"I've never crafted a magical artifact myself before, though I've seen it done. This piece should be simple enough; we are going to anchor an illusion of you, as Dragoon, to this amulet." Gaius held out a long chain, a heavy silver disk half the size of his fist swinging from it. As it turned it glinted, catching the fire from the oil lamps placed around the physician's tent.

Wearily, he studied the simple knot work etched into its face, unenthusiastic at the idea of deviating from the familiar. Merlin rubbed his head. He'd only just shed the effects of the aging potion, and longed for bed. "Hells, remind me why this is necessary again? I've always just used the potion before now, it works well enough."

Gaius scowled, "So you've said, more than once now. And what is this with the expletives today? Cursing is the crutch of an unimaginative mind, you know."

Merlin glowered back in answer, cursing even more extravagantly in his mind. Exhaustion clung to every thought and movement. As he came down from the rush of his latest escapade as Dragoon, the late hour and lack of sleep were greatly taxing his mood.

"As one far more experienced in being aged than you," Continued Gaius, dryly, raising one eyebrow at the youth, "please, do tell me how you expect to keep up with Morgana when your hip locks up at every fifth step? You'll be without your magic, is your plan to lean on your staff with one hand and swing the sword in the other?"

"…No. Yes." There was no denying the physician had him there. Reaching behind himself to rub his back, he grimaced in remembered pain. "Fair point, I suppose I hadn't thought ahead that far."

"Which is why I'm here. Mind you, we will still need the aging potion; the amulet must be fully immersed in it for the duration of the process. The effects of the potion should be drawn from the mixture and then imbibed into the silver." As he explained, the physician held up a bottle of now familiar light blue substance. Slowly approaching Merlin, an internal struggle played openly across his face.

"This is the last of what I had made of it. Should the creation of the artifact fail– should I remember incorrectly, then we shan't have the time to prepare more. This portion will be left, useless, drained of its magic."

"I trust you, Gaius." Casting one last longing look toward his sleeping roll and suppressing a yawn, Merlin, resigned, turned toward the work bench. "How long will the amulet last?"

"Such an item will last for several months of regular usage. Back in my day, magical artifacts were all the rage, you know. From items of protection to illusions to make a lady's hair look perfectly coiffed at all times." The fond smile which had stolen over his face as he reminisced melted away.

"As part of The Great Purge, Uther rounded it all up, and either had it destroyed, or locked in the vaults beneath the castle. For years afterwards there remained a black market— but Uther was as ready to execute you for selling a charm to keep the ticks from livestock as for attempting a bloodline curse. It didn't last long."

As someone who had never known a world other than one hostile to magic, the notion left him baffled. Ladies of the court had once worn charms for fashion? Absurd! The notion caused his heart to race with excitement. Hearing Gaius speak of the time before the Great Purge was rare; Merlin's questions were solidly rebuked whenever they so much as strayed near the subject. Now, this tiny scrap of information brought his imagination flaring to life.

What did it mean if one could anchor a spell to an object? If charms could be crafted to keep ticks away, what about charms to help food storage last longer? To keep the edge of a plough sharp for longer? To make a single log burn to warm a home for weeks, instead of an hour? Fantastical thoughts danced behind his eyes as his fingertips tingled in anticipation.

"I know that look," cautioned Gaius, "You mustn't get carried away, Merlin. Remember that magic is still very much illegal. Perhaps one day it will change, but if that's going to happen, you need to focus."

Giving his head a shake Merlin blinked, forcing away the mental images he'd conjured. "Where do we start?"

"Merlin!"

Starling awake Merlin sat up, disoriented, the haze of sleep still thickening his thoughts. "Wha…"

A blanket slipped off his shoulders, falling in a heap to the floor. Gaius, standing beside him, shook his shoulder gently. A pool of drool had collected under where Merlin's cheek had been resting on the worktable only a few seconds before.

"Merlin, I'm afraid I cannot let you sleep any longer. It's time to get up."

Tousling his hair, Merlin peered, bleary eyed, around the dimly lit tent. It was only slowly he detangled himself from a marvelous dream. In it, he'd journeyed from village to village across the kingdom- giving away various charms to better the lives of its citizens. Finding daily hardships alleviated he'd basked in their unnecessary, but appreciated, adoration. Not a single pitchfork, headsman's block, or gallows in sight. Abruptly, he recalled the previous night, panic surging as he realized he must have fallen asleep. "The amulet!"

