Chapter 6: The Noble Lies

UPDATE 7/14/17: I am currently working on the next chapter and I am tentatively looking for a beta. Ideally, it would be someone who A) is willing to kick my ass when I don't update, B) will let me bounce ideas off of him or her, and correct my grammar, characterization, syntax, style and structure, and C) has some editing experience, preferably. If anyone is interested, please let me know!

Merlyn had experienced rage a number of times before. Once when she saw a fellow village girl in Ealdor dragged into the streets by some traveler who intended to rape her. That very same night she experienced rage again when Will tried to stop it from happening and was beaten half to death by the man's friends for his efforts. She was plenty angry when her mother told her daily to smother her magic, hold it within her where it could not harm her by existing. She felt fury when Uther killed a man for having magic, when he ignored his son and all of Arthur's wonderful qualities and caused the prince to doubt in himself.

All those past angers paled to the current moment—never before had her rage been a creature such as this.

Her vision was red around the edges, fraying her perception. Her heart beat erratically in her chest, thumping out the tempo of a wrathful song she felt in her blood. Her hands shook in outrage, in sheer disbelief, in the all-consuming fury that was locking her in place, ironically preventing her from lunging at the source of her anger. Her breath did not come, but seized her chest with spasms, a physical reaction to the deepest hate she'd ever felt.

Uther Pendragon would pay.

The lingering, cloying nausea from her encounter with the creature was burned away. There was nothing in her but the pulsing, throbbing beat of her raging heart, the keening of the sentenced women, the fear, the hatred, the hatred—

She felt shame too. If she hadn't acted like such a fool, if she'd heeded the advice of her elders, they never would have been in this mess. Uther wouldn't be hurting all of these women, he wouldn't be threatening to burn babies—

Her magic bounced angrily against the confines of her skin. She could feel the magic in the earth thrumming and howling against the injustice of the Mad King and his horrible schemes. She could feel the magic in the air around her connecting with her own, begging to simply use her as a conduit and kill the evil man who was such a blight to life and love and happiness and all the goodness in the world. Everything evil that she'd ever encountered, the magic whispered, it was a result of this man and his hate and prejudice and grief. She deserved better, the magic told her. The world deserved better…

She already told them anyway. Why not show them as well?

Arthur was speaking, but she couldn't hear him over the buzzing in her ears and the debate between a lifetime of instincts to hold and never use magic in public and the whisperings of the world begging her to put goodness and purity out of its misery by just destroying this man, by taking his life here and now, for all to see.

"Father she's suffering from grief, a friend of hers is one of the accused and she's trying to sacrifice herself in their place."

Arthur's voice floated her as if it was from far away, and she noted with some surprise that he was standing between her and the king, his hand clutching hers again. She hadn't realized he'd moved. All her focus was on the king, the genocidal maniac, the betrayer—

"She admitted it herself. Why else would she declare herself a sorceress?"

"You just threatened children, and Merlyn is very brave!" Morgana interjected, but Merlyn could not bring herself to turn towards her. Her eyes were latched to a man she was desperately trying to decide if she was going to kill. "Of course she would sacrifice herself, she's being noble and lying!"

Merlyn had to step in at that. Morgana and Arthur obviously knew she wasn't actually a threat to Camelot, but why wouldn't they let her do this? It would save everyone; didn't they see?

She took a step forward, her eyes never leaving the icy-green of Uther Pendragon's. Her magic whispered his crimes in her ear, insistent and pleading for the death of this vile man. She moved around Arthur before he realized what she was doing and yanked her hand from his grasp.

"I'm a sorceress," She declared, for once telling the truth and reveling in it. "And I can prove—"

A large hand clapped over her mouth and a strong arm banded across her midsection, pinning her arms to her sides and pressing her back to her attacker's chest.

Arthur's voice reverberated behind her. "I told you father, Merlyn is sick with grief, nothing more." She struggled, trying to kick him and pry him loose, but Arthur wouldn't budge. Merlyn tried to bite his hand but it was covered in a thick leather glove and all she got was a pinch in return.

She wanted to scream, and she was dimly aware that tears of frustration rolled unreservedly down her face, following the trails of her tears of anger that existed before. Her magic thrummed around her, inside her, begging to be released—

She couldn't, Merlyn realized. She was too angry, too out of control. If she released her magic now, any of it, she might wipe out everyone in this room. Hell, she might wipe out the city. Her control was non-existent, hate was making her frayed. Arthur was too close, pressed against her back and arms wrapped firmly around her, preventing her from struggling, his musky scent of leather and wine filled her nostrils and made her head feel hazy.

Her magic flared again in fury, which stoked the fires of Merlyn's rage and she struggled against Arthur with renewed vigor. It was useless though—without magic to augment her strength, he had a frighteningly easy time holding her.

"How do you know she hasn't just been lying in wait, biding her time?"

She could hear the tension in Arthur's voice, thrumming too close to her ear. "She's with me every day, Father, and saved my life at least twice. She's had many opportunities to injure me. Merlyn is kindhearted, and hates to see pain inflicted on others. She's also stupid, and so she thinks sacrificing herself is a good response to your orders."

Merlyn may have imagined it, but she was pretty sure Arthur's grip on her tightened a little at that last bit.

Uther's eyes drilled into hers, and she met his madness with her fury, even as she struggled against Arthur's hold.

"…I suppose you're right. Take her away, and remind her not to waste my time again."

Shock flooded her system and she froze, unable to believe that the one time she told the whole and unreserved truth about her magic, she wasn't taken seriously.

Really? What kind of cosmic joke was this?

Arthur took advantage of her shock and secured her to his chest more firmly. His movement brought her back to the present and she thrashed in his grip.

I have to do this, she screamed into his hand, I have to.

Arthur's hold didn't break. She was too small, too thin, and it was all too easy for him to subdue her. The magic thrummed in her ears screaming alongside her and Merlyn knew she could not break free without hurting the innocent and murdering all the people Uther wished to kill and more.

"Try and calm her down before returning Arthur. Woman's sensibilities, you know. Look at her, she's half-mad from grief."

Merlyn struggled harder at that, her voice fading into an inarticulate scream muffled by thick leather, and she wished to claw his eyes out with her fingernails, show him exactly how delicate her sensibilities were. Arthur pinched her arm in retaliation, and she could practically feel him begging her to please shut up while he rescued her.

"I think that will be for the best, Father." He started backing towards the doors, not allowing Merlyn's feet to touch the ground. Her legs churned against the air, and he was somehow holding her in a way that prevented her from landing a kick on him.

Merlyn was dragged further and further from the object of her rage, her hate, as the world's magic begged her to do something about the Mad King, to put him down like a rabid dog—

Her vision flooded with red as she forced herself not to let a drop of her magic spill from her shaky control. She didn't know what might happen, she didn't know if she would succeed, or if she might accidentally hit someone else. Arthur was too close; he could easily end up injured—

A door slammed shut in front of her, and just like that her vision cleared, Uther no longer crowding her line of sight.

"Merlyn," he hissed in her ear, and she could feel real anger in the vibration of his voice. "You will calm down right now. Do you hear me?"

She froze again. It was easier to think now—the voices of magic were fading, now that she was away from that epicenter of violence and pain Arthur called Father. Struggling was pointless, now, and even if she rushed back into the entryway, Uther wouldn't take her seriously.

Her muscles relaxed a little in defeat, but the rage kept burning in her heart.

"I'm going to take my hand off of your mouth, and then we are going to have a very long discussion about why you are completely stupid."

She rolled her eyes but made no other acknowledgment of his words. Slowly he lifted his hand, and began walking to one of the nearby guest chambers, still pinning her to his chest as if she were no burden at all, not even letting her walk on her own.

When she pointed this out all she received was a stern. "Silence."

Somehow, Arthur's anger abated her own, or at least refocused her. Arthur was being a bossy prat. Ergo, she must fulfill her divinely-ordained duty of deflating his ego.

As soon as they were inside the chambers, Arthur set her down. She quickly rushed away from him and turned around, getting out of arms' reach. He kicked the door shut with his heel and stalked toward her, his face drawn in anger. Her own temper flared up in response and though she refused to back away, she was ready to move at a moments' notice. He would not be manhandling her like that again.

