The Forces Ablaze
The Knights of Medhir had been awakened, and the foul creatures had set an ambush against Arthur and his men within the room once containing them. Somehow, someway, all seven statues had become animated, bewitched in such a way the blades of Arthur's knights did nothing to stop their attacks. Only his sword managed to deal a fatal blow, surprising everyone when the wraith released a guttural wheeze after piercing its belly, crumbling into a pile of dusty armour on the floor. There had been a pause before the remaining wraiths released rasping hisses, renewing their attacks with vicious intensity. He lost two men in their retreat, the threat of his sword the only thing to keep the creatures at bay. He didn't have a chance to retrieve the bodies, but he vowed to return.
Knowing the King needed informing, the prince did not hesitate to push his troop homeward, the two riderless horses tied to others. They rode through the night, glad for the light of the moon and the thin trees so they could see their path. A fox and herd of deer were startled by their passage, but no dangers were had until they slowed the horses entering the northside of the Darkling Woods, where the canopy was too thick to trust their sight at speed. Their steeds caught their breath, sides heaving and heads low in exhaustion, but steps diligent as they continued. Lesser types would have collapsed, but a knight's steed was bred for stamina and strength; a good rest and stable care and they'd come right in a few days.
They were but a few hours from Camelot when a terrible wind swept through the air in front of them, frightening the lead horses with its intensity. Hengroen reared, striking at the unseen threat, and Arthur momentarily believed they faced a magical foe before the gust died abruptly and the night stilled once more. Dust coated their mouths as it settled, twigs and leaves cleared from directly in front of them, and the men examined the gloom with trepidation.
"There!" said Lancelot, and Arthur squinted to where he pointed to see an unusual lump by the side of the road. A lump looking very much like a person lying on the dirt.
"Hail!" he called, fingers touching his sword-hilt as he contemplated drawing it.
There was no response, not even a shift, and Arthur pursed his lips in frustration before dismounting. One of his men took his horse while Lancelot joined him on the ground and Pellinor arrayed the men defensively lest it be an ambush.
Swords bared, the pair approached, and only when they were within arm's reach did Arthur recognise the clothes and the hair.
"Merlyn? Merlyn!"
He dropped all caution and rushed to her side, sliding to his knees and stooping to see her face, half-hidden against her arm. She was pale and dried sweat crusted her hairline, the bruises beneath her eyes the only colour on her face. She looked dead.
"Merlyn," he whispered, reaching out hesitantly for fear he would feel no life within her body. Gently, he brushed limp strands of hair behind her ear, dread dragging his belly out through his toes, but he steeled himself and pulled a short knife from his belt, holding the grind of the blade beneath her nose.
A tense handful of seconds later and light condensation fogged the polished metal. Arthur's shoulders sagged in relief, and he bowed his head. "Thank the Gods," he murmured, tucking the weapon away. He rolled the girl gently onto her back and tapped her cheek. "Merlyn, wake up. Hey – hey, Merlyn, come on. Stop lazing about; you have a job to do."
A soft groan escaped her mouth, and her brows scrunched with reluctance. Arthur let out a breathless laugh in relief; damned woman was going to be the death of him.
"Merlyn," he crooned and poked her on the nose. She flinched, and her eyes cracked open, brilliant blue barely noticeable behind the thick, black lashes.
"… 'thur?" she grumbled, eyelids sealing once more as discomfort creased in her face. "Wh's happening?"
"Why are you in the woods, Merlyn?" Arthur glanced up to the trees as if they would provide the answer, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. His men guarded their position well, the long, rushed journey feeding an exhausted sort of anxiety.
"What?" she muttered, bloodshot eyes opening with more clarity, taking in the shadowed branches above Arthur's head and the leaves swaying in the cool breeze of predawn. She shivered as if realising she was cold, and he moved to shuck off his coat. "I was…" she blinked then gasped as memories resituated themselves in her head. "Arthur!" she exclaimed, grabbing hold of his sleeve. "Arthur – Camelot's in danger!"
"How so?" he demanded with new intensity. He helped her sit up and wrapped her shoulders with his coat. Her skin was ice-cold, and she sagged against him with heavy breaths. He wrapped an arm around her back worriedly.
Merlyn shook her head, gaze flicking over her surroundings as if confused. "I was… I was… A sickness spread through Camelot, swifter than the worst contagion," she panted, letting her head fall into his shoulder, forehead pressed against his neck. "Sorcery, Arthur. It sent everyone into a deep sleep. The city is defenceless."
"How did you escape?" he asked softly, pieces coming together in his mind. The Knights of Medhir did not randomly awaken; powerful sorcery was needed. And if an entire city could be brought low by a simple spell, castles would not be nearly as revered for their security. The two had to be connected.
"I… I am unsure," she admitted, and he noticed her rubbing at her scarred wrist over the sleeve. "I was… I knew I needed to warn you, but I was so tired… I don't…"
"No matter," Arthur decided, wondering on the possibility of her magic carrying her to safety, even with the scars inhibiting its use. "You made it out and were able to warn us. We will not return unprepared. Can you stand?"
"I…" she sounded doubtful, so he shifted and helped her climb to her feet. She was unsteady and stooped with stiffness but managed to keep her feet under her, though he kept an arm around her back as they moved to his steed. Normally, he would throw her upon one of the spares, but he didn't trust her to remain in the saddle. He also didn't trust her sitting behind him as her grip was weak on his arm and doubtful would be any better around his waist, so he guided her up first before mounting at her back.
The saddles of the knights weren't designed for doubling so Merlyn ended up more in his lap than within the seat as they shuffled for comfort, but the reins were not long enough for him to sit behind the saddle and still guide the horse. He very deliberately kept his thoughts chaste, glad for the first time his men were too tired to produce lewd jests. Though, all the knights knew Merlyn and understood she wasn't some flirty barmaid to cast aspersions.
In typical Merlyn fashion, she was oblivious, leaning into him as her hand rubbed over her wrist, leaving no space between their bodies.
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The city was asleep, just as Merlyn declared. Riding through the lower town was eerie, the horses picking delicately over slumped figures and abandoned merchandise while the quiet allowed the wind to be heard, howling through the alleys like yowling cats. The smell of burning was noticeable as they passed beyond the marketplace, so Arthur sent two men to deal with it – predicting it to be a cooking pot or similar left untended.
