Summary: Uther has sent Arthur and Merlin on a dangerous quest - retrieve the Cup of Life from the Druids, make sure neither Cenred nor Morgause get their hand on it... and make it out alive. As Gwaine joins them, will the unity of Courage, Strength and Magic be enough to complete the life-threatening mission? And what about the rest of the Round Table?

Details/Disclaimer: Merlin and anything from the series belong to the BBC. So does the original episode, The Coming of Arthur (both parts) on which this and the sequel of this story is based upon.This is merely my own version of events but I recommend watching the episodes first, as most of this makes sense only after watching them.

This is the second part of the trilogy The Rise and Fall of a Queen.

Enjoy!

Tazz~

The Rise of a Queen

Chapter Three: Honour's Arrival

Word Count: 1530

Lancelot stopped at a small creek, both himself and his horse needing rest.

The dream he had had the night before had left him unsettled, but he had decided to listen to the Dragon he had picture – after all, the Dragon had said that he had been sent for Merlin, and Arthur, not by him, which made Lancelot think he was in some sort of trouble.

As usual.

Still, he had resolved himself to following the strange instinct that seemed to tie him to the pair, ever since the disturbing dream, further proof that it was a message not something imagined by his subconscious.

He wasn't yet to know that he had met the Dragon last night, the Dragon who was now flying to any sorcerers he could find with a purpose – it was time to recruit Emrys's Army, one that would be spoken about for centuries to come.

"Take a patrol. As many as you need; whatever it takes, find him."

"Yes, sire," Sir Leon replied to the King, bowing slightly. He took his leave, needing to prepare for the mission.

"You show great strength, my lord," Morgana said quietly.

"What do you mean?" he asked, smiling despite himself.

"Day after day you must send your only son into danger," she said, sympathy coating the malice in her voice.

"Not a responsibility any father would wish to bear." He grasped her hand where she had placed it on him, glad in the comfort.

"You must try not to worry," she told him. "He is the First Knight of Camelot and your greatest warrior."

"You're right," he replied her. "Of course you are." He caressed her face gently, before walking away. As he left, the bitter-sweet coating fell of Morgana, and she allowed herself a vindictive smile; manipulating him was all too easy.

"Magnificent, aren't they? My army of immortals."

"Your army?"

"Well, they are my men," Cenred reminded her.

"Correction: they were your men. It is I that made them immortal – they are bound to me now."

"Do not think for one moment that you can cross me, my lady."

"Cross you?" she sounded insulted at the idea. "Never. Ic bebiode the thine cyning cwellan." Her eyes burned gold, as Cenred watched in confusion.

A nearby guard withdrew his sword, his will no longer his own.

Cenred chuckled slightly. "What are you doing?" he tried not to let his fear saturate his voice, but failed.

"Have I not always been honest with you, Cenred?" she asked, although she did not expecting an answer to the obviously rhetorical question.

At the advancing soldier, he drew one of his own swords, knowing a fight was to come. "Stop," he tried commanding, but it had no affect on the controlled knight. "Stop – you answer to me, not to her." He parried the sword, and, at the first opening, didn't hesitate to run his sword through the soldier who had once pledged his allegiance to him.

But the immortal warrior merely looked at the wound, before raising his head and sword once more.

"Morgause," Cenred pleaded, realising his predicament. "Morgause, make him stop. Please, I beg you, make him stop!" He stopped his pleas as he was pushed to the floor.

"Did I not say that when I threatened you, you'd know about it?" she said smugly. "Well now you know."

"Morgause, please-" His cry was unheard as the warrior above him plunged his sword into the former King's stomach. She smiled in satisfaction.

Sir Leon and his patrol stopped on a ridge, hearing the sounds of a war march. Sure enough, he could see the traditional colours, crests, and clothes of Cenred's army.

"My God!" he muttered in shock, seeing the immense numbers marching towards Camelot. "Alright, men. Come on," he told his patrol, turning around, heading to warn Camelot of the news.

However, they were ambushed by a small group of cavalry from the army, who had noticed the knights. They turned back immediately, retreating, but the soldiers just followed behind, their horses leading to a quick overtake of those on foot.

