It took all of Merlin's flagging strength to wrench himself free from the crystal, from the renewed avalanche of potential futures. The effort sent him tumbling and he landed flat on his back on the ground behind the dais. He didn't feel the impact. Suddenly bereft of the crystal's influence, it was like he had been struck blind, deaf, and dumb, all his senses shut down or maybe burned out.

He didn't know how long it lasted, floating in silent darkness that was equally soothing and stifling. Eventually awareness began to creep over him again like the prickle of a sleeping limb coming awake: just a low buzz of feeling, a vague hum of sound, the pale glow of soft light through closed eyelids. His entire body ached, every inch of it, like he had been dropped off a building instead of a platform maybe a metre high, and he was certain by now that his head would hurt for the rest of his life and on into the next.

And then relief was washing over him, a cool flush of foreign magic that dampened the pounding in his skull and left him limp and loose in a way he hadn't been in months. There were hands on him, small and warm, brushing over his face and down his chest in a manner that somehow didn't feel threatening or invasive at all. He struggled to press through the heaviness that had filled his extremities; he had left behind something important, he thought, something that he needed to get back to.

Everything was dim and indistinct when he managed to pry his eyelids apart, though each blink brought things into clearer focus. The hands on him belonged to an old woman who looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn't place her. She had a kindly face that was set in a small frown as she knelt beside him, looking him over with an air of clinical efficiency. When she caught his eye, she turned over her shoulder and called out to someone—his hearing wasn't back up to snuff yet, still muffled and cotton-y, so he couldn't make out who—before leaning in close.

"Welcome back," she said. "Can you hear me? Can you tell me who you are?"

Up this close he could hear her just fine, and for the first time in a long time the loud voice didn't grate on him. He tried to answer her question. "'m Merl'n." It came out slurred, his tongue sluggish and slow to respond, but the woman seemed satisfied with it.

"Do you know where you are, Merlin?" she asked.

It took a moment for that information to come back to him through the haze he was still floating in, but it came like a shock. Like lightning.

His attempt at sitting bolt upright didn't go very well. He didn't manage to leave the ground and the thwarted effort left him feeling decidedly queasy. There were other hands on him then, more familiar ones that brushed through his hair and soothed him. Merlin turned toward those hands and they obligingly helped him upward until he was mostly vertical and propped against a solid chest—Arthur's chest.

"Nimueh," Merlin said, casting his gaze around the clearing; he knew what he thought had happened, what he had seen happen, but his sight had been overlaid by so many potential outcomes at the time that he couldn't be sure, needed confirmation of the reality of it.

"Sh, Merlin," Arthur said, one hand rubbing at his arm and the other a steady weight on his stomach, holding him close. "It's alright, it's over. She's gone."

"She's dead?"

"Extremely."

Merlin slumped back against him in relief. A small part of him rose up to remind him that he had just killed someone—another someone, even—and that he shouldn't be feeling relief over that. He should be horrified, that part said, terrified at how easily he had done it, how readily such a dangerous magic had leapt to his fingertips. But he couldn't feel that way, not right now, not when Nimueh had already caused so much harm and had posed such a threat to so many. Though he regretted the necessity, and that he had had to be the one to commit the act, he couldn't regret that Nimueh was dead. The world would be a better place for it.

"And the others?" he asked. The henchmen, Nimueh's seconds-in-command, the ones who could take up the mantle and keep the Knights of Medhir going in her absence. Edwin had been unmoving when last Merlin had had the chance to check the progress of the battle, downed by one of Arthur's bullets but not necessarily dead, but the others had still been fighting. There was no more fighting now though, no crackle-whoosh of spells overhead, no flash of muzzle fire, just the normal muffled dullness of the maze itself.

"Also dead."

There was a hitch in Arthur's voice when he spoke even as the words themselves were matter-of-fact, and the hand resting on Merlin's stomach clenched into a fist, gripping at his shirt. Merlin finally struggled into a proper upright position, but the hand didn't release its hold and Merlin didn't move to dislodge it just yet. Arthur was pale, almost grey in the face, and his eyes were red and strangely distant, like he wasn't really looking at Merlin at all. There was blood splattered across his chest and, judging by the lack of visible injuries on his person, it hadn't come from him.

