

"Someone here with you, girl?" he asked.

Lancelot scrabbled to his feet, although of course not a single blade of hay or a single mote of dust was dislodged. Surely the young man couldn't see him…could he?

"Be at peace," murmured Porrig. He reached up to his neck and pulled out some sort of amulet he wore on a piece of leather round his neck.

Lancelot moved closer. The amulet was circular and carved upon it was a woman mounted on a horse, her wild hair mingled with the horse's mane. It was a representation of Rhiannon, the Celtic horse goddess.

Porrig narrowed his eyes and then appearing to look straight at Lancelot said, in a low voice, "You are safe here."

"You…you can see me?"

Porrig cocked his head as if listening. His huge brown eyes, so like the horses in his care, were full of warmth and for a second Lancelot thought he would answer him, but the young man went to the feeding trough and scooped oats out of the sack he was carrying.

Then he turned and walked on towards the other horses.

Lancelot stepped out into the central cobbled aisle of the stables, but Porrig merely carried on with his work.

In truth Lancelot had always thought the groom slightly strange, almost more horse than human and although there was really nothing to prove that Porrig had seen him, the fact that he had somehow been aware of Lancelot's presence, was oddly comforting.

Thus, in the days that followed Lancelot lingered within the confines of the castle courtyard. He longed to search the corridors of the castle for Gwen, but he felt in his heart that, that would make him some kind of 'peeping Tom' and so he just waited and was usually rewarded by a sight of her crossing the courtyard on some errand or coming and going from her tiny house in the lower town.

Occasionally she would go to the castle ramparts and look out for the longed-for return of Arthur and as the days passed, she appeared increasingly worried and forlorn.

Lancelot found her distress almost impossible to bear and so he left Camelot to search for the friends he had last seen on the day of his death.

To his relief he found them only miles from the castle. If he could have done so, he would have rushed back to tell Gwen that her lonely wait was over, but all he could do was follow his friends back home, a ghostly presence, invisible to his fellow travellers.

Gwen was in the castle garden, alone, when a servant, a friend Gwen had known for years came to find her.

"The king, Gwen. He's back."

Gwen's eyes lit up. She picked up her skirts and ran. As she stumbled down the steps into the courtyard, Arthur was already running towards her. They fell into each other's arms and for a few moments, they were in a world of their own.

But despite Arthur's obvious relief to be home, Gwen sensed there was something very wrong. Over his shoulder she saw Percival gathering the reigns of the horses and leading them towards the stables. Leon was pulling off his gloves, Gawain scrubbing his hand through his hair, his head down and Elyan avoiding her gaze.

Lancelot's beautiful white horse was there, but no Lancelot.

She looked questioningly at Arthur. He winced and shook his head.

"We lost Lancelot on the Isle of the Blessed. The Cailleach demanded her sacrifice, but as I walked forward, a force….something, flung me to the ground. Before I could stop him, Lancelot walked through the tear in the veil, in my place. The Dorocha are gone, but it has cost the life of the bravest and most noble knight of Camelot."

Gwen's eyes filled with tears, "Couldn't something have been done to close the veil…..anything that did not demand a sacrifice?"

Arthur shook his head again. "The Cailleach was, resolute and we were powerless to close the veil ourselves. But I would have taken his place if I could, as I'm sure would all of us, but…."

Gwen wanted to scream. She had asked Lancelot to protect Arthur with his life and he had done exactly that. But if she had not asked, would she have lost Arthur? She couldn't bear to think about that. But now Lancelot was gone and she couldn't help feeling that it was her fault.

Arthur's eyes were searching her face. She could not let him see that anything was more important than his safe return and in truth, there was not…but Lancelot….

She put her hand on Arthur's cheek and looked into his eyes.

"You are safe, Arthur and your people need you. Without you we would all be lost."

Arthur looked down. "I know I have my responsibilities and the Gods know I wanted to see you again, but I fear we have paid a high price."

He pulled her against him and for a few moments they just held each other in silence.

Lancelot watched. He wanted to tell Arthur that it was all right. Arthur was better man than he was and Gwen loved him. These two facts alone meant that Lancelot must always have been the one to walk through the veil. He was dispensable There were other knights, who could guard the king and provide counsel when needed. He was looking at them. Percival, Gawaine, Leon and Elyan. And then there was Merlin, probably more important to Arthur than all the rest. With these men beside him, Arthur had all the help he needed.

But he couldn't tell Arthur that. He was invisible and none could hear him, even if he shouted.

The following day a huge pyre was built and Lancelot watched as they burnt his sword and his cloak, the things he had left behind.

He also watched as Gwen admitted to Arthur that Lancelot had not sacrificed himself for Camelot, but to keep a promise, he had made to her.

When Lancelot heard her utter those words, if he had still had a heart, it would have shattered into a thousand pieces.

The days that followed were horrible. Everyone seemed affected by his death and Lancelot hated to see their pain. He hoped they would all soon forget him, for their sadness was a burden he could do without.

Nevertheless, fearful of the outside world, Lancelot remained in Camelot. Only in the safety of the stables could he avoid the ghastly spirits that roamed the world behind the veil. In the stables, for some reason there was peace and he treasured that more than anything.

He now resided in the stall of his own horse, Cedar. Here as night fell, he could experience what passed for sleep in the spirit world.

Basically, it was silence. In the stables he could hear nothing but the sounds of the animals and the occasional snore from Porrig, who slept on a mattress in the loft above the horses. Here Lancelot could pretend he was still alive and still part of the world. It was a fantasy, but one that gave him rest and on the other side of the veil, that was all he cared about.

Chapter 2

Merlin was miserable and he could not conceal it. He missed Lancelot more than he could have imagined. Just having a person with whom he could exchange a knowing glance or private joke when he secretly used his magic, had been something he treasured. Now, in Camelot, there was only Gaius who knew his secret.

He was discussing his feelings, in hushed tones with Gaius, when Arthur walked into the court physician's chambers.

Immediately conversation ceased.

Arthur had a frown on his face.

'Merlin, there you are! I need, need ….um… a… speech…written….I mean read through. You don't need him, do you, Gaius?"

"No, My Lord. We were just er, discussing herbal remedies."

"Remedies, you say? I thought I heard Lancelot's name mentioned."

"Er, yes, Arthur. Lancelot had been enquiring about a pain killer for and old wound that was bothering him" lied Gaius, 'We were just saying how much he will be missed."

Arthur rubbed his hand through his hair and looked down.

"Yes, well, he won't be needing that now, will he?"

He sighed, "We all miss him.

Merlin?"

Merlin followed Arthur out of the room.

They did not speak until they were in the prince's apartments where Merlin expected Arthur to hand him his speech. Of course, Merlin didn't expect there would be much to read. Arthur had long since realised that speech writing was something he could off load on to his servant. In Arthur's mind for reasons, he could not quite fathom, speech writing was one of the few things Merlin was actually quite good at.

But Arthur gave Merlin nothing. Instead, he stood by the window staring out towards the high hills and forests to the west of Camelot.

Without turning to look at Merlin, Arthur began to speak.

"You were a good friend of Lancelot's, weren't you? I mean to say, you knew him really well…..Merlin?"

Merlin winced. He had an idea where this was going.

"Yes, yes, I knew him well. We were friends."

"Did he ever say anything to you about Gwen or…did, did she ever talk to you about Lancelot? I mean you and Gwen are good friends too, aren't you?"

Merlin was unsure how to answer. He knew what Arthur was trying to find out. Only very recently Merlin himself had asked Lancelot if he still 'thought' about Gwen and Lancelot had said that he did not. Arthur, Lancelot had told him, loved Gwen and she was happy and that was all that mattered.

But the light in Lancelot's eyes, when Gwen spoke to him on the day they set off for the Isle of the Blessed, had been impossible to ignore.

In his heart, Merlin had known that Lancelot had been lying and Merlin had felt real sympathy for him. Gwen had been in the palace for years before Arthur had even noticed her, while Lancelot had been enchanted by her from their first meeting. And it had been no passing fancy. He had fallen deeply in love with her.

No matter what had happened afterwards, there had been a time when Gwen had returned Lancelot's feelings. But when Lancelot had realised that Arthur too loved Gwen, he had left in the night, leaving Merlin to explain to Gwen why he had gone. She had been visibly upset. She had given up her hopes of ever being allowed a relationship with Arthur and handsome, kind, brave Lancelot had been there just when she had needed him.

Arthur was and would always be the love of her life, but a servant, marrying a prince was just a fantasy. Lancelot on the other hand had been a commoner just like herself and so there would have been no barriers to any relationship between them, so if Lancelot had stayed….

But there would be no benefit in saying any of this to Arthur. It was all in the past and what mattered now was the future.

"Gwen loves you Arthur," said Merlin, simply.

"That isn't what I asked you."

Arthur sounded irritated, but also worried and unsure.

"You saw how she wept over Lancelot's funeral pyre and she has been quiet and…..and I don't know, withdrawn since then. Maybe…..maybe she regrets the promise she asked of Lancelot. Maybe she wishes that HE had returned instead of me."

"Of course she doesn't! She loves YOU Arthur. You are EVERYTHING to her."

Arthur turned to face Merlin, his face a picture of misery.

"I tried to be the one to walk through the veil. You know that. Lancelot should not have died. The Kingdom is my responsibility, not his. What happened, Merlin? Why wasn't it me?"

"Arthur, the Cailleach did not want you. For all her vicious demands for a sacrifice, you were not her choice."

Arthur shook his head. "But it makes me look like a coward and why would Gwen love someone who allowed another man to die in his place…and worse than that, a man like Lancelot. He was….he was just, just so noble, so… so….. bloody good! Of all the knights, he was the one who could beat me in combat. He was…"

"Arthur, listen to me. He was all those things. He was a great friend and I miss him and Gwen misses him and Percival and all those who knew him. But he is gone and it is NOT your fault and Gwen, of all people, does not blame you.

She asked me what happened on the Isle of the Blessed. She wanted to hear every detail and I have told her. She KNOWS that you tried to sacrifice yourself and it was only because you were thrown back by the power of the Cailleach that Lancelot was able to take your place. You and Gawain were not even conscious when Lancelot stepped forward.

So, stop believing that anyone thinks less of you because of what happened. You will be king one day and your people will need you and just as importantly, Gwen needs you now."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. Now give me that speech and I'll get to work on it. You can go and find Gwen. Take her some flowers. Talk to her. You'll know then that I am telling you the truth."

Arthur's face lightened.

"I'll do that." He rummaged through the untidy mess on his desk, picked up a scroll and chucked it at Merlin. Merlin caught it in one hand and Arthur nodded in approval.

"You're getting less cack-handed, Merlin."

But before going through the door, he turned back. "Thanks, Merlin. Sometimes, surprisingly, you just…you just seem to know the right thing to say."

He hurried away and Merlin heaved a sigh.

But why did Lancelot have to die? Why did any one of his friends have to die? The demand for a sacrifice had been the Cailleach's way of exerting her power on the living, pointless and cruel and Merlin feared that the world, behind the veil would be a dark and horrible place. He wished with all his heart that he was more powerful, that he could go through the veil and bring Lancelot back to the people who loved him.

But Merlin knew that he did not have that power and so as he sat down to write, he determined to think of happier things.

But that didn't seem to work. There were other things worrying him.

Samhain's Eve was fast, approaching and it was a time for feasting and massive bonfires that would light up the night.

And for some reason that thought made Merlin shiver.

Why? He had lived through many such nights before. As a child he had helped build up the fire in their village with his mother. They had brought apples and woven cloth to sacrifice to the spirits to prevent them from causing pain or havoc on this one night when the barrier between the worlds of the dead and the living was so thin.