"Is finished," Gaius soothed. "You fell asleep about halfway through, and I completed it alone." Deep circles shadowed the physician's eyes, and Merlin could see the exhaustion in every line of his frame.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

Snorting derisively Gaius peered down his nose at his ward, mouth quirking up at one edge. "I've endured more sleepless nights when attending to my patients than you've been alive. Now, eat your breakfast. You have a long day ahead of you."

The bowl of beef stew Gaius set before him had smelled incredible only a few seconds ago. At the reminder, Merlin's stomach cramped, seeming to crumple itself into a tight ball. That's right, today is the day.

The food tasted like ash in his mouth and seemed determined to stick in his throat, but under Gaius's worried eye he managed to choke down half of it. Then, on the physician's orders, he drank two cups of water a sip at a time.

Half hysterically, he wondered, what do warriors do if they suddenly have to pee during a fight?

He and Morgana had danced around each other for years. They'd come into conflict countless times, but neither had ever finished the other off. There would be no evading that final conclusion this time. Today, they would crash together again, like an inexorable tide, and one of them would die at the other's hands.

"You said you finished the artifact?"

"What? Oh- yes."

"And… does it work?"

"From all I could tell, the enchantment bonded nicely. You will both look and sound as though you were eighty."

Reaching out his hand in a silent request, Merlin tried to calm his escalating heartbeat. Fetching the necklace from a now empty bowl, Gaius placed it face up in Merlin's palm, without relinquishing his own grip. Sensing that Gaius clearly had something to say, Merlin waited for him to speak.

Gaius frowned at the silver amulet, the coloring of his cheeks betraying the anxiety he clearly felt. Gazing up at Merlin with baleful eyes, his mentor suddenly appeared ancient, the lines in his face deep as carved stone. "Have you ever wondered if your destiny asks too much of you?"

Merlin weighed the words, and shook his head. "I don't let myself. And even if it were not my destiny, I would do it because he is my friend."

The truth of the confession weighed heavily on his chest. It had never been the dragon's prophecy he believed in so fiercely– it was Arthur. If Arthur died here, it would be like losing a part of himself. He would forever be incomplete. Severed. Merlin would remain frozen in time.

His racing heart calmed. Gently, he pulled the amulet from Gaius's grasp. "Thank you, Gaius, for everything. You…you've shown me what it's like to have a father."

Eyes bright, Gaius reached for his charge and pulled him in tight against his chest. In that embrace, Merlin felt how deeply precious he was to his mentor. "I fear I'm a poor replacement for your father. I've done my best to fill that void in your life, and not out of duty, or obligation to my sister. I do it because I have always believed in you, Merlin."

Returning the hug, Merlin closed his eyes as he tried to memorize this moment. It felt too much like goodbye.

They stayed like that for a long time before Merlin gently pulled back, smiling. "I will return" he promised, with far more conviction than he felt.

Gaius returned the smile, but Merlin could see the way it stopped before reaching his eyes which clung to their sorrow. "I know. When have you not? Now go on— try it on. I will teach you the words."

Ten minutes later, after having confirmed the amulet worked perfectly, Merlin finally found himself alone in the tent. Almost ceremoniously, he changed out of his clothes, wiping down his body with a wet cloth and a bowl of cold water. It was a practice Arthur often did before he entered a fight, claiming that cleaning his body helped to clear his mind. Merlin wasn't particularly impressed, finding his thoughts as much a jumble after as they'd been before. The only difference being, now, his body shook in the early morning chill.

Once dressed, he knelt beside his bedroll. Worming an arm under the layers of cloth he withdrew a long bundle, concealed among the folds. Setting it atop his blankets, he ran one hand along the oiled leather before flicking the protective covering back, revealing a sword. His gaze drew up and down its carefully honed edge, polished steel reflecting the light from the oil lamps, glowing as warm as candlelight. Merlin knew little about the workings of smiths, but even his untrained eye could recognize he held a gorgeously forged blade.

