Twenty-nine reviews! You guys are amazing. Really. Whenever you feel sad, just remember there's a writer here who thinks you're absolutely wonderful. *wink*
I'm so glad most of you seem to like this story. I apologize for the incredibly ridiculous length here; I was contemplating cutting it in half toward the middle, but then I decided I like it better all joined together. I have a few things to say about this chapter, but none of it will be understandable until you've read it, so I'm going to make sense and put all of that at the bottom of the chapter. I'm also making pie. Just so you know.
This is the final official, full chapter, complete with dragons and stormy skies and weird, evil, shadow-creature people thingies that can rot your skin with a single touch. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter iii

"What happened to you, Morgana?"

It was not the first time he had asked such a question. Twice, now, they had met since the betrayal which had broken his father—their father, he corrected mentally, though he could still scarcely believe that. Both times, he had asked; never had he gotten an answer that satisfied him, and this time was no different. Perhaps he would never be satisfied with her reasons.

She was smiling at him now, and the curve of her pallid lips was not even a ghost of the memories he had of her.

"I was saved, Arthur," said she, and he could see that she believed it with all her being, "rescued from Uther's cruelty and his lies."

The world seemed to be frozen around them, locked in utter silence so high in the night sky, but he was sure there was screaming in the great city below, and the knowledge of that was always burning at the back of his mind, every second of his time in her presence.

"You say that," he answered with sad irony, "and yet you lied to all of us, and if you keep going, you will kill as many that my father did, and you know that. You are not different from him, Morgana; if anything, you're more terrible than he ever was. You have let your anger overwhelm you. It's made you into a monster."

Her smile fell for the second time in the hour, and her eyes flashed darker than he had ever seen.

"If that is what you believe," she retorted frigidly, "then you have fooled yourself more than you could ever know. If I am a monster for what I am, then I shall show you as much mercy as a monster would."

From a secret pocket of her black-lace gown, she pulled a knife with a blade which spiraled like a ribbon and glinted in the emerging light of the moon.

Arthur struggled against the vines holding his back securely against the rising tower, but the tiny barbs tore shallow cuts into his arms with every move, seeming to dig tighter into his skin, and he knew that he was entirely helpless. Even so, he would not stop struggling. It was not in him to stop. No matter that Death was a mere footstep away from him, he would not close his eyes against it.

So he held them open, looked straight into Morgana's unfeeling eyes as she moved toward his heart with the dagger.

All in one instant, the blade was gone from her hands.

His eyes, wide with his shock and alarm, followed it as it shot like an arrow from a bow, across the rooftop, and then it stopped. There it hovered, held just before but not touching a slender, pale hand.

Arthur's breath caught tightly in his chest. He could see the glowing gold even for the distance between them.

It was Merlin. He knew it was—there was no mistaking him for anyone else, not after all these years—but there was something different about his very being. It was something Arthur had never before felt, though he had spent seven years in near-constant companionship with him in every waking hour. It was unearthly, the impossible might Merlin's slim silhouette seemed to exhibit, and the pride and power he seemed to possess now. He looked nothing like a manservant. He looked like a god.

"Leave him alone, Morgana."

He never thought it could be so, but the low, dangerous intonation of Merlin's voice actually unnerved him.

Morgana laughed, unconcerned as her dagger fell lifelessly at the servant's feet.

"Who would ever have thought, Merlin," said she, having recovered easily from the doubtless shock of seeing him, "that you, of all people, have magic. How quaint it is for you to come all the way here to rescue your beloved king. But now I'm afraid I'll have to kill you as well, though I can't say I won't enjoy it, after all the trouble you've caused me."

Arthur's eyes were locked on Merlin's form, and he could not be sure, but he thought he saw the other man's head tilt to the side, as if in incredulity or wonderment at something.

Morgana's entire figure tensed, as though her dark magic was poising to strike like a snake within her, but Merlin only took a step closer and said, quietly and slowly and with a strange, almost mystic, certainty,

"You won't kill me, Morgana."

