(AN: Long chapter, this. I had a lot I wanted to do. Thank you for continuing to read, review, and follow this story. I know it's probably hard to stick with, what with the sporadic postings. But you guys are the reason I keep going. Knowing your still with me on this keeps me writing. I won't let you down. Or, at least, I'll keep writing until the story is finished, and hopefully it won't let you down. Thanks again :)

If Lintone was the crowning jewel of Essetir, the surrounding villages were the rubble it was pulled from. Gone were the round-faced, well-fed merchants of the town. The small farming villages were full of lean, scrawny workers. Some were peasants, some were slaves, but there was little apparent difference between them. They wore layer upon layer against the cold as they collect their harvest, working with bent backs and lowered heads. They were unhealthy. They were broken in spirit.

They were the key to Merlin's plan.

He and Will watched from a safe distance as a fussy looking merchant from town carefully counted the harvest. Several burly guards stood by as he directed it to be loaded upon the cart— mounds of winter squash and sacks of barley. The merchant shook his head, looking dissatisfied. He grudgingly handed back a small sack of barley to a man from the village and began to make his way to the front of the cart. Suddenly a woman from the village ran forward, small bundle in her arms. One of the guards held her back, but Merlin could hear her shouting even from a distance. The merchant settled onto the cart and ordered the drive to move off, heedless of the woman's cries. Merlin tensed as the woman struggled against the guard, but he held her back gently, inclining his head to speak to her. She fell to her knees, cradling the bundle in her arms. The guard reluctantly left her and followed the cart back toward Lintone.

When the group had made it beyond sight of the town, Merlin and Will quickly approached the villagers. Most seemed startled and defensive at the appearance of strangers, but the woman on her knees took no notice of them. As Merlin moved closer, he spotted a dark curls and red cheeks peeking from within the mass of rags and blankets in her arms. Her eyes darted to him as he knelt in from of her, and she pulled the child closer.

"Hello," he said, smiling gently. "My name's Merlin. Is your child sick? I have some knowledge of healing. I may be able to help."

The woman stared him down, eyes boring into him, face full of distrust but harboring a flicker of hope. The a few villagers moved in closer, protectively. Will shifted nervously nearby.

"Please," Merlin said, "Let me help."

At last, the woman's face softened. She nodded, shoulder's slumping as she gathered the child.

"Come," she said. "Let's at least get out of this wind." Standing, she lead them toward the village.

Arthur stared down on the expanse of trees before him as he let his thoughts drift. What kind of king was he, what kind of man was he, if those closest to him felt that they couldn't trust him? Would no one ever give him the chance to be understanding and accepting? Why was it so damn difficult for people to tell him the truth?

His thoughts were interrupted by a door slamming open behind him. He turned, fully intending to tell off whomever it was. He froze as his eyes fell on Guinevere.

Gwen did not freeze. She closed the distance between them in three long strides and kissed him passionately. Arthur melted into her. All other thoughts flew out of his head, and there was only Guinevere: Gwen's lips on his, Gwen's hair twining around his fingers, Gwen's smell flooding his senses, Gwen's hands on his face, his chest, Gwen's body against his— warm, solid, and real. Gwen, Gwen, Gwen…

He had missed her so.

At last, the kiss broke, and Gwen buried her face in his shoulder as they held each other.

"I thought I lost you," she whispered. "I thought… I really thought this time you…"

"It's alright," he said, soaking in her warmth. "It's alright."

After a few long moments, Gwen stepped back, hands on each side of his face as she searched his eyes.

"What happened?"

Arthur's stomach knotted. He looked down, jaw clenched.

"It's… complicated."

Gwen's hands gripped tighter as she ducked to meet his gaze, eyes determined.

"You'd better start talking then."

The first time Lot's mistress came to his rooms, Gwaine was too drunk to do anything about it, even if he'd wanted to. He'd been attempting to thoroughly numb himself with ale since he awoke, so by the time she got there, he barely recognized her. He vaguely remembered her chasse-ing into his rooms, saying something—but her voice and the way her mouth moved weren't lining up well for him. She must have realized he'd be all but useless in his current state, because she left quite quickly… but not before giving him a long slow kiss on the cheek, lingering in a way that promised more. After-which he promptly blacked out.