Leon turned around, ducking from the first attack, pulling down the second with him. They both got up, Leon desperately picking up the sword he had dropped, and began parrying against the covered warrior. He soon got the advantage, and dealt the fatal blow.

But to his horrified amazement, the man merely gasped for a minute, before grasping the sword, and pulling it out of his stomach.

The knight from Camelot did the only thing he could; he ran.

Arthur woke up, coughing heavily. He looked around him, disorientated, before realising something.

"Where's the Cup?" Merlin and Gwaine woke up in response to his loud question. "Where's the Cup?" Arthur asked again.

"Cenred's men – they took it," Merlin answered.

"Then what are we still doing here?"

"You were unconscious," he said, incredulously.

"Always an excuse, Merlin." He threw off the jacket, and tried to get up, before groaning in pain. Both Merlin and Gwaine immediately rushed over to him, supporting him as he gasped out "We have to get back to Camelot before it's too late."

"Arthur, we can't; you're hurt too much. We're going to need help from a nearby village."

"How, Merlin? How do we get help, when we have no money, nor proof that I am the prince of Camelot? They're not going to give help for free, are they?"

"It's a good thing I'm here then, isn't it?" another voice announced.

"Honour has reached Courage, Strength and Magic," Grettir told the new group of people he was required to explain what was happening to.

"Our help will be required soon then?"

"Are you sure Kilgharra's plan will work?" asked another.

"It does seem a little farfetched." There were sounds of agreement.

"Are you seriously doubting a Dragon?" Grettir asked, eyebrows raised. The Great Purge really had changed the way of thinking – Grettir thought he would never see the day that a Dragon's word would be doubted, especially by the High Priests and Priestesses of the Old Religion. But it seemed anyone of magic would doubt the words spoken by those who saw the future in the face of hope. Worst still, it was Kilgharra, who was descended from royalty among Dragons – indeed, it had been his ancestors that had declared the prophecy of Pendragon and Emrys thousands of years before it happened.

The Priests and Priestesses seemed to remember this with his words.

"I'm not saying he knows the outcome of this battle," Grettir continued, "But I know he has seen that this part of it will work, so get over your doubts and prepare."

A few of the Priests and Priestesses looked affronted that a dwarf had told them to suck it, but their leader patted him on the back, chuckling.

"Our friend here is right. We should prepare, and do all we can to help Lord Emrys," Aodhán said.

"We must convene the Council of War," Uther said, having just received the news from the panting knight.

"They cannot be stopped, Sire. The soldiers – they will not fall," Leon told him.

"What are you saying?" the King asked in shock.

"They will not die."

"Gather the knights. Prepare whatever defences you can."

"But sire-"

"DO IT!" he commanded. Leon looked shocked at the outburst. Morgana smiled slightly. All the knights in the room left with him.

"It's Cenred, it must be," Uther said to Gaius, who did not react. "But how? The location of the Cup was secret."

"There's only one explanation, sire," Gaius said quietly, dreading what he had to reveal. Morgana smiled again. "We have a traitor in our midst."

Morgana walked in her room to find Gwen looking out of the window. "Gwen?" She turned away from the mass of lit torches outside.

"Is it true they attack at dawn?"

"I'm afraid so," Morgana told her, sadness over saturating her voice.

"And no word from Arthur?"

"Nothing." She shook her head. It was hard to keep the smile from her face, and she was sure she failed a little bit. It wouldn't matter, not with Gwen.

"Then all is lost," Gwen replied in an utterly defeated voice. "We will be massacred, every last one of us."

Morgana contemplated what to say for a moment before replying, "Not everyone has to die."

"What do you mean 'not everyone'?" she asked, confused.

"Those that defy them," Morgana elaborated. "Those that choose to fight – they will surely die. But those who do not resist, those that choose to welcome change... They will have a future here." She smiled. "Everyone has a choice, Gwen."

Gwen swallowed for a moment, choosing her words. "You know I have always been loyal to you, Morgana... and I always will be."

"Then have no fear." Morgana took her hands happily. "No harm will come to you – I can promise you that." Gwen smiled, and hugged Morgana back, but as soon as the witch couldn't see her face, she let the fear and concern for Arthur and Merlin show; her loyalties would never change.

Morgana looked outside, at the gathering army, and smirked maliciously. It was finally her time.