She seemed to be feeling none of the peculiar intuition which was rising in Arthur's chest, and once again, laughter bubbled darkly from her throat.

"Oh? And why is that?"

Merlin took another step closer.

"You don't know who I am."

She must have seen something in his face then, something that inspired the same feeling in her as it was in Arthur already, because she relaxed from her treacherous posture and did not reply immediately. When it became apparent that the servant would say nothing more, she declared, though with less surety than before,

"You are a servant."

"I am much more than that." The very tone of his voice left no margin for argument. "I am more powerful than you could ever imagine."

The vile humor had been chased completely away from her features now, and this time, when he stepped forward, she moved back.

"Who are you?"

It was the same question Arthur had asked mere hours before, but he could not help but feel that, unlike him, she already knew the answer.

"I am a servant to Camelot. You were right about that. But you know me by another name."

Her face became paler, and Arthur found himself wondering yet again exactly who they both were at heart. One had been his sister, the other his servant—but here, they were neither.

"It's impossible."

Spoken so quietly, Arthur was unsure at first if he had heard Morgana at all. Then, Merlin's very countenance altered simultaneously with the recognition flooding the witch's once-lovely face. His ocean eyes flashed.

All in one instant, Morgana was gone, thrown by inhuman force until her back slammed against a jutting part of the roof, and her body went limp with unconsciousness. In the next moment, Merlin was standing in front of him, touching one, steady hand to the vines holding him captive.

Arthur realized suddenly that he was trembling.

Merlin did not look into Arthur's face as the binds fell, one by one.

Still, even without seeing, he could feel the sapphire eyes boring into him. The weight of Arthur's gaze was stifling, and there were a thousand things to be said, but he could not think of any of that now. With all the turmoil in the air, he forced his mind to consider only one thing—his one purpose.

"You must get away," he told his king firmly, as his dexterous fingers unwrapped the last twisting vines from around Arthur's chest, freeing him from Morgana's cruel trap.

His eyes took in the tiny scratches running little streams of blood down his king's arms, and he could not resist touching one; it healed instantly. It was only then that he chanced to look up, and the look on Arthur's handsome face was one which would stay with him forever.

He only allowed himself to take in the infinite blue of his eyes—the astonishment and confusion and wonder, all of which he had imagined and hoped he might see someday—for only the barest of moments, before he felt Morgana's waking behind him, her wicked magic seeping into the air again. He leant down and grasped Excalibur from where it had fallen close by.

"Take this, sire," he ordered, not pretending to be a servant any longer, but taking his place as protector with ease. "Go."

Arthur hesitated, and Merlin could see the bold and valiant man he knew rising up. Where there was a threat, the great king felt it his duty to vanquish it. This time, however, he had no chance against it, and Merlin knew this.

"Who are you?"

The quiet question, sounding so different than it had in the throne room only hours before, took Merlin momentarily by surprise. He studied Arthur's face for the barest of moments, and then, as he understood exactly what it meant to them both now, he could not help the small smile of affection for his friend.

His smile, it seemed, was enough.

Arthur pulled his gaze from Merlin's face to look over his shoulder, and the young sorcerer did not have to follow his gaze to know that Morgana was regaining her composure. He could feel her fortifying herself to wage war against her highest foe.

"Emrys."

The word, hissed through clenched teeth, felt too quiet to reach Merlin's ears, but he heard it nonetheless.

"Go, Arthur," he was pleading now. "Run!"

Arthur did, recognizing the look in Merlin's eyes and trusting it as he always had, though he himself had never known why. Perhaps now he did.

He climbed quickly up one incline of the roof, still clutching Excalibur in one hand, and threw himself over a railing so that he landed sturdily on the closest terrace. However, as he reached for the handle of the door which would lead him to safety, back to his people and away from the disorientation of the magic all around him, a sharp, horribly familiar cry echoed over the rooftops.

