Okay everyone, your pleas have not gone unheard! The issue has just been severe writer's block on top of being in university and a shitton of other stuff on my plate which has made writing time nearly nonexistent. Also being terrified to finish what I would consider my life's work (I know... the bar is kinda low). But I also just finished revising the entire trilogy due to new, better visions I had for the storyline (especially the Gwen arc!).

Seriously, big sorry to Gwen for my young teenage self disliking her probs because I was just jealous of her and Arthur together. Also, I grew up on fanfiction that made the opposing female love interest into a bully/villain and I sadly fell prey to the trope. I tried to redeem her by adjusting the plot as much as I could without completely having to overhaul. But rewatching the show recently made me realize that I do like her and also? I'm so gay for Angel.

ANYWAY, beyond my ramblings, here's the long awaited update!

Arthur gazed over the ranks of Camelot knights, solemn-faced and steady. He had been raised from a young age to have the heart of a warrior, to be prepared for the battles that would come. He was good at putting on a brave face by now for his men, but that did not mean he felt no fear. On the contrary—it was running through his blood right alongside the courage that allowed him to stand before his men now and brace them for what was to come.

He inhaled.

"Tonight... we do battle." His gaze roamed, looking upon faces that ranged in the emotion they showed (or didn't). "Tonight we end this war—we end a war as old as the land itself. The war against tyranny, and greed... and spite."

He swallowed, but kept his stance strong.

"Not all will greet the dawn—some will live, some will die. But each and every one of you fights with honour, and with pride. For not only do we fight for our lives, we fight for the future." Sir Leon locked gazes with the king, and bowed his head. Arthur lifted his chin. "The future of Camelot. The future of Albion. The future of the united kingdoms."

Arthur swung and lifted Excalibur high in the air. "For the love of Camelot!"

His men raised their weapons in mimicry, echoing his words in unison. "For the love of Camelot!"

Hermione stood by the flaps of the medical tent, indiscernible but unified shouts just barely reaching her ears. Her hand fell at the sword she had strapped to her waist, a mere precaution though she had little doubts in her further developed magical abilities. Arthur may have assumed she would be staying behind to help Gaius tend to the wounded, but the moment the battle started, Hermione would be weaving her way through the fight to find Morgana before she found Arthur.

Merlin stared into the crystal to watch as Arthur raised his sword into the air, ready to lead his men into battle. Impatience flowed through the warlock as he realized he was still so far away, stuck in the cave while Arthur was about to enter the battle for his very life. He had to get out of the cave, quickly. He turned around, and was greeted by the ghostly sight of his father.

"Thank you," he told him sincerely. "For your help, your guidance."

Balinor smiled. "I only offered a hand. You stand tall on your own two feet, Merlin—you always have done."

"As did you, father." Merlin smiled woefully, realizing this was the last time he would ever see his father... until he perhaps joined him in the spirit world one day. "I follow in your footsteps."

Balinor stared deeply into his son's eyes as he spoke. "Your journey has only just begun. You wield a power you yet cannot conceive of. Only in the heart of the Crystal Cave will your true self be revealed."

Merlin's brows twitched at this, and he followed his father's gaze and turned with him to look towards the center of the cave.

"Move towards the light," Balinor urged. "Your destiny awaits. Do not be afraid. Trust in what you are... trust in what will be."

Merlin braced himself, beginning to walk towards the light. He hesitated for only a moment, glancing back.

"Goodbye, father," he pressed his lips together sorrowfully.

"There are no goodbyes, Emrys, for I will always be." He bowed his head. "As you will always be."

Merlin turned back towards the shining light, stepping up to approach his destiny.

Arthur and his men faced the Saxons, both armies waiting for someone to make the first move to initiate the bloodshed. The reluctance was broken as Arthur brazenly drew his sword and shouted to break the silence.

"On me!"

He charged and his men loyally followed—the Saxons were just as quick to jump to action and in a matter of minutes, the men clashed. Just as the battle began on the main stage, Arthur's men off the hidden path made their move to confront the waiting Saxons. The harsh clanging of swords and already the cries of the wounded filled the air—all while Morgana watched on with dark glee.

