We grew up way too fast

(Now there's nothing to believe)

The beach was cold, the weather taking a turn for the worse. Arthur Pendragon didn't feel any of it. Gwaine was lying on a rock, a makeshift bandage tied around his shoulder as Percival watched over him. Gwen, Elyan, and Leon stood talking in hushed tones nearby. Lancelot stood away from the rest, lines of worry carved deeply into his face. Arthur didn't care. He knew he should; that these were his men and he should be leading them, but he couldn't think straight. Merlin was gone – so Arthur was lost.

"Arthur" the voice called his name, but it was faint, with an echoed quality. His head snapped up, as did some of the others, but the King was the only one to move towards its source. The cave was glowing, a white light emitted from within. Smoke billowed from inside, and it was from this smoke a figure stepped. King Arthur now stood, flanked by his knights, who had all stood, ready to fight. They didn't need to; Arthur recognised the voice and its owner. "Freya" he breathed, walking briskly towards her. He knew she'd understand. "They took him, Freya. I'm sorry – I failed"

"No," she shook her head, taking his arm. "Merlin is alive"

"How do you know?"

"I can feel it" she reassured him, "I'd know if he were dead." Arthur believed her, for it had been her, in the Tor, watching over his friend all those years. She would know. But Freya looked paler, if it were possible, here.

"Who's this?" asked Elyan, as they all came forward to meet her. He sounded suspicious, and Arthur resented it: as if Elyan thought he could be unfaithful to Gwen. "I am Freya" the girl beat him to it, addressing the knights quickly, but she didn't know them, so did not care what they thought of her, "The guardian of Avalon and the only person who can get you away from this place, so there's no need to draw your sword" She primly reprimanded Elyan, who sheepishly obeyed the order.

"We can't leave" Arthur told her, desperation creeping into his voice "Merlin was taken from here – we need to find him"

Freya glanced back towards the cave from which she'd emerged. "This cave is enchanted; it will take you back to his cottage. He'll meet you there soon" she assured the King.

"How can you be sure?" he asked, quite unbelieving.

"This place – the cave" Freya told him, smiling softly, "It is called Merlin's cave. They remembered him, too. It will take you to wherever he will be"

"But not yet?" asked Lancelot, coming forwards. He, unlike the other knights, had trusted the girl instantly; she reciprocated the feeling, for he was softer than the others, more like Merlin. She could see why they were friends. "No, he will return tomorrow"

"Where is he now?" asked Arthur, dreading the answer.

"With Morgana. But she won't hurt him: his destiny is not to die today." Freya thought it would be a relief to Arthur, but instead he looked sickened. "Why does his entire life have to be decided by destiny?" he shouted angrily, "why can't he just be happy?"

The girl looked sympathetic for a second, "I told you that drinking the waters of the crystal cave would have its consequences."

He nodded bitterly, "I know."

She placed a hand on his arm, a comforting gesture from a friend: she understood. "I want him to be happy too. You'll save him yet, Arthur" he looked up hopefully at this, "come with me" she gently commanded. They all followed her into the mist, some more reluctantly than others. As the smoke surrounded them, the scene changed, and suddenly they were in Merlin's garden once more. Its grass and stone walls were familiar to the King only. Arthur, being the only one who knew the place, started forward purposely, but Freya's voice halted him again.

"Arthur" she beckoned, "I can't come with you now – I can never fully leave my post, and only for a short time then. Wait, as he did. He'll come back to you." With this the girl faded like smoke on the breeze. She missed his whispered thanks as she returned to Avalon.

Arthur faced his knights, a sense of purpose now driven into his bones. "This is our friend's home. I will ask that you're all respectful of this." This time, it was Arthur who remembered to close the creaking gate, with the saddest of smiles on his face. It reminded him: "and try not to step on the daffodils." He gave the order to his knights, who looked confused at the unusual request. It was Gwaine, who spoke first, asking the question on the tip of everyone's lips, "That girl – she and Merlin?" he trailed off, flushing quite embarrassedly. Arthur nodded certainly, "Yes, I think so." With this, he found the spare key from underneath the watering can, and let the troop inside Merlin's cottage.

Later, as the knights awkwardly inspected the cottage, curiously examining the light switches and taps as they did, Arthur was busy. He remembered his first night there, the breakfast him and Merlin had eaten together, but it was not of food he thought, but rather a piece of furniture. Determined to do something, he went in search of Merlin's kitchen table.