"It'll never work," Will said as they left the tiny town. "They're scared. They'll never come to fight. Even if they could, how are farmers going to stand a chance against soldiers?"

Merlin stifled a sigh. They had been to five villages so far to spread word about the impending rebellion and ask the people to take arms against Lot. All had listened, exchanging wary glances among themselves, then promised to consider it. In three days, he might have the force of an army behind him, or he might not. Will's pessimism certainly wasn't helping matters.

"Let me ask you something," Merlin said as they headed back to the slaves' camp. "Yesterday, when we turned on the merchants, were you scared?"

"…Yes," said Will, reluctantly.

"And you're not a soldier, are you?"

"Actually," said Will, smiling. "I was training to be a cobbler."

"Ah," Merlin grinned. "And I'm guessing a cobbler doesn't know any more about fighting than a farmer does."

"Probably less," Will admitted.

"Probably," Merlin chuckled. "And yet, when it came time to fight, you stood your ground. Why?"

Will was silent so long, Merlin thought maybe he wasn't willing to answer.

"I guess," Will said at last, "I guess I figured I was dead either way, you know? If I fought back, they'd kill me, if I didn't, they'd work me to death. Fighting back, that was my choice. It was something they couldn't take from me."

Merlin smiled.

"That's why what we're doing matters," he said. "These farmers are slaves too. They want better for their families, for themselves. I believe that if we give them a chance to stand up for themselves, to choose their own destinies, they'll do it. They'll fight for a better life."

It was hard to make out Will's reaction in the deepening twilight.

"Well," Will said, fighting back a grin. "When you put it like that, it doesn't sound so bad."

Arthur told Gwen everything. He didn't even question it, and maybe he should have, but he could hardly help it. All the shock, betrayal, shame, and confusion came pouring out, constant and unstoppable as river rushing through a burst dam. He stood and paced and shouted. By the end, he and Gwen were sitting against the wall of the tower, he staring ahead, she a comforting presence at his side.

"I feel as though I don't know who I am anymore. I can't fight. I can't trust myself to make decisions, because every time I put my trust in people I get betrayed or abandoned. I just wish I could—"

"Arthur," Gwen's warm hand on his arm brought him up sort. He looked over at her for the first time in… well... how long had he been talking?

"Darling," his queen said, placing her hand on his cheek gently and looking deeply into his eyes. "I love you more than life itself. But if you say the word 'I' one more time, I'm going to hit you in the face."

Arthur's mouth fell open slightly.

Gwen stood, dusting off her skirts.

"Amata is in chaos after Sarrum's death. Mordred and his follower will surely try to take power," Gwen looked down on him, strong, but sympathetic. "Merlin having magic, Merlin LEAVING is… well, it's a lot to think about. But the kingdom is in danger, and we need King Arthur to lead it. Not Arthur, the warrior who deals with problem by throwing himself into danger. Not Arthur, the man who cares so deeply for his friends and family that he sometimes makes the wrong choice. We need King Arthur, the man who listens with his heart, sees the potential for nobleness in everyone around him, and whose every breath is dedicated to the good of Camelot and his people. So, are you ready to get to work, or do you need a little more time to brood?"

Guinevere held out her hand, and Arthur took it. He pulled himself to his feet and kissed her fiercely.

"You are amazing," he said as they broke apart.

"I know," she said, patting his arm. "Now, if you need me, I'll be taking a long bath, and then sleeping for at least a day."

Arthur felt a pang. Now that he really looked at her, he could practically feel the weariness rolling off her. These past days as he rested and moped, she had been riding around Amata, dealing with armies and sorcerers, and all the while worrying about him. He walked her back to their room and made sure the servants were seeing to her comfort. Then, he set out to find Leon. Gwen was right. It was time to work.