The livestock was still awake; pigs, chickens, and goats grunting and bleating like normal, but it echoed in the vast silence. Arthur wondered, dismally, if this was how kingdoms had fallen in the past. Withering overnight like a poisoned flower, forgotten in a week by its neighbours, diminishing to little more than a fable of caution against hubris.
They dismounted at the lowest step of the grand staircase, Arthur sending the rest of the knights to settle the horses before they moved into the castle. Within was as devastating at the outside. Nothing was touched, nothing was broken, but the heart had been drained from the city. Without its people, Camelot was a hollow impression.
"The King was on bedrest," Merlyn murmured, breaking into Arthur's dark thoughts. "He should be within his chambers."
He nodded in acknowledgement and led the way, sword kept in hand lest there be any surprises. He didn't miss Merlyn rubbing her wrist like a compulsion, but he said nothing. If necessary, he would send her back into the forest with Lancelot to wait out this… attack. The Dragon had said the cuff reacted to the presence of magic; it made sense her scars did the same.
He smothered the surge of guilt swelling within his chest; he could drown in his shame after this threat had been sorted.
The pair hurried up to the King's chambers, Arthur bursting through the doors well ahead of Merlyn, who struggled up the multitude of stairs in her exhaustion. He rushed back out when it was obvious his father was not within his rooms.
"He's not here!" he called to Merlyn, who paused halfway down the corridor to rest a hand against the wall, huffing for air.
Her brow furrowed in confusion. "He was on bedrest by Gaius' orders," she said.
Arthur returned to her side, eyeing her sweaty features worriedly, though he said nothing. Merlyn would only insist she was fine.
"What of Morgana?" he asked, mind turning to the next largest target in the castle.
Merlyn dropped her gaze, something inscrutable flashing across her face, before she mumbled, "I could not find her."
Alarm zapped through his blood, mind speeding through all the horrors to befall the noblewoman. She was highly desired, utterly forbidden; what if her guards succumbed to sleep and an unsavoury character took advantage?
But no – he shook the idea from his head. Morgana was trained in the warrior arts. Even caught off guard, she would manage to fight off unwanted advances; there were several knives hidden throughout her room, he knew. Morgana was not defenceless.
Arthur took a breath and firmed his composure. The incident with the druid girl had shaken him. He knew rape was a widespread threat to women – even men – but he'd never witnessed it firsthand, and the lack of remorse from the depraved hunter on being caught spoke of its prevalence in the wider community.
Yet another thing his father failed to correct with his rule.
"Come," he said, refusing to let himself be soured by thought of the King's laws. "We will search Morgana's room on the way to the Council Chambers. Let us hope the King decided to ignore Gaius' orders and go about business as usual."
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Merlyn's insides welled with dread and resentment when they found Morgana in her chambers; wide awake and hiding behind a curtain when they ventured inside. She couldn't meet the noblewoman's eyes when Arthur demanded answers, biting her tongue to withhold the accusations on its tip. How could Morgana throw in her lot with Morgause? How could she look around now and think her actions just?
Merlyn lingered behind Arthur, eyes watchful lest Morgause be hiding nearby. Had they already attacked the King? Could it be why he wasn't within his room?
"How are you awake, Morgana?" Arthur demanded, confusion sharpening his tone. "Where's my father?"
"I – I don't know," she breathed, looking flustered and disoriented. "I… people fell asleep. Everyone, everywhere I went!"
"You must have seen something."
"No. There was nothing. Nothing unusual. I…" Words withered in her mouth, wide eyes staring imploringly at Arthur.
He pushed her regardless, desperate and confused. "Why were you hiding?"
"I didn't know who you were."
Arthur stared in disbelief while Merlyn read the raw anxiety and confusion shrouding Morgana's body. She had not thought the highborn so skilled an actress.
"You saw people getting sick, what did you do?"
"What could I do?"
"Morgana, I don't understand. Why is it you're the only person awake?"
"What of Merlyn!" Morgana cried, turning wild eyes to the younger girl. "She was here – how is she awake?"
"Merlyn managed to flee the city when it was clear she could do nothing from within," Arthur answered protectively. "I found her unconscious on the northern road."
"I… I did go for a short ride," the highborn blurted, fingers twisting together fretfully. "When I returned…" she trailed off, the rest of her account obvious. People were growing ill, falling asleep and refusing to stir. "There was nothing I could do."
Reluctantly, Arthur accepted her explanation, though doubt lingered in his gaze. Merlyn wondered, for the first time, if the prince had sensed a change in Morgana. He had never questioned her so aggressively before, and it was odd to see him doing it now. In contrast, Merlyn was plagued by doubt. Oh, the woman clearly had something to do with this issue – she wouldn't be awake otherwise – but her reactions… her disorientation… it shone with substance. Kilgarrah claimed Morgana the vessel holding the sleeping spell over Camelot. Yet, vessels didn't need to give permission. As the entire structure of the Old Religion was designed; those with less power were made to be used.
Perhaps Morgana was innocent in this situation.
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The trio left Morgana's rooms to search for the King, Arthur leading the way as they headed towards the Council Chambers. Merlyn seized the opportunity as the prince pulled ahead, unease hastening his pace.
"Morgana," Merlyn murmured, catching her attention. The older woman paused, shoulders tense with defensiveness, and a familiar pang seized Merlyn's gut at the souring of their friendship.
"Merlyn," she clipped, but allowed the black-haired girl to fall into step as they followed in Arthur's wake.
Merlyn dithered on how to broach the topic but ultimately decided to be blunt. Either way, Morgana would be hostile. "I know you are involved."
"You know nothing," the highborn snapped, shooting a glare blazing with green fire. "You are a stupid little girl."
"I know you are a vessel," Merlyn countered tersely. "You are what is holding Morgause's spell over Camelot."
Realisation lit within Morgana's fair features, but she masked it quickly, lifting her chin defiantly. "I have no idea the affliction Camelot endures. I played no part in the people's suffering."
"I believe you," said Merlyn, catching her off guard. Morgana looked at the black-haired girl sharply.
