A quick update concerning the action:

Arthur, Gwaine and Galahad are waiting for King Lot's two thousand men to gather and then they are going to take back Camelot from Morgause and the dragonlord LeNoir.

Morgana is on her way to Camelot at full speed to kill Morgause.

Merlin has reached the World of the Dead where he hopes to find the power to defeat LeNoir.

…

Chapter 23: The Council of Dragonlords

Nothing in the world could have prepared him for this.

"Hello, Father," he greeted, his voice shaking.

He fell silent at once, completely overcome with emotions. There were a thousand questions that he wanted to ask, but no words were coming out.

"You look tired, son," said his father after a short while.

Merlin's hand instinctively brushed against his brow. "It hasn't been… easy."

"But you are doing extremely well," replied Balinor. A hint of a smiled flashed across his face. "No father could be prouder."

Merlin felt his own face grow suddenly hot. It wasn't often that his efforts were being so wholeheartedly acknowledged.

"Now I am here," Merlin said feebly, glancing behind him at the long bridge of stone. "And the map brought me to you. So I guess there is a purpose to all of this."

Their eyes met and Merlin found their expression hard to read. He remembered perfectly every one of his father's features: the deep dark eyes, the brown messy hair, the long face, the haggard appearance. He knew him by heart. But what was this new frown? Was it worry or fear? What could a man like Balinor possibly be afraid of?

"You're not the one I'm supposed to meet," said Merlin with sudden realisation.

Balinor shook his head. "You have to come with me," he said bluntly.

He began to walk into the thicker mist and Merlin immediately followed him. Now that they were stepping deeper into the World of the Dead, the young wizard could somewhat sense the presence of death all around him. It was like a cold shiver crawling on his skin, making the hair on his forearms stand up. Also, the mist wasn't just a thick cloud; it was actually a mass of ghostly silhouettes that were undulating around him. Some of them were coming close enough to almost touch him, but most of them were clearing the way as he passed.

"What is this place?" said Merlin under his breath.

His father glanced back at him briefly, and returned his attention forward.

"This is the Otherworld. It's an in between place."

Merlin frowned. "It's not the World of the Dead?"

Balinor's reply was a deep muttering, as though he was speaking more to himself than to anyone else. "You're not dead yet, son."

Merlin considered the idea. His body most certainly didn't feel dead. His muscles were still aching from the strain of having flown over such a long distance. The growing chill of this strange place was making his limbs shiver and his teeth chatter.

Still, something about his father's behaviour and tone was making him uneasy about his present predicament.

"What about you? You're dead, but you're also here."

His father slowed down his pace, allowing Merlin to step closer to hear his reply. "You are right, Merlin. I am dead. Nothing can change that. I have been to the other side. But we are creatures of magic. Sometimes more is required of us, and I could not miss the chance of seeing you again." He leaned in closer and his voice became more like a whisper. "Whatever they tell you, you still can chose your path. They need you more than you need them. And they have no power over you."

Merlin felt more puzzled then ever. "Who are we talking about?"

But he stopped talking as soon as he saw the new scenery in front of him. The ghostly mist had suddenly lifted and beyond it, there was now a field of shimmering white snow and pale blue sky above his head. The plain was reaching out as far as the eyes could see, and on each side of it were tall White Mountains that seemed to be made out of ice. The breeze was cold and seemed to blow through him. Yet there was a sort of wild beauty about all that ice and snow that was deeply moving.

Suddenly, a loud roaring made him look upwards. Above his head was the most incredible sight. Dragons. Dozens of them. They were swarming in like a group of overlarge and graceful birds. Their powerful bodies, undulating in the sky, were everywhere around him. Some of them were snapping their strong jaws; others were brushing their wings against the snow, sending swirls of white crystals flying in the air.

Never in his life had he imagined that he would be gazing upon such a sight. To see one dragon was impressive enough, but to see so many moving and flying was like something out of a dream. It was such a heart-warming moment that it made him forget that he was cold. All that he could do was walk in circles, ankle-deep into the snow, and stare upwards at the scene.

"Amazing," he breathed out.

"Indeed," said his father.

It suddenly struck Merlin that Balinor was not staring at the dragons; his eyes were fixed upon his son.

The young wizard tried not to feel alarmed. "Are they going to land?" he asked.

"No, they don't like the snow," Balinor explained.

