Chapter 7

The Sword in the Stone

The beauty of the place might have impressed Guinevere had she been in any state of mind to appreciate it. But her life had been usurped in the span of three days—Lancelot's death, the disappearances of the good thieves Arthur and Gwaine, the revelations supplied by Morgana, and Elyan's needless death.

It was all too much.

"You should try and get some rest, my dear," Gaius said kindly. "I will make a fire. It will be cold tonight."

Guinevere didn't much care. She hadn't felt anything at all since they had made it out of the castle through the siege tunnels. Not long afterwards, the sky had turned dark and stormy, the wind bitingly fierce. The princess approved of that—for once the weather seemed to reflect her mood.

While Gaius pottered about collecting kindling and dry sticks, sure to never go too far, Guinevere stared vacantly out at the lake. The surface was smooth and glassy, reflecting the snow-capped mountains in the distance and the almost black sky, and seemed unaffected by the harsh blows of wind. The trees surrounding the lake offered shelter from the worst of it. The clouds had not yet begun to rain. Gaius seemed to trust that they would not, since he had decided to build a fire.

After a moment, she glanced down at her dress.

It was once one of her favorites—soft pink, with pretty little embroidered flowers along the bodice and sleeves. But now it was ruined, like her life. Bloodstains, now brown and dry, streaked her sleeves, her skirts, even her matching slippers. Her right hip was covered in vomit, and, if she focused, she could see that there was also a bit of vomit clinging to the hair that had come out of their braids.

She had half a mind to do something about her state, but could not, in the end, bring herself to move.

"There," Gaius grunted. He had never been a man of many words, but Guinevere had noticed that whenever anything terrible happened, his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. "Now, I'll just arrange these nice and proper," he said as he dropped his armful of sticks, "and then we'll have a fire."

The princess knew she should at least offer her help. The words would not come.

"And then," Gaius paused in his ministrations and looked at her. A small smile touched his lips. "And then we'll see what an old man can do about that braid of yours. I'm afraid I don't know much about that sort of thing, but I think I may know how to tie a ribbon just so."

He returned to his task of setting up the fire. Guinevere drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her cheek against her knee so that she could watch him. He didn't seem to mind the audience, merely continued to build it up.

"Should you not start with kindling?" she asked curiously. "Aren't you afraid it will rain?"

Gaius chuckled. "Under normal circumstances, I would," he said. "But we have no flint, and I doubt that the sky will pour here. The lady of the lake is very hospitable to refugees."

The princess raised an eyebrow, but did not pursue the subject.

At last, the bishop sat back on his heels, looking pleased with his work. "Forbærne," he said. His eyes flashed, and the wood pile instantly burst into orange flames.

Guinevere started, surprised. "You know magic?"

"Oh, I used to be a sorcerer's apprentice," Gaius said amiably. "But I turned away from it when Vortigern took over. He didn't take kindly to magic, you see. Luckily your father was more lenient, or it might have been banned eventually. Besides, I realized that my true calling was to God." The old man crossed himself.

Guinevere lowered her gaze. She had prayed only that morning, but now the action felt empty and useless. She had asked God to watch over Elyan, and He had failed her.

The corners of her lips turned down, and she averted her face so Gaius would not see.

"What are we going to do, Gaius?" She sniffled plaintively. "Where do we go? We can't just stay here."

"No, we can't," Gaius agreed kindly. "I'm afraid that there's not much you or I can do. An old friend of mine might be doing something just this moment. I rather think that he is the cause of this storm."

"Why would he cause such a great storm?"

"I don't think he means to do it," Gaius chuckled. "His magic reacts to his mood. Or, well, I don't think that's quite right, either. Merlin is magic itself."

"How can someone be magic?" Guinevere frowned, turning back.

"God knows," Gaius answered simply and firmly.

So you don't, the princess thought. She was half surprised at the bitterness in her inner voice's tone, and was glad she hadn't said it aloud. Instead she said, "How will we know if your friend has done something?"

Gaius sat back thoughtfully, warming his hands over the licking flames of the fire. "The storm will ebb, first. Then he will come here."

"I see."

The princess returned to her ruminations in silence, and Gaius seemed content to sit peacefully. After a moment, he began to rummage through the leather medicine pouch he often carried with him, and came out with a length of twine.

"Not the prettiest," he smiled apologetically, "but it will do, won't it?"

