I did it! YES! Last words have finally been nailed down! *sniffs, wipes imaginary tear* I never thought I'd live to see this day...I mean, it took a week longer than I thought but hey, I got 'er done!

*does little happy dance*


~34~ To End It

When the first three Blackhands were slain, Percival, Gwaine, and Gwen were able to properly arm themselves, taking up swords or hand axes in defence of the incoming horde. First it had been a dozen. Now at least a score more were coming, charging from the woods like like a swarm of angry wasps. The knights' only fortune was that the light was too questionable for their foes to be firing arrows.

"Defensive ring!" Leon barked, and the seven of them formed a circle, facing outwards, the chest with the Silver Heart in the middle. Not that it would do much good. With unfamiliar weapons and not so much as a shield for defence, the knights, Silverblood and queen had little chance.

"Never thought that this would be our ending," Gwaine said softly, not a shred of heartiness in his tone.

Elyan snorted. "Yeah, dying side by side with you."

"You know I was bred to outlive sods like yourself."

"Then you are an embarrassment to your kind—you would've died from drowning in a ditch after falling into a drunken stupor."

"As long as I die with the taste of mead on my tongue, I'm happy." Gwaine's fist tightened on the Blackhand sword. "Bring it on, you savages."

The knights fought valiantly as the first wave hit them. Gwen felled a few herself and Sophia was deadly with her spear, even though she was weak and had a broken wrist. Nine Blackhands fell before Elyan was cut on the leg and was forced to retreat. Things started to look grim from there.

Percival took Elyan's place, only to lose his sword, a sly Blackhand dirk slicing his forearm. Gwaine was blinded by a cut on his forehead. Leon was struggling to keep his balance, his leg, injured from a Silverblood arrow two days before, hindering him perilously. Gwen was disarmed in the confusion, and then somebody grasped her arm and pulled her from the knights.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, clawing at the kidnapping Blackhand.

"Release her!" Gwaine roared, lurching forwards with his blade. But an attacker smashed the back of his head with a buckler, and the knight went down instantly.

"No!"

Despite the rage birthed by the loss of a companion, the knights could not prevail. They were gradually forced to retreat towards the river, where they would be slaughtered one by one.

What they needed was reinforcements. Something Merlin was able to give.

Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ

Merlin saw Elyan and Percival wounded. He saw Gwenevere being drawn away. He saw Gwaine fall. And then he saw red.

Hurt my friends, will they?

He forced the werewolf to come out. In his blind desperation and insurmountable fury, the beast tore free of its restraints and burst painfully from his body. He felt his limbs lengthen and thicken with graceful muscle. His hands curled as talons sprouted from his fingers and gnashing teeth fill his elongated maw. Silky black fur replaced clothing and flesh as he tore them off in his agony.

Merlin remembered very little after that. As blood spattered the grass red, gushing from between his teeth and off his claws, his mind and the beast's fought for supremacy. And his was losing.

Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ

Baldwin watched from the cover of a waggon as the Blackhands surrounded the knights of Camelot, an axe tight in his fist. He also recognized Sophia and the queen, but still made no move to aid them. His focus was on the forgotten chest the knights were trying to protect.

The Silver Heart. It must be in there!

The captain very nearly broke cover, anxious to retrieve the little animal figurine that, according to the servant werewolf, could cure the curse. He wanted that cure for Rowan.

He rose from a crouch, but that's when the beast appeared.

Merlin burst from the trees, already half disfigured with the transformation. Baldwin watched with curious revulsion as he mutated into the monster he was. Few others noticed him until the change was complete and he howled into the sky. After that, it was chaos.

Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ

Arthur smacked into an invisible wall as he burst into the clearing, the air whooshing from his lungs and his chest catching, preventing him from drawing more. He stared in open horror at the massacre occurring before his very eyes.

Merlin was ripping everyone apart. Both men and women lost life and limb to the monster that raged among them. Terror gripped them, making them forget the silver-edged blades in their possession. Even those with spears and bows were panicking too much to do anything but scream as the servant disemboweled them and tore their throats out ravenously. Merlin had lost control.

"No, no, STOP!" Arthur roared, dashing into the clearing. The servant didn't hear him, continuing to slaughter every Blackhand in sight, maiming if he didn't have time to kill. In the minute that he was the beast, he'd slain almost a score of them. And he wasn't finished.

Merlin pounced on a fleeing Blackhand and bit the back of his head, giving a savage twist to snap his neck. Then he lunged at a woman with two axes and pulled either arm off, leaving her to bleed to death in the dark-stained grass. Two more unfortunates found their innards spilled on the ground, another lost his heart as the servant ripped his chest open and...

Arthur looked away, his empty stomach clenching with nausea, only to find himself staring into the glassy gaze of a fallen Blackhand, his throat but a messy open wound, gushing blood and pungent vomit.

Facing away from Merlin's massacre wasn't enough to block out the sounds, to ignore the visions Arthur saw when he closed his eyes.

That could be me.

His eyes opened again in revulsion of the thought.

That could be me tearing people apart like parchment.

