-12-

She held her sword tightly in her grip, her hands curled around the hilt as if her life depended on it. But it did, didn't it. After all, this was a fight for life. Death teased her in her enemy's eyes. She lifted the sword. The blade glowed silver. She swung, swift as a viper, staining the metal crimson. It dripped into the dirt at her feet, and her enemy fell. He fumbled with his helmet as he went down to the ground, final lifting it free from his head. Blonde hair framed a handsome face and piercing blue eyes made her breath catch in her throat.

She began to scream.

Over and over she screamed. "No!" she cried out as the life faded from his eyes. "This wasn't meant to happen! It wasn't me!" She felt something stir within her: a shadow, a shade. It had swayed her hand; it had struck the final blow.

She dropped the sword and knelt on the ground, taking the boy's head in her hands. "Arthur, I'm sorry," she said, her tears mingling with his skin. She watched as the life left his body.

Ryll sat straight up in bed, her sides heaving. "NO!" she screamed. Then she realized it had only been a dream. A horrible dream that had felt so real. She looked down at her hands. Did they really have the power to strike down someone she cared about? What if she wasn't in control of her own actions? She looked over at the sleeping draft. Wasn't that supposed to chase away bad dreams? Her hands were shaking, she realized, as she reached out for the bottle and tapped two more drops into her mouth. Weariness overcame her, and she sunk back under the blankets, pulling them up to her chin as if they would ward off nightmares. "I will never hurt you, Arthur," she mumbled before falling back asleep. The last thought she had was: What if winning means hurting him?

…

When Ryll awoke again, it was to the sound of someone rustling around her room. Then the covers were pulled unexpectedly off of her head. She had been burrowed down so deeply that only a small portion of her face hadn't been engulfed by the blankets.

"Don't do that!" she snapped sleepily, not fully realizing what was going on.

"You're going to be late if you laze around." It was Merlin. Ryll opened her eyes slightly, glaring at him.

"What on earth does that sleeping draft have in it? First I have nightmares, then I wake up feeling like someone hit me over the head with a log."

"I have just the thing." Merlin pulled out another vial. Ryll groaned. "This one will give you energy. Trust me." He frowned. "But you say you had nightmares even after taking the draft?"

Ryll nodded. "It was probably nothing." Merlin didn't look convinced, but he didn't press the subject. He handed Ryll the vial and she drank the whole thing at his request. She did feel slightly more energized afterwards. She put her legs over the side of the bed.

"Have my clothes arrived?" she asked.

"Not yet. I was just going to pick them up," Merlin told her. "It's not even dawn yet."

"No wonder I don't want to wake up. Is Arthur up yet?"

"Not yet. I'll wake him in a little while and make sure to tell him that you're feeling very sickly this morning."

"Will he believe you?" Ryll asked.

"I think so. I'll tell him Gaius examined you and that you're highly contagious."

Ryll made a face. "Thanks."

"Well, he might want to come visit you before he goes off to fight otherwise."

"Why would he do that?"

"You know." Merlin had that look on his face again.

"You're making assumptions," Ryll told him firmly. "Now go fetch me my clothes."

"You're starting to sound like Arthur." Ryll threw a pillow at him, but he dodged it. "I'm getting fast reflexes," he explained before leaving to find Gwen.

Ryll contented herself with polishing her sword while she waited. Truth be told, the nightmare was still fresh in her mind despite the lack of dreams she'd had after taking the sleeping draft a second time. Images of Arthur dying kept plaguing her mind. What if she did hurt him? She'd never do that on purpose, but still…. It was a dangerous tournament. She remembered the shadow and how it had moved her hand to strike Arthur down in her dream. She wouldn't let that happen. No matter what the cost, she would never hurt Arthur. Even if it meant losing the tournament.

…

Merlin was nearly out the castle doors when he met Gwen, her arms loaded with the altered clothing.

"Gwen, just who I was looking for," Merlin greeted her.

"Merlin. I have the clothes right here." She handed them off to him. "Don't let Arthur see you with those."

"Oh, I won't," Merlin said, grinning.

Gwen hesitated. "I know it's none of my business, but I can't help but wonder if Ryll asking for these clothes and the tournament today are related somehow. Something tells me you're in on this."

"This what? There is no this. I don't know what you mean," Merlin said in a rush. He was a terrible liar, but he tried.

"I'm not going to tell anyone. I just think it's dangerous."

"Don't worry. She knows what she's doing," Merlin assured her.

Gwen nodded, her face somber. "I hope so," she said. "I like her. She's got a lot of spirit, just like Morgana. I can tell Arthur's taken a fancy to her. The way he looks at her."

"Yeah, I've seen that too." Merlin's smile slid a little.

Gwen scrutinized him. "You don't look to happy about that."

"Well, Arthur's always getting the girl, isn't he?"

"You like her too." A smile grew on Gwen's lips.

"Me? No, just as friends."

"You're a terrible liar, Merlin. I've seen the way you look at her too."

"I don't know what you mean." But really he did, as much as he tried to hide the fact even from himself.

"Well, tell her good luck for me anyway," Gwen said, changing the subject.

"I will." Merlin said goodbye to Gwen before heading back to Ryll's room. He dropped off her clothes before heading to Arthur's room to wake the prince. As usual, Arthur was sprawled out on his stomach, one arm hanging over the side of the bed. As Merlin stepped toward the bed, he tripped over the shield that sat against one of the chairs. It went crashing to the floor, taking down a sword with it. Arthur jolted awake, looking around before focusing on Merlin.

"Merlin, can you take at least one day off from your usual clumsiness?"

"Sorry, Sire, it just happens."

"Yes, I know." Arthur stood, stretching, before grabbing a tunic and pulling it over his head.

