A/N:

Happy (belated) (American) Thanksgiving! I'm deeply grateful to each and every one of you for taking precious time out of your busy lives to read my stories. You bring me so much joy. :)

General TW for blood/pain/exorcism (nothing particularly extreme)

Chapter 5: Step Into the Light

The final quarter-league passed in increasingly heavy silence; what little levity they'd managed earlier seemed to drain away with every step closer to their destination. Leon jumped at every snapped twig. Gwaine scowled into the middle distance. Percival and Elyan seemed equally withdrawn, and Gaius appeared lost in thought. Merlin kept glancing over his shoulder in an attempt to read Arthur's expression, but Arthur wouldn't meet his eyes.

It was a relief to emerge from the oppressive forest into the large clearing. Merlin stopped at the tree line and turned back to the others. "I'll have to call Kilgharrah."

"You never said," Arthur observed slowly, "why you needed a dragon for the exorcism."

"Um." Merlin looked over at Gaius. "Can you while I call him?"

"Of course."

Merlin mustered a grateful nod, then started into the field. When Percival tried to follow him, Merlin shook his head. "It's okay. I'm not going far, and it's going to be…loud."

Percival looked to Arthur for approval.

Before Arthur could reply, Gaius interjected. "My lord, the exorcism is a complex ritual that will require trusting Merlin to do his part. Summoning Kilgharrah is, by far, the simplest part for him."

Arthur pressed his mouth into a thin line but nodded. While the knights secured the horses near the tree line and helped Gaius with his heavy saddlebags, Merlin headed a dozen paces out into the field, eyes fixed on the sky. He tried not to think about his audience as he reached deep—down, down, down through layers of ice and darkness—for the faint ember of dragonfire burning within him. The ancient words rose up and split the still night.

As the echoes of the command faded, Merlin dropped his gaze from the sky to the ground as he returned to the others. With each step, sparkling frost bloomed on the thick grass around his feet. That's…new. He shrugged away the thought as he reached the group, but his eyes lingered on the way the frost painted the tops of the blades silver in the moonlight.

He tried to flex his fingers and realized he couldn't feel them anymore. He shrugged that thought away, too. "It'll be a while," he announced instead. "Kilgharrah is at least seven leagues away."

"How do you know?" Leon asked.

"Because that's how far we are from the closest edge of Camelot's borders. I've forbidden him to cross them unless I call for him."

"Oh."

Merlin risked a glance at his companions' faces: wide eyes all around. Merlin dropped his gaze again to the gleaming blades that spread out around his feet like an ethereal silver web, with him at the center. Am I the spider or the prey? he wondered, then shook his head to try to loosen the cold, clammy cobwebs that coated his thoughts. He turned to Gaius. "I should learn the spell while we wait."

Gaius nodded and stooped to rummage through the saddlebags. "Now, unfortunately, no reflexive version of this spell exists—"

Merlin sighed. "Of course not. That would be too easy."

Gaius ignored the interruption, rising with the spellbook in hand. As he flipped to an earmarked page, he continued, "You'll just have to modify the verbs and objects accordingly."

Arthur's brows rose. "Gaius, I know you said you didn't have the power to perform the spell yourself, but you most definitely did not mention that there wasn't a self-exorcism spell for him to use."

"It didn't seem relevant to specify, given that there are no viable alternatives to consider."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Gwaine muttered to Percival.

Arthur frowned. "Why is there no self-exorcism spell?"

Gaius hummed thoughtfully. "In the days before the Purge, there would have been no need. There were plenty of priests and priestesses available to perform such a ritual. It is also exceedingly rare for a possessed individual to remain aware and in control, especially as the duration of possession increases."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, you're saying a self-exorcism has never been done before?"

"Not to my knowledge, no."

"Is it even possible?"

Gaius shifted the heavy tome from one hand to the other. "I…can't say whether or not it is possible; simply that it has never been done."

"What if he fails?"

Merlin cleared his throat. "I'm right here, you know."

Arthur turned to glare at him. "Did you know that no one's managed a self-exorcism before?"

Merlin shrugged one shoulder, and a pair of icicles flaked from the chain between his cuffs. "I didn't know, but I'm not surprised."

Arthur crossed his arms. "What makes you think you can do something no other sorcerer has ever managed?"