Everyone always had fun and nothing untoward had ever happened. So why now did he feel so unsettled? Why did the thought of a massive bonfire make him feel so uneasy?

He told himself he was being stupid. The tear in the veil between the worlds had been closed. The Dorocha were gone and that alone was a cause for celebration.

But still there was something, something he could not put his finger on, and he felt sure that it had something to do with the spirit world.

Merlin shook his head and rolled his shoulders to get rid of the feelings of unease. He had a task to complete, and he should stop scaring himself and get on with it.

He scanned the roll of parchment Arthur had given him. There were precisely three lines in Arthur's untidy hand.

"My Lords, Ladies, and gentlemen

I take great delight in inviting you to Camelot.

Please be seated."

Merlin should have been annoyed. But he was actually glad that things were totally normal. In typical Arthur style he was leaving the real work to his servant.

Merlin smiled to himself and forgot his fears.

Chapter 3

"Can you see me," asked Lancelot for what seemed like the hundredth time. "Please answer me. I know that you know I'm here. Please talk to me."

Porrig turned slowly until he appeared to be staring straight at Lancelot.

He sighed. "Spirit, I CAN see you, although not clearly, and I can hear your voice in my head…..the same way that I can hear the thoughts of the horses. I am a horse-whisperer. 'Tis a form of magic and I can never reveal it here in Camelot or the king would have me killed."

The young man's voice was low and as he spoke, he glanced round nervously to check that there was no-one else around. The moon was rising, and it was unlikely that anyone would come to the stables now, but the draconian laws against the use of magic in Camelot were enough to make anyone cautious.

"I know that you are very unhappy and that this stable is the only place where you can find peace. There have been other spirits that have tried to linger here but with the power of the goddess, Rhiannon behind me, I have banished them. I do not banish you because although I cannot see your face, I sense that you are a good man. I do not understand why you linger in the world behind The Veil. You do not belong there. You are neither deranged nor evil. Leave this place. Go! Find your ancestors. Be happy. I just know that you deserve it."

Lancelot could have cried. After all this time, finally a living being was speaking to him.

His emotion threatened to stop his voice, but he forced himself to answer.

"I am Lancelot, Porrig. You know me. On the Isle of the Blessed, I walked through the veil as a sacrifice to the Cailleach. I thought I would go to the stars, but instead I am here, tied to the earth, tormented by the screams and cries of those your rightly describe as the evil and the deranged. But I don't know why. Why am I trapped here? What have I done that was so wrong that I must endure this torment? I loved the Gwen. I admit it, but I stepped aside for Arthur. He is a far better man than I. Is that my crime? If so, how can I atone for that? I cannot endure this existence."

Porrig sighed.

"Sir Lancelot. I thought it might be you. Cedar, she is so calm now that you spend so much time in her stall. She misses you. You have no idea how much. I fear she will be sold, and it worries her as much as it worries me. Is there a knight, someone you know who could afford her?"

Lancelot could not help but wonder why they were discussing the fate of his horse, when his tortuous existence was the real thing, he wanted to talk about. But Cedar was a magnificent horse, and she deserved a decent owner. The obvious choice would be Percival, but Percival had a special horse of his own. He thought for a moment.

"Tristan? His father is rich and although he young and yet to start his training, he will be a knight one day."

Porrig nodded. "I will suggest it to Merlin. He often talks with me."

Lancelot nodded, enthusiastically, as if having a normal conversation. But then he remembered that he was dead and whatever Porrig could see of him was hazy at the best.

"May I stay here every night?" he asked, "you do not have to talk with me. I just need the peace this place provides or else I shall go mad."

Porrig smiled.

"When you were alive, you were always kind to me. You may stay here for as long as you desire and if you need to talk, as long as it is after all others have left the stable, then it will be my honour to speak with the noblest and bravest knight of Camelot."

"I am nothing special, Porrig. But thank you. Thank you, a thousand times."

That night Lancelot finally felt as if he slept as a human. He seemed to dream and his dreams were of happier days. He was not disturbed by the wailing and horror of the night outside the stable walls.

Chapter 4

So, the months passed and Lancelot finally decided that he could stay in Camelot no longer. It was too painful to see Gwen nearly every day and yet not be able to speak with her.

He knew that the world away from Camelot would be hard to endure but reasoned that if spirits could be banned by a young horse whisperer from one place, then surely there must be other spaces where the citizens of the Cailleach's ghastly world were absent.

So, he set out one morning and headed for the coast.

Travel was as easy as thinking and as fast. He seemed to travel at the speed of light.

When he saw the coastline beneath him, he just travelled on ever westwards towards the lands of the setting sun.

There were unquiet spirits there too and Lancelot was forever moving on, seeking pockets of silence. Tiny islands or high mountains were the best places for solitude, for the spirits all seemed tied to the places they had frequented in life.

And it was here in a wild and beautiful place that he found a companion.

The land in which he travelled was one of infinite climates and terrains. It was on the other side of an endless body of water, that he had crossed effortlessly, in his search for peace. There were dazzling coastlines, vast empty plains and snow-covered mountains and it was among the mountains that he discovered, White Feather.

White feather was a native of this foreign shore, tall, dark haired and hand his clothes were all made of animal skins and his long hair decorated with feathers.

On his belt he carried both a dagger and a kind of axe, and when Lancelot first came across this spirit, he was chanting, sitting among some boulders high on a mountainside with his hands raised to the stars.

It was in this moment that Lancelot realised, something which he should have noticed long before. There were no languages among spirits. He could understand them all.

This spirit was calling out to his ancestors and his gods and repeating over and over again, "I cannot forget. I cannot forgive."

And yet despite his words, instead of vitriol and anger, there seemed only despair.

Intrigued by a spirit, that seemed so different from so many of the others he had encountered, Lancelot moved closer. Whether the spirit knew he was there or had finished his chant, he fell silent and bowed his head. Lancelot moved closer still and as the spirit turned and looked at him full in the face, Lancelot saw his own misery mirrored there.

He waited for the spirit to come at him in anger, as others had done before. Instead, the spirit merely stared at him in silence.

The air around them was devoid of other spirits, for this was a place remote and high, a place where men never walked and so Lancelot decided to ask for permission to rest on this cold mountainside. He was so lonely. It had been a long time since he had been able to talk with the Horse Whisperer in Camelot and he yearned for some conversation.

With little expectation of a welcome, he asked tentatively, "It is quiet here, spirit. May I linger here during the hours of darkness?"

The spirit surveyed Lancelot with his sad, troubled eyes.

"I do not own this mountain. I come here only for peace. I sense that you wish for the same. Join me if you wish."

Lancelot 'sat' in a hollow in the rocks and closed his eyes. He really, really wanted to converse more with this strange spirit, but he felt he could not intrude. So, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to happier times.

As the first rays of the sun lightened the sky, Lancelot opened his eyes. The other spirit was still there, looking out over the valleys and forests far below them.

He turned to Lancelot.

"I do not know why, but I sense that in some way, we are brothers. You are not as other spirits I have encountered. A deep sadness haunts you, yet there is no violence or hatred in your manner."

He sighed, "I have been long away from my people, but I must return, for I cannot forget. Though it is like a dagger to my heart I have to see them, my brother and my woman.

You have lost a woman too. I see it in your eyes. Travel with me, if you wish, for you are far from home."

And so, Lancelot followed White Feather until they came to a village. There were no houses but rather groups of tents made of animal skins. In all other respects however, it was a village like all those Lancelot was familiar with, with men and women working and children playing.

It was close to a river and on its banks, the women of the village were collecting water in large pots.

A stunningly beautiful woman stood as the two spirits approached and pushed her hair back from her face. She called to a small boy, who reluctantly left his playmates and trotted over to her side. Obediently he followed his mother back to their tent.

Close to the tent was a man chopping wood. Lancelot had to look twice, for this man was a mirror image of White Feather.

"My twin brother, Grey Wing" White Feather explained, "and the woman, Shining Star, who was mine!".

Almost immediately, Lancelot understood why his companion was trapped in the dark world of unquiet spirits. He was full of jealousy and hate.

"Tell me what happened," he asked. "Were you and your brother rivals for Shining Star's hand."

White Feather shook his head ferociously. "No, never! Shining Star was always mine…right from when we were children. My brother was never my rival."

"Then what…?

"It was winter. We were hunting and when the snow began to fall, our hunting party decided to take a short cut back across a frozen lake. But the ice wasn't thick enough and my brother was behind me. Without warning the ice beneath his feet gave way and he fell through. The others urged me to get off the ice, but how could I leave my brother Grey Wing? I loved him more than any other. All our lives we had done everything together.

So, I lay on the ice and reached under the water. By some lucky chance his hand caught mine and I hauled him out.

By this time the wind was blowing up a blizzard. But the others had found a long branch and in the hope that they could drag us both back to the shoreline, they pushed it towards us. My brother was so cold. He could not hold anything. So, I tied him to the branch with the string of my bow. But just as I had done this, the ice on which I rested gave way and by the time our friends had hauled my brother to safety, I had disappeared under the ice.

The lake was fed by a river and so beneath the ice there was a current. It was strong enough to drag me away from the broken ice and after that I was lost.

It was a terrifying death, with me gasping at small pockets of air under the ice until eventually the water overwhelmed me.

I knew I was dead, when I found myself looking down on the lake from a great height. I could hear the chanting of warriors, long gone and my grandfather calling to me. Despite the snow, the sky appeared to be full of stars and peace filled my heart.

But what of my brother? Had our friends managed to save him? Would he suffer from the effects of the water? Would he even live? I could not go without knowing the answer. So, I turned away and ignored the calls of the ancestors. I followed the hunting party to the village and saw my brother, cold and as white as the snow, taken into my father's tent.

All night I lay by his side. Piles of furs were heaped upon him and fires were lit. Gradually, he came back from the edge of death. On hearing my fate, he wept and blamed himself for my loss. He would not be consoled and refused to speak for days.

I tried to make him feel that I was near, but as you know it is hard, if not impossible, to make the living aware of us. At night he would call my name in his dreams, but never could I make him realise that I was close by. If he saw me at all, he would tell himself, it was just a dream.

Shining Star came to see him often and it was to her that he eventually unburdened his heart from all the guilt he felt about my death and then gradually…..they…"

"Fell in love?" finished Lancelot.

"I saw them together and I felt a rage the like of which I had never felt before. I had saved my brother from certain death, and in return he had taken the only woman I had ever loved. In that moment, the doors to the other world, the world of my ancestors, were closed to me forever."

"At night, when we spirits are more powerful, I haunted them both. I made the air icy cold when they were together. I denied them sleep by filling the night with eerie sounds. Why should they be happy together when I was in a world of permanent nightmares?"

"And do you still feel that way," asked Lancelot quietly.

"I have tried not to be resentful. I have really tried, but now they have a son. That son should have been mine and I have nothing!"

Lancelot's heart went out to White Feather. He understood his pain only too well, because in many ways it mirrored his own. He had tried, really hard, to tell himself that he no longer loved Gwen, that he did not harbour feelings of jealousy toward Arthur, but he knew it was a lie. When a man loved a woman with such a passion, those feelings did not easily fade away.

"I understand how you feel, my friend," Lancelot told White Feather. "My story is not unlike your own."

But Lancelot's story was of course very different and White Feather could only marvel at the bravery of a man who could walk into a world of unremitting horror voluntarily."

"But I didn't know, that all spirits did not experience death in the same way." protested Lancelot. "I thought I would find my family, killed by raiders many years before. Although I had not found the happiness I sought in the world of the living, I thought at least something good awaited me after my death. How wrong I was."

