HELLO EVERYONE! Here is the chapter, and I wanted to thank everyone in advance for the reviews! Also, a common comment came up:
Yes, I know now that Camland is spelled Camlann. What happened is I wrote this before the finale, so I never saw the proper spelling. I wrote it first Camla'n, but Merlyn said that didn't seem right so I went on tumblr and asked, and they told me Camland. However, after the finale it seems like that has changed to Camlann. I apologize, I didn't mean it and I'm doing my best to find and replace all the Camlands out there, but I'd love it if you were patient with me.
Also, Merlin is general because in this AU I figured he'd be more self confident considering he was able to outwardly use his magic and not hide. Also, as Emrys that makes him the leader among the druids, so the men he has a little control over are the druids with a few normal sorcerers tossed in there. Does that make sense?
As well, and this is IMPORTANT DEAR HEARTS, my Camlann is different than the Camlann in the series. I know, not canon, but I wrote this before I actually saw how Camlann actually looked, and I'd previously read an Arthuriana novel that depicted Camlann as a wide barren field-so that's how I wrote it in. I usually like things to be more canon, but I hope you'll forgive me for that detail.
ALL THE MERGANA SCENES ARE DEDICATED TO THEFOUNDERSDAUGHTER! She gave me the song Little Talks by Of Mice and Monsters, and I swear I've had it on replay all week, not listening to anything else. SO LISTEN TO IT. It's very Mergana.
It will give you feels.
(also King and Lionheart by them is very Merlin)
ANYWAY! The rest of my notes below and enjoy the chapter!
The plain was vast in every meaning of the term. If you looked in any direction you could see the curvature of the earth. It seemed fitting that the war would hold its battles here, for the plain was already soaked through with the blood of countless generations who had fought and died here long ago. The soil was burned, turned, trodden upon, and destroyed beyond repair. Nothing grew there anymore. Only a spare bush here and there broke through the loose sand. Bleak winds blew from the north, its screams sending shivers down the soldiers' spines, their clothes rippling, flags flapping.
Camlann was desolate, but it wouldn't be for long.
"My lords."A druid bowed low to the king and the three generals riding beside him. "We have scouted ahead before your arrival, and have seen great armies approaching. The force of Camelot rides towards us, with them their allies. They will be here by nightfall."
"Thank you, soldier," the king replied softly, turning to the men near him. "Order your men to set up camp and prepare themselves. We march when the sun sets."
Merlin gave a nod and turned his horse around, eyes flashing gold as he used the psychic link between him and his men. "We ride at sunset, arm yourselves."
The camp was set into motion, and a druid helped Merlin set up his tent, made from wide expanses of tan cloth. Inside he set up his cot and a table upon which he placed numerous maps and plans.
"My lord." The druid saluted Merlin—much to the warlock's dismay—before leaving the tent and the young general alone.
Sighing, Merlin ran his hand through his hair. He quickly washed up with some fresh water he conjured in a worn wooden bowl, his eyes finally resting on the armor laid out on his bed. It was polished and unworn, as ignorant to war as the man who wanted nothing more than not to put it on. He let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and reluctantly pulled off his tunic. But looking down at the many layers, Merlin realized he didn't know where to start. He ran a hand over a piece of silver chainmail, fingers skimming the cold links of iron.
"Do you need help putting it on?"
Merlin spun around at Morgana's voice. She wore leather armor, small daggers sheathed in a belt round her waist.
"Morgana, what are you doing here?"
"Don't worry, the king won't allow me to fight—yet. But I am a sorceress, so I'll be helping the physicians when the wounded start coming in."
"You shouldn't have come."
"I don't take orders from you."
The two were silent, and Merlin turned from her. He could feel her eyes raking over his bare flesh. He felt self-conscious under her gaze.
Merlin heard her approach quietly, reaching around him and holding out a deep cobalt long-sleeved tunic. Tugging it on, he raised his arms in the air so she could help him into the chainmail shirt afterwards.
The iron links were heavy on his back.