"Oh, Ryll asked me to tell you that she's feeling really ill this morning. Gaius checked on her. She's not going to be leaving her room for a few days. She feels really bad about not watching the tournament though."

Arthur's face fell slightly. "I'm sorry that she's ill. I'll visit her before I go out to-"

"Oh, no, that wouldn't be advisable. She's … possibly contagious. Nothing terrible, but you wouldn't want to risk it before the tournament. Besides, she's sleeping now."

"Alright."

Merlin hid his surprise at Arthur's agreement. "Well then, I will bring you some breakfast-"

"I don't think I can eat this morning," Arthur cut him off.

"Too nervous?" Merlin asked cheerily.

"I don't get nervous, Merlin. We've been over this."

"You need your strength."

"Alright, something small," Arthur consented.

…

Merlin returned with a piping hot bowl of porridge and three rolls of sausage. "Eat up!" he said, setting the food on the table. Arthur was already dressed, much to Merlin's surprise. He walked over to the food, his face slightly pained.

"If you won't eat it, I will. It looks good," Merlin said, making to sit in the chair.

"Don't even think about it, Merlin. You're not the one who's going to be wielding a sword today." Arthur took his seat.

"I should hope not."

"You probably can't even lift a sword."

"I can. I lift one every time I help you get dressed."

Arthur glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. "That doesn't count. I've seen you try to be helpful with a sword. It's pathetic."

Merlin knew Arthur was only nervous and trying to hide his nerves by taking out his anger on Merlin. He grinned. "Eat your porridge," he said cheekily. Arthur glared at him for a moment as if trying to figure out whether he wanted to eat the porridge or flop the bowl over Merlin's head. In the end, he dutifully lifted his spoon and began to eat.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Merlin said, edging toward the door.

"Why, where are you off to? You need to help me get into my armor."

"I'll be back. There's just something I need to do." He ducked out the door before Arthur could protest.

On the way to Ryll's room, Merlin tried to stay out of sight. If he was seen going to her room too often, someone might get suspicious. He knocked before going in, waiting to hear Ryll's voice. When he entered, she was trying her hair back in a low bun. The long, golden blonde strands once neatly packed back would stay under her helmet, and hopefully no one would recognize her. She turned to look at him. Her blue eyes were clear – the energy potion was taking effect.

"Oh, Merlin, I feel as if I just got the best night's rest ever. I don't even remember what my nightmare was about. I don't feel nervous anymore either."

"Good. Just don't get overconfident."

"Oh, I won't. Can you help me get into my armor?" she asked.

"Of course."

She was dressed in Arthur's clothes. They fit her without being too loose. Where they were just slightly unimpressive clothes on Arthur, they looked incredible on Ryll. She looked ready to take up a sword and fight dozens of men twice her size. Merlin couldn't wait to see her in her armor.

"We should get you down to a tent where you can change. They've set them up for each knight along the border of the fighting ring. There's one for you."

"I need to make sure no one recognizes me," Ryll said. She grabbed a cloak and pulled the hood far over her head so that it hid her features.

"Can you take the armor? I'll get my sword and bow."

They made their way downstairs stealthily, coming across a few bustling servants, but no one who would give them away. Ryll's tent was set up along the edge. They went in, Merlin setting down the armor, and Ryll throwing back her hood.

She had chosen light armor to protect herself. "I'm fast," she said when Merlin expressed his worries. "I'm also smaller and not as strong, so I don't want to weigh myself down."

He helped her pull some chainmail over her head. It fit surprisingly well. Next he helped her into a breastplate that went over the shoulders and fitted to her body to protect her from heavy blows. Again, it fit well. "These were made for someone a lot smaller than a knight," Ryll said. "I found them stowed away. I think they might have been Arthur's when he was a boy."

"Won't he recognize them?" Merlin asked.

"Hopefully not. They're pretty nondescript."

Next came armguards and a helmet. Lastly the black cloak. Merlin stood back to admire his handiwork. "You look like a true knight," he said, catching his breath.

"Really?" Ryll asked, her voice slightly muffled behind the helmet. "I wish I had a mirror."

"How does it feel?"

"It fits, and it's not too heavy." She held out her sword. "Will you do the honor?" she asked.

"Sure." Merlin belted the sword around her waist and then put her quiver over her shoulders so that it rested against her back.

"I think I'm ready."

"The tournament starts in an hour. I'd better go help Arthur get into his armor. He'll be furious by now."

"I hope I didn't get you in trouble," Ryll said apologetically. She pulled her helmet off, careful to keep her hair in place.

"It's fine." Merlin hesitated. "Look, I know it's usually the woman who gives the knight her handkerchief, but I was hoping that you would take this to wear." He felt himself blushing slightly as he pulled the red scarf from his neck. He handed it to Ryll. Her eyes widened slightly as she took it.

"Thank you," she said, looking down at the scarf. "This means a lot to me."

"For luck," Merlin said. Ryll wound it around her neck.

"Thank you, Merlin." She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, and he felt himself getting redder. She squeezed his hand and then stepped back.

"Well, I'd better go help Arthur," he said, stepping back and nearly tripping.

Ryll smiled at him, her eyes glowing. "I'll see you out there," she said.

"I'll be rooting for you."

…

Ryll felt her anxieties returning as the hour wore on. She pulled the cloak over her head and retrieved her horse. It was in the last stall as Merlin had told her it would be. He was a black gelding. Much bigger than Owl. He was a warhorse. She grabbed the proper tack and led him back to her tent where she tied him up outside. She was set.

The morning shone brightly outside, but she didn't dare go out there. She kept her helmet near at hand, waiting to put it on so that she could still breathe freely.

An hour passed and she heard the trumpets. It was time.

She put on her helmet, grabbed her bow and marched out to the battle ring.