The second time Lot's mistress came to visit him, he was very, very hung over. Since finding out Merlin was magic, he had secretly been hoping that his friend could somehow disspell the throbbing, world-ending pain that followed a night of having one—or maybe ten— too many. Sadly, Merlin wasn't here even to try. Merlin was out, being a hero, trying to save the people, save Gwaine's life. But that didn't matter, because Gwaine was dead already. No, death wouldn't hurt this much. He was deading… deadening? Whatever it was called… his head hurt so much that his brain was trying to escape by pushing out his eyes, his ears, and down the back of his throat.

And someone was trying to beat down his door with a battering ram.

After a moment, the pounding was replaced by a sound like an oak being felled in the forest as the door creaked open. The woman—what had she said her name was yesterday? Rena, maybe?—crossed to him with soft steps and spoke with a gentle voice. She might as well have been Percival doing a dance in wooden clogging shoes whilst playing bagpipes.

He groaned and burrowed further under his pillow.

"Yes," Rena—no Vena, that was it—said, sitting next to him on the bed. "That's how I'd expect you to feel after yesterday. Here, I brought this. It'll help."

Gwaine peeked out. God, but she was beautiful. Long, flowing red hair, gorgeous skin—much more of it exposed than you'd generally see—and keen brown eyes. She held a mug in her hands. Under normal circumstances, he'd take it without question just to see her smile. But this woman had been at Lot's side when he'd arrived. She couldn't be trusted. Then again, Merlin had said they needed to speak to someone close to Lot to get information and find out what was protecting him.

Slowly, he sat up and took the mug, eyeing the contents skeptically. The liquid inside was thick and rather too green for comfort. Still, better a quick death from this than the slow one he was currently experiencing. He downed the whole thing quickly. The taste was minty, floral, maybe a bit grassy. It was surprisingly alright, though his stomach still surged rebelliously as he swallowed. Vena leaned away as he breathed slowly through his nose until everything settled.

"That was actually not half bad," Gwaine said. In fact, he was already feeling better. "Thank you."

"I didn't make it," she said looking away and blushing. "Your sister, Bridget did."

"Really," Gwaine said, scowl forming on his face. "I'm surprised she didn't poison it. Make things easier for her dear da."

"Actually," said Vena, eyes lifting to brush his gaze for a moment. "I didn't tell her it was for you. She thought it was for Lot. Lord knows he needs it often enough."

"Huh," Gwaine said, leaning forward. "Seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through for someone your lover's going to kill in a tomorrow."

"Well," she said, meeting his gaze and holding it, "You've got so little time left, I don't want you to suffer. I think your last hours should be… enjoyable."

She kissed him. Passionately, aggressively. It was amazing. Gently, insistently, her hand found his chest and began to push him back on the bed.

"Wait, wait," he said, sitting back up. "I thought you and Lot—"

"Lot is a brute." Her words tumbled out visciously, broken by the occasional pause as she kissed him. "He takes what he wants, when he wants. Today, he doesn't want me. He wants someone else. And I want you."

"Right," said Gwaine. "Okay."

It was poetic, really. His bastard of a step-father had cheated on his mother so often. Shouldn't Gwaine help the man's favorite mistress return the favor? Face Lot tomorrow with the knowledge that, even if the man killed him, he'd gotten the better of him in this at least?

Vena kissed him again, so beautiful, so fiery, so desperate.

Damn.

"No," Gwaine sat up, gently pushing her off. "I can't."

"What?" She said. "What is it?"

"You are incredible," he said. "You really are. So beautiful and… and I don't know what's going on in your life, in your head, but I can't do this."

It would be using her to get back at Lot. And he just couldn't do that to another person.

"What if Lot found out, eh? Me, I'm dead in a day anyway, but you? I know what he'd do to you if he found out. I've seen it. I can't be a part of that."

Vena nodded, looking away as tears danced in her eyes.

"I wish I could help you," Gwaine said. "I really do."

She glanced up at him, smiling as a few tears danced off of her lashes.

"You're a good man, Sir Gwaine," she said, standing and walking to the door. With her hand on the latch, she turned around to face him. "I'll try to find a way to help you. Then, maybe you can help me."

She left.

The menacing threat of dawn crept over the horizon. Merlin rose, not having slept much the night before. Today was the day. Gwaine's life and countless others were on the line because they had put their faith in Merlin. He hoped that faith wasn't misplaced.