"What. Were. You. Thinking?" He ground out, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

She frowned, irritation rising above the burn of rage. "I was thinking that your father was about to commit mass murder, and a confession could stop it."

He snarled angrily, "You're an idiot!" He stepped inside her space like he wanted to shake her, and she glared up at him, refusing to be intimidated by his height or strength.

"You know it's wrong, Arthur!" She snapped, stepping up to meet him. "You know it's wrong and someone had to stop him! Someone had to—"

"Do you think it would have stopped there?" He questioned viciously. "Sure, he wouldn't have killed those women immediately, but when your death solved nothing? When people continued to get sick? He'd just burn people, one-by-one, until there was no one left or the illness stopped. How many would die then? Hundreds? You'd only be the first, and you wouldn't be around to help me stop it because you'd be dead."

Her jaw snapped shut. He…wasn't wrong. Actually, he was very much correct. The disease was magical in nature, so it would probably take magic to destroy it. Whatever that creature was, it was unlikely to be felled by normal means.

"I couldn't just stand by and do nothing," she defended, trying not to sound petulant as she leaned away from him a little, acknowledging the validity of his argument.

Some of his anger drained away, and Merlyn realized for the first time that his behavior perhaps did not stem from his natural prattishness, but from genuine concern—perhaps even fondness or affection. "You're more use to us alive than dead, Merlyn." Then he was close again, almost too close, and his eyes were the color of the sky when clouds don't dare to cross. "You told me I was not allowed to die, Merlyn. I didn't think I'd have to tell you the same goes for you."

That thing was back, that intangible chord that hummed between them, stretching into infinity and deep within their souls. She felt it in her every breath, every heartbeat, and her magic sung with it in sharp contrast to the chorus of rage it was screaming mere minutes ago. It was an understanding between them, a sharing. A strange knowledge that went beyond words or emotion or magic of what one another was, what they were to each other. A comfort was in that knowledge, and Merlyn knew without doubt that there was a part of Arthur that knew her completely, which understood everything and nothing about her.

Something tightened inside her, calmed her rage just a little, so she could focus on the here and now. She could see the tensing of Arthur's muscles, the answering fire and concern in his gaze.

"Merlyn," he breathed, his voice soft. It reminded her of that night before the hearth, where she kneaded the muscles in his arm so he would hand her his sword, something glowing between them as brightly as fire and just as hard to grasp. "Merlyn, you—"

The door behind Arthur burst open and they hastily broke apart. She heard rustling silk, somehow sounding distinctly irritated.

Arthur was unceremoniously shoved aside, and Lady Morgana took his place, her face scrutinizing Merlyn's.

Her expression didn't change when she spoke. "That was incredibly stupid," Morgana informed her, and for some reason it made Merlyn feel small, like a child. Then the older woman wrapped her in a hug, squeezing her shoulders tightly. "And incredibly brave." Merlyn's eyes locked on Arthur's over Morgana's shoulder. He seemed a little flustered, but he looked at Morgana with poorly veiled fondness.

"Arthur has already berated me," she informed Morgana, "I'm sorry if I scared you."

Arthur had the audacity to roll his eyes, and Morgana scoffed, releasing her. "Of course you scared us. You were acting as a sacrificial lamb." Morgana's eyes turned stern. "Don't do it again."

Merlyn sighed, but said nothing. Morgana was being a good friend, and Arthur…well Arthur was Arthur.

But it was time to refocus. "What did Uther say after we left?"

Morgana sighed, obviously upset, her face twisting in disgust. "He said Arthur would rally the guard and start collecting the children as soon as he was able."

Merlyn felt the rage rise again, flickering in an echo of what it was not ten minutes ago. "When do they burn?"

Arthur scratched his jaw—he didn't shave this morning, Merlyn noticed—and narrowed his eyes. "It will take some time to collect enough wood. I'd say tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, more likely tomorrow evening."

"They'll burn through the night," Morgana whispered in quiet horror.

Merlyn shifted, feeling her focus slide into place. "If we stop the illness, will Uther let them go?"

Arthur and Morgana shared a look.

The ward spoke. "If we did it overnight, while everyone was under watch. That way we would be able to prove that none of the prisoners are the culprits."

A shadow crossed Arthur's face. "That means I actually have to arrest children, doesn't it?"

Merlyn regarded him with sympathy. "I'm sorry." And she was. He hated causing his people pain. And he'd done it quite a few times in the last few days.

Morgana turned to her. "You're sure you'll be able to find a cure by tomorrow morning?"

Merlyn nodded. "I believe so." Gaius would probably have an answer for what the creature was by the time she returned to him, and if they were incredibly lucky, a method to destroy it.

The king's ward turned to Arthur. "Do it quickly. Then you can help us with whatever the cure is."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Morgana, you don't give me orders." But he made to exit the room anyway.

"Prat," Morgana muttered after him. Then she smiled at Merlyn. "I can't thank you enough for giving me that word."

Merlyn smirked despite the horror they were facing. Everyone was allowed their coping mechanisms, after all. "You're most welcome, my Lady."

"Gaius!" Merlyn called as she raced into their shared chambers. "Gaius tell me you've found something. Uther's going to start murdering children next."

The man in question raised his head from his books. "I told you this would only end in tears, Merlyn."

She nearly growled. "I know. I wasn't counting on Uther to be actually insane. And willing to kill babies for the crime of possible association."

Gaius' brow furrowed. "He's rounding up children again?" Horror and unfathomable weariness laced his voice.

Merlyn huffed, trying to get a grip on herself. None of this was Gaius' fault. "I'm afraid so." A pause. "Wait, again?"

Gaius grimaced, even as he looked through the glossy pages of his book. "At the beginning of the Purge Uther…drowned a generation of children, in the courtyard there. It was early in the Purge, there were few people in Camelot without associations to magic. The children often played with magicians, and some of them had parents who were convicted sorcerers. The oldest was twelve. The youngest…three days old." He fiddled with a beaker. "He had a few similar incidents after, but none so…widespread."

Merlyn felt something cold sink in her stomach. It was one thing to hear of Uther's plans…but to know he actually went through with it once…

"Why is he still King?" she hissed, her shock morphing into rage, cold turning to molten lava almost too fast to control. "If he's such a monster, why haven't the people risen up, taken him down—"

"Merlyn, the people are not strong enough to overthrow Uther. Not with his military support. All of his knights have sworn loyalty and service to Uther, and are well treated in return. Turning on him would not only be monumentally stupid, but it would besmirch their honor."

"Bullshit," she snapped, "Rounding up babies to die isn't honorable."

Gaius leveled a sharp gaze at her, heavy with meaning. "No. But betraying your liege lord, the man you've sworn loyalty to, is also dishonorable. In their eyes, more so than even the greatest of sins." He flipped another page in his books. "That is why Arthur is so important, Merlyn. He's Camelot's only hope for just leadership."

Merlyn suddenly remembered the hidden kindnesses he sometimes displayed, and traitorously thought the people had chosen a pretty excellent savior.

But there was no way she'd ever voice such a thing out loud.

"Speaking of, Arthur's arresting the children now. He says it will take a while to get enough wood, so he thinks we have until tomorrow afternoon. Tomorrow evening, at the most."

Gaius hummed. "It's nearing dinnertime. We best hurry. It will take a while for Arthur to arrest everyone. We should have an answer by then."

Merlyn nodded. "So did you find anything in your books?"

The old man nodded. "It is an Afanc, I believe. The description in the book matches what we saw in the aquifer. A beast made with powerful magic from an extremely powerful sorcerer. It is not truly alive—it is just animated clay, but the imitation makes the creature secrete poison. That's what's been causing the plague."

Merlyn nodded, hope blooming. "So how do we kill it?"

Gaius hesitated.

Merlyn raised an eyebrow.

"Gaius…?"

The old man sighed. "The book does not explicitly say."

Merlyn heard the unspoken words behind that. "But…?"

