—

The Audacity of Hope
Samhain

Arthur, Gwaine, and Merlin were three very different people.

For example, when they'd discovered the old, empty Druid camp in the forest of Ascetir, Arthur's hunting instinct decided that they must sweep the area for tracks while Merlin and Gwaine had thought this ridiculous. In Merlin's opinion, the Druids had cleared this place to the point where it looked untouched. If he hadn't known this was the old camp for sure, because of magical remnants, he would have doubted they were even in the right area.

Arthur had been right though. A group that large couldn't move through a forest and leave absolutely no trace, and eventually they did find minute traces that led them south.

In another example, when they reached the border village of Engerd, Arthur fruitlessly defaulted to attacking the problem head on, asking anyone if they'd seen the Druids, with results ranging from strange looks to curt denials. Groups came through this village often, especially during the close of harvest season, and the Druids rarely broadcast their existence in the first place. Merlin had turned to subtle magic, hoping to track them, but found their traces too weak to follow. However, Gwaine's charm and need for a drink quickly gained them a feast of rumors. The widespread sentiment was one of anticipation. Lords had been traveling to the capitol. Lot was planning something.

After another trek eastward, they arrived in Essetir's capitol, where rumors that Lot placed the heads of his enemies on spikes around the castle appeared true. One rotting skull remained at the front gates, and it was a dire warning to the Druid shanty town forced to sprout around it. When Arthur, Gwaine, and Merlin approached the Druid internment camp, a ripple of excitement echoed audibly through the crowd.

And here, the third, was the most telling of examples.

Because, as many eyes turned to them, some watchful, some in relief, but all in hope, Arthur leaned over and murmured, "I think they recognize me."

And Gwaine grinned while waving jauntily. "Duh. We spent a week with them only a few months ago, and you spent the entire time strutting around."

And Merlin, the only to notice the rippling whisper had echoed Emrys, blushed in embarrassment and did not correct them.

Essetir was a much poorer kingdom than Camelot, and the castle's construction only proved it. The timber of the surrounding forests were more abundant and much cheaper to obtain than stones, and so the capitol's walls were made of thick tree trunks sharpened at their peaks to dissuade climbers. A haphazard, shallow moat had been dug around the border, helping the walls to appear taller than they truly were, and a single tower peaked over their edge to mark the position of the small castle.

Gwaine quipped again, "Well we found them. Now what?"

Arthur frowned. "We figure out what's going on here."

The three of them stood near the border of a swelling campsite forced into the grounds outside the capitol's walls, wondering where to start. Despite the small size of the camp, there were many more Druids than Forridel had told them to expect, and Lot's guards stood in an open circle around them - a constant reminder that the Druids had been forced here.

While they wavered, the Druids' attention was pulled by the arrival of another small group of travelers, pushed forward by orange-cloaked knights at their back. A buzz of annoyance rose over the camp. Some were offended on behalf of these newly obtained Druids, prodded forward like livestock. Others muttered how they were smashed together enough as it was, and the pervasive smell of unwashed bodies and the already limited food could not abide a dozen more.

"Come on," Arthur said, pushing his way towards them. "Maybe they know something."

Gwaine leapt forward, tackling Arthur and Merlin to the ground before they could register the movement.

"What—" Merlin leaned back and spat a wet clod of dirt, making a face. "What are you doing?"

"You don't recognize him?" Gwaine hissed, eyes narrowed at the group of knights Merlin could no longer see.

Arthur reacted less passively, nearly striking Gwaine in the jaw as he thrashed to push the rogue off. "How can I from down here?"

"It's 'Lord' Urien," Gwaine's lip curled. This was a noble he hated more than most, the kind that beat on peasants in bouts of self-indulgence, and he easily recalled the urges he'd had to strike this man down. Merlin caught Gwaine's eye, and a subtle shake of his head made Gwaine only glower further. He didn't know what was worse—that Merlin had taken the hit without argument, or that he had more than enough power to defend himself and chose not to.

"He'll blow our cover," Merlin finished quickly.

Arthur acquiesced, and remained hunched over. He continued, "The same lord that fought in the Tournament of Camelot?"