"You –"
"Morgause did not tell you what she was doing, did she?" Merlyn interrupted, watching keenly as the woman ducked her gaze and turned forward once more. Her jaw was stiff with the truth, and the younger girl saw an opportunity.
"She's using you as a pawn, just as she did with Arthur and his mother's ghost," she said quietly. "She twists the truth to her own gain, warping facts until her opinions seem sensible. Don't fall into her trap like Arthur did, Morgana. She is only being kind because you are useful."
"No, she is not," Morgana hissed, the glimmer of doubt in her shoulders sliding away with anger. "She cares for me, as I do her. We are kin – and, unlike some, it matters to her."
"What if you asked her to remove this spell cast upon you, hmm?" Merlyn challenged. "Would she be so kind if you decided her path was not the same you wished to tread? Would she still believe you mattered to her?"
"Do not talk of things you know nothing about!" Morgana stopped short, turning to Merlyn angrily and the younger girl met her aggression without fear, fists clenched tight at her sides even as it sent a spike up her wrist. "You are the one who abandoned me; who cared so little you ignored my cry for help even as you dragged me away from freedom! It is you who is the problem here, Merlyn, not Morgause!"
"Murder is not the answer! If you allow people to come to harm when you could stop it, you become no better than those you are trying to thwart."
"This –" Morgana threw out her arm to indicate the sleeping curse, "– is the best way. There are no armies amassed, no innocents to get in the way. Only one will die, and it will be too swift to pay for the damages he has wrought!"
"Only one?" contested Merlyn. "What of Arthur? You believe he will step down and allow you to usurp his throne after you kill his father?"
"I am the eldest. By rights the throne is mine."
"You are not heir!" Merlyn growled. "You are not even legitimate!"
"I will be!" Morgana shrieked, the reminder a raw spot. "Before he draws his last breath, Uther Pendragon will have me recognised. And Arthur has not officially been crowned, he is only heir apparent. A title that will become mine when my true status is revealed."
"You think Arthur will stand aside and let you rule after the actions you take? You think the people of this city will respect you, a murderer and deceiver? You will be hated and feared."
"I do not need their love," Morgana spat. "Fear is as good as respect when demanding obedience – my father proved that."
"And you wish to be like him?" Merlyn scoffed, revolted by her delusions. "You call me stupid, but you are blind and foolish; more so than I ever was."
Arthur shout cut off Morgana's fuming retort, echoing up the empty corridors; "Merlyn! Morgana! Hurry up!"
The highborn drew back, taking a breath and folding away her anger like it was laundry. Merlyn could not hide so easily, still hot and trembling with frustration.
"If you do not turn away from this, Morgana, I will be forced to act," she warned as a last, desperate bid.
In reply, Morgana scoffed, turning her nose up at the younger girl. "Do your best," she dared before marching away, seemingly unaffected from their short exchange.
Merlyn drew her scarred arm to her chest, rubbing the aching limb as she glowered at the noblewoman's retreating figure. Heat prickled in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked it away angrily.
"As you wish," she muttered to herself, then sighed in exhaustion as she realised only one step was left on her path.
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The knights met them in the Council Chambers where the King was not, and both Lancelot and Giam asked permission to find their families.
"Gwen is within your home," Merlyn offered when Arthur waved them onwards. Lancelot shot her a thankful smile and the pair moved out swiftly, sticking together to be safe.
"Astamor, head up to the parapets and be our eyes. If the Knights of Medhir are approaching, I want to see them before they arrive."
"They are awake?" asked Merlyn, and Arthur nodded grimly as the young Sir Astamor hurried from the room.
"We lost Fergus and William," he intoned, sadness heavy on his face before he steeled himself.
"What are we going to do?" Merlyn asked, looking up at Arthur steadily.
"Should we close the gates?" asked Pellinor.
Arthur paused, contemplating, but ultimately shook his head. "There is no one to man the defences. If the Knights of Medhir do come, we will be better to greet them with our strengths; then we have the advantage. But first, we must find the King."
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They found the monarch within his study, facedown atop his desk, and the sight of his prone figure punctured Arthur's confidence.
"Who could have done this?" he asked in desperation and Merlyn's eyes automatically shifted to Morgana. The highborn caught her glance and jutted her chin defiantly, though her jaw clenched with uneasiness.
"Morgause," Merlyn said pointedly, moving her gaze back to Arthur. He turned to her, expectant, so she squared her shoulders and committed to the decision. "She is a powerful sorceress, the last High Priestess of the Old Religion. She has already tried to manipulate Camelot for her own gain when she tried to use you. This would be the kind of cowardly act she would attempt." She glanced at Morgana, daring her to retort, but she did not, even as her nostrils flared in irritation.
The prince cursed, agreeing with her assessment. "This cannot be the end of her attack. We must get the King to safety."
"Where is safe?" Morgana asked, lifting her arms wide. "Camelot is defenceless."
"We must remove him from Camelot," Merlyn stated, staring at Arthur with resolve. "This curse lingers over the city, but not the kingdom. If we can take him somewhere – to a barracks – he will be safe, and we can mount a counterattack."
Arthur's lips pressed together in unhappiness, but his tone was resigned as he said, "We would be leaving Camelot leaderless. Morgause would be free to do as she wished."
"Then we should remain, and fight," Morgana argued incredulously. "I have never known you to be one to run away, Arthur. Have you turned craven?"
"Arthur knows the value of strategic retreat," Merlyn snapped, glaring. "What point is there in dying against a threat able to be fought better with time to plan? Only a fool would do such a thing."
"If we leave, anyone can seize the throne. Only an idiot would leave others to take what is theirs."
"Lives matter more than possessions, Morgana. I would think one as wise as you would know that."
"Ladies," Arthur interrupted, looking between them in disbelief. "What has gotten into you two? If you hadn't noticed, we have a situation; squabble later."
"Sorry," Merlyn muttered, shooting one last glare at Morgana before turning away so she could focus. "What are we going to do?"
Arthur paced a little, attention turned inward as he deliberated. "There may be others who have managed to avoid this… enchantment as you have, Morgana. Pellinor –" he turned his attention to the knight, "– Find Giam. Once he has seen to his wife and son, begin a search through the lower town. Anyone in imminent danger can be moved somewhere more secure, otherwise, leave them be. Those awake can come to the castle; we'll set up a sanctuary in the Great Hall."