Merlin prised Arthur's fingers open and laced them through his own instead. Arthur held on with punishing strength, making the bones in Merlin's hand creak, but Merlin welcomed it; after the unreality of being immersed in the ephemeral and ever-shifting future, it was grounding, a comforting reminder of the here and now.

A distinct and very familiar throat-clearing came from over Merlin's shoulder and he turned to find Gaius, his permanently raised eyebrow for once broadcasting concern instead of judgment.

"Gaius," Merlin said, disbelieving.

"Merlin, my boy."

And then Merlin was clambering clumsily to his feet and falling into his great-uncle's arms. The hug was just as warm and all-encompassing as Gaius' hugs had always been, tight enough to make him feel safe in a threatening world. Merlin tightened his hold, knowing that, if his arms didn't still feel like they were made of wet clay, he would probably be hurting the old man.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, the question muffled in Gaius' fuzzy jumper. "And why did you come? How did you even know where to find me?"

"Why?" Gaius scoffed. He pulled back to take Merlin by the shoulders and there was the judgement, right on cue. "I helped raise you, boy. You think I don't know when you're lying to me?"

Merlin flushed, cringing under the force of the Eyebrow.

"That phone call was alarming enough in its bare-bone content," Gaius continued, "but add in that shifty tone of yours and I knew you were in trouble. You needed my help, so here I am."

The warmth that spread through Merlin from head to toe took him by surprise, the rush of sheer relief that came with knowing Gaius would always be on his side. Even if they were arguing, even if they disagreed, even if they fell out and moved halfway across the country, Gaius would still drop everything to come to his rescue.

"But how?"

Gaius smiled, a smug and almost mischievous look overtaking the stern disapproval. "I may not practice anymore myself, but that doesn't mean I don't have a few friends willing to whip up a tracking spell for me on short notice."

Merlin looked back at the old woman, still smiling at him warmly despite the less than pleasant situation, and finally put a name to the face; she was Alice, an old flame of Gaius' and also a very talented healer and sorceress in her own right.

Now that he looked around with clearer eyes, he saw that Alice wasn't the only person Gaius had brought with him. There were two younger men as well, one with wide, close-set eyes and a ring that glowed with power, and one that didn't look much older than Merlin himself but worked spells alongside the other with confidence that spoke of more training than Merlin had ever had. The two of them were standing over the bodies of Alvarr, Edwin, and Borden, all moved off to the side now, and they were chanting. Merlin couldn't hear what they were doing from this distance, but the lurching of his stomach when he laid eyes on the bodies meant he wasn't too inclined toward getting any closer to find out.

Gaius' hand on his shoulder pulled him around, dragging the bodies out of his line of sight. "You needn't worry about them anymore," he said. "You've done more than enough, Merlin. The battle is won and your part in this is over."

"Over," Merlin said, barely more than a breath. The word echoed in his head as if, maybe, if he repeated it enough times, it might sink in. Over, done with, ended and gone. It was over and he was safe. Gaius would take care of everything from here and he could go home.

Even that knowledge couldn't quite dispel the lingering coldness in his stomach, the aftertaste of fear on the back of his tongue. He wondered how long it would take. His eyes fell on Arthur, shaken and pale, and knew that it would take time, a lot of it, for any of them to feel truly safe again. Morgana was at Arthur's side, clutching at her brother's arm and stoically ignoring the tear tracks on her own face, the both of them hovering over Mordred's still form as Alice examined him. None of them seemed panicked or distraught, so Merlin thought it safe to assume that the boy was at least alive.

