Hi... So, yeah... There was another wait. I'm really sorry about that- the second half of this chapter gave me a lot of trouble during the holidays, and my first two weeks back at work gave me very little time to write (my free lessons were largely taken up with marking).

However! The chapter is now complete! Even if if did nearly make me cry writing it!

Heads up- human anatomy is about as much my speciality as it was Merlin's when he tried to treat Mordred's wound all those long years ago. I tried to be vague with it, so hopefully it works alright.

Thank you so much for all of the reviews last chapter- especially to chele the original, who went and reviewed every single chapter, and Jayfire, whose review was just unbelievably flattering. I did get one review saying that the story was dragging, which made me consider ending it sooner than I had planned, especially as I'd thought the dragging had only occurred before my long break. But everyone else seems to be enjoying it. And I have certain things which, to me, really need to happen, so I really can't think of a way to end it before they do. Hopefully, anonymous guest, you'll see why when that point comes... (and I hope I've answered another point in your review in this chapter- I have reasons for the things I do.)

Anyway, I think that's enough rambling from me. On to the story!

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin

Chapter 32

The silence echoing around them was practically tangible- weighing down upon the room's inhabitants as magic-users and Knights alike (barring Mordon, whose focus remained entirely upon his brother) stared at the empty space which had previously housed two of their enemies.

Driven by grief and an anger-fueled desperation, Michael dove forward, breaking the stillness the others had fallen into as he reached out with his magic, trying to find the path Merek had taken. Even without confirmation, though, he knew deep down that it was useless. Merek was more than skilled enough to be able to seal the path from the other end. As the realisation hit, he felt his breathing turn ragged, tearing out of him in harsh gasps as he felt the full reality of the situation wash over him in a tumultuous wave. There was absolutely no way of finding them.

But that wasn't going to stop Michael from trying. He needed this. Needed to find the witch-sister of the one responsible for everything he was feeling. He may have had the means to cause Morgause's death ripped from his grasp, but if he could at least take down Morgana, maybe that would be enough. The traitorous Pendragon was equally as responsible. He needed her gone. Needed to feel the satisfaction of seeing her burn from the inside out. Needed to see her in as much agony as Aveline had suffered. Needed to draw out her pain until she gradually reached the utter limits of the human body. Needed to watch as the light eventually flickered from those glittering green eyes. No matter what it took, he needed to take action. Surely Merlin had known as much, so why had he stopped him before?

Merlin.

The name in his mind was a harsh reminder of his current situation. Anger redirecting in an instant, he rounded on the younger man, unable at first to force but a single word past the overwhelming fury he was barely managing to keep in check.

'Why?'

The boy seemed to freeze as he felt the raw emotion behind the mental dagger. But Michael didn't have time for the Warlock to work out how to explain his thrice-cursed reasoning, so instead he stormed forward, grabbing hold of the taller man's shoulders and yanking him around and down until they were face-to-face, eyes level as the full strength of Michael's furious agony burned straight into Emrys' pained gaze. Finally, after several seconds had ticked past with agonising slowness, a few whispered words released the redhead from the spell he had been placed under.

"Why?" He hissed once again, this time aloud. "It was my right. Myright- not yours. How dare you take that away from me?"

He didn't care that his voice was gradually becoming louder. More manic. Didn't care that he was sounding almost as crazed as Morgana had. His daughter- the only person he had truly cared about in years- was dead. And the young man in front of him had seen fit to wrench the means of his revenge from him. In that instant, he couldn't have cared less how powerful Merlin was, or how much hope he represented to the magical community. If he couldn't provide a valid enough reason, Michael would put him through so much pain that, in the end, he would cry out for death.

"It was my right."

"I know."

The words were jarring enough- were spoken with enough pain and sorrow- that, just for the barest of moments, Michael's grief was able to give way to repentance. But then the anger was back in full force, and he tightened his grip where it had shifted to the front of Merlin's shirt, until the young man winced in pain. It would definitely result in bruising. But that was the least of what he deserved.

"Then why?" His voice faltered, and Michael realised with a start that he was crying- tears streaming silently down his cheeks. "Why did you stop me?"

It was only when Merlin choked upon trying to speak that he realised he had begun to cut off the Warlock's air supply. Slightly reluctantly, he loosened his grip just enough for the dark-haired man to draw in a shuddering breath.

"I couldn't-" he coughed, "couldn't let you-"

"It was my right!" He was practically yelling now, flecks of spit flying from his mouth and hitting the other man square in the face. If Merlin noticed, though, he gave no indication. "I could have killed her!"

"I couldn't let you." Merlin reiterated, tears welling in his own eyes now. "Not like that. You know what that spell would have cost you." He raised a hand of his own now, placing it shakily- almost uncertainly- on Michael's shoulder. "I know how it feels," he whispered, his voice tinged with the memory of past regrets. "I've given into a similar rage myself, just once before. So I know that I have no right to stop you from seeking your revenge."

"Then wh-"

"But," Merlin cut him off. "I just couldn't let you do it. If you had just been going to kill her, I would have stood by. As I said, I have no right to interfere. But that spell- I was listening. I know what you were planning on doing. And I couldn't let you. I couldn't let you dishonour Aveline like that. She cared so much for you. So much. I couldn't just stand by and let you-"

"Merlin!"

The urgent voice resounded across the room, and the Warlock's gaze automatically snapped to face the source. At some point during their confrontation, the Prince had moved over to Kennard's side and, judging by the expression on his face, the young Knight's situation had become even more dire.

