Hi!
I hope you all had a very merry Christmas :)
I can't believe I took four months to update. I am so terribly sorry.
Hope you like this new chapter, and the next should follow before the end of the week.
I am going to see Star Wars VII tomorrow. I can't wait! As I live in France, it aired on December 16 (before the UK/US, lol XD), and I am really frustrated not to have seen it yet. It is going to be awesome! (my cousins nearly spoiled parts of it but I glared at them and they stopped. I think I scared them - they don't understand fandom behaviour...yet - xD).
Thanks to everyone for reading, and keep reviewing/following/favoriting!
You culpabilize me for not writing for ages and that tortures me until I write and post a new chapter... :)
Thanks to Jessieklove, Nataly SkyPot, CSIRide-Kirk, 33Vi (Thank you very much :) :) I can't wait for the Sherlock 'Christmas' (more like 'new year' lol) special and season 4 toooooo :)) and TobiasBoon (I hope you like this chapter :D)!
This situation certainly was confusing, Leon couldn't help but think. He had just woken up sprawled across the staircases leading to the dungeons -not a comfortable position to say the least, but more honorable than the position Gwaine had woken up into -, painfully gotten up, met up with the other Round table knights, walked around the castle to try to make some sense out of the weird situation, and now he had just ran into a group of druids claiming that the tragically famous Lost Prince of Semloh was currently helping King Arthur to re-take Camelot.
He could feel his pounding headache increase by the minute. What a mess.
Still, Sir Leon was a professional, and his knightly sixth-sense was screaming at him to go to the throne room. He emerged from his thoughts and looked at the unusual group of fighters around him.
"Let's go to the throne room. The worst things tend to happen there, don't they?"
Morgana was fuming, both figuratively and literally. A few moments before, she had felt consciousness rush back at her, and had opened her eyes before shutting them again and pretending to still be unconscious. Merlin, that hated traitor, had been standing over her, discussing her fate with Arthur. She had probbed at her magical core and found it quite depleted. Repressing the urge to strangle Merlin, she had grabbed a black gem from a hidden purse. After focusing, she had disappeared from the corridor before Merlin could move to stop her.
Morgana had opened her eyes in Camelot's throne room. She had rubbed her temples and had not been able to prevent Merlin's face from coming to her mind. She had growled and let out her frustation in a small blast of magic... her dress may or may not have caught on fire. She had snarled and put out the fire after checking that no one had seen her uncontrolled outburst – yes, she was an evil sorceress, but she couldn't exactly run around half-naked because she had evilly burnt down her robes -.
So, Merlin thinks he has won...
Ignoring Moriarty, who had just stridden into the room and smirked at her appearance, she walked to the window and started to chant. As her magic levels were still quite low, she dug into the magic she had accumulated in cristals that her sister Morgause – who represented yet another reason to hate Merlin – had given her years before. This was a noble use of her sister's gift, she thought with a smirk. Her chanting, a mere hum to start with, evolved with a buzzing, eery dimension, and her eyes glowed gold as a portal appeared in the courtyard of Camelot.
Concentrating, she called onto the armies of Essetir. Merlin may have ended her possession of the Camelotians, but she had made sure the Essetians would never be free by using a spell which did not attach itself to her core but to a hidden, external artefact - a pendant hidden in her old room in Camelot-.
The Essetians came through her portal like a dark wave, a foreshadowing army bringing the sweet promise of Camelot's final fall.
Gwaine was not happy. He was exhausted, he stank, and a foreign army was pouring out of nowhere into Camelot's courtyard. This was definitely a terrible day.
Without pausing to look at the others, he screamed "For Camelot", drew out the sword he had gotten from the weapon stock, and dove into battle. Elyan, Leon, Percival, all echoed his battle cry and followed him.
Behind them, Mary met John's gaze. Druid and ex-Knight adopted a duo fighting stance. Advancing back to back into the battle, they swirled around their enemies' blades, Mary shooting spells with a frightening accuracy for a supposedly peaceful druid, John efficiently cutting down his opponents while trying not to kill them – the people they were fighting were possessed -. They paused, looked at each other with a small smile, and resumed their fight.
Iseldir, Alaric, Mycroft and Sherlock decided to head off to the throne room. While they walked hurriedly through the corridors circling the castle's façade, Iseldir observed the battle in the courtyard. Most of Camelot had awakened from the possession and was now fighting the unwilling, possessed invaders. But none could fend off the bloodthirsty sorcerers in the enemy's ranks.