Merlin, who had been watching him to ensure that he made it, had been too distracted to feel it when another's magic pervaded the atmosphere of the place.

Now, Arthur watched as his servant was thrown much in the same way he had thrown Morgana only a minute before, and another figure had suddenly appeared from nowhere, his sea-cerulean cloak bristling behind his small body in the storm-charged breeze.

So many questions were filling Arthur's mind to the point where he nearly could not think straight, and he stood there for a moment, caught between two opposing sides of himself. Magic was evil. That was evidenced by the two, corrupt, and merciless beings below.

Yet, something other than his logic whispered to him, a voice deep down which sounded all-too-much like a certain, wise manservant he knew, look at who they are joining forces against.

Without knowing what he was doing, his eyes moved to the brilliant, shining sword in his hand, and he remembered, without trying, what it meant and who had given it to him.

His mind suddenly cleared, and he leapt back over the rail without a second thought.

Merlin's head was spinning; though his magic could protect his body from breaking, it could not stop the pain inflicted upon him by such a violent blow.

Two figures appeared in his blurring vision, their silhouettes barely visible against the black sky, and though he could not discern their faces, he knew who both of them were by the sheer auras each radiated.

"Well," said Morgana's voice past the ringing of his ears, sickly-sweet with her easy victory, "it appears that you will not be my doom after all, Emrys."

Mordred said nothing, but Merlin struggled desperately for his inner strength as the boy's arms moved upward, palms outstretched toward the fallen sorcerer.

A roll of thunder from the returning storm was just forming in the sky when everything changed.

There was a flash of golden hair and silver armor, and then Morgana and Mordred were gone from his sight, and it their place, his king.

Arthur stumbled momentarily when both of the wicked sorcerers disappeared from before him, his sword barely missing the teal fabric of Mordred's cloak as he swung without regret for him. His eyes flickered up and found them both to be standing, side-by-side, several footsteps away now.

No one spoke a word, and then Mordred's right hand shot up.

Arthur prepared himself to dive out of the way of the oncoming attack, but he knew he would never make it. Just as he steadied himself for the pain he was sure to feel, sword still held up in defiance to them, the shining shard of devastating power was swallowed up by a strange, blue shield of light.

Merlin's eyes met his own evenly from beside him, and a ghost of that old, familiar smirk was playing at the corner of his mouth in that certain way it did when he knew he had done something impressive. Arthur clutched the sword tighter in his hands and, hardly even knowing it, smiled in return.

In the next second, the real battle began.

Mordred vanished once more, reappearing some distance away, at the top of the highest tower, where a rod enchanted by a young dragon stood exposed, the swirling crystal held in the top of it glowing with wicked enchantments as powerful as the Old Religion. It was these that were slowing destroying Camelot; Merlin could feel it. Mordred did not move, standing silently like a stone guardian of it, but the good sorcerer could feel his heavy gaze upon him, waiting for the prophesied Emrys to challenge him.

Merlin's own eyes hardened at that.

"The staff," he said hastily to Arthur. "If I can destroy it, I can stop them."

Even as he was speaking, Morgana was shouting in a language more ancient than the spells in Merlin's worn book. She was calling, he knew, for the dark beings which she had set loose upon Camelot, which were nothing but shadows in the shape of men, and worse than the Dorocha had ever been. These spirits could not die, and not even a burning fire could drive them away; it only made them invisible to the human eye. Nothing could contain them, and nothing could hinder them from their annihilation of all in the commands of the one who had summoned them.

Now, the witch was calling for them to abandon the city and assail only one man.

The first of them slid up silently like a hell-demon in front of Arthur, and Merlin grasped his arm and moved him back to stop the creature from laying a quivering hand upon him, for it was as if the very air died and rotted where its form touched.

"Go, Merlin!"

Shouted ruggedly at the same moment as Arthur swung at the dark creature, and Merlin took two steps in obedience before turning back again in anxiety for his friend's life.