Merlin shook his hands together and blew some hot air into them. His breath was coming out in smoke. "Aren't you cold?"

His father's face became dark. "No. The cold is the reason why you can't stay here too long. Listen, son." He took three long strides and suddenly he was besides Merlin, whispering into his ear. "You mustn't do what you don't feel is right. A long time ago, I didn't listen to my instinct; I did only what I was told, and many people died. Don't be like me. Trust yourself to make the right decision." He was insisting breathlessly. It was almost a plea.

"That's quite enough, Balinor. We'll have no more of your warnings."

Merlin glanced at his father, but he had already stopped talking and he had taken a step back, bowing his head to the newcomer.

This new speaker was a man in a grey robe and with a white beard that was trailing into the snow. He looked even older than Merlin did when he was disguised as Old Merlin. Yet there was a certain familiarity in his eyes…

"Merlin, this is Lord Branan Brittanicus, your great-great-grandfather," said Balinor dutifully. "He is also the High Lord of the Council of Dragonlords."

The use of the present tense did not escape Merlin. "Is? But aren't all the dragonlords dead?"

"Yes, yes," said the elder, waving his hand in dismissal. "But as you can see our spirits are quite strong."

As he glanced around him, Merlin counted six other men in long robes treading on the thick snow. Most of them had displeased faces, though some of them had such long beards that their expression was not easy to read.

"So few," muttered Balinor, obviously surprised.

"A council is a council, no matter how many," retorted the old man.

The sharpness of his tone did not escape the wizard.

"There used to be more?" Merlin asked his father, ignoring the glare of his ancestor.

"Yes, yes," replied the other before Balinor could speak. "We can't help it if others decide to move on. It's their choice."

But Merlin's attention was turned towards his father. "Why aren't you on the council?"

Balinor's mood did not improve. "My presence was needed elsewhere. You asked me once why I did not return to Ealdor, to you and your mother. I lied."

Merlin's heart sank. He could well remember a conversation about the kind of life they would have had together as a family. It had always been a small comfort to know that his father had meant to protect the woman he loved, that he had stayed away to protect her.

"You lied?" he said between gritted teeth.

"Yes, yes, but he had a good reason," said the old man speedily. "Now we have more pressing matters to discuss."

Grabbing Merlin's shoulder, he stirred him towards the assembly, while Balinor remained standing on the spot. Merlin glanced back at his father, but seeing that he wasn't about to offer any other explanation, he turned his attention forward instead, feeling somewhat flustered by this new information.

The dragons were now flying low over the group of seven elders and Merlin. Three of the largest beasts were hovering in place, suspended by their storm-like breath and enormous wings. The others were moving in slow motion, refusing to land or to touch the snow, yet still eager to remain close to the council.

"We will now speak of the matter of the witch Morgause, the dragonlord LeNoir brought back from the dead and the spirits that he has stolen from this realm," called Lord Brittanicus, addressing the other members of the council. He had tied his long white beard into his belt to avoid it from flying all around his face. "On the fate of Morgause, it has been agreed that she shall die. Do you concur?"

The others nodded almost in unison, while Merlin remained rooted on the spot, his cheeks red with cold. So far, he did not like the tone of this council.

"On the matter of the spirit of LeNoir, as a Shade he does not belong to the world of the living. His power over the dragon-spirits is strong and it cannot be allowed to continue. The unnatural state of his existence demands drastic measure. LeNoir's spirit must be imprisoned inside the crystal of Fyr where he will no longer be a threat. Merlin, son of Balinor, you must do this task."

Seven old and shrivelled faces turned towards Merlin at once. With a rapid glance, he sought his father's approval, but Balinor's stare was unreadable. Trust yourself to make the right decision, Merlin thought, remembering the words spoken just a few moments ago. The idea of trapping LeNoir's spirit inside a crystal wasn't altogether insane or unachievable. He had managed it once when he had defeated Cornelius Sigan.

He was about to give his answer when the old Lord Brittanicus began to speak again. "The Council releases the crystal of Fyr to Merlin, son of Balinor."

A bright light burst out of thin air, right in front of Merlin. In a few seconds, it became a solid precious stone, no bigger than a strawberry and transparent like a diamond. Slowly, Merlin reached out and took it in the palm of his hand. To his surprise, the light shining through his fingers came out a pale shade of green.