The sharp words struck him like flint and ignited a bitter spark. "Because that's how this always goes. 'Do the impossible, Merlin,'" he mimicked, "'or the kingdom falls. Master the power of life and death, Merlin. Defeat an immortal sorcerer, Merlin. Defeat an immortal army, Merlin. Survive a serket sting and get back to work, Merlin. Figure out how to do something in one hour that the high priests never mastered, or everyone you love will die.'"

Arthur's eyes widened, but Merlin wasn't done. "If it's not Gaius saying it, it's Kilgharrah. It's always on me and no one else. So, again, I didn't know, but I'm not surprised."

"Merlin, I—"

"Just leave it," Merlin told him coldly. The spark had burnt itself out, and the ice in Merlin's veins had sucked away what little warmth it had offered. His shoulders sagged. "I always have to do it myself. I'm used to it by now."

He turned away. He didn't need to see Arthur's pity nor his doubts. Merlin cleared his throat. "Gaius, can I see the spell now?"

Gaius held out the book, but Merlin stepped back, hands raised. "No, you hold it. I don't want to risk her getting her hands on it."

As Merlin craned his neck to read the spell, he heard Arthur shift his weight. The soft jingle of his chainmail rang loud in the silence.

Merlin stared, unseeing, at complicated phrases strewn across the illuminated manuscript. He blinked a few times, then squeezed his eyes shut when Arthur fidgeted again. "I can't focus with you breathing down my neck," Merlin informed him tiredly.

Arthur took a step back, then hesitated. "Tell me something only Merlin would know."

Merlin looked over his shoulder. His prince's eyes held a thousand apologies, and Merlin's heart thawed a fraction. "When you were recovering from the bite of the Questing Beast, I told you 'I'm happy to be your servant 'til the day I die,'" Merlin answered. "I was telling the truth, both then and now. I'll tell you everything, after…just, after."

A watery smile graced Arthur's lips. "I'll hold you to that."

Merlin offered him a single nod, then turned back to the book. The words finally swam into focus.

"This is…long," he said, heart sinking.

Gaius hummed. "I'm sure you'll manage somehow. And don't forget to modify—"

"—the verbs and objects, yes." Merlin rolled his eyes. "I heard you the first time."

Gaius waved Leon over. "Sir Leon. Hold it for him while I set up the ritual elements, if you please."

Leon reluctantly took over supporting the heavy tome. As Leon studied the middle distance with singular, tight-lipped focus, Merlin dutifully modified the spell phrases in his head as he committed them to memory. When he finished several minutes later, he surveyed the elements Gaius had laid out, and his jaw dropped.

There was a stocky silver chalice encrusted with moonstones, a voluminous blue velvet cloak with a triskelion embroidered across the shoulders in silver thread, and a three-stranded scarlet silk cord with heavy tassels. Beside it sat a slender silver pitcher etched with Druidic runes and a full wineskin. There was also a glass bottle filled with a swirling potion that glittered as though lit from within, shifting between two lurid shades of purple and a pale, luminous fae-green. The final item was a heavy woven bag; a sprinkle of escaped salt crystals trailed over the lip and down the side.

Merlin blinked. "Wherever did you find all this?"

Gaius glanced at Arthur and inclined his head before answering. "The vaults hold more than just cold iron." He cleared his throat. "Now," he said briskly, scooping up the blue cloak, "some of these are intended for the exorcist and some for the possessed, but since you are both…"

"Oh, joy," Merlin deadpanned as Gauis approached and draped the cloak around Merlin's shoulders. Even layered over his own cloak, jacket, and tunic, the rich, heavy fabric blanketed him with warmth as though it had been freshly heated beside a roaring hearth before being draped around bare shoulders. He blinked at Gaius. "It's warm?"

Gaius' brows drew together as he tied the strings at Merlin's throat. He reached up to press his palm to Merlin's forehead. His eyes widened for a fraction of a moment, and his mouth pressed into a thin line. "We must be quick."

"What a novel idea," Merlin said, tamping down the icy fear curling in his gut. "And here I was planning to take my time. Really savor being possessed, you know?"

Gaius smacked him lightly on the side of the head before turning to collect the scarlet cord.

Merlin reached to rub his head—though his pride had taken more of a blow than his ear—but Gaius grabbed his wrist and jerked it down, wrapping the cord thrice around both of Merlin's wrists in quick, clinical movements.

As the third loop settled into place, Merlin was struck with an inexplicable urge to recoil from the cord like it was one of Sir Valiant's conjured snakes. He bit his lip as the rope glowed like a strand of iron heated in a forge. Wisps of steam rose as it melted a thin line through the thick layer of ice beneath it. Merlin flinched, expecting it to burn him where it didn't overlap with the cuffs; instead, it settled against his wrists like an elusive itch. "One set of bindings wasn't enough?" he asked, huffing a strained laugh and resisting the powerful urge to scratch at it with clumsy fingers.