"But you are not like the rest of us who roam behind…..what is it you call it…..'The veil'?

You have an air of peace about you. You do not seem to yearn to hurt those who still have all the pleasures of life."

Lancelot shrugged. "What sort of person would I be if I wished harm to the love of my life or to the man, I admired more than any other. Arthur Pendragon will be a great King. He is loved by all those who know him. Indeed, he would have walked through The Veil instead of me, had not the evil goddess refused to allow it. I would not wish this existence on anyone who I have ever cared for me, let alone those I truly loved."

"You shame me, brother. You do not mind if I call you that?"

"Of course not. It makes me feel so much better to have a friend in this evil world. But I do not seek to shame you, only to explain to you how I truly feel. We are not really, so different. We have both lost a woman we loved."

After their long conversation, White feather no longer expressed a desire to cause havoc in his village. Instead, he and Lancelot stayed in the empty places, high in the mountains. There, they were not tormented by the unrelenting din of other ghosts and rested peacefully during the hours of darkness.

By day they roamed the plains, passing herds of Buffalo and the packs of wolves that followed them. Sometimes the snow was so thick that they could barely see anything and other days the sun shone from an azure sky. But always they talked and gradually White Feather's resentment of his brother began to fade.

One night as they sat on a mountainside, watching the stars White feather suddenly looked up.

"What is it?" asked Lancelot.

White Feather shook his head. "I thought I heard my grandfather call my name. How could that be? I was mistaken."

But even so, Lancelot could see his friend leaning forward as if hoping to hear the voice again.

This time Lancelot heard it too. "Come to us, first born son of my child. We have waited long for you. Leave the earth and come to us. Many warriors wait to welcome you."

"But I cannot," answered White Feather, getting to his feet. "I turned my back on you when you called. I cannot leave the earth."

"It is only yourself that has kept you tied to the earth. Now, it is time for you to leave. The resentment and bitterness in your heart has been driven out by the kind words of the warrior from a faraway land. Come to us, come now. We wait to honour you for your bravery, for saving the life of your brother."

Lancelot smiled. "Go," he urged. "Go with them. You have found your peace."

White Feather held out his hand. "If I may go, then surely you can too. Take my hand. Come to my grandfather's tent. We will sit round the fire together and tell stories of the ancestors. None can be more worthy than you for without you, I would never have given up my anger and jealousy. You showed me how wrong I was."

Lancelot shook his head, but White Feather would not be put off.

"You love your woman still, yet unlike me, you harbour no resentment to the man she loves. You are an honourable man. You do not deserve this wretched world of loneliness and desolation"

"I cannot go. Leave me, brother. Your ancestors await. I do not know why I must stay, only that I must'

As they spoke Lancelot was aware that White Feather had started to glow.

White Feather was leaving, and Lancelot felt a great happiness for him, although he knew he would be the lonelier for his going.

White Feather pulled his Tomahawk from his belt.

"Take it, brother. You have no weapon to protect you. I still have my father's knife. I made this Tomahawk myself. Now, I give it to you."

Lancelot grasped the weapon and White Feather began to rise into the night sky. Bright figures surrounded him. Feathers glittered like frost in sunlight and a strange chanting sound filled the air.

And then they were gone. Far away Lancelot heard the familiar wail of unquiet spirits and he headed further upwards to the top of the mountain. Clutching White Feather's gift, he closed his eyes and let the sound of the wind block out everything else.

Chapter 5

Years passed and Lancelot stayed away from Camelot. He found no other friendly spirits, but if he stayed in the areas, where mankind had never set foot, he found his existence bearable. In thick forests and tangled jungles, he found dazzling birds and big cats. On tropical islands, he found palm trees and silver sand and on frozen wastes, he found great white bears and seals. In azure seas there were shoals of fish in dazzling colours.

and vast pods of dolphins spinning and jumping out of the waves.

Sometimes he just drifted through the air above them and at other times he would 'sit' in the prow of boats, watching the dolphins leap through bow waves.

Often, he would wish he could help trim the sales, or even take his place among the oarsmen.

He found that he could 'see' the wind. He could tell when storms were coming and yet he had no way of warning those who would have to deal with the consequences.

He had abilities he had never had while he walked the earth and yet he could not use his new-found powers to help the living.

It was frustrating, especially when he discovered that there were spirits who COULD reach out and effect the living world.

Poltergeists!

Almost inevitably, these spirits used their powers for evil not for good. They could move objects, start fires, and force humans to see them in all their malignancy.

They were quite simply, terrifying.

But they could do things, Lancelot could not and so Lancelot followed some of these entities, trying to understand how they were able to make things happen from the other side of the veil. If he too could gain these powers, he could use them to help people.

He found himself wondering if there were such creatures in Camelot. In the days and weeks, he had lingered there, after his death, he had been aware of menacing and vindictive spirits and he had not wanted to be anywhere near them.

But now he missed home. He wanted to go back.

Chapter 6

Lancelot did not realise how many years he had been away until his spirit drifted into the lower town. The town had grown. There were new shops and markets and a new tavern. As Lancelot looked up at its swinging, creaking sign depicting a black bull, he made a note to go back there after night fell. Maybe he would catch sight of his former friends. Maybe Gawaine would be gambling and Percival arm wrestling. Maybe even Arthur and Merlin would be there enjoying an evening of relaxation. Even if Lancelot could not join in, he thought it might be good to be in a place where there would be frivolity and laughter. As it was a new building, he surmised that it just might be free of malevolent and miserable spirits.

From the new tavern, Lancelot moved on among the townspeople, listening to their conversations. Arthur was king and Gwen was his queen and although Lancelot did not know how it had happened, Merlin was no longer a servant. He heard people referring to 'My Lord Merlin' and it rapidly became obvious that Merlin's magic talents were admired rather than secret. Magic was no longer illegal in Camelot and Lancelot could not have been more pleased for his friend.

As he stopped by the castle walls, he wondered if he should go and explore, maybe go to the chambers of the court physician, and see if Gaius still lived and maybe find Merlin there with him.

But in the end, he decided to save that for another day. Instead, he would listen to the gossip and find out what exactly was going on in Camelot.

After a while, he drifted out to the meadow beyond the walls of the castle and into the woods beyond. It was Spring and under his feet was a carpet of blue. Bluebells, Forget-me-nots and in amongst them the white flowers of wild garlic and Cowslip. It was beautiful and Lancelot stopped in a glade of oak trees just to enjoy the sight.

The flowers reminded him of his childhood. His family had lived by a lake, but it had been surrounded by forest and in springtime the same glorious display had emerged from the cold winter soil. His little sister would insist on picking as many bluebells as she could carry and then presenting them to his mother, who would place them in pots around the house.

Lost in his memories, he was not at first aware of the voices nearby. But then he saw them. Two boys with dark skin and curly hair, chasing each other through the trees. There was a familiarity about them. Could they possibly be Arthur's children? If these two little boys were princes, he did not think they would be outside the castle walls alone and sure enough Gwen appeared with another woman. They were laughing and chatting and following them was a little girl. She was clutching a handful of bluebells, which she was carrying with utmost care.

As the two women slowed to wait for her, she looked up and smiled. She could only have been Arthur's daughter. Her golden hair was curly like her mother's, but her blue eyes and smile were all her father's.

Three lovely children. The boys were so like their mother it was no wonder that they had seemed familiar to him. They also looked so happy and mischievous, and he would have given anything to talk with them or maybe join their games.

Impossible as that wish was, Lancelot still felt compelled to stay and so he drifted into the canopy of a huge oak tree and watched from there as Gwen's friend laid out a blanket and Gwen began to unpack a bag of food.

Having put out bread, cheese, cold sausages and pies, Gwen called the children to come and eat.

The children dropped down beside their mother and began to help themselves.

The little princess however, seemed to lose interest in the food quickly and getting to her feet, wandered to the foot of the tree in which Lancelot was perched.

With a sense of wonder in her huge blue eyes she looked up into the branches, where the tiny, newly forming leaves were a brilliant shade of green. She looked so small next to the giant tree, but at the same time so full of life and unafraid.

Lancelot smiled and to his delight and amazement, she smiled back. Could she see him? Lancelot had learnt over the years that babies and small children could sometimes see him. Occasionally they spoke to him just as if he were a normal living being just like them.

"Hallo," said the little girl. She stooped and picked a bluebell. "pretty", she said.

"Very," Lancelot agreed.

Gwen, ever vigilant, turned to check on her child.

"Melora? Who are you talking to?"

"Man in the tree," Melora responded cheerfully.

"What? What man?"

Gwen got to her feet and hurried to stand beside her small daughter."

She looked anxiously into the branches but could obviously see nothing.

"There's no one in the tree, darling."

"There is! Nice smiley face." Melora declared.

Gwen looked harder and if she looked at one of the branches in a certain way, there did seem to be a smiling face there at least the kind of smiling face a child would draw, with a wide upturned mouth.

She stroked the top of the little girl's head.

"I see him now," she said, "but come back to the rug. WE have some cake."

Melora beamed and ran back to her brothers.

Lancelot could not look away. For some minutes, he lingered in the tree watching the only woman he had ever truly loved with the children that for some fleeting moments, he had dreamed might have been his.

He could not remain in Camelot. It would be too painful to see such scenes repeated every day. But he did not want to leave his homeland again. So, he travelled to the lake, where his family home had been and there tried to find a way to influence life on the other side of the veil. If the evil spirits could reach out, then there must be a way for him to do it too. He would spend his time learning how. It would give a purpose to his horrible existence.

Chapter 7

Time passed and Lancelot learnt the secrets of the poltergeists. There was nothing special about them. Those whose yearnings or viciousness were strong enough, could breach the veil and make themselves felt in the world of the living. And so, Lancelot determined that he only had to concentrate, harder and he too would be able to influence the world of those still lucky enough to live human lives. It meant that he had to endure the other spirits that filled the air around him, but he had learnt to block out everything but that which he actually wanted to hear.

Eventually, once again he found himself drawn back to Camelot.

Porrig was whistling as he crossed the castle yard. He was now master of the king's horses. He had grown taller and become more muscular since Lancelot had last seen him, but his warm brown eyes and bright smile were still the same.

Lancelot's horse, Cedar was long gone and a white stallion, which went by the name of, Diablo now munched hay in her place.

Lancelot felt sure that such a magnificent beast could only be Arthur's and he was proved right later in the day when the king strode into the stables and went straight to the white stallion's stall.

The children followed him, the two dark skinned boys with curly back hair and the little princess with the big blue eyes. Time seemed to have little meaning behind the veil, but Lancelot had been gone from Camelot long enough for the little princess to have grown since his first encounter with her. Would she see him now, he wondered.

Porrig appeared immediately to greet the king and Lancelot was pleased to see that the children treated Porrig politely. Arthur was bringing up his children to know that everyone deserved respect, not just those with wealth, power, or noble birth.

Lancelot watched with a mixture of happiness and regret as Porrig helped the children to saddle their own horses and then the family party rode away in the sunshine. He had smiled at the little princess, but she had not appeared to see him. Sadly, Lancelot accepted that as she grew up, she would never speak to him again. Only very small children seemed to see dead, without being alarmed or frightened.

But where was Gwen? By all the gods, he hoped she was safe and well.

Should he break his own unwritten rule and go and look for her within the walls of the castle halls, apartments, and corridors?

He floated out into the sunshine of the courtyard. By day the voices of the dead were usually muted or silent altogether and now all he heard was the chatter of the servants going about their business.

He made for the rose garden.

It was a cold day. Summer was ending, but the sun shone from a cloudless sky and as he approached the garden, he could hear music.

A young man sat on a stone bench, playing a small harp, and singing a love song.