"The book describes how the creature was made—by magically fusing the elements water and earth, along with some more complicated spells, but that's the base of it. In theory, one could unmake the creature by using its elemental opposites—air and fire. Magic would probably have to be involved but it would, conceivably, work." Gaius shut the book with a little more force than necessary. "Honestly, who describes a monster in such detail but fails to mention the means of expelling it?" (1)

Merlyn glanced at the rest of the books on Gaius' dusty shelves apprehensively. Would it be worth it to search through them all, attempting to find something more concrete to attack with? Or should she risk it and attempt to attack based on a mere theory? "You say this will work?"

Gaius rubbed his forehead tiredly, and Merlyn was reminded that Gaius, a fair sixty years older than she, had not slept more than a few hours since the start of the epidemic. "I have no means of testing it, but…in theory, yes."

Only two options. To trust Gaius' experience and wisdom, or not.

"Keep searching for an answer. I have to wait for this evening to take it out."

Gaius nodded solemnly. "Wait until the dark of night before acting, child."

Merlyn nodded, a small bit of warmth flooding her despite the conditions of the day. She rushed back to her room, and immediately found what she was looking for, despite the mess.

She'd worn these cumbersome dresses for the last few days now. It was high time she changed into something more appropriate.

Arthur loathed this.

The sun was streaking the sky in bold strokes of color, and the wind nipped at Arthur's clothes and hair. Even in his thick leathers and tunics, the chill seeped into him. Torches lit the swollen streets of Camelot, the light creating monstrous shadows as soldiers hauled families apart, as children were torn from their parent's sides—or just the fathers, really, as most of their mothers had already been arrested. The faces of the crowd were mutinous, dark with hatred and righteous fury, and all of it was directed at Arthur himself.

He couldn't blame them. Not at all.

I'm sorry, he wanted to say, No harm will come to them, I promise. I give you my word.

But of course he couldn't—to do so would be to disobey the king, and even more tragically, would endanger the plan they'd concocted earlier.

It wasn't much of a plan though, if Merlyn and Gaius didn't come through. And it would mean Arthur was actually doing what these people thought he was and rounding up children to die.

There was a commotion to his left, a father gripped his baby frantically, keeping the child away from the prying hands of the soldier.

"No! You're not taking him away from me too! I'll not give him to the King!"

The words were strong but tears streamed down the poor man's cheeks and wet his beard. The baby wailed in his arms. The soldier trying to collect the child half turned to Arthur and the prince could see the hesitation in his frame and eyes. This man did not want to do this any more than Arthur did, and that was, to some degree, a relief.

But Arthur could not be compromised here. He needed to carve his exterior from stone to keep the rule of law intact. King Uther gave the order. Everyone else followed it. This was just, even if the orders were not. He knew this to be true, as much as he knew this child would be safe on the 'morrow.

There was a breath of silence as it seemed the entire street awaited his verdict.

He gave a small nod, and let none of his pain at the order show. A crack in the façade would bring a flood and he could not afford that.

The man's screams and denials grew louder and finally another soldier came to subdue him. Arthur stepped closer to the scene, wanting to make sure his subordinates didn't get too carried away. This man's reaction was completely understandable—more than that, it was how any father should react. Arthur had seen it several times today.

Finally, the baby was pulled from the man's grip, and Arthur was glad to see the soldier was gentle with the child. He backed away, toward the lineup where a caretaker was keeping track of the youngest. Comforting them was a useless endeavor—their terror was more potent and justified than anything they could offer.

"I hate you!" the poor, broken man screamed through his sobs. "I hate you! Take me too! Don't just leave me without my family!"

Then he spat in Arthur's face.

Arthur let out a disgusted noise he couldn't quite control. The surrounding soldiers jumped the man and Arthur allowed some of his annoyance to reflect in his demeanor. The peasant looked almost gleeful, his eyes alight with some kind of mad joy and his face a demon's in the flickering torchlight.

He wanted to die, Arthur realized. And he did the one thing available which would allow him to join his family.

"Release him." Arthur ordered. The soldiers looked surprised but complied. The man himself though, looked floored, the insane gleam fading from his grey eyes into a mask of confusion, and disappointment.

"Kneel." Arthur commanded, allowing all of his authority to color his voice. The man obeyed immediately, and his knees hit the packed dirt of Camelot's streets.

Without warning, Arthur backhanded him. There was a gasp from the crowd, and the man himself grunted and spat a tooth from his mouth with a gob of blood. Arthur grabbed his shoulder and leaned forward to whisper in the man's ear.

"They'll live," Arthur told him, because it was the truth and this man deserved to know. "I promise. Tell no one."

Arthur leaned back, looking no one in the eye. He heard breathless sobs below him and behind him as he turned.

Silence hung over the streets. The man was picked up by some of the other civilians and hauled away. Arthur kept his façade, his perfectly composed exterior, as smooth as if it were carved from the same stone as Camelot's walls. Only the screams of the children moved the dust, and the harsh stares of his people followed him as he strode down the narrow street. Even his guard watched him, surprise and a fair bit of uncertainty apparent in their faces.

"Sire?" Sir Leon asked. His longtime friend looked calm but rather confused, his brow furrowed and his dark eyes tense. Arthur figured his behavior probably appeared rather erratic to him. Sir Leon was his Head Knight—or would be, if Arthur hadn't taken over the position two years ago as part of his training. They knew each other well, and Leon knew it was extremely unlike him to attack a defenseless man, even under these circumstances.

"Carry on." Arthur ordered. The guards moved and Arthur watched as his people renewed their struggles, realized their moment of peace was over, and began to scream their pain to him.

He could not tell them he was listening. He could not do anything but watch.

Merlyn's feet pounded against the stone hallway, but the sound was muffled by the soft leather of her boots. As she ran she checked around corners, and kept to the shadows. She could not be seen, and it would be best if she weren't heard at all.

The next corridor was empty, and had a statue of an ancient knight. Merlyn raced down the hall, sticking close to the cold wall. But as she passed the statue a vice wrapped around her waist and a hand slapped across her mouth.

The witch reigned her magic in, even as she instinctively struggled against the hold. It wasn't nearly as impregnable as Arthur's was. If she could just—

"It's me!" Morgana hissed. Merlyn stopped struggling immediately. Seeing her calm down, Morgana hesitantly released the physician.

Merlyn took a step away. Honestly, what was with Morgana and Arthur and their constant need to pin her like that?

The witch turned to the king's ward, and even in the shadows of the hallway and this alcove where no light reached, Merlyn could see the stress in the noblewoman's features.

"My Lady?" Merlyn asked, because this was a little strange, even by her standards.

Morgana straightened, her eyes on Merlyn's. "I had a dream. The creature killed you, and Arthur as well. I need to go to help you, or you'll both die."

Merlyn scrutinized Morgana's features. The stubborn set to her brow. The lack of fear. The way she stood without moving, and the confident way she spoke about her nightmares.

"You're lying," Merlyn whispered, honestly a little taken aback by her own bluntness. Morgana took on an offended mien.

"I beg your pardon?" She seemed to grow larger, as if her indignation made her more imposing physically as well as verbally. "I'll have you know—"

"My Lady, your volume," Merlyn reminded her anxiously. "I'm sorry, it's just—you would have told me earlier if you saw our deaths. And it's just after nightfall, there's no way you were asleep long enough to have a dream."

Morgana deflated a little, but Merlyn could tell she was still a little riled. It was probably stress, combined with a lack of sleep.

"I didn't lie," Morgana insisted, a little snobbishly. "I just…embellished, a little. I still need to come, at any rate."

Merlyn raised an eyebrow. "Why?" She asked, honestly curious. "I know how to kill it. This will work much better with one person than with many."

She actually wasn't entirely sure about that. Merlyn tried not to think about the dark, slimy feeling of the Afanc's magic. It was similar to touching the bodies of its victims, but worse, so much worse. Getting close enough to kill it was going to be hard.

But Morgana couldn't come. She shouldn't. Frankly, Merlyn had no idea if that was a reaction unique to herself, due to whatever power inhabited her soul, or if it was something that would cripple all magic-users. If it was the former, she might actually need someone else to go with her. If it was the latter, her reaction might give her away to Morgana.

"I was thinking," the noblewoman started, her voice gaining a strange brand of excitement and confidence that immediately made Merlyn wary. "The creature in the aquifer is made by magic." There was a pause in which Merlyn was obviously supposed to agree. "So it stands to reason that it will require magic to take it out."

