Hello everyone (ducks down) hope no one is planning on killing me. I know the chapter is late, but I didn't have a cliffhanger in the last chapter so i figured you wouldn't miss me...
I HAD FINALS BUT THEY ARE OVER NOW. THAT IS WHY I'M LATE. Good luck to all of you still taking them, and congratulations to those who finished!
Here is the chapter! I hope you enjoy it!
Autumn passed slowly. They couldn't see it in the changing color of the leaves, but they could feel it in the air. A cold had come, and as the days grew shorter and the nights longer, they knew winter was setting in.
The days were beginning to blur. When Merlin wasn't on the battlefield, he was at the infirmary. When he wasn't at the infirmary, he was strategizing with his advisors or the king. Edwin and Surevres had taken to the battlefield, Gaius and Phillip heading the makeshift hospital. As the number of their meetings increased, the physicians could see the effect the lengthening war was having on the three other members of their team. Dark circles riddled their eyes, and their movements were slow, labored.
As the numbers of battles grew, they began sensing a pattern. In victory or in loss, Glendale's forces were being pushed back. It wasn't that their force was weaker-it was that it was simply smaller. For every Camelot soldier killed, there were ten more to take his place. The worst thing about it was that they didn't know how to stop it, how to turn the tide, and still their numbers lessened as the death toll rose.
A surprising asset in these darkening days was none other than Uther Pendragon's ward. Morgana had become invaluable in helping predict her old guardian's motives, aiding the ministers of war in understanding the strengths and weaknesses of Camelot's army. Her respect among the druids rising due to the multitude of days she spent tending to the wounded.
Merlin helped nurse her magic. Every day it grew in strength, and soon the warlock found himself training her for battle. He still refused to let Morgana fight though, but he promised her that one day they would do so side by side. It wasn't that he thought her lesser than him, but because he didn't want her to slaughter the men who had once been her friends.
And so the days passed in such a manner, the twilight hours lingering, the cold demanding thicker cloaks and larger fires. The nights were the cruelest. A thick silence only gave the soldiers more time to dream of the horrors they had seen, and the frigid air did little to help the restless sleep. It was on such a night that Merlin found Morgana standing at the edge of camp. She hadn't come to his tent at sundown—he'd grown accustomed to her dropping by and sharing a meal, the pair speaking long into the hours of the night until exhaustion forced Morgana back to her own makeshift home. And so when she didn't arrive long after the sun had bled out of the sky, the warlock set out to find her.
She was standing quietly at the edge of camp, wearing only a thin cloth dress, her arms wrapped around herself to ward off the cold. Merlin silently approached and unfastened his own cloak, setting it on her shoulders. Morgana gave a visible sigh of relief and turned to look at him, a tear running down her face.
"What happened?" he murmured, pulling her into his arms.
"We lost a druid boy today. He was so young. Daegal was his name. Shot by an arrow in the chest, and for days I worked to heal him but…but my magic wasn't strong enough."
"Your magic, Morgana, is not at fault. We all die, have a written time for us to depart this world. That's simply the way of things. We can try to prevent death, but sometimes it's inevitable," Merlin took her chin and forced her to look up at him. "You mustn't blame yourself, Morgana."
She nodded and pulled away, looking out at Camlann.
"It smells like snow."
Merlin nodded grimly. "So the druid elders are saying. They also predicted that we will fight another battle tomorrow."
"Have they seen anything?"
"No. Have you?"
"No...Perhaps that is for the best," Morgana shed his cloak and handed it back to him, but Merlin refused it and instead securely fastened it around her.
The sorceress smiled. "Such chivalry. You should go, Merlin, if there is to be a battle tomorrow, you'll need to be well rested."
"And you?"
"I'm going to go check if Phillip needs anything, then I'll retire."
Merlin nodded, leaning in and kissing her on the forehead.
"Good night."
"Good night."
"My lord, Camelot's forces are approaching."
Merlin nodded. "Tell the men to prepare."
The young general blew his horn, soldiers around him rushing to their feet and running off. The warlock looked to the skies, a snowflake falling on his nose. Sometime during the night it had begun to snow—heavily. Now a blanket of pristine ivory covered the earth, where men and horses moved it was churned into muddy slush. Merlin pulled his black cloak off his shoulders, embracing the frigid air that turned his weathered chainmail to ice. He mounted his horse, moving to the front of the growing number of soldiers.
