...Please don't hate me...

Disclaimer: There's probably a reason I don't own Merlin...

Chapter 30

Right. Left. Right. Duck. Roll. Duck. Jump. Left.

The words were like a mantra in his mind- a blend of conscious thought, intuition and physical instinct which was the only thing standing between Arthur and what would have been certain death for anyone without the level of magical protection he himself possessed. He was reluctant to depend on that protection though- partly through a desire to keep such a fact from his current enemies for as long as possible, partly as a test of his own abilities, and partly because of a fear that even small drains on Merlin's magic may have a negative impact on the Warlock's task.

Hence the near-acrobatic display he was now performing.

Fortunately, his earlier taunts meant that the sisters were so blinded by fury that their attacks were uncoordinated and (especially in Morgana's case) irrational. Nonetheless, they had still succeeded in giving him a rather painful burn to his right calf, and his vision was being restricted by the blood trickling from a cut above his left eye.

He dreaded to think how much more dangerous his opponents could have been were they thinking logically.

Left. Jump. Roll. Right. Right. Duck. Back. Left.

Morgause was calming herself, beginning to time her attacks to match those of Morgana.

Right. Back. Jump. Jump. Left. Right. Left. Back.

The better timing was making the dual attacks harder to avoid. A razor sharp blade of wind managed to nick his left ear.

Back. Duck. Roll. Left. Jump. Left. Back. Roll.

He was being given absolutely so opportunity to do anything other than dodge. And, to top it all off, he was being slowly but surely driven backwards, closer and closer to the solid brick wall behind him.

Suddenly, towards the opposite wall, he heard several loud thuds and a rather nasty-sounding crack. Morgause seemed to have sensed something strange, because she cast a quick, confused glance over her shoulder, Morgana following suit. Arthur took the chance to dive forwards, intending to gain back some ground. But the move granted him an unintentional view of the rest of the small battlefield...

...and the perfect vantage point to watch as Kennard's head dropped back to meet the floor.

The Prince was no stranger to watching his men die. It was a sad fact that such events were bound to happen in the life of a Knight. But the fact that Kennard's wound had been inflicted by one of their own (by the Knight's own brother, the automatically analytical part of his mind provided unhelpfully) made this particular incident seem ten times worse.

His mind suddenly blank, Arthur darted forward, barely even noticing as his shield flared into life. He was on his knees in mere moments, reaching forward to place two fingers against his fallen comrade's neck. His body tensed as Mordon crawled shakily to his side, but relaxed when he realised that the older man showed no sign of still being under the Witches' control.

It took a few seconds- his shield flickering into existence once again as the sisters launched yet more attacks in his direction- but he managed to find it. Fluttering weakly beneath layers of skin.

"A pulse."

He turned to Mordon, fierce expression snapping the other man out of his post-enchantment haze (though how that could be the case he had no idea, as Kolby and Quentin were still battling Guinevere).

"Take care of this."

Leaving Kennard in his brother's capable hands, Arthur stood, eyes blazing with righteous fury as he turned to survey his adversaries once more.

Morgause was the first to break the silence between them.

"What is the meaning of this?" She demanded, blatantly not talking (or even caring) about the fact that, unless urgent medical attention was provided extremely soon, she would be responsible for the death of his comrade. "I have never seen, nor even heard of, a shield like yours before."

The Prince's answering glare was so sharp that he actually succeeded in forcing her mouth shut as a result.

"That's because you've never seen a magic like Merlin's before."

The words had barely escaped his lips when he realised, with dawning horror, that it was quite possibly the worst thing he could have said. After all the effort which had gone into distracting the sisters from their original aim, he had just opened his big mouth and reversed it all in an instant.

He was about to say something- anything- in an attempt to counter his mistake, but was halted by the abrupt appearance of Michael by his side.

"What are you-"

"Thought you could do with some help." The older man shot him a wry sidelong smile, before turning his attention back to their enemies and slipping into what must have been the sorcerous equivalent of a warrior's defensive stance.

"But-" The Prince's eyes darted briefly towards Merlin. As far as he was aware, the process required all of the vessels- Michael included- to remain in place within their respective circles. A terrifying thought struck him- could the use of his shield have had enough of an impact as to render their counter-attack useless?

Michael seemed to be able to detect his growing guilt. "Don't worry," he whispered, lowering his voice so that only Arthur would hear. "Merlin's finished the preparations. Which means that we're now free to move as we wish, as long as we don't do getting ourselves killed before he's finished. He should be able to start the final stage any moment now."

Before Arthur had a chance t reply, a movement on Morgana's part had both he and Michael diving as fast as they could across the room. Desperation fuelled their movements, providing them with enough speed that they just about managed to position themselves in time to block the path of a vicious attack aimed towards the children (who had been shuffling almost undetected away from the fighting and closer to the furthest end of the room). Michael's hastily-constructed protective spell only just managed to hold, and his shield shone brighter than it ever had before. Morgana may not have had much training, but she definitely had power- even with his tattoo's protection, he was still forced back a good foot.