The physician groaned internally. This was just getting more and more complicated. "Gaius found a method he thinks will work. No magic required, and I can do it alone. I should do it alone."

But Morgana just seemed to grow more determined. "But is it a surefire method?" She asked. The look on Merlyn's face must have given her away. "Then I should go. Just in case." Merlyn hesitated, trying frantically to think of a way to talk Morgana out of this. The older girl seized her hands. "I might be able to use my…my magic if things get a little out of control and really help."

Merlyn took in her earnest expression, the sense of excitement and purpose around her, and she felt a strange sort of pride. How far had Morgana come from even three weeks ago, when she was shivering in fear before her windowsill? She had pride now, and purpose. A sense of meaning. Merlyn wondered at how easy it was to stabilize a person, and at how delicate that sanity was. The almost manic expression on Morgana's noble features was familiar, and even though she knew it would make the situation infinitely more complicated, even though she knew she was endangering her greatest secret, a large part of Merlyn wanted to give in to Morgana's pleas for the sake of that fragile comfort.

She squeezed Morgana's hands. "I know you want to help, my Lady, but you have never studied or used your magic intentionally before. Trying to force it now could have disastrous consequences."

Morgana looked down at the stone floor, and her demeanor changed entirely. Gone was the confident young woman, and in her place was shame and uncertainty. Merlyn tried not to rush her. The creature had to be dealt with. Soon. But Morgana was a friend, and Merlyn would do everything possible to help her.

"When you said you knew who the sorceress was. Back with Uther?" Her voice hitched in hatred on the king's name. "I thought…well for a second I thought you were talking about me."

"My Lady, I would never—"

"I know." Morgana's smile was a bit wan. "I know. But for a second…and then you took the blame yourself." The king's ward shook her head in disbelief. "I've never been more ashamed in my life. So even if I can't use my magic to help, let me go anyway. You'll need backup of some kind." A pause. "And call me Morgana. I thought you knew better, Merlyn."

Merlyn smiled a bit but even she could tell it was a strained thing.

Morgana must have seen her hesitance. "Please Merlyn. If nothing else, let me do it for Gwen. She's my friend, and I have to help her."

Maybe it was the exhaustion of the last few sleepless days. Maybe it was the emotional cost of it all, or the familiar call to friendship, and the loyalty that term recalled. But either way, when Merlyn looked into Morgana's fierce expression a second time…she couldn't find it within her to say no. Not with a confession like that on the table. Not with the plea still heavy in her eyes. Even though it would be so much easier if she said no…she just couldn't.

So she nodded. "I'm going down there now."

Morgana's smile became genuine. "Lead the way."

"Okay, this way to the tunnel." Merlyn whispered, pointing out a route that would allow the both of them to move in the shadows. She and Morgana were crouched behind a cart of timber. There were dozens of them in the courtyard, presumably the beginnings of Uther's pyres.

They watched the guard rotations for a minute. There was increased surveillance tonight, probably to prevent anyone from escaping the entry hall or from breaking into it. Getting across the courtyard without being seen would be problematic. The entire city was supposed to be under curfew, and frankly, it would be best if Merlyn wasn't seen anywhere near the creature. She was the one who discovered it, and five minutes after revealing that information, she claimed to be the sorceress who summoned it. Being the one who destroyed it as well would be too coincidental for most, and certainly wouldn't escape Uther's paranoid mind.

Morgana had far less risk of facing a pyre, but considering the woman had secret magical powers to see the future, it would probably be best if she wasn't associated with the subject much. Neither of them wanted people to start drawing conclusions.

Merlyn led. She was shorter, and was wearing darker clothes, so she was less likely to be seen. Morgana, unfortunately, didn't have much experience in the way of moving undetected through the castle. As such, she hadn't thought to dress for stealth and so she had to move slowly to avoid rustling the silk of her dress and giving away their positions.

The fur lining of her cloak probably kept her quite warm though, Merlyn thought a little prissily. She couldn't help it—she'd left her cloak in her room to avoid being seen—its color was too noticeable. Her leather jacket was warm, but the beginnings of winter were setting in and Merlyn was largely unprotected from the nighttime mist and bitter cold. Drops of water welled on her fingertips as she brushed the wooden carts and the increased effect of the cold made her feel numb.

Slowly, ever so slowly, they made their way across the courtyard. Every thirty seconds or so, there was an opening long enough for one of them to move to their next location. They kept their backs to the high walls, and crept in shadows. They avoided torches, and the wooden doors that allowed deliveries to be made directly to the castle kitchens or stores. The only way either of them could be seen, if she did her job correctly, was from above. Merlyn was counting on the shadows and their dark hair to hide them.

Finally, after almost half an hour of creeping across the courtyard, they arrived at the gate to the underground aquifer. It was large and set into the stone walls of the castle, taller than most men and wide enough for three to storm in abreast. That was probably a design intended for military purposes.

Merlyn put her hand on the metal door handle of the gate, and took a deep breath. She'd need to do this carefully. If the door made too much noise, it would alert everyone in the courtyard to their presence. She just needed to slide it smoothly open and—

It was locked.

She tried it again.

It was still locked.

But that couldn't be right, could it? It was open this afternoon, she and Gaius didn't use a key then, why would it be locked now? Maybe if she was careful she could use her magic to unlock it? She'd have to whisper the spell, and hide her eyes in her shirt but—

Something cold and metallic pressed into her hand.

Merlyn looked up at Morgana, who shrugged, looking a little sheepish and a bit haughty.

The physician wasted no more time and opened the gate, careful to make sure it didn't drag on the stone. It was heavy, and Morgana had to help her move it aside. They opened it only wide enough to get through, not wanting to risk it any further. They were already pushing their luck as it was.

As soon as they were both inside, they pulled the gate shut. Merlyn pocketed the key and left the gate open. In the event they needed to make a quick escape, she didn't want to worry about fumbling with the key.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" a voice breathed in Merlyn's ear. She gasped and spun, magic already gathering on her fingertips.

Even in the shadows of the night, she could tell it was Arthur who stood before her, in all his smirking, stupid glory.

Okay so she couldn't see it in the pitch-black darkness, but she recognized that voice and Goddammit she could feel his smug smirk.

"Arthur!" Morgana hissed, "What are you doing here?"

Somehow Merlyn knew he was rolling his eyes. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going to slay the monster. Or whatever this is."

She reached out blindly for Morgana's wrist and found her elbow instead. Morgana started to pull away from her grip, obviously ready to duke it out with Arthur, but Merlyn pushed her forward. "Come on, let's get away from the door." They were too loud here, the guards could still hear them.

Arthur grabbed Merlyn's shoulder when she started forward, and her awareness of him increased tenfold. "There're stairs. Let me lead so you don't break your neck on them, idiot."

Merlyn's temper flared, fueled by the stress of the day and her frustration with this very simple plan's increasing number of complications. "I am not a child," she snapped. "And I knew that." But despite having been here literally only a few hours ago, Merlyn clearly did not know her way around this place as well as Arthur. And even in a temper, Merlyn couldn't deny she was often clumsy. So she let him guide her, and his hand was heavy and warm on her shoulder, even though his leather gloves. His left thumb rested on the edge of her right collarbone, and his fingers splayed across her shoulder blade. In the darkness she felt dwarfed by him. She couldn't meet his eyes like this, and for the first time since meeting him she truly felt shorter. Especially when she realized he must be going down these stairs sideways to help her.

They were silent as they descended. Merlyn was a little embarrassed to admit there were more stairs than she remembered. And she was absolutely mortified when she actually tripped and the only thing that prevented her from careening to the bottom was Arthur's hand and Morgana yanking her back.

"Honestly, Merlyn." Arthur complained, still whispering, but she thought there might be a certain fondness in his voice.

"Oh do shut up, Arthur," Morgana spat. It did not escape Merlyn's notice that Morgana shifted their positions so her hand gripped the physician's elbow. Honestly, this was absolutely humiliating. She could manage just fine on her own.

Finally, her leather soles hit the packed-earth floor of the cavern. She moved to step forward, but Arthur didn't release her shoulder.