He nodded and departed, and the prince turned his gaze to his unconscious father. Before he could speak again, however, Astamor's voice echoed faintly through the corridors.
"Sire!"
Merlyn and Arthur shared a glance before they hurried from the room, rushing through the hallways to the parapets; Morgana followed in their wake. Merlyn flagged at the spiral stairs and by the time she caught up, all eyes were turned towards the north horizon.
"Seven riders, sire," Astamor confirmed as Arthur shielded his eyes from the sun, glaring sternly at the fast-approaching figures. Merlyn squinted too, seeing six darkly-cloaked shapes galloping behind another helmed warrior atop a white charger.
"The Knights of Medhir," the prince murmured then jutted his chin with a frown. "However, we did not come across the white rider. That must be the sorcerer."
"What are you thinking?" asked Merlyn, leaning against the wall as her body ached.
"We must move my father," he ordered and glanced to the other knight. "Astamor, find the rest of the men and meet us in Morgana's chambers. It will give us time to plan while they search my father's rooms. If you come across the Knights, do not engage. Your weapons are useless against them."
As Astamor left, the trio returned to the King's study and, with a bit of creative work, had the monarch hitched onto a bedsheet to lug him along quickly. Morgana was relatively helpful, if quiet, but Merlyn's belly churned with sickness every time she so much as glanced her way.
Could she do it? Could she actually try to kill Morgana? Should she stab her? Steal Arthur's burnished blade and run her through?
The thought sent a flare of horror up her spine, and she shuddered, causing Arthur to glance over with worry. She shook her head to dismiss his concern, and he relented grudgingly; their other worries were a little too immediate.
Once they reached Morgana's rooms, they dragged the King's body to the far side of the bed so it wasn't immediately visible from the door. Morgana closed it behind them then hovered in uncertainty as Arthur swayed when he straightened.
He groaned, putting a hand to his head. "Is this the sickness?" he asked with a grimace.
Merlyn nodded, still on her knees beside the King. She'd been feeling the effects the moment she re-entered Camelot, the lingering burn in her wrist growing like a slow-catching fire. She didn't know how long she could last this time, and her gaze slid unwillingly to Morgana.
Something had to be done. Soon.
Arthur's attention was also on the highborn. "How are you immune?" he asked, perplexed.
Morgana shook her head, eyes wide. "I-I don't know."
His frustration and fear were clear as he snapped; "You must know something!"
"I don't know what you want me to say?" she cried, and Arthur released a huff of breath to calm himself, turning away. Merlyn avoided staring at either of them, mentally flitting from one desperate scenario to another. Knife? Arrow? Mace? Axe? Rope? Poison?
"Let me go see if any of Gaius' books have an answer," she blurted, looking up after a frozen moment to meet Arthur's eyes.
He immediately shook his head. "The Knights will be here any moment. I cannot let you wander where you might be found."
"They haven't yet reached the city," she pleaded. "And I'll be quick. Please, Arthur, this may be the only way."
"I thought you already scoured the books and found nothing," he said pointedly and, yes, his argument was valid.
"I… I felt I was getting closer to an answer when I started to succumb," she lied. "I'm sure the next few books hold what I need. Just let me look. Isn't it better than sitting here waiting to be found?"
Arthur clenched his teeth, glancing towards his father and Morgana before relenting with a hiss. "Go!" he ordered, waving towards the door. "Go, before I change my mind."
She sped out with little elegance but all haste.
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The bottle of hemlock clenched tight in her fist and a couple of books in her arms for justification, Merlyn scurried through the corridors as quickly as she could. The Knights of Medhir were within the castle, dispersing throughout the levels to find the one they sought. The girl could only assume Morgause was also present, prowling the halls like a panther, beauty and grace hiding deadly intent.
Merlyn readjusted her grip on the small, clear ampoule of poison, glancing around a corner to see the passage empty of people before darting down its length. She was nearly at the far end when a hand reached out of an alcove and grabbed her arm, wrenching her to the side. Her yelp was silenced by a large, calloused hand and her body pulled back into an armoured chest.
"Shh," Arthur whispered into her ear, and she finally registered the rasping groan of a Knight breathing nearby. Her breath hitched, and she leant back into Arthur's front, hoping the pillars cast enough of a shadow to conceal them from view. His arm was tight across her chest, but the hand over her mouth softened and slid from her face, coming to rest against her collarbone.
They both held their breath as the Knight moved directly across their hiding spot, its shadow rolling over them as it stalked beyond their sight. They listened as its boots faded from hearing then waited a little while longer.
"Why are you out here?" Merlyn whispered with apprehension, stepping out of the inadvertent embrace to face him. "Where's the King."
"I worried when you were gone so long," he admitted.
"But who's protecting the King?"
"Morgana, of course," he said nonchalantly, but Merlyn's gut swooped in dread. She was the absolute worst person to leave with the vulnerable ruler.
"We need to return," she insisted and ducked to the edge of their hideaway to scan the area. "Come on."
Arthur didn't argue, but he insisted on leading, sword held in front while his other hand twined with Merlyn's. He'd reached for her when he'd moved ahead, and she assumed it was because he wanted to be absolutely sure she remained where she was meant to, but she enjoyed the touch nonetheless. The warmth of his palm against hers was a nice distraction from her other hand where the hemlock was hidden in the folds of her bandages. Even the thought of it made her sick and she inadvertently clenched Arthur's fingers tighter.
He glanced back and caught her pale complexion. He stopped and turned to her in concern. "Are you well? Is it your wrist?"
"No," she breathed, swallowing passed the knot in her throat. "No, I'm alright."
He opened his mouth to argue but Merlyn caught the eerie sounds of low, rattling breaths and quickly shoved them both through the nearest door. The cleaning closet had enough space they didn't knock over mops or pails, which she was grateful, and she spun to swing the door most of the way shut before crouching and peering out the crack. She felt Arthur shuffle closer before he, too, ducked forward to see outside, resting a hand on her shoulder to caution of his proximity.
The sight of Morgause and two undead companions had his fingers gripping tight and she felt him shift forebodingly.