The ladies sat around on other benches, warm rugs over their knees, chatting and laughing. Gwen was not among them.

Where else could he look?

He made for Gaius' chambers and to his delight and relief, Gwen was there. She was sitting on a stool, watching Gaius prepare medicines with Merlin.

In the several years, Lancelot had stayed away from Camelot, Gwen hardly seemed to have aged at all and if he had still had a beating heart, his heartbeat would have increased as he looked at her. He could not help himself. Even after all these years, she still affected him.

"Have you noticed it, Gaius," Gwen was asking, "the smell, I mean and always at this time of the year especially as we get closer to Samhain."

Gaius nodded, "I have, My Lady, but what causes it, I really could not say."

Merlin frowned. "It has something to do with the spirit world, I believe. Samhain is the time when the divide between our world and the world of the dead, is at its thinnest. It's almost as if something is trying to break through and each year it seems to make its presence felt just a little bit more."

Gwen shivered. "That sounds horrible. Do you have any idea what it could be? It smells like burning flesh to me."

Merlin scratched his head. "It does. I often wonder if it is the spirit of someone who died in a fire here, or was maybe burnt at the stake, many years ago."

"You think they want revenge?"

"I'm sure it's nothing like that, My Lady," said Gaius, frowning at Merlin.

"It's probably just kitchen waste in the drains."

Lancelot was intrigued by this strange conversation. He never smelt anything in his world, but maybe spirits were responsible for the odour enveloping the citadel.

He decided he would stay within the confines of the castle and when night fell, see if he could discover anything.

As he floated through the market in the lower town, the people he encountered made no mention of an odour, so he assumed the smell must be confined to the citadel itself.

He returned and went to the stables to find Porrig.

As usual, Porrig sensed Lancelot's presence straight away and raised a hand in greeting.

"You have returned. So much has changed since you were last here, and you had been gone so long that I felt surely you had found peace."

"Sadly no, my friend. I am still earth-bound. But since you can see the dead, I have come to ask you if you know the reason for the odour within the castle walls."

"There are evil spirits that walk amongst the people of Camelot every day, but especially at this time of year. I sense that some of them have died by fire."

"Are they the type of spirits who can reach through the veil," asked Lancelot, "Are they Poltergeists?"

"I do not know. I see them only as shadows and yet…."

"Yet what?"

"The odours have become stronger every year and I must admit that it bothers me. But once the bonfire has been lit, they will go. They always do."

Chapter 8

It was rare for Arthur to go hunting alone, but after a long day in the council chambers, he was anxious for some quiet time before dinner.

Merlin, the one person whose company he would have welcomed, had disappeared to go and help Gaius and in truth, Merlin never cared for hunting.

He didn't plan to go far, just down to the meadow beyond the castle walls and maybe into the woods. He was only looking for rabbits. Gwen was visiting the elderly the following day and would take baskets of food with her. Rabbits were easy to prepare and cook, so Arthur knew she would be pleased if he brought some back with him.

He found what he was looking for quite quickly. There were burrows everywhere in the meadow and close to the trees, and as dusk began to fall, the rabbits emerged to feed.

Arthur picked them off one by one with clean shots that killed them instantly. Quickly he bound their feet together, ready to tie them to his saddle for the short ride back to the castle. It was just as he was about to mount his horse that he smelt it…smoke!

He glanced round to locate the source. There was a charcoal burner who lived in a tiny cottage in the woods so Arthur supposed he might be the source of the smoke. He dismissed that thought almost immediately. The Charcoal burner's hut was deep in the woods and Arthur never usually smelt his smoke here in the meadow.

Nevertheless, he felt the urge to investigate. As he made his way into the trees, the smoke grew thicker and Arthur began to wonder if going deeper into the woods was a wise thing to do. But maybe the charcoal burner had fallen ill and been unable to tend his kiln properly, leaving it burning out of control. If that was the case, Arthur should surely try and help.

Thus, despite his growing misgivings, Arthur pushed his way through the undergrowth, following a deer path into the depths of the of the trees. For a moment, he paused and listened for the crackling sound of burning wood, but there was nothing, just an ever-increasing amount of smoke.

His eyes started to water, and he found himself coughing violently. Whatever the source of the smoke, he was not sure he wanted to investigate further.

Suddenly, he saw movement in the smoke, figures coming towards him.

He blinked, rapidly, trying to clear his watery eyes. In his whole life he didn't think he had ever seen expressions more terrifying than those on the faces of the men who rushed towards him. Terror, hatred, and a lust for revenge in equal measure. Not only that, but they appeared to be the source of the fire, for flames surrounded them. Their clothes and their hair, even their weapons, all seemed to be alight.

Arthur's hand went for his sword, and he lashed out at the figure closest to him. His weapon passed through with a rush of air and then there was nothing, just thick choking smoke.

Confused, and alarmed, he turned around, intending to get back to the meadow, but he could see nothing. A wall of smoke blocked everything. Was he sure he was heading in the right direction? To his horror, he realised, he had no idea.

Now, his eyes were stinging, and tears were running down his face. Everything was blurred. He was coughing harder, and he could not stop.

Slowly he sank to his knees, gasping for breath.

Somehow, he found is voice,

"Help…..anyone help me. I'm lost….. the smoke…I can't breathe…."

"Is this how I die?" he thought, "after all the battles, all the struggles against dark magic, after everything I have fought against….I die from smoke!"

Everything went black.

Merlin could see the black smoke billowing from the trees and without a thought for his own safety, he ploughed into the thick of it, shouting Arthur's name. He had a kind of sixth sense where Arthur was concerned and something told him, that Arthur was somewhere in the woods and in terrible danger. As he ran into the trees, he hurled magic ahead of him to disperse the smoke and cast frantically around for his friend.

He saw him face down underneath a beech tree.

Merlin ran to him, and falling to his knees, turned Arthur on to his back. Frantically, he pressed his ear to Arthur's chest, hoping for some sign that the king was still breathing.

But there was nothing.

Merlin nearly screamed out loud. All these years protecting Arthur, and he had been felled almost within sight of Camelot by nothing more than smoke!

In despair and anger, Merlin called up a miniature whirlwind and set it hovering over Arthur's open mouth. The up draft filled the air with leaves and debris, tossing them aside and then when the air above Arthur was clear, Merlin changed the direction of the whirlwind and Arthur's chest rose as air was forced into his lungs.

With a wave of his hand, Merlin stilled the wind and stared anxiously down at Arthur's white face.

Arthur's chest fell and then rose as Arthur began to breathe on his own once more.

Merlin sat back on his heels, his head falling back as he sighed with relief.

"Where…what the….?"

It was Arthur. He sat up, shakily.

"Smoke, Merlin," he rasped We have to get out of the smoke!" He blinked and looked around.

"It's gone. Smoke's gone. What did you do?"

Merlin shrugged, as if he hadn't just experienced some of the worst moments of his life. "Blew it away." he muttered.

Arthur coughed again. "Where was the fire? Was it the charcoal burner's hut? I thought he might be in trouble. Have….have you checked? Thought I saw men in the smoke. They were on fire. Did you see them?"

"No, Arthur, I haven't and I didn't. There is no fire, just smoke, and the only person I saw was you."

Arthur grimaced and put his hand round his throat. "Maybe I imagined them. But they seemed real enough and it was so bloody hot. I couldn't breathe. Thought I was going to die. Good job you came to find me." He frowned. "Why did you come? Thought you were helping Gaius."

"I was, but I saw the smoke from the window, and I just had a bad feeling."

"Then thank the Gods for your bad feeling!"

He struggled to his feet, "Gods, I wish I could do what you do. Have you got any water? My throat is burning."

He squinted into the trees. "Diablo? Has he run off?"

"No, he's in the meadow, or at least he was. I left Pebble with him. She absolutely refused to come into the woods. C'mon, lets catch them and we can ride back to the castle."

Together, the two men walked swiftly through the trees. Arthur seemed to be rapidly regaining his strength, although he kept clearing his throat and looking round worriedly as if he expected the smoke to return and engulf them at any moment.

The horses were standing nervously together well away from the trees, but Arthur easily caught Diablo's bridle and leapt into the saddle. The stallion danced around, tossing his head, still evidently agitated by the lingering smell of fire.

Arthur got control of the animal and reaching for his waterskin, drank it dry.

Merlin mounted his own mare rather less athletically than, Arthur, the task made all the more difficult by the lack of a saddle. In retrospect, Merlin was heartily glad he had not taken the time to get one. Any delay on his part in finding Arthur would, he was almost certain, have resulted in Arthur's death.

However, as he bounced rather uncomfortably back to the castle, he could not suppress the shiver that ran down his back. Arthur had talked of seeing burning men in the smoke. Although he already seemed to have forgotten about them, thinking them just an illusion caused by the smoke and his own confusion, Merlin was not so sure. Samhain was just a few days away and whatever had been causing the manifestations, first with the smell of burnt flesh and then actual physical smoke, was gaining in power. Maybe this year there would be flames too.

Chapter 9

In the meadow below the castle walls, a huge bonfire was set. The townspeople had been building it up for weeks. All around the base of the towering mound of dry twigs, fallen branches, broken furniture, brooms, and anything beyond repair that would burn, were the apples and ribbons left to appease the spirits. It was a tradition that everyone looked forward to. If they were all gathered, together sending their offerings to the dead, then they felt safe.

Merlin wandered round the base of the unlit bonfire, wondering why he felt so different about this Samhain than he had felt about all those that had gone before. But he simply could not shake his feelings of unease.

There was definitely something wrong, but for the life of him he could not work out what it was. The townspeople had not stinted on their offerings. The weather had been kind as summer drew to an end and it had been a bumper harvest. The brambles had been covered in blackberries and the plum and apple trees literally dripping with fruit. The grain had grown tall and endless sunny days had allowed it to be harvested and stored without fear of rot.

Literally everything boded well for the year to come and yet still Merlin was worried.

He had discussed with Arthur the possibility of abandoning the bonfire, but Arthur had rightly pointed out that the townspeople would be horrified by that idea.

"In any case," said Arthur, "it's just a big bonfire. We've had them for as long as I can remember, and you will be on hand in case anything untoward occurs."

"I'm glad you have such confidence in me, and I wish I felt the same. But I have no control over the world of the dead."

"It'll be fine, insisted Arthur. "How on earth can the spirits complain. I haven't seen so many offerings for years."

Hoping that Arthur was right and that he was just being overcautious, Merlin went back to the court physician's chambers. Gaius had gone down to the lower town to see a friend and would not return until it was time for the lighting of the bonfire. That would not happen until the moon was high. Thus, Merlin had time to take his mind off his worries by doing something useful and working on some herbal remedies.

However, he had only just sat down at the work bench when the candles flickered and went out and Merlin found himself in almost pitch darkness. As his eyes struggled to adjust to the lack of light, with a word of magic, a ball of light appeared in front of him. But the light of magic was almost immediately added too by a strange flickering orange coming through the window which overlooked the castle courtyard.

Merlin knew it's origin immediately…fire!

Casting his magic light ahead of him he ran out into the corridor. All the sconces were smoking, their candles extinguished. Some guards were tripping over each other in an effort to relight them and still others were raising the alarm and stumbling down the dark staircases towards the courtyard.

The sight that greeted them was terrifying.

They came forward, ghastly spectral figures and everywhere their feet touched flames sprung up. Even the cobbles of the courtyard seemed to be on fire.

Porrig and the stable lads were trying to get the panicked horses to safety while others were seeking to beat out the flames with brooms and douse them with water.

The castle was always prepared for fire and there were troughs of water scattered round the courtyard, but this much fire, everywhere, was beyond anything anyone could have imagined.

