For the Love of Camelot

6. Death

As soon as he saw the moon, he knew that they'd wasted enough time. It had already been two days... two days since they'd left Gaius and travelled east toward the Lake of Avalon. Their time was up.

Anxiety rose in the young warlock's throat as he moved to check Arthur's breathing, hitched but steady. It was time to leave.

"Arthur. We need to get moving." When the king didn't respond, Merlin shook him awake. "We've wasted enough time." Arthur began to wake and Merlin draped the king's arm over his shoulders, hoisting him up. This once would have been an extreme effort, but he had grown stronger since they'd first met, and now lifted the king easily. "Come on. Arthur." Merlin lifted the king's head as it began to fall and met his eyes, clouded with sleep and pain.

"Can't." Arthur breathed as they fumbled along and the lake appeared in the distance. Merlin could now see the stone pillar that rose in the middle, the center of the sidhe's power. Recognition played on his face, and his eyes lit up with hope.

"Avalon. We'll get there." He helped Arthur to sit on a log, confident in their timing. "I won't let you die, Arthur. I won't." A lump formed in his throat and he moved to tie the horses, only to come face to face with confusion. The horses. They'd had horses, hadn't they? So where had they gone? Something was amiss. The leaves rustled to his left and he spun as the witch Morgana stepped out from the trees, victory masking her sadness.

"Hello, Emrys." Before Merlin could react, her eyes flashed and he was thrown backwards. His head slammed against a rock, and everything went black.

...

Well, wasn't this just lovely. Arthur turned his head towards his sister's voice, wincing as pain enveloped him. If he could just reach Excalibur, it would be alright...

He grappled for the sword as Morgana threw Merlin to the other side of the clearing. Arthur shouted as Merlin slammed against a rock, his eyes glowing for a split second before fluttering closed. This wouldn't happen, it couldn't be happening. Morgana was supposed to be dead.

"What a joy it is to see you, Arthur." Morgana moved, standing between him and Merlin. "Look at you, not so tall and mighty now. You may have won the battle, but you've lost the war." As Morgana spoke, Arthur saw Merlin open his eyes, so blue. The sorcerer clutched his head and rose silently.

"You're going to die by Mordred's hand," Morgana continued, unaware of the dangerous presence behind her, the warlock with the power of the dragon's breath. "But don't worry, my dear brother, I won't let you die alone." Merlin moved closer now, drawing Excalibur quietly as Morgana continued. "I will stay and watch over you, until the wolves gorge on your carcass and bathe in your blood."

But that wouldn't be needed. Arthur heaved a sigh of relief as Merlin spoke, and Morgana turned ever so slowly.

"No, the time for all this bloodshed is over. I blame myself for what you've become... but this has to end."

Always the questions, never the answers. Why did Merlin say such things? Morgana wasn't his fault. As Arthur gazed on with pale blue eyes, questioning every word that the sorcerer said, it suddenly occurred to him. Merlin blamed himself... Merlin blamed himself because Merlin had magic, but so did Morgana.

...

"I am a high priestess. No mortal blade can kill me." Morgana smirked as Merlin stabbed her, the immortal blade digging through her flesh, carving its way through her being. He felt the resistance in the blade as he pulled it out, almost as if it were another limb, an extension of his body. Morgana's smile fell as she realized her mistake.

"This is no mortal blade." Merlin's voice, his stance, everything about him was full of power and assurance as he stood over the dying woman, the woman who had simply wanted acceptance... but gone about it the wrong way. "Like yours, it was forged in a dragon's breath." He caught her as she fell and lowered her to the ground, as gentle as ever, regret written on his face. "Goodbye, Morgana." She took her final breath, a shuddering, painful wheeze, and her face fell slack. Merlin bowed his head, paying respect to the dead sorceress, for she had been one of his own. Never forgetting his mission, he handed Arthur his precious sword and helped the king up for what hopefully wouldn't be the last time. The sun was rising over the trees, and a sense of urgency filled him, an urgency he hadn't felt since Freya lay dying in his arms. His breath hitched, and Arthur spoke.