Just as Arthur barreled through a Saxon and slashed at another, Mordred cut down several knights standing in his way, nostrils flaring and jaw set. This was his chance to take revenge for everything Arthur Pendragon had taken from him. This was for him, his people... for Kara. Arthur would pay for his brutality—with his life.

An explosion shook the ground of the forest as Merlin blasted his way through Morgana's stone barricade, exiting not in his own likeness, but as that of a man three times his age. He trusted that Hermione was watching over Arthur in his absence, and when he arrived, they would subdue her, together. He just had to hurry and get there.

He rushed to where his horse still waited, tied to a tree, and hopped on its back. Kicking his heels with an excited shout, he took off towards the battle.

Hermione knew Morgana would not degrade herself or waste her strength by taking part in this battle. The entire fight was a ruse to get Arthur where she wanted him in the first place. She would be watching from the sidelines, just waiting for the moment she could single out Arthur and finish him off. But that moment would never come, because Hermione would find her and stop her before she could even think to cast a single spell.

The queen did her best to stay out of the fighting by clinging to the rocky formations of the area, but she could not avoid the Saxons completely. In her visual search for Morgana, a Saxon charged at her to take her by surprise. But her smallness gave her a quickness that let her dart out of the way before he could plunge his sword right through her, and he rammed right into the rocky cliffside. She turned around to slash him in the back and he groaned, sliding to the ground.

She turned around, and finally, her eyes honed in on a figure clad in black, high above them all. Morgana stood on one of the cliffsides, her pale face starkly contrasted against the darkness of her hair and hood. Hermione still had a ways to go before she could reach her. Bracing herself, she plunged back into the chaos, moving as fast as she could to her enemy.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, Mordred also continued to weave his way through the throngs, focused solely on finding Arthur. A group of knights clad in red circled him, about to close in when Morgana spied her apprentice in need and took action. Her eyes glowed golden as she threw every last man back and away from Mordred. He looked up and jerked his head in acknowledgement, and she bowed hers in return. She only had to protect him as long as it took to find Arthur, and then she had no doubts he would accomplish their goal without any further help.

Merlin's horse galloped at lightning speed to get him to Camlann, and he wistfully though to himself that he should have had Hermione teach him that Apparition magic so he would not be racing against time. He was not far now, he could only hope Arthur was holding his own and that Hermione was keeping Morgana distracted...

Morgana watched Mordred for as long as she could until he disappeared in the crowd of men and then she looked for Arthur, no doubt in her mind that he was still doing quite well for himself with his fighting abilities. She was losing patience, but had to trust that Mordred would get to him soon enough. Just then, she did a double take as a particular figure hurrying through the fight stood out. She had to narrow her eyes and train her vision to confirm what she was seeing... a woman.

Not just any woman—Hermione.

The named witch used magic to subdue a trio of Saxons looking to close in on her. As she tried to look for Morgana again, she was shocked to see that the sorceress no longer stood in the same place Hermione had last seen her. Hermione frowned and turned wildly, and just then spied Morgana standing on a cliff nearer to her, and she could see that the woman was looking right at her.

She raised her hand in Hermione's direction and the witch crouched, holding her wand above her and shouting, "Protego Maxima!" At the same time, Morgana's magic shot towards Hermione, whose successful shield charm covered her like a bubble of protection. The magic dissipated the moment it hit her shield, and Morgana's lip curled upward into a disdainful snarl.

Hermione shot up to her feet and cast several spells in quick succession in Morgana's direction, who deflected them with a wave of her arm. Her face turned to the side as she shielded herself with her arm, casting her own protective wall. The barrage finally stopped, and Morgana looked back down at the battlefield. Hermione was gone.

Confused, she tried to pick apart the people below, looking for the young woman. She stepped to the very edge, peering down and searching for any sign of her nemesis. Just then, she heard some of the rocks in the formation crack and crumble nearby, and when she turned to look, Hermione had climbed up to a nearby cliff's edge. The sorceress and witch stared each other down, Hermione's dusty fingers curled tightly around her wand.

"You really think you can take me without Emrys by your side?" Morgana smirked triumphantly at remembrance of her entrapment of Hermione's companion in the cave. "Or should I say, Merlin?"

