"On your knees, go on." The blade was prodded roughly into Arthur's back; he stumbled forward, but stayed on his feet, glaring at the ground.

Arthur could feel himself shaking with rage and shame, but when he looked over and saw Merlin, expression murderous as he struggled against the men that held him, Arthur was suddenly genuinely scared - scared for his friend. Merlin opened his mouth, eyes alight with a fury that was shocking and foreign to Arthur, so, before the idiot could do or say something stupid, Arthur promptly dropped to his knees. The action surprised his captors, who had been told not to expect an easy surrender, and it clearly surprised Merlin, who shut his mouth with a snap, an indefinably painful expression crossing his face.

Well, it surprised Arthur, too.

He was only sure that he needed to deflect attention from his idiot manservant- his unfailingly loyal, ridiculously stupid friend who would get himself killed with his big mouth.

And so Arthur, exhaling painfully, dropped his dagger. He shut his eyes as a collective noise rose from the onlookers; his three knights, shackled by their ankles to the stone wall in front of him, dropped their heads, defeated; Morgana's men seemed, if anything, relieved… All except for the man who held a sword, Arthur's sword, to the fallen king's back.

Arthur could hear the grin in his voice as he addressed someone out of sight. "See, what did I tell you, m'lady? It was child's play. Capture three of his men on patrol. The idiot tracks them with a party of merely half a dozen, follows the clues we left for him like a good dog. When they approach, they split. You said his servant never leaves his side- his unarmed servant. One man grabs the servant, the king surrenders- bam! As easy as that."

Suddenly, out of the shadows emerged Morgana, her brow creased and her eyes coldly intrigued as, the man falling into step beside her, she drew up next to her brother. "You've done well," she murmured.

Arthur shook his head, eyes burning. "My men-" his voice cracked. He tried again. "My men. What have you done with them?"

The man bowed his head in acknowledgment of Arthur's question, and Arthur saw the tiniest bit of respect flicker in his eyes for the care Arthur had for his men. "All quick, Your Majesty, painless deaths."

"No…" Arthur closed his eyes as his heart clenched inside him. Their faces swam in his head...Sir Bedivere, the new recruit, so eager to please his king.. green eyes, a genuinely delightful smile, sandy hair that was always messy...the boy was barely eighteen. Then, Sir Kai… he'd been with Arthur since Uther's days...Arthur remembered Kai teaching him how to hold a sword, remembered the smile in his eyes and barely concealed pride when the prince won his first tournament and knelt at the feet of Uther, the man who had had no time to teach his son himself. Sir Galahad, who was getting married next month. Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, the twin brothers who could nearly match Gwaine in a drinking contest, whose hearty laughs and well-told tales had warmed many a cold night on horseback. And, Sir Tristran, the faintest streaks of grey barely showing at his temples, whose wife had just recently given birth, who could not keep the smile out of his eyes when he spoke of his newborn daughter…

All gone. All dead. The world blurred, but he fought to not let his tears spill over. They would be mourned, but not here. Here, in the presence of these dogs and these monsters, he would not dishonor his fallen comrades by showing weakness.

Morgana's irritated voice cut through the requiem playing in his head. "He is swine; don't address him as royalty!"

"Forgive me saying so, m'lady, but, until you are crowned or he is dead, he is still the king."

Arthur wondered at the man's contradictory behavior - one moment cruel, mocking, cunning, holding a sword to his spine, the next bowing his head and insisting on using his proper title.

Clearly, however, Morgana didn't care. She lunged for Arthur herself, growling as she did, "let me make one thing quite clear-"

And then suddenly, impossibly, Merlin was in front of Arthur, legs slightly bent and apart, hands held aloft with fingers splayed. Arthur gaped up at his friend's back from his position on the floor, not just because it seemed impossible that the scrawny servant had broken free from the two vicious-looking men holding him captive and bolted in front of his king in what seemed like a blink of an eye, but because the idiot's legs were braced against the ground in a textbook perfect sword-fighter's stance, a stance that Arthur had long since given up on teaching his clumsy manservant, dismissing the cause as hopeless.

"You will not touch him," Merlin snarled, his voice ringing with a strange sort of power that made Arthur freeze instead of bashing his head on the ground at his servant's stupidity. Morgana, too, seemed thrown by his tone, but in her defense, power was certainly an odd quality to associate with Merlin.

Eventually, though, she recovered enough to let out a slightly forced laugh. "And who is going to stop me? You?" Her laugh grew more genuine and she cocked an eyebrow at Merlin, already raising her arm, no doubt to blast Merlin away with her magic…

And Arthur couldn't just sit around and let that happen. He didn't know what instinct spurred him on, but he dropped to the ground and thrust his legs outward. When they met Merlin's ankles, he locked his own ankles around them and heaved his body into a twist, sending Merlin, good fighter stance or no, sprawling onto the ground amidst a swirl of oaths.

Sure enough, a blast of purple lightning struck the spot where Merlin's head had, moments before, been threatening Morgana. She gasped and staggered, clutching her abdomen, and somehow Arthur knew that the display of magic had weakened her.