"What are you doing?" He demanded of Morgana, appalled at this proof of just how much the boisterous young woman he had grown up with had changed. "I thought you needed them alive!"

A calculated smirk was the only answer he received, and he realised with horror that this was exactly what she had been aiming for. He and Michael. Too far away to protect the single most important person to their plan.

He tried to move. Or course he did. Even if the chances were slim that he'd be able to get to Merlin in time, he still had to try.

But all his efforts were in vain.

With growing trepidation, Arthur forced himself to look down. His feet and lower legs were encased in some sort of transparent gloop. Following it with his eyes, he saw that Michael was in an even worse situation. The gloop extended outwards from Arthur, and the rest of it had wrapped itself around the sorcerer, covering his entire body and most of the lower half of his head. By the looks of it, the red-head would barely even breathe, let alone move, or even speak. The two of them had effectively been rendered completely useless to the battle.

It was with a sort of morbid that he studied the substance, taking a moment to wonder where it had come from. It was pulsing- almost like it was breathing. Was it possible that this stuff was actually alive? Was Camelot's doom really going to occur because of a single, strange, goo-like creature?

Morgause obviously believed so, because she seemed to suddenly be hit by an overwhelming need to gloat.

"Did you happen to forget," she sneered, "that certain magic-users are able to communicate- and therefore plan- telepathically? If we can't kill you, then it's common sense to instead capacitate you so that we can instead deal with the poisoning wretch who is the source of your protection. And Merek here-" she gestured towards the final sorcerer- the man who, Arthur now realised, had not yet fought in the battle, and who had an open box grasped firmly in his hands- "is highly skilled in such work. I hope you like his little pet."

Arthur tried to raise his sword, intending, if he couldn't do anything else, to at least throw the blade at the sorceress, but the slightest of twitches from Merek's fingers had the gloop-creature wrenching it from his hands. The weapon lay abandoned on the floor, completely useless now that it was out of his reach.

"Now," the Blonde before him continued, undeterred by his efforts to end her life, "I believe it is time to put a stop to this ridiculous plan of yours once and for all."

She raised a hand, palm facing towards Merlin, and uttered something indecipherable in the ancient language.

There was nothing Arthur could do but watch as a ball of white-hot flames launched itself at the first real friend he had ever had.

It was becoming harder and harder to remain in control. Indeed, were it not for the fact that he was so determined to achieve their goal, Merlin was sure he would long ago have lost all sense of his own identity. For each thread he wrapped his magic around, it was as though he could sense the individual that particular thread suppressed- each one reaching out to him, calling to him. Almost every single citizen of Camelot was haunting his every move as they begged him, crying out for the freedom they so craved.

It was heart-breaking.

Tuning out the voices was quite possibly the hardest thing he had ever had to do. Their circumstances may have been different, but he could do easily relate to the peoples' dilemma that it would have been the easiest thing in the world to simply allow them to drag him under, to let them drown him in the sea on loneliness which he had so fervently ignored over the course of the past few months. But instead he fought on, coating more and more threads with his power until, eventually, he had each and every one surrounded. And at last the end was in sight.

Then he began to withdraw. Making sure, as he went along, that his magic stayed firmly in place, he began to slowly but steadily piece his mind back together in preparation for the final stage. One thought, though, he sent back first, informing Michael that it was now safe to move, and asking him to lend a hand in the battle. He had watched- as though in slow motion, the details had been so painfully clear- as Kennard had fallen, but had been completely powerless to lend any assistance. Sending the older sorcerer was the only form of defence he could offer.

Then things took a turn for the worse. The witches tried to attack the children. Some strange creature he had never seen nor heard of before emerged from the box held by one of the sorcerers- he could have sworn he felt a tug on his jacket as it passed him- and, from what he could make out, somehow incapacitated Arthur and Michael.

Then, at long last, his mind was whole again. He withdrew into his own body just as Morgause finished her sadistic gloating. But yet he remained immobile- there was still one more step to take before he would be able to get his body to move. The thread were still visible to him, connected as they were, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that, even if he managed to break them in time, it would be completely impossible for him to put up a shield before the spell the Witch was beginning to cast hit him.

He was going to die.

But his resignation to this fact did absolutely nothing to assuage his determination. Instead, it only served to strengthen it. His life may well be lost here. But Camelot's people deserved their freedom- there was no way on Earth that he was going to allow Morgana and Morgause to win.

Thus it was that, with mere seconds to spare as he watched the fireball flying towards him, Merlin gathered his power ready for the final act of his life. Not even really registering the insistent pulling he could feel on his jacket, he managed to move just his eyes so that they were fixed on Morgause's, and then sent out the strongest wave of magic he had ever used in his life, using the coating he had left behind as an anchor and a guide. The power passed through the threads in an instant, engulfing the entire network at once and snapping each one simultaneously.

His task complete, Merlin felt his body began to slump. With little more than a heartbeat before the attack landed, he knew that he had no chance of defending himself. Nevertheless, he was determined to at least try.

But he was too late.

Before he could so much as react, a small shape darted from his side, taking the full force of the attack in his place.

He could only stare in shock as Aveline's lifeless body collapsed to the floor.