"Don't," she breathed, moving to grip his hand upon her shoulder. She peered up at him in the gloomy light and he met her eyes, fury and fear clear in his expression. "Please."
His teeth clenched as his gaze returned to the High Priestess, but his stance loosened, and she released a silent breath of relief. It mattered not if he possessed an immortal blade; Morgause could just as easily disarm him with sorcery and take the weapon for her own.
The invaders didn't linger, and the two defenders were soon on their way.
"We need to move my father," Arthur whispered. "They are scouring this part of the castle too thoroughly."
"We should disguise him," Merlyn offered, thumb stroking over the label of her bottle.
"Good idea," agreed Arthur. "It will not fool Morgause, but it may slow the Knights."
They reached Morgana's chambers, but Arthur stopped her before the door. "You remain in here; I will find us a place to move him."
"What of the others?" she asked. The rest of their company was expecting to find them within Morgana's chambers.
Arthur grimaced. "We will wait as long as we can, but I cannot compromise the King's safety." His admission sounded pained, and her own heart clenched. What if Lancelot and the others were hurt?
He touched her shoulder lightly, drawing her attention back. "Be safe."
He moved away, but Merlyn reached out to touch his sleeve. "You too," she murmured earnestly.
He nodded once then skulked down the corridor, disappearing around the corner before she cracked the door and slipped into the room. Morgana's head jerked up at her arrival and eyes roved over her figure worriedly before she glanced beyond her shoulder.
"Where is Arthur?"
"Finding us somewhere safer to hide," she replied shortly, moving to the King's side. He was unharmed despite the golden opportunity presented to Morgana. Her fingers clenched spasmodically around the bottle of hemlock, a glance down hiding the grimace twisting her mouth.
"You can stop this, Morgana," she said lowly, looking up to meet her eyes. Morgana met her stare with an indecipherable expression. "No one needs to be hurt."
Like her words meant nothing, Morgana turned away and frustration welled in Merlyn's chest. "Who is this cruel woman who would betray and plot the murder of those who love her? What have you become?"
The noblewoman spun on her with fury. "This is the best way!" she snarled. "No one is harmed but those who deserve it! I will not tell Morgause to stop, and I will not abide your commentary. You are nothing but a servant and a fool."
"There was once a time when you cared not for status," Merlyn murmured, too tired to shout in the wake of her declaration.
"And there was once a time when I did not need to," she retorted, an angry twist to her lips. "But it was you who had me realise some people just aren't meant to make the hard decisions."
Merlyn's retort was interrupted by Arthur's reappearance. "I found a place," he said as he ducked inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He panted from his adventure, sweat dotting his brow. "We should move immediately."
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They left a note atop Morgana's table in the hopes Lancelot, Pellinor, Giam and Astamor would find it and know the situation. There was no mention of their new location, but Arthur seemed confident they would know how to find them, so Merlyn assumed there was a second meaning hidden within the unsuspecting words.
They made it to the servants' chambers without issue, a lonely undead Knight easy to dodge, and Arthur wasted no time in redressing his father in peasant garb, hands shaking with fatigue as the sleeping enchantment sunk deeper into his bones. Merlyn refused to sit down, eyes so dry blinking did nothing but make her vision unsteady, so she took to pacing beside the narrow window overlooking the inner gardens instead. Morgana, meanwhile, stood to the side, fingers twisting together anxiously as she watched them, the very picture of health.
"We cannot keep this up much longer," Arthur panted, dragging himself to Merlyn's side once his father was situated. "We need to get out of Camelot."
She nodded but refused to pause in her strides, scraping her thoughts clear of the cobwebs weaving through them. "The, er, there was a cart? In the main square?"
Arthur clicked his fingers but startled himself with the sharp noise. "Brilliant idea! I will go see."
"Be careful," she whispered to his back, and he nodded to her solemnly before slinking out the door. In his wake, the air grew heavy with tension, the silence screaming under the weight of their discord.
Merlyn turned her gaze to the older woman and, though she did not look back, Morgana's shoulders rose in apprehension.
"Morgana…" Merlyn whispered pleadingly.
"Stop!" the woman hissed, glaring at her with poisonous eyes. "Just stop!"
She spun away and moved to the other end of the room, leaving Merlyn to slump into the wall. Cautiously, her fingers edged towards the hemlock hidden within her dress, running the pad of her index over the stopper. Was it time?
"You will see," the noblewoman said abruptly, turning back to the black-haired girl with her chin raised. "Once this is all over, Camelot will become what it was supposed to be: a place for all."
"Innocent people are going to die," Merlyn stressed on a sigh, letting her head fall back into the stone. She didn't release the hemlock. "Still more will be hurt when citizens panic and others rebel. All you are doing is seeding chaos and calling it liberation."
"All change costs something, Merlyn," she returned, her tone more civil than it had been for weeks. "You, of all people, should understand that."
"It should not cost our souls," she rasped, looking away as emotion clogged her throat.
Morgana's voice was full of conviction. "I am willing to pay the price so others like me never have to believe they are monsters."
Merlyn said nothing, keeping her head turned so the welling tears went unseen.
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A distant shout shattered the silence in the room and both women jumped in surprise before Merlyn lunged for the door. It sounded like Pellinor.
"Stay here!" she ordered Morgana, not trusting the highborn to guard her back. The woman said nothing, but Merlyn didn't hear her footsteps.
The scene she came across was a fierce battle between two Knights of Medhir and three knights of Camelot. Pellinor was slumped against a wall behind the battle, awake but clearly injured, his arm wrapped around his belly as he panted through pain. All of them were exhausted, clearly suffering the same effects of the enchantment, and though they fought valiantly, there was no way to win.
Merlyn blamed her next actions on sleep deprivation.
"Hey!" she shouted, picking up a loose piece of stone and lobbing it at the head of one of the undead warriors. It clacked against the back of its helm and the creature halted its attack on Lancelot to turn her way. A growl grew from its throat at the sight of her, and it moved back from the battle to advance her way.
"Uh…" She took several hasty steps in retreat, but the Knight followed doggedly, strides lengthening with purpose.
"Merlyn!" Lancelot cried, but his approach was cut off by the slash of a third Knight as it stepped into the corridor, drawn to the sounds of battle.