"This way," he whispered. They were far enough into the caverns now that it was unnecessary but in the darkness she supposed it felt appropriate. Not even moonlight reached down here.

A suspicion entered her mind. "There was a torch up there earlier. Did you…?"

"Come on," Arthur tugged on her shoulder impatiently, and Merlyn found herself wheeling in a sharp turn to the right. Morgana trailed behind her silently, but Merlyn could feel the anxiety rolling off of her. Merlyn couldn't blame her. Morgana had planned to use her magic intentionally for the first time tonight, and the Prince of the Realm committed to eradicating magic showed up. That would put anyone out of sorts. Hell, it was putting Merlyn out of sorts, and she was more than used to using her magic. Just…not in front of people. And certainly not in front of Arthur or Morgana.

She stumbled again in the dark but she caught herself this time. She could feel Arthur's irritation through his grip and she half-heartedly tried to shrug out of it. It didn't work.

But after a few seconds, and a path that seemed to take them behind the stairs they'd just descended, she saw light flickering in the tunnels. Merlyn looked up, finally able to see Arthur, and he and Morgana both released her.

He looked tired. Like a weight had settled over him that hadn't been there previously.

It lasted only a moment. Then he snapped back into his default prat mode. Still, it wasn't as effective a mask as it usually was, and Merlyn had no trouble seeing through the cracks.

"You did take the torches," She observed instead. He rolled his eyes and somehow that was just as annoying when she could see it as when she couldn't. A few more steps and they found themselves in a dead end, with two torches lying on the ground.

"Obviously." He disappeared around the corner and Merlyn followed. She needed light to defeat the Afanc. Besides needing fire to kill it, she needed to be able to see.

"Why are you here?" Morgana demanded again, more impatient now.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Edvard told me Merlyn knew how to kill the…what was it?"

"An Afanc," Merlyn told him flatly.

"The Afanc, right. And he told me she was planning to do it all alone. And of course I had to come and see that, because it's sure to backfire spectacularly. Plus, when she inevitably needed someone to help her and perform a daring rescue, I wanted to be nearby. Convenience, and all that."

Morgana stepped forward and swatted him while Merlyn rolled her eyes. "Oh knock it off, Arthur, we all know you came to make sure she was safe."

Merlyn huffed in indignation while Arthur blustered. She got that they didn't know about her magic, that they didn't know the full extent to which she could take care of herself, but their hovering was getting annoying. "Look, I told Oswald to let you know not to bother. I can handle it myself."

Arthur gestured to Morgana. "Then why is she here? Father would murder all of us if he caught her down here."

Merlyn shrugged, and ignored how Morgana stiffened. "She insisted. For Gwen's sake."

Arthur rolled his eyes again. Merlyn was surprised they didn't fall out of his head. "Then I'm insisting. For my people's sake."

Damn. That was a good argument.

But he absolutely could not come. It was one thing for Morgana—if the ward found out about Merlyn's magic, she would probably be angry that Merlyn didn't tell her sooner, but she would keep the secret. Hell, she might even ask for lessons. If Arthur found out…honestly Merlyn had no idea what would happen. It wouldn't end well, at any rate.

"More people complicates this, which makes it less likely to work. It really only takes one, and having you along would be extraneous," Merlyn declared, hoping he'd decide it wasn't worth his time.

"How did you even know when to meet us? And why did you lock the gate behind you?" Morgana asked.

Arthur turned to his childhood friend. "These are siege tunnels. There's more than one way in, and I've had them memorized since I was twelve, so avoiding the aquifer was easy. This is just the closest gate to the well, so I figured you'd come this way eventually and just waited. You should be thanking me—if I hadn't put the torch out, you never would have gotten past the guards." He turned to Merlyn. "And I'm coming. That's final."

To Merlyn's surprise, Morgana caved. "Fine." Merlyn turned to her, questioning and a little panicked. "Neither of us can claim involvement. At least this way, Arthur can say he killed the thing himself, and then Uther won't have a reason to imprison all those people. The crisis will be over and even he can't justify a witch hunt then." Morgana reached down and grabbed one of the burning torches. "Now let's go."

And with that she turned and marched back to the main tunnel.

Merlyn sighed. This was getting to be much more complicated than she'd originally planned. Use a torch and summon a gust of wind. Boom. Done. But now…

She gestured helplessly. "Does she even know where she's going?"

Arthur groaned. "Morgana, wait." But he picked up a torch and jogged after her. Merlyn, needing the light, was forced to do the same.

"You don't even know how to kill it," she complained, "don't leave me behind, you prat."

Arthur looked offended. "Me? What about her?" He paused. "How do you kill it anyway?"

Damn. She walked right into that one.

"Fire," She told him easily, her brain scrambling for an explanation. Like usual, she went for a half truth. "The Afanc is made of water." And earth. "If we light it on fire, it should die rather quickly. Water evaporates, when exposed to heat." And blow on it a bit, but he didn't need to know that part.

Arthur snorted, and they came to the end of the tunnel. Morgana was waiting impatiently, obviously having realized she didn't know where she was going. "That's it?" His expression morphed into shock. "Wait, you thought you were going to be able to do that on your own?"

She glared at him. "Anyone can light a fire, dipshit."

Arthur shook his head. "You're ridiculous. Everyone knows that, when confronting a larger enemy, it's important to have as many small targets as possible to distract it." Arthur snorted. "We should have brought Frederick too. He'd be perfect for this."

Merlyn whacked him on the arm, relishing her ability to actually cause a little pain since he wasn't wearing armor. "His name is Oswald, for heaven's sake. And no, we should not have brought him. Poor boy would probably faint at the first sight of it. He could get hurt." Not to mention she was still pretty wary of performing magic around him. No need to make the kid even more terrified of her than he already was.

Morgana snorted. "You two fight like a married couple."

Merlyn jumped a little and turned to see Morgana walking behind her. She cursed herself. If she was going to do this, she needed to be in the front of the line or the back. That way no one would see her eyes glow, and she didn't risk being overheard.

"We do not," Merlyn growled, irritated mostly with herself. She'd allowed Arthur to distract her and that made this whole thing even more difficult. She was in the middle of the lineup with nowhere to go. She turned again to follow Arthur, and was surprised to see him looking at her with an unfathomable expression.

"That's why you didn't want anyone to come, isn't it?" He asked, his tone almost conversational. "You didn't want anyone getting hurt."

Merlyn shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. No, that wasn't the reason, not really. She wasn't stupid, she knew this would be theoretically easier if she had people helping her. She just couldn't risk her secret. Common sense told her to just allow the lie, to let them think that was her reasoning. But it made her sound like a much better person than she was. Much stupider, too. No, she didn't want her friends getting hurt. But it was more about the risk to her own person, to her own secret, than anything else, and that felt like something she shouldn't lie about.

Before she could say anything, Arthur made up his mind. "You're an idiot, Merlyn."

Morgana squeezed her shoulder, and Merlyn followed behind Arthur. Damn them both, they were making this much harder on her than it needed to be.

The aquifer was only a few turns away now, and by unspoken agreement they fell silent.

Merlyn's gut clenched with tension. Her magic hummed anxiously in her skin, sensing danger, and the voices in the air thrummed nervously in warning, as if displaced. She began to sweat, but Merlyn couldn't tell if it was from anticipation, or because the creature was approaching.

A rock clinked to the left, and all three of them spun and pressed their backs against the damp walls of the tunnel. Merlyn shivered, her reaction only partly to do with the dropping temperature and uncomfortable moisture against her skin. The Afanc was coming, and the whispering in her ears turned to anxious yelps, the clenching in her stomach turned to nausea and her head felt light. Her magic spun violently within her, as if trying to escape, and it made her dizzy.

Calm down, she told herself. It'll be easy to kill.

Her magic hesitated a moment before spinning on. It was reacting to something unseen, and yet familiar. The strange disquiet, so like the bodies she'd examined, but more, infinitely more.

Another sound came from in front of them, and Arthur crowded Merlyn and Morgana between the wall and his back. Morgana had the presence of mind to step out of it. Merlyn, however, was trapped.

She brought her hands to his shoulders, and leveraged herself to see around him. Arthur just pressed her back into the stone walls harder. Merlyn wanted to protest, to tell him she didn't need him to protect her, but she couldn't summon the breath and it was taking all her concentration to not give in to the dizzying storm of her magic and run from this place.