With what he could most closely describe as reverence, Merlin reached out to rest a hand on the hilt. Opening himself to the magic seething just under its surface felt as natural to him as breathing. The hair rose along his body. A ghostly sensation of flames danced across his skin and he imagined a great eye turning its gaze upon him. An intelligence, an awareness, pressed against his mind, spiraling out from the sword. It was as if the dragon fire which had kissed the blade lived on inside it. There was a magic here as ancient as the heart of a mountain, and as primal as the roar of a great beast.

He could feel its will, as tangible as though words were being whispered in his mind. I am The King's sword. I am justice.

Tightening his grip on the weapon, Merlin drew it up before him. When he spoke, it was under the mantle of a Dragon Lord. I shall wield you, he thought, wrapping the words in magic of his own. I am yours, while you are in my hand our will shall be one. Please, aid me once more in the service of The King.

He felt a thrill as the sword's power seemed to respond to his thoughts, extending its magic towards him, grasping his mind as firmly as he held its hilt.

Again, Merlin felt more than heard the response- sweeping across his body like a second rush of flames.

Yes.

He smiled, grimly, fiercely. He was ready.

They came for Arthur nearly an hour after the first rays of the sun spilled onto the horizon, sweeping a lazy golden lacquer over the valley.

First, they were each untied and ordered to wash, buckets of chilly water, sponges, and clean clothes provided. Loathe as he was to admit it, Arthur felt grateful for the gesture. While no stranger to the smell of sweat and unwashed human flesh, it was never a scent he'd been able to become truly accustomed to. He relished climbing into a tub at the end of a hard day, water deliciously warm and laced with scented oils. Hot baths were one of the luxuries of his position he had never hesitated to enjoy. It had been a chore Merlin had loathed, groaning dramatically and endlessly over the heavy pitchers of hot water. The pit gnawing inside Arthur yawned, once again threatening to swallow him whole until he beat it back.

A cold sponge bath stood as a poor substitute- but he eagerly took the opportunity to scrub the dirt, grime, and crusted blood from his skin. The fact they were expected to do so, fully exposed, under the open sky, bothered Arthur little. He'd long since grown accustomed to battlefield rules. If they believed they could shame him with his nudity, they were sorely mistaken.

After making himself presentable Arthur's hands were manacled in front of him, the manacles then attached to a heavy iron collar around his neck. His legs were hobbled with chains, and his ankles held apart by an iron pole. With the pole perhaps being four hand widths long, the set up even allowed him reasonable freedom of movement… with little possibility of fleeing or attacking anyone. It was the most sophisticated restraint he'd ever seen, and he couldn't help but feel grudgingly impressed.

Each of the knights were given the same treatment, before the lot of them had been herded into a makeshift animal pen which stood at the edge of the great army's now nearly empty campsite. From the smell and hints of wool caught on the gate, Arthur would guess sheep. His mouth watered, belly growling at the thought of a juicy leg of mutton.

In the sky above, the day couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to be cloudy or sunny. A fickle breeze accompanied the shifting weather. One moment it would whip high, pulling at anything lying unsecured around the camp. The next minute it would drop to a playful tease, unpleasantly cool on a day which already lacked much warmth.

He drank in the scents of the nearby forest on the crisp fresh air, discernible in the wind even above the earthy aroma of sheep. Even the heady scent of leaf rot felt like ambrosia after spending so long immersed in the smell of their waste buckets and grime.

Queen Morcant may have been scrupulously methodical and detailed in her treatment of her prisoners, but even the greatest tactician relied on their soldiers for enforcement. And, soldiers were rarely as disciplined or detail oriented as the tacticians who commanded them. Yet, try as he might, he could find no window to attempt an escape. Previously in their misadventures, if he'd just stayed alert, opportunities had always seemed to present themselves. Now, it seemed as if the face of good fortune had turned from him entirely.

Was he truly going to have to rely on this trial to determine his future?

As he turned this uneasy prospect over in his mind, the Queen herself approached, flanked closely by four of her knights. She was outfitted for war in a bronze-colored mail dress, laid over deep green fabrics, lined with brown fur. Her long hair had been bound back away from her face, a small but intricate circlet of gold resting atop her head.

Arthur flashed her his most charismatic smile. "My Lady. I'd rise, but I'm afraid I'm a bit tied up at the moment."

Almost ruefully her mouth twitched, turning up slightly at one edge. "You have your mother's charm, if not her subtlety."