Hermione slackened visibly for a moment at Morgana's knowledge of Emrys' true identity before her grip tightened so much on her wand that the divots in the skin of her knuckles went white.

"Do you prefer to go by Clara, or is it your desire to hide that side of yourself just as he does?" Morgana was pushing her finger deeper, hoping it would make Hermione crack. The witch was not so easily distracted.

"I may have failed to finish you off before, but I promise you... I will not make the same mistake twice," Hermione informed her flatly. She raised her wand arm, shouting a spell. Morgana laughed as she deflected it from where she stood. As the battle below ensued, a new battle above began as the two women sent spells flying back and forth, spells which grew increasingly deadly by the second.

In an instant, Morgana had disarmed Hermione—her wand went flying into the rolling bodies below. She assumed triumph too quickly, believing Hermione to be at a loss without an instrument to channel her magic through. That was, until Hermione showed her just how much she had learned under Merlin's guidance.

"Forbeodan!"

Morgana was stopped as if she'd knocked right into an invisible wall, her arm raised to give a strike that was now halted. Hermione took the opportunity to make a running leap, and Morgana staggered back just as the witch crashed onto her cliffside. She had finally gotten over her initial shock and now brought her arm down, but Hermione rolled out of the way of the spell which smashed a hole in the rocks. Hermione managed to scramble back onto her feet, and the dueling recommenced.

Hermione crept closer and closer with each spell or deflection, and when she was close enough, she tugged her sword out and swung. Morgana grabbed at her wrist with a shout and the two women struggled, falling into a clumsy dance on the cliff as Morgana pushed back against Hermione's advances. They growled and bared their teeth at each other, both parties desperately fighting to win when Morgana shoved her hand into Hermione's stomach and cast a quick spell that sent shooting pain like that of a heavy-handed punch to the stomach. Hermione cried and the sword fell out of her grip, glimmering in the moonlight as it twirled and plummeted to the ground below.

Morgana smiled tiredly, triumphantly, and moved in as Hermione held her stomach with pain. Morgana went to make the final strike when Hermione suddenly barreled at her with a scream of rage. Morgana lost all balance and, at the same time, made Hermione lose hers. Their writhing bodies went careening over the cliff's edge, and both women screamed as they headed straight for the ground. Hermione was much quicker to act to save herself, shouting, "Arresto momentum!"

Whilst her body slowed as it headed to the ground, Morgana was not so lucky, and landed with a hard thump. Hermione still fell into the dirty, rocky ground, but with not at all the same forceful impact. It took her a second to heave herself up with shaky arms, and she grappled for a forgotten sword lying near her (and near already quite a few dead bodies as well). She dragged the sword through the dust, slumped as she stumbled over to Morgana. The sorceress was groaning, just barely rousing herself from near complete unconsciousness.

"Don't even think about it," Hermione breathed out as she saw the sorceress's fingers twitching by her side, kicking at them with the toe of her boot mercilessly. "It's over, Morgana." She raised her sword.

Strangely, Morgana's lips curved into the tiniest smirk, and Hermione glared in disgust and uncertainty.

"It is... far from over," the sorceress wheezed out, blinking as if it were a struggle to keep her eyes open. She took a ragged breath, trying to find the energy to speak in a last attempt to prove her superiority. "The person who revealed your identities..."

She laughed, a pitiful sound as it suddenly got strangled in her throat. Hermione was frozen, arms shaking with the weight of the sword as she continued to hold it up.

"It was Mordred," she finished, still grinning weakly. "At this very moment... he searches for Arthur. To kill him."

Hermione's face contorted in horror as she realized that, all along, she'd had her sights set on Morgana when it was Mordred who was on his way to cut Arthur down in battle, Mordred whom she should have been trailing this whole time. Morgana appeared satisfied at Hermione's visible response to her reveal.

Just then, a sudden lightning strike crackled from above and landed somewhere in the middle of the fight. Hermione glanced up in confusion—where had the giant bolt of power come from? And then, she saw him—Merlin, in disguise, standing atop the cliff formations and raising a staff as he conjured the powerful magic from the sky. Relief coursed through her as she realized she was no longer alone and Merlin's powers had been restored after all.