Merlin nodded, not bothering to hide the wide grin that took over his face. "Elyan trounced him." His eyes flashed towards Gwaine and he emphatically suggested, "Which is why Gwaine should just let it go."

Arthur's eyes tracked back and forth between the rogue and his manservant. "What do you both know that I don't?"

Before Merlin could explain, Gwaine interjected, "I'll distract Urien. That way you both can find a Druid leader and get some answers."

Merlin grabbed at him as he tried to leave, his hand latching onto the scabbard of Gwaine's sword. "If you take this, he'll find a reason to fight you."

"I'm not going weaponless," Gwaine argued.

"Don't get yourself killed for me," Merlin said again, trying to communicate silently that this was not the time for another sacrificial offering to destiny.

Gwaine seemed to get the gist. He was well versed in Lancelot's first death. "I would have defended you regardless of… well, you know," he said, but swiftly unbuckled the swordbelt. "But I see your point. I can't risk fighting him with Lot's army at his back."

Gwaine moved away from Arthur and Merlin before they could argue further, and his eyes scanned the handful of newly arrived knights. Urien was pacing catlike around his captured Druids while his knights pushed them into the more secure borders of the internment camp. The Druids themselves were a mixture of old and young, and they looked lost as they were led closer to brethren they had never met.

Fortunately for them, an elder man in a thick black cloak stepped out of the crowd. He had a silvered beard and small, sharp eyes that belied his intelligence. More importantly, though, he had an unafraid confidence in his bearing that Gwaine had learned to recognize. This was either a great warrior or a sorcerer, but certainly he was considered a leader. Hopefully Arthur and Merlin had noticed.

To give them the opening they would need, Gwaine slipped into a position between Urien and the black-cloaked man. He twisted when Urien drew closer, ensuring that his shoulder banged against the Lord's.

Urien paused. "You're in my way."

Gwaine shrugged, "The ladies call me a troll, so maybe it's in my nature." Gwaine hated his own sycophantic smile, but it remained stolidly in place even as Urien leaned away with an aggravated huff. "You look like a classy guy," Gwaine interrupted again, just as Urien looked about to move on. "Should I be bowing or something? You ain't the king, are you?"

That finally caught Urien's full attention, and he paused to judge Gwaine carefully. Gwaine hiccuped, feigning a slight inebriation. He wasn't sure where he was supposed to have gotten ale around here, but it was an act he could do well. With disdain, Urien said, "I'm a lord, and yes, you should be bowing."

Gwaine swept into a superfluous bend, arm swinging wide. "Milord," he gushed. When he stood again, he asked, "If you're a lord, you must know everything about this camp. Can you tell me what I'm supposed to be waiting for?"

"If you don't already know, then you really are a fool," Urien replied. But his chest puffed slightly out, and it appeared Gwaine's excessive praises had warmed the rotter just enough. Gwaine was both fortunate and unfortunate to have experience maneuvering his way round noble personalities. "Let me see you guess."

"I really wouldn't know, sir," he tried with a bit of a forced sway.

"Then you are as unamusing as you are drunk," Urien sniped. He swept a hand in the space between them, turning to leave. "Just remember to stay put. The King will make an announcement when we've gathered all the Druids in Essetir." He walked out of the camp, pushing others aside as they got in his way, orange cloak billowing behind him. A thought made him halt, however, and he glanced back with a smirk. "Should I use fewer words, or did you get that, simpleton?"

Urien continued away before Gwaine's glare could manifest. Disgusting useless filth, Gwaine thought in a black fury, sister fucking bastard—

He didn't perceive his involuntary steps forward, but someone, somewhere, had, and a force gripped him with the iron restraints of a jail cell. Then Merlin's hand shot out from the crowd, holding him fiercely as the magic receded. "You said you wouldn't," Merlin said as he appeared at Gwaine's side.

"I can't help how much I hate him," Gwaine muttered, shaking Merlin off and holding his hand out for his sword back. Merlin looked at him suspiciously but placed it in his palm. "Explain to me why you haven't sent him running for the hills yet, because I'm having a hard time understanding why you prefer rolling over like a kicked dog."

