I know it's been about a hundred years since my last update, but I ran out of batteries. All saddled up with Energizer™ and raring to finish!

Chapter Five:

A Scarlett Ribbon.

"I will gladly take your life… Although, I may not spare your son's…"

Merlin hears the words, although he does not fully register what the great sorceress means until the fallen body of the king crashes to the ground, before the sacrificial stone alter. No one back at his court is aware of the location of their great king, although not a single man would have wagered his measly earnings on Uther being here: On some God-forsaken island in the middle of nowhere. It seems so unbelievable illogical that there has to be a most pressing reason.

The young man is unbelievably glad that he chose this moment to arrive, rather than minutes, or even seconds after, when it could have been too late. He sees the prone form of Arthur's father, appearing older than ever before, and feels a pity for the man that one would have thought could only come with age and wisdom. The king lies on his side, scarlet, Pendragon-crested robes singed at the hems from the force of the magical bolt, and – Even from this distance – A clear trickle of blood from one ear. Any amount of damage could have been caused.

And still, she does not see the boy warlock. He stands, mouth agape and splayed feet, in the thin archway before the central clearing, surrounded by the beaten stone pillars, and does naught but watch. Nimueh appears caring as she crouches over the lifeless body of the man that so many want rid of, although her blazing eyes show a specific deep running hatred. Pure and undiluted, searing through her inhuman veins is the odium of the man before her. It has been in her blood for so long.

Killing him by magical means would provide the irony that he so deserved, in his magic-deprived kingdom, although it would be far too quick and painless. For the banishment of magic at his hands, he deserves a slow death, to remember every mistake he has ever made; every time he has sworn protection, and failed to award it; every time he has ordered a merciless, heartless killing. In his own words, to show mercy is a weakness. Nimueh will live by his mantra there. She will display not a speck of kindness to the cold-hearted monarch of Albion.

The king's eyelids begin to flicker, as though awaking in the early morning. However, the sight that meets his eyes, although inhumanly, menacingly beautiful, is not the last sight that he wishes to see. Her blood-red lips curve into a smirk of delight as she recognises his consciousness. It will be so much more rewarding to watch him die awake. She believes he will feel her cold pain so clearly that he will tear his skin away to escape the burning…

With the sickening glee of a woman possessed, her words spill forth, cruel and heartbreaking, for the proud father of one son.

"Your boy will die of the fever. The internal heat will prove to much for his weak little body…" The woman laughs cruelly; no thought is given for the murder of a young man – The child she had conceived for the king. Words fail the king, too weak to speak, and make his voice heard. "His heart will give out, and he will perish with no father to hold him, and tell him he loves him. Because his father will already be dead. So, Uther Pendragon, feeble and failed ruler of so many disloyal subjects: How do you wish to die…?"

"He does not!" The boy speaks up for the first time, one hand clenches behind his back as he forms spells with his mind that he has barely even known before this moment. He feels power that he does not know he possessed. "He has no wish to die."

The sorceress spins on her heel, turning away from Uther, her eyes blazing with anger that she has been interrupted, and by a mere boy! From the distance at which she stands, she cannot recognise Merlin, although he would know her and her curses anywhere. He has come across the woman before, although never yet has had the power with which to rid Albion of her for long. She always returns, colder, crueller, more hell-bent on revenge…

She flies. She must do, in order to reach Merlin so quickly and quietly. He is barely aware of her moving before him until she is right there, her image filling his line of sight, blocking out the bleeding sight of the king. Her eyes narrow, taking in the boy before her, and knowing him: The dishevelled dark hair, the shabby clothes, and eyes shining with an unrecognisable golden tinge.

"Merlin…" The single world, his name, is snarled and cold, and the boy can clearly see that she is drawing upon her own magic, in order to rid herself of this intrusion. It's not going to be that easy for her.

"No, listen to me!" It is almost desperate, almost pleading, that she pay heed to what he has to say. It should be him who is here, and not Uther! If anyone is to trade their life for the prince, then it should be his manservant, rather than his beloved father. "I know why the king is here, but he shouldn't be… Take me instead, take my life!"

Nimueh cocks her head slightly to one side as she watches Merlin, clearly wondering why he would choose that cause of action. Her words are clearly complete with cold, heartless smirk, curving the corners of her scarlet lips upwards.