Merlin had spent the last two days traveling between Lintone and the surrounding villages, raising his rebellion and trying to uncover the secret of Lot's invulnerability. While he was sure that at least some villagers and poor townspeople would join in the fight, his other inquiries had led to nothing. No one seemed to know where Lot's protection came from, though rumors ranged from deals with devils, to magic charms, to a secret witch that lived in his closet. He hoped Gwaine had had better luck on his end.

Stretching, Merlin made his way across the camp, stepping carefully around the forms of the other former-slaves. Reuben sat not far off, sharpening a dagger. Merlin admired the pile of weapons they'd amassed.

"It's more than I thought," he said, indicating the stack of bows, clubs, and spears.

"It won't be enough," Reuben replied quietly, meeting Merlin's eyes. Merlin just nodded. They both knew that a few dozen men, no matter how well armed, wouldn't stand a chance against the city guards, Lot's professional soldiers. They needed numbers, or the battle would be finished before it started. Reuben sighed. "What is it that gives you such faith? Such confidence that we'll succeed? Our odds aren't good."

"I've been up against worse odds," Merlin smirked, "Many, many times."

Reuben chuckled.

"You keep saying things like that," he said, studying Merlin. "After all this is over, you'll have to tell me your story."

"You'd never believe it," Merlin said. "Anyway, lets see this chapter through first."

They went to work.

Gwaine felt strangely calm, considering he was going to die today. Well, probably. He didn't even feel like drinking. Merlin was right. Standing, facing this, facing him, it felt good. It felt right.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," he said, expecting Vena. Maybe she had found a way to save him after all.

Instead, he encountered a familiar face, framed in brown curls streaked with silver.

"Gwaine," his sister said, stiffly.

"Bridget," he said, sitting at a nearby dining table and putting his feet up. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Come to give your condolences? Or is it sympathies? What's the protocol for visiting a dead man before the funeral?"

Bridget closed her eyes, but Gwaine could still see them rolling under the lids. He found himself smiling. He had forgotten about this side of Bridget. He remembered her as cold, yes, heartless, no doubt, but he had forgotten her uptight, prudish sense of superiority. He thanked the gods for sending him some entertainment in his final hours.

"Actually, I'm here to save your life," she said, hands clasped firmly before her. "The guards outside your room will wake in two hours, their last memory that of helping themselves to some wine. The servant's hall and stairway will be clear for the next half hour thanks to a batch of sweet buns being distributed in the kitchens as we speak. There is a horse saddled and waiting in the stables, whose owner had to change clothes as wine was spilled on him on his way out. The stable lad is out, finally fulfilling his wish to have a tryst with a serving girl behind the gate house, and the guards at the gate are distracted by the stableboy's… tryst."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" Gwaine bristled, because actually, he was rather.

"No, you're supposed to be gone," Bridget said, turning to leave. "You have a narrow window. Use it."

"I'm not going."

"Gwaine!" She shouted, losing her tightly controlled composure. "Stop it! Stop this childish behavior. There's no point to it."

"Of course," Gwaine said, standing. "Of course you think there's no point standing up to him. You never did. Just fell in line, kept your mouth shut like a good little mouse—"

"I did what I had to do to survive!" Bridget said fiercely, striding toward him. "What good did all your posturing and defiance do? He just hit you all the more, then hit Mother when she'd try to protect you."

"Don't," he said quietly, dangerously. "Just… don't. You think I don't know? That I haven't thought of her every day? That I don't regret leaving more than anything?"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Bridget said, crossing to the door. "Leaving was the best thing you ever did for us, and it's the best you could do now."

She kept her back facing him, but he heard her voice quaver, so minutely he thought he must have imagined it. He moved closer.

"Just go, Gwaine." She said, and for the first time, Gwaine saw the grief and pain beneath her crumbling façade. "You're still my brother. There's nothing you can do here. Nothing but die."

Gwaine reached for her, but she was already moving away, opening the door.

Vena stood on the other side. Bridget brushed past her without a second glance. Looking confused, Vena stepped into the room.

"What was that about?" She said, closing the door behind herself. "And what happened to your guards?"