Guinevere offered him a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, and allowed the bishop to undo the disastrous braid down her back. Her eyes slipped closed, and she imagined that it was not Gaius with her, but her father playing with her hair during a long council meeting when she had been much younger. Back then, Elyan, four years her senior, had been an active part of the discussion on grain storage. Later he had confessed to her that he'd wanted to die of boredom.

The memory was salt in an open wound, but she mastered her emotions. She was the future queen of Camelot, for God's sake.

A heavy sigh escaped her, but the tension remained.

Guinevere, too, wanted to die, but of an entirely different emotion.

{Birthright}

"There's not much else to tell!" Leon insisted, shoving a branch out of his way. The wood snapped, leaving the branch dangling from the break. "It's not like my father gave me a map!"

"Nay," Gwaine muttered irritably, kicking a stone. "Only that there's a bloody rock in th' bloody woods with a bloody stick pokin' out o' it, eh!"

"I thought it was a bedtime story until last afternoon."

A huff escaped Arthur's lips, and he swiped his sweaty bangs back from his forehead. It was hot despite the bad storm brewing, they had been walking for hours, and no one had thought to bring anything to drink—not that they had anything to carry it in. His ears rang from Gwaine and Leon's constant bickering, and he wondered whether Sir Percival, who had been trudging along with them, felt the same headache forming.

Arthur wasn't much for bedtime stories, but he did know that in tales finding what they were looking for was always much easier.

"Wait," Leon said suddenly. "I think my father said something about it being hidden in a valley surrounded by trees."

"Oh, a valley," Gwaine repeated patronizingly. "Not a lot o' those in th' hilly forest o' Camelot! Pah, what does yer father know?"

"Oi," Leon growled threateningly. "I'll have you know that Sir Bedivere was King Constantine II and King Constans' most loyal and valued knight."

"Fat lot o' good that did them," was his arid response.

"You—!"

"Enough," Percival muttered, but the sharp word was sufficient to silence the thief and the knight. They shot one another a glowering look, but pressed on through the thick, dark trees.

Without the distraction, Arthur could only return to self-pity.

The fact that the old crone Nimueh had won was his fault. If Arthur had not dropped Merlin's lamp, they would not have been in the terrible business of trekking through the woods looking for a lost sword that Merlin probably could have found with his magic.

Even better, he could have refused to help the witch in the first place. That might have resulted in death by either magic or a hanging, but the alternative was quicker than dying a starving hermit. They most certainly could not return to Camelot while the witch reigned. That was plain suicide.

Poor Merlin never stood a chance in Arthur's hands.

But Arthur intended to fix it. All one really needed was to find a sword forged in dragon's breath, which was easier, more likely, to find than a cursed soul in a lamp—and he'd already done that. The thief was turning into a right quest-master at this rate.

"Listen," Percival said quite suddenly, breaking Arthur from his thoughts.

Everyone stood still, eyebrows raised as they concentrated.

Leon was the first to understand, turning to one side. "Water," he uttered.

Gwaine and Arthur looked in that direction, but saw nothing but trees. They could faintly hear the sound of a babbling stream, but were unable to pinpoint it as well as Leon had because they were inexperienced and out of their depth.

"I like th' sound o' that," Gwaine said, licking his chapped lips.

As though a cue were given, the group started off toward the stream. It cut through a gentle slope, running lazily around obstacles.

Relief flooded Arthur as he knelt beside the water and dipped his cupped hands into the coolness. He drank deeply, as did the others. It cleared his mind.

"Well," said Leon, once he had drunk his fill. "Since this goes down, I think we ought to follow the water for now."

"Couldn't agree more," Arthur said, standing. He caught a flash out of the corner of his eye and paused, but saw nothing when he turned his head in that direction.

Frowning, he squatted again, and the light winked at him again.

He stood, and glimpsed the flash again.

Arthur lowered himself slowly until he was half-crouched, keeping the silver light in his sights.

"Mate, if ye have t' go, just step behind a tree," Gwaine said.

The blond looked up and realized the other three were watching him curiously. He shook his head and pointed. "You don't see that light? Come here."

Gwaine stepped beside him and mimicked his position. His skeptical expression morphed into pleasant surprise. "An' what do we know of," he grinned, "that's shiny and made of metal?"

"Could it be?" Leon breathed.

He immediately began to hurry downhill, hardly watching where he was going. A branch he pushed out of his way whipped back and struck Arthur fully against the chest with a solid thwack. He winced and rubbed the new bruise, following then at a safer distance.

The senior knight stopped at the edge of a clearing.

The others caught up and stepped around him to take a look, and halted as well, eyes locked on the sight below them.

