Before you start on the chapter, let me just thank every single one of my reviewers! I'm so glad you all seem to be enjoying this fic; you are the best people in the world for inspiring smiles. Really quick, I have just two things to mention:
A couple of you asked how I found out (what little I know) about Season 5. I got it from this video on YouTube (just erase the spaces between): h t t p : / / w w w . y o u t u b e . c o m / w a t c h ? v = M _ Q I 4 2 Y p l O 8
Lady Willamina made an observation that actually made me laugh when I read it. I have another dragon for a character, in an original story of mine; he's a black dragon, and I have no idea why, but my fingers evidently thought I was referring to him at one point in Chapter i. I won't change it, for the simple reason that I think mistakes make stories more fun, but I had to give her a shout-out for picking up on that.

Chapter ii

As more shudders and creaks from the wicked magic made the walls around them groan, Merlin struggled fruitlessly in Leon's and Gwaine's grasps. He did not struggle for escape, however, for had he wanted, he could have done so without even a word; no, he struggled to be heard, for his warnings to be heeded.

"Listen to me," said he as they pushed him before them down the steep flight of stairs to the lowest part of the dungeons. "She'll destroy all of Camelot!"

He received no answer but to be shoved forward until he almost stumbled, down another long, dark corridor, to a great, oak door.

He had heard tales from Gaius of the sorcerers' dungeon. Built special by Uther at the start of the Great Purge, it was nothing but a dank pit with not a window or door save for the one in the top, into which the prisoners were thrown. It was dark as night in the bottom, the solemn physician had said, and cold; its only redemption was that the captives—sorcerers too dangerous and clever to be kept in the regular dungeons—spent only one night here. Then, their relief was limited; it was only to be hauled to execution.

Still, Merlin did not try to flee. He must face it, he knew; he must stay, and hope that his pure-hearted friend would see and understand why. Whatever happened now, he could not worsen what chance he had for a future here by running away from the present, no matter how lightless and distraught it felt all around him. Whatever came, he would face it with all the strength and clemency with which he had always done…even when Arthur's truly enraged voice was lingering in the back of his mind, and the leery and uneasy looks of the knights were burning into his memory forever.

"Gwaine," he murmured huskily, as a rough Leon crossed his wrists behind his back and the chains snapped around them.

His once-smiling friend did not raise his umber eyes from where they watched his fellow-knight tighten the shackles, but his dark brows remained furrowed together in unspoken tension.

"Try to understand," the young sorcerer went on, and they would not realize that it was not selfishness which prompted him to speak, but he did anyway. "I'm not one of them. You know that."

Abruptly, the knight's head snapped up, his gaze meeting Merlin's, and his only answer was uncommonly callous, and nothing like he had ever spoken to him before.

"Try telling it to the rats, Merlin," said he crudely. "Maybe they'll believe you, since you haven't lied to them yet."

It was Merlin who averted his eyes now, for he had lied—to them all, and whatever they held against him for it was justified; he could not deny that.

Leon did not utter a sound, but was only a grim presence behind the sorcerer's back, until a wide, square door in the dust-covered, stone floor was flipped open.

Merlin cast one, last, desperate glance to his old friend, but Gwaine never blinked as Leon unceremoniously gave the smaller man a final shove. Merlin cried out in startlement—a brief, sharp cry—before his body hit the straw-scattered ground in the pit below, and he went silent and limp in the center of it.

Gwaine, when he saw how Merlin's slim body crumpled lifelessly, looking so small and eerily still, his tawny eyes softened with compassion. If only, he thought, if you'd just told us before now…. If he had said something, on one of those times when the two of them were alone—during Arthur's quest, or rescuing Gaius—he would have laughed, he knew; he would have grinned and asked the servant to teach him a quick trick to woo a lady. He would have promised never to tell a soul, and sworn inside to keep his friend safe from the laws of Camelot.

Even now, he considered rolling down the rope kept in the place and releasing the young servant, despite what punishment it might bring upon his head.

Then, he recalled why they were here. The image of Merlin's flaming eyes and his deep and gravelly voice warning away the dragon flashed through his mind, and with that came the realization that Merlin was not as innocent and vulnerable as he appeared. The brave knight knew to whom he was first loyal—to his King, his friend, Arthur—and so he turned away, allowing Leon to pull the heavy lid over the cell, leaving the sorcerer in absolute darkness when he awoke.

Both men never voiced it aloud, but they fought the unnatural, twisting guilt within themselves until they reached the throne room again.

Morgana's army attacked at the midnight bell.

Three times during the ensuing battle, Arthur turned to shout for Merlin before realizing that he was not with him any longer. All three times, the distraction was so briefly all-consuming that he now had three, shallow slashes on his arms from the enemy's quick blade. On the third strike, he cut down the foe with blinding force and determined firmly within himself that he would not spare another thought for his traitorous servant during this battle.