"Gather round!" Arthur ordered, as he rolled it into the living room. Dropping it to its feet again, he smiled at his work. Sure, this table was a lot smaller than they were used to, but it had what he needed: it was round. "Men - and my lady," he nodded awkwardly at Gwen, "I know what's happening is strange: this world, it is not ours anymore, but we must still fight to protect it." There was a general noise of agreement from the Knights, who had assembled around the table. "Now I know this table isn't what we're used to, but it will work. The Order of the round table still stands."

"Our Camelot as we know it may have fallen," he continued, "but I do believe this land can still be great. It is our duty, as the protectors of this place, to see off any evil that threatens it."

"But what are those creatures?" asked Percival.

"Some wretched beings of Morgana's creation, I'm sure. It is her we must fight," Arthur replied, "We beat her once before, we can do it again."

"But at what cost?" Leon asked desperately, placing a palm flat on the wooden table, "the last time we fought Morgana, we lost you, Sire. We fought for Camelot, our kingdom, then – what do we fight for now?"

"For Merlin," Gwaine said simply from behind them, startling them all. "This may not be our home anymore, but it's his still. He waited for us to come back all that time – what sort of friends would we be if we just gave up now? After all he's done-" Arthur cut him off with a raised hand.

"I agree with Gwaine," The King said, "we owe Merlin a great deal. If he waited for us, then it was for a reason – we are meant to fight this war. Its destiny" he said the last word bitterly.

"But is it worth it? Is he worth fighting for when he won't even save himself?" demanded Elyan, and such an angry statement from the retiring Knight was unexpected. "You saw him back there – he's not the same, Arthur. He may have been this great sorcerer before, but is he still that man?"

"He is our friend." Arthur snapped, more heatedly than he intended, but felt angry in his friend's defense, "if nothing else. Yes, as the best friend any of us are ever likely to know – he is worth it."

"Worth dying for?" The question hung in the air for a second, before a chorus rose to answer it.

"A thousand times" said Arthur.

"In a second" agreed Gwaine.

"Every time" supported Lancelot.

"I'll fight for Merlin" nodded Percival, "I saw him that night, after Arthur . . . well, after the battle. He deserves better friends than us, who doubt him."

"I agree" announced Gwen, "he's done more than any man"

"Or sorcerer" added Leon, with an affirmative nod.

"So, we fight for Merlin?" asked Elyan, greeted by solemn nods, "I will join you."

"For Merlin" everyone murmured in unison, before sharing a smile. They were together, with a plan, and something – someone – worth fighting for. The table reunited. "We are still here. You men here are the greatest Camelot ever knew, and I do not doubt that you will prove you valour once more." Arthur, a King again, stately honestly, meeting the eyes of all assembled. "I am glad to have you by my side in this final battle"

"We're glad to be here" Gwaine said, bringing a laugh.

"We have a war to prepare for," Arthur said, "Let's waste no time – we don't have much to spare."

So the Knights of Camelot, once more gathered around a round table of equals, began to prepare for the coming war: discussing strategies, reading the myth books for clues are to the foul creatures creation - the stone soldiers of days gone by coming back to life. King Arthur watched them from the corner of the room with a hidden half smile. To see his men, reunited and strong, was a sight to grace his eyes and bring him hope. Honestly, he had felt misplaced since his awakening, a king no more. Now seeing them fighting, his knights, the bravest of the Order of Camelot, he felt like a King again. He may not have a kingdom anymore, but that was not the maker of a King. A King was the one man looked to, the one they would follow to the gates of hell and back, and these men would do that and more for Arthur. He would be their King as long as his memory remained, in this world and the next: the once and future King. It wasn't having a kingdom that made him so, but the place he held in these beating hearts, and stories never forgotten. Feeling a King again gave him spirit; Arthur acted as he once had: as a leader of men. With this new drive, he set to work to find his friend and save Albion a final time.

Little did he know his greatest battle, where he would rise so high and fall so far, was yet to unfold, but was approaching them like a derailed train. The collision was imminent, and the fallout catastrophic to them all; it would decide the fate of earth.