The shadow screamed in shocked anguish as Excalibur cut through it, and it disintegrated without hope of fighting the eternal power of the blade.

Arthur, in his own, typical fashion, widened his eyes and quirked a self-satisfied grin at Merlin, balancing the immortal sword in his steady hand as he prepared with new vivacity and brashness to fight the oncoming adversaries.

Merlin could not stop the answering beam at seeing the look on the king's face for the first time in so long, and then he trustingly left his companion behind as he made his way toward the staff made of dark magic…and toward the dark sorcerer guarding it.

Mordred said nothing as the other warlock approached him. Despite the sound of small battle erupting behind Merlin's back, the silent boy never removed his eyes from Merlin's face, watching him as though he could look into his very soul with his piercing eyes, and perhaps he could.

"We only want what rightfully should be, Emrys."

Merlin held his ground, not moving any closer or any farther away as Mordred's soundless voice spoke to him.

"It is not your right," he declared, quietly, "to change what the gods have put into place. Arthur is the Once and Future King. No one can compare to him."

"It does not matter. Morgana is the legitimate sovereign. She is going to make us free."

"Your belief in freedom is to attack the innocent people of Camelot?" Merlin challenged him. "You're destroying their homes, their work, even their lives. Even if you win, the kingdom will never be the same with Morgana on the throne. It's not worth it to control your own destiny."

This last he declared with as much severity as the oncoming storm above.

"This is my destiny, Emrys."

Merlin barely had time to drop before a sphere of fire nearly tore through him.

It took him several seconds (during which he chanced to look across the rooftop at Arthur to make certain he was yet uninjured, and found him in the midst of a cloud of the dark shadows, swinging in an unconsciously graceful arc and destroying most in a single blow) and then he realized that the fire had not been conjured by Mordred, but that it had come from someplace else.

Arthur, panting from exertion and eyes wide and dark with the initial alarm, was momentarily distracted by the sight of the now-familiar serpent as he circled their surrogate battlefield, his perfectly white wings stretched out as though he were gliding silently through crystal-clear water.

Even as he slid back to avoid a dagger of magic hurled by an icy-eyed Mordred, Merlin began to chant as loudly as he could, summoning his magic to underlie his voice and make the enchantment come to pass,

"O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"

Aithusa reared his great head back, and Merlin thought, in a flash, how very beautiful the creature was, and how wondrous he could be if he would only choose the side of light instead of darkness.

Arthur looked around in frantic, but his path was blocked in every direction by the still-advancing shadows, reaching out for him now, selfishly desiring to do their own work on his mortal flesh before the dragon could reach him.

"Arthur!" Merlin cried, his voice stricken with panic, for he knew that he could do nothing. Aithusa was too far gone from his control.

Somewhere in the space separating the two friends, Morgana laughed aloud.

Merlin repeated the spell, shouting it as though it was with his dying breath, and at the same time he forgot completely about—or perhaps he simply no longer cared for—the threat Mordred was posing on his own life. He scrambled to his feet, knowing that he would never reach Arthur in time to save him….

Just as the flames started to cascade from Aithusa's mouth, a sixth living being joined their battle, this one with old, coarse scales glinting tarnished brass and eyes which Age would never dim.

Merlin halted faltered in his step, nearly tripping as Kilgarrah's strong head collided with Aithusa's side, putting out the smaller dragon's fires and sending them both reeling in the air with different-pitched roars powerful enough in union to shake the bones of the most courageous knights.

Arthur wasted no time in recovery, and swung again, with even more force than before, cutting down more the shadow-beings which had become closer than ever to him.

Merlin followed in his king's example, spinning around again and countering another attack of magic from Mordred with one of his own, their two opposing powers shattering in the middle of them.

Merlin caught another glimpse of the staff behind Mordred as the cloaked sorcerer moved closer, his ice eyes filled with vicious intent. He had to reach it…that was the only way to weaken them….But he could not simply shatter it, he knew, for that would only release the wicked magic within and unleash it without bounds throughout the earth. He had to take the magic within himself and pray to the gods that he was strong enough to vanish it inside his soul.

