Slash. Parry. Thrust. That was the pattern his sword had seemed to follow for god-knows-how-long. Merlin was beginning to feel slightly fatigued; not only had he been cutting down attackers with his sword, but also he had been simultaneously lashing out with magic, either to help where Camelot's men were struggling or to counter one of Morgana's attacks. He lowered his sword, taking advantage of a lull in the fighting to take stock of the battle.
Everywhere he looked there were bodies on the ground; the dead lay next to those yet living, and all were covered in blood, sweat, and ash. There were fires still burning from where Kilgarah had flown, spewing fire upon the soldiers. He wasn't quite sure when it had happened, but the force led by Leon and Gwaine had defeated Morgana's flanking force. Then they had taken it upon themselves to continue along the path, finally ending up at the rear of Morgana's army where they promptly attacked, creating chaos and confusion among the mercenaries.
The fighting around him intensified causing Merlin to pause his observations and rejoin the fray. For a brief moment he found himself fighting next to Gwaine, who gave his a feral grin, before he was once again swept into the melee. Merlin continued to fight, noticing as he did that there were fewer and fewer men pressing against him. All at once it seemed that the fighting stopped and he looked around, his tired mind taking a moment to register the fact that, with the exception of a few minor skirmishes, the battle was over. He nearly fell to his knees with relief; it was over, Camelot and Arthur were safe. That was when he saw him. Striding towards him, his armor singed and his sword dripping blood, was Mordred.
There were no words exchanged between the two men; no curses or threats, only a single cold glare that held the promise of swift and brutal justice. Their swords clashed, again and again, neither man gaining the upper hand or wounding the other. They seemed to go on and on forever, hatred and betrayal coloring their faces and fueling their actions.
Merlin made the first mistake, stumbling over a corpse and losing his concentration for the briefest of moments. That brief moment was enough, and he felt Mordred's blade pierce his chest, sliding through the chainmail as if it were made of butter. At the touch of the blade, Merlin's magic recoiled, shrinking back from the dark magic that clung to the blade. Mordred withdrew his blade and Merlin sank to his knees as the strength suddenly left his legs. Distantly, as if they were a million miles apart, he heard Mordred begin to speak, about what he wasn't sure. Confident that he had struck a mortal blow, Mordred stepped closer to the kneeling king, letting his guard drop as he did so. That was his mistake. Acting almost of its own accord, Excalibur rose in Merlin's hand and plunged into the former knight's chest. It was a cleaner blow than Merlin had been dealt, piercing the boy through his heart with the tip protruding from his back. Mordred's expression changed to one of shock before he crumpled to the ground, dead. Merlin felt the world begin to tilt and darkness swirled over his vision.
He was jerked back to his senses by a deranged cackle. Unable to process what the sound was he tried, and failed, to open his eyes. He reached for his magic, relieved to feel it's familiar warmth spread throughout his body again, lending strength to his leaden limbs. Something hard nudged his side and a wave of pain rolled over him, almost sending him spiraling back into darkness. He tried to open his eyes again, this time succeeding, only to see Morgana standing over him with a triumphant smirk on her face.
As the witch began to rant about how the throne would finally be hers, Merlin's mind wandered and he wondered where all the knights were. Surely he hadn't separated himself that far from the bulk of the army had he? His thoughts then drifted to Kilgarah, who he hadn't seen since the last time he had flown over the enemy. Idly Merlin hoped he hadn't crash-landed among the fighting. He was pulled out of his reverie by the sudden silence; Morgana had stopped talking. Looking at her, Merlin realized why. She had her arms outstretched and her eyes were beginning to glow gold. Irritation coursed through Merlin, (why couldn't she just leave him be?) and his eyes flashed gold.
Several things happened at once; Morgana froze, unable to move, and Merlin struggled to his feet, reaching out a hand to catch Excalibur (when had he dropped that?) as it spiraled up from the ground. He looked sadly at the woman who was, at one time, his friend. Her eyes held a mixture of fear and hatred; her face was a mask of confusion.
"That's impossible! This can't be happening; Arthur doesn't have magic. He can't have it, he just can't." Morgana was babbling, shocked at this sudden turn of events. "Nobody has magic strong enough to bind me; I'm a high priestess!"
Merlin eyed her coolly, before replying, "There is one who has the power to do so."
"Emrys is dead, I made sure of that. Even if he were still alive, it isn't you Arthur Pendragon. No, it was your precious serving boy; practicing magic under your nose all those years and you never knew." Morgana now had a triumphant look on her face, expecting the news of his best friend's betrayal to crush him.
"I'm not Arthur," Merlin said, his face and voice devoid of all emotion. "I am Emrys."
Morgana snarled and began to detail all the things that she would do to Arthur, Gwen, and the knights once she broke free. Her ranting stopped abruptly, and she looked down with shock at the sword buried in her chest. Eyes wide with shock, Morgana slowly slid off the sword and fell to the ground in a heap.