For Arthur, the world had ended. The battles around him raged on, yet all his attention, all of his will was focused on the deceased friend in his arms.
Merlin was…would be, the Pilgrim.
The Pilgrim was dead…Merlin was dead.
Losing someone dear to you is never an easy. Arthur knew this. He'd had to deal with the loss of the mother he'd never known for his entire life. But this was something different entirely. This was Merlin, the best and truest friend he'd ever had. Not only that, but a friend who had traversed time itself to tell him of his destiny, to teach what needed to be taught.
And he done so knowing he was going to his doom. Throughout his words of wisdom he'd sprinkled the clues to his true identity. Yet no one had seen it until it was too late, and his fate had come to pass.
"Son," Uther whispered, aghast, unsure of the scene before him. "Who is this warlock?"
"A better man then you'll ever be," Arthur replied. He picked up Excalibur and rose to his feet.
At the base of hill Lancelot, Sir Leon, and Sir Godric beat their weapons against the crowd of demons that swarmed the soldiers on the field, the recently born dragoness weaving her way like a snake between their legs, snapping with razor sharp fangs and spitting bright orange sparks.
Merlin continued his battle with Morgana. A twirl of his staff sent a barrage of fire and light spinning off into the distance. A mad sort of amusement shone in the witch's eyes. A high cackle escaped her throat. She'd succeeded in killing her enemy, and she reveled in the pain that killing caused.
This wasn't his and Morgana's final battle. Even without a magical knowing Merlin could tell. Something else had to happen first.
Then, as Morgana came in for another attack, a great number of things happened in nearly the same instant.
To Merlin, the entirety of the world around him slowed down to scantly moving pictures frozen in midair. The young prophets eyes raced in all directions, taking in the most minute of details. The sweat running down a warriors dirt streaked cheek. Tiny remnants of spells crackling between a Druid's fingers. The racing of a thousand heartbeats.
He could see Arthur preparing to charge his half-sister in a blood crazed frenzy, determined to avenge the Pilgrim's inevitable demise.
O Emrys in your crystal cave"
The Weavers voice rang out across the silence. Her voice echoed like birdsong, haunting, yet full of warmth. Of truth. With it ghostly notes of music, harp song, ebbed into the night.
"Deep in the Diamond of the day
Will there ever be a singer
Whose music will smooth away
The furrow drawn by Adam's finger?
Across the meadow and the wave
Or a runner who'll outrun
Man's long shadow driving on,
Burst through the gates of history,
And hang the apple on the tree?
Will your sorcery ever show
The sleeping bride shut in the bower,
The day wreathed in its mound of snow,
And Time locked in his tower?"
As the melody continued, the only sound or a movement that registered in Merlin's mind, familiar feelings of power filled his soul to the brim. In the pouch at his belt the crystal of Niatid grew warm, spreading its heat to the crown with it in the pouch. Though his body was in battle and attack spells still lingers at his hands, the power pooled together. Truth was coming. The height of his destiny was approaching, when his true purpose would be found and fulfilled.
"Artorious in your hallowed hall"
Threads appeared from nothing. Thousands upon thousands of threads of all different colors protruded upward from every human chest. They shot upward into the sky, drawn towards two threads, one gold and one silver, which shone brightly above the rest. Arthur's thread, and Merlin's threads. Focal points of destiny. Where their threads pulled them, others would always follow, whether it be into battle or into the depths of history and legend.
"Blade etched against the sky
Poised to fell the blow,
That seals the bastards fall.
Take me up
Cast me away,
Your weapon shall enshrine
And know a lady's kiss
Sweeter than the vine.
Guided and taught by the child of light
Warriors brave and stalwart,
Beat away the souls fright.
Sister, boar lies lead amiss from true
Bloodied womb stained a scarlet hue.
Witches dark spin their spells
Foe of the round table
Lightning strikes and confounds
Ending this fair fable."
The Weaver concluded her song. Amongst the demonic hordes her green attire and small body stood out. The final notes hung in midair. Rhythmically the threads continued to sway in place. Suddenly three new threads appeared, interconnected with one another, black and torn. Each end was bound to a separate soul, the souls of Morgana, Morgause, and Uther, slithering icily from each of their all but heartless chests. And it was then that Merlin knew what it was then must be done.
In summoning such creatures of evil to the world and binding them to mortal hosts, the witch sisters had bound up the demonic power in themselves as well as in Uther. Unless they willingly wended the enchantment, cast off the dark powers that surrounded them, they, along with Uther would have to die in order for Albion's nightmare to end, and for the furrow drawn forth by mankind's sins to be washed away just as prophecy said it must.
"The time is now is now Emrys," the Weaver said into his mind. The roar of the Agmar demon could be hear along the telepathic channel. Fear bubble in Merlin's heart, quickly cast aside by the pure resolve that now began to fill him. He was the prophet. He knew what he must do.
"The people of these lands need their Once and Future king , but first he must be made known to them. Proclaim him, prophet, so that his name and deeds may be told of forever in legend."
Resolve imploded through Merlin's pores. Light filled his eyes, overshadowing his irises, until two orbs of glittering gold hung like miniature suns in his eye sockets.
Weaves of magic swirled around him.
Thunder clapped, lightning branched across the clouded sky.
Whipping away from his battle, Merlin swung the Pilgrim's staff high above his head.
Tumultuous winds gathered, before splitting off in all directions.
Morgana and Morgause were lifted off the ground and flung off towards the edges of the battlefield. The demonic hordes were forced away from the men by a dome of solid air. Futile roars escaped their devilish maws, fangs dripped with bloodied saliva. The ground began to quake beneath their feet. A great crack formed around the battlefield, quaking the earth as it ran its way around the dome of air.