Merlin prickled, and, sure, that particular comment was a bit uncalled for. "I pick my battles, Gwaine, and Urien isn't worth one."

"Fine, fine," Gwaine answered, calming a fraction more as he settled his swordbelt into place. "You're right, for now."

Merlin sighed. He didn't always know how well he was fighting for what he believed in, but in this he really did think he was right. "Come on. We have some time to kill."

"Where's Arthur?" Gwaine asked.

Merlin pointed off to the left. "With a man named Ruadan. He's the unofficial leader of this camp. Arthur's picking his brain."

Gwaine hummed, but offered what he learned, mentioning what Urien had said about Lot's announcement. Merlin appeared to barely be listening.

"Right," Merlin agreed, a tad distracted, "I heard the same. They've been waiting here for weeks; rumor is Lot's going to make it illegal for them to live here."

Gwaine blinked, "How do you already know all of this?"

Merlin tapped at his forehead, "I asked everyone. But of course I can't burst out with all that information. Arthur will want to gather some of it on his own. So, as I said, we have some time to kill."

"Wait," Gwaine said, holding him in place as his eyes widened with dawning realization. "Druids can read minds?" Merlin's eyebrows rose, but Gwaine cut in again, "I knew it!" He threw his arms in the air and shouted, "Sard it all, I bloody knew it!"

His face scrunched up and he stared at Merlin, and Merlin supposed this meant that Gwaine was trying to speak to him. "I can't read your mind," he said in a huff. "You don't have—well, you know." Merlin looked around; he couldn't believe he was having this conversation without being absolutely sure of how near or far Arthur was, not to mention other non-magic people in close proximity. "So, I guess we need a codeword."

"I'll think of a good one," Gwaine said, pleased to get the chance. "Now where are you taking me?"

Sheepishly Merlin grinned. "While Arthur is busy with her father," he gestured with his head as they neared a young woman seated near a shallow fire pit, "we've been offered a chance to carve turnip lanterns."

"You met a girl," Gwaine said flatly. "Merlin, mate, you're amazing."

Dryly Merlin said, "You'd be surprised what not trying to get under a girl's skirts could do for you."

"False," Gwaine corrected. "I already know I'd be bored." He laughed as Merlin rolled his eyes, and then smiled at the pale brunette. She had thin, light hair pulled back messily, a dimpled chin, and a round, innocent face. Large breasts too if Gwaine had been looking, which he wasn't. "I'm Gwaine, Merlin's friend," he introduced.

"Sefa," she replied with a small smile, then held out a turnip in each hand for Gwaine and Merlin. "To keep the spirits away this Samhain."

"I might just eat it and take my chances," Gwaine joked.

Sefa laughed lightly, and pulled a small pot over. It already held a layer of water and the beginnings of a turnip mash from where she'd begun to hollow out her own turnip. "I'll feed you both, but you'll have to work for it."

They both settled into the short grass near her, and accepted the turnips and rigid wooden spoons. It was a trial to dig out the hard insides, but it was a good distraction from the Druid plight. Merlin was glad for it. Even though he felt a hint of guilt for ignoring the overriding problem, this was one of the few times he had gained a chance to learn more about the Druid culture.

Sefa had no magic and hadn't yet been told who he was, and it was a relief. She didn't shy away, or assume he already knew what to do. Instead, she spoke plainly about her childhood carving turnips with her father, and the stories she'd been told on where the tradition came from. He was content here, listening, carving, and learning. Though that didn't stop some of the other Druids from finding reasons to pass nearby, eyeing him, wondering what he was planning while struggling with a turnip.

By the time they were whittling out faces, Sefa had noticed as well. "I'm popular tonight," she said, a bit confused.

"It's because we're new," Merlin answered swiftly, innocent smile in place.

Gwaine looked around, managing to catch the eye of a handful of Druids, and watched as they quickly turned away and continued back to their campsites. "Are they coming to talk to you?" Gwaine asked, also somewhat bewildered while tapping at his forehead.