"What do you mean?" Gwaine answered breezily, slapping on his best 'nothing but air between these ears' expression.

"Er," Vena shook herself, "Nevermind. I need to talk to you."

Gwaine gestured to the table, swiping a couple of goblets and pouring them out smoothly. Vena sat across from him and drank the goblet down in one long pull. Gwaine raised an eyebrow at her.

"Sorry," she said. "It's just… I'm throwing my lot in with you. If he finds out…"

Gwaine crossed the distance between them and kneeled before her.

"What is it?" He said.

She studied his face for a long moment, then pulled something out. A light, soft shirt with an odd pattern woven into it.

"This is what protects him," she said breathlessly. "It's magic. I stole it. He'll notice, surely, but he won't panic, as he's the one landing the blow today. He'd never imagine I'd bring it to you. But I… I can't take it anymore. I have to get free. You'll help me, won't you?"

Solemnly, he looked her in the eye, taking the soft shirt in his hands.

"I will."

Merlin stood outside the gates of Lintone, looking across the fields to the forests. The rest of the freed men stood around, looking nervous.

"What if they don't come?" Reuben said. The man's pacing really wasn't helping anything.

"They'll come," said Merlin. He was surprised by how calm and certain his voice sounded.

"How can you be sure?" Reuben asked. "They may not have much to lose, but that doesn't mean they have a death wish."

"I'm not sure at all," Merlin said, "But I have—"

"—Faith," Reuben finished nodding. "Well, if this plan comes through, you'll have made a believer out of me."

"I can't promise everything will work out," Merlin said. "But I believe in people. I believe they'll choose freedom over tyranny. That given the chance, they'll fight for what's right."

"Well, even if they don't come, I'm glad we tried," Reuben sighed. "I just hope it doesn't ruin your optimism when no one—"

Reuben suddenly stopped speaking, mouth falling open. Merlin followed his gaze.

Across the fields, people were moving, coming forward out of the shadows of the trees. Men and women, armed with pitchforks, cudgels, cooking knives. First one, then ten, then one hundred. And they kept coming.

Merlin met Reuben's shocked expression and grinned.

"Well," Reuben said, scowling. "No need to look so smug about it. Let's go get Lot."

Gwaine was led out of the manor, to a courtyard just outside the front doors. His hands were unbound, but he didn't plan on running. Even without the magical protection of the shirt he wore under his regular clothes, he felt stronger and more certain than he'd felt in a long time.

Lot was waiting for him, Vena on his arm. Gwaine avoided looking at her, though he wanted to give her a glance of reassurance.

"Well, Gwaine," Lot said, hefting his axe. "Here we are again. Last chance to change your mind, join my court here, make a man out of yourself."

Unbidden, a memory jumped into his mind: him sitting on a fence with Bridget as she taught him how to spit properly. They had practiced, each trying to outdo the other with distance and accuracy. It had been something their father had taught her, but never had the chance to show Gwaine. It was so out of character for the hard, unflinching person she was now, but it warmed his heart all the same. Even better was putting those lessons to good use, sending a wet glob straight into Lot's face.

The king, stumbled back, anger bubbling forth as he wiped his face and strode forward.

"Kneel," the king growled.

Gwaine had time neither to resist or comply as his knees were kicked from behind, and he was forced down. Lot loomed over him, bringing the ax close to brush his neck. A chill passed down Gwaine's spine.

"What's this?" Lot said. Gwaine looked down. To his horror, the collar of the protective shirt was visible, peaking out just beneath his own clothing. He cursed himself, but his panic was interrupted by Lot's uproarious laughter. The king walked toward Vena, and Gwaine tried to move to help her, but he was quickly pushed back to his knees.

"You—" Lot said, gasping for breath amid his laughter, "You actually got him to wear it!"

What...?

Smiling, Vena moved to Lot, and met him in a deep kiss.

"You really are incredible," Lot said, pulling away and turning back to Gwaine. "That awful thing shirt was a present from some buffoon trying to curry favor. Ugliest thing I'd ever seen. Now, I'll have an excuse not to wear it. Blood's impossible to get out."