So, his own eyes hooded and dark with his inborn vitality, Merlin rose to his feet, and the intensity of his gaze stopped Mordred's advance and placed upon his young face a look of taunting curiosity.

"It is not magic which has no place here," he told the boy in a voice as solid as stone and low as the thunder all around, "it is you."

Mordred took only one step before he found himself trapped in Merlin's magic, his body tossed over the edge of the castle's roof and toward the stone ground far below.

Merlin saw Aithusa break away from Kilgarrah and dive toward where the boy had fallen, but he did not stop to consider it, for he had expected as much. Instead, he took the last few steps in a blur until his hands hovered just before touching the wicked crystal. The ancient stone burned black now with the same fury saturating Morgana's voice as she cried out from somewhere behind,

"No!"

It was too late for her, however, and he closed his eyes against the force he knew was to overwhelm him, calling fervently for every small drop of his magic to unite with his blood.

Arthur halted mid-lunge as the shadows all around him began to flicker, their hisses of rage turning to screeches of anguish. They parted, and he saw Morgana moving toward the great tower, her face pallid and fraught with dread.

All seemed locked in silence around him as he followed her gaze and saw her doom.

His the tip of his sword struck the ground as his hand fell, and he was breathless as he saw Merlin standing before the relic of wicked magic, eyes set aflame with gold and lips moving with words he could not understand even if he heard them.

The shadows fled toward his servant like a living cloud of soot, but they were burnt up before making it half the distance to him. The white dragon was gone, and had taken Mordred with him in hiding. The storm cleared away, revealing the uprising sun in the east. Morgana disappeared into the sky in a turmoil, knowing she was defeated once more by the magic of Emrys.

A silhouette appeared in Arthur's vision, and he turned to see the Great Dragon hovering at the edge of the rooftop. For the first true time, Kilgarrah's eyes searched the frozen dark blue of the Once and Future King's.

The old dragon smiled with some, mysterious solace and glided away with the last of the storm-clouds.

In that moment, the last word of Merlin's spell broke through Arthur's reeling thoughts, and he looked up once more and saw the staff and crystal had fallen into nothing but dust at the sorcerer's feet. There was a look of sharp, twisting pain on Merlin's face now, one, thin arm wrapped across his chest and knees trembling, threatening to collapse with a power Arthur would never comprehend.

Then, as the first rays of the new day struck the side of his face, Merlin's eyes opened.

Merlin swayed where he stood, blinking furiously against the exhaustion creeping so quickly into him. The dark powers had died inside his own, good magic, and now his head spun with the aftereffects of it all, leaving him weak and aquiver with the immense exertion—and the unspeakable relief.

When his vision cleared again, he raised his head and found that he and Arthur faced each other, standing alone at opposite ends of the place, surrounded by the abrupt peace and stillness of dawn. Their eyes met, and whether due to the distance or something else, neither could quite discern the other's mind.

They may have stood that way for much longer, but in that very moment, a shout broke through the silence, followed by the sudden arrival of four men.

Without waiting for orders, and uncomprehending of what had occurred, Leon and Percival rushed to where Merlin stood, and he did not resist or argue this time when they grasped his arms and held them at his sides; whether it was because he was no longer afraid of his secret being known, or because he was simply too weary, it is impossible to say. At the same time, Gwaine and Elyan reached Arthur, concern on their lips for him.

He held his hand up, silencing them both, and they followed him with furtive glances as he walked with sure, measured steps to where his knights held his servant in captivity. Gwaine clenched his jaw and instinctively placed one hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, preparing in his mind what he might say should his king once again demand Merlin be thrown into the dungeons for his crimes; no matter what the other man had done or what lies he had told, Gwaine would not allow harm to come to him, not now.

"Release him."

When they did as they were commanded, Merlin dropped without warning to his knees. Unlike the first time, this he did out of choice, in reverence and acknowledgement of his king, and not because he was forced to bow.