Merlin was still as Morgana fastened another,finer black leather tunic over the chainmail, embroidered with the bounding white stag of Glendale. A gleaming ebony belt was tightened around his middle, and the warlock noticed that the buckle was the druid symbol, the Triskelion.
Next, Morgana fastened steel vambraces on his forearms, tightening the straps so that they were not quite uncomfortable. They gleamed in the fading light, and Merlin stared at them, transfixed, as Morgana then attached equally lusterous rerebraces, diamond in shape, to his upper arms.
She then knelt to attach metal greaves to his shins, over his dark trousers. The tails of the chainmail shirt would suffice in protecting his thighs.
Morgana walked behind him, preparing the triple-plated pauldrons for his shoulders His voice broke the silence.
"Do you remember the first time we met?"
"Of course."
"I was so nervous as I tied the laces of your gown, I remember how my hands were shaking so terribly."
"I was no better off."
"Really?" he asked, looking at her curiously as she moved to stand in front of him, straightening the chainmail that was visible, running her hand over the leather on his chest.
"Really. There I was, standing with the back of my dress open with some strange, beautiful man who had wandered into my rooms without my knowledge, slowly tying the laces, his hands hot as they brushed my back. I was terrified-and blushing scarlet. I'm surprised you didn't notice."
"I think I was too busy blushing myself."
The two laughed, eyes meeting. Cobalt held emerald, and emerald held cobalt. They froze, caught in the other's gaze.
"Morgana…I want to trust you—"
"Merlin, don't. Please. I know what I did, and I know I can't earn your forgiveness with simply an apology. But know that I love you, and I always loved you. I can tell you no more than that."
He sighed, brushing a hair from her face. "I love you too."
Outside, they could hear the clattering of weapons and the marching of men as soldiers headed for battle. The sound of their voices filtered through the cloth of the tent, filling the silence between the pair.
"Your hands are shaking," Morgana whispered, gripping Merlin's palm and bringing it to her face, kissing the bare flesh there softly. The warlock quivered, coming closer. He bent his head down slowly, Morgana angling her face and rising to meet him. They shared each other's breath for a moment, shuddering and impossibly close, disarmed. She rose up on her tip toes, kissing him gently. The kiss deepened as Merlin's hand wound around her waist, bringing her flush against his armored body. Her own hand skimmed the back of his neck to rest in his hair, tugging on the black strands to close the nonexistent gap left between them.
Their hold on each other was desperate as the sounds of war grew ever louder around them. Reluctantly, Merlin pulled back, kissing Morgana again on the forehead to keep the taste of her in his dry mouth. She held onto him, hand running down his side, her touch searing him even through the steel armor.
"It's time," Merlin whispered, his breath moving the loose strands of hair around her face. Morgana moved behind him to drape the last of his garb around his shoulders – a black, scarlet-bellied cape, fastened beneath his throat with a silver dragon clasp
"I'll be waiting," she replied, embracing him against her warm body. "And I'll be expecting you in one piece."
Merlin nodded, extracting himself from her noiselessly. He was moving to leave when her voice stopped him.
"Forgetting something?"
The warlock turned to see her holding his sword. She walked over and placed it in its sheathe on his waist.
"Now, general, you are fit for battle."
The ride out towards the battlefield was quiet and grey. Twilight set out upon Camlan, a light silver fog rolling in, cool and damp. Merlin's men were to take the front line, General Galahad's men behind, and the king's men would be the rear gaurd. A battalion of reserves led by General Lucan would remain at camp should the battle go ill.
At the front of the army, the warlock shuddered. He was leading his men silently, their steady marching a seemingly endless rhythm.
Suddenly, Merlin heard Kilgarrah's voice in his head. Stop. Camelot's forces are only a league away.
The warlock looked up to the cloudy gray heavens, eyes straining to catch so much as a shadow in the darkening sky. But the dragons were invisible, soaring far over the battlefield. Secret and unseen.
Shaking a shiver that rippled down his spine, the general pulled out a white and black horn from his side. He put the silver head to his mouth and blew. The sound was eerie and long, echoing in the vast plain. Behind him the marching stopped, the army stilling at his command.
Emrys, are they here?