Merlin had beaten the guards to it and now stood in the thick of it all pushing back and extinguishing flames with magic. He didn't want Arthur anywhere near this manic conflagration, but he knew there was nothing he could do to stop his friend from trying to fight the fire.

In what seemed like only seconds Arthur was there, shouting orders and passing buckets of water down a hastily formed line to knights, squires, and servants alike. Unfortunately, their best efforts seemed to be achieving nothing and as the stable roof collapsed, the air was filled with burning thatch and sparks.

Porrig and Percival had somehow managed to get the horses out and through the castle gates, so at least they were safe from the flames. But the animals were terrified, and it took all Porrig's skills to stop them stampeding through the streets of the lower town.

As yet, the fire was confined to the castle itself, but Merlin could see that it would not be long before the sparks would be blown onto the town rooves below.

Arthur was fighting the fire as hard as he could, but there was intense heat on his face and hands and every few seconds he had to beat out smouldering bits of his shirt and trousers. He could see that Merlin was doing his very best and yet still the fire seemed to be winning. Arthur had instructed Gwen, Melora and the boys to head for the safety of the siege tunnels.

But Bohart had point blank refused and even now was somewhere in the castle courtyard fighting the fire. Merri had appeared to obey his father, but Arthur was pretty sure that he would be where he always was, by his brother's side using his magic.

At least Gwen had done what he asked. She had taken one look at the intensity of the inferno in the courtyard and dragged Melora away. She knew better than to go after her sons and while she hated to leave them and Arthur, she knew Merlin was with him and if anyone could quench the flames, it would be Merlin.

"What's happening?" shouted Arthur, "where's this coming from?"

Merlin didn't really know, but even as he shook his head he saw her, The Cailleach, standing in the corner of the courtyard. She was laughing.

Then he saw the spectres clearly. Five men dressed as Roman soldiers and it was as if they were pushing through a wall of solid fog. However, with every step, they became clearer, and every face wore only one expression, a demonic lust for revenge.

Their clothes were on fire and so was their hair. The pain they would have felt when they died was long gone, but their hatred for their enemy was almost as luminous, as the flames themselves.

Merlin hurled bolts of lightning at them, but they went straight through the ghostly force. They were real and yet they were not. Nothing could stop their progress because they could walk through everything.

Their swords were in their hands and each weapon was edged with fire. Somehow this group of long dead soldiers had breached the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead.

Arthur's mouth dropped open in horror. These WERE ghosts, for the flames did not consume them, but they looked as real as the knights frantically fighting the fire beside him.

And then suddenly there was a figure in front of them. He had his back to Arthur and Merlin, so they could not see his face. But he looked strangely familiar.

He immediately threw himself into fighting off the spectres. He had only two weapons, a dagger, and a kind of axe, but he wielded both with frightening speed and ferocity.

Arthur actually heard the thud and clang of weapon on weapon and realised to his amazement that not only was this warrior also a spirit, but a spirit that appeared to be fighting for Camelot.

As Arthur watched, the Roman soldiers tried to get past him, but although they wounded the warrior, he held them back.

Arthur grabbed his own sword and struck out, but once again, his weapon passed through nothing but air. Spectres could not be stopped by mortal weapons and all he achieved was a rush of flames around his feet.

"Get back, Arthur!" shouted Merlin, lashing out with powers of his own, and quenching the fire.

"You cannot fight them!" Fight the fire. It's all we can do."

Arthur obeyed. There was nothing he could do against an enemy that was already deceased.

Lancelot fought like a machine, feinting left and right. For the first time since his death, he felt what seemed to be pain, not the mental anguish that had left him so defeated, but real physical pain. As he glanced down, he saw that blood appeared to be seeping from a wound in his leg and when his eyes immediately went back to his assailants, he realised that they too were wounded, wounded by his tomahawk.

Despite being behind the veil, in a world inhabited only by spirits, their battle appeared to be as real and painful as a mortal one.

He felt a moment of savage joy. He didn't care if he was in pain. He felt as if he were almost part of the real world again.

He fought on, with renewed ferocity, inflicting more and more damage on his opponents and slowly but surely, they began to fade.

"Leave this place, "he shouted after them, "these people are not your enemy, and you will NOT injure them!"

He ran towards them, tomahawk swinging and with him went the smoke and flames.

Arthur looked round baffled by what had occurred. The roof of the stables was a charred mess, but the cobbles of the courtyard were no longer aflame.

Merlin was beside him surveying the scene. He put a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"It's over," he gasped breathlessly, "We are safe, now."

Arthur stared around the courtyard in amazement. "But what was it? Where did those spectres come from? Why were they trying to burn us? Do you have any idea?"

"I can only guess. I think something happened here, long before our time. Someone set the Roman soldiers on fire and now their spirits have come back to take their revenge."

"But who was the spirit who forced them back? He did not look like a Roman to me. Obviously, he was a spectre too, but his clothes didn't look so different from ours. Only his weapon was strange, and he had no sword."

"That's because he went to his death without it and we burnt both his sword and his cloak on his funeral pyre here in this very place. It was Lancelot, Arthur. Even from the other side of the veil he is still trying to help Camelot."

"Lancelot! Of course, it was! I should have recognised his fighting style anywhere!"

He put his fist up to his forehead and sighed. "So once again we owe the poor man a debt of gratitude. He has saved Camelot. Tell me, Merlin, does he watch over this place all the time? Should he not be at peace….. somewhere….. among his ancestors?"

Merlin rubbed his forehead, "I am not privileged to be able to see the dead whenever I wish it, but I do believe he watches over all of us. Gawaine told me that he saw Lancelot, just before he faced the Green Knight. I believe it helped to give him courage."

"He didn't say anything to me," Arthur said.

"Well, he wouldn't. The knights don't like to mention Lancelot in your presence and certainly not in Gwen's, for fear of bringing back," he winced, "embarrassing and unwanted memories."

Arthur looked away. "Maybe it's time the people of Camelot knew the real truth about Lancelot, about 'The Shade' Maybe it is time we told everyone. I will ask Gwen. Since you told us the truth, I have long thought about Lancelot's reputation. The man never did anything wrong and yet here in Camelot his reputation as our bravest and noblest knight lies in ruins. It hardly seems fair."

"No, Arthur. In truth, it does not."

But then something happened which pushed thoughts of restoring Lancelot's reputation right out of everyone's mind.

Chapter 10

After Samhain, Camelot always hosted a winter tournament which was open to everyone. Knights came from across the land to compete and the taverns and lodging houses were full to the rafters with competitors and their squires.

Everyone had been in training for weeks including Arthur while Merlin, who had little interest in such things, had spent most of his days with Gaius.

For some months Gaius had been struggling with bouts of breathlessness and Merlin was eager to take on most of the old man's work. He was happiest when the two of them were working on cures and potions for the people of Albion. He found politics boring and while he was glad that Arthur always sought his council, he loved his work as the physician's assistant.

Today Gaius seemed brighter than he had been in weeks. The breathlessness had gone, and the old man was eager to show Merlin the results of an experiment he had been working on.

"See, my boy," he announced proudly, "this is a new and very effective remedy for the winter cough that so often affects us as the days grow shorter. I feel absolutely, sure that it will really help. If I dictate the recipe to you, could you write it down for me? My eyesight is so poor these days and my writing is terrible."

"I can read your writing perfectly."

Gaius covered Merlin's hand with his own. "Merlin, my boy, you could read anyone's writing! Mine is definitely, deteriorating. I still however, feel very confident about this new remedy."

He beamed and Merlin was happy to see his mentor so cheerful and full of confidence. He had been really worried about Gaius in the preceding weeks. The old man seemed to be literally fading away, but suddenly it was as if he had been fully restored.

Merlin gathered, together his writing materials and Gaius began to dictate the ingredients for his new formular.

Merlin nodded in approval. Gaius had endless talent as a physician. He genuinely cared about people and was always anxious to improve his treatments.

When he'd finished, the old man leant back in his chair and sighed. "Wanted to finish that for ages," he said with a smile, "and now it's done."

He looked towards the window. The light was fading.

"It must be close to dinner time," he said.

"It certainly must. What can I get you? There is a feast in the great hall tonight. Do you feel like coming along?"

Gaius smiled but shook his head. "No, Merlin, I'll only fall asleep in my soup."

"Well in that case, I'll go down to the kitchen and bring something nice back for you. We can have dinner here together,"

"But Arthur will be expecting you at the feast, not to mention the children wanting to see you. I'd be delighted if you brought me something from the kitchen but wait and have your dinner with everyone else." Gaius yawned. "I'll be fast asleep before you've finished your first course."

So, Merlin went down to the kitchen and collected a selection of delicacies from the foods prepared for the evening and a jug of wine and went back to the court physician's chambers.

Gaius seated himself at the table and looked delightedly at the food laid out before him.

"This looks delicious."

"It does doesn't it." agreed Merlin eyeing one of the pastries and hearing his stomach rumble."

"Have one," urged the old man, "and sit for a while, if you have time."

Merlin grinned and slid into a chair opposite Gaius. They then passed a pleasant hour chatting about what they would need to collect from the kitchen garden and the woods the following day, to make Gaius' new potion.

When Merlin finally left to change for the banquet, Gaius was yawning.

He got up to see Merlin to the door and put an arm round his shoulders and hugged him.

"Thank you for sitting with me for a while, Merlin. I'm so lucky to have had your help for all these years."

"And I'm so lucky to have had you to teach me and I'm sure," he added quickly, "there is still much more for me to learn. Good night, Gaius. Sleep well."

As Merlin walked away, something made him look back. Gaius was smiling, but there was something in his eyes that hinted at sadness. Merlin paused but Gaius had closed the door.

The feast was, splendid and the drink flowed copiously. As Merlin lifted his goblet for the fifth toast of the evening, he knew his head would suffer for it the next day, but he was just enjoying himself too much to care.

When the evening finally came to an end, he wandered along the corridor with Arthur and bid him goodnight at the doors to the royal apartment. Without thinking, he made his way to the next set of doors and entering his own apartment flopped down onto his comfortable four poster bed. He supposed he should get undressed but settled for stripping off his jacket and kicking off his boots. Then taking a long drink from the jug of water by his bed he collapsed against his big feather pillows and fell into a deep sleep.

At some point during the early hours of the morning, Merlin thought he felt someone touch him. He was lying on his side, so he rolled onto his back and squinted into the darkness.

Gaius appeared to be standing by his bed, his arm reaching for Merlin and then….. he wasn't.

Merlin blinked groggily into the darkness, but there was no one there.

"Dreaming," he muttered to himself before slipping back into a deep and peaceful sleep.

He was still sleeping when Arthur stuck his head round the door the next morning.

"Get up, lazy bones. George has laid on a spectacular, 'hangover curing' breakfast. Come and join me."

Merlin yawned. "Give me a minute. Just have a wash and pop down and see Gaius and then I'll come and find you."

He sat up, grimaced, and lay down again for a minute, before throwing his legs over the side of the bed and willing the rest of him to follow.

He stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was flat on one side and sticking out on the other. He poked at it with a comb, then stuck his whole head in the bowl of water left at some point, while he slept, by the castle servants.

The water was icy cold but was also strangely refreshing. He stripped off his crumpled shirt, washed, slicked his hair back found some clean socks and a clean shirt and then grabbing a jacket, hurried down to the court physician's chamber.

"Morning Gaius," he said cheerfully as he opened the door.

There was no answer and Gaius appeared to be sleeping. His hunched shape under the blankets was strangely still and it was almost unheard of for Gaius to sleep this late.

Merlin suddenly felt cold. He stared at the old man's bed, willing himself to see some sign of movement.

