CHAPTER 13

They travel onward to the Isle of the Blessed and Arthur feels Merlin's absence as keenly as if he has lost a limb. The knights keep up a steady stream of conversation and only occasionally cast him concerned glances, for which he is grateful. They pass through the Tunnels of Andor with little trouble, one uncomfortable interaction with a Wildorren notwithstanding, and the shortcut shaves days off their journey.

The first two nights after their parting from Lancelot and Merlin, they sleep outside. They take turns on watch, huddling close to their campfire, but otherwise do their best to ignore the Dorocha rustling in the trees around them. Arthur does not sleep well, plagued by concern for Merlin's wellbeing, and trepidation at what awaits him on the Isle of the Blessed.

Elyan, as insightful as his sister, interrupts his watch on the second night. "Will you tell me what we can expect to find on the Isle of the Blessed?"

"It is my burden to bear."

Elyan snorts. "Look around, Arthur." He motions to where the knights are swapping stories around the campfire. "We would fight a thousand armies with our bare hands for you. We're never alone. We stand together."

It is usually Merlin who would encourage him like this. The thought makes tears prick at the corners of Arthur's eyes, but he pushes the emotion down and manages a grateful smile.

"Here, let me take over." Elyan takes Arthur's position. "You need some rest."


The next evening they find themselves camped in another abandoned building, this one a fortress - an old outpost that has seen no use since before Uther's rule. The Dorocha are quiet this evening and the knights take the opportunity to relax a little.

With a contented sigh, Gwaine comes to sit beside the fire, removing his shoes and socks to let them dry. Arthur wrinkles his nose and Elyan loudly gags.

"Has something died?!"

Gwaine looks wounded. "Why am I always the butt?"

Leon hums as if in thought. "Can't think."

"Pick on Percival!"

"Why me?"

"He washes," Elyan says in Percival's defence.

"And he doesn't set fire to his socks..." Leon nods to the fireside, where Gwaine's socks have just started smoking.

"No!"

Gwaine snatches his socks back up, and smacks them against the floor to put them out. The other knights laugh, but Arthur tenses at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Quiet."

They fall instantly silent, drawing their swords. In the distance, the fortress doors open with a loud creak. A familiar figure emerges into view.

"Lancelot!" Arthur lowers his sword. His heart plummets once he realises that Lancelot is alone. "How's Merlin?"

"Bad news." Lancelot steps to one side. "He's alive."

And there is Merlin, back to his old self, beaming as the knights swarm him with joyful laughter. Arthur sags in relief. He strides forward to shake Lancelot's hand, then turns to Merlin and squeezes his shoulder.

"Good to see you, Merlin."

Merlin flashes a grin. "Yeah. It's good to see you too."


Once they are certain everyone is asleep, Merlin tells Arthur the truth of his recovery at the hands of the Vilia - water spirits who inhabit the brooks and streams - and of his and Lancelot's narrow escape from the Dorocha with the help of the Great Dragon.

"You should have gone back to Camelot," Arthur chastises, but there's no real heat to it. He's glad Merlin is back, that he can at least face his death knowing that his friend is safe.

"You don't have to sacrifice yourself. I will take your place," Merlin tells him earnestly. "What is the life of a servant compared to that of a prince?"

Arthur nearly slips into their usual banter. Some comment about a good servant being hard to come by. But in the wake of all he has learnt this past year, about Merlin and all that his unassuming servant has sacrificed for him... he cannot bring himself to do it.

"I've done it before," Merlin says lightly when Arthur stays silent. "Traded my life for yours. Do you remember the Questing Beast's bite?"

His memories of that time are pain and confusion, voices drifting in and out. Then, suddenly, complete and blessed relief.

"You cured me?"

Merlin shook his head. "I wasn't powerful enough. To save your life another had to be offered. I went to the sorceress Nimueh and offered mine, but she tricked me. Tried to take my mother's and then Gaius's."

"How did you stop her?"

"I killed her. On the Isle of the Blessed." Merlin casts his eyes southward, almost as if he can see straight through the stone walls of the fortress to the island beyond. "The balance of life and death was restored, just as it must be now."

Arthur remembers the day he woke from the Questing Beast's bite. Merlin's peculiarly solemn and sincere manner.

I am happy to be your servant until the day I die.

He had been saying goodbye. What would Arthur have done, he wonders, if Merlin had never been seen again? Would he have asked questions, tried to ascertain his servant's whereabouts, followed him to the Isle of the Blessed? Or would he have just assumed Merlin had found his work too taxing and left without telling anybody?

"If you were to die tomorrow," Arthur says, slowly, "you would never know what it is to live freely. Unafraid. Doesn't that scare you?"

"Some things are worth dying for."

But how, Arthur wonders, could he be worth dying for? When he has waited an entire year to let Merlin know whether or not he is to be executed or prisoned or banished? When he has spent so long disregarding Merlin as a bumbling clown, and not in fact the bravest and most powerful of them all?

"Besides," Merlin adds, trying to make light of the situation, "if you were to die tomorrow then who would be the next regent? Agravaine? No thanks."

Arthur huffs a soft laugh. Perhaps Merlin is a little bit of a clown - but he is much more than that too. Certainly much more than a servant. Certainly, Arthur decides, someone worth dying for.


Upon their arrival at the Isle they are set upon by wyverns.

"Sire, you must go on!" Leon calls out, falling into formation with Elyan, Gwaine and Percival. "We'll fend them off!"

Arthur nods to his chief knight gratefully, for he knows that every second wasted is another in which more of his people are killed by the Dorocha. He moves onward, Merlin and Lancelot close behind.


An old woman awaits them at a stone altar, standing beside something Arthur can only describe as a rip in the very fabric of the air itself. Through the tear in the veil he sees a strange sort of darkness, humming with energy, and a shiver runs down his spine.

The Cailleach's eyes are piercing blue, filled sadness as she beholds Arthur. "It is not often we have visitors."

"I know what you want."

"Do you? And are you willing to let me have it?"

Merlin steps forward, lays a hand on Arthur's arm to stop him from stepping forward. "Arthur. I can't let you do this."

"I know."

And, so quick his servant doesn't even have time to think about defending himself, he has raised his sword and struck Merlin across the temple with its hilt. The warlock crumples silently to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispers to the motionless form. "I'm sorry for everything, Merlin."

He turns back to the Cailleach, who has watched the exchange with an air of detached curiousity.

"I'm prepared to pay whatever price is necessary."

"But your time among men is not yet over, King Arthur - even if you want it to be."

For a moment, Arthur dares to hope that the need for a blood sacrifice has been revoked. Then the Cailleach eyes drift to the tear in the veil.

"No!"

Lancelot stands before the unearthly fissure, calm and unwavering. He spares a swift, reassuring glance to Arthur, before striding forward into the darkness. With an ear-splitting shriek louder than that of any Dorocha, the veil shrinks and closes - and Lancelot is gone.


"Did he know?"

It is the day after Lancelot's memorial. There was no body to bury and so they hosted a vigil instead, knights and nobles alike standing before an enormous pyre built in the selfless knight's honour.

"Yes." Merlin's eyes are dull and listless as he dresses Arthur for the day ahead. The yellowing bruise at his hairline is a stark reminder of all that has taken place. "He honoured my magic without hesitation. Kept it a secret to the grave."

Perhaps he imagines it, but Arthur fancies he hears something of a challenge in Merlin's words.

And you, Sire? Will you honour my magic as Sir Lancelot, the most noble knight of all, honoured it? Or will you turn away as you always have done - a coward until the end?