Merlin turned to the druid on a white horse beside him, he was young, still a boy. He had a mop of black hair, and ice blue eyes. His name, Merlin would later learn, was Mordred.
Yes, yes they are.
The boy gave his general a grim smile and looked ahead, a deathly silence falling over Camlann as they waited for a response.
A hidden sun fell from the sky, and Merlin watched at the corner of his eye as the soldiers lit torches to stay the darkness.
It seemed like their enemies had the same thought.
Up ahead, through the fading fog, Merlin watched as fires appeared before them. They grew and grew in number, until it was as though they were facing a night sky full of burning stars. The wind set the sparks up in the air, and the warlock couldn't help but liken them to wildflowers, growing at random, countless and bright.
Now the armies could see each other. The warlock felt sick to his stomach as he saw the unending numbers that fought for Camelot's scarlet banner. When the king had said they were outnumbered, Merlin never thought of how that might look. He knew now, and he felt fear begin to sharpen the edges of his reality. Adrenaline, swiftly and surely, filled his veins, painting his world in frigid clarity. His heart began to pump faster, and despite the chill air he felt his skin begin to cover with a cold sheen of perspiration.
Then it started.
A horn blew from behind him, loud and clear. The king's horn. Merlin nodded at his men and they squared their shoulders in anticipation. As he looked to the sky, the warlock knew the dragons had heard the eerie call. They needn't be told that it had begun. Merlin let out a breath, and it fogged in the golden light from the fires nearby. He cracked his fingers and rolled the muscles in his back. Slowly, the warlock coaxed the magic crackling at the surface of his being outside, eyes lighting up as bright as the torches at his side. Feeling the eyes of his men on him, Merlin closed his eyes.
It was time to put on a little show.
"Flobakhmo."
Arthur was riding at the front line, the familiarity of his armor comforting on his shoulders. He always hated this part. The waiting. They had ridden swift and fast to Camlann, the dense fog slowing them like marshland. Halfway across the barren plain, they had heard it. A horn, its song low and long, echoing past the gray to reach them. Telling them their enemy was ahead.
The prince froze, holding out his arm to stay the troops behind him. And then they waited. They waited until the sun set on their battlefield, the dark setting in and making them even blinder than before. As they lit their torches, they watched as their opponents did the same. Hundreds of balls of light dead ahead, glowing through the darkening mist.
Just as Arthur turned to speak to Sir Percival, who rode at his side, another horn sounded across the plain. This one was louder, and adrenaline rushed into the prince's blood.
Then Camlann went black.
The torches all blew out at the same time, leaving nothing behind but the smell and tendrils of smoke. It was so dark that all Arthur could see was his silvery breath rising before his eyes.
"That was no wind, it was sorcery," Percival murmured at his right.
Arthur didn't reply, his eyes fixated ahead through the black. Around him, his soldiers were hustling to relight their torches, but the prince was still. He knew who cast that spell, and he knew it wasn't by accident.
Bitter rain began to fall from the pitch black skies, splashing on the iron of his armor. The droplets seemed to hit him in slow motion, splashing off the gleaming plates, falling through the cracks in his helmet. Arthur looked up at the heavens, apprehension prickling down his skin.
He raised the ivory horn at his side and blew it slowly, the sound rippling through the raindrops.
Then thunder, unlike any natural thunder, shook the ground beneath them. Its sound was rumbling and low, deafening and long. The trained war horses shifted and snorted nervously, as jumpy as their riders.
"TO ARMS," the crown prince called over the din.
Lightening forked through the sky like a tree with a thousand branches, and for a second, everything was blindingly bright. Arthur saw a great host before them, but his men's screams turned his deep blue eyes to the cloudy skies above.
He caught sight of them just as the electrocuting light faded.
Shit.
"SHIELDS!" Arthur barely put his own up on time, kicking his horse back to join a large iron plate formation as the first wave of fire hit them. Men screamed in pain and terror as the dragons fell from the sky, their very breath the harbinger of death. Arthur hid his head in the crook of his shoulder, the weight of his shield unbearable in the terrible heat. Horses bucked their riders to and fro, running off into the dark, never to be seen again.