She turned and fled, knowing little else to do, and the creature gave a rumble as it pursued. Had she been in peak performance, Merlyn would have easily lost the Knight in the maze of corridors, but as she was, she barely made a hundred yards before she was breathless with fatigue and sagging into walls, wasting too much time glancing back at the marching beast instead of concentrating on her route.
Consequently, it wasn't long before she cornered herself in a storeroom, turning left too early and stumbling over the sacks of flour just inside the open doorway. She grunted as she hit the bags, breath whooshing from her chest at the hard landing and vision warbling in protest. Her body cried out for rest, but she ignored it and rolled off the supplies, stopping herself from faceplanting the floor with her hands. She tried to gather her legs to push upright, but they trembled and refused to hold her weight, ending with her clacking her knees onto the hard floor.
She bowed her head and panted, utterly spent, before a shadow fell over her lap. She forced her face up and saw the Knight in the doorway, backlit by the sunlight in the corridor beyond. She couldn't even muster fear as it brought its sword up to guard, slowing now as it sensed the surrender of its prey. Her heart pounded beneath her ribs, breath struggling to pass through the tightness in her throat. She had no way to defend herself, no magic to cast, no sword to bear, no strength to flee, absolutely nothing in which to put between her and death.
The Knight's breath was rasping as its other hand joined the first to grip the sword in both, lifting the weapon high. She stared at it, empty of feeling, and the blade swung down upon her with force.
An enraged roar rent the air, and the Knight jerked as a sword burst from its chest, nigh lifted from the ground at the force of the attack. Its strike fell to the wayside, cutting through a sack of flour instead of Merlyn's body before it dropped the blade altogether, wheezing with death. Its body shrunk in on itself like a weathered piece of fruit before crumbling to dust, rusted armour and tattered clothing falling to the ground in fragments.
From behind the debris stood Arthur, panting and drained, glaring at the moats of human dust floating in the air before his gaze flicked to her and concern replaced the anger.
"Are you alright?" he breathed, stumbling the few steps to her kneeling shape and dropping down before her, sword clattering to the ground by their side. Heavy hands landed atop her shoulders, and she braced herself by clutching at his arms, swaying at the weight. "Are you hurt?"
Merlyn couldn't speak, the effort of words too much, so she settled with a weak head shake and closed her eyes as tears leaked down her cheeks. She rocked forward, and Arthur's hands slid from her shoulders to her neck, cradling her as their foreheads met with gentle pressure.
She was so tired.
They held the pose for several moments before Arthur sucked in a forceful breath and pushed away, startling Merlyn enough she pried her eyelids apart – and belatedly realised how close to slumber she'd drifted.
"Come," he murmured, shaking his head clear and glancing behind them to the gaping entry. "We need to return to Morgana."
He struggled to his feet, arms shifting to support her as he urged her upright also, but her own legs refused to lock, and she fell into Arthur's torso with a grunt, saved from falling only by his reflexes.
"Sorry," she whispered, feeling like a newborn foal with how her muscles trembled. Arthur adjusted his hold, slinging her arm over his shoulder as his other wound around her waist, taking enough weight she managed to keep her feet beneath her. She still kept her head leaning into his shoulder, the ready-made resting place too much for her exhausted body to resist. She didn't realise her eyes had shut again until Arthur jostled her purposefully.
"You must stay awake."
She lifted her head to stare at him pitifully. "I don't know how much longer I can last, Arthur," she moaned, and he nodded sympathetically, his own features drawn with fatigue. "I'm so tired…"
"I know," he murmured, blinking heavily even as he urged her to walk. "I know."
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Arthur planned. Merlyn decided.
"I'll draw them to the opposite end of the castle," the prince explained, shaking excess water from his face after splashing it to sharpen his focus. "Give me fifteen minutes then head for the cart in the courtyard. I'll meet you in the forest beyond the city."
The only reason Merlyn let him employ the foolish idea was because she had no intention of complying, grateful Arthur assumed it was fatigue silencing her arguments.
"Lancelot and the others were in the crossbow crossway," she said. "I don't know how far they managed to get with Pellinor injured."
"I will see if they are still nearby," Arthur assured her. "It can only help to have them at my side."
He left, and Merlyn was alone with Morgana, the King still slumbering obliviously upon the bedsheet they'd used to lug him around.
In the fight ending their friendship, Morgana had accused Merlyn of choosing Arthur over her when creating the cuff. That had been a lie – but this time… this time, her choice was clear, and it wasn't Morgana she was protecting.
"Here, have some water."
"I'm not thirsty."
"You have some before I finish it."
Morgana took the waterskin, too trusting.
Merlyn turned away, unable to watch her take that fateful sip. She felt both hollow and too full, shuddering with an imaginary chill while her insides cramped like she was the one to ingest poison. She wiped away the tear skittering traitorously down her face.
She closed her eyes when the gasping began, the hoarse sound gouging its way into the depths of her mind, but she opened them just as quickly. She deserved to watch the consequences of her actions.
Merlyn turned to see Morgana already staring her way; horrified – realising – eyes locked onto her own as a hand grabbed desperately at the skin of her throat.
It was strange, watching her die. It felt as a dream, distant and nonsensical, yet each second striking in its clarity. She suffered as a viewer of a stage play, removed from the rawness of the situation; insides empty of feeling.
Morgana's neck muscles convulsed as her throat sealed and her gasps turned to frantic rasping, body sinking towards the ground. Merlyn jolted into action, swooping in to gentle her fall, and despite Morgana's lack of coordination, she shoved at Merlyn's chest in a fierce bid to push away her murderer. But Merlyn did not let go, cradling her like one would a young child, and Morgana soon gave up, fingers returning to her throat as if she could claw through her skin and open her airways by force.
It was futile. Hemlock was a vicious, merciless poison, and Morgana had no hope of overcoming its effects.
Abruptly, the main doors blasted inwards, wrenched from their hinges. Merlyn hunched over Morgana's spasming body, eyes shutting against the gust of dusty air as it washed over them before the air inverted unnaturally and sucked aside to reveal the terrifying image of a furious Morgause. Merlyn flinched backwards when the blonde dropped to her knees beside Morgana, Morgause carefully lifting the downed woman's unconscious head from the floor.