Gaius ignored his snark in favor of tying a complicated knot, leaning away to check a diagram in the spell book Leon was still holding. Satisfied with his handiwork, Gaius stepped back and bent over the moonstone chalice. He uncorked the glass bottle and poured until the chalice was half-full. "Sir Elyan, hold this and stand over there, about three paces."

As Elyan complied, Gaius re-corked the bottle and set it aside, then poured roughly half of the contents of the wineskin into the elegant pitcher. "Sir Percival, take this. Three paces in the other direction. Do not let the wine come into contact with the potion in the chalice."

Percival did as instructed, and Gaius stood to face Merlin. "How are you feeling?" he asked, raising an appraising eyebrow.

"Fine," Merlin said, though the sound of his own voice seemed quite far away.

Gaius frowned but said nothing, and Arthur cast a worried glance at the physician.

To Merlin's relief, a heavy flapping sound averted whatever commentary Arthur might have offered. Merlin turned to see Kilgharrah swooping toward them.

Kilgharrah landed with an earth-shaking rumble and bowed. His keen eyes swept over Merlin and his company. "Why have they bound you?" he snarled, smoke snaking out between his teeth as he took a menacing step towards Arthur and the knights.

Merlin raised his double-bound hands placatingly. "I told them to do it."

"They used cruel cold iron."

"I asked for that specifically."

The tension in Kilgharrah's wings lessened, but he did not stand down. "If you allow it, I will gladly avenge you, destiny or no."

It was a strangely touching—if rather bloody—sentiment. "Uh, no, that's not necessary. I called you for a different sort of help."

The dragon raised one scaly brow. "Which is?"

"Uh, do you know about the Dorocha?"

"The witch," Kilgharrah spat, "has revived the worst of the Old ways. I warned you to kill her when you had the chance, but you refused."

"We are not having that discussion again," Merlin snapped, ignoring the startled murmurs from their audience. "My friend"—his voice cracked—"sealed the Veil again, but not before I managed to get possessed by a Dorocha. And, uh, not just any Dorocha. It's the spirit of the high priestess Morgause." Story of my life: one step forward, three steps back.

Kilgharrah lowered his head to peer at Merlin. "Indeed you did," he rumbled incredulously after a long moment, "yet you remain awake. You are a confounding riddle, young warlock."

"Right, well, I'd rather be an open book," Merlin groused. His wrists itched, and his thoughts drifted in and out of fog. "I called because I need your help."

Kilgharrah nodded. "I can banish the Dorocha with fire, but you must first cast her out."

Merlin rolled his eyes and held out his bound wrists. "I'm working on that part."

"You will be performing the spell yourself, I take it?"

"Unless you want to do it for me?" Merlin asked, not bothering to get his hopes up even as he said the words.

"Alas, I cannot. The ritual requires drinking a potion containing wyrmbane, a potent distillation made from the light of the glow worm. Consuming as few as three glow worms can kill a hatchling, and it requires one hundred glow worms to produce one ounce of wyrmbane. Even at my age, consuming half a goblet of the wyrmbane potion for the ritual would render me too weak to banish the Dorocha afterwards. No, young warlock, this is a burden you alone must bear."

Merlin cast a rueful smile at Arthur. "See?"

Arthur's jaw twitched.

Merlin cleared his throat and addressed his dragon again. "There's something else you can do for me, though. I need…assurances that if I fail, she won't be able to use my magic to harm anyone else."

"If the Dorocha regains control of you, it will have control of your magic. You cannot separate yourself from it; you are magic itself."

Merlin promptly deposited that pronouncement in the mental box labeled Unhelpful Revelations To Deal With Later. It was, Merlin realized, quite a large box. He promptly stuffed that observation into the box as well and slammed the lid shut. "The point is," he said firmly, "that if she wins, I need you to kill me."

"What?" Arthur blurted, but Merlin preempted Arthur's protests with a vicious shake of his head.

Kilgharrah's wings drooped. "Please, young warlock, do not ask this of me. Do not place on me the shame of ending the noble line of Dragonlords."

"I'm sorry," Merlin said quietly, "but you know what I'm capable of. If she wins, you're the only one who can stop her."

Kilgharrah bowed his head. "If you command it, it will be done, but I will not do it willingly."