Striding forward, he slammed the butt of the ax against Gwaine's face. Stars burst in his vision as pain exploded in his jaw. Vaguely, he felt dirt on his face, then hands were on his arms, yanking him up. Lot's face invaded his vision as the king knelt to speak face to face with him.

"See, my men heard you and your little friend planning," Lot sneered. "Figured, if you were going to try and figure out my secrets, I might as well make it entertaining for you. Vena was more than happy to oblige. She's a… spirited girl. But I'm sure you've figured that out. Oh, and best of all, look!"

Lot grabbed Gwaine's chin and force his gaze to the side, to the open view overlooking the city of Lintone. Gwaine could see a large group of people, walking together, pouring through the walls and gates of Lintone. He could also see a large force of soldiers in the town square, standing ready, and archers leaning out the windows of the surrounding houses.

"Your little friend is leading a group of rabble to try and overthrow me," Lot explained. "It's been tried before, and my men are waiting to cut them down. We don't show mercy to traitors. There will be no prisoners, no survivors."

Lot stood, brushing off his knees as Gwaine glared up at him.

"Here's my last kindness to you, son," Lot said, hefting the ax. "I won't make you watch them die."

The ax sliced through the air.

Merlin led the rebels through the streets of Lintone with deliberate steps. He wanted to be seen, wanted the people hiding in their houses to understand what was happening. He couldn't count on his magic to save the day this time. But Kilgarrah was right. There was more to him than just magic. And there was more to the people of Essetir than what Lot had made of them.

It was time to prove it.

As they entered the town square, a chill passed up Merlin's spine. All around, he heard the creaking of bowstrings, the jingle of mail, the heavy sound of a hundred armed men waiting, breathing together. He held his arm out, halting the force at his back. They were many. They might be able to overwhelm the guards. But hundreds of lives would be lost.

He swallowed, gathering his wits and breath to call out to the head guard. Before he could, a figure stepped out of the crowd to his right. A woman. As she continued forward, Merlin realized it was the same woman who had pleaded for help for her sick child a few days ago. Hethrian, her name was. Merlin held his breath as she moved toward the captain of the guard, with slow but confident steps. Conflict and pain was clearly etched on the captain's face as she came to a stop before him.

"Damien," she said, and somehow her low quiet voice carried across the courtyard, "You don't have to do this."

"I owe my fealty to the Lord Protector of Essetir," he replied stiffly.

"Lot ceased to be the Lord Protector when he stopped caring about his people," Hethrian answered. "If left to him, we'd be dead twelve times over. We're barely surviving as it is. You owe him nothing. What you do today is your choice and yours alone. Do what you think is right, but don't hide behind the guise of loyalty to a man who has done nothing to earn it. Cowardice doesn't suit you."

With that she turned to the crowd of rebels, putting her back fully to the captain—Lord, but she was brave—as she gestured them forward. The crowd moved and Merlin moved with it, smiling as he no longer led, but was pressed forward by the will of the people. Doors opened all around as more people pressed into the streets.

The captain glanced around at the steadily growing crowd and made a swift gesture to the archers above and soldiers in the square.

They lowered their weapons.

Sharing a grim smile and salute with Hethrian, Captain Damien turned, passing through his squad of soldiers. They fell in line as their captain led them and the people of Essetir toward Lot.

It was the oddest sensation.

Gwaine saw the axe flashing toward him. He didn't flinch away. He even met Lot's eyes. He had chosen this, and he would die with honor.

Except, that he didn't.

Die, that is.

Instead, the axe glanced off his neck with no more force than a switch. And a switch would have stung. All he felt was a whoosh of air as a loud thud sounded, and Lot stumbled back, axe rebounding in his hands. The king looked down at his axe in astounishment, then at Gwaine.

Then, he turned to Bridget.

"Traitor," he spat, as she stood tall before him. He stepped forward, raising his axe once more. "I'll kill you, you witch!"

Gwaine started forward, too slow, as the axe swung once more. But maybe Bridget could protect herself, like she protected him? His head was spinning. Maybe—

There was a loud metalic clang, as the axe's path was blocked abruptly. An old, tough looking soldier stood between Bridget and the king, holding the axe back with a sword whose steel matched the man's eyes.

