The Last Generation

They leave the banquet and go straight to Arthur's chambers – the corridors are darkened but they light the way with warm glows and whispered words. The few guards that they see ignore them – they've barely spent a minute outside each other's company in the past few weeks and people have begun to notice.

The night is drawing in and the evening air is warm as they settle down at the long table, both smiling, and talk. It's nothing specific that they talk about, but Arthur could listen to Merlin speak for hours. He often does – they sit in his chambers, in front of the fire or on the balcony, discussing magic and Camelot and Morgana and everything, tones quiet and comfortable.

Every now and then, one will share with the other a spell that he's learnt and they will practise it together, the thrum of magic between them soothing any problems that the day might have brought, and it's a better remedy than anything Gaius might prescribe. Arthur's small wounds, cuts and bruises, from training with his knights are healed by Merlin's soft touch and when Merlin is exhausted after a day of advising the court on sorcery, Arthur will wrap an arm around him as the warlock dozes and whispers tales of nonsense until he's fast asleep.

Tonight, they sit and discuss the women that Arthur has had festooned upon him during the feast – Merlin is far more amused than he should be – and the young men trying too hard be his friends. Arthur reckons that they'll be laughing about it well into the night.

Then they hear the screams.

It's quite clear that they're coming from the Great Hall and they're both on their feet and running down the corridor before the guards outside have even realised what's happening. There's shouting interspersed with the screams and shrieks, and there's real fear emanating from the Hall as they approach it as a speed. Arthur can feel it, it's so strong.

They burst into the room but can hardly move for people, packed in and terrified of something or other at the head table, and Arthur curses all the guests inwardly. He needs to know what's happening. His father? Morgana?

Merlin whispers something and the Arthur nearly checks his pace as the crowds seem to slow to a halt around them, but he forces himself to keep moving because even though the guests have stopped moving, there's still movement in the centre of the room.

What he's not expecting is to see a man holding a sword to the neck of a frozen Uther, eyes frantically searching for the person that's stopped time even as Morgana shifts slightly, despite the stillness of the rest of the room. There are a few flutters of movement around them and Arthur realises that the man is not alone. He takes a breath and steps out into the space that's cleared around the head table, Merlin close by, and looks around properly.

Morgana is holding a large knife in her hand and looks quite determined to use it, though she's not sure on whom. Arthur knows that he should be surprised that she's not been frozen like the rest of the people but then he thinks of her dreams, and her feelings, then realises that he has slightly more important things to be thinking about right now.

"Who are you?" he barks, and the man takes him in, appraises him before speaking. His voice is low and Arthur can feel the magic in it.

"Someone come for vengeance," the man snarls, taking a step backwards, bumping into a guest but keeping the tip of his sword on Uther's neck. "You should back away, Arthur Pendragon. You are not involved in this."

"You're holding a sword to my father's throat. I'm automatically involved."

"Even so, you are in no position to stop me."

"Really."

He knows that it probably isn't a good idea, but his eyes flash gold anyway and the sword is wrenched from the man's grip and hurtles through the air. He catches it, and hears the rustling of sorcerers behind him. The very end of the sword has nicked Uther's skin and a trickle of blood rolls down the skin. Merlin is silent but tense.

"Leave this castle now and never come back, and you will not be hunted. Refuse, and I will kill you all," he says slowly, and the man growls, shaking his head furiously, and holds his hand out over Uther's head, and it's glowing ever so slightly.

"My father has lifted the ban on magic. You have no reason to hide now, and no reason to seek revenge. Let him go," he says slowly, acutely aware of Merlin right beside him, magic simmering beneath the surface. He's ready. They both are

"Your father killed many of our people," the man sneers, and Arthur wonders again how he managed to keep hidden for the past few hours. Surely he or Merlin should have been able to feel him.

"But he is attempting to make amends."

"It's too late for that."

It's not Arthur this time but Merlin who uses the magic, though he feels the warmth as though it had been him anyway. A dagger hurtles across the room from one of the frozen guards, and there's a shout from one of the man's accomplices – he ducks and the dagger hits the wall harmlessly behind him. In the movement, his shirt slips open and Merlin's suddenly pressing close to his side, lips by his ear.

"That pattern, on his chest – he's a druid. Mordred had the same markings."

Arthur looks, and realises that his advisor is right, and frowns. They returned the child to his people – they should be thanking him, not attempting to kill his father. He hopes that his father can't hear what he's about to say, because it will surely end badly for himself and Merlin otherwise.

"We returned Mordred to you, safe and well. And this is how you repay us?"

The druid blinks a few times, clearly startled that Arthur knows what he is, but it doesn't faze him. If anything, his hand glows brighter, but it's a dark green colour, nothing like Merlin's warm familiar gold, and it's making him uneasy.

"Your father ordered the execution of one of ours. You brought one of ours back to us. This is our repayment – your father will be executed himself. And we will return you to your people, safe and well."

Arthur briefly wonders what he even means, but then there's a flurry of movement within the crowd as many more druids than he's estimated press forward, hands raised and sparks flying, and then he's shouting in unison with Merlin and there's a shimmering shield between them and the other sorcerers. The druid's eyes narrow.

"You are not without considerable magic yourself," he spits, and looks around the room. Morgana is still clutching the knife, and Arthur feels a rush of relief that she's had the sense to stay still and unnoticeable throughout this. She's staring at him though, pleading him with her eyes to not do something stupid. Through the rippling shield, it looks as though she's crying.

"This is your last chance," Merlin says, speaking properly for the first time, and his voice is steady and his eyes are glowing. "Leave this place, leave Arthur alone, and we will not come after you."

"You're in no position to be issuing orders, little advisor."

"My name is Emrys."

And Arthur knows that he's wearing exactly the same expression as the druid and in any other circumstance he would be amused, but this really isn't the time. The other druids are restless outside the shield as he stares at Merlin, wondering what he's talking about.

"Then you will be spared."

"I will not allow you to kill Uther."

"Then you will not be spared."

Then the druid raises his other hand, away from Uther, and snarls out unfamiliar words full of hatred and vengeance, and the room starts to shake, and at the same time Merlin's shouting incantations that feel harsh and unwelcoming to Arthur in a way that Merlin has never been before. This is an apocalyptic, righteously furious Merlin, one that should never exist. Arthur knows that he's the cause of this, and it scares him slightly.

There's a beat of silence as both sorcerers stop their yelling, then with a sudden, resounding boom, the magic explodes in the room and the shield surrounding them is ripped apart. Arthur reaches for Merlin as he's thrown off his feet and his advisor falls with him.

There's a roaring in his ears, burning flesh in his nose, blood in his mouth, blinding light in his eyes and Merlin in his hands.

Then there is nothing.

And I wonder when we are ever going to change
Living under the fear, till nothing else remains