The stream had veered off to the left, avoiding, somehow, the sharp dip of a small valley. The outer edge of it was surrounded by tall trees, casting shadows like a sundial. But none of that was of interest. Instead, the thieves and knights were focused on the boulder in the center of the valley, out of which stuck a gleaming, almost ethereal sword. The dark clouds above them seemed lighter.

"Mother of God," Leon whispered. He stepped forward, as though entranced, and approached it.

Arthur, Gwaine, and Percival followed.

As they neared, Arthur noticed that the sword, for having been abandoned for so long, showed no sign of weathering. It looked quite polished and rust-free, the ruby embedded in the pommel winking.

Sirs Leon and Percival knelt reverently, the bed of leaves crunching beneath him.

"King Constantine's sword," Percival rumbled, awestruck.

"There's writing," Leon said. He gently brushed away a layer of leaves and dirt, revealing runes expertly inscribed at the base of the stone.

"What's it say?" Arthur leaned forward eagerly. He squinted, hardly able to make out the lines in the dim lighting.

Leon traced his finger along the words as he read, "Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone is rightwise king born of Albion."

Gwaine let out a low whistle. "'Rightwise king.' Fancy that."

"Go on," Arthur urged Leon. "Pull it out, then!"

The tension mounted as the knight stepped up onto the stone so that he could get a good grip on the hilt. Arthur's heart was beating in his throat; soon they would able to kill the witch and bring Merlin back!

Leon jerked upwards, but the sword did not move a centimeter. The knight readjusted his hand and added his other for good measure, then tried again, bracing his legs for extra support and strength. Still nothing happened.

"It's stuck fast," he strained, face reddening with the effort.

Then he let go with a gasp, nearly falling backwards.

"Sir Percival," he motioned, "you give it a go."

"Yes, sir."

Percival managed to balance his large bulk on the rock, taking Leon's place. He placed both hands on the pommel, then slowly pulled. The muscles in his arms bulged, a deep frown caused a crevice between his brows.

"To hell with this!" Leon said. He stepped up beside Percival and placed his hands under the hilt, pushing upwards to add his strength.

Still the sword did not move.

Gwaine, impatient, joined Leon from the other side.

For a moment Arthur worried that they would break the sword in half, but they all released it, panting for breath.

"Hold on," Gwaine said. "I've got an idea."

Percival and Leon stood back beside Arthur and watched as the thief spat on both of his palms and rubbed them together. Then, after cracking his knuckles, he stepped up and grasped the hilt. He proceeded to throw his weight back and forth, apparently intending to wiggle the weapon loose.

"You look like an idiot," Arthur said, grimacing at the display.

Gwaine promptly stopped and glowered at his friend, one hand still gripping the sword. "Yeah? Then let's see you try, Princess."

"Obviously it won't work," Arthur rolled his eyes. "We'll have to find someone who could be the rightful king, like the prophecy says."

"Because we know royalty," Gwaine replied dryly, jumping down. He gestured grandly to the sword in the stone, smiling patronizingly. "Jus' fer the hell of it. I insist."

"Might as well, Arthur," Leon said wearily. He sank down to the ground. "Camelot's done for, I suppose."

Percival averted his gaze as though embarrassed his see his superior in such a state, but said nothing.

Arthur exhaled slowly through his nose. They'd come so far, only to fail. He didn't want to try his hand at pulling the sword; he already knew it would be no use. But Gwaine was looking at him expectantly, Leon was staring dejectedly at his hands, and Percival seemed to be contemplating something quite serious, perhaps the downfall of Albion. Arthur had nothing to do. Expending some nervous energy might do him some good.

So he wiped his hands on his trousers and stepped up, slapping away Gwaine's hand when he tried to help him as though he were a lady. The sword, he thought as he looked down at it, really was quite beautiful and tasteful. He imagined that if he were a prince or a king, he'd have liked to have one like it.

He touched the cool gold, and felt a delightful shiver run up his arm and tingle down his spine. The pommel seemed to be made for his hand—it was the perfect length and girth, unlike all the other swords he'd held in his life, the tarnished or broken ones cast aside by noblemen that he and Gwaine found sometimes and took for the fun of it.

Arthur shook his head and took a calming breath, quashing the hope that had begun to build up. His mouth tightened into a thin, serious line as he closed his eyes.

He gave the sword a half-hearted tug, knowing nothing would happen—and promptly fell backwards after a split second of weightlessness. The breath whooshed out of him as he landed square on his back, and his eyes snapped open in astonishment. The sword thwumped soundly in the leaves beside him, his hand still attached to it.

