CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"You don't have to come with me, you know."
Merlin paused in the act of draping Arthur's cloak over his shoulders. He had taken his time with his armour, allowing protective magic to seep through his fingertips into every link of chainmail and every plate of metal. His touch had probably lingered more than necessary, treasuring the closeness they might never have again. He could feel the warmth of Arthur's skin, the movement of his breath, the flutter of his pulse at his throat, and he savoured every reminder that Arthur was alive and real and here.
"I know," he replied softly. Reverently. "I'm coming with you, anyway." He secured the fastening and reluctantly dropped his hands back to his sides.
Arthur turned to face him, and maybe he needed the connection just as much, because he reached out to grasp Merlin's elbow. "I could order you to stay."
Merlin quirked a smile. "I wouldn't listen."
"A battle is no place for a servant."
Merlin raised his chin a little, defiant and firm. "I'm not going as your servant. I'm going as your friend. I won't be parted from you, Arthur, you should know that by now."
"I do." There was a depth of emotion in Arthur's eyes that Merlin had never seen from him before. "I do not know what I ever did to deserve you, Merlin, but you are the most loyal, brave and true-hearted man I have ever met. I would not be the King I am today without your steadfast faith and devotion. Truly, I have never had a better friend. I am fortunate to have known you, and I want you to know that I am thankful for everything you have done for me."
Merlin waited for Arthur to diffuse the moment with a joke or an insult, but he didn't.
"I mean every word."
"Oh," Merlin exhaled.
Then he was crying again.
And Arthur – Arthur hugged him.
Merlin stood frozen in his embrace, too stunned to react, but Arthur just cupped the back of his head with a gloved hand and pulled him closer. Merlin ducked his face into his neck and brought his arms up, clutching Arthur to him as though he never intended to let go.
"It's going to be okay," Arthur murmured. "We have faced all manner of horrors together. This will be no different."
"Yes, sire," Merlin choked.
"I'm scared, too," Arthur admitted. "There is no shame in it. But you give me courage, Merlin. You always have."
"I wish there was something more I could do." Some way to save you.
"Since the day you entered my service, you have made sure that I have never once felt alone. It is not something that was required of you, but it has meant more to me than I could ever express. And it's enough, Merlin." Arthur pulled back to look at him. "You are more than enough."
Merlin blinked away his tears, needing Arthur to see him, to know. "It is an honour to serve you, my friend. My King."
Arthur squeezed his shoulder, and no further words needed to be spoken.
Arthur headed for the doors.
Merlin followed his King, as he ever had.
ooOOoo
Morgana set the scrying basin before her and cast the spell. As her eyes flared gold, visions rippled across the water's surface.
Arthur rode at the head of his pitiful army, his red cape fluttering behind him, as bright and vivid against the rocky landscape as the blood he would soon spill. At his right hand was Merlin, shabby and out of place, a mongrel that had latched onto Arthur's coattails and refused to let go. Morgana sneered at the sight of him, and hoped that she would have the opportunity to kill the worthless servant herself.
On Arthur's left rode Mordred.
So trusted, in a position of such honour.
Morgana smiled. A druid and a Pendragon riding together should have been sickening, but it suited her needs perfectly.
She cast her gaze over the knights, the foot soldiers and the workmen bringing up the rear, searching for any sign of Emrys. She noted Gaius with a younger man bearing a druid tattoo, riding in a wagon pulled by two draft horses that was filled with medical supplies – and what looked to be magical healing poultices and potions. She scowled. Arthur had participated in the persecution of sorcerers for decades, yet now he dared to harness their magicks for his own purposes? He was the worst sort of hypocrite.
The old man from her visions was nowhere to be seen, but this did not surprise her. Although he seemed more than happy to stalk her nightmares and thieve from her hut, Emrys had always been resistant to her attempts to seek him out with magic.
She shook off her unease; it did not matter if he continued to hide like a coward. Soon he would have to no choice but to face her, unless he was content to watch helplessly from the shadows as she killed his precious king.
The Cailleach had described Emrys as her destiny and her doom. Morgana chose to believe that meant there was a forked road before her with two possible futures, and she was determined that she would emerge as the victor.
Most of the Druid refugees had remained behind in Camelot, as had Guinevere, the usurper to her throne. Their tragic attempts to set up ward stones around the city would avail them little; one Morgana decimated Camelot's army, she would wipe out every last trace of resistance and finally claim her birthright. Emrys could have put their power to better use, as she had done with the Druid Elders, but his arrogance would be his downfall.
Morgana would savour every agonising moment of his slow death as she drove her immortal blade through his gut and twisted, draining him of his blood, his lifeforce and his magic. With Emrys gone, she would be the last great power in Albion, a High Priestess of the Old Religion, a sorceress, a Queen. None could stand against her.
Camelot's army marched onward, and Morgana watched them with an amused smirk playing on her lips.
Let them come.
ooOOoo
The plan was to set up camp, to ensure that the men and the horses were well-rested after their long march. The battle would begin with the dawn.
Apparently, Morgana did not hold with tradition.
The moment Camelot's army entered the pass, they were assaulted by the cacophony of war cries echoing off the mountains and the thunder of hooves shaking the ground beneath their feet.
Saxons came pouring over the ridge, spears and swords held high.
"Merlin, get out of here!" Arthur shouted, even as he drew his own weapon. The unique sound of Excalibur rang out over the plain, and was joined by the screech of steel as his men did likewise. There was no time for a rousing speech. Arthur simply yelled "For Camelot!" and charged.