Arthur wasted no time pondering that, though, and she wasted none in firing again, this time at him. He rolled out of the way of the new blast, and Morgana's grating scream of annoyance rang through the room. Arthur got to his feet, his hand closing around his discarded dagger. He threw, and it embedded itself in the chest of the mastermind behind their kidnapping. The man dropped to his knees as Arthur had done, staring in horror at the knife in his chest, and Arthur, without hesitation, reclaimed Excalibur, which seemed to sing in his hand as his fist closed around the pommel.

He was single-minded as he raced to the far wall, weaving past inexplicably clumsy mercenaries- they kept dropping their weapons or tripping over air, but he didn't dwell too much on his incredible seeming luck - in order to put as much distance between himself and his crazy witch-sister, who, shrieking spells and wordless cries, kept throwing lightning bolts at him.

With three quick cleaves of Excalibur - Gods above, he loved this sword - Gwaine, Leon, and Percival were free from their chains. The knights, revived with the adrenaline of battle, all sprang nimbly away from where they'd been held, ducking to avoid attacks, both magical and non-magical, and hopped into the fray to arm themselves, all flashing small smiles at Arthur as they went.

The good humor, however, was short-lived. While Morgana, apparently greatly weakened by her magic use, ceased her attacks, panting, the mercenaries made an untimely recovery from their clumsiness and soon Gwaine, Leon, Percival, and Arthur stood back to back, borrowed swords and Excalibur poised to defend themselves against a circle of angry men.

This was it, Arthur realized, his heart pumping a mile a minute. This was the end. He hefted Excalibur slightly and adjusted his stance. "It's been an honor," he nodded to his knights. Leon closed his eyes briefly. "The honor has been all ours, Sire." Percival dipped his head. Gwaine laughed, eyes merry, fearless and fierce. "Let's carve out a chunk of this beast's hide and show them how a knight of Camelot won't go down without a hell of a fight."

Arthur smiled, too. "Well said, Sir Gwaine. On my mark...For Camelo-!"

"STOP!"

Merlin shoved his way into the circle - how, Arthur had no idea, - and put himself at Arthur's right. He rolled his eyes, looking exasperated. "It was the perfect reveal moment! Arthur, you, clotpole, you ruined it!"

"What?" The mercenaries didn't move, and Arthur turned to look at them now, and noticed that they were completely frozen in place. Still, like statues. He jolted back, surprised. Something in the back of his mind tickled.

Merlin, however, was oblivious to his king's surprise, or pretended to be, at least. He huffed a breath. "She said 'And who is going to stop me? You?' and I was going to say, I was going to say, 'Emrys!'"

The room went quiet.

Morgana appeared, suddenly, shoving her way through the frozen men as Merlin had, her eyes swirling with emotions. Her voice was barely audible when she spoke, tremblingly, and it was laced with fear "...You?"

Arthur glanced to Merlin, trying to gauge if this was the reaction he expected. Merlin wasn't looking at him anymore, though; his eyes were trained on Morgana.

"It's always been me."

"I should have known," Morgana said, her eyes widening. "I should have known!" Her voice strengthened with anger. " How could I have not felt it before? But," she moved closer, inhaling through her nostrils. "I feel it now, I feel the power, and it will be mine!" Her eyes were crazed, mad. She raised her arms again and balls of crackling purple lightning erupted from her clawed hands.

"Lightning, Morgana, lightning?" Merlin threw back his head and laughed, a commanding, regal, harsh sound. When he righted himself he smiled mockingly at her. "Lightning is my specialty. Nimueh would know."

Nimueh?

"Nimueh's dead," Morgana hissed, looking smug. "I'm high priestess now."

"And how," Merlin asked dangerously, "do you think she died?"

Morgana's jaw dropped; her balls of energy wavered and true, raw fear was visible in her terrified green eyes. Arthur almost pitied her, but he really had no clue what was going on.

And then, and then, and then... Merlin's eyes erupted in twin blasts of golden light, and lightning, pure and white and blinding, slammed into the ground around them. The frozen mercenaries fell where they stood, bolts striking their chests. The smell of charred flesh wafted to his nostrils, and he brought his sleeve to his nose.

Morgana cowered, now, her hands empty, her face ravaged with a fear that reminded Arthur of the young, good Morgana, looking up at him with horrified eyes after a nightmare, begging him not to leave, and his heart ached.

The lightning rained down around her and Merlin, eyes still blazing, advanced, and then Morgana whispered something and, in a flash of golden light, disappeared, her lips moving frantically as she chanted under her breath, eyes a burnished red-gold, until she was no longer there.

Merlin roared in displeasure and banged his fist on the wall, his eyes returning to blue. He yelped, then, and yanked his fist back, scowling and looking so much like the clumsy, idiotic manservant Arthur knew, that Arthur laughed.

Then the…the...sorcerer turned and looked at him, and their eyes met across the rubble and charred remains of the battlefield, across the destruction the scrawny sorcerer had wrought without uttering a single word, and the laughter died in his throat.

What would happen now?