Merlin closed his eyes and drew a painful breath as a wave of déjà vu washed over him, drenching him in painful memories. Last time, he'd demanded a cure to save Morgana. If he hadn't given that command, he wouldn't have to give this one now. Last time, he'd spoken with brash naïveté; now, the words were steel wrapped in a sigh.

"I command you," he breathed.

Kilgharrah bowed his head, resigned. "It will be an empty world without you, young warlock."

The words wounded Merlin; he covered the ache with a small smile. "I haven't lost yet."

Kilgharrah raised his head and looked at Merlin for a long moment. "See that you don't."

That's better, Merlin thought, giving him a solemn nod before turning back to the others. "Gaius, what's next?"

Like a statue coming to life, Gaius launched into an explanation. "Half of a goblet of the wyrmbane potion Kilgharrah spoke of"—he gestured to the chalice Elyan held—"is meant to be drunk by the possessed. The exorcist must also drink a half-goblet, mixed with the consecrated wine until the chalice is full."

"So what am I supposed to do? Throw back the whole goblet of poison and chase it with some wine?"

"I confess I do not know."

Unsurprising. Again.

"However," Gaius continued, "those steps are separated from one another by three lines of incantation, so I recommend following the order as though there were two participants rather than attempting to combine the goblets without knowing the effects. The only alternative would be to forgo the consecrated wine altogether. The lore makes it very clear that the exorcist must drink it and that the possessed must not touch it, but it is unclear what purpose it serves for the exorcist. Perhaps some form of protection?"

Merlin chewed his lip. "Let's just get started. When—if—I make it to the second goblet, I'll decide then."

"Very well. Sir Elyan, the chalice, please."

"Wait," Merlin said, taking a step back. "Lay the salt first."

It took a small eternity for Gaius to scoop salt into a wide ring around Merlin, leaving him free to move a few paces in any direction. The knights were painfully silent, and Merlin was grateful, in a way. He didn't know what to say to them, either.

At last, Gaius straightened, spine popping audibly, and pronounced the preparations complete.

Well, almost complete. "Arthur," Merlin said, voice rough with all the things he might never get to say, "I need your knife."

Arthur unsheathed his knife, then hesitated. "Tell me something only Merlin would know."

Merlin looked up from the knife to hold Arthur's gaze, trying not to think of pain and red and compression bandages. None of the moments on Merlin's 'safe answers' list seemed fitting; instead, an old memory resurfaced.

Merlin took a deep breath. "Just before we fought the bandits in Ealdor, you helped me with my vambrace buckles. I asked you not to think any differently of me, no matter what happened in that fight." Arthur's eyes widened, and Merlin swallowed past the lump in his throat before adding, "I'd ask the same of you tonight, but I suppose it's a little late for that now."

"You were going to tell me."

"I always wanted to."

Arthur's expression softened, but Merlin didn't give him a chance to reply. Instead, Merlin shrugged and made a vague gesture encompassing both the knife and the general absurdity of what Merlin was about to attempt. "And don't worry. I'd say, 'I know what I'm doing,' but we both know I don't." He arched an eyebrow and flashed a bright, practiced grin. "I am, however, very good at making it up as I go. So." He held out his hands. "Your knife, sire?"

Arthur offered a faint, forced smile in return as he approached the circle and held his knife out across the salt line to Merlin hilt-first.

Their hands brushed as Merlin accepted it, and Arthur winced at the contact with the ice coating Merlin's hands. "I'm sorry," Arthur said quietly. "I'm sorry about…about all of it. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you were fighting my battles, and—"

"Arthur." Merlin cut him off quietly. "You're here now."

Arthur took a bracing breath and reached to clasp one of Merlin's frozen forearms. "Just…don't die," he said simply as Merlin returned the gesture with numb fingers.

"Thanks," Merlin said dryly, and Arthur's answering smile looked a little more real.

As Arthur rejoined the others where they hovered in a loose semi-circle, Merlin stepped back and knelt, laying the knife in the grass on his right. Holding out his hands, he said, "Leon, you can unlock them now. And then," Merlin raised his voice to address the rest, "once you've each done your part, wait by the horses." He nodded toward where they'd tethered the nervous animals at the treeline, some twenty paces away. "Stay back. No matter what."

Leon pulled the keys off his belt, then hesitated. Beside him, Gwaine tilted his head and followed Leon's line of sight over to Kilgharrah, out in the field a dozen paces to Merlin's left.

"Right," Gwaine said. "Give me those."