To give the men a chance to rest, Merlin's druids would fight today, the king's regiment to answer the next call to battle.
"Emrys."
Merlin turned to young Mordred's voice, and he smiled. The general had taken the druid boy under his wing. Mordred was strong, if not unsure about his magic. Merlin was willing to help him, and in return Mordred had steadfastly ridden next to the warlock in battle, watching over him if he chose to use a powerful spell on the battlefield that left him weak.
"Like snow, Mordred?"
"Yes, but I have a feeling that might change by sundown."
Merlin grinned somberly and rode forward, his mounted regiment sounding like thunder in his wake.
Kilgarrah, what news have you of Arthur's men?
They are almost upon you.
The feeling that came before every battle crawled into the warlock's gut, his horse's heavy steps familiar in their pattern and weight. Bitter wind rushed past his face, and his breath fogged. The sky was white like the parchment writers scrawled their stories on, and in his mind, Merlin wondered what they would write of this battle. Wondered with a heavy heart who would be among the dead, the wounded, the broken.
Camelot's army was blood red on the horizon, their vibrant cloaks unsullied by the flakes of ivory that fell from the still heavens. They sounded their horns, almost as though greeting the men they would kill and be killed by. Merlin raised his hand, motioning his men to stop. The armies looked across the field at each other, the shifting of horses and weathered chainmail the only sound besides the whistling wind.
From the bleak sky, seven dragons crashed to the earth, standing between the two great forces. Merlin almost took in pleasure in the obvious shifting of Camelot's men, their horses neighing as they looked upon the iron-scaled beasts before them.
But Arthur didn't flinch. He never did.
The sound of his horn was carried by the wind to Merlin's ears, and the warlock watched as, from over the hill, soldiers pulled in giant catapults loaded with boulders. The stones were pulled back by the contraptions, and before Merlin had time to develop a plan, they came hurtling towards them, followed by spears shot like lightning from ballistas larger than the warlock had ever seen.
He watched in horror as the boulders and blades fell with devastating accuracy towards the dragons, the creatures pulling back quickly into the sky at the onslaught. It was the first time the dragons had ever been challenged in battle, and Merlin's eyes filled with worry.
Kilgarrah, pull them back, pull them back!
We can handle them, young warlock!
I will no risk it, leave, go!
Let us destroy the machines.
Kilgarrah—
But the dragon wouldn't listen, leading his brethren towards Camelot's army.
"Ride!" Merlin shouted, and his force rushed forward. For a moment it was wind and smooth adrenaline. His heart beat fast in his ears, drowning the sound of his horse's thundering hooves. Merlin caught a glimpse of Mordred racing beside him, sword unsheathed and shining in the ivory light they were bathed in.
Then the clarity was shattered by the heat, blood, and screams of battle. Brilliant red splattered the once pristine white, and soon the snow turned to mud and slush that splattered both sides with freezing water.
The vision hit Morgana hard, and she felt to her knees as the vivid images lit her mind like lightening. Druids nearby approached, but didn't touch her—they knew seers shouldn't be disturbed when they were "seeing."
Catapults, dragons' flame, crimson cloaks. Racing horses from a hill, a spear, blood.
A black arrow.
Her eyes burned gold as they opened, wide with fear.
"No…"
"Forbearne," Merlin incanted, a gust of fire setting a dozen men around him aflame, black smoke rising into the otherwise untouched sky.
Ahead of him, the dragons dipped and fell towards the earth, their talons breaking apart the wooden catapults. It was almost too easy. Only when their army was fully engaged did Merlin recognize their folly. From over the hill rose another mounted crimson regiment, and they galloped behind them, closing off Glendale's forces.
They were trapped.
"Archers ready!" A man shouted, and Merlin spun and watched as soldiers sent hundreds of arrows towards them.
"Chiatin!"
The shield exploded over the battlefield, momentarily covering them in a glimmering, vaporous blue. Merlin swayed on his horse, winded.
"EMRYS!"