Merlin made a gesture to not say any more, but Sefa was distracted regardless. She was looking behind them both, taking in a message they couldn't see. "My father's calling me," she said, taking the pot of turnip mash off the fire. "I'll be back."

When she'd gone, Gwaine raised a brow. "I was under the impression the Druids knew you had magic."

Merlin half-grinned apologetically. "Most do, but she doesn't. So she has no idea who I am, and that's a bit of a relief from all this staring."

Gwaine laughed. "Have they never seen a sorcerer-servant before?"

Embarrassment turned the tips of Merlin's ears red. "I don't know how to say this…."

Gwaine deadpanned. "You're a faerie aren't you?"

"What?" Merlin said, shocked, "No."

"Oh good. I couldn't imagine what could be more mind-boggling than dragonlord and warlock."

That made him tilt his head back and laugh. Now the truth didn't sound so bad. Leave it to Gwaine to make this entire life-changing prophecy feel casual. "They think I'm going to bring magic back to Albion."

Gwaine shrugged, "That makes sense, considering. Even if you didn't have magic, you're probably only one of two people who could convince Arthur to repeal the ban."

"I don't know," Merlin slumped. "I'm hopeful, definitely. But Arthur still thinks magic is evil."

Gwaine made an a-ha sound as he finally got his turnip's eyesocket to fly off. "Just tell him it's not." Merlin balked, and Gwaine continued. "You're not evil. Seems like simple math to me. Princess isn't that dumb."

Merlin looked down at his hands. He clenched them tightly and then let them fall loose, watching the half-moon indentations from his nails fade back into normal skin. Gwaine made it sound so simple. Tell Arthur you have magic, that you've had magic this entire time, that you're duplicitous, that you killed his father, that you freed Morgana, that—

He clenched his hands again. The sun slipped away. Nerves fluttered in his gut. The darkness, the wide range of Druids, the enemies nearby; it reminded him of the Battle of Arderydd.

But Uther was long gone, and Arthur had forsaken him now. He had welcomed Druids into Camelot's borders, he was here trying to help them, he had questioned the law against magic—

Maybe it was time, Merlin thought. Maybe I can tell him now. Maybe we're both ready.

He put his hands over his face, the feeling of his heart beating out of his chest overwhelming him. He was lost in a mixture of panic and wild hope. I don't think there's a reason to wait any longer.

The hope won out, and it was blinding. I could tell him tonight.

An angry shout echoed through the camp, and then a few more from different voices sprang after - racing to be heard. Merlin tilted his head up, unable to make out the words. He expected it to die out quickly, but the shouts became more frequent, overlapping, sounding increasingly more like something that couldn't turn back. He and Gwaine shared a concerned look, and as one they set down their lanterns and searched out the argument.

It was on the edge of the camp, and they had to push through a fierce contingent of men and women to finally get eyes on the source. It was an elder woman, held back by another man, caught up in screaming at a pair of guards. A young boy was trapped with them.

"No one is allowed to leave the perimeter." The lead guard announced, a hand blocking the child from returning to his parents. "We have to check him for what he may be bringing back with him."

"He's a child!" The mother screamed.

"It's the rules," the guard tried to reason, to the increasing anger of the crowd. People scoffed, yelled, screamed that they hadn't done anything wrong. The child was innocent. They were being treated like criminals.

"Give me my son!"

The guard put his spear up, looking fearful. A second guard kept hold of the child's shoulder, the boy's eyes wide and teary. "Stay back!"

"Keep your hands off him!"

She ripped out from the arms that held her, reaching out with hands clawed. "Get away from them, run, go!" She was shrieking to the terrified child. "They'll kill you!" The lead guard flinched back, but the second reacted, lowering his own weapon down and catching her just below the shoulder.

The crowd roared.

The woman held her hand up and blew both guards backwards, slamming their heads into the ground with deadly cracks.

She slumped, the blood loss taking its toll. Other guards ran forward, trying to hold back the crowd. A row of men replaced the fallen guards, spears lowered in an attack position. Someone yelled, "Don't!"

From somewhere a crossbow bolt loosed - the crowd surged forward - and the arrow pierced a bystander. Merlin watched the body crumple, and then saw as the first Druids fell to Lot's army.