He closed his eyes.
Seowán, how is the battle evolving in Essetir?
After a few seconds leaving him to dread the worst for his friend, he sighed in relief.
We were starting to be pushed back, but the attack stopped. It seems a portal has been opened. The enemy's troops are disappearing.
Iseldir felt danger coming his way, and mentally sighed while ducking out of the path of a wayward arrow.
They are appearing here, in Camelot's courtyard.
Seowán answered instantly.
Shall we follow them, Iseldir?
The druid chieftain opened his eyes and gazed sadly at the bloodshed taking place in the white-stoned city.
Take volunteers and come. Camelot is entering its darkest hour.
Moriarty smirked and joined Morgana at the window overlooking the battle. He had just left the castle's reknowned library after finalizing the preparations for what he liked to call the ritual. A ritual that would allow him to put his hands on what he had always craved; magic. He was born without an once of magic in his body, and always resented his gifted, unique, adored cousins because of this. He liked to think that his resentment had turned to anger, his anger had turned to hatred, and his hatred had given him the throne of Essetir. Still smirking, he eyed Morgana, who seemed mesmerized by the massacre below. She would not know what hit her... no one would.
Morgana's eyes suddenly widened, and she turned around and walked into the throne room, followed closely by Moriarty. It seemed that the brothers and the fallen king had arrived.
Mycroft paused at the throne room's door and exhaled, focusing on his power, his mind-reading ability that had always irked his brother Sherlock, much to his own amusement. He probbed out and felt the presence of their two enemies, alone. This was a trap.
Foodsteps resounded against the cold stones behind him, and he turned around. Arthur and Merlin, looking worse for wear, were coming down the corridor. After short silent greetings, the druids and the royals firmly set their eyes on the two ominous wooden doors. Mycroft could not repress a small shudder as they opened on their own.
Morgana was standing in front of them, hands buzzing with magic. Moriarty was slightly behind, looking at his nails in pretended boredom. The enemies observed each other while the throne room's doors closed behind them.
Mycroft took the opportunity of this short-lived pause to inspect Moriarty's mind for traps. Brushing off the renegade's hatred towards them and annoyance at Morgana, he unveiled a hidden, new plan. Moriarty was... was planning to use an old ritual to steal the magic of the most powerful being in the vicinity. Alarmed, he reached out for Merlin. The movement made everyone's gazes jerk towards him, and the fight began.
Mycroft tried to reach Moriarty, to stop him from carrying out the dark ritual, but Morgana seemed intent at killing them all before her ally could. He could do nothing but join Arthur, Merlin and the two druids as they directed their attention at Morgana, misjudging the danger that Moriarty posed. The sorceress snapped out a long series of curses which Alaric hurriedly deflected while Iseldir and Merlin shot off spell after spell at her.
The throne room's door was blasted open and a dozen of sorcerers harboring Moriarty's colours charged into the room, attacking everyone with dark magic.
Merlin's aura became brighter and brighter as he released his powers against his opponents, as he danced around the curses, as he parried blow after blow and twirled around his friends to save them from bright and deadly beams of magic. Iseldir and Alaric fought relentlessly, landing painful blows on their opponents, cutting down the rogue sorcerers, infusing the royals' blades with magic so that they could join the fight with equal chances. Mycroft looked around after knocking a sorcerer out with the hilt of his sword. King Arthur and Sherlock were protecting Merlin's back, blocking every spell and suppressing the sorcerers' magic as they sparred.
A new wave of sorcerers and fighters rushed into the room. Merlin managed to take some down before it happened.
Moriarty was standing in a circle of his own blood, holding a dark red cristal in front of him. Time seemed to stop as he opened fiery eyes and barked out a single word.
Forswelgan, Absorb.
Mycroft helplessly watched Merlin collapse with a strangled shout. A golden flow of magic began to leave his brother's writhing body. The bright, friendly hums of magic were ruthlessly sucked by Moriarty.
Mycroft's trembling legs regained movement and he jumped between Merlin and Moriarty, hoping against hope that it would stop the ritual. But the flow continued as his world went black.
As always, I love reviews more than chocolate (and that is saying something) and I hope that I'll be posting a new chapter before the Sherlock special on January 1!