The Pendragon siblings didn't look up immediately when Merlin approached. His presence seemed to reach them slowly through the haze of shock they'd all fallen into. Arthur was the first to react, pulling away from Morgana to wrap Merlin in his arms. Merlin sunk into the embrace gratefully. This close, he could feel the fine tremors wracking Arthur's body, worse than his own. He held on tighter.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he whispered into Arthur's hair, a thrill of irrational fear running through him even though the danger had passed; he had almost lost Arthur. He had put Arthur in danger, dragged him into this and put a target on his back. He was the reason that—

"Stop that."

Merlin actually laughed. Just a short burst of it, catching them all by surprise, but he couldn't help it. He pulled back with a sniffle and wiped the new tears from his face with his sleeve.

"Stop what?"

"Thinking it's your fault," Arthur said with an admirable attempt at his usual haughty, knowing expression. Merlin started to deny it but Arthur just shook his head. "I know you too well for that, Merls. Don't be an idiot, not now. I asked to come along. Insisted on it, actually. So stop blaming yourself for what I volunteered to do."

There was blood on Arthur's hands. Literal blood crusted into the lines of his palm, the same sort Merlin had had earlier in the day—and had it really only been a few hours ago that he had left that destroyed alleyway?—and he knew how long it would take to scrub off, how long the water would run pink, how much longer it would take to stop feeling it there. He took the hand in his, traced his fingertips over the stained skin.

"I'm still sorry," he said. "You shouldn't have had to."

The hand turned over, fingers weaving together again and holding on. "Neither should you," Arthur said. "And it's no more my fault than it was yours." There was a strained smile on his face when Merlin looked up, tight and unhappy but better than the disconcerting blankness from earlier. "Kill or be killed, right?"

Merlin nodded, slowly at first and then more firmly. "Right."

Arthur's smile wavered and disappeared, his face crumpling into something small and devastated as he dragged Merlin back into his embrace and echoed Merlin's own thoughts: "God, I could have lost you."

They stayed that way for a long time, just holding each other close, breathing each other in and revelling in the warmth that meant they were both alive and whole. The familiarity of it still caught Merlin off guard, the remembered intimacy after weeks of distance and ignorance. The hole in his mind was gone, the scooped out places filled in again and smoothed over. But he could feel the scars, the way those memories had been shifted around and relocated, everything just a tinge different. They were there, though, and he almost cried against just for the sake of feeling whole in a way that he hadn't in so long.

Eventually he became aware of a presence at his shoulder, a tingling of familiar magic that no longer felt like a threat to him. Merlin made himself draw away from Arthur—more difficult than he wanted to admit—and turned to find Morgana there. Her normally pristine hair was a mess of tangles and her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, distant in much the same way as Arthur's had been. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle like she could hold herself together by sheer force of will and her bottom lip trembled when she finally brought herself to meet Merlin's eye directly.

"Merlin," she said, and her voice shook.

That was all it took. Merlin's last bit of resistance crumbled and he opened his arms to her. He stumbled a bit when she flung herself into them, not entirely steady on his feet yet, but he didn't complain. He just held her tighter as sobs wracked her slight frame and tears wet his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—I never wanted anything like this! I swear, I didn't—"

"Sh, Morgana, I know," Merlin said, petting her hair.

And he did know. He remembered now what they had been told, what they'd been promised since the beginning. He remembered how desperate Morgana had been for companionship, how very lonely and alienated she had been, how much joy she had taken in finding people who were like her. Merlin at least had a mother and uncle who knew and supported him, but Morgana had never had that. Instead she had Uther, who actively campaigned against her kind, who spat on the very idea of them, and an oblivious brother she hadn't felt she could trust. The promise of a family, a society of like-minded individuals who would shelter and bolster her, was more than enough to lure her in and keep her.

"I never thought she would do something like this," Morgana said, shaking her head in denial even as she kept her face buried in Merlin's shoulder. "She never said anything about—about Uther or—or so many others, I didn't think she would actually—"

She was lost in tears again, and Merlin was struck again by the fact that she knew these people. Morgana had been involved with them before Merlin had, had already been a part of the organization by the time Merlin joined. She had idolized Nimueh, had spent months training with Alvarr, had looked to Morgause as a big sister. And now they were all dead. Knowing how the fight had been going, Merlin had to wonder if Morgana hadn't taken a life tonight as well, a life she had known.