Mordred leapt towards him, knocking the warlock off his horse as the next volley of arrows sped towards them. They crashed onto the earth, the hard ground bruising them. The cold slush cleared Merlin's mind. He helped Mordred to his feet and gripped his sword tightly. Standing back to back, they were surrounded by enemy knights, Camelot's men pointing their swords at the two sorcerers.
"Now," Merlin shouted, and the pair pushed off each other and towards their opponents, eyes glowing gold as they sent men flying back, parrying with their swords as a reprieve.
But the soldiers were relentless, and no one had the time to come to their aid. Slowly, Merlin could feel his strength leaving him.
That's when he saw Mordred fall.
A spear came flying out, unforeseen, embedding itself in the druid boy's shoulder before he could stop it. Merlin cried out as he watched him fall to his knees, his fury sending dozens of men half way across the battlefield. He pulled Mordred to his feet, the boy heavy on the warlock's already aching shoulder. But the warlock grit his teeth and brandished his sword, golden eyes challenging any to approach. Many took it, falling at Merlin's hand and magic. Yet black was beginning to edge into the warlock's reality, and he knew he wouldn't be able to support Mordred for much longer.
Then he felt a jarring pain in his lower abdomen, as though someone had just kicked him in the gut. Merlin looked down, vision blurring as he stared blankly at the shaft of an arrow where it shouldn't be. He felt no pain, only emptiness. The world began to dull and he fell to his knees on the hard earth. Countless soldiers, each desiring the glory of felling their enemy's leader, raced towards him, blades outdrawn and demanding blood.
Suddenly, Merlin remembered Mordred, awake but clinging to him weakly, and a white hot rage filled him with a moment's strength. He cried out as his eyes burned gold, cobalt flames leaping into the sky, encircling them and protecting them from the knights. It gave him a minute, and he turned to Mordred, pulling out the spear in his shoulder and covering the wound quickly with his palm, muttering a healing spell.
His body buckled as his magic knitted the druid's wound, Mordred sighing with relief and battling the unconsciousness that threatened to take hold. He held Merlin tightly, hand moving to the arrow in Merlin's stomach before the warlock's bloody palm stopped him.
"No, Mordred."
The boy met his gaze with widened ice blue eyes, filled with worry and surprise.
"Heal yourself, you must heal yourself!"
Merlin gave him a weak smile, and his eyes burned gold before flickering out like a candle, returning to a clouded azure.
"I can't."
The flames that were protecting them began to fade away, and Merlin looked down at the arrow embedded in his abdomen. He couldn't pull it out now, for he'd bleed to death, but if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to fight. Merlin closed his eyes and grit his teeth, crying out as he attempted to break the black shaft. But the pain nearly rendered him unconscious, and he looked up at Mordred with a clenched jaw.
"Snap it off."
"Emrys?"
"Morded, snap it—I can't fight with it sticking out like this."
"It'll be impossible to pull out later, you'll bleed—"
"Do it, hurry!"
Mordred took a deep breath and broke off the majority of the black wood as quickly as he could, but still Merlin's scream tore through the sky. The druid boy helped him to his feet, and the two faced the soldiers that raced towards them through the flames.
Merlin raised his sword with one hand, the other trying to stop the warm blood that gushed through his chainmail, the broken wood splintering his palm. A knight swung a mace towards him, and the parry jarred the warlock's shoulder, the next sending him stumbling back to fall once again to the ground.
Men surrounded him, and at the back of his mind, Merlin could hear Mordred screaming his name.
Then, all the men were turned to ash, and a hand reached down to pull him onto a horse.
"Morgana," Merlin whispered as she straightened him on the mount. Morgana wrapped an arm around Merlin's waist, her hand covering the wound firmly, his blood staining her fingers. He knew she couldn't heal him, not now when her magic was still needed, but still in her arms he found comfort.
"Take the reins," she ordered, raven hair like a halo around her. Hands free, she lifted her arms, chanting. "Me fero, glacies et nives bellum quoque cruentus sanguine candidae et inimicos!"