But there was nothing.

"Gaius!" Merlin crossed the space between the door and the bed in seconds. He bent down and shook the prone figure. An arm fell out from under the covers and, as Merlin grabbed the hand, he realised it was heavy and stone cold.

"No, no, no" wailed Merlin, trying to pull Gaius into a sitting position, "Gaius, wake up, please wake up."

But he knew it was hopeless. Gaius was dead and had been dead for hours. Nothing Merlin could do with either medicine or sorcery could bring him back. He was gone.

The tears rolled down Merlin's face as he rocked the old man's limp body back and forth.

"Why did you let me go to the banquet, why? I could have stayed here with you. I could have been here to help you. Oh, why did I go? Why didn't I sleep in my old room? Gauis….Gaius."

Merlin's grief was all consuming and he neither saw nor heard Arthur enter the room

"Merlin, come on! George's breakfast is…..Merlin? Oh no…..Oh Gods…no!

Arthur ran to Merlin and knelt down by Gaius' bed.

He put a hand on Merlin's shoulder.

"I'm sorry…so sorry."

Merlin shook his hand off.

"My fault! It's my fault! If I hadn't been so drunk last night, I would have come back here to sleep in my old room. I have slept there every day for weeks because I was worried about him. But….. but he seemed so much better these last few days. He was so much brighter."

He shook his head, "But I should have known. I should have taken more care! He said he was too tired to come to the banquet. I….I brought him some food. I sat with him, but I should have stayed! What was I thinking?"

Arthur, who had once told Merlin that 'no man was worth his tears' wrapped an arm round Merlin and pulled him close. His own eyes were so full of tears, he could hardly see. He had known Gaius his whole life. The old man had been like a grandfather to him and despite his age, Gaius had stood beside him through many of the terrors that the people of Camelot had faced. His own children loved, Gaius, especially Merri, who was never happier than when he was perched on a stool in the court physician's chamber, watching Gaius prepare his potions and lotions, or Merlin setting the bottles flying round the room, much to Gaius' annoyance. Merri never stopped talking about it.

"Don't tell me not to cry," sobbed Merlin, "He was like my father. My real father, I never knew him properly…..not really…..you remember, but Gaius, Gaius was there to help me, to make sure I did the right thing….to stop me…"

"Making an arse of yourself," Arthur managed to say.

Merlin looked up. He saw the grief Arthur could not hide and in some way that made him feel better. This was a grief they shared. Arthur understood.

Even now after all these years, he still thought that Arthur disapproved of weakness and yet here, right in this minute, he could see his own grief mirrored in Arthur's face.

"I know he was like a father to you, Merlin," Arthur mumbled, "but he was like a grandfather to me. I cannot remember a single day in my life when he wasn't there."

He hugged Merlin tighter.

"Don't blame yourself, Merlin. He was a very, very old man. You said yourself that he seemed better and I thought that too…..I really did. Even if you had been in your old room, you would probably have been fast asleep when he died. You sleep like a log….you know you do and isn't is it always said, that people die in the darkest part of the night? Don't blame yourself…please. None of us is immortal."

Merlin nodded, desperate to absolve himself of the guilt he felt. How old was Gaius? 90? 95? Merlin knew Gaius' birthday, but the old man had never revealed his true age.

Merlin disentangled himself from his friend's embrace.

"He was old, very, very old, but always thought if I took care of him properly, he could live for years. I saved you when you were overcome by smoke. I mean anyone else would have thought there was no chance, but I brought you back to life."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "How did you do that? In the smoke, I distinctly remember thinking I was about to breathe my last."

Merlin shrugged, disconsolately, "Magic. Your lungs were just choked with smoke. I took the smoke away."

He looked at Gaius, now laying back on his pillow, "but you were still warm. You had probably only stopped breathing for a few seconds. Gaius was…is cold. I cannot bring someone back from that."

He sat back on his heels and hung his head.

Arthur blinked back his own tears and grabbed Merlin's arm.

"Come with me. George will be mortified if we don't eat his special 'anti hangover' breakfast. He'll never be you Merlin…."

"What you mean the most useless servant you ever had?"

"Exactly! But he does try, really, hard and his mulled wine, as you know, is the nectar of the gods! Come with me, Merlin. I will send servants to attend to Gaius."

"But I must….."

"No, you must not! There is nothing you can do. If you could, I know you would have done it by now. Come away. Gaius will lie in state in the Great Hall, today. We will both watch over him tonight and the day after tomorrow as darkness falls, we will light his pyre in the meadow beyond the castle walls so that all the town's people may attend. There will be food and wine for all and by then your mother will have had time to get here."

"You would do that…I mean put Gaius in the Great Hall?"

"Of course. Why not? Without him, Camelot would not have a king and probably not a sorcerer either."

"And you will watch with me…all night?"

Arthur squeezed Merlin's shoulder. "Who was there for me when my father died? You were. And although I know that you were always first in Gaius' thoughts, he meant the world to me too and Gwen and the children. So, come away now. Allow the undertakers to do their duty and we can spend our hours together watching over him tonight."

Merlin nodded and got to his feet. "He knew, you know?"

"Knew what, Merlin?"

"That he was going to die. That's why he asked me to sit with him last night before the banquet and he came last night, to my room to say 'goodnight'. I saw him,…..for just a few seconds…..thought it was a dream, but he came to say 'goodbye'."

Merlin followed Arthur, sadly to breakfast. From the window, he could see Bohart was already on the training, ground and he presumed that by now Merri and Melora would be at their lessons. The young Pendragons all loved Gaius, but Merlin didn't think he could face telling them about Gaius' demise.

Merri in particular would miss Gaius, for the old man had taught him so much.

Born with magic, Merri had already decided that it was his duty to learn not only everything about magic, but also healing as well. Since he was a small child, he had regularly come to the court physician's chambers and watched Gaius making healing potions…potions which, now sorcery was no longer outlawed, were mixed with magic.

Merri modelled himself on Merlin, the man after whom he had been named, but he recognised the depth of the old man's knowledge and the patience he had shown when Merri's primary interest had been in making explosives.

As Merlin seated himself at the table in front of a spread, quite literally fit for a king, he realised that Gaius' death was not just his loss, but a loss for all the people of Camelot.

Hearing them seat themselves, George came bounding in with a huge smile on his face, a smile that vanished when he saw the expression on Arthur's face.

"My Lord. Is the breakfast not to your liking? I can get something else. It's just that after an erm, er, 'late' night, these foods are best to settle the stomach."

"The food is wonderful George and your special wine will help greatly. It's just that…well Gaius has died and we have only just found that out."

"Oh, My Lord and My Lord Merlin, I cannot tell you how very sad I am to hear it. What can I do? Anything? Just tell me."

"You can pour us a drink, George and then go and get the undertakers. Try not to tell anyone else what has happened. I will make an announcement when we have eaten, and I have told my family."

"Of course, My Lord. I will go, immediately and I can promise I will be the soul of discretion."

He bowed low. "Once again, my sincere condolences. Gaius was a great, great man."

Arthur looked at the spread before them. He did not feel like eating. The appetite he had, had when he went to find Merlin had now deserted him and yet wine, without food, would only make them both feel worse as the day wore on. They must eat. Many sad hours and difficult conversations lay ahead of them.

He served Merlin a plate of hot rolls with butter, cheese and ham and filled his goblet with George's special mulled wine creation.

"I can't, Arthur," began Merlin.

"You can and you will. We must both eat, or feel even worse than we do now."

The conversations later in the day were hard. Arthur decided to tell Gwen and the children himself. Merlin's grief was great enough, without him having to watch Melora and Merri's tears.

Bohart was sixteen and he tried to take the news stoically. Merri, only thirteen was not so successful at holding back his tears. They rolled down his face unhindered and seven-year-old, Melora rushed to her mother.

"Why," she asked. "Why is he dead? He wasn't ill. I saw him yesterday. Can't Merlin make him alive again? Merri can't you help Merlin do that?"

Merri turned his tear-stained face to his father, wiping his tears with his sleeve.

"It's too late for that, Father, isn't it?"

"It is. He died sometime in the dead of night. He really hadn't been well, Melora and he was very, very old. Now we must all just look after, Merlin. Will all of you promise me that you will do that?"

"We will, Father, of course we will," said Bohart, putting a comforting hand on his younger brother's shoulder. When will the funeral be?"

"The day after tomorrow. I have sent for Hunith. She will be here by then."

Melora, wiped her own tears and walked determinedly to the door. "I will go and give Merlin a hug and if he's crying, I will give him my handkerchief."

She didn't wait for permission but ran off down the corridor and the boys followed.

Arthur watched them go. He was proud of his children. Gaius' death was a real blow to all of them, but for now they were putting their own needs aside to help, Merlin.

That night after sunset, Arthur and Merlin made their way to the great hall. On a bier in the middle of the enormous room, the body of Gaius lay amidst an array of fragrant evergreens. He had been dressed in his finest robes and looked for all the world as if he was just sleeping peacefully.

Someone, almost certainly George, had placed cushions on the floor and beside them a jug of cider and some small meat pies.

They both stood and stared at the kind but pale face of the court physician and then seated themselves on the floor against the cold white stone walls.

As the hours passed, they talked of happy times and all the adventures they had shared with Gaius during his long life. For a while they laughed, especially when they remembered when Gaius' body had been taken over by a goblin. The tricks the goblin had made Gaius play on the court, such as a particularly catching bout of chronic flatulence, had produced hilarious results. Then for a while they remembered how bravely Gaius had soldiered on, when taken prisoner by Morgana. For a while they also just sat in silence, sometimes dozing and sometimes just looking at the moonlight streaming through the long leaded windows.

As dawn broke, they got stiffly to their feet. The cider and the pies were long gone and Arthur's stomach was rumbling. He was thus delighted to see a plate of fresh rolls filled with cheese and a jug of water on the stone steps outside the door to the hall.

Arthur gave Merlin a tired smile. "George really is a good servant, isn't he?"

"Not better than I was, surely."

"Erm on the actual servant duties, I'm afraid I would have to say 'yes', although to be fair when my father died you were waiting outside the hall for me when the sun came up and I'm pretty sure you'd been there all night."

Merlin shrugged, "That was different. You watched over your father, alone. And I think you'll find George may well have been here all night anyway."

He pointed to a small, squashed cushion behind a pillar. "I'd place gold coin on him having a splendid breakfast laid out in your dressing room, along with hot water and a change of clothes."

Arthur grinned. "I'm not even going to take that bet. However, we shouldn't let this lot go to waste." He grabbed a roll and wolfed down a couple of bites. Then he took the water jug by its handle and took a long drink. Then he offered it to Merlin, who took it with a sad smile.

"Thank you, Arthur. Thank you for…..for staying."

Arthur gave him a clumsy hug.

"C'mon, bring those rolls and let's go and have a proper breakfast. You'll feel better when you've eaten."

Chapter 11

Lancelot did not know what had drawn him back to the citadel, but he had been crossing the courtyard as Gaius' spirit rose into the night sky.

He was there for just a moment before he disappeared into the stars. Lancelot watched him go, safe in the knowledge that the old man was going to his ancestors. Not for him the cold world of The Cailleach. Gaius would be safe among his family and free to watch over all those he loved.

But it still saddened him greatly. Gaius had known the secret of Merlin's magic when to admit to having magic, would have led to a sentence of death.

The old man had guarded and counselled the young Merlin and kept him safe. He had also acted as the father Merlin had never really known.

Lancelot could only imagine how Merlin would suffer without his friend and mentor.

And so, Lancelot stayed.

The castle stable was still a safe place and Porrig welcomed him as always. But instead of spending his nights among the horses in safety, he spent his nights with Merlin and hoped against hope, that somehow Merlin would derive some comfort from his presence.