The scene froze for what felt like eternity.

Stunned, Arthur turned his head and stared wide-eyed at the sword, which had come out of the stone like a knife from butter. The blade was undamaged, and now that it was naked Arthur saw that there were runes etched into the metal as well. "Excalibur," he sounded out quietly as he sat up.

He looked up from the sword to see his friends staring back, slack-jawed.

A cheeky smirk brought Gwaine back to life. "All hail Arthur, king of the Britons."

"No," Arthur said automatically. "No, this is—I don't—the sword…"

"In the cave," Leon said, "in the cave, Merlin called you…He called you Constantine."

"He was mistaken!"

"And then…if Uther is your father…"

"Yes, but my father was no prince," Arthur insisted desperately. He started forward and thrust the sword toward Leon. "Take it. It's yours! I'm not the heir."

"Your majesty, I cannot," Leon refused, flustered.

"No! No, I'm Arthur. I'm a thief, a low, common, base thief!"

He looked to Gwaine for help, but none was forthcoming because the older man merely looked at him strangely. At the sound of crunching leaves, Arthur whipped back to the knights, only, to his mortification, to find that they were kneeling at his feet.

"Stop that!" he cried.

Arthur threw Excalibur down, as though ridding himself of it would somehow reverse the damage. His identity had been shattered.

"I am not a king!"

"Of course yer not," Gwaine drawled at last.

Relief flooded Arthur. Thank God for Gwaine!

"But don't worry," he continued. "Queens can still assume the throne."

"Gwaine!" Arthur moaned, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, God. This cannot be happening."

"But it is, Arthur," said Percival's quiet voice. He put a large, comforting hand on the thief's shoulder. "This is your birthright. It was meant to be. And even if you don't want to be king, shouldn't you at least play the role for now? For the warlock?"

"Aye," Gwaine said. "That's why we came 'ere. For Merlin."

"Right," Leon said, standing. "We can't give up now. We've come so far. This sword will defeat the witch. You must wield it."

"I am no fighter," Arthur said. "How could I wield a sword?"

Leon scrutinized him for a moment. "Pick up your sword, Arthur."

"But…"

"Your sword, Arthur."

Arthur scoffed, blinking rapidly until his eyes stopped burning. Then he cleared his throat and bent to retrieve Excalibur from where it had landed. He lifted his chin and glared defiantly at Leon, who pointed toward one of the trees.

"Hold your sword straight out and run forward until that tree stops you."

"Sorry?" Arthur frowned, confused.

Leon raised his eyebrow. "That's how you shall defeat the witch. Run her through the heart."

Arthur let out a short, frustrated growl. "And how I will get close enough to do that?" he demanded. "You saw how easily she swatted us aside! I cannot compete with magic."

"Which is why," Leon said, holding up a finger, "we will distract her. You will attack from behind."

"Isn't that against the knight code or something?" Arthur muttered.

"You're not a knight, sire."

Gwaine laughed at that.

Arthur held the sword out again. "Then let Gwaine do it."

"Nay," Gwaine shook his head, flicking his hair. "It's yer birthright, not mine."

"I didn't ask for this."

"An' I didn't ask fer me dad to die in war an' leave 'is family destitute, mate," Gwaine shrugged. "But it happened, yeah? Be glad yer movin' up in society, Princess."

Arthur swallowed thickly, lowering his gaze to the sword. The weight of it felt right, actually, but he most definitely didn't want it. It was too much responsibility for one man.

"If my father really were a prince," he said, "why did he not tell me?"

"Perhaps he couldn't," Leon said. "Vortigern was a conqueror. He killed the Pendragon family. I suppose Uther was the only one who escaped. He didn't tell you in order to keep you safe, not to deny your birthright."

Arthur's frown deepened. "Then why…did he disappear?"

No one answered.

He inhaled deeply, eyes sliding closed, brow furrowed. Arthur brought the ruby-stud in Excalibur's pommel to his lips. A surge of warmth spread through his chest, and he thought he imagined a shadowy form of his father watching him, urging him on.

"If I must," he said at last. "For my father. For Camelot. For Merlin."

The others' grins went unnoticed, until Arthur was startled by the sudden, "All! Hail! All! Hail! All! Hail!"

Embarrassingly, Sirs Leon and Percival knelt in respect, bowing their heads. Before he could tell them to please stand, Gwaine enveloped him in a tight hug, then gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Arthur groaned and tried to escape the scratchy beard to no avail, his arms effectively trapped to his sides. Even Excalibur was useless for defense against Gwaine's love.