Merlin wheeled his own mare off the path, narrowly avoiding being trampled by the calvary barrelling forward.
He knew Arthur expected him to ride back to Gaius and help set up the infirmary. But he was not here to treat the wounded.
This time, he was here to fight.
He watched the two mismatched armies race towards each other, the Saxons like a tidal wave towering high over a village on a cliff's edge, threatening to annihilate them.
He was Camelot's only hope for survival, and he was terrified.
The noise was tremendous, but another cry drowned it out, sharp and piercing, full of twisted rage and ancient magic. A shadow passed over the sun, then swooped low.
"Dragon!"
Soldiers scattered as Aithusa drew in a breath to fuel her fire.
"Drakon!" Merlin roared. She swerved to face him. "Nun de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai! Weas!"
She let out a screech of protest, but she could not deny his command and wheeled away from the battle.
Belatedly, he remembered the other message he was supposed to send out. He searched for the presence of other magic-users on the field, shying away from the one he recognised as Morgana.
'My kin, hear me! I am Emrys, warlock and servant to the Once and Future King of Albion. You fight for a day when magic is restored to the land and you can live in freedom instead of fear, but that day has already arrived. King Arthur signed a treaty with the Druids and has made magic legal once again. Arthur seeks peace. Morgana craves only power and destruction. Turn from her, join us, and we can build Albion together.'
He tried to listen for a response, but in his moment of distraction, the front lines met in a crash of sword and shield.
His heart leapt into his throat as he realised that he could not see Arthur.
'Mordred!'
'He's here, he fights.' The flash of an image appeared in his mind; Arthur, sweat-dampened, cloak torn, spattered by a spray of crimson even as his blade sliced clean through a man's throat. 'You must do the same.'
'I can't send my magic into a melee!' He lacked precision at this distance, he couldn't protect Arthur. Oh gods, what had he done?
'Then destroy the reinforcements!'
Right. Merlin unwrapped the staff he had bound to his saddle, allowing the useless collection of spears he had hidden it within to fall to the ground.
No subtlety here.
He urged his mount to ascend a scattered heap of stones and boulders, lending a small thread of magic to help her keep her footing. From this higher vantage point, he thrust the stone into the sky and released the lightning he had trapped within it. "Tólýsing!"
Violent flashes of light arced across the battlefield and exploded at the centre of Morgana's army. Rocks and dirt, flesh and bone, showered down on her soldiers, and screams of terror mixed with the screams of dying men.
Merlin swallowed down his nausea and cast the spell again. It was not a fair fight, they stood no chance against him, but every man he killed was one less man to threaten Camelot.
He obliterated hundreds before the enemy sent their answer.
A fell chant rose in the air, conjuring balls of crackling blue flames.
He felt a pang of disappointment; he'd hoped to have persuaded at least some of his kin to turn from this path. But if they chose violence, they would receive violence in return. No mercy, no quarter.
Merlin caught the first blast as it hurtled towards him and shot it back. The offending sorcerer crumbled to ash.
The next blast was aimed at a squadron of foot soldiers. Merlin had never cast a shielding spell from a distance.
"Scildan!"
He wasn't fast enough.
Eight good men died in an instant.
Guilt clenched in his chest, but he knotted it into resolve and tried harder. "SCILDAN!"
The third blast glanced off his extended shield, shattering into embers that shot out in all directions. He heard a few yelps of pain as exposed skin burned, but there were no deaths this time.
He deflected two more, barely, even as he tried to locate the sorcerers with his Sight.
Camelot soldiers were advancing on them, afraid yet determined, with their shields held aloft. Fierce blows of magic drove them back a few steps, but their shields did not shatter – Veleda and her people had done well.
Merlin spied Leon and the archers, crouched amongst rocks on the hillside. He cast a glamour over them to discourage perception by their enemies, and whispered "forþwisian" to guide their aim true.
"Look out!"
Instinct slowed time to a crawl. Merlin saw the wide-eyed soldier who had called out the warning, and spun to find a crossbow bolt mere inches from his head. He ducked and time rushed back in; he felt the displacement of the air as the bolt whistled narrowly past him.
Prepared now, he stopped another bolt in its tracks, flipped it and shot it straight through his attacker's chest. The man dropped dead, but another rushed to retrieve his weapon. Merlin sent a crack of lightning into their midst and almost gagged on the stench of charred flesh.
A windstorm whipped up out of nowhere, flinging up dirt and debris as it gained velocity. A few of Camelot's soldiers were pulled in and sent careening skywards.
"Todælan!" Merlin snapped, dispersing the wind. His attempt to catch the soldiers as they fell was clumsy and inelegant, but he at least got them down safely. They'd have bruises in the morning, and probably a new fear of heights, but they'd live.
He felt a rumbling beneath him, and leapt from his horse to slap his palm against the ground. "Forbudon," he growled, stopping the earthquake before it could gain any traction. The elements were his to command, and he would brook no interference.
He snatched another fireball out of mid-air and added more fuel to its flame, lacing his spell with dragon-speech until it became a raging inferno. When it struck the heart of the Saxon army, the conflagration spread, scorching mercilessly through their ranks.
"EMRYS!" Morgana shrieked.
Her rage flattened a path of broken bodies between them, Saxon and Camelot soldiers alike. She stalked forward, her tangled curls and black dress flaring dramatically in her wake, magic crackling around her.
Merlin slowly stood to his feet, arms loose at his sides. This moment had been a long time coming.
Across the battlefield, their eyes met.
ooOOoo