The crown prince let down his shield and looked around. His men were terrified, many turning and fleeing. Percival's call of warning shifted his gaze, and Arthur watched a silver dragon dive low, claws tearing deep into the sand. He leapt off his horse, tumbling to the side just as the talons ripped past him, tearing his horse and dozens of men to threads as it hit the ranks like a battering ram. All around him, other dragons were doing the same, destroying the plain and shattering the front line. The world was on fire, the smoke stopping everything and everyone. The prince turned and attempted the cover his soldiers as the sky came crashing in. Even in the lulls of silence he knew something was coming down from the heavens above. Then he took his chance. Arthur braced himself, rising to his feet and lifting his fallen shield into his aching hand.
"Hold, hold! Knights, stand firm, stand firm. You are the soldiers under the scarlet banner. Drive back dark, fell deed with bright iron. Go forth now and fear no darkness!" The prince raised his sword high in the air, its blade bright in the light of the fires. "FOR THE LOVE OF CAMELOT!"
"FOR THE LOVE OF CAMELOT!"
"FOR THE LOVE OF CAMELOT!"
The shouts drowned out the screams, and the army pushed forward. Arthur led men on foot as they ran across the battlefield, horses overtaking them, riders readying arrows and spears.
"FOR THE LOVE OF CAMELOT!"
Pull back, they near our lines. Protect our flank. Merlin ordered the dragons, his thoughts powerful with the nearness of his magic. The general drew his sword and held it high.
"Archers at the ready!" he shouted and thought out to his soldiers. Around him, bows pulled taunt
The first of Camelot's soldiers broke through the fog, covered in mud, soot, and blood. Merlin looked up to the sky and snapped his fingers, the heavy rain stopping.
Now his archers could see better.
"Forbearne!"
The druids let loose their arrows, Merlin's spell setting them all alight and they rained down on the soldiers running towards them. Screams ripped ragged through the air, men before them falling, horses tumbling, crashing to the ground as they were pierced and set aflame by burning shafts.
Arthur's call reached Merlin's ears through the chaos, and the soldiers stopped and formed a line of shields. Behind them, their double ranks of archers readied bows of their own, setting their arrows alight with the fires that still burned the corpses of their companions.
"FIRE!"
The order was loud, and Merlin pulled out his hand as the first reply of arrows sliced through the wind towards them.
"CHIATIN."
A silvery shield exploded, covering the whole army for a moment as the arrows rained down on them. They turned to dust as they hit the magical vapor, and the shield held until the last shaft fell down in pieces above them. Merlin righted himself on his horse, his head spinning for a moment.
Arthur shook his head in anger but lifted his arm again.
"SECOND VOLLEY READY!"
Merlin turned to his soldiers, not speaking but telling them through thoughts faster than words to prepare their arrows, the druids setting them alight themselves this time.
"FIRE!"
Fire!
The streams of arrows met in the air, criss-crossing. Druids shifted nervously as the arrows came threateningly close, preparing their own defensive spells.
They didn't need to use them.
Merlin held out his hand and all the arrows stopped midair, Arthur's eyes widening as they turned around and returned to kill his men with devastating accuracy.
Blood spilled from the warlock's nose but he didn't stop, pulling up another shield as Arthur ordered his men to fire at will.
Finally the arrows stopped, and both sides were still. Then Arthur raised his sword and roared, his soldiers running towards their enemies.
Merlin pulled out his horn again, blowing hard, and the men unsheathed their swords and moved to meet Camelot's soldiers. The warlock spurred his horse, pulling Excalibur free and tightening his grip on its hilt. His gray mount rushed forward, others at his side readying to collide with the other riders that raced in from the opposing side.
The two armies crashed against each other just as another bolt of lightning exploded above them, Merlin losing control of a part of his magic. Clouds roiled above, as though they were fighting just as viciously as the forces on the ground.
Swinging his sword, the warlock decapitated a soldier rushing towards him, his blood showering him. His horse pranced, its hooves like knives as they mowed down the foot soldiers below them. The gray steed jumped and bucked, one of Merlin's hands tight on the pommel of the saddle and the other slicing his sword through the sea of soldiers below him.