"For God's sake, let go! and get up!"

{Birthright}

"We should find a place to rest for tonight," Leon said. He glanced up at the still-dark sky. "Someplace with some shelter, so we can build a fire."

"Someplace with some dinner," Gwaine muttered. "I'm bloody starving."

Arthur surreptitiously stuffed another few berries into his mouth, chewing quietly. Excalibur was belted securely at his waist in a sheath that was a little too large but that Percival had kindly lent him. Now both knights' swords hung at their sides naked and dangerous-looking, but neither seemed to mind much.

"We could go there," Percival said. They glanced at him, and then in the direction in which he was pointing. Sure enough, after a moment, they were able to make out a thin trail of smoke. It was nearly invisible against the black sky, even after the wind had died down.

"Good job, Sir Percival," Leon said. "Shall we?"

"Fine by me!" Gwaine said, already more lighthearted at the prospect of a chance of eating.

"Who would be way out here?" Arthur wondered.

"Possibly Druids," Leon replied.

"Druids?" Arthur repeated. "I thought they'd all gone."

"Many of them have," Leon said. "Vortigern was…unkind to them in the past, but King Leodegrance was much more tolerant."

"If they are Druids," Arthur pressed thoughtfully, "do you think they would help us defeat the witch? They have magic, right?"

"They are a peaceful people," the knight responded slowly, unwilling to commit to a yes or a no. "It would not hurt to suggest it to them, I suppose."

Arthur nodded, content in the possibility.

The group continued the trek in silence.

{Birthright}

"You must keep up your strength, my girl," Gaius said, proffering the charred fish on a stick.

Guinevere merely made a gagging noise and turned away from the repulsive stare of the skewered creature.

Gaius exhaled pointedly, then shook his head and sat back. He placed the fish against a flat stone he had been using as a plate and proceeded to eat his own fish, which he had caught by, of course, magic.

After a moment, he said, "Would you eat if I stripped the flesh for you?"

"…No. I'm not hungry."

"I told you, you must eat regardless!"

She glared at him and in her fiercest voice snapped, "And I said I don't want it!" Her voice rang sharply through the clearing, and Gaius' eyebrow rose to a dangerous height, but the princess found that she did not care at all. Her temper was shot, her birthright stolen, her family dead. What did it matter whether she ate? She would only regurgitate it later, anyway.

Guinevere lay on her side, her back to Gaius, so she could wallow in self-pity. It was an indulgence she rarely allowed herself.

Gaius said nothing more, merely ate his meal with a disapproving expression.

Silence reigned.

The princess squeezed her eyes shut, brow pinched. Perhaps she might sleep, dream of a time gone by. She tried to regulate her breathing, but her corset hindered her lungs. Of course there had been no time to bring her nightdress or anything else at all.

"Who goes there?" the bishop demanded sharply.

Guinevere's eyes snapped open. She suddenly felt quite alert, lying rigid with her back to whomever was entering the clearing—she could hear their footsteps crunching in the leaves, for there was more than one intruder.

"Ah!" Gaius' voice sounded much more pleased, and Guinevere relaxed a smidgeon, though her heart still raced and her legs trembled. So whoever had arrived must have been the old friend he had told her about. The one with magic.

"Gaius, it's you!" said an unfamiliar voice. "What on earth—er, is that…?"

There was a short few seconds of silence, and Guinevere wondered whether she could get away with the pretense of sleep.

"Yes, it is the Princess Guinevere," Gaius responded. "Unfortunately, I was not in time to…well. Perhaps it's best to not speak of it right this moment…"

"What," Guinevere said despite herself, "that Elyan's dead?"

Gaius sighed. "Yes. Guinevere, perhaps you should greet our guests? I know you're having a difficult time, but…"

The princess wiped her face with a sigh and propped herself up onto one elbow. After a quick sniffle to clear her sinuses so she would not sound stuffy, she completed the process of sitting up and turned around to face the arrivals.

Four men were standing awkwardly at the edge of the trees.

"My lady," said the one in front, a man with curly straw hair. He bowed deeply from the waist, followed by his very large, sleeveless friend.

"My lord," she responded dutifully, but made no further move. She was obviously, even in her bedraggled state, of a higher status than he. Her red-rimmed, puffy eyes moved to the two men standing in the back, awaiting her proper greeting.

"'Ello, Gwen!" said Gwaine, waving cheerily. His grin was a bit forced, for though he did not know who Elyan was, it was plain that his death had quite affected the young woman.

