The ancient magics of the earth stirred like a disturbed wasp nest. Merlin could feel the buzz and tremor of agitation from every creature around him, he felt the vibrations in his feet, and he could taste the magic as it swirled around him. The rain he called down had quenched some of the fires and would keep flying embers from sparking wild fires, but he realized too late that he might have chosen a different way of doing it.
He could see Kilgharrah advancing on Arthur and the knights. Only Gwaine looked at Merlin's kin with respect and not fear. The others were frightened. Even Arthur who normally puffed himself up when facing a powerful enemy, looked intimidated as Kilgharrah granted Merlin's request.
After the last red cloak retreated back through the gates of Camelot, did Kilgharrah launch himself back into the air to continue his aerial assaults. He was majestic personified. Beautiful. Every muscle was a magical miracle. Merlin wanted to kiss the hands of the dragon lord who called forth his unusual friend from his egg, but those hands were had turned to dust long ago.
"You survived!" Morganna's ability to notice the obvious made her just as astute as Arthur.
It would have been easy to mock her lack of brain power and because of that - Merlin held his tongue. When a door was being held open, a wise man did not walk through it just because he can. No. A wise man chooses when to walk through doors even if they need to be smashed down. There was no pressing need to distract Morganna. She had stalked her prey to the very steps of Camelot, despite her fears of Emrys.
"How do you keep surviving? What luck you must possess!" Water dripped down her face. Morganna had to push and attack at advancing creatures that threatened her, but no creature threatened Merlin. In fact, the only danger to him was being accidentally swept into the melee. To her eyes it might have seemed like fireflies fluttered around him and some settled on his hair, but these were no mere fireflies. These were his own personal body guards that he could not shake off. These were the Sidhe.
"Forgive us, Emrys," one small voice pleaded with him. They had broken their arrangement and that had released his dragon kin from their hold – however they were only being held as a token of faith that Merlin would keep his promise. His promise was still on the line and to coax the warlock, the Sidhe were working to please him.
"Quiet," muttered Merlin. "Not another word. We'll discuss it later."
He could feel the mood of the Sidhe around him – lift.
Merlin did not want their help in this and muttered how annoyed he was at their interference.
Sprays of earth and water erupted from struggling beasts, Morganna shrieked and scampered out of the way. With a sweep of an arm, a clearing opened. Her men were falling and their numbers were diminishing, she looked as if she were wilting.
"I'm not easily taken down, Morganna!" cried Merlin. His hands limp at his sides, sparking in the golds and blues of the immortal Sidhe. He sniffled, he had never wanted this.
Morganna raised her hand and barked out a spell, but it was slow and it was weak. Merlin stepped out of the way and it sizzled through the air past him to blast a serket instead. He felt the warmth of the spell as it passed and involuntarily smiled. It was nice to know that there was something about her that hadn't frozen over. At least her hatred, burned.
"Why won't you die?!" Morganna screamed and then raised her hand, examining it. It was pinker and fleshier than it had been. Even from a distance, Merlin noticed the change in her as well.
Kilgharrah, circling above, called down, "It was foolish, young warlock, to bring forth the rain. The fires are magic and will not spread the way a normal fire will. Dragon fire only burns it's target. Our fire is to vanquish the unholy. We preserve. We protect."
Morganna's men continued to fall, but none replaced them. Their eerie habit of standing up after being "slain" had stopped. She began to pant and back away.
"Warlock. Warlock? Where? Emrys? Where's Emrys?" she cried looking around her in search of the elderly figure she associated with the name. She nearly tripped over the hem of her filthy dress.
"A flower might need water to survive. A cut flower briefly hangs onto life, sucking what ever water it can get through it's stem drinking greedily," Kilgharrah was being chatty. Merlin smiled fondly at his elderly friend wondering if the great dragon had suffered a head injury in the melee. "The witch is an exotic flower. Self cut. Water is the last thing she wants – especially not that which you have brought down upon us all."