"They would have killed my brother," Morgana said, shaky and quiet enough that Merlin almost missed it, muffled as it was. "They would've killed an innocent boy. He had nothing to do with this, and they would've—"

"He's alright," Merlin said quickly. "He's fine, Morgana, he's right here. We're all safe, even Mordred."

Alice nodded at him over Morgana's shoulder, her hands glowing faintly as they traced over Mordred's chest. Hopefully that meant there wouldn't be any lasting damage from his overuse of the crystal.

Morgana pulled back abruptly at his mention of Mordred, turning to look as though he might have disappeared in the time since she'd looked away. "And him!" she said, a light of anger rekindling in her eyes. "She knew what she was doing to him! He's been looking sickly for weeks, getting worse and worse. He wouldn't tell me why, just said it was stress from school, but it was her! She would've killed him too, thrown away his life just to further her own agenda!"

"He's going to be okay, though," Merlin said. "I promise. We'll make sure that he's okay."

Her furious expression only lasted a minute in the face of his promise, collapsing in on itself under the weight of betrayal and disillusionment. "They'd have killed my father," she whispered finally, small and hopeless and lost. "They'd have used me to get to him."

For all her hatred of Uther's attitude and policies, for all that she wanted him out of office and stripped of his influence, he was still her father, the man who had raised her and come to her violin recitals and kissed her hair when she scraped her knee. She still loved him.

Arthur was there at her side in an instant, pulling her close and murmuring soft reassurances to her. As he held her, he reached out a hand to Merlin. Merlin took it, his other hand falling to Morgana's shoulder.

"We're going to make this right," Arthur said. "Somehow, someday, we will find a way to make this right."

"How?" Morgana sniffed.

Arthur shrugged, making Morgana's head rise and fall with it and drawing a snort of annoyance from her that put a small smile back on Merlin's face. "Well, father always wanted me to go into politics," he said with studied nonchalance.

That got Morgana smiling too. It was a tiny thing, but it was there. "A politician with a cause?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"And a hell of a lot of charisma," Merlin chuckled, squeezing Arthur's hand. "You could really go places."

"So I've been told," Arthur said, a little bit smug. Then his expression sobered. "We can find a way to affect change from the inside. Without any more bloodshed. There has to be a way."

With his head held high and a light of determination shining in his sharp eyes, Merlin was struck again with exactly how regal Arthur looked. Even in a blood-splattered jumper and torn jeans he looked ready to fight and win any battle he chose. And the battle he had chosen was Merlin's, was Morgana's, was Mordred's. He would fight for them and Merlin couldn't believe he had ever doubted him in the first place.

"If anyone could find a way, it would be you," he said, and he believed it with all his heart.

Evidently Morgana did too. She lifted her head and rubbed at her face, wiping away the last traces of tears and smoothing her hair back into some semblance of order. "Well, I can't let you do all the work, can I?" she said. "There are other arenas to fight in. I was already considering practicing law; I've been told I could make the meanest barrister cry."

"I don't doubt it," Arthur said with a laugh. He tried to ruffle her hair but she caught his hand halfway there and gave him a glare that shouldn't have been half as effective as it was, all things considered. He wisely retracted the offending hand, holding it up in surrender. Morgana held onto her irritation for only a moment before it broke into another smile, this one heartbreakingly sweet with the relief of knowing her brother was on her side. She placed a swift kiss on Arthur's cheek and then hurried back to Mordred's side to avoid acknowledging his surprise at the uncharacteristically affectionate gesture.

Merlin had to laugh at his stunned expression, tugging Arthur in so that he could put another kiss on the other cheek. Arthur turned to him with a smile of his own. "What, I don't get a real kiss from you?"

"Maybe," Merlin said, sidling closer still. He bit his lip, suddenly nervous. "Are you sure you still want one?" Without the threat of death hanging over their heads. Without the danger making everything feel sharp and close and huge, eclipsing the little things that had drove them apart to begin with. With the magic and the lies and the blood all laid out plainly. With him being who he was. Did he want that?