The panic on Morgause's face obliterated the barrier between Merlyn and her own emotions, guilt swelling up her throat like bile. She pushed upright on unsteady feet and skittered several steps away as her breaths grew ragged.
Morgause ignored her movements, head bowed over Morgana as she stroked a pale cheek tenderly. "What has she done to you?"
Merlyn shook her head, half in denial, half in disbelief, turning to face the blonde sorceress once more. "I had to," she gasped, eyes tracking back to the pale figure on the ground. No breaths. Colour leeching from her skin.
Merlyn's face burned with heat, but she shivered with chills, wrapping her arms around her chest.
Morgause snapped her head up, snarling, "You poisoned her!"
Furious at the accusation, and she growled back, "You gave me no choice!"
The rage was a relief, rejuvenating her weakened mind and distracting from the stabbing pains in her chest. "You poisoned her mind just as I poisoned her body. The only difference is this was not out of spite!"
"Do not deem to know my mind, wench!" she snapped. "Tell me what you used, and I may save her!"
"First, you will stop the attack. Undo the magic driving the Knights; leave this place and its occupants alone."
Morgause bristled, shoulders rising much like the hackles of an insulted dog. "You do not tell me what to do! Name the poison or die!"
"Then she will die with me," Merlyn said, jutting her chin defiantly. The constant searing burn of her wrist was finally easing, but it brought only sorrow, for it measured the life seeping from Morgana's body. "Your efforts will have failed. The Knights can be slayed, even if you do not comply, and the people will wake soon, able to defend themselves once more. She will have died for nothing!"
The blonde sorceress hissed in frustration, but her panicked gaze dropped to Morgana's still frame and the grief in her expression was real. "Astyre us thanonweard! Cnihtas Medhires, eower sawlas. Rid eft ond forsleah eft!"
Merlyn flinched instinctively at the flare of gold within the Priestess's eyes, tucking her bandaged arm behind her as if the extra inches would save her from the burn. But she felt nothing and, as Morgause turned expectant eyes her way, she forced herself to trust the woman's actions. She showed her the empty hemlock bottle.
There was a groan from beside the bed, and the King sat up groggily, hand to his head even as his eyes remained shut. Merlyn's heart skipped a beat as Morgause's expression darkened with rage, but a shout from without the room stopped her from acting.
"Merlyn!" Arthur cried, heavy steps growing closer, and Morgause curled over Morgana's body protectively, gaze turning from the King to the dying woman.
"Bedyrene us! Astyre us thanonweard!" she incanted, and Arthur's form swung around the broken entrance just as Morgause and Morgana were ripped from the room in a swirl of chaotic wind.
"Morgana!" the King cried, and Arthur steps faltered as he stared at the empty spot the two had occupied. The newly awakened sovereign staggered to the same place, twisting about as if his ward would be hiding behind his coat before turning wild eyes onto his son.
"Arthur!" he gasped. "What is going on? What happened here?"
The prince didn't seem able to speak, but his eyes tracked to Merlyn, relief, confusion, and panic warring for dominance on his face. Merlyn knew her answers would not satisfy him – she did not even know what to say. How could she explain the events leading to Morgana betraying her kingdom and Merlyn's retaliation? No explanation seemed sufficient.
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Merlyn leaned against the parapet overlooking the courtyard and lower town with her eyes closed, letting the cold breeze bite at her cheeks and nose. The enchantment may have been broken, but exhaustion had Merlyn near delirious, the effects of the past day doing a number on her head. If she'd had any sense, she'd be nose deep in a pillow, but her deprived state didn't inspire sound decisions, and she found herself seeking the crisp touch of the high wind instead.
Her mind was plagued by recent events, scenes replaying behind her eyelids every time she blinked. Her thoughts churned over actions she could have taken, choices she should have made – all the stupid things she had done to lead to this result. Subconsciously, her fingers stroked over the bandages hiding her scarred skin away.
"Is it paining you?" a soft voice asked, and Merlyn tilted her head and opened her eyes to see Arthur approaching from the parapet archway. He looked nearly as fatigued as she felt, though she knew his features were also weathered with grief. She wasn't grieving so much as drowning in guilt.
"I'm alright," she dismissed, pushing herself off the stone and turning to face him, betrayed by her body when she swayed on her feet.
Arthur darted forward to catch her, but she managed to save herself with a hand against the low wall. She smiled sheepishly at him, but it didn't remove the frown from his face.
"You should be resting," he admonished gently.
"How can I?" she asked, lifting her arms in despondency. "After everything that has happened?"
Arthur dropped his gaze, expression weighed with sorrow. "There was no sign of her in the city, nor in the surrounding villages. Father is sending men into the further reaches but…" he shook his head.
Merlyn had no reassurances to give, hating herself for being relieved at the lack of progress. Morgana could be dead, yet Merlyn was selfish enough to hope she was never found. The noblewoman had desired to be free of Uther, and now it was granted – perhaps she would talk Morgause out of her vendetta and the two would live out the rest of their lives away from Camelot.
Somehow, Merlyn didn't think it would occur.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
The question burrowed deep into her brain, the mild tone morphing into an accusation as her guilt arose in a fresh wave. She opened her mouth to answer but found the words catching in her throat. "I…"
His gaze captured her own, concern and expectation pinching his brow. Would he still look so kindly if he knew the truth?
"We…"
How to explain? Where to start?
"She…"
She betrayed us. She was deceived by Morgause. She let fear and pain lead her actions. She wanted you dead.
Merlyn shook her head, at a loss, and Arthur – in a move far more considerate than she expected – drew her into his arms without pressing. She must have looked a terrible fright for him to be so gentle, but she took the reprieve gratefully, sinking into his embrace and closing her eyes with a sigh.
"You do not need to explain right now," he assured. "It matters not in the end." He inhaled deep and slow, the sound of his heartbeat in her ear so soothing she felt herself drifting. Each drum of his life organ pulsed through her consciousness like a spark of light, and as a leaf upon a river, the current was relentless in carrying her away.
The rumble of Arthur's voice vibrated through her body, but she merely nuzzled her nose into his shoulder and released a contented sigh, not hearing a word he spoke. A calloused hand was soothing as it ran over her hair and, with the gentle touch, she slipped into sleep completely.