"So it will be for LeNoir. Does the Council concur?"

The seven elders nodded fervently.

"Now," continued Lord Brittanicus, his tone somewhat more grave. "On the matter of the dragon-spirits who have been stolen from this realm by LeNoir's selfish actions, there is but one course of action. They must return to us through the veil."

This statement seemed to create a general stirring among the elders. There was also the sound of swishing tails and snapping jaws as the dragons above moved in closer, sending swirls of snow dancing around the Council members.

Merlin shivered. The cold was becoming more intense.

"You wish to open the veil, but this is a dark path, Brittanicus," said an old man with a grey robe and grey beard.

"It cannot be avoided," replied Merlin's ancestor, while glaring at the speaker. "The dragon-spirits must return to our realm where they belong. The Great Dragon's sacrifice will not be in vain."

"Sacrifice?" mumbled Merlin, unsure if he had heard correctly.

"What you're asking is not in his nature," argued the grey-clad man, while glancing sideways at Merlin.

The High Lord of the Council did not seem happy with this statement. "He is a dragonlord and must do as we decide, Alastor," he burst out rather angrily.

"What sacrifice?" Merlin cried out, stepping forward in an attempt to catch the elders' attention.

It was the grey bearded man, Alastor, who replied. "To open a path through the veil, a blood sacrifice must be made. And there is but one dragon that is still alive to accomplish the deed. And you, being a dragonlord, have to command him to do it."

Merlin's heart skipped a beat. "Kilgharrah must die," he breathed out.

A silence fell on the assembly. Even the low flying dragons became quiet, almost sorrowful. Merlin glanced at his father, looking for some explanation, some flicker of hope, but he saw none.

"It must be done," said Merlin's ancestor. "If the dragon-spirits do not return, they will become cursed creatures, feeding off the flesh of living beings, and forever trapped into that darkness. They will be beyond anyone's power, even a dragonlord's. This is the only path."

"And what of the consequences?" said a voice next to Merlin.

The young wizard had not seen his father move in closer. They were now shoulder to shoulder and Merlin could almost feel the imposing presence. There was also an underlying tone of accusation in the deep voice.

"Has any of you given thought to what you are asking and who you are asking it to?" asked the dragonlord forcefully.

"I agree with Balinor," said Alastor before anyone could reply. "We cannot overlook the fact that he is not just a dragonlord. His destiny goes beyond the will of this council."

"Oh be quiet, Alastor," cried out the elder, to which several others nodded in approval. "Merlin, son of Balinor, is a dragonlord and will be treated as such. You would do well to remember it if you want to remain in this council."

"The rule of the council is not the rule of one," cried out Alastor.

"That's enough!" said Merlin suddenly.

His voice did not even sound like his own. He felt so frustrated that his entire body was shaking. His state of aggravation was the only thing keeping him from succumbing to the cold. He could hardly feel his feet or his ankles now. There was ice on his hair and eyelashes. He could not afford this debate to go on forever.

"Is there any other way to open path through the veil?" he cried out at large, making a point of looking into the eyes of each of the elders.

They were all lowering their gazes.

"Is there another way?" he cried out again.

This time the one called Alastor spoke up. "That magic is lost. The secrets of how to walk between worlds has long been forgotten. That knowledge disappeared along with the wizards."

Wizard. He had been called that by King Lot. A bridge between words. A spirit in human form. Perhaps there was a small hope there. If only he had just a little more time…

A sudden whooshing of wings made him glance upwards. "What about you?" he cried out to the dragons. "Kilgharrah is your kin. The last of his kind. Do you accept that he must die?"

The biggest of all the dragons, a scary-looking beast with golden scales, swooped in around Merlin, making the snow swirl like a little storm. Its wings were circling him, almost like a cocoon, but Merlin tried to remain very still and to appear unafraid.

"Kilgharrah's fate is tied to yours," growled the impressive dragon. "But we all know that he is the last of his kind."

The answer burst into Merlin's mind like a cold gush of wind. "The dragon egg," he said under his breath. "But how…?"

His question was lost in a swirl of wind and snow as the golden dragon beat its enormous wings, thrusting its body upwards to regroup with the others.