Merlin was out of his grasp before Michael even realised what was happening and, almost as though the argument with the younger man had been the only thing holding him up, the redhead suddenly found himself on his knees, his burning anger engulfed by chilling numbness. With nothing to distract him, he found that the full reality of the situation was finally hitting him. Never again would he be awakened by Aveline tugging on the sleeves of his nightshirt. Never again would he be able to see her radiant smile as she handed him yet another freshly-woven wreath of colourful flowers. Or watch her exaggerated movements as she tried to communicate with new people- too stubborn to accept any help from him. She was actually gone. Forever.

And he couldn't even have one of her hugs as comfort.

"Damn it!"

Slowly shifting his blank gaze towards the source of the unexpected profanity, somewhere through the haze of despair clouding his mind he was able to register the fact that Merlin's whole voice and demeanour practically screamed desperation.

"Isn't there anything you can do for him?" The Prince. Still being demanding even through (or maybe because of) his poorly-concealed fear for his Knight.

"I'm trying!" Merlin again- his hands, Michael now realised, covered in a startlingly red liquid. Blood. "I know the spells, but this is beyond anything I've ever done before. The medical knowledge is..."

It was almost possible to see the precise moment that the crowd surrounding them finally lost all hope. The Knights bowed their heads. Arthur clenched his fists, just inches away from punching a wall. And Sir Mordon's expression seemed to reflect a numbness almost as deep as Michael himself was feeling.

It was this final reaction, more than anything else, which dragged the sorcerer from his well of grief. He had been serving in Camelot for long enough to be well aware of the virtue of both Mordon and of his brother. The Knight didn't deserve to feel such pain as his. Michael was certain there were only a handful of people who did.

Rising shakily to his feet, the redhead staggered over to kneel at Emrys' side. Casting an eye over the wound, he rested his hands to either side of the Warlock's own, applying as little pressure as possible. By the looks of it, even for a sorcerer as skilled as he, this task would have been impossible under normal circumstances. But with the legendary Emrys right there with him, these were far from normal circumstances.

"Just give me power."

Barely even registering the younger man's startled expression, or the determined and thankful nod which followed, Michael instead focused his entire mentality on the injury before him. Breathing deeply, he dove in.

First was the blade. Drawing on Merlin's magic from the start- rather than risk the difficulty of switching over at a time when his own would run out, especially in such a delicate operation-he allowed the warmth of magic to run through him, and the sword slowly began to withdraw, practically at a snail's pace. Even before it was moving, though, Michael had already switched to the next stage, beginning to knit the muscles lining the stomach together, sealing it up as the blade passed, and moving as fast as could be accomplished safety. He could feel the movement beneath his hands- the subtle shifting as new cells sprung into existence, ensuring that the stomach's acids would be incapable of escape. As soon as that happened, there would be no saving the silver-eyed Knight.

The sword gradually travelled further and further outwards- only not toppling due to the magic holding it up- and Michael worked non-stop, healing nerves, replacing the falling blood into the torn veins wherever possible, and casting replenishing spells wherever it wasn't. Some cells he healed. The ones beyond repair he replaced, instructing the damaged ones to follow the path of the blade which had destroyed them.

Suddenly, the Knight's body jerked slightly as the fallen man groaned, beginning to stir. If Michael could have spared even an ounce of concentration, he would have cursed. If Kennard woke up, there was no doubt that his automatic reaction would be to move. And everything would have been in vain. The sorcerer continued his work with a vengeance, hoping beyond hope that that wouldn't happen. Fortunately, Merlin seemed to have reached the same conclusion, as a separate spell appeared out of nowhere and spread throughout the entirety of the Knight's body, sending him back into a deep sleep.

Thoroughly relieved, Michael continued his work. Then, after what felt like years lost in a maze of nerve-fibres and torn tissue, he withdrew, broke his connection to Merlin's magic, and sat back to inspect his handiwork. Scanning the jagged wound which had replaced the previous gash, and mentally running though every moment of the operation in his mind, he gave a sigh of relief, followed by a satisfied nod once he had checked on the unconscious man's heart rate.

"Will he be alright now?"

Turning his face away from his patient, the sorcerer answered Mordon's barely-whispered plea with as best a reassuring smile as he could muster.

"It'll take a while for him to heal fully, and I can't guarantee that he'll ever be able to fight again. But yes- he should live."

There was barely even a moments pause before the Knight collapsed into tears, sobbing out words of gratitude as he bent over his brother's torso, giving the younger man as strong an embrace as he dared given his condition.

The rest of the Knights- Arthur included- burst into wide grins, blinking away their own tears in favour of clapping each-others' shoulders, and generally relishing this small moment of celebration.

Michael couldn't bear it.

He knew he should be happy. And a small portion of him was- after all, he had just succeeded in a nigh-on impossible operation. A man's life had been saved. But instead, seeing the thrilled expressions which had taken over the crowd of men did little else but remind him of hat he himself had lost. Witnessing their moment of joy... it was almost as though he was now the one with a sword stabbing through him. Only this one was through the heart.

And it hurt.

Unable to cope with the happy atmosphere for even a moment longer, he slowly backed away from the group, instead making his way over to stand once more at his daughter's side. Seeing her there- so still, so damaged- he allowed himself to weep silently, grieving for all the years that his beautiful angel should have been able to have, and now never would.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, he sensed Merlin coming up and standing at his side. He didn't say anything- something Michael would be eternally grateful for- but his presence alone was enough to express a multitude of emotions, including gratefulness. Primarily, though, it was the younger man's own grief which allowed the older sorcerer to feel a small sense of comfort in his presence.

He wasn't sure how much time passed with them just standing there. But when Michael finally managed to tear his eyes from Aveline's body, he was surprised to see all of the Knights- including Mordon- standing behind him, all offering their own respects for his daughter's sacrifice. Tears almost started to fall again upon seeing them, but he managed to reign them in this time. Just. Instead, he swallowed past the lump in his throat, and focused his eyes on those of the Prince.

"What now?"