"Sorry, Your Highness," he said roughly. "But my brother and his family would have starved these past two winters if not for her. You will not touch her."

He pushed the king back, and several other guards stepped in to support him. None went to the king.

"Treason," Lot hissed, "I'll see you all hanged! Damien—"

Lot's voice fell away as the soldiers from the square crested the hill, followed by hundreds of villagers and townspeople. It seemed Merlin had accomplished his goal.

"How dare you!?" Lot screamed, face going purple. "I am your king!"

"You'd be the king of a wasteland if not for Lady Bridget," Damien said, stepping forward. "Only her help has kept the people alive as you demanded more and more. She has held this land together inspite of you, hiding it from you every step of the way. She deserves the crown."

Gwaine rose, moving forward as the guards surrounded and disarmed Lot. The only ones looking unhappy about it were the courtiers, who were slipping away in the crowd. Gwaine saw Vena disappear with them. Good riddance.

He approached the king, the man who had made his young life a living hell, who still haunted his nightmares and lurked in the shadows of his mind.

Lot was shorter than him. He wondered when that had happened.

Gwaine looked down at the older man. His skin had a yellow tone that the green of his clothes did nothing to improve. Frown lines were deep in his puffy face. Slightly bloodshot eyes regarded him with fear as his own guards restrained him from all sides.

Gwaine reached out…

And plucked the crown from the feeble man's head, turning his back on the pain and shame of the past.

He approached Bridget, guards parting with a nod from her.

Gwaine stood before her, regarding her quietly. She didn't shift or squirm, but he could sense the nervousness clinging to her.

"Magic, eh?" Gwaine said.

"I'm afraid you've seen the lion's share of my tricks," Bridget said. "I needed to be indispensable to Lot, to stay close to him so I could keep him from ruining more lives. After years of study, I was able to learn to grant protection. It only lasts a moment, and I can't do it more than once every few days. I honestly think Lot was more impressed by the hangover potion I learned to brew. He certainly used it enough."

"Well, thanks for that as well, then."

Gwaine stood awkwardly for a moment, then knelt before his sister. The rest of the crowd followed.

"Please, don't," she said, quietly. Then, she raised her voice to address the crowd. "I failed you. I thought it was even to keep us alive, to survive." She met Gwaine's eyes. "But now, I see. Surviving is not enough. We must learn to live. I'm sorry for not seeing it sooner."

Looking over the crowd, she straightened her back.

"If you'll help me, I'll do my best to learn from your courage," Bridget said, looking more open and vulnerable than Gwaine had ever seen her. "I vow to serve you, to work for you, until every man, woman, and child in our land experiences the same freedom you have earned for us all today."

Gwaine smiled and handed his sister the crown. Standing and taking his place by her right shoulder, he shouted over the crowd.

"Long live the Queen!"

As the people surged to their feet and echoed his call over and over, Gwaine leaned toward Bridget's ear.

"You're supposed to wear that, you know," he muttered, nodding to the crown in her hands.

"Nonsense," she whispered back, eyes forward. "It's far too big for me. It would look ridiculous. I can just hold it for now, it's fine. The symbolism is understood."

"I suppose we can get it resized later," said Gwaine, biting back a smile.

"Who needs a crown?" Bridget said, eyes misty as she looked over the crowd. "I have them. And you."

Arthur and his knights gathered at the round table. His eyes took in the empty chairs, and he let pain of his friends' absence wash over him. Then, he turned to those that remained.

"In one week's time," he said. "I will sit around this table with all of the rulers of Albion. Cornwall and Mercia. Gawant and Deorham. Essetir, Nemeth, Caerleon, Kent. Friend and foe, weak and strong, all will gather here. Here, we will decide the fate of Amata, and so much more. Here, we will put fear, anger, greed, and prejudice aside and work to build a stronger future for the people of every land."

His knight's regarded him. He saw pride, faith, trust in their eyes. He still wasn't sure we deserved it. He would just have to try his best to be the man they already believed him to be.