"Oh. OH!" exclaimed Merlin, slapping himself on the forehead. "Oh, no!"
"Yessss," was the smug dragon reply, the word slipping viciously past dragon teeth. "I suggest you move quickly, young warlock. You do not need the cup itself as a priestess would – do you not realize?"
Something under the mass of unkempt hair must have clicked for Morganna's now pink face, paled. She started cursing and slinging magic frantically, "What are you talking about? Merlin, you're not talking to a dragon are you?"
"Isn't it obvious? I have magic," shrugged Merlin who raised a hand and caught one of her spells in the palm of his hand just as Nimeuh had done to one of his so long ago. Instead of hurling it back to her, he blew on it and it transformed into a butterfly that fluttered off over the battlefield. It was red and gold, the colors of his beloved Camelot. "Morganna, what have you done to yourself?"
"Why are you talking to a dragon, Merlin? What plot have you been hatching with Emrys against me? Isn't it bad enough that you tried to poison me?! ME! I was supposed to be your friend!" spat the witch. Panic began to bloom on her face like a flower in spring, it was almost beautiful since it was a more human expression than her hatred. He was getting sick of her rank temper and her nastiness.
'She's getting a good wash,' thought Merlin and with a surge of horror, he realized that she was suddenly much cleaner, even her dress looked mended. Her hair was untangling before his eyes, as slick as it was from the rain. It no longer looked like a rats nest. Morganna felt the change, she ran a hand down her shapely frame. It was less haggard than it was.
It was happening, again. My magic is obeying my thoughts without my consent.
"You gave me no choice. I wanted to help you, but I couldn't – so I didn't." The truth was hard to say. He was far more comfortable making excuses than he was at being honest. He was having a hell of a day.
"You're not even sorry!" Morganna shouted. "What could YOU have done for me? You know nothing about real magic! So you can do a few spells, what does that mean? I'm a high priestess of the Old Religion as was my sister, Morgause! You couldn't hope to understand what it's like to be me!"
A small chuckle bubbled out of Merlin's mouth, "You couldn't be more wrong. I said I have magic, Morganna. I should have said, I am magic. You never caught on. You weren't supposed to know. No one was supposed to know," Merlin's voice was low and deadly now. His eyes were burning with gold. He stepped towards the witch. Somewhere in the distance a fae wailed over an impending death, peasants referred to such creatures as banshee, but Merlin knew better. Another fae raised its voice and then another. Soon all Merlin could hear was a death knell. In this field, the balance of the world would be restored for the life giving rain he had called down. The very life giving rain that was rejuvenating Morganna before his very eyes – demanded a price and he would hand deliver the payment.
Merlin leaned back, thrusting his palm at the sky. His face pointed at the heavens and he screamed the words he never thought he would.
"You know, George, I feel rather bad," confessed one of the stable hands as they moved tables into a room normally reserved for balls and grand events.
"What did you do?" asked the reserved manservant.
"Remember when Merlin first came here and Arthur sent word around for everyone to stop doin certain jobs? Y'know, the dirtier and most annoyin jobs?"
George nodded.
"Only recent, when Merlin got hurt, did we take up our original duties. I was muckin out the stables yesterday thinkin about it. Merlin's really done so much while well y'know."
George knew all too well. Merlin had been handling Arthur, reigning in his temper, and bringing stability to Camelot – while doing an impossible load of duties.
"We cannot allow Merlin to be overworked again," George stated softly, "He doesn't even get paid extra for it. He hasn't gotten a pay rise since he started. Arthur had tried to drive him away, but had grown fond of the boy despite the fact that he did not want to have a servant who would challenge him."
"Yer not tuggin' my trouser leg?" asked Tim, red-faced and sweaty from his exertions. "Merlin isn't even paid fer it?"
"No, he wasn't compensated for his efforts."