Merlin's mind was buzzing. Kilgharrah's sacrifice. Could he do it? Was it in him to take a life, knowing that there was a new one waiting to be born? What if he couldn't? What if he wasn't strong enough? Would he look for the lost knowledge of the wizards? One way or the other, he was running out of time. He was frozen to his bones.

Without even realising it, he had started to walk back. He barely noticed his father staring at him worriedly.

"Merlin!" cried out a voice behind his back. It was the High Lord, his ancestor. "The Council has not concluded yet."

"It has for me," he replied defiantly and watching the elders from the corner of his eye.

"Kilgharrah must die," said his ancestor heatedly. "It is the Council's command and you will see it done."

"You will see it done?" he repeated, wheeling around to face the speaker. He could feel himself fuming. "I've never seen you in my life. I've always been alone. I never had any help. Except Kilgharrah. And now you're telling me to see him dead. So if you don't mind, I'll be deciding that one on my own, as I have always done."

"Merlin!" called out the elder again. "You will not go on any wizard's quest. You are a dragonlord and you will do as this council commands."

Merlin caught a glimmer of pride into his father's eyes, and that gave him even more courage to speak up.

"The way I see it," he continued, "I am the last dragonlord left alive. So you need me more than I need you." He glanced at his hand that held the green light of the crystal of Fyr. "I thank you for the crystal. Have a nice death."

Without any further ado, he turned his heels and walked away into the snow. He could hardly see the path through which they had come, but he didn't care.

"Merlin!" yelled back the High Lord. "You will not ignore this Council! You don't know what it is to be a dragonlord!"

"Oh be quiet, Brittanicus," snapped the man called Alastor. "He's right. He doesn't really need us."

Merlin couldn't help but smile at the comment, even if his face was frozen with cold. The bickering of a few elders did not interest him anymore. All that he wanted was to be warm again.

"I have to get out of here and fast," he muttered to his father. Balinor was following him closely and even holding his shoulder.

"We must get back to the bridge then," said his father resolutely.

They walked on for a short while. The snow was becoming dense and wet, as though it was melting. Before long, Merlin began to hear a rushing noise, like a waterfall.

"You took too much time," murmured his father. "You will have to jump."

"Is there really no other way?" whispered Merlin.

His father shook his long mane of dark hair. "Dragonlords and wizards were never on good terms. They did not share secrets. If the wizards knew a way, then no dragonlord can tell you about it. You will have to find it on your own."

His answer had an apologetic sound to it.

They were now standing on top of a waterfall that seemed to go down and down forever.

"I have to… jump?" Merlin burst out.

"Yes, and think about how much you want to live," replied his father as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Why did you say that you lied?" Merlin asked, not wanting to waste another minute.

"The Council had given me a task," said Balinor, his voice deeper than ever. "To stay alive. As long as there was a dragonlord alive, there was a chance that the dragons would live on. Going back to Ealdor would have been too dangerous, so the Council forbade it. Even dead your great-great-grandfather can be persuasive. But I know now that I am only a coward."

"No, you're not," said Merlin fervently.

"I could have just told them to go to hell like you did." There was the hint of a smile.

"I didn't…"

"Go now, Merlin."

Merlin could not help but grab his father's arm. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You must let me go, son."

Slowly, reluctantly, Merlin took a step back, but his foot did not touch the ground. It fell into emptiness. His other leg lost balance and soon his entire body was falling, falling into the rushing water.

Images of his life burst into his mind. Morgana surrounded by a shroud of white light. Arthur's smile. Gwaine's casual expression. Galahad's haggard appearance. He saw two boys and a little girl too, playing in a field. Who were these children?

He didn't have time to ponder on the question. Suddenly, he was no longer falling but swimming with what was left of his strength to try and reach the surface. He could hardly tell which way was up. Then his eyes caught the green light of the crystal still in his hand. He lifted it in front of his and it seemed to show him the way.

Soon he was lying on some rocky shore, coughing and sputtering, so cold that he could hardly move. His hand seemed frozen on the precious crystal. His eyes glanced at a green forest and tall mountains, and then he knew no more.

…..

Author's note:

Sooooooo exited about the upcoming Season 5! I can hardly think straight! Hope I can find some way to watch it in Canada… (sobs)

Anyway, I don't think I'll be finished with this story when the new season starts, but the final battle is coming, you can be sure of it. Everything is in place the some exiting chapters with lots of action!

Thanks for reading and please drop a review!

HighEmpress