"My lady," Arthur said, bowing clumsily. Excalibur took the opportunity to slip out of its scabbard, disturbing the peace. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, quickly retrieving it and stuffing it back inside the sheath as he stood, blushing furiously.

When he glanced up, it was to see the princess staring at him with a stricken expression, mouth hanging ajar.

"…My lady?" he asked tentatively, glancing toward Leon as though to determine whether he was overstepping his bounds. But Leon gave no hint, looking just as confused.

"Ar—Arthur?" she whispered, hands coming up to cover her lips.

"Yes…"

"You're alive!" She scrambled to her feet unsteadily. "I thought—I thought you were dead!"

"Are you—Are you quite all right?" he asked, concerned.

Gaius was still sitting, picking the bones from his fish, but he glanced up with an eyebrow raised as the princess threw herself forward. As soon as her hands touched Arthur, felt his warmth, his heartbeat in his chest, she collapsed into his arms, sobbing anew.

Arthur was dumbstruck. Eyes wide, he met Gwaine's gaze. Gwaine shrugged, then ambled over to the fire and took a seat, watching the show. Leon and Percival looked as though they wanted to intervene, but neither dared.

"And where is Merlin?" Gaius asked at last, raising his voice slightly to be heard over Guinevere's noises. "I suppose he's tired? Waiting to present a grand depiction of his battle?" He chuckled slightly, but when the princess let out another vicious sob, he looked more somber, chagrined.

Arthur felt his heart fall much lower than it already had been. He shared a look with the others, and opened his mouth to say something, when Guinevere finally swallowed thickly once or twice and stood back.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I really must apolo—apologize for my behavior. That was wrong of me to do."

"No," Arthur said, "it's quite all right."

"It's not," she laughed, a bit embarrassed. "But thank you. Well, um, please come sit, Arthur. I'm so glad to see you again…"

"You as well," he answered. His eye caught the state of her dress, all covered in stains that he knew well enough were blood. But obviously not her own, as she moved without injury.

Gaius set down the fish, looking from Arthur to Gwaine to Leon to Percival. He seem dissatisfied. "Where is the lamp? Where is Merlin?"

Arthur lowered his gaze to the flames, chewing his lower lip.

"Oh, dear God," Gaius said. "The witch has taken him, hasn't she?"

"I'm so sorry, Gaius," Leon said. "We failed."

Gaius lowered his hoary head and crossed himself slowly. "God have mercy."

Guinevere's heart rate picked up in dismay. If the ever-calm bishop bethought them doomed, then there really must be no hope.

The old man turned toward the lake, eyes glistening.

"But…" Arthur cleared his throat, a bit intimidated. "But we have another plan, to rescue Merlin."

Gaius raised an eyebrow, but did not speak nor turn back.

Arthur continued, "Merlin told us that the only way to kill the witch was with a sword forged in the breath of a dragon. Constantine's sword."

"Yes," said the bishop, but he did not seem at all excited at the prospect. "It is also the only way to kill Merlin."

"Well, we're not killing Merlin," Arthur responded, appalled at the thought. He shifted uncomfortably. "See, we'll kill the witch and take Merlin's lamp back from her, and then Merlin can merge with himself, or whatever he needs to do."

"That will only work if the witch has not absorbed his essence," Gaius said, "as she intends to do."

"Er, when will she do that?" Gwaine asked.

"As soon as possible," he replied, brow creasing as he frowned. "I'll warrant she has already."

"Is there really no way?" Arthur asked, distressed. The other men looked quite put out as well; Gwaine hadn't even reached for one of the fish, for all his claims of starvation.

"I wonder…" Gaius murmured, staring out across the lake. Then he stood. "One of you come with me."

Startled, no one moved, watching the bishop move with determination toward the shore of the lake. Arthur, after sharing a glance with Leon, scrambled to his feet and hurried after Gaius. When he caught up, he was surprised to see the old man beckon at something beneath the surface of the glassy water. Arthur looked out and missed the golden flash of Gaius' eyes.

The water rippled and bulged a short distance away, and a boat rose from the depths, much to Arthur's shock. He heard awed noises behind him and knew that the others were seeing it as well. The boat, which had surfaced upside-down, rocked back and forth, then slowly flipped over even as it was magically drawn toward dry land. The small wooden craft was not wet at all, despite its submergence.

Once it drew near, Gaius hiked up his robes and stepped inside. The boat did not wobble at all. The old man sat at the bow and motioned impatiently for Arthur to get in as well. The blond did, holding his new sword steady.