Arthur tilted Merlin's head up with fingers under his chin, making certain that Merlin met his eyes. "More than anything." He leaned in to kiss Merlin gently, just a brush of lips so light that Merlin would hardly have felt it if it didn't send a delicious shiver all the way to his toes.

After a truly sappy moment of them smiling against each other's lips, sharing breath and reluctant to pull away, Merlin cleared his throat and took a step back, one hand staying determinedly in Arthur's and the other scratching the back of his neck. "So, er. With you as the next Prime Minister and Morgana tearing up the court system, where does that leave me?"

Arthur looked him over with that serious, shrewd expression he sometimes got while playing chess, the one that said he was planning out his strategy and was already twelve steps ahead of you. "We may have cut the head off the snake that is the Knights of Medhir," he said, "but that leaves a lot of followers behind. A lot of kids like Mordred who want justice and equality. They still need a leader, someone to rally around."

Merlin's eyebrows rose. "Me?" he asked, already shaking his head. "No, Arthur, I'm not the leader type. You are!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, tugging Merlin closer again. "Well, I can hardly give them what they need," he said.

"Neither can I," Merlin said. "They need guidance, someone to teach them. I'm just a useless kid, same as them."

"A useless kid with legendary power and all the knowledge of Time itself at his fingertips," came Morgana's rebuttal as she drew up beside him to bump her hip against his. "You've always underestimated yourself, Merlin."

"And now you've got Gaius firmly on your side again," Arthur pointed out, nodding to where the old man was barking orders at the men he'd brought with him, presiding over the erstwhile battlefield like a conductor over his orchestra. "Maybe you can talk him into sticking around. With your power, natural talent, and vision, and his knowledge and experience?" He shrugged. "Maybe you could give all these disenfranchised youths something to work toward."

Merlin stared at the earnest expression on his face, at the half-smile Morgana offered. He looked at Mordred, just starting to stir, and thought of all the others. He remembered them now, all the other teenagers he had studied and sparred with over the last few months, each of them looking for the same things he was: community, support, hope for the future. Nimueh and her ilk had taken advantage of such innocent desires and twisted them, used them to manipulate vulnerable kids into being the next generation of her own personal army. But if they had someone else to look up to, a better vision of the future to aspire to, maybe it was possible.

"It won't be easy," he said with a sigh, the scope of it already feeling like a looming shadow. "And we'll need more than just us."

"It won't be just us," Arthur said with certainty. "We can't be the only ones who feel this way. All we have to do is find them. I know Gwaine thinks the ban on magic is ludicrous, and Percy lost two cousins because of it. Leon is planning on politics foo, and I think he could be talked 'round."

"Gwen and her brother Elyan agree with us as well," Merlin said. "I know they'd be on board if we told them about it."

"We can make our own organization," Morgana declared. "A less violent one, geared toward placing sympathetic people in powerful enough positions to affect change for the next generation."

Merlin took Morgana's hand in his, squeezing. "And giving young sorcerers the type of unconditional support they deserve," he said, and she smiled at him, eyes swimming with tears.

"We can do this," Arthur said. "We can make it so the likes of Uther and Nimueh both are known to be in the wrong. With the right people at our sides, we can change the world."

With Arthur smiling at him like that, with Morgana at his side and Gaius at his back, Merlin believed it. Even with the sour chill of fear and guilt still low in his stomach and the ache of exhaustion in his bones, even with blood on his hands and bodies just out of his line of sight, he believed it. He believed in them and what they could achieve, together. It wouldn't be easy, none of it would, and it certainly wouldn't be quick. But if Nimueh Blake and her entire operation couldn't stand in their way, then nothing could, right? And with weak morning sunlight just beginning to filter into the skies, burning through the bank of dark clouds that he himself had conjured, Merlin couldn't help but think that maybe his memories of the crystal's predictions didn't do their future justice.