Tim and George settled the table that would double as a make shift surgery table, if needed. Tim wiped the sweat off his brow. George surveyed the room cataloging the essentials in his mind, deciding what else they would need.
"George, can ya do me a favor?" Tim asked – doing his own survey of the standin manservant and unofficial servant to Merlin.
"What can I do for you?" asked George politely.
"Can ya at least sweat?"
A maid burst into the room with a little more bounce than necessary. "Don't bother!" she yelled. "The knights have returned. No one is hurt!"
It was a relief. George smiled, "Well then we'll have a celebatory feast in here instead. All we need are some table clothes and chairs."
"Can't celebrate yet," the maid said whilst wringing her hands.
"Why is that?"
"Merlin's still out there. He's fighting alone. One of the guards told the baker that the great dragon forced Arthur and the knights to return without him."
George frowned, "Millie, Tim... if you wouldn't mind setting this up as a feasting hall for the knights and Arthur, I would be very grateful. I need to check on a few things."
Arthur and the knights stood on the battlements, positioned and ready for trouble. He would honor his promise and not interfere with the battle, but if the battle spilled over and into Camelot – he would take action. Before him was the very nightmare that his father struggled for over twenty years to destroy. His father thought that he had eradicated most of the magic from the kingdom and yet here it was in full fury.
The storm – the wounded beast that was the Old Religion's anger. A corporeal magical being created from the pain and hatred of every magical person and magical beast that Uther had killed had, for now, disappeared. The druids had told him that the Old Religion would require a compensation to quell the creature. The creature, the storm, would seek out and try to destroy the King of Ages out of spite. Not because the King of Ages did anything in particular to the Old Religion, but because that King also known as Emrys – was destined to suffer as no other being before or after him.
Arthur did not quite understand what that had meant, but he had felt pity for the warlock. He had until the warlock used Merlin as a shield! If and when he met Emrys, that man would have a lot of explaining to do.
Arthur watched as Morganna struggled with the creatures in the vicinity, while Merlin merely stood and chatted with her. The boy had his hands calmly at his side. His expression was calm. There wasn't anything about his posture that said that Merlin was in any way frightened. This enraged Arthur.
Someone had been tutoring Merlin in magic. For all he knew, it was Emrys himself. Gaius wouldn't dare do it. He had seen the purge. Uther had made him suffer enough pain and humiliation through the years because of magic. Gaius was intelligent as well, he was too intelligent to mess around with that kind of nonsense. However, Merlin confessed he had magic and now the idiot thought he could take on Morganna. If it weren't for the chaos around them – she would focus on Merlin and he would once again be thrown to the ground, or incinerated or something!
And then she struck, or at least she tried to – several times. One of bolts, Merlin caught in his hand. Arthur was impressed and yet horrified. That was a very dangerous spell, or had he cast a spell? And then – it finally happened. He saw Merlin do magic. Merlin transformed Morganna's attack into a red butterfly and let it fly off over the battlefield. It flit awkwardly in the rain, Arthur couldn't see if it made it very far. He doubted it. Merlin made it after all. Arthur wanted to laugh.
Some powerful sorcerer, he can make butterflies! Oh yes, my mighty protector can do some pretty amazing stuff!
They exchanged a few more words. The rain made for lousy vision, but they were close enough for Arthur to be able to see Merlin's eyes burning with a familiar and eerie gold. Merlin's face darkened, it was an expression Arthur had frequently seen on knights before they entered a melee. A shrill screaming begun and then more screaming joined that voice. Percival shuddered and whispered, "Banshees." The sound was enough to liquify bones. It was the sound the promised death.
Arthur watched in horror as Merlin thrust a hand over his head. His friend's body was glimmering with fireflies – just like the great dragons. Apparently these were magic fireflies for the rain had not driven them away. Merlin was shouting. The words could not be heard from this distance, but it was obvious what he was doing. He was casting magic.
I failed him. I drove him to this.