"There's no oars," Arthur noted as he sat down.

"No need," was the calm response.

As though an invisible rope were being pulled from the opposite shore, the boat began to move forward. Arthur gripped the sides tightly, almost afraid that the boat would tip and sink into its original position, taking them both with it.

But the watercraft did no such thing. Indeed, there was hardly a ripple as it slid smoothly toward the middle of the lake. Arthur chanced a glance over the starboard, and could see directly to the silty bottom, where green grass grew. Glittering gold, rusted irons, and tools were piled along the ground, offerings from Druids long past. He realized that this lake was probably used for ritual burials, as Merlin had said he'd done for Freya.

"Gaius," he said.

"Yes, my boy."

"What is this place called?"

"This is the Lake of Avalon."

"Avalon," Arthur repeated. "Like the Fairyworld?"

"Like the Afterworld, more like," Gaius responded, still looking ahead. "That is, for those who practice the Old Religion."

"Ah."

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, and saw the knights, Gwaine, and the princess standing on the shore, watching them solemnly. They seemed to know as little as Arthur did about the mysterious affair, but he doubted that Gaius was bringing him out here to do something untoward. Gwaine was a good swimmer, and Arthur trusted that he'd rescue him should anything happen. Hopefully.

"Here we are," Gaius said.

Arthur turned forwards and saw that the boat had finally come to a full stop in the center. He watched the old man expectantly for a moment, but he did nothing but sit patiently, as though waiting for something himself.

"Er," Arthur said tentatively. "What are we doing?"

Gaius did not deign to reply, merely watched the water portside. The thief cum king fell quiet and leaned over a bit so he could see as well. He gasped softly at the sight of Merlin lying still and lifeless. He looked close enough to touch, just below the surface of the lake, as though trapped under a layer of clear ice.

"His corporeal form is preserved by magic," Gaius explained in a hushed tone. "It does not house his soul, so to waken it would be like bringing to life his shadow."

"Are…Are we wakening him—it?"

"I don't know yet, my boy."

"Oh."

Privately, Arthur wondered how long it would take Gaius to decide. The boat did make him nervous, especially with the storm clouds overhead that, if they poured, could whip up tall waves that could sink the boat. Even Gwaine could not save him in that case.

"Perhaps…" Gaius murmured. He reached out a gnarled hand and dipped it into the water. He touched Merlin's brow, creating golden ripples that spread outward from the touch. Arthur watched with bated breath as Merlin's thick lashes fluttered. But he did not wake.

Instead, a dark shadow from below bubbled upwards.

As it approached, Arthur could make out some features: flowing black locks, and a maroon dress that twisted artistically around a womanish form, which became even more defined the closer it came. Long, pale arms stretched upwards and broke the surface, flinging water droplets in every direction. The rest of her followed; the parts of her that the air touched quickly dried, returning her hair to its natural curly state. Soulful brown eyes appeared beneath thick dark lashes.

"Gaius," she greeted, sitting on the surface of the water as though it were solid.

"Freya," the old man smiled fondly.

She smiled in return, cocking her head so that her hair created a curtain that hid Merlin from view. "Not that I am not glad to see you, of course," she said, "but may I inquire why you've summoned me from Avalon?"

"It's only fair," Gaius replied solemnly.

Arthur could only stare at the beautiful Freya as the conversation continued. He certainly hadn't expected the Lady of the Lake to be a real lady; he'd thought it was more metaphorical, how the land of Albion was given a feminine pronoun.

"I am afraid," Gaius sighed heavily, "that the witch has taken Merlin."

Despair tinged her placid expression, but she quickly mastered it. "But Kilgharrah…"

"Dead," the old man answered shortly, shaking his head.

"I see."

There was a moment of silence wherein Gaius waited, perhaps giving her a moment to silently grieve, or awaiting some advice. Freya's penetrating gaze drifted toward Arthur, then down to the sword on his hip.

"The sword of Constantine," she said, subconsciously bringing a hand to her side as though to cover an invisible wound. Arthur remembered the story Merlin had told them, and fervently wished he had left the weapon with the others.

Gaius glanced at the sword as well, then back at Freya. "To use it would destroy Merlin as well," he said.

"Yes," she responded slowly. Freya met eyes with Arthur again. "Where is the lamp?"

"Er, Nimueh took it," Arthur said, discomfited by her quiet intensity.

