A Good Man is Hard to Find

(11)

For Merlin, it was easy to pinpoint when the plan had gone horribly wrong, and that was before it had even started. He was surprised, frankly, that they'd even got into the room, all too aware that menacing a witch of Morgana's calibre with a small knife was about as advisable as threatening Kilgharrah with a pointy stick. It was not usually in his nature to be pessimistic, but in this case, Arthur's trust in Morgana's better nature seemed woefully misdirected, partly through sentiment and partly exhaustion. But it had been impossible to dissuade him.

Standing at Morgana's shoulder with a knife as she faced Arthur across the table was like a sour parody of the life they used to lead. Merlin's whole body shuddered with tensions. He had made himself a promise that if it came to a choice again, he would risk using magic openly rather than let Arthur get himself killed.

Morgana's sudden fury took them both by surprise. She managed to ensnare him with a punishing invisible barrier. Merlin's mind juddered through scenarios. Morgana had her back to him, screening Arthur from view. Even now, she could be killing him.

With a burst of magic so potent he could feel it crackling through his nerves, he shattered Morgana's wards. The effort made him stagger; the magic had never before felt like it was tearing his tendons, rattling through his joints. He forced himself to focus, breathing heavily.

The door crashed open.

Merlin panicked, and made the ceiling collapse.

~/~/~/~

Morgana's knife was cold against his Adam's apple as he swallowed, cautiously. He flicked his eyes up to look her in the face.

The door exploded inwards.

A gaggle of soldiers, including Helios himself, lurched into the room.

Chunks of rock crashed down from the ancient stone ceiling.

As Morgana reared back in alarm, Arthur ducked away from her, springing out of his chair. The falling masonry had taken out several Southron soldiers, but there were more behind them, twenty at least between the door and the tell-tale flashes of red livery which told him Camelot's soldiers were also nearby. But they wouldn't get in quickly enough.

Arthur dropped to his knees and scrabbled for the knife which had been wrested from Merlin's hands, and pivoted on the floor to see Morgana distracted by Merlin himself. Merlin made a violent gesture in her direction. From where Arthur crouched, it didn't look like he even touched her, but Morgana flinched violently. Merlin stepped forward. He looked haggard, all of a sudden, moving as though it pained him.

Helios, bleeding from a nasty cut on his hairline, was limping towards Merlin's back, looking murderous. Behind him, more men were clambering over the rubble and bodies in the doorway.

Arthur forced himself to his feet, ignoring the way his vision wavered sickeningly. Morgana's eyes glowed, and for a hideous instant he could see Merlin poised between her magic and Helios' raised sword.

Something shifted. His ears popped, and the air seemed to thicken for a second and then crackle like the air before a thunderstorm. The magic faded from Morgana's eyes and, looking just as she had in the old days, every inch the princess, she fell to the floor in a dead faint.

Helios was still on his feet, though from his expression he, like Arthur, was not quite sure what had just happened. As he lunged towards Merlin again, the servant fell to his knees of his own accord.

Arthur heard himself yell over the din, and he stumbled forwards. The world felt slow and muted; the air had become viscous; his brain had come unplugged from his limbs. He was moving. In three paces, he was standing with his back to Merlin's hunched form, brandishing the ludicrously small knife clutched awkwardly in his bandaged fingers.

He dodged to the side as Helios' sword swung down. Running on instinct, he grabbed the wrist as it plunged past him and pulled Helios forwards, taking him off-balance, stepping into the move so their bodies collided and completing it with a vicious kick before shoving his enemy back with his shoulder. Helios staggered back a step. Still holding his enemy's wrist in his good hand, Arthur slashed mercilessly at the sword hand with his tiny knife. His aim was off, but the pain and shock were enough to make the hand spasm and the sword crashed to the floor. Arthur kicked it violently away; realising in a flash that he would throw up if he had to stoop and pick it up.

Helios shrieked in rage. Arthur lashed out vaguely at his torso with the knife, but missed, and felt a fist in his battered ribcage. He choked and swayed on his feet. Helios backed off a step. There were six Southron soldiers still behind him; beyond, the fighting had moved further back into the hallway as Helios' men rallied against the knights. On the floor to Arthur's right, Morgana had not stirred. Merlin was gasping for breath behind him. His fingers throbbed where they clutched the knife. Breathing hurt.

Clearly enjoying his advantage, Helios took a moment to scowl at his bleeding hand before grinning sadistically at Arthur. 'How do you like your odds now, little king?'

Arthur glanced behind him involuntarily, still uncertain of the nature of Merlin's injury. If he was on his own, the warlord had a point: one against seven was a tall order. He'd have enjoyed the challenge any other day; now, though, his exhaustion was bone-deep, his vision clouded, his head throbbing. He shifted the tiny knife into his good hand. He met Helios' stare, stubbornly staying in his fighting stance though he was by no means sure he could still fight.

~/~/~/~

The magic had gutted him.

Morgana had been preparing a blast which could kill them both. Still thrashing against the remains of her magical wards, Merlin had had no time to prepare. It wasn't a spell, or at least no spell that Gaius, or his books, or any other magic-user he'd ever met had told him of: rather, in his desperation he let the magic use him as a conduit. It burst out of him like a hurricane; filled the room and left him torn at the core. He wasn't quite sure where his body was. Which way up was he? What was he doing? Who was standing over him, their legs trembling, facing away?

Ruthlessly, he forced himself back together. His head felt like it was splitting open; the light and the noise, so much noise, were unbearable. He pressed his forehead against the stone floor and its cold, rough pressure helped to anchor him. Somewhere above, he heard someone say something in a coarse, jeering voice, but couldn't make out the words.

~/~/~/~

They moved in. Arthur took half a step backwards and felt Merlin's arm against his heel. There was laughter at his skittishness.

He took a breath, ignoring the way it made his ribs ache, and composed himself; determined to act the part of the warrior regardless of his battered body.

Just before he stepped forward again, he felt Merlin move.

~/~/~/~