EMRYS!
Merlin turned to see a druid screaming his name, his voice roaring in his mind. The warlock spun around to see a spear flying towards him. Raising his hand, the warlock's eyes shone as he shattered the spear and shoved the man who threw it magically off his horse. Merlin caught his breath, his sword nearly falling from his hand.
Still distracted by the smoke and fire around him, the warlock nearly missed the other rider that burst into his vision. Merlin ducked low in his saddle, his enemy's sword just slicing the top of Merlin's head, making his helmet crash to the ground. The warlock pulled himself up quickly and parried the next blow from the relentless attacker, their blades locking together. A drop of sweat rolled down Merlin's pale face and his arms burned as they tried to push each other off their mounts with brute force. Eyes glowing gold, Merlin's magic rushed to his aid, and the other man's sword snapped in half, its shards flying around them. The warlock pulled his sword back quickly and stabbed the soldier in the chest.
Suddenly, his horse let out a scream and Merlin was thrown, quickly and violently, to the ground. The warlock didn't have time to watch his horse fall before a soldier began thrusting his sword down, trying to stab Merlin as he lay winded on the muddy plain. Merlin rolled to the side and quickly jumped to his feet, body groaning but swift with the aid of adrenaline. He blocked the man's second blow easily, Mordred finishing the man off. Giving him a nod of thanks, Merlin readied himself for his next opponent.
And there were plenty.
Shouts that the general had fallen from his horse spurred many of Camelot's knights to seek glory in the death of their enemy's commander, and Merlin was soon surrounded by the familiar armor of his foe. The warlock didn't bother using his sword. Muttering a spell, eyes flashing gold, he slammed his blade into the earth and it rippled, blasting all his enemies around him into the air. Dizzied, the warlock approached the next soldier, rain beginning to fall heavily overhead.
This time, it wasn't at Merlin's command.
Fire and deep scarlet, be it on cloak, skin, or armor, were the only colors on the battlefield. Both sides struggled on grounds slippery with mud and blood, the wounded and dead only obstacles in the ways of the living. It was dark. It was loud. It was hot. But it couldn't last forever.
Arthur Pendragon pulled his sword from the body of his latest opponent and surveyed his surroundings. He could feel his men being pushed back by Glendale's forces, and he could see the rising number of corpses on the muddy earth. Gritting his teeth, the prince did all he could do.
The horn that sounded over the plain was in many ways wonderful to all, because it meant that the first battle was over. But even as Glendale's men warily began to head back towards their camp, disengaging from the equally taxed enemy, they didn't feel victorious.
Especially not Merlin.
The general rushed into camp on shaking feet, sword still dripping blood.
"Emrys, what are you doing here?" An old druid lady cried out, trying to hold him back with wrinkled hands, but he only shook her off.
"My magic can still save lives," and with those words he stumbled into the infirmary tents.
People who were there would speak about it for decades to come. How he came to them, still dressed in his bloodstained armor, face covered in mud and soot. How he leaned over them and whispered spells, aided in stitching, mixing life-saving tonics. How even as he sealed their wounds, they could see his bleeding. Until finally, after having exhausted all that was left of his strength, he fell on his knees and was borne away by healers into his personal tent.
"Leave me," Merlin coughed, leaning against his bed-stand.
"Emrys—"
"My magic is still unchecked, I could harm all of you at any given moment and I can't afford that now on my already heavy conscience."
"But you're injured—"
"I'm fine, I can tend to myself. My wounds aren't deep. All I need is rest."
"But, my lord—"
"As your general, I am ordering you to leave," he snapped. The healers, casting looks at each other, quickly departed. All but one, of course.
"That was an order."
"A fool's order."
Merlin turned to look at Morgana, his face cross. "A fool's order it may be, but an order nonetheless."
"I don't take orders from servants."
"I'm much more than a servant."
"But I am a lady."
Narrowing his eyes at her, Merlin spoke with a frigid voice. "You stay here and you could get hurt. My magic—"
"Merlin, you and I both know that after you use so much magic you have no power left to use. The others might not know it, but I do. Currently, you are no danger to anyone but yourself."