Hermione looked back down at Morgana, who watched her expectantly through half-lidded eyes. Hermione stared at her silently, lowering the sword in her grip and then tossing it away entirely, to Morgana's slowed surprise. Morgana then narrowed her eyes, looking at Hermione as though she were below the very dirt she was lying on.

"Being Clara won't change who you really are," she spat with what little strength she had left, "You're weak... and you always will be."

Hermione was unaffected by her words. "I would rather be weak than be like you," she scoffed, straightening and holding her palm out. "And that's exactly what I would be if I killed you." With one simple incantation, she instead sent Morgana into a deep unconsciousness. Hermione could not help but wonder if it was a good idea to let Morgana live, knowing that so long as she breathed, her desire for vengeance and power would remain. But Hermione was not a cold-blooded killer. She could not bring herself to Morgana's level, to look into someone's eyes and kill them while they lay defenseless on the ground.

Backing away from her body, Hermione's gaze roamed upward to find Merlin again. They could deal with Morgana once the battle was over. As much as she wanted to warn Merlin about Mordred now, there was no more time. As he continued to protect Arthur with his magic, she would have to find Mordred and stop him herself. The only way to find him in this mess was to climb back up on the cliffs and search for him in the crowd. She ran back over towards the rocks and began to climb, digging her fingers in and heaving herself up with a new wave of determination and strength.

Arthur gazed upward in wonder at the sight of the old man he had come to know as Dragoon, who was standing atop the rocky mountains and conjuring lightning with what appeared to be incredibly powerful magic. The old man had saved him from a horde of men, and Arthur couldn't believe he had come to his aid. But he had no time to stand in wonder of the feat or the old sorcerer's presence—the battle was not over.

A terrifying screech sounded from high above, and Hermione gave a gasp at the sight of Aithusa, the young dragon. He swooped down low, about to attack, when Merlin's voice boomed in Dragonspeak. Returning her attention to the hunt for Mordred, Hermione jumped from ledge to ledge, doing her best to move quickly without losing her footing and falling to the ground below. She suddenly saw five Camelot knights blown back, away from a lone figure.

Mordred! She kept her eyes on his as much as she could whilst darting across the rocks.

"For the love of Camelot!" Arthur cried from below, reviving the strength of his men. Hermione, hearing his voice, grew distracted mid jump and landed on the edge of a cliffside. It crumbled under her foot and she slipped—with a scream she began to fall. Merlin glanced her way, eyes growing wide at the sight of her struggle. Her hands gripped tight onto the edge of the cliff, and she kicked her legs while trying to pull herself up.

Merlin sent a gust of wind beneath her body which propelled her upward, and she was able to pull herself all the way up. She wasn't sure he could see the gratitude in her face, but she was thankful for his intervention. Meanwhile, Merlin looked again for Arthur—but he was gone, lost in the resurgence. Impatient, he decided to go down to the battlefield and look for Arthur on the ground.

Hermione, too, had lost her target. She continued in the general direction she'd seen him in, towards the hidden path Merlin had warned her of before.

Arthur trudged past the piles of dead men, face smudged with dirt and sweat, pupils blown. He saw movement in the corner of his eye, and became aware of a Camelot knight weakly trying to get his attention. Arthur ran towards him, trying to assess his wounds and see if there was any way to get him back to Gaius. He fell to his knee and rest a hand on the man's arm, looking him over as he breathed raggedly.

"It's all right," he said with more hope than was actually in him, and though knight stared at him weakly before exhaling his last breath. Arthur bowed his head in sorrow and respect—so many of his men were dead, and there was nothing he could do to bring them back or take away the pain of those still alive but suffering. The only thing he could do was bring this battle to an end, and he was not sure how much longer it would be before the end came.

Hermione frowned as she ran over the peak of the rock formation that separated the main battlefield from the hidden path, spying a crouching figure at the dead end. It was Arthur! She lowered herself carefully to a ledge on the side of the formation, and when she turned, she saw a figure come out from behind a boulder. Mordred had finally found him—and he was approaching Arthur from behind.