No, he thought, no, he wasn't going to watch them all die. Not again.

But - he whirled, searched out Gwaine. The knight had already drawn his sword and held it defensively as Druids spilled around him. It was a struggle to be near enough for Gwaine to hear him, and he had to scream above the rising noise. He was desperate, raw. Pleading and demanding. "Find Arthur!" Merlin's eyes went gold, and he made sure Gwaine saw them. "I have to help them. Please—"

Gwaine understood. The spot of chaos was steadily becoming a full-on rebellion. "Watch your back," Gwaine said seriously, then disappeared into the throngs.

Merlin turned back to where the thickest of the fighting was, and then he closed his eyes and thought he'd just take his chances. There was no time to be subtle. He knew the spell for age, and he'd practiced transfiguration recently enough to draw from the specialized spell in this moment. His red shirt lengthened until it swept his feet, the arms loosening until they were robelike, and his hair erupted until it hung long and grey down his chest and back.

This form may be old and stiff, but it was one that didn't have to hide its power.

He was worried for Arthur, extremely. Arthur's life was precious to him, and Arthur's safety was never far from his mind. But he had lived the horror of watching a massacre, had succumbed to its mindlessness, knew the fear and the sickness from doing nothing. From watching others do nothing. He would not run away from this.

Merlin let the extent of his magic balloon in his chest, and tuned himself to the thrum of it sweeping underneath his skin. With it came the reminder of Albion's magic, and that raw energy swirled just outside the crack in his veil, chaotic and angry and wanting a target.

Today Lot's steel would have more to battle against than peaceful Druids. Today, their bigotry would face Albion itself. The wind began to whip through his clothes, and the pulse of it and his magic forced the crowd back. He stretched an arm for the sky.

A hundred voices echoed in his mind, exultant to petrified, but all screaming Emrys.

Merlin let the clouds roll in.

Gwaine is pushing through the crowd, struggling to remember in what direction he had last seen Arthur, and feeling static electricity lifting the hairs on his arms.

His sword is out, but he doesn't actually raise it against anyone. He knows what side he thinks he's on, but there's room to not be entirely sure. Regardless, as a unit everyone ducks when the first bolt of lightning streams down. It's so loud that he doesn't hear screams or blown bodies or ringing metal, but he does twist in time to see an old man's silhouette against the bright light.

Then the thunder's echo is gone, and the Druids scream in a revitalized battle cry. A man bellows "Emrys!" with pride, while a woman repeats him with worship, and Gwaine gets a strange feeling that Emrys is someone he knows very well. The strange feeling gets stronger, and he thinks his hand might be shaking.

Then there's a gap in the crowd and he sees Arthur. Excalibur is undrawn, and there is a pocket of space around the king. Gwaine has always thought he was the kind of guy that rolled with the punches, but nothing right now sounds better than standing shoulder to shoulder with Arthur. He moves again with a singular focus.

He's stopped, of course. It's the bang of shoulders as he collides with someone else and they both stumble. Then it's a fist on the back of his shirt and a voice saying, "I keep finding you where I least want you," and the cold tip of a knife in his side. It's more than self-preservation and instinct that twists his body in a tight circle, folding his sword inward and knocking the knife away.

Both men back up a step, and Gwaine finds himself looking at Lord Urien, sans orange cloak, and slowly drawing his sword. He wonders where this weasel was sneaking to, but he can't help but recall in blinding flashback the sight of Urien striking Merlin cross the face, the black look in Merlin's eye afterwards, and then the silhouette backlit by lightning. He knows he's seen the hint of Merlin's danger before in strange separate fragments he hadn't known what to do with, but now that he actually is holding the pieces, he can't seem to put the puzzle together.

Urien says something stupid. "You're bit too acquainted with a sword for a drunken fool. Who are you?"

That's a good question, Gwaine thinks. Because he's a once-noble of Caerleon, and a drunk peasant of the Northern Plains, and somehow also a knight of Camelot. He isn't quite sure how those puzzle pieces all fit together either. "I'm Gwaine," he decides to reply. "And you were a cunt to my best friend."