"Percival, Dartagnan!"

The two knights responded immediately at their leader's call, slicing down their opponents and running to meet him near the steps of the castle.

The metallic clashes of swords from all around filled the king's ears as he ordered his two loyal men with a voice stronger than he himself felt.

"Gather what knights you can and get the citizens out of the city walls. Women and children first."

"Yes, sire," came the simultaneous replies, and neither man spared the time for a bow of respect before their red capes disappeared into the darkened corner of the place, down the flight of stairs hidden by a jutting wall toward the underground caverns, where his good and brave people awaited their salvation.

He wondered if he would ever be able to give it.

Even before they had vanished from his sights, a roar, terribly familiar and more furious than before, tore through the air and bounced off the stone walls, making it sound as though it came from all directions when it truly only came from a single source. Arthur raised his fiercely blue eyes to the dark heavens and saw a band of white mar the blackness of the nighttime.

What of Camelot's army that was near enough to hear it followed his gaze, and then there was a precious second of peace before fire tore through the atmosphere and burnt all in its path from the sky.

Arthur had little choice but to half-stumble up the remainder of the castle steps and leap through the doorway, the petrified screams of noble soldiers filling the air of the town square where the fire did not touch.

It was then that he was taken by surprise, for Elyan and Gwaine rushed to him from the otherwise empty and silent hall, both breathless in their urgency.

"Morgana, sire," gasped Elyan gravely. "She is on the roof of the castle."

He scarcely halted to catch his breath before he took the first step toward the inner staircase, turning back only to command his loyal friends away when they began to follow.

"I do not expect to stop her," he told them hastily and honestly. "I hope only to detain her long enough for you to get the people out of the city."

"No. Sire…"

"Please," Arthur silenced Elyan's answering discord. "I am asking you ask your king and as your friend, do this last thing I ask of you. Go."

It was not for his orders that they obeyed, but for the fearless, understanding acceptance of his task which shone in his sincere eyes.

He waited until he could not hear their footsteps any longer, and then he ran up the staircase, knowing in his heart that he would never come down again.

In the cold hollow beneath the dungeons, where the cries of the falling Camelot could not penetrate the thick walls, Merlin whispered into the inky blackness, and rays of pure-white light emanated from the palms of his manacled hands. He twisted to sit, one shoulder leant against the frigid wall so that the glow of his magic could illuminate the little space from behind his back.

He knew without question where he was, though he had never before seen the rough walls and tapered ceiling, as high as if he were at the bottom of a well. With wide eyes and bated breath, he wondered why he had awoken so suddenly, and with the little space between his shoulder blades damp with cold sweat, as though he had been trapped in a nightmare. Then he cared little for it, because his next thoughts shot so quickly through his mind that he felt dizzy at the incomprehensibility of them—Camelot, and Morgana, army, dragon…

…Arthur.

His head spun, a painful throbbing through his right temple. He winced at it, and as soon as his head lolled against the cool wall of stone, a noise like thunder rumbled through the place.

He knew, in that instant, that Camelot would soon fall.

His eyes closed, almost of their own accord, and suddenly a cry resounded in his head—not from his own surroundings, he realized, but from somewhere else.

"How kind of you to come, dear brother. Though I must say, I expected you sooner. I hope you did not run into any trouble on your way."

A sinister, smiling face, blurred in the darkness behind his eyelids, becoming clearer as his powerful magic reached forth to affix itself to the answering magic, hidden like a deep and tiny spark within the mind of their king.

Morgana's pale face, framed by thick locks of dark, unwashed hair, moved back, her light green eyes never losing their cruel gleam. Tiny pinpricks of light—stars—formed behind her head, and clouds of circling smoke whisked around the familiar, eggshell tower over her shoulder.

He heard Arthur's breaths raking against his throat, felt the cold metal of Excalibur disappearing from his strong hand as her golden eyes forced it to skitter across the rooftop.

"Why can you not just let us be, Morgana?" Not fear or even anger in his voice, but only a demanding need to know. "Why can you not leave Camelot in peace? These people have done nothing to you."

Her smile fell, a shadow falling over her countenance from just below the surface.

"I care nothing about the people of Camelot," said she unfeelingly. "Their fate is their own, whether they choose to resist or welcome the new era I shall bring."

"Whatever revenge you want, my father is dead. You cannot hurt him any further."

Merlin's breathing sharpened at the repelling delight which chased the shadow from her face and replaced it with something else entirely.

"Then I suppose I will just have to settle for seeing his son die. Once you are out of my way, there will be no one to stop me taking the throne, and then I'll finally be free."

This last spoken in a voice haunted by memories and nightmares, all of which she had been too weak and bitter to overcome.

He felt Arthur's fear as black magic rippled all around him, and it cut off their connection to each other like a heavy, dark wall of smoke.