The following morning, Arthur woke to rays of sunlight streaming through the open window in the kitchen. He had fallen asleep at the table, head against the desk. It was mid morning, so he woke the knights, who had slept in various places throughout the cottage: from the sofa, to the carpeted floors, even atop the kitchen counter in Gwaine's case. They had let Gwen take Merlin's bed, a sign of unforgotten chivalry in an age where it had lost its meaning. "No sign yet?" asked Lancelot, as he took a seat opposite Arthur on the table. The King shook his head sadly, setting his jaw. Merlin was not home yet. "Freya said he'd come home today, so he'll be here soon" he said determinedly, not allowing for any other solution. Merlin would come back to them soon. He had to.

"And we'll be ready when he does" agreed Lancelot in sympathy, nodding in what he hoped was a comforting way at his King. Lancelot had never seen the King look so tired.

The rest of the knights wandered in, rubbing their eyes, and collapsed into chairs or against cupboards. Gwaine didn't even bother getting up, just leaned up on one elbow from on top of the counter. They were all dressed bizarrely, as Arthur had dressed them up in spare clothes from the drawers around the house, so at the moment they were looking rather strange and less fierce than warriors should. Many were wearing t-shirts too big in hideous greens and purples, and jeans either too tight or too small: not exactly an army to incite fear into their enemies. The King supposed they'd have to go shopping again soon, a prospect he looked forward to immensely, for the first trip had been amazing – the centre of stores with huge signs and the red 'bus' that had taken them there, not to mention the 'city centre' filled with the funniest people and sights. Yes, they would have some fun when Merlin got back. If he gets back . . . said a voice in his head, but he silenced it. Negativity wouldn't help any of them.

"Right then," Arthur announced, standing to address them all, "obviously we can't go outside until we get our friend back, but we can do just as much from here. I trust you've all retrieved your swords from the rack in the back room?" he asked, and the knights nodded. They had all looked upon that little storeroom of Camelot's treasures with such a wonder, and such joy at getting their old weapons back, that any doubt about helping Merlin was driven from their minds completely. There was no question that they would help him now. "We know three things for certain: one – that Morgana is back. Two – that these creatures of hers make an army that greatly outnumber us," he paused, "three – we are going to stop them, or die trying."

"For Camelot!" called Leon, which was picked up with chanting and hands slapping the tables rowdily. Arthur laughed at their antics despite his worry, and shook his head like an exasperated father. "Calm down" he yelled, but laughed as he did. They were still laughing and noisily jumping around excitedly when there was a crash from the front of the house. Instantly silenced by the noise, the knights looked around at one another in confusion, unsure what to do. Arthur took the lead, moving quietly through to kitchen to the door. In the hallway, he could see that the front door had been blown inwards, torn from its hinges and lying on the ground, like it had been kicked down. Where the light shone through the gaping hole left behind stood a figure. He was silhouetted against the brightness, but a shadow, but Arthur could have recognized him anywhere. "Mordred"

A twisted smile, "Hello Arthur"

"Sorry about that," Mordred smiled, nodding at the shattered door, "but I figured just knocking wouldn't have the desired effect"

"And what's that?" asked Arthur.

Mordred paused, thinking intently, before speaking with an eerie calm. "I wanted to let you know that this isn't over. That I am back, and this time I'll see my work through"

"Your work?"

"Revenge – to kill you" Mordred was expressionless as he spoke, a cold detachment to his words and movements. Where there one was a fire to the druid boy, only a tiny spark remained burning, and even that was in danger of being extinguished by the wind. The fact that he didn't even seem to care was chilling. So Arthur asked the question that had died on his lips a thousand years ago: he hadn't understood then, and didn't now. "Why?"

Mordred looked outraged, a blinding fury twisting his once kind face into a grimace, "You don't even remember?" he demanded. "Do you even remember her name?" He paced forward, until he was spitting in the King's face with every word, eyes wide.

"The girl? . . . Kara?" Arthur asked, confused. Of course he remembered; he regretted what had happened, and losing a friend. But he'd given the girl many chances, what else did Mordred want from him? "You say her name like its nothing – like she was nothing! You killed her, Arthur, and I will not forget it" Mordred raged, building before abruptly turning and pacing away from them to steel himself. No, this time when he killed Arthur, he would be around to see it, and he would enjoy the revenge.

"I did not kill her," Arthur implored him earnestly; "she did that herself." Mordred sighed, laughing bitterly, but the King did not give him chance to retort. "She gave me no choice – I asked her to repent her crimes and she would not listen, she would rather die than admit her guilt. I tried-"

"Not hard enough!" roared Mordred, spinning round in anger once more.

"What did you expect me to do? I begged her to apologise, to repent her crimes so that she might stay in Camelot with you. She is the one who refused" Arthur protested.