A growl, from the left again. Arthur answered with his own growl and in his frustration spat, "did you see it?"

Morgana shook her head, and they waved the torches frantically from side to side, searching. The wavering light did not help Merlyn's dizziness, and downright sabotaged her concentration. The nausea grew in time with the cloying, anxious sense of wrongness about the air. Whatever this Afanc truly was, its mere existence was unholy.

Then the world screamed and black spots danced in her vision. Her stomach clenched in an uncomfortable knot and she swallowed her own bile as Arthur reeled back, and her head slammed against the wall. She let out a low groan and Morgana screamed off to her left. The world spun in and out of focus and her magic twisted so fast and violently within her that she couldn't get ahold of it. Her knees gave out and she slowly slid down the wall, only held up by the press of Arthur's body.

Through the madly swaying flames and the haze of her vision, she saw something wrong, some demon wearing water and made of clay. It growled in Arthur's face, clawed arms swinging, and Merlyn just barely managed to summon enough magic to cast a stinging spell before her vision swam again. She turned and retched, unable to control it between the dizziness of her head and the violent sway of her magic.

Then the creature was gone, but Merlyn could still feel him nearby. The wrongness was still laced into the air, like the very matter of the universe couldn't stand to be in contact with it.

Her vision cleared. The nausea lessened to a manageable degree. Her magic, while agitated, didn't make her feel like she was about to fly apart.

Her head, however, throbbed.

"Arthur she's bleeding."

Gentle fingers probed her head and she pulled away weakly when they reached the soft spot near her crown.

She heard cursing.

"…concussion…"

"…have to carry her…"

She wanted to tell them to leave her alone, that she was fine, absolutely fine, but before she could even think to get the words out she was being lifted, and found herself laid out against a broad shoulder. An arm wrapped around her thighs, and her vision went in and out of focus as blood rushed to her head and she saw only a long brown trench coat.

"'ut me down…" she mumbled.

"—Idiot. You weigh too much."

"…'could puke on you?"

There was a huff of laughter, and then the shoulders started swaying, and Merlyn had to close her eyes against the motion of the run and the flickering light as the shoulder dug into her belly.

Then the world wrenched with fear. Her eyes snapped open and even through her spotty, out of focus vision, she could see the Afanc scant feet from them.

She was not the only one.

"ARTHUR BEHIND YOU!"

Morgana's voice pierced her skull like knives behind her temples, and Arthur's elegant spin into a defensive crouch almost made her retch again.

But she couldn't. She had a job to do.

"The torch," she moaned, loud as she could, and she heard a screech as Arthur lunged and made contact with the creature.

She whispered the incantation into Arthur's coat, reaching for that place deep within her that was magic itself, her center, her unerring calm. The taste of dark wine filled her mouth and the smell of leather crowded her nose. "Byre wíghryre þone onræsend!" (2)

A current of wind filled the cavern, and a horrific scream told her it worked. The magic in the air gave one final shudder and immediately relaxed, peace restored and the disease expelled. The unconscious tension in her body fled, and Merlyn did the only thing available to her.

She passed out.

She woke up, briefly, swaddled in a long brown overcoat and cradled in someone's arms as they walked, her head resting on his shoulder as her body swayed with his gait. She felt warm. Safe.

Rest, an ancient voice whispered.

The world turned black again.

Merlyn next woke in her own bed. Or at least she thought it was. There was no way this soft, quilted cover was her ratty old blanket. There was no way her bed was this warm.

Reluctant as she was to disturb the image, she pried her eyelids open. It was definitely her room, but the comforter was a deep, Camelot red, as if someone took a flag and made a quilt.

Curious.

She tried to remember what happened. Merlyn, Morgana and Arthur went deep into the caverns. The Afanc came. Everything hurt. Arthur smacked her into a rock…

That was it.

They must have won, right? She wouldn't be here in her bed if they lost.

Slowly, she sat up. No one was in the room with her. Reluctantly she threw off her blanket and let her feet touch the floor. She winced at the chill of the air and the slick cold of her wood floor. Her boots were next to her bed and she quickly pulled them on. What she wouldn't give to have one of Arthur's plush rugs, the kind her toes could sink into.

Her head gave an indignant throb as she unraveled the bandage wrapped around her cranium, and Meryn grimaced. She tentatively probed her skull, and found a swollen lump, and dried blood in her hair. A concussion, probably. The memory loss might be a symptom. Or it could be due to that awful magic she felt. It was possible she should just lay back down, but she didn't feel tired. Merlyn looked up, checking the window. Judging by the light it was late afternoon. Probably close to dinnertime.

…Just how long had she been asleep anyway?

Merlyn made her way to the door. Whoever put her to bed left her leggings, tunic, and jacket on, for which she was grateful. Winter seemed to be upon them, and the long chemise she sometimes wore to sleep was a thin thing which did not keep her warm at all.

The door creaked open and she picked her way down the steps. God, she was sore. She felt like she'd been run over by a horde of Arthur's knights.

She looked around Gaius' chambers, and to her surprise she saw Oswald near the oven, kneading some dough.

Merlyn cleared her voice, and noticed for the first time that she really, desperately wanted a glass of water.

"O'w'ld?" She croaked.

The servant jumped and spun around, shock on his face. "Miss Merlyn! You're awake!"

She nodded a bit dumbly. "'ader?"

He blinked a bit confused, and then brightened. "Water! Right! Well it's safe ta drink now, at any rate." He ladled out a cup for her from the bucket they kept.

She downed three glasses before she was able to speak properly. She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. "Thanks."

The servant flushed. "'Tis no problem, Miss."

Merlyn shivered a little, the cold seemed to seep in through the walls. "How long was I out?"

Oswald shrugged. "Prince Arthur brought you back late last night. It's mid-afternoon."

Huh. "So the Afanc?"

Oswald's eyes became curious, but his body language told her he wouldn't ask the questions on his tongue. "They say Prince Arthur killed it."

Merlyn grunted as she remembered flickering light, the howls of a demon and a muttered spell.

"Sort of," she agreed. "Did you know what he was planning?"

Oswald shook his head frantically, and suddenly there was fear in his eyes. "No, Miss! I would have warned you!"

Normally when Oswald got like this, all flushed and pale and jittery, she backed off, and did her best to comfort and calm him.

Normally her head didn't feel like someone shoved a rock in between her skull and grey matter.

"Why do you keep my secret, Oswald?" She asked tiredly, a bit morose. "It's obvious you're afraid of me. So why…?"

Oddly enough, that seemed to snap Oswald out of it a little. He looked to the floor and didn't speak for a breath so long Merlyn wondered if he was going to answer. Finally, he grabbed a cup and started cleaning it with an old rag.

"My sister had magic," he told her finally. "She was a decade older, and took care of me after—well. She took care of me, and sometimes she used magic ta do it. She died a few years back. Took ill one winter after the flu set in." His cheeks grew rosy. "You remind me of her, Miss."

"I'm sorry, Oswald," she whispered solemnly, not knowing what else to say. Oswald couldn't be older than fifteen, and clearly he'd been fending for himself for a while.

"'ts alright," he shrugged. "Anyway, I started ta believe all the things King Uther said about magic—'bout how it's evil and how people who use it are evil. I wondered if that's why God killed my sister—because she was evil at the core, even if she didn't seem that way ta me." He paused in his cleaning, and smiled a bit. "You really are like her. The two of you would have got on."

"I'm sure," Merlyn whispered softly. The whispers of her own doubts swarmed her mind. She wanted, so badly, to believe that magic wasn't evil, that she herself wasn't evil, but how could she be sure of that, when things like the Afanc could only come from magic. When people used it to evil ends, constantly? When they tried to kill—

"When I realized you had—magic. When I found out, I thought it was happening all over again. But then you told me what you were using it fer, and I believed you." His smile became broad. "I owe you some thanks, Miss Merlyn. You redeemed my memory of my sister."

Merlyn's eyes watered. "I'm sure I didn't—"

"You did," Oswald interrupted, and Merlyn was so startled at his confidence she nearly swallowed her tongue. "And I'm grateful."