As Gaius' corpse was burnt on a huge pyre in the meadow beneath the castle walls, Lancelot was there. All the town's people, the knights, their squires, the castle servants and even people from outlying villages had come to pay their respects.

To be fair, Arthur had laid on food and drink for everyone, but most came to say goodbye to the man who had healed them from birth, to honour the man who had soothed their aches and pains and cured all manner of ailments.

They knew that they still had Merlin, but Gaius was special to all of them.

As Gaius' body burned, Arthur stood beside Merlin, his hand resting on Merlin's shoulder. On Merlin's other side, little Melora held Merlin's hand tightly and her brothers stood behind her with Gwen and Hunith, Merlin's mother.

Gawaine, Percival and Leon had come to see him as soon as they heard the news and they too stood at the front of the mourners, close to their friend.

Even in his grief, Merlin had never felt so loved and he knew that despite the darkness and hopelessness he was feeling, eventually he would come out into the light again.

Suddenly, Merlin found himself remembering burning Lancelot's body in a boat.

Of course, it had not really been Lancelot, but a 'shade' clothed in Lancelot's likeness.

But Merlin had been unable to discard the body without ceremony. Even Arthur himself, despite believing that the real Lancelot had betrayed him, had still asked Merlin to give him a 'decent' burial.

So, Merlin had taken the body to a lake outside Camelot and laid out the cold corpse in a boat and surrounded it with the same kind of foliage that now surrounded Gaius, although there had been flowers then because it had been Spring and not Winter.

'Shade' or not, Merlin had reached out a hand to murmur a blessing from the old religion and somehow, for just a moment, the real Lancelot's spirit had managed to inhabit the body.

"Merlin. Thank you," he had said. Just three words of gratitude and then he was gone.

Sadly, Merlin had pushed the boat out into the lake and set fire to it and it was like watching Lancelot die for a second time.

Merlin felt the tears pricking his eyes. He had lost too many, people who, with all his great powers, he should have been able to save.

"Don't cry, Merlin."

It was the little princess, offering her handkerchief.

Merlin forced himself to smile at the child. She had cried for Gaius herself, but now despite being only seven years old, she was trying hard to support the man whom she considered her dearest uncle.

Merlin looked round the assembled crowd, their faces burnished gold by the leaping flames of Gaius's funeral pyre. His sight was blurred by his unshed tears and the scene before him seemed to go in and out of focus.

And then he saw him.

The face was pale and the body beneath it seemed to shimmer slightly as if it were made of moonlight.

There was deep sadness in the face but also sympathy and warmth.

It was Lancelot. Poor, lost Lancelot, the man who had sacrificed himself on the Isle of the Blessed to save Arthur and to keep a vow he had made to the love of his life….Arthur's queen, Guinevere.

Merlin opened his mouth to say Lancelot's name, but everything came back into focus and Lancelot was gone.

That night, after many, many goblets of wine, when Merlin finally laid his head on his pillow, he made a promise to himself that he would try and do something to free his former friend's spirit from dark world of the Cailleach.

"Soon," he mumbled as his eyes closed, "soon."

But it would be nearly a year before Merlin could keep his promise. For one thing, without Gaius, his work load as Camelot's physician increased and although he had the help of a young Druid boy and of course Merri, there was still much to be done.

Almost before the ashes of Gaius' funeral pyre had cooled, a winter illness swept through the land. Many were confined to their beds for days and despite Merlin's best efforts many of the elderly succumbed to their symptoms.

Then there were the increasing number of raids by marauding Saxons all along the Southern and Eastern coastline. Arthur and Merlin were kept fully occupied organising garrisons and patrols to keep Camelot's citizens safe.

Arthur sent agents out to all corners of the land and soon it became clear that the Saxon raids were being co-ordinated by Morgana. At first Arthur refused to believe it. Morgana had died at Merlin's hand, run through with a sword forged in a dragon's breath.

But apparently that had not been enough. Merlin had not given enough thought to how much Morgana's powers had grown.

Over and over Merlin rebuked himself for this oversight. He had left Morgana's body on the outskirts of the battlefield when he should have reduced it to dust. But he had been too concerned about Arthur and his only focus had been getting Arthur to Avalon.

Some poor soul had touched Morgana's corpse before the heat of life had finally left it and in that minute, Morgana's spirit had invaded the living body and slowly, but inevitably, taken it over.

By all accounts the 'Morgana' that led the Saxons was, at least physically, a shadow of her former self, thin and pale, her formerly lustrous raven hair, sparse and ragged.

But the woman whose body she had stolen had been just a beggar, poor and starving, searching the area around the battlefield for those who had died as they attempted to escape. She had been hoping for scraps of food, or jewellery and weapons which she could sell. She had sadly got far more than she bargained for. Gradually as Morgana's power grew within her, the beggar woman had been quite literally 'burnt away'.

And as Morgana's power returned so did her name and reputation. Those who had always hated Arthur began to gather. Saxon raiding parties and mercenaries from across the sea began to amalgamate and it became obvious to the people of Albion that Morgana was planning to wage a full-scale war on Camelot.

Chapter 12

Despite his own prophecies that his end was nigh, many years before, the great dragon Kilgharrah still lived. Merlin saw the creature rarely for like all elderly creatures, he spent much of his time sleeping. However, he would still come when called and he still breathed fire.

Kilgharrah had promised Merlin that he would never forsake him and so Merlin knew that if the dragon still lived, he would fight for Camelot, using his power and fire to decimate Morgana's army.

But neither Merlin nor the dragon could be everywhere at once and Merlin knew how easy it was to be separated from a friend on a battlefield.

Arthur's second son, Merri's magical skills, were increasing by the year, but there was no way that Arthur would allow his now fourteen-year-old second son to fight beside him. At seventeen Bohart was old enough to make up his own mind, but although he had skills in combat that rivalled his father's, he had no magic.

And so, Merlin's thoughts turned once more to his old friend, Lancelot. What if he could somehow bring him back? There had been no need for a sacrifice to close the 'Veil' between the world of the dead and the living. The Cailleach had demanded a sacrifice, out of malice and spite.

She had quite literally 'chosen' her sacrifice by distracting Merlin long enough for Lancelot to step forward to his death.

But how to call the Cailleach? She was a winter goddess. She was closest to the world of men at Samhain, and that day had already passed.

Gaius would doubtless have known a way to call her, but Merlin would have to resort to the books which littered the court physician's chambers. Gaius had had no system for filing his notes or categorising his books. Somehow, he always seemed to be able to lay his hands on whatever he needed. But now, Merlin knew the knowledge he sought would not be easy to find.

He spent many fruitless hours searching through dusty pages to find the guidance he needed and was on the point of giving up one evening when he found it.

In a dusty ragged book was a picture of a place called 'Beinn ne Caillich' The spelling of the word Cailleach was slightly different, but from the accompanying text and pictures, Merlin was certain that this was the lair of the winter goddess.

The trouble was it was many miles to the north and on an island. To travel there on horse- back would take days, then there would be a sea crossing to negotiate. He simply did not have the time. Morgana's army was growing by the day and if the intelligence he received from his spies was correct very soon it would march on Camelot.

So, Merlin did the only thing he knew would help. He called, Kilgarrah.

As the huge animal approached, Merlin could hear a creaking sound like old leather as the beast flapped his great wings. Once his flight had been all but silent. Nevertheless, Kilgarrah landed gracefully enough a few feet away.

"You have summoned me to fight in your battle, young warlock. I am ready."

"I may well need to you to help us in the coming battle, but first I need to go on a long journey. I have no time to travel by conventional means…."

"And so, you wish to use me as a horse!"

The great dragon tried to sound affronted, but Merlin could tell that Kilgarrah was not about to try and refuse him.

The dragon gave a great yawn and then lowered his neck to the ground.

Merlin climbed aboard and gave Kilgarrah their destination.

"So, you seek an audience with the hag of winter, young warlock. Beware her trickery. She is at the height of her powers during the dark days of this season. She is selfish and devious. Whatever you ask of her, make sure that it cannot be misinterpreted and obtain her promise that she will abide by the terms of any agreement you make."

Merlin nodded. In truth, he didn't feel confident, but he knew he had to try.

"I know she is not to be trusted, but she keeps a hold on a dear friend, and I must free him from her grasp."

As ever the great dragon was one step ahead.

"You seek to free Sir Lancelot from the world of the dead, or rather the place where the unquiet spirits dwell. It is indeed not a fitting end for the bravest and most noble knight of all. I will help you, Merlin."

Chapter 13

Although it was a cold day, Merlin immediately felt warmer as he settled himself into a comfortable position. The dragon's skin, though like tough and scaley leather, was warm and for a few moments, he forgot what he would have to face at the end of his journey.

Flying was exhilarating and it gave him a view of the world no other man could have.

For a while, the creaking of the dragon's wings lulled him into a relaxed state but, as it got darker and colder, he began to think about what he would face at his destination.

First, he would have to call the Cailleach, and force her to appear before him. He was sure that at the very least he could do this. He had hunted through Gaius' books and papers and found the spells for calling, such as she.

The real problems would begin once she was standing before him. The Cailleach would not want to relinquish one of her souls. Lancelot was a citizen of the world of the dead now and she was the gate keeper to that world. Why would she open the gates and let him go free?

As Merlin pondered this question, one by one the stars began to appear until Merlin was flying along what seemed to be a glittering path of stars through the night sky. Below him the world was white, covered in frost, ice, and snow. This far north, winter had already taken hold on the land and Merlin began to wish he had worn thicker clothes. But if all went well, he told himself, he wouldn't be here long.

Then suddenly all thoughts of the cold vanished from his mind as a dazzling sight filled his eyes. Curtains of colour looped through the night sky in shades of green, purple, and blue. It was the Northern Lights, something Merlin had heard about, but never seen. It took his breath away.

Kilgarrah laughed making his body vibrate. "Is it not beautiful, Young Warlock? It is a good omen, I think."

Merlin hoped he spoke the truth, for as Kilgarrah's scales glinted with colour, the great beast was descending.

Beneath them was a narrow band of sea that divided the mainland from the place known as the Isle of Sky. This island was their destination and Merlin steeled himself for the task ahead.

The island's tall mountains jutted out into the moonlit darkness and there were few signs of human habitation even in the valleys. It was a wild and lonely place. Exactly the kind of place where one would expect to find, The Cailleach.

The dragon suddenly dropped like a stone and landed on a grassy plain. Apart from a few stunted trees there was nothing else but a collection of tall grey stones.

"You will wait?"

"But of course, Merlin." The dragon bowed his head.

"Be careful," he warned before moving away and settling on the frozen ground.

Merlin stood between the stones. They were exactly as illustrated in the book he had found.

He moved close to the largest one and placed his hand upon it. The cold emanating from it penetrated Merlin's whole body and immediately he heard the wails and cries of the inhabitants of the dark world. He stepped back, visions of the Dorocha filling his head.

The Dorocha, evil spirit servants of The Cailleach, had nearly destroyed Camelot after Morgana had opened the veil between the world of the dead and the world of the living.

Whatever happened now, he could not allow the Dorocha to come through the veil again.

In his previous encounters with these terrifying entities, his magic had been useless. He had more knowledge now and far greater powers, but he knew he was still taking a big risk.

Merlin sucked in a deep breath and began to speak. A stream of words filled the air getting louder and louder until the air itself seemed to vibrate. The darkness appeared to split open and suddenly there she was, The Cailleach, the hag of winter, standing before Merlin in all her grim splendour.

Her eyes were the same as Merlin remembered, unbearably sad, yet at the same time, full of spite and malevolence.