The strength of the spell near blacked her out, but the sounds of war called her back to reality, and she looked out onto the battlefield to see whether she had succeeded. Slowly, from the snow, rose figures. They grew taller and taller until they became giant soldiers brandishing swords of ice. Their faces were rough, snow dropping from where their white eyelids blinked irises a burning gold like those of the sorceress who summoned them. Arthur's men shifted nervously, but leapt forward despite the fear to face the new challenge. The snow soldiers fell easily with a blow, but their quick blades and growing numbers began to free some of Glendale's exhausted men.
Morgana took the horn from Merlin's side and raised it to her lips, Glendale's men falling back at its sound. She incanted another spell to clear a path through the din, Camelot's men falling at her wake. Looking up, the sorceress watched as a devastating rain of arrows and spears fell down upon the fleeing men. She snapped her fingers, the sound like thunder, and a great flame filled the sky, burning the weapons and then turning and falling in waves upon Arthur's men. No water would dull the fires, and the enemy soldiers screamed as the heat consumed them.
"KILGARRAH!" Morgana screamed over the cries, her power reaching the dragon's ears.
"Yes, Priestess?"
"Guide the men back to camp. Help the wounded."
The dragon nodded and the creatures thundered overhead. But Arthur's men kept coming. She shook her head and turned the horse around, grip tightening around Merlin's waist. Men raced past her and soon Morgana was facing Camelot's army, the only one left. Her horse pranced before them, but the soldiers were hesitant to approach the sorceress.
Closing her eyes, she began to mutter a spell, a fire never leaving her irises. Clouds filled the heavens, turning black. Raising her arm, Morgana cried out as she ripped a bolt of lightning from the sky, the white light splitting the earth open. A chasm opened between Camelot's army and the fleeing men, but Morgana didn't ride back. Her gaze was instead held by Arthur's, who watched her with a stiffened jaw, eyes filled with pain. For a moment, there was silence upon the battlefield.
Then Arthur's voice carried across the chasm like a lonely breeze.
"Morgana, you have made your choice. You have chosen to betray Camelot, your family, and your friends-"
"My family is right here. You would do well, Arthur Pendragon, to judge where yours is, too," she called out, cutting him off, and turned away, racing back with what remained of the druids and soldiers making up Glendale's force.
Gaius's eyes widened as a slow procession of men appeared through the growing fog. Other soldiers mounted their horses and galloped into the mist, returning with scores upon scores of broken men. It was quiet. The wrenching screams of the wounded and dying ripping through the unsettling silence. Racing towards his advisor, the king's eyes widened in horror at the scene before him.
Finally, from the mist, approached a chestnut horse. Gaius felt his heart shatter as he saw his ward riding towards them, falling sideways off the horse without a sound. Druids raced forward, but Gaius's attention was held by the rider he hadn't noticed.
Morgana's face was covered in soot, hair tangled and loose over her shoulders, leaning forward precariously on the horse. Men ran to her aid, helping her from the mount.
Something within Gaius died that day as he watched medics lift the pair onto stretchers, bearing them away side by side into the already brimming infirmary.
Morgana woke in a warm bed, nestled within woolen blankets. Every muscle ached, and though the sunlight warmed her skin, she felt impossibly cold. Her eyes adjusted slowly, blinking at the bright light.
She was in her tent, the white cloth familiar to her gaze. Morgana smiled as she scanned the room, catching sight of Merlin seated on a wooden chair next to her bed. His shoulder was in a sling, but he looked fine. Letting out a sigh of relief, Morgana tried not to think of how she'd found him on the battlefield. Fallen, covered in blood, his face like death. Now Merlin was reading a book, blue eyes scanning the page, calm and serene.
"What are you reading?"
He looked up in surprise, face lighting up as he saw her awake.
"And so she lives. I'm flipping through a book I found on your shelf."
"Which one?"
"A book of poetry."
Morgana smiled. "One of my favorites."
"I can tell," he said with an easy laugh. "Almost every page is marked."
Merlin laughed louder at her blush. She merely rolled her eyes and tried to get up, met with what only could be lightening in her head. Falling back down, Morgana groaned.
"Yes, I don't suggest you get up. You used a lot of magic out there, and I'm afraid rest is the only cure. "
She sighed, studying him. "How are you?"
"Never better," he replied with a cheeky grin.
"Why the good mood?"