Mordred treaded quietly, steadily towards Arthur, who was still kneeling on the ground. Hermione panicked, and couldn't help the scream that left her chest.

"ARTHUR!"

Arthur heard the warbled cry and with a twitch of his brow, rose and spun while raising his sword to block the strike coming down on him. There was a ferocity in his expression, not a bit of mercy in his eyes as he pulled back to strike when he realized... Mordred? He visibly faltered at the sight of his once apprentice. All it took was that brief moment of hesitation, and before Hermione had conjured up the magic to throw Mordred away from the king, the Druid rammed his sword into Arthur's ribcage.

Blood rushed through Hermione's ears as she watched, frozen, while Mordred held Arthur up by the sword impaled in his chest and then tugged it out. All the wind had been knocked out of her and every thought in her head dissipated in an instant. Time slowed before it sped up at double the pace, and reality smashed right into her chest, giving her back her voice.

"NO!" she screamed in agony, bending over and holding herself as if she had taken a punch to the gut. Through slightly blurred vision, Arthur looked over Mordred's shoulder, able to make out that it was Hermione standing on the cliffside, watching him in horror as he endured a mortal betrayal. She had tried to warn him, but it hadn't mattered. He fell to his knees.

Mordred stared down at him almost expressionlessly, unblinking. "You gave me no choice."

Arthur breathed shallowly, slumped over, and Hermione quickly began to make her descent, thoughts scrambled and no idea in her head of what she was doing except that she knew she needed to get to Arthur.

Suddenly, the king threw his entire weight up and forward, and Mordred was taken by complete surprise as Arthur returned the favour and shoved the blade of his sword right through his gut. He gripped Mordred's chainmail with tight fist so he could not run, but also to keep himself on his feet. Arthur stared into Mordred's eyes while shuddering with the sheer exertion of it, face red and screwed up in rage.

Mordred stared emptily at him, clenching his jaw so tight Arthur could hear the cracking of his teeth as he endured the pain. So Arthur thrust deeper, and finally Mordred flinched, gasping. Arthur held his gaze with a ruthlessness, holding for a few seconds before tugging Excalibur out of Mordred's body. He continued to look upon the younger man with disappointment and disdain, and Mordred used the last of his strength to give Arthur a twisted smile. But he could not hold on for long, and his smile faltered until he toppled over, his last breath leaving him.

Arthur watched over him blankly, and Hermione finished her descent, jumping to the ground and wobbling on weak knees.

"Arthur!" she yelled hoarsely, jogging over to him as fast as her shaking legs would take her. He pressed his hand into his side and attempted to walk towards her, but after only three steps his leg gave out beneath him and he just barely caught himself with his sword, forced onto his knees. She barely suppressed a fearful sob as she stopped before him, dropping to her own knees and placing her hands on his shoulders.

His head lolled to the side but he forced his eyes to look up at her, his energy draining quickly. His eyes were full of sadness and yet he seemed glad to see her.

"You came," he gasped out quietly. Her hands shook as she held his shoulders back, and her eyes fell on the wound at his side. Blood had seeped through his underthings and now spread through the links of his chainmail. He needed to be taken out of here, somewhere he could be looked over and his wound tended to. But she couldn't get him out on her own, she wasn't strong enough.

"I had to stop Morgana," she squeezed out, blinking away her tears. "But I didn't know he... I didn't know Mordred had joined her. I'm so sorry."

Arthur's head fell over again and he began to tip over. She stumbled to catch him, falling herself and gripping him close. He had fallen unconscious, and she held him in her arms, for once at a loss for what to do. Hermione pressed her own hand into the wound to try and staunch the flow of blood until help arrived. It pulsed hot under her fingers and she swallowed back a wave of nausea.

Just then, footsteps neared around the bend and her head whipped up. She gripped Arthur tighter, readying herself to defend the both of them. The long white hair and beard instantly alerted her that she did not need to put up a fight, and she slackened, meeting Merlin's wide eyes with her teary gaze.

"I was too late," she whispered brokenly.

Merlin's eyes fell on the blood seeping between her fingers, then on the body of Mordred only several metres away, and he felt sick. They had both been too late.