She hesitated. "You're…You're welcome," she whispered. They sat in silence for a moment or two more, and Oswald began gathering plates on the table. Merlyn hated to interrupt the moment but—well she'd never get a better opportunity to ask. "But Oswald, why are you so afraid of me then?"

The servant froze, and Merlyn immediately regretted saying anything at all.

"I haven't…my sister had magic, but she never used it around me. When she did it was…little things. Like making flowers grow, or folding paper into a pretty shape. It was entertainment." Oswald's voice caught. "I never saw it really used before. Not like the things you do. And even I know yer a powerful witch, Miss Merlyn." He put the plates down, and she could tell he was shaking a little. "I know yer not evil, Miss Merlyn, I know that, it's just…"

He was afraid of power that great, like anyone would be. Like everyone should be.

But she didn't want him to be afraid of her. She didn't want anyone to be afraid of her just because of what she was. Whatever she was.

Perhaps it was wrong, what she was about to do. Perhaps it wasn't what she was supposed to do, perhaps she was weak to promise this. But she was not strong enough to live with other people's terror.

Merlyn stood from the table, and took a few tentative steps toward him. Oswald turned and she saw him stiffen unconsciously.

She raised her right hand. "I solemnly swear, Oswald, to you and to the world at large, that my magic shall only be used to protect people. To balance the scales between the weak and the strong, the cunning and the kind. Between justice and evil. Furthermore, I swear to never use magic against you, should we both be in our right minds." Oswald's eyes widened, and she extended her hand to him. "Friends?"

There was an awful moment where Merlyn thought he wouldn't accept it, that he couldn't bring himself to touch such a creature as herself. And then he reached out, his palms a little sweaty.

"Friends."

Merlyn, for the umpteenth time in the last few days, found herself sneaking around the castle. This time, fortunately, it was without the potential deaths of a hundred people on the line. And this path was a familiar one. So much so she barely had to pay attention to the guard rotations. She knew the gaps by heart, and she knew when to use magic to get around the tighter spots. This was especially fortunate today, because honestly she couldn't make herself move any faster than a brisk walk. Stairs were awful.

Soon enough, she was traveling down empty corridors, a short labyrinth of little-used walkways that hid a greater secret until, finally, there was an unremarkable stairwell that Merlyn marched down. Or she tried, anyway. Whatever happened last night was obviously something she should never, ever do again. She grabbed a torch and lit it after a few turns down the stairwell. Caution never did anyone any harm, and she did not want to be seen. Especially when she couldn't exactly run away.

Eventually, the familiar concrete steps gave way to packed earth and slabs of stone, and the air grew warm and damp. Kilgharrah was fighting winter as much as the rest of them, she supposed. Merlyn wondered if he was actually appreciative of the change in temperature—how else would he mark his time in this cave?

Finally, she made it to the ledge. She said nothing, and simply waited.

It did not take long.

The great wings beat against the stale air, and in seconds the beast was before her.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, young witch?"

Merlyn took a deep breath. "I just wanted to let you know, the creature that caused the illness is gone. It was an Afanc." Kilgharrah said nothing, perhaps realizing she had more to say. "And also, that I learned my lesson."

Now Kilgharrah looked interested. "Oh really? And what was that?"

Merlyn looked down, staring hard at the perch Kilgharrah liked to use. "I told Gaius that I'd been wrong to save those people. It had…terrible consequences. A hundred and fifty people almost died because of it. Over half of them were children." She craned her neck up, needing to look Kilgharrah in the eye when she said this next part. "But I think I was wrong to say that." She waved her hand expressively to prevent Kilgharrah from interrupting. "Yes, I endangered many people who would have been safe, had I not intervened. But I also managed to save their lives, with help. I saved them, and the twenty people who would have died of illness. I did the right thing, Kilgharrah. Where I went wrong was assuming Uther was rational. I assumed he didn't want to kill people. And I won't make that mistake again."

Kilgharrah cocked his head to the side. "I told you your magic was given so you could help Arthur. So you could protect him, and make sure he ascends to the throne."

Merlyn nodded. "I understand now, why that is important. Why that needs to happen." She felt her magic surge beneath her skin. "But I'll protect him because he's my friend, and because I believe in him. Not for any other reason. And I certainly don't believe that prerogative precludes me from helping others."

The dragon sighed. "I cannot tell if you are simply stubborn, or if you truly believe the things you say." Merlyn rolled her eyes. "I told you your magic always demands a cost. If you insist on taking this path, you must know it is dangerous. And you must be strong enough to carry the price, if you are to be successful." Kilgharrah shook his head. "It seems you will not be deterred. Very well. Know, young witch, that you walk a fine line, and know I tried to warn you. If you fail, you fail us all."

Something inside Merlyn burned at the words. She remembered Oswald—her promise to him, and the weakness in it. "If I don't use my magic to the benefit of Camelot as a whole, then it is worthless." She leveled her gaze with Kilgharrah's. "I'm strong enough. I have to be."

The dragon shook his head in disgust. "Foolish girl. This is not a burden which can be carried." wise, ancient eyes seemed pained. "But for all our sakes, I hope you are right."

Arthur was not at all pleased with his servant.

Okay, so maybe he hadn't been particularly clear in his orders, them being nonverbal and all, but he certainly thought they'd been understood. The boy was supposed to go to Gaius' chambers, check on Merlyn, and then come back to Arthur's chambers and let him know if she'd succumbed to some bizarre illness or not. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise him at all if she'd somehow managed to contract the water-plague after the beast was dead. She was just too fond of proving people wrong for her own good.

He huffed a frustrated sigh. Leave it to Merlyn to distract him from writing a report for his father when she wasn't even in the room.

He stood abruptly, and started pacing. No use trying to write when he was like this. Perhaps he should just go see for himself—

He stopped. Grunted. And sat down again.

I arrested the children in the households of the suspected women, as per my orders.

So many children. So many, many families. He watched them all reunite in the courtyard, but didn't join. He suspected he would not have been welcome there. But he could feel their joy, and it radiated up and through the walls of the castle.

After being informed by my servant that Court Physician Gaius discovered a means of purifying the magical beast, known as the Afanc, from the water supply, I went down to the siege tunnels to do the deed myself.

Arthur paused. Morgana had already lectured him that Merlyn probably shouldn't be associated with the monster at all. Telling his father that the girl who just declared herself a sorceress in front of a hundred witnesses was also the one who discovered the means of killing the monster was a Very Bad Idea. But how to explain his knowledge of how to kill the demon?

The Court Physician relayed the means by which the beast could be killed through my manservant as well. Since the Afanc is a creature of water, setting it on fire would destroy it.

A small part of him wondered why he wasn't more disturbed about lying to his father. His father was the king, after all. It was completely unjust to lie to him. It was inexcusable. If he were anyone else, he could be hanged for it.

Most of him though, remembered the strange irrationality his father had shown only the day before. Committing himself to the deaths of a hundred innocent children, and their older sisters and mothers. No, he couldn't risk telling King Uther the truth about this mission. It would put Merlyn at risk.

He put his quill down, and watched for a moment as ink dripped from the tip to the parchment below. Arthur sighed and stood, pacing toward the door again.

Honestly, he should just—

His door opened.

"Don't you ever knock?" He asked, trying to mask just how glad he was to see her. "What if I were changing?"

Merlyn rolled her eyes. "First of all, you always change your trousers behind the partition over there." She hooked her thumb at the wooden screen. "Second, I'm a physician. It's not like I haven't seen it all before."

Arthur frowned involuntarily at the thought. It did not exactly…sit well with him.

"Anyway," she continued, apparently oblivious, "Gwen stopped me in the hallway. She wanted me to pass on her thanks for killing the creature and getting the death sentence lifted." Gwen…Gwen…Guinevere! That was Morgana's maid. Right, she'd been one of the women sleeping in the infirmary the night the infected citizens recovered. "And Oswald said you wanted to see me?"

Arthur's frown deepened. Clearly that servant needed a lesson on interpreting nonverbal orders.

"Yes," he invented, trying to think of a reason for her to come here. He had been, admittedly, a little concerned for her welfare, and it was good to see she was alright. It assuaged some of the guilt for being partially responsible for her head wound in the first place. "I wanted to go over the story I'm giving my father about our battle."