"Send out riders. The future of Albion is in our hands."

Aithusa flew in lazy circles overhead. The people of Lintone 'oo'ed and 'ah'ed as she twirled in the air. Merlin shook his head. There'd be no living with her after this. He leaned against the town wall, looking over the festivities. Lot and the rest of his court had been banished the day before. Now, the people of Lintone and it's villages celebrated the harvest out of the shadow of their oppressors. Tents and tables and cook fires were set up in lines in the fields surrounding the town as people from all over Essetir came to celebrate and pledge their loyalty to Queen Bridget. Farmers, who days ago had been downtrodden and despairing, now laughed and talked as they ate the fruits of their own labor and watched their children play together.

Merlin sighed.

"What are you thinking?"

Merlin turned to see Gwaine take a place against the wall beside him. He hadn't seen much of his friend the last few days. Putting a new ruler in power while the old still lived was a delicate balance. Though Bridget was more than capable as a leader, and the people of Essetir loved her, she was all but unknown outside her own country. Having one of King Arthur's famed knights at her side— supporting her, following her— added legitimacy to her claimed in the eyes of surrounding nations. It wasn't fair, but it was so.

"I'm thinking," Merlin said. "That I'm going miss you."

Gwaine sighed, lowering his head.

"I could still come with you," he said, with forced and stubborn conviction in his voice.

"Gwaine…"

"Yeah," his friend sighed. "I know."

The two stood there, shoulders almost touching, for several long minutes. Watching the happy people before them. Feeling the sun on their faces.

"Well," said Gwaine, clearing his throat. "Take care of yourself, Merlin. Though I supposed I can trust Daisy to have your back, if you get in a scrape."

"Actually," Merlin let out a low whistle. Aithusa's head snapped around at the sound, and she glided down to land before them. It was something he'd taught her more than a week ago, before they'd parted. He was glad she still remembered After all, not everyone could speak Dragon.

"Aithusa," he said, taking her large, scaly, beautiful face in his hands, "Trichotós tha chreiasteí ti voítheiá sas. Meínete mazí tou. Frontíste ton. Tha sas doúme kai páli, kápoia méra."

Her large, liquid eyes bored into his for a moment, before closing as she pressed her forhead into his. He held her close for a moment, eyes burning. Then, he stepped back, releasing her. She gave him a last playful butt with her head before moving to stand beside Gwaine.

Gwaine's brow furrowed as he looked back and forth between the two of them, eyes widening as the pieces fell into place.

"No, Merlin," Gwaine said. "No, you can't—"

"She likes you," Merlin grinned, forcing a smile past the wetness of his eyes. "And where I'm going, what I need to do… I have to go on alone, Gwaine. For a while. I promise, I'll be alright."

Gwaine closed the distance between them and pulled Merlin into a fierce, strong hug.

"I'll trust your word," Gwaine said, voice thick over Merlin's shoulder. "You've never let me down before. Just be careful."

Merlin nodded, gripping Gwaine's shirt his fists as he gathered strength to walk away from another friend, to let Gwaine face trouble and danger without him as Merlin went down his own path. At last, Merlin pulled away. Gwaine held him at arms length for a long moment, just looking at him. Then, he patted Merlin hard on the shoulder and turned away, draping an arm over Aithusa's neck as he headed back toward the festivities.

"And Gwaine," Merlin called.

Gwaine looked back, eyes serious.

Merlin grinned.

"Don't spoil her."

Gwaine's face split into a soft smile.

"No promises," he answered. As he turned and walked away, his hand casually scratched Aith—Daisy's neck, and she leaned into his touch.

Merlin laughed to himself, then stooped to pick up the bag at his feet. Slipping it over his shoulders and hooking his thumbs under the straps, he started down the sandy dirt road. There was a lift and lightness to his step that had long been absent, and his bedroll bounced gently against his back as he strode forward.

No man, no matter how great, can know his destiny. He cannot glimpse his part in the great story that is about to unfold. Like everyone, he must live and learn. And so it was for the young warlock following the path of the sun toward the distant horizon.

A man who would in time, turn the pages of his own story, and author a brighter ending.

His name was Merlin.