"You would trade your life for the prince… Instead of allowing a terrible king to do the same? That-" She points an accusing finger at Uther, who is trying to pull himself to standing, although failing, and her smirk increases even further, at the state of weakness that he has descended to. "-Does not deserve to live. But you… You are one of my family. A magical family, caring for each other… He should be your enemy. You should not be trying to save the man who has brought nothing but terror and fear of the unknown to his kingdom and people!"

Merlin stands firm throughout her cold-blooded words, refusing to retaliate, although he feels the tips of the fingers held behind his back scorch, with the force of the magic that his is building up, to use against her. He might as well be prepared, for he does not yet know exactly how powerful she is against him. She is more practiced, and he understands that much. Merlin relies solely upon instinct, and natural impulse to cast his spells, and use his magic.

"Because Arthur is my friend - Not that you would understand friendship and kindness… And Uther is the king. If he is gone, Arthur is in no position to begin to rule! The rulers of the neighbouring kingdoms, seeing that Albion is not as strong as it used to be, with Uther at its head, will take advantage. The prince may be a warrior, but he is young, and unprepared to lead the country's arms in war…"

Barely listening to his words, Nimueh clicks her fingers, feeling the power soar through her, surging through her veins, raring to be released in lightning bolts of undefended forcefield.

"You fight a good argument, young warlock. Think about it: We could be so great together, you and I. Once I rid the world of this useless King Uther, then Arthur shall bring magic back to Albion, and we shall rule the magicians and sorcerers. Imagine the power you could have, if you channelled it properly, learnt to use that which you bear…"

The boy almost grits his teeth. He does not want to be used to the worse, to rage down death and destruction. His power is to be used for constructive purposes only, rather than be trained by her, this witch.

"No. I will not be your prodigy! A life must be taken in order to spare Arthur's, and it will be mine." He sounds so strongly on the topic of his death, although he knows he does it to spare this friend's, and the king's. But will the sorceress in the centre of this nature-changing decision take the high price that he pays? She is playing Mother Nature – Deciding who will live, and who will die.

Her eyes narrow and darken. She does not like the deal. Nimueh does not specifically desire Merlin dead, as he could be useful, in the future… It is Uther than she lured here, with the dramatic passing of his son's consciousness, not the prince's manservant. It is the king that she wants dead! In her fingers, she sparks a fireball. Her nails appear to glow in the strange, otherworldly light that the magic creates, and it illuminates the contours of her face. She suddenly looks dramatically less attractive to Merlin.

"Then you shall have your death, and it will save beloved Arthur. But it will not stop me doing waste to Uther, and the whole of Camelot!" Her laugh is a cackle, just before she strikes, flinging the ball of fire directly at Merlin's chest.

He draws his own magic as a protective cloak around him, but the tongues of magical flames penetrate even that, surrounded in the strongest hexes that Nimueh could conjure. He flies backwards, unable to defend himself from the fire, and feels it crackle and burn against his chest, unprotected as it is. Curses fly around his mind, attempting to create another shield around him, and doing what he can to stop the damage. But he cannot focus his mind.

Tendrils of icy-cold yet still blistering conflagration lap at his skin, burning away his clothing to expose pale skin, already scorched. Nimueh crows with laughter at his helplessness. The charms interwoven in the bundle of flames cause him to lose track of his train of thought every time he tries to rid himself of the magic binding him. A second later, and he cracks against the wall of rock surrounding the centre of the building. The power forced through him as he catapulted into the stone is enough to break his back.

A boulder above the wall wobbles, and topples down, striking the floor beside the unconscious body of the young warlock. He is bound to the ground, fallen in a heap, by incandescent, iridescent ropes of freezing fire, wrapping around him and burning wherever they touch. He could never break free, even if he was conscious, and awake. Moments later, another rock falls, and Uther can only look on in bleary eyed shock as a landslide begins, blocking off the sight of the young boy's body from the view of the two adults. They can no longer see him.

Nimueh turns back to the king, who collapses against the stone, sacrificial alter from shear weakness, and lack of any form of strength enough to help him carry his concentration through this confrontation.

She throws her head back, closing her eyes, and raising her arms skyward, screaming words of power to the heavens. Thunder cracks deafeningly dramatically overhead.

"Mythras ce milita lami! Concia la juin!"

This lightning strikes post-thunder. His ghost-white skin tinged with a ribbon of scarlet, Uther leans back against the stone and tries to conserve what energy remains. However, the nagging thought streaming through his mind tells him that he is done for. That there is no escape.

That he is dead already…