Merlin smiled softly, turning back to look at himself in the worn silver mirror near his bed. When he spoke, he spoke quietly, words heavy. "Is it wrong to ask to be left alone?"
"Yes, when you're injured and battle-worn." Sighing, Morgana continued when she heard no witty response. "Let me tend to your wounds, then I promise to leave."
He shook his head. "You're not my maidservant. Besides, you've used enough magic, you're not strong enough—"
"Don't underestimate me," she snapped, walking swiftly over and turning him to face her. "And I know I'm not your maidservant. However, since you are too stubborn to get one and no other person can seem to get into that thick skull of yours, the task falls to me. Now stop fidgeting."
Merlin stilled after briefly rolling his eyes—for which he received a smack. Pulling off the many dirt-stained layers took time, Morgana doing her best not to disturb any unseen wounds. She conjured a bowl of water and a soft cloth, bringing out bandages from within the folds of her robes.
"I'm afraid there's no tub of water for you to bathe in. Besides, chances are you will be dirty sooner than you'd like."
He nodded, trying to remain motionless as Morgana assessed the damage with a critical eye, gently beginning to dab away at the dirt and muck. If he had any wounds, they were superficial. After a moment, she spoke again.
"You can't do that anymore, leave the battlefield and tend to others before yourself."
"They're my men—"
"And you their general. Don't you understand, Merlin, that you are precious-not only for these battles, but for the future as well. The druids won't thank you if you die trying to save them. I'm not telling you not to help, but help after you've at least tended to your wounds."
Merlin sighed. "Morgana, I'm fine. Look at me, just a few cuts and bruises-"
"But you won't always be so lucky. After so many battles, things begin to blur. If you continue to exhaust yourself, you'll find you enter combat tired. And in a field of war, that means injury…even death."
"You know so much about this—"
"Have you forgotten I grew up among battle-hardened men? I was a little girl when Uther was still sealing Camelot's power, and I watched the soldiers return haunted and broken. And of course as I grew, I was always at Arthur's side. I know what battles do, I know what death and blood do, the effect they have on the heart and mind. So tru—just promise me you'll take care of yourself as well as others, Merlin."
He nodded and she set back to work, neither speaking. By the time it took her to wash away and seal the cuts with magic, exhaustion finally caught up with him. After a half an hour, his head had fallen on her shoulder, and his eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell slowly, body shaking every so often when Morgana would mutter a healing spell.
Finally pleased with her work, the sorceress turned her head slowly to look at where he had settled on her right shoulder, wetting her fingers and running them through his hair to help clean it. She brushed away the dirt and dried blood, leaving his black hair wet but somewhat unsoiled. Looking down at him again, she nearly jumped when she saw his blue eyes were open. They were dazed and glassy with tiredness, but awake nonetheless.
Morgana gently moved him away from her, setting him up on the bed. Removing his boots, she covered him with a woolen blanket. He looked up at her, dark circles under his eyes. His voice was quiet and hoarse when he spoke, so quiet Morgana had to strain to hear him.
"Stay with me? Please, don't leave," he begged.
She pulled over a chair. Taking his hand in hers, she lifted it and kissed his palm as she had done before the battle, making him smile. Merlin tightened his grip on her hand and closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly. Looking down at him, Morgana couldn't help but think that he looked like a little boy, hair tussled, wrapped up in his blanket. She leaned back in her chair and watched him long into the night, dismissing his nightmares with the squeeze of a hand, and every so often, a soft kiss.
The camp was growing silent. They would burn the dead they carried in at dawn, and clean their armor tomorrow. But at least, for tonight, the soldiers—from Glendale and Camelot—could sleep soundly.
However there was one man who refused to rest. He left his tent and passed where his soldiers slept, nodding at the guards as he stepped out of the boundaries of his camp and into the plain. Looking out at Camlann, he smiled. Uther Pendragon squared his shoulders. His plan was set in motion, it would only be a matter of time before it began to yield the desired results.
Winter was coming. And they'd best prepare themselves before it hit.