Arthur couldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't allow blood, neither innocent nor guilty, be spilled from his loss of control, like it had for his servant. It must end.

And he must be the one to end it.

"Merlin!" he bellowed, lurching towards the creature. "Merlin!"

The beast did not recognize his name. Arthur picked up the nearest thing—a round shield—and threw it like a discus. The buckler cracked against Merlin's back, and the beast yelped. When he turned around, however, the first thing he saw was Baldwin, the Silverblood captain, attacking a chest with an axe.

Over the past several days, Arthur had never grown a liking for Baldwin. He saw little to respect in him, save that he cared for his people and upheld his duty even in the face of death. There, it ended. The king thought him too fickle, too unpredictable and cunning. But that was no reason to let him die.

"BALDWIN!"

The Silverblood glanced up guiltily, causing Arthur to wonder what was in that chest he was trying to open, but then Baldwin whirled around in spawning horror, watching as Merlin bore down on him.

Arthur had seconds. He snatched a spear from a Blackhand who was standing nearby in a horrified stupor, and charged.

Baldwin held his axe protectively before him as Merlin pounced, knocking him to the earth on his back. The servant made to bite his throat, but the axe handle was shoved between his jaws, and Merlin snarled, gnawing at the wood in frustration. Baldwin howled as claws ripped at his body, and he would have been torn limb from limb had Arthur not arrived in time.

The silver-tipped point of the spear drove into Merlin's left shoulder. The beast's sturdy stance slammed against Arthur, and the spear shaft shattered as he fell to the ground. The werewolf yowled in utter agony, the silver of the blade making his blood boil like flaming oil. It was a horrible sound, and Arthur cringed, hating the knowledge that he had just willingly impaled his friend with a spear.

But a little bit of silver was not enough to repel him. Ignoring the blade, the creature once more descended on the cowering Baldwin, bristling with animal rage.

Arthur's hand brushed on a fallen sword. He grasped its hilt, and time seemed to slow as he got to his feet.

"Merlin, no!"

Finally, he had seized the beast's full attention.

And that was his worst mistake.

Without breaking stride, Merlin turned on Arthur, almost as though he had been feinting towards Baldwin to lure the king closer. Now Arthur froze, fear locking his limbs as the monstrous beast pounced. The sword was forgotten. Sense was slow in the coming. And then Merlin was upon him, crushing him to the ground with his colossal weight.

Pain was smothered by the king's terror, fearing like he had never feared before. Dark beast-eyes bore into his stormy blues, and then the werewolf roared, jaws wide and flashing bloodied ivory teeth.

It was the end, Arthur knew. The man, the friend, who'd sworn to protect him was now to kill him. He was to become one of the many hapless victims of a vicious killer, a part of the tragedy and woes that will be written in the archives, and forgotten in time.

He wasn't ready. He wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to shut himself off from the world, to shut off from the pain. Yet he could not. He could only stare into the endless gaze of death and doom, and it was staring back with all the mercy of the devil.

But it was to his surprise when seconds slugged past and his throat wasn't torn out by his best friend's gnashing jaws.

Slowly, surely, the gaping maw closed. The wrinkled muzzle smoothed, and the growls diminished to a low rumble, then silence. Arthur stared into the beast's eyes...which, even as he watched, were changing. Once dark, fathomless pits without pity or remorse, they now revealed sorrow, anxiety, pain. The pupils contracted as though in a brighter light, and the king saw the expanding sapphire rings reflect his own frightened face. He was seeing what the werewolf was seeing, what his friend was seeing.

"...Merlin?"

The beast whimpered, ears falling flat in submission and shame as he crawled off the king, backing away on all fours. He glanced around, noticing for the first time the carnage he had wrought upon the Blackhand Order. His head snapped from one ravaged corpse to another, looking, if anything, stupefied. Then stupefaction turned to confusion, realization, and finally horror, and Arthur saw the eyes widen in the darkness. Merlin whined again, staring at the king as though desperate to tell him, "No, it wasn't me. It wasn't me!"

Arthur felt a hot dampness on his face. It took him a while to realize that it wasn't sweat or blood. He slowly rolled onto his side, pushing himself up, which only caused Merlin to cower.

But how can this be? It's like...he knows what he's done...Is that possible?

"Merlin? Is that...is it you?"

Arthur's words coaxed yet another whimper of despair, and the servant shrank back like a beaten dog, ears down.

I didn't do this! he seemed to cry. It wasn't my fault! Don't hurt me.

He stepped on a corpse, yelped and jumped away. Then he noticed his fur, blood-caked and spattered with gore. If a werewolf could faint, Arthur was sure this one would have.

"Merlin...can you understand me?"

The beast reacted to his voice, looking at him imploringly. Arthur took a step towards him, and the last of Merlin's resolve shattered. He turned and fled, bounding away on all fours and not slowing once he entered the trees.

"Wait, wait—wait! Merlin!"


Warning, warning, double update inbound.

"What makes a man a man? A friend of mine once wondered. Is it his origins? The way he comes to life? I don't think so. It's the choices he makes. Not how he starts things, but how he decides to end them." ~ John Myers (Hellboy)