Merlin's head struck the wall softly as he seemed to awake from the vision. He knew, beyond all doubt, that if he did not escape this prison now, his greatest friend would die, and then, Camelot would be doomed. This was the time he had been created for—the moment he had to prove whether he would win or fail at his destiny.

His eyes hardening with his resolution, he stumbled clumsily to his feet; once he was steady—with the magic-induced, shining light still casting strange shadows on the walls from behind his back—he had not even the need to whisper aloud before his eyes flashed gold in obedience to his mind. The shackles around his wrists fell to the half-rotted straw on the floor, but he did not rejoice in their disappearance or even move to rub the raw place on either hand where they'd been.

Knowing what he must do, Merlin stood still and motionless as a one of the oaks in the forest outside the city and closed his eyes, feeling the irises change to gold the moment his lids shut over them and the power began to flow once more through his body. He inhaled one, long breath, feeling the magic in the air dance on his skin while four separate trails of ancient Greek ran through his mind all at once, swirling around inside his head, pulling the magic toward him, in him, exactly the way the Great Dragon had said it would when he had passed along this sacred enchantment to the young warlock of legend, his old, weary eyes strong in confidence that it would be used for the good in a time of desperation.

Merlin's fingers began to tremble as he took in all he could, holding his breath in his lungs as he focused every bit his energy—physical, mental, and spiritual—into this one task.

When he could bear no more, he released it.

His hands rose of their own accord, palms facing outward, his eyes shining furiously gold as the power burst out of him with a force so immense that it took even himself a moment to see that the rocks around and above him where falling, shaking from their places and crumbling into heaps of stone and clay. The only thing, he realized, keeping him from being crushed by them was a clear shield, like a dome around his body, which he could not remember conjuring.

When there was no more danger, he allowed the shield to vanish. He took only a moment to gather his bearings, his eyes sharpening again with the tenacity of his calling, before he rushed to the pile of rock closest to him and began to climb his way out of the gaping hole in the floor above.

No matter if the whole kingdom hated what he was, he would not allow Morgana would not harm Arthur. He would die seeing to that.

In the courtyard, Gwaine and Elyan fought with their whole hearts for the same Arthur.

The white dragon growled a low, serpentine sound which may or may not have been a string of words, circling in the air above them as the two noble friends attempted to warn him away with their blades. It was a shallow hope that their rugged taunts and threatening swings would distract the beast from the people rushing for the safety of the underground, but perhaps they could offer the helpless civilians a bit of time to reach the forest. It was the least they could do for their noble king.

In the midst of it, a great flash—like purple lightning—struck the creature's side, and it whined in pain before flapping unsteadily around the castle wall and from their sights.

It took both Elyan and Gwaine less than a breath to realize Merlin was running toward them in the darkness, his footsteps light and quick on the stone ground.

"Where is he?"

Neither man answered immediately.

"Gwaine," the sorcerer cried in the lively tone which arose only when he was most desperate, eyes appearing light blue in the moonlight and bright with fervor, "Morgana is going to kill him! Please, tell me where he is! He cannot die."

Another half-moment passed, and then a sound, like thunder, rippled around them from the castle.

"The rooftop," Elyan said, with sureness in his voice as he lowered his weapon and looked directly into Merlin's eyes.

"Take the servants' passage," added Gwaine warningly, and his own blade had already been put into its sheath.

The young warlock turned and ran without stopping to thank them, or even to realize that the once-overpowering doubt of his two friends had vanished entirely in one moment. Now, as Gwaine and Elyan watched him disappear into the darkened doors of the Pendragon castle, there was nothing short of trust—and perhaps regret—in their eyes, for something deep and true had changed their hearts and minds about everything the laws of Camelot had once proclaimed.

They had heard Lancelot say once, when they had first rescued Camelot from Morgana and Morgause's clutches, in a voice soft and wondering, that Merlin was as good and worthy as all of the knights, and that all one must do is look into his eyes to see what pure love and devotion were there. He had declared with sureness that he knew, just as his fellow knights would use their weapons and strengths, Merlin would use what great abilities he had to protect and serve their future king.

Both Gwaine and Elyan had looked into Merlin's eyes as he had spoken now, and they finally understood what Lancelot had seen.

To be continued

This chapter may not have shed a lot of light on the Merlin-Arthur relationship issue, but the point of it really was to get the secondary characters to realize the truth, so there's nothing in the way when Arthur (finally!) does. No worries, though; Chapter iii has plenty to make up for the lack of Merlin-Arthur news.
Hope you enjoyed it, and Brooke, I hope this helped with the problem with Gwaine's reaction; I probably should have addressed his thoughts then, but maybe it's clearer what's going through that handsome head of his now. Let me know how you liked it.
And for the love of Camelot, review!
(Oh, and by the way, winks to anyone who caught the Three Musketeers reference!)