Without waiting for a reply, Gwaine plucked the keys from Leon's slack fingers and approached the circle with grim determination, casting a wary glance at Kilgharrah. It took three tries to fit the key into the iced locks. When the mechanism snapped open and the cuffs fell away, a rush of golden heat flooded Merlin's veins. He began to shiver violently—and wondered when, exactly, he had stopped. During the ride? Before we left Camelot? At the Isle? He knew he should know, but his memories were like footprints obscured by fresh snowfall; it was futile to search for the trail.

As Gwaine obediently retreated with the cuffs, following Leon to the treeline and dragging a reluctant Arthur with him, the wave of warmth passed over Merlin as suddenly as it had begun. Cold tendrils rose within him, and his fingers shook so severely that he struggled to lift the knife from the grass beside him. Frost snaked down the blade as he gripped the hilt. He nearly sliced his palm in the simple task of pricking a finger. He let go of the knife and, with great effort, collected the bright red bead on the pad of his opposite index finger. Raising his trembling hand, he painted a rune on his forehead like the illustration in the book. He had no idea if the rune would have any effect when the blood of the exorcist and the possessed were one and the same, but—as always—he supposed he would find out soon enough.

He wiped his hands on his trousers and tossed the fallen knife outside the salt circle before reciting the first line of the incantation, invoking magic to do his bidding.

"Ic ċīeġaþ se miht of se eorþe—"

A few drops of excess blood dripped from the rune, trickling down between his eyes and onto the bridge of his nose. I hate blood magic. He resisted the urge to wipe it away for fear of smearing the rune.

"—se dīepe, ond se rodor."

The trickling blood froze.

~Ah, so that's what you were hiding,~ Morgause purred in his thoughts. ~Mmm, such power. My death was a trifling price to pay for such a grand reward as this.~

Merlin clenched his hands into fists. "Elyan, the cup. Now."

When Merlin didn't rise as he approached, Elyan gingerly stepped over the salt—taking great care not to disturb it—and kept a steadying hand on the vessel as Merlin lifted it to his lips. The potion burned worse than the poison of the Mortaeus flower. "Go," he rasped to Elyan when he'd drained the last of it. Elyan stepped carefully back across the unbroken line, handed off the cup to Gaius to refill, and raced to join Gwaine, Arthur, and Leon at the tree line.

The poison twisted through Merlin's body like a mass of vipers striking at random. He fell back on the grass, writhing against it. Between clenched teeth, he growled the next two lines of the spell.

"Ic bebēod se áterdrinca bewyrcan on se sawol"—No, that's wrong—"mīn sawol deofolseoc. Onbind hira sāwla"—Wait, not 'their' souls—"þá sāwla fram þone, uh, þisne sawolhus."

The vipers became hellhounds, sharp teeth ripping him away from the underside of his skin. Morgause's screams echoed inside his head, mirroring his own.

Between screams, he heard someone in chainmail approach the circle with urgent steps.

No. Merlin twisted onto his side and dug his fingernails into the hard earth in a vain attempt to rise. "Stay. Back."

The footsteps halted.

Merlin bit back another scream and bit his tongue in the process. He squeezed his eyes shut and strained to remember the next line of the incantation—not to mention which lines he'd had to modify.

The pain vanished as suddenly as it had begun.

He lay panting, dirt beneath his fingernails and the sharp tang of blood in his mouth, as he sifted through his upended thoughts for the crucial words of the Old Religion. He couldn't remember. He released his grip on the grass and rolled onto his back, looking up at the pinpricks of white light that pierced the sky-shroud. He was adrift within himself.

Which part comes next? His thoughts fluttered just beyond his reach. He would have to ask…someone. Someone who knew the rest of the spell. But who?

Merlin was always alone. Wait. This time, he wasn't.

~That's right,~ Morgause said. ~It's a bit crowded in here, don't you think?~

~I'm in the middle of fixing that, in case you hadn't noticed.~

~You're doing an excellent job,~ she said sweetly, ~Better than I could have hoped.~

~What?~

~It's fortunate,~ she continued, ~that the leading exorcists were more passionate about pageantry than attention to detail. If they'd been more thorough, you'd have known better than to split your soul from your body without a tether.~

He cursed colorfully in his mind. The sacred wine. Of course. The second cup made sense now: poison to free the exorcist's soul to join the fight within the possessed, coupled with a mystical tether to draw it back again.