And then he says Sard it, and strikes first. His sword comes down horizontally and Urien blocks it. They struggle in the middle, and Gwaine initially has the advantage because he's pushing down, but then Urien leans back and kicks forward, and when Gwaine is forced to dodge the swords separate.

Gwaine presses forward. He's seen Urien fight before, and he's paid attention. The Lord doesn't stand a chance. He sideswipes, then thrusts for the shoulder. Swipes for the face then backhands a blow Urien's aimed for his heart. Gwaine takes a great satisfaction seeing Urien's hopeful gleam fade into wariness again.

Urien swings again, a slash capable of gutting him, but instead of blocking Gwaine lunges forward, sword point out, knowing with his speed he'd connect first, and it's a game of chicken played out in infinitesimal beats of time which he wins because Urien jerks out of the attack and stumbles away.

And now he's in his head and Gwaine knows it. He takes one test-strike against the tip of Urien's sword and then goes for it. Urien's arm is still stretched out defensively and their blades slide together until the end of Gwaine's sword has made it to the base of Urien's - this is where his opponents never realize they have complete power over him - and Gwaine leers forward with a grin and twists his hand. Urien's grip is lost and Gwaine snaps back with the second sword sliding into place in his left hand.

He doesn't waste any more time, drawing both swords back to his shoulders and then unleashing a slice that aims for Urien's head and waist. The Lord ducks and rolls, coming up with the earlier knife in his hand, and eyes flicking to the side looking for escape. Gwaine's not going to let him go, though, because mercy was never invited to this reunion.

This time Gwaine goes with his left arm first, because it has less finesse, but forces Urien into a dodge which his right arm never lets him escape.

His sword settles triumphantly in Urien's neck.

Arthur wasn't sure who or what Emrys was, but it must be some sort of god considering the amount of Druids praying to it.

The Druidic god of lightning, perhaps, because that would explain this freak thunderstorm and the continual strikes that shake the land. Arthur is where he started, on the left side of the camp nearer the castle's wooden walls, and this is a dangerous spot to be if Lot decides to bring archers into this fight. He'd lost sight of Ruadan long ago, and though Arthur isn't sure what triggered this chaos, he's still thinking he may be able to stop the entire thing, somehow.

What he really wants is to find Merlin and Gwaine. He needs to know if his urge to help Ruadan is the right one. He isn't eager to blindly run out wielding Excalibur and throwing his lot in with the Druids, only to find out his father had been right all along, and that the Druids were deceitful allies. Perhaps there was a good reason Lot had corralled them here - one that Ruadan hadn't said.

He lets a lifetime of training split his focus, and he works his way through the crowd of Druids towards the camp's other side. He thinks this is where he last saw Merlin.

There's a small body in the dirt, curled with arms over their head, and Arthur detours. His hands seize their shoulders and he brings them to their terrified knees. It's just a child, and he's just about to tell them to stay behind him when another lightning bolt hits. This one sounds closer than ever, and this time, since he's protecting a child, he doesn't have a way to shield his face.

And that's how he sees Dragoon. His vision has tunneled and greyed because of the light still not done burning through his retinas, and his ears are ringing, but he knows it's him. He's on his feet with his hands on Excalibur before he had decided on a plan of action. He remembers himself, and looks down but the child has disappeared. He looks up, and Dragoon has not.

His feet are moving forward, because Arthur is not going to let this chance go to waste. No matter how he may feel about his father's actions now, that doesn't change the fact that this old man killed a king. Supposed accident or not, Dragoon had ran, and he had been in the wind for more than a year.

Arthur expects piles of bodies, and while there are some thrown before Dragoon, there aren't many. The lightning has served a good tool in furrowing a trench of burned dirt between both groups, but it hasn't stopped arrows and flung magic, nor the clashes that happen on the borders out of the old man's sight.

As he gets even closer the wind gets harder to bear against, and it whips through his clothes laced with ice. It's here where he can't believe it anymore. How could Dragoon have all this power, but not be able to heal a simple knife wound? Arthur feels like he's fighting a mountain, and he hasn't even faced the man yet.