Suddenly paling, Mordred looked as if he'd been punched; looking up at them slowly. "Wait, you gave her a second chance after the first one?" he asked, something of desperation in his tone.

"Yes," Arthur said, confused again, "when you were in the dungeons I called her to the council chambers before her execution and gave her another chance"

"When I was in the dungeons?" A nod. "You gave her another chance?" A second nod. "And she would even try living in Camelot? Not even . . . for me?"

"I'm sorry, Mordred" Arthur said honestly, for the boy looked pained beyond belief. "I thought you knew"

The druid shook his head, "I did not know" he paused, still looking lost, fighting some invisible demon crawling inside his chest. "I killed you because I was angry, but I didn't know. You tried. You actually tried and . . . I killed you." He looked up at the king, tears glazing tired eyes, "I'm so sorry, Arthur"

"I wish I could say it is easily forgiven, but you killed me; that is treason" the King said. The boy nodded, an immense sadness driving his movements, a guilt that could not be voiced.

"I know" Mordred said, "I will accept the punishment for that." Suddenly, he fell to his knees before the king, head bowed. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, waiting for the drawing of swords, for Arthur or one of his men to kill him – execute him for the crime he committed. But no such thing happened; after a minutes silence he looked up to the King, whose expression was a mixture of sadness and uncertainty. "What are you waiting for?" Mordred demanded, "Kill me!"

"Not today" Arthur said. He held out a hand and, to the surprise of the knights, helped his killer to his feet. Mordred was reasonably shocked, unsure whether this was some clever ploy or trap.

"Why?" the boy asked, eyes not leaving the King's. Arthur looked away, answering this to his trusted knights, not Mordred.

"This is not a day for further bloodshed. How can I tell him to move on if I don't too?" Arthur asked wisely. The knights seemed to understand some deeper meaning of this, but Mordred was mystified. Sensing he was on thin ice, he felt it best to hold back any questions for now. Aside from him, all the other men assembled knew Arthur meant Merlin. "True, but he did kill you Arthur. This is different" Gwaine advised.

"And who do you think it was worse for?" Arthur laughed, strangely. "It was over quickly for me: for him it has been eternities. It's no different"

"But he killed you, Sire" Leon protested, eyeing Mordred with deep suspicion.

"And what good will it do to kill him now? If I'm going to tell him that we need to move on, what sort of King, or friend, would I be if I made exceptions for myself?"

"I don't think he'd have a problem, to be honest" Gwaine said, speaking of Merlin. The Warlock, if he were here, would probably have killed the druid by now.

"I don't doubt it" Arthur laughed bitterly, "but that doesn't mean it's the right thing. We have to show him that there can be strength in moving on."

Gwaine sighed, "Fine. We let him live. But I still don't trust him as far as I can throw him."

"I'm not asking you to" Arthur said, and they were all agreed. They would practice what they preached, and move on. The knights shifted uncomfortably, not entirely happy with the decision, but no one spoke out against the Kings word.

"Mordred" The King spoke, causing the druid to look up in fear from where he stood, a little away from them. "It is my decision that you shall live. I release you: for the crimes you committed were grave indeed, but in these times we must forgive. I have to move on"

"You would forgive what I did?" Mordred could not fathom it out. He had killed Arthur, and he was just being let go? "Why?"

"For a friend who needs to see that forgiveness can be strength" The answer was given with a faraway look in the King's eyes.

Mordred's brow creased. "Emrys?"

The King nodded, "he has been . . . unwell." Mordred did not react, for he still felt a bubbling rage for the manservant. He may forgive the King, but Merlin – Emrys, was another matter. "Where is he?" Mordred finally asked.

"Morgana has taken him" The King answered wearily, head downcast. Mordred had no answer to that: if Morgana had him, Merlin was as good as dead. He should have known not to underestimate Merlin, a thought that would cost him dearly later.

"Thank you, Arthur. You have proved yourself to be a better man, a better King, than I could have imagined." Mordred stood and bowed. "But I cannot ally myself with you yet. I forgive, but there is someone I cannot forget"

"Morgana" guessed Arthur correctly.

Mordred nodded, "She was my friend, Arthur."

"I know," sighed the King, "she was once mine too."