His smile only grew wider, eyes twinkling. "It's nothing, just that I'm proud of you, single-handedly saving the day—"
"No, Merlin—"
"I'm serious," his face became stern. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you, so, thank you."
Morgana nodded before muttering under her breath. "He says "proud of you" like I'm not as strong as him, as if I couldn't beat him any day of the week—"
"What? No."
"Oh yes."
"Oh no."
"Merlin, you know I could crush you if I wanted to."
"Well, I'm glad we don't have to test that theory because I know how much you hate losing."
Morgana was about to reply tartly when Professor Phillip burst in, greeting the sorceress quickly before turning to Merlin with narrowed eyes.
"What did I tell you?"
"Hmm…I don't remember."
"I told you that you weren't to get out of bed, and here I find you again! You need to rest, boy, or you won't heal properly."
"I AM resting."
"Not on a bed, you're not. Go lie down."
"Bed, you said?" Merlin muttered something under his breath that Morgana couldn't catch, pulling off his boots. "Scooch," he ordered, and she laughed as he crawled into bed next to her, eyes on Phillip.
"Happy?"
His former teacher sighed, but nodded, winking at Morgana before leaving. She turned to Merlin with a raised eyebrow.
"Never better, you said?"
"It's a saying that can be easily exaggerated. It needn't always be true—" He winced, gasping slightly as he touched his shoulder.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Kilgarrah healed the wound in my side, but my shoulder bone was fractured in the fight. It's small though, so they're not using magic. It's nothing."
Morgana shook her head, moving to rest in Merlin's arms, head on his unwounded shoulder as they leaned against the simple wooden headboard of her bed. His hand absentmindedly stroked her hair, and she closed her eyes.
"Read to me," the sorceress ordered softly.
"Whatever my lady commands." Merlin reached over and opened the book, the two spending the rest of the afternoon buried in the pages of Morgana's favorite book.
"Arthur, what happened out there?" Uther snapped, pacing his tent angrily.
The prince hesitated before answering. "Morgana, my lord, she is stronger than we anticipated—"
Uther shook his head, and for a moment, appeared an old, saddened, broken man. But the image was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"And the warlock?"
"Wounded, but Merlin lives."
"HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? CAN'T HE DIE?"
Arthur flinched at his father's outburst, fingers gripping each other tightly behind his back. The king took a deep breath and continued in a calm voice. "We keep pushing until we near their camp. I don't care how long it takes. "
"But the men, my lord, they will tire—"
"-So will our enemies. We outnumber them five to one, and still we can call reinforcements."
"So many men will die—"
"There are casualties in war, Arthur, you'd do well to learn that," Uther opened the flap of his tent and looked out. "The warlock will die. When he does, the druids will be leaderless and the dragons will have no cause to fight. All that will be left is a ramshackle army with a fool for a king."
The prince cleared his throat. "If you kill Merlin, you'll have Morgana to reckon with—"
Pain flashed in Uther's eyes and he turned to his son. "When he dies, she will see her folly. She will come back to us."
"She loves him—"
"NO, SHE DOESN'T! MORGANA IS ENCHANTED! SHE WOULD NEVER BETRAY ME LIKE THAT!"
"Father—"
"Arthur, my son," The king walked over and put a hand on the prince's shoulder, and Arthur was surprised to see tears in his father's eyes. "There is something I must tell you, something I should have told you a long time ago…."
Ok. This is, I think, the halfway point and dlfjdkfjkdsjfkdsjfdsj ONE HUNDRED REVIEWS I LOVE YOU ALL!
seriously, every review means so much and gahhhhhhhh I love them.
So since this is the halfway point, I wanted to ask you all something. How is the story so far? Is it beginning to get dry, or boring, or is the quality beginning to lack? What do you guys want me to add, subtract? What do you want more of, less of? Please? Any word is amazing, even if it is "ZANE WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO THIS STORY IT SUCKS GO FIX IT"
Another note, you may not have another chapter for another two week period. I'm going on a service trip to Nepal (GOING TO SEE THE HIMALAYAS) so I may be a bit busy prepping next week. However, if I have the chance, I'll be sure to update. It's not a cliffie, see, I am kind unlike many other writers (you know who you are).
THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING AND REVIEWING!
-ladywarlock