The words hit like a blow to the kidney. His mother?

As though reading his thoughts plainly across his face, Queen Morcant nodded. "Oh yes, I knew Ygraine. One may even have called us friends. She kept your father's brutal nature in check when she was alive."

"You say my mother was your friend, yet you would execute her only child?"

"You are more Uther's son then Ygraine's, I hear. How many innocent lives have drained into the cobblestones of your courtyard simply because of the magic they carry in their veins?"

"I've seen nothing but wickedness come from sorcery. You are free to govern your lands as you see fit, and I my own."

She scoffed, lip curling. Turning as if to leave Arthur hurriedly spoke again, giving her pause. "If you are determined to kill me, then may I at least know why?"

That strange intensity in Líadan's severe eyes was suddenly back as she turned to him. "Your father's blind hatred took someone very dear to me. And I lay the blood debt in your lap, Arthur Pendragon. You have chosen your father's path, and so I will kill you, because it is the only way to stop you."

He met that fierce gaze evenly, and felt the stirrings of something that may have been shame curling around his ribs. The worst of it was that Arthur was truly starting to believe that Queen Líadan Morcant wasn't insane. She was a normal, intelligent, highly capable woman driven to extremes by her circumstances; circumstances which the Pendragons had much to do with.

The siren call of revenge did not discriminate in who it beckoned. And it could cloud one's vision and mind more effectively than the most potent of spirits. A brief flash of a memory- the moment he himself had attacked his own father, murder in his heart.

"I am sorry for your loss."

What more was there to say? Words could not sway her from her path.

She looked, for a moment, as though there was much she wanted to say. Instead, Líadan offered only one. "Your manservant, the one you mourned— He's alive."

It felt as if Arthur had been struck by a stone between the eyes. "What…"

"I saw him with my own eyes. I still expect you to curse my name at the moment of your death, Arthur Pendragon. But before you die I return to you one you thought lost."

He blinked, stunned. A lie, a vicious and pointless one. He'd seen Merlin die. "Why would you-"

"Tell you this?" She paused before continuing, "It is a terrible thing to lose a friend."

Before he could recover enough for his rage to build she spun on her heel, gesturing to the guards. "Bring the prisoners- it's time."

Arthur was marched with his Knights along behind him, each shuffling forward in their restraints. His mind was far away, spinning, swinging between anger and a tentative hope.

She had no reason he could think of to lie, nor had she struck him as particularly cruel. The weight of the bloodless scarf, heavy with its unanswerable questions, burned in his pocket.

There was no way to be certain of the distance they traveled, but eventually the rear ranks of the amassed forces of Dyfed rose before them. The army parted around their party to let them pass, and when the rows of soldiers ended, he found himself in the center of Dyfed's front line. Facing the red and golden sea of his own people, amassed only fifty paces away.

At the sight of their King, Camelot's men shifted angrily, a steady roar of noise building and lifting into the sky. They quieted only when the regal figure mounted at their head raised a hand, commanding silence. Guinevere dismounted, shadowed by a handful of the remaining Knights of Camelot, Gaius, and… Emrys.

Prince Berwyn, Queen Morcant, and Morgana mirrored them, backed by an honor guard of knights. Arthur, Leon, Elyan, and Gareth were pushed to their knees before them, a sacrificial offering.

Arthur zeroed in on Emrys, and his pulse roared with a fresh surge of anger. He felt rage; both at the humiliation of being paraded before his men like an animal at some fairground show, and also that Gwen had turned to magic. It seemed a betrayal- how could she so openly compromise the ideals he has striven for his entire reign? Although, an irritatingly calm and logical voice whispered in his head, there is sense in using magic to fight magic.

He couldn't pretend any ordinary warrior would be capable of defeating Morgana in a fair fight; they just wouldn't have anything to match her power. If the decision had been left to him, would he have been able to make the same call?

Beneath the surface of his anger tumbled confusion. What were his motives? What was he getting out of this arrangement? Arthur hoped that he would live long enough to find some answers. Queen Morcant may not have been an ally, but he did trust that she would keep her end of any bargain. But… Dragoon? What could a feeble old man hide for Morgana to fear?

He only hoped Gwen was right in trusting the very sorcerer who had killed his father.