The boy lingered for a moment longer, meeting the eyes of all the knights of Camelot, his former brothers in arms. In truth, he missed belonging somewhere. "I must make peace with her, but I think I will return, if you'll have me. I feel I have wronged you all, and that's something I have to repay" with this, Mordred swept from the cottage, leaving with a swirl of a cloak. Alone again, the knights breathed a collective sigh of relief at the druids departure, glad their King still stood. Moving back into the kitchen, they all took their seats on the table.

Arthur waited in the hallway, a wind now flowing through it from the open doorway. In Camelot, this might not have been strange, but here an open door would be an unusual sight. He moved to the doorway, seeing Mordred's retreating back as he travelled down the beaten road, quickly blocking the sight by hauling the door to an upright position to cover the hole left. It wouldn't hold against an army, but it would stand for now. As Arthur straightened the door, he sighed and spoke "Merlin won't thank you for that, you know."

"Maybe not yet" admitted Freya from behind him, where she'd appeared, ghostly and translucent as ever, "But he will. How did you know it was me?"

"Who else could have brought Mordred here? Who else would of?" Arthur retorted dryly.

She laughed softly, "You might not see it now, but you both needed to forgive him. You couldn't become what you need to if you didn't"

"And I suppose you were just helping 'destiny'?" he turned his back on her, towards the broken door again.

"I was helping you, not destiny" Freya said, never angry, "dollop head"

Arthur smiled, "You and Merlin must have been close if he told you that."

"We were," Allowed Freya, "so you have to start trusting me, Arthur. It's never been more important." Her voice had taken a chilling turn, the final phrase echoing in the King's head; sounding warning bells. "Why?" he turned to face her again, but she had vanished, only a thin trail of smoke to suggest she was ever there. His question never got answered.

"Arthur?" Lancelot was at the kitchen door suddenly, a distraction with a concerned face, "are you coming back?" Thoughts of Freya torn from his mind, but her final warning not quite forgotten, the King nodded distractedly. Rejoining the table of knights, he sat heavily, suddenly tired again. "Do you think we can trust him?" asked Leon, but the King didn't hear him, staring into the distance. Leon asked again, and this time the King seemed roused. "What?" Arthur asked.

"Do you think we can trust Mordred?"

"I don't know" Arthur honestly admitted, 'trust' between them may not ever be possible again. "But I think forgiving him was the right choice" he remembered Freya's words, "If Merlin will do the same."

"Well, I for one think you made a good decision, Arthur" Gwen soothed comfortingly, taking his hand from across the table, "It showed your quality. You forgave when you didn't have to – just look what effect it had on Mordred. It could have helped us gain an ally"

"An ally? One we can't even trust?" Elyan said incredulously.

"I think time will change that" Guinevere nodded knowingly. "Even if we didn't gain an ally, Arthur's right – we're showing Merlin forgiveness is possible"

"Merlin wasn't here to see it" Elyan reminded her.

"He will be soon" Gwen said, sure of herself. Arthur had remained silent up until this point, pouring over the events of the meeting in his mind; wondering if he'd made the right decision. He felt in his heart that he had, for before a wedge of tightness had been between his ribs, like a dull knife in his chest. It was guilt, or regret. But it had lifted now, and he breathed easier. He only hoped Merlin could find such relief too, eventually. He really did.

"Whatever happens will happen now. I've made my choice" he told them, King-like again. "But it is the past and we must not dwell on it, especially with such pressing matters in the present."

"Right. We were making plans; strategies for these creatures. We should keep going with that" suggested Lancelot, and Arthur nodded at his friend, glad of the change of subject.

"The storm is coming; we must be ready for it when it meets us" Arthur declared, and again the small kitchen became a hub of work. The knights of Camelot lead by King Arthur had once been the greatest army, the most destructive force, this earth had ever seen; they were back. Arthur still glanced at the clock every few minutes, waiting. He told himself it was silly, that Merlin would be home soon, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were incomplete without the Warlock.

Mordred walked steadily down the grey road, with no destination in mind in this bizarre world. He did not know these roads, or these cities, but he knew one thing in absolute clarity: he would always be able to find Morgana. Darkness finds darkness, and she would find him. He only hoped she hadn't killed Merlin by the time he got there: he wanted a few words with the great Emrys, none of them kind. But it was not to be: Merlin and Mordred would have a talk very soon, but Morgana would not be there. It also would not end the way Mordred wanted it to. But he didn't know that, not yet. For now he was walking a long road alone, trying to find the one person he had thought of as a friend in the end. Morgana, I'm coming to find you.