She thudded her staff down onto the gravel around the base of the stones and turned her baleful stare towards Merlin.

"For what have you called me?"

Her voice was full of menace.

"I have come to claim a dear friend whom you took from us, many years ago. You demanded a sacrifice to close the tear in the veil between the worlds and my friend Lancelot offered himself, to prevent Arthur from doing so in his place.

You had no right to ask for a sacrifice. The dark magic of Morgana had opened the veil, all you had to do was close it."

"I HAD to close it? I do not HAVE to do anything. Your friend Lancelot walked freely though the veil. Nobody forced him. He knew he was going to his death. He committed suicide and that makes him MY creature."

"He did NOT commit suicide. He did what he felt he had to do, to save the king. In any other circumstance he would have fought with every fibre of his being to stay in this world."

"Would he indeed? Had he not lost his true love to Arthur?"

She laughed. It was not a pleasant sound and all the hairs on the back of Merlin's neck stood to attention.

"My world is full of men and women who have died for unrequited love. In my world they can mourn their loss forever and ever. Your Lancelot has the same opportunity. His spirit often haunts the castle of Camelot as he yearns for his one true love."

"That is not true! Yes, I know his spirit has indeed visited Camelot since he died, but he is certainly not always present, nor is his focus the queen. He tried to help Gawaine when he faced the Green Knight and he has been by my side when I mourned the loss of Gaius. That Lancelot loved Gwen is a statement of fact, but he stepped aside for, Arthur and he accepted she would never be his. He was a man of honour and he walked through the veil into your ghastly world to save his king and to keep a vow he made to the queen. Do not seek to debase his motives or cast doubt on his integrity.

Dark magic opened the veil between the worlds, and you could have closed it without a sacrifice. Your malevolence and cruelty and your wish to prove your power were the only reasons Lancelot had to die.

I need him now. A war with Morgana is coming and I need a weapon she cannot possibly expect. I need Lancelot and you will give him to me."

The Cailleach seemed to quiver with rage and yet Merlin sensed that strangely, for all her talk and bravado, there was something she was unsure of.

"And what will you give ME, if I give you Lancelot?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all! You took advantage of a dire situation and Lancelot felt he had no choice but to give up his life to save his king."

"And Lancelot is dead! His place in Camelot is gone. No mortal man can live again, in his own time, once he has passed through the veil."

"I require his presence for but a few days. Then he deserves to go to his ancestors. You must release him!"

The Cailleach's black eyes seemed tinged with uncertainty. It was as if she was weighing her options.

"Then take him back, Emrys!" she spat, "Do with him what you will. He may have four days to live on the earth again. After that…."

The Cailleach did not finish her sentence. She just left an implied threat hanging in the freezing air.

But Merlin was wasting no time on discussion.

"So where is he?" he spat back, "Give him to me, now!"

The Cailleach laughed. The sound grated round the stones and it took all Merlin's resolve to stand his ground.

"Come and find him! The way is open!"

As she spoke a split in the darkness appeared and Merlin heard the screams of the Derocha. To his horror he felt himself stepping forward. It was as if he had no control of his feet. A moment of blind panic almost stopped his breath and then suddenly the spell was broken. He almost fell, but just managed to stay on his feet.

The Cailleach stared at him venomously, but she did not seem surprised

"You cannot come into my world," she told him, nastily, "you will live and live and live until you are sick of life, until one day, you will long for death! Your every thought will be consumed by your desire to die. You will have no-one. All whom you have loved, whom you have cared for, will be gone and you will be alone in an everlasting nightmare. What your precious Lancelot suffers will be as nothing to what you will have to endure!"

Merlin felt her ghastly predictions settle upon him, crushing him like blocks of stone.

For a few seconds he could hardly breathe. His mouth opened and closed as he gasped for air, but the with a force of will he did not know he possessed, he cast her words aside.

"Give him to me!" he shouted, "you had no right to take him!"

The Cailleach stared at him with undisguised hatred, but at the same time Merlin sensed there was nothing she could do. In this battle of wills, to his relief, he appeared to have the upper hand.

Although her terrifying gaze seemed to pierce his very soul and although, behind her the shrieks and wailings of the unhappy and evil dead, grew to a deafening roar, Merlin realised he could stand it. He stared right back, his power growing within him until he felt he might explode.

"Give Lancelot to me!" he shouted again, his voice echoing round the tall stones and up to the glittering night sky.

The Cailleach's already pale face, blanched. Her voice, when she spoke, seemed diminished.

"He is not here," she snapped. "Doubtless he is close to Camelot. Wait for him in the meadow close to the castle walls. He will come to you."

Merlin's eyes narrowed. "And I can trust you?"

The Cailleach drew herself up to her full height. She sneered at Merlin.

"I do not need your precious Lancelot. He is not what you think he is. He is more trouble than he is worth. Have him and leave me in peace!"

A black hole appeared in the night sky and the Cailleach simply disappeared.

Merlin stood in the icy air and slowly the distressing sounds of the Cailleach's world faded into the night.

He slumped against a standing stone, his head spinning.

The Cailleach's words had terrified him. She had given him a future he did not want to even try and contemplate. He told himself she was just lashing out, because his power had proved stronger than hers, but deep within his soul, he feared her prophesies. He feared the goddess did indeed know his future.

With no choice, he forced himself to cast his worries aside and returned to the matter in hand.

What did the Cailleach mean….Lancelot was not what Merlin thought he was? Merlin was sure he knew Lancelot as well as any man could. Lancelot had no hidden side to him. He was loyal, fearless, kind, and honest to the core.

Would The Cailleach keep her promise? Merlin found himself convinced that she would. For some reason, Lancelot was not wanted in The Cailleach's domain.

Chapter 14

On the other side of the veil, The Cailleach sought Lancelot. He was just outside Camelot as she had predicted, in an outlying village.

She had been so pleased with her sacrifice at first, for The Cailleach was female and Lancelot was handsome. She loved to look at him.

But he did not behave the way most of the other spirits did. His sadness, consuming though it was, did not drive him mad or make him seek revenge. He seemed to accept his fate and instead of haunting his love rival, Arthur Pendragon, he travelled the earth and once he found out that he could make things happen in the world of the living, he reached out only to do good.

There was something about him, something that marked him out from the other spirits trapped on the other side of The Veil and she had a feeling that one day he would escape, even without her permission. Under his influence at least one lost soul had escaped her dark world and worse than that, others might attempt and succeed in following him. If that were to happen it would make her seem weak. She could never allow that.

Better to be seen to be in control and command the fear and respect she thought she deserved.

No matter that she was returning Lancelot to the world of the living. Lancelot had lost his place in Camelot. For the citizens of Camelot, he was dead and even if he walked among them again in full view, he would die again in the coming battle.

She laughed…..though it was a hollow sound…..

Chapter 15

Lancelot found himself in the meadow below the castle walls of Camelot. Once this place had been as familiar to him as breathing and he remembered how it was here he had first met the great dragon, Kilgarrah. He also remembered the huge beast describing him as 'the greatest and most noble knight of all'

He smiled ruefully. He doubted anyone would describe him in that way now.

But, when he thought about it, he had done his best. He had saved Arthur from death.

'Arthur', Lancelot sighed, the man who had taken Gwen from him. But he knew that no man could 'take' a woman like Gwen's affections, if he did not deserve them. Arthur had probably always loved Gwen. It was only her position as a servant within the castle, that had prevented Arthur from making his true feelings known and that had left her open to Lancelot's advances.

He wished it had not been so. He wished Gwen could have been his wife. But Arthur was a king, and he was a great one. He was also a man who Lancelot admired and one he was proud to call a friend. It was hard to accept, but some things could never be, no matter how hard he wished for them.

Tonight, he had thought to spend the night in the castle's stables, but as he drifted over the meadow, he saw a campfire and someone sitting beside it.

Intrigued he walked closer.

Strangely it almost felt as if he was actually 'walking'. His mind was obviously playing tricks on him. The world beyond the veil was nothing if not tricky to navigate. Still, he might as well investigate anyway.

To his surprise, he realised it was, Merlin, seated by the fire.

And Merlin addressed him as if he were alive.

"Hallo Lancelot. I've been witing for you. I thought you would never get here!"

"You can see me?"

"Yes. Come close by the fire. It's freezing out here."

Lancelot sat tentatively on a log. He could feel the rough bark. He scratched his face and felt the bristles on his cheek.

Suddenly his world was spinning, and he gripped the log to steady himself.

"What's happening to me" he asked in amazement, "I feel…. I feel as if I am alive again!"

Chapter 16

Later, after Merlin had explained Lancelot's change in fortune and what he was expected to do in the coming days, Merlin introduced him to a huge, dappled horse, which had been waiting in the shadows.

'This is, Thor. He will carry you wherever you need to go. He is like no horse you have ever owned. Treat him with respect."

No-one saw their entry through the castle gates. Merlin cloaked them in magic and the guards noticed nothing.

In the stables Porrig, greeted Lancelot with a huge smile.

"It is so good to see you clearly again, Sir Lancelot. I have found a place for you to sleep, where no-one will disturb you. I have provided a blanket and a pillow. It's just for a few hours but I do hope you would be comfortable."

Lancelot stepped forward and hugged the young man. "I need nothing. You, allowing my spirit to dwell here when I had nowhere safe to go was a gift I can never repay. I will happily sleep on the ground, so glad am I to be part of the living world again."

And Lancelot meant what he said. As he lay down in a dark corner of the stables, he was positively grateful for the scratchy feel of straw beneath his back and the smell of 'horse' that surrounded him. He was alive! And more than that, he had a reason to live. He had something to do that would he hoped, make up for all the evil done in his name.

In the last hours before the dawn, Gwen and the children would leave Camelot for a safe, haven and Lancelot would be right behind them. A secret escort to ensure their safety.

They would not know of his existence until the time was right, but he would see Gwen again and he would get chance to apologise to her in person for the 'shade' who had walked Camelot in his likeness, the 'shade' who had nearly destroyed Gwen's world. Then he would be allowed to fight alongside Arthur and his friends again, to defend Camelot from the evil of Morgana.

He could not wait.

And yet despite his excitement, he felt tired, a feeling he had not known for a long time. But although he yawned until he thought his jaw might crack, he delayed falling asleep for as long as he could, so that he could enjoy every minute of 'life' again. He wanted to feel everything, to feel more than he had ever felt before. For he had existed for years in the shadows, able to see everything, but never to touch and never to feel.

Chapter 17

'Waking' was also a feeling Lancelot had not known for many years and when Merlin came to get him a few hours later he felt disorientated. But then he remembered that everything had changed, and he smiled as he sat up.

"I've brought you something to eat and drink," whispered Merlin, proffering him a bread roll stuffed with a hot sausage.

Lancelot ate ravenously…..eating was wonderful!

"I have put more in your pack," said Merlin with a delighted grin. He didn't think he had ever seen someone enjoy a simple meal so much.

"Here, have some water and then we must go. We must get to the exit from the new siege tunnels before the moon sets. Gwen and the children must be well away from here before it is fully light.

Lancelot eagerly stuffed the rest of his sausage roll into his mouth and leapt to his feet.

"I am ready, my friend. Lead the way!"

Merlin tossed him a brownish coloured cloak and a leather scarf. "Wear these always. It will make you virtually invisible until you want to be seen."

Lancelot wrapped the cloak around him and noticed that the colour of the garment seemed to be constantly shifting, blurring the edges of his silhouette into his surroundings. It was a strange phenomenon and he felt compelled to squeeze the side of the stall to persuade himself he was still 'real'.

His fingers dug into the wood, nails digging deep…..

He was alive!