I curious gleam entered her blue eyes. "Could you tell me what happened? The details are…fuzzy, after the Afanc showed up."

He peered at her, noticing the lack of bandages and the pallor of her skin for the first time. "Should you be out of bed?" She looked suddenly guilty. He raised an eyebrow. "Did you even let Gaius look you over?"

She looked indignant, fire flashing in her eyes. "Well I couldn't exactly ignore a royal summons, now could I?"

It was ridiculous to feel guilty about an order he didn't even give, but he felt a sharp flash of it, all the same. Maybe he was being oversensitive though—he'd suffered a lot of consequences for orders he hadn't given in the last few days.

Merlyn, apparently caught his mood a little too perceptively. "And hey, I'm a physician too. I know my limits. Mostly."

Arthur rolled his eyes, not quite feeling up to their banter. "Says the girl who tried to take on the Afanc alone."

She grew indignant again. It was so easy to rile her temper. "I would have been fine."

Arthur gave her an unimpressed look, but didn't feel like arguing the point. "Whatever. Just come over here so I can read you what I have so far. I'll fill you in—"

"What's wrong?" she interrupted, her face was unreadable and her eyes searched his. She took a step forward and her expression became curious. She was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, he noticed, the old jacket practically hung off of her frame. "Something's off with you."

Arthur frowned. "Nothing. I'm fine. Now—"

"No, something's wrong. Tell me."

"Merlyn, I know you're new to Camelot but you don't give me—"

One hand went to her hip while the other waved expressively. "Oh come off it. Who am I going to tell?"

Who indeed.

It wasn't like Arthur was exactly brimming with close friends and confidants to choose from. He rarely told Morgana anything. Any conversations about emotions they actually had were limited to what she picked up about him. He knew she wouldn't tell anyone anything he said, but some part of him worried she would one day use it against him. Sir Leon, maybe, but there was a wide gulf between them blocked by age, duty, and mutual respect for each other's abilities. Arthur wouldn't even know how to go about bridging that, and he wasn't sure he could do it at all without compromising Sir Leon's respect for him. His servant…no. Just…no.

So that left Merlyn.

…How had this woman come so close to him in such a short span of time? It was…strange. Arthur didn't get close to people, period. He was a Prince, he wasn't supposed to. So how—

She marched toward him, but not as forcefully as she usually did. She moved stiffly, as if sore, but she kept going until she was toe to toe with him, looking him in the eye as levelly as possible despite her stature. "Arthur, as your friend, I demand to know what's wrong."

Ah. That was how.

He turned away from her, looking toward the fireplace, and Arthur remembered the conversation they had before he fought Valiant. How she, somehow, seemed to understand him better than he did himself.

"I arrested people without cause." He told her. "I arrested children." Something rose in his chest that felt close to panic. "I invaded their homes, everyone's homes, and they hate me for it."

"Arthur—"

"And they're right to!" He continued, heedless, and turned back to her. He could not stand the compassion in her gaze. "They're right to. Everything I did over the course of this crisis was unjustified."

"That's enough," Merlyn interjected sternly, her mouth pursed and her brow furrowed. "Arthur you can't blame yourself, you were following orders. You fought back when your father wanted to arrest the recovered people's families, and you flat out refused to arrest the children until you had a plan to free them." She took a step closer and laid her delicate hand on his arm. "None of this is your fault. You were compelled to follow your King's orders. And you made sure they weren't followed through in the end. All those people survived because of you."

Arthur gestured to the wall facing Camelot's lower town, a heavy, roiling weight settling in his gut. "But they don't know that." His hand scrubbed through his hair involuntarily. "All they know is that their Prince violated their homes and families."

Merlyn's grip tightened on his arm. "Arthur. In a way, everyone you arrested was protected by their incarceration. They couldn't be considered guilty because their whereabouts were known. No, it wasn't ideal, and I'm sorry you had to do it, but by doing so you saved them." He could feel her smile before she spoke again. "And slaying the Afanc doesn't hurt either. They surely know that part as well, by now."

Arthur grimaced. Yes, he slayed the Afanc, but he didn't do it alone. And no one would know that, because he was lying about the whole thing. It was…necessary, but dishonorable.

She squeezed his forearm. "You did the right thing, Arthur." Her voice grew distant. "It's just…sometimes doing the right thing doesn't feel good, like it's supposed to."

Arthur hesitated a second. "But how will I lead my people if they hate me," he whispered.

"Arthur—"

"No, I'm serious Merlyn—"

"Arthur, look—"

"I can't lead people who want someone else—"

"Arthur!" she snapped. He glared down at her.

"You're the one who wanted to talk about feelings," he complained.

Her eyebrow twitched angrily. Her voice screeched up half an octave. "Would you just look at the window?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, but did as she said.

There was…a strange glow against the dark velvet of the night sky. And it was coming from the courtyard…?

He walked to his window, and Merlyn trailed behind him. He heard her gasp at the sight.

Hundreds of people filled the central courtyard beneath his window. Each person carried a candle and they were…they were…

"They're smiling," he whispered breathlessly.

"No," Merlyn returned. "They're smiling at you."

And they were. He could see it in their faces, illuminated by the candles. They were spread in a respectful arc to face his window, filling the courtyard to capacity. There was an energy about the crowd, a jubilance restrained by solemnity and something else. And in the very front was…

It was hard to tell in the dark, and he barely recognized the man with a smile on his bruised face, but that was the same man who cursed him yesterday as Arthur ordered his baby arrested. There was a woman standing next to him, and a baby was cradled in her arms. She had tears running down her face, but her smile was beautiful.

Something seemed to fracture in his chest, like his heart would burst with the love he felt for these people. For all his people, and for Camelot herself.

"I told him not to tell anyone," he gasped, unable to do much more. He could only imagine what expression he wore.

Merlyn turned to her left and snatched a candle from the stand. She set it on the sill between them. "I don't think he listened," she told him gently.

The crowd below seemed to grow excited by the candle's appearance, and in a gesture that was strangely synchronized, they bowed to him.

Thank you, his heart whispered, thank you thank you.

"I don't think you have to worry about earning your people's love," Merlyn whispered, her voice shaky. Arthur wondered at her tears.

"No," he breathed, refusing to acknowledge his own tears. "I don't suppose I do."

They watched the grateful masses long into the night, and stayed even as the candles burned low and the year's first snowfall drifted down like a blessing from the gods themselves.

(1) Honestly, there was no reason to go to the cryptic dragon. Gaius already had all the answers. Kilgharrah's exact words are "use the elements at your disposal" and so I guess that could mean he was saying "be smart and use your resources without relying on me all the time, idiot," but I don't really give the writers that much credit.

(2) Again, I just used an Old English translation machine. It should say, roughly, "Strong wind, defeat the attacker." If you're fluent in Old English, or at least better at it than me, feel free to give me a better translation.

First: I AM SO SORRY. I never intended to leave this without an update for as long as I have, and I really have to apologize. Especially to the people to whom I gave update deadlines that I didn't meet. I had intended to get this out on Christmas Eve, but as you can see, it took a little more time than that. This was just The Chapter That Refused To End, and it took a lot longer to write than I was expecting. Again, I'm so sorry, and I have no excuse.

Just in case anyone was wondering, I have no idea where I'm getting Oswald's accent. My best guess is Northern Minnesotan crossed with...some type of British accent? I don't even know, I just didn't want him to sound too educated or articulate. That's not a dis to anyone. As a Minnesotan myself I am not insulting people. I just wanted him to sound like he grew up in the country, but without the benefit of an education, like Merlyn had.

So hopefully after all that waiting, it wasn't a disappointment? I'm not sure how I feel about certain parts and I really don't know if I did that last scene justice, but I would really love it if you could give me feedback. Especially critical feedback. But really, any review is appreciated beyond words.

In case you didn't see the note up top, I'm tentatively looking for a beta. Let me know if you're interested!

I know it's not Christmas anymore but you have no idea how disappointed I was when I realized I wouldn't be able to do this in a timely fashion, so I'm going to do it anyway.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, YA' FILTHY ANIMALS