Excalibur comes gleaming out of its sheath, and it pierces through the whistling wind before him. "Dragoon!" he bellows, but the words fall back into his face. Arthur struggles another few steps but then there's another crack of lightning, and he's literally thrown to the ground. Excalibur flies from his hand and he hits the dirt hard. He doesn't notice that rocks that dig into his palm and draw spots of blood, but nearly simultaneously everything stops.

Arthur rolls to his feet, grasping his sword and swinging it into the space between he and the sorcerer. "Dragoon," he says, this time heard, "stop this madness," because, to Arthur, it only looks like this old man is the cause of all of this strife. "Your actions today have dictated once and for all the danger you are to these lands. You will see justice in Camelot's vaults."

The air starts to shake, and the shouts of the battle become shrieks of surprise. The sorcerer turns, his old voice wavers, "Arthur," and Dragoon's body is rigid and his face is—

Horrified.

Then Dragoon is gone in a whip of darkness, and where he stood remains the shimmering air. It's a wall that's stretching the length of the field, partially dividing most of the Druids from most of Lot's guards. It's not enough to save everyone, but it's enough to turn the feet of many of the Druids and send them fleeing for the forest.

There are whoops and hollers, still the sounds of clashing weapons and the crackle of magic, but now the rush of adrenaline is for flight and not fight, and suddenly Merlin's hand has latched onto his wrist. Arthur's immediately relieved, and he looks into Merlin's eyes expecting explanation or worry or determination, but they're blank.

Merlin tears them away, and the Druids are already running with them.

By some miracle, and Arthur isn't sure if it's from luck or Merlin's subtle tugs, they find Gwaine far after the treeline. The knight has two swords, one bloody, and no injuries. Gwaine's eyes scan over Arthur and then swing to Merlin, and Arthur is aware that they then flash through wary, overwhelmed, nothingness, and then concern.

Then Gwaine is all order again and he says, "We have to move." Arthur agrees.

And still, Merlin says nothing.

"Hercules" sung by Sara Bareilles

Footnotes:

(1) Engerd is a canon town in Essetir that Merlin and Arthur visited in 2.13 "The Last Dragonlord". Hunith also mentions it in P1: Lucky Charms.
(2) Essetir's castle is based on the ruins of Biggleswade Castle, which are in a similar region as Essetir.
(3) Urien, not so canon. He's the disdainful, antagonistic lord of Ealdor, and as Arthur mentioned, he also fought in the Tournament of Camelot. (P1: Lucky Charms, and P1: Itsy Bitsy Spiders).
(4) Sefa and her father Ruadan - canon! 5.1 and 5.2 "Arthur's Bane".
(5) Turnip lanterns are the original jack o' lanterns, but I more did them for fun rather than something historically accurate. Samhain is Halloween, gotta do something tongue-in-cheek.
(6) Merlin vaguely mentions the Battle of Arderydd, in this story where Uther and Co. massacre an army of Druids with the help of Eancanah. Merlin saw the battle from magic's perspective (P1: Magic Incarnate). He also mentions a crack in his veil, which is explained thoroughly in P2: Matchmaker's Return Policy.

Author's Note:

I got Merlin's hopes up just to destroy them.

I consider this chapter the finale of the first third of the story, so it gets a closing credits song.

Huge amounts of thanks to the people that reviewed this week. I apologize for posting a bit late, but I've been out of state. You are all wonderful parts of my day, and seeing a new review is literal inspiration. Many people mentioned that Morgana shouldn't be underestimating the Leshy, and that made me smile. Not saying anything more though. PMs inbound for all of you later tonight or tomorrow morning when I get home, and as for my lovely ladies, Jewels, thank you for making me cry with laughter over Alt-J's "Leon". I now have a soundtrack for my FLeon ship. And Linorien, you truly are an outstanding beta. Thank you for telling me where to fleshen out the descriptions this time.

Next Time: Let's Play Telephone. Morgana, Gwaine, Arthur, and Merlin are all on the receiving end of someone else's secondhand secret, and the Round Table deals with the fallout of Essetir's battle.