"Then you must get it back," she said. "Take the lamp from the witch, and rub it thrice. Merlin's soul should be summoned forth, and sucked back into its receptacle. Then kill the witch, and return here for Merlin." Before Arthur could reply, she reached out and tightly gripped his hand, which was resting on the hilt of his sword.

He started, but did not pull away. His fright was chased away by the tingling warmth that spread up his arm from her touch—it was not unlike Merlin's.

"Arthur," she continued, some strange power entering her voice and strengthening it. "I name thee son of the dragon, of night and the slaughter. Take thy sword, wrought by a king for the hand of the chosen, and answer the calling thee cannot deny. Go thee to Camelot, unifier of Albion, and take back that which is thine!"

Then she released him, and in the blink of an eye she had gone, dispersed into the watery depths that was her home.

"Wha…?" Arthur gasped, shaken by the prophecy.

Nothing more could be said for the moment, for the boat suddenly began to spin around, casting a shadow over Merlin's pale, blueish face. Once the bow was directed toward the shore, it glided toward it.

Gaius looked appraisingly at Arthur, who trembling slightly from the experience.

"Son of the dragon," he mused. "A strange title."

"I don't know what it means," Arthur said, tightening his grip on the sword. The encrusted ruby pressed into his palm, giving him some modicum of comfort, almost familiarity.

"Hmm." The old man was still looking at him as though he were suspicious, but Arthur could find no satisfactory answer to give. He certainly didn't want the one man able to ordain divine right to rule to decide Arthur was fit for kingship.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

When they arrived at the shore, the others had returned to sit by the fire, waiting for them. Gaius and Arthur stepped out of the boat, which promptly turned around again and sank a ways from land, its original resting place. They approached to apprehensive but hungry stares. Gwaine was eating one of the fish, which had long gone cold.

Thunder rumbled ominously as they sat down, and Gaius began to tell them who the distant figure had been and what she had said, if only to appease their curiosity.

"Son of the dragon, eh?" Gwaine said, looking at Arthur. "Well, she had that bit wrong, I think. Honestly, I think I'm the only one who recognizes you as a lady."

Guinevere looked confused at that, but the others only rolled their eyes.

"We need to make a plan," Leon said.

"Aye, because that worked so well last time," Gwaine drawled, flicking a charred fish eye toward the trees.

"This time we know what we're up against," Leon insisted. "Now, obviously we can't go in the same way, because there's every chance the witch will still be in the throne room, and she could be expecting us. We have to find a way in no one would think to guard."

Gwaine raised a hand. "I know of one."

"We're not climbing up the latrines," Arthur shot him down immediately.

"No one would expect it."

"But we can expect a face full of—" the blond cut himself off, suddenly mortified to remember the presence of Princess Guinevere. The both of them blushed.

"One of us," interjected Percival, the first time he'd spoken in a long while, "should distract the witch, while the others sneak in through the catacombs."

"Right, a good idea, Sir Percival," Leon nodded. "And that person should, if possible, take the lamp and get Merlin while they are at it. That would weaken Nimueh considerably."

"Indeed," Gaius agreed. "I shall volunteer to distract her."

"No," Arthur said. "It's too dangerous. You should stay here with Princess Guinevere, where it's safe."

"Excuse me," Guinevere said, frowning. "And who said I was staying?"

The men turned to her, agape.

"Er, well," Arthur stammered. "You're a lady, and a battle is no place…" He trailed off as her expression turned deadpan.

"Oh, I see," she said coldly. "And out in the forest with no shelter is the place for an esteemed lady such as myself. Better to die of starvation and cold than fighting for her kingdom, is it?"

Gwaine snickered.

"Do you find that funny, Gwaine?" she asked him ruefully.

"Aye, I do," he said, eyes twinkling merrily. "In fact, I think that if ye can't be allowed to fight, then neither should Arthur, yeah? Women stay behind together."

"Don't you ever get tired of that?" Arthur sighed, struggling to suppress his frustration.

"No."

"Of course not."

"Anyway," Leon said, shifting uncomfortably. He didn't look pleased to be inviting Guinevere along, but he could not refuse her. "Then Gaius and Guinevere can distract the witch. When we step in to fight her, you two must flee at once."

"Fine," Guinevere said.

"We shall lead her to the throne room," Gaius said. "That way you men can come in through the same passage and take her by surprise."

"How will you distract her?" Arthur asked, nervous about the whole affair.

"I will do whatever it takes," he answered firmly.

"We all will," Guinevere said, standing.

The others followed her example, looking solemnly and determinedly at one another through the smoke of the fire at the center of their circle.