When her body sagged, Arthur had a surge of panic, thinking she had slipped into another stupor, and he lowered them to the grass quickly, her head supported by his arm. He realised upon seeing twitches beneath her eyelids she only slept, and his relief had him bowing his head with a self-deprecating smile.
He gazed at her fondly. "You should have been resting hours ago," he murmured before he adjusted his hold and scooped her off the ground. She was too light in his arms, though she was only a little shorter than he, and a pang of guilt shot through his gut at being the source of her wasting.
He hesitated over where to take her, tossing up between the servant's room beside his own, or Gaius' chambers, before setting on the latter. He had to talk with the sorceress, Aayla, anyway. It was high time to free The Great Dragon.
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Arthur was nervous. He hid it behind a calm veneer, but his insides shivered with uncertainty, belly churning in turbulent waves. Beside him, Aayla looked how he felt, eyes a little wide, skin a little pale, but fists clenched with determination.
They eased down the final staircase to where the single sentry stood guard in front of the cave entrance and saw Gaius' sleeping potion had taken affect, having been slipped into the tea the unsuspecting man had been gifted an hour ago. If things went according to plan, they'd be in and out before he stirred.
They felt the warmth of the dragon before stepping through the gate into his domain, and the muted glow of his scales was enough light for Arthur's torch to become unnecessary. The ancient beast watched them silently, seeming to expect their appearance. He reptilian features hid whatever emotion he felt, but Arthur could only be happy he wasn't snarling or breathing fire.
"So, you have come at last," the dragon said after a drawn moment, golden eyes flicking from the prince to his companion. Aayla dipped her head in deference, awe and wariness clear in her posture. "Past due time."
"Camelot was attacked by the Knights of Medhir, led by the sorceress, Morgause," defended Arthur. "I would have come sooner had I been able."
"Did the Priestess succeed?" he asked, and Arthur frowned at his phrasing.
"She failed to kill the King, if that is your meaning."
"And what of the Lady Morgana?"
Arthur paused, unsettled by his insight. How did he know of Morgana? "Morgause kidnapped her when the curse broke. There has been no sign since – we do not know if she is even alive."
The dragon looked away, nostrils flared in obvious upset. Arthur didn't realise he even knew of Morgana, let alone mourned her loss.
The beast asked in a snarl, "What of young Merlyn?"
"Resting. She was hit hard by the sleeping spell."
The dragons glowing eyes locked back onto Arthur's, blame blazing in their depths. "She is suffering by your hand, Arthur Pendragon. The curse of arrogance runs deep in your veins, a truth I should have foreseen."
"I have learned my lesson," he replied, shame broiling in his gut. "Merlyn would not let me live an arrogant fool forever."
"Too late," the dragon interrupted sharply, wings twitching in irritation. "Too little. The Seer is a greater threat than ever before, and the young witch is no match as she is. My hope for Albion is tarnished."
"I still have faith," said Aayla, her voice strong, if a little shaky. Arthur glanced to her in surprise, having briefly forgotten she was at his side. She did not look back, gazing instead, to the dragon, who met her eyes neutrally.
She continued, gaining surety the longer she spoke, "Albion is a dream, one only made possible by those who believe. Emrys may be the catalyst for its creation, but she mustn't be alone. Albion is a land where all people are welcome, and that can only be so if all people are welcoming. It is a dream that must be made real by everyone."
"There are tasks to come only the witch can face," the dragon intoned, not quite dismissive, but not accepting either. "And she has failed already for the choices she's made. Faith is not enough for the horrors ahead." He jerked his head, gaze turning back to Arthur. "I have long wearied of this cave. Free me of my chains as you promised, prince."
Arthur looked to Aayla, who nodded before she proceeded down the steep steps carved into the rock face. He followed carefully, shifting to his side so his scabbard didn't catch on the wall, and, when he reached the bottom, he pulled the blade free. He swore, for a fleeting moment, it shone with light of its own, as bright and golden as the dragon scales it reflected. But it dimmed in a blink, and he decided it must have been his own mind playing tricks. He lifted it before him and it appeared as it always had; faultless, sharp, and unspoiled.
He saw the dragon shift from the corner of his eye and looked up to see the ancient creature peering down from his great height. Arthur felt very small at his foot.
"Where will you go?" he asked, realising he had no idea what dragons did in their spare time.
The dragon swelled with a large inhale, but his gaze was steady and unemotional. "I am the last of my kind. There is but one path I may tread," he said cryptically.
Arthur didn't push, flinching internally at the reminder of the horrible deed his father accomplished. "May you find peace then," he said in lieu of anything more substantial, for there was little he could say with meaning.
The dragon's eyes flickered before he turned away. He said solemnly, "We shall see."
The prince glanced at Aayla, but she appeared as clueless as he on a response, and eventually, he simply held out the sword. Aayla took it with reverence, having discovered its abilities when told of the required ritual. She brushed a deferential hand over the gleaming blade before adjusting her hold on the hilt and raising it above her head. She glanced one last time at Arthur before she took a breath and incanted, "Ic bebeod thisne swurd thaet he forcearf tha bnede thara dracan. Unclce!"
With the last word, she drove the sword into the chains imprisoning the dragon. The moment the two objects touched, there was a crackle and spark before the link shattered with a bang. The two humans flinched back and covered their eyes, but the dragon released a roar loud enough to shake the cavern.
Arthur covered his ears as the noise rumbled through his bones, and he looked up to see the great beast flaring his wings in triumph. Another victory bellow escaped his throat, and, with a massive leap, he ascended into the air without a backwards glance. The downward flap of his enormous wings sent both Aayla and Arthur to their knees and by the time Arthur had cleared his eyes of dirt and staggered upright once more, the dragon was nowhere to be seen.
He did hear another distant roar, however, and soon after, the dreaded toll of the city bell.
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I meant to upload this two weeks ago but building my future career takes up soooo much time *sigh.
Thank you so much for the comments, every one gives me the warm fuzzies. Let me know your thoughts and if there are any mistakes. I proofread once but I usually do it a few times before I'm happy so who knows what I missed.
Also, it may seem like I'm following the same old tracks, but I promise you...
Much love!
TBC...