Merlin knelt down on one knee, leaning on the staff for support.
This power had always dwelt within him. Throughout his life he'd only seen glimpses of his true potential, killing a griffin, wielding the power of a Dragonlord. But now was the time for him to show the true might of the king's prophet. For this power was not his, but Arthur's, to use. From his first spell to his last enchantment, Merlin's powers existed to make Arthur king, and bring about Camelot's golden age.
"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, spinning around to face him. "What are you doing? I almost had her!"
"Now isn't the time, sire," the manservant replied, eyes on the ground in concentration. "The time for justice to be served will come, but only after you are made king. Are you ready?"
Arthur blinked in surprise.
"Now?" he shot a begrudging glance at his father.
"His kingship means nothing next to yours Arthur. While he was ruler of one of the five, you shall be king of all Britain." Looking up, he turned to Uther, an expression anger, pity, and sadness masking his face. "The time will come soon that you may redeem yourself in your sons eyes, Uther Pendragon, at least in some way. Though only if you are willing."
"What are you talking about, warlock?" Uther snarled. "You infiltrate my house, turn my only son against me, and then speak of my redemption? What I have seen here today only proves I am right! That you and your kind are a scourge upon this earth!"
"Be silent!" Arthur all but shrieked. Calmly, Merlin rose a hand to still him.
"It is alright, Arthur. Uther, surely you have seen by now that you are bound up with these demons? Morgana has made it so that in order for them to stopped, for them to go away forever, you have to die. Ponder this fact as your son is crowned in stars before you. Perhaps you are not entirely lost to the hatred that has consumed your daughter's heart. Be ready, Arthur."
Indeed, Uther did understand. But what the situation called for, he was unsure he would be able to do.
Slowly, with what appeared to be a tremendous amount of effort, Merlin began to raise the staff. The wood was hot on his skin, his eyes shone only brighter as the magnitude of telekinetic spread into the cracks in the ground. With a great heave he straightened his body completely. Shaking quaked over the soldiers, many of whom fell to their feet.
The tiniest sparkle of light hung about the cracks as the landscape, men, Badon Hill and all, rose into the air as a floating platform of rock.
Gasps and screams of terror echoed across the platform. How was this happening? What sorcery was this? All eyes turned to the shining man atop the hill, who, arms raised high above his head, proclaimed in a booming voice that all could hear.
"People of the five kingdoms, hear my words! I am Merlin, son of Balinor, last of the Dragonlords! Emrys, the prophet foretold by the Druids! You were brought here to end the life of Uther Pendragon so that you and your families may live without fear, but now, a threat greater than any man can imagine has been unleashed upon our lands!
What brought these creatures here is magic, a force that many of you have come to fear and hate because of Camelot's king. Uther Pendragon's actions during the Great purge those many years ago have skewed your perception of what magic is. Truly I tell you, magic is but a tool, a sword to be wielded by the hands of man. It is the man, not the magic, that determines good or evil.
Only if we stand together, Druid, solider, all of us, will we see the dawn of a new day! But for us to stand together and join our sword is not enough! Among us stand a man who many of you would see as a boy, a man whose fate it is to lead us into a golden age as one kingdom, united. He is Arthur Pendragon, a warrior pure of heart and true of mind. In his hand he wield a blade blessed in dragons fire, which in his hands is driven by the will of the gods themselves.
I have seen a vision of the future, and let it be known that all those who ride with him today shall have for themselves a place amongst legend. For even when all the kingdoms of the earth have crumbles away, and the land has been taken by the see, his name will live on in glory! He is the king of kings, a king for once and always, and even in death his star shall shine for all to see!
So throw in your sword with his, and on this day you will see with your own eyes that justice can be done, that the light triumphs over the darkness, and above all that in each of us dwells a magic more powerful than anything demons can comprehend, nor even the witches can understand. Love dwells in your hearts, for your families, for your countries, let it be your weapon!
With all eyes glued to him, Merlin reached into his robes and withdrew the crown crafted by Thomas the blacksmith, and turned to Arthur. As if rehearsed, the prince sank to his knees.
Gazing upward at the heavens, Merlin placed the crown atop his matted blonde mane.
Air caught in each of their throats. It was for this moment that both of them had lived. So that the kingdoms would be united, and a king be crowned.
A great light suddenly erupted in the sky. A star, scarlet and gold screamed across the clouds like a dragon midflight.
"Behold, for his star shines brightly even now!" Merlin roared, waving his arm in a wide sweeping movement.
"Hail Arthur, high king of all Albion! The Once and future king!"
As one the crowds of soldiers fell to their knees in awe. The gods had sent them two messengers that day. And little did any of them know, that in all their days they would witness nothing greater than this.
Arthur stood, Excalibur raised high.
"FOR LOVE AND GLORY!" he bellowed. The crowds roared in response, their weapons rising with his.
Off to the side Uther watched this with sad and proud eyes. So his son would indeed be a great king. At the words of a supposed prophet, the people were already his to command. He looked down at his chest, seeing the beginnings of the black thread that protruded from it. Even now he thought his past actions to be righteous, that in bringing about the great purge he had done what was right. But those were the actions that had earned the hatred of his beloved son.
Uther knew, there was only one way to earn back his sons love even in part. To help bring this hell to an end.
Shakily, the powerless king picked up his fallen sword, and drove it into his own chest. The black thread was severed. Like a shadow it flickered out of existence.
Perhaps now the battle could be won. Perhaps peace could be restored.