~You've played your part,~ Morgause said, ~Don't worry, I'll take it from here…but let's skip ahead. You won't be needing that tether.~

The forgotten line came back to him in a rush; he yelled it before she could smother the words. "Mid þisne halig cuppe, fýse ic mē for þá beadu!"

Merlin rolled over again and forced himself to his knees. "The cup," he gasped, breath fogging as Morgause's fury froze his lungs. Percival swam into his line of sight with the sacred pitcher in one hand and the brimming chalice in the other. The mix of poison and wine sloshed over the lip as he pressed it into Merlin's outstretched hands.

Whatever mystical properties the wine contained, it did nothing to mute the vile taste of the poison as the mixture seared his throat. He made it halfway through the drink before a chill raced up through his fingers into the silver, freezing the remaining liquid solid. He dropped the chalice, retching up sharp crystals as they formed in his throat.

Percival took a concerned step forward, but Merlin waved him off. "Go!" he coughed, and Percival and Gaius obeyed.

~Still thirsty?~ Morgause mocked.

Merlin ignored her as he choked out the next line—the only line in the whole incantation that belonged to the possessed instead of the exorcist. "Ic wæs se Déaþscufa, ac—"

Morgause snapped his jaw shut. ~There's no use in fighting me any longer.~

The darkness coiled around Merlin like a pit of snakes. His scream didn't reach his tongue. Merlin's limbs moved against his will; he was a puppet, and Morgause had taken hold of the strings. His body rose at Morgause's command, but his mind and his senses were still his own—and as long as he was awake, there was hope. If the worst happened and he succumbed, well…

I've made arrangements, he reminded himself grimly. He might lose, but Morgause wouldn't win.

He was, however, dismayed to see that Arthur had blatantly disregarded Merlin's order to stay back. The prince was barely five paces from the circle, hair standing on end as though he'd repeatedly raked a hand through it. His sword was drawn but hung low in his slack grip.

Merlin tried to call out, to beg Arthur to show even half as much self-preservation as the goddess gave a pigeon, but to no avail. The darkness twisted tighter around him.

Morgause took three steps toward Arthur, then hesitated.

~A bit of salt? Really, Merlin, I'm disappointed,~ she said, glancing down at the circle.

~Did you really think,~ Merlin asked dryly, ~that I'd try this without precautions?~

~Admirable,~ Morgause said dismissively, "but futile."

~It worked before.~

~Did it, though?~ Morgause asked lightly as she stepped over the salt.

Oh. Merlin's stomach dropped. Oh, no. Last night in Gaius' chambers, he'd stepped out of the circle. The unbroken circle. Without help. It had been so easy he hadn't even noticed he'd done it.

Morgause hummed. ~You knew Dorocha cannot be banished by anything less than dragonfire. What made you think a sprinkle of common salt would make a difference?~

Merlin watched helplessly as Morgause took another step toward his friends. His magic crackled in his fingertips at her command.

~No!~ he screamed over and over, struggling against the dark cords. ~Stop!~

Arthur's face had gone ashen; in the wan moonlight, he could have passed for an apparition. "Merlin?" he asked, sword half-raised.

And Morgause simply laughed.

A/N:

Merlin Bingo 2023: This chapter fills square I2 - "Drugs"

LoM "Contingency Plan" Melee: Includes prompt dialogue line - "I've made arrangements."

Translation of Ritual Incantation (including Merlin's mistakes and modifications):

Exorcist:
Ic ċīeġaþ se miht of se eorþe, se dīepe, ond se rodor.
(I invoke/seek the might of the earth, the (sea or deep), and the heavens.)

Ic bebēod se áterdrinca bewyrcan on [se sawol] mīn sawol deofolseoc.
(I command the poisonous drink to work on [the soul] my demon-possessed soul.)

Onbind [hira sāwla] þá sāwla frame [þone] þisne sawolhus."
(Unbind [their souls] the souls from [that] this (body or soul-house).)

Mid þisne halig cuppe, fýse ic mē for þá beadu.
(With this holy cup, prepare I me (I prepare myself) for the battle.)

The Possessed (partial, cut off):
Ic wæs se Déaþscufa, ac—
(I was the (Shadow of Death or One Who Acts in the Dark), but—)

(Note: OE cobbled together using oldenglishtranslatorbeta dot co dot uk . A sincere shout-out to Phil B. for creating and maintaining that site as a hobby since 2008! Merlin fans everywhere thank you for your service. I sincerely wonder how large a fraction of the site's total traffic is comprised of Merlin fic writers, haha)