Arthur assessed him for a moment, and then, he knelt before him.

Merlin raised his gaze and looked without trepidation at his king, and for the first time since they had met, the pretense in the servant's changeable eyes was dropped away to reveal the whole truth of his character.

"I am not one of them."

The king's eyes swirled with something deep and strong at Merlin's whispered words.

The young sorcerer let a heartbeat pass between them, and then he echoed his promise in the softest voice, his eyes bright and burning into his master's with a power entirely different from his magic but equally as great.

"I'm yours, Arthur."

With a tentativeness contrary to his usual disposition, Arthur reached out with one, gloved hand and touched his fingers to Merlin's narrow shoulder.

He felt the same, he thought, just as warm and scrawny as ever. In that moment, he realized that nothing at all had truly changed, and he laid his sword aside and placed his left hand solidly on Merlin's other shoulder.

"All right, Merlin," he murmured, never pulling his gaze from the other man's, the look in his eyes speaking more than his words ever could. "It's all right."

Merlin held himself still for a long moment, not breathing or blinking at all, and then the realization that he was truly here, and that it was not a dream that Arthur was speaking so gently and hearteningly to him, struck him all at once; his pale face faltered, tears springing to his tired, tender eyes, and in the all-consuming sensation, he finally allowed himself to let go.

Arthur caught him easily, and Merlin sighed without realizing it against the scratched armor covering Arthur's shoulder, his warm breath brushing against the king's tanned throat. Arthur placed one hand a bit awkwardly at the base of his servant's back and the other against his slightly trembling shoulder, turning his face and briefly letting his cheek brush against dark hair. Then, he looked with light eyes up at his knights as he felt Merlin go completely limp in his arms.

"Help me carry him back to the physician's chambers," he commanded quietly.

"But, sire, he—"

"I know what he is, Leon," Arthur interrupted with calm patience, "and I know what he has done."

He pushed the unconscious Merlin back, holding him securely with his right hand against the younger man's jaw so that he could look closely into his colorless and sleep-veiled face for a brief moment. Then, the king said in a voice quiet with sincere wonderment and a hint of genuinely amused disbelief,

"Merlin is a sorcerer, and he has saved us all."

To be continued (to epilogue)

First things first: I put (up there, somewhere) that Merlin has been working for Arthur for about seven years; there have been four seasons, and I know there's a one-year gap between at least one of them, so I just picked a number I like that could fit. If that's officially wrong, do let me know so I can be more accurate next time. Thanks!
Two: Yes, in that part where Merlin tilts his head at Morgana, he is wondering (as we all do) why the heck she hasn't figured out yet that he's Emrys.
Three: I know I'm bound to have at least one reviewer complain about Arthur's initially running for the door when Merlin frees him, but if you consider it, all he really knew in that moment was that Morgana came about two seconds away from killing him, his kingdom was falling and his people needed help, he didn't know what to think about magic anymore, and Merlin's big, blue, trustworthy eyes were begging him to run. He was scared, confused, and he came back in less than thirty seconds, so please, I'm asking you politely not to tell me it's OOC, because that just means I'll have to write you a PM explaining how it's not in great detail, thereby wasting both my time and yours.
Four: This is actually linked to a question I've had for a long time. Is Mordred immortal? I know he looks like a little boy, but he doesn't really give off that aura to me; I've always thought he was actually several years older, but for whatever reason, he's never aged. Maybe it's just my overactive imagination working, but I think it's a fun theory, so I used it here.
Um...I think that's everything. If you've gotten this far without quitting, let me say thank you so much for reading! Because you've all been so great, I want you to know that I haven't finished the Epilogue yet, because I want you to ask your questions and make your comments about whatever you want regarding this story, and I'll try to acknowledge them all in the "finale." If you have no questions or comments, leave me a review anyway and tell me how you liked (or disliked) this chapter. Goodnight (or morning), everyone! I love you all, and thanks again!