Disclaimers: Still the BBCs – no matter what I do. ;) Phyllida is mine.

A/N: So – once more unto the breach, dear friends. Last instalment - I hope you enjoy it.

Whayah! I got a review! (does a happy, little dance). Thanks, Dee - I owe you one. :-D

CHAPTER 7

The Crystal Cave

Eyes rigidly fixed ahead of him, intent on every detail and ears straining to pick up any minuscule sound, Prince Arthur and his lady companion silently slid through the entrance and into the corridor of the Crystal Cave. They hadn't come far before something caught their ears.

"Did you hear that?" he heard Phyllida hiss at him. He nodded. There had been muffled speech – people; and something growling. A beast?

Without warning, Merlin's shielding rock mysteriously disappeared into thin air and his crouching form sat face to face with Morgause's vengeful face.

Morgana gasped at the sight of him. "You!"

"Me," Merlin admitted lamely. "Beautiful place you have here."

Oh, my god, he thought, his mind reeling, this is it! I am about to be buried alive! He was up against two witches, no less. Like a madman, the warlock frantically paged through every single spell he had learned and memorised since the day he arrived in Camelot. There had to be way to counteract the witches' magic.

Both Arthur and his female companion froze in a crouched position; they had both heard and recognised the unmistakable cheeky tone of Merlin's voice. And, unfortunately, Arthur recognised the other voice as well. "Morgause," he mouthed, more to himself than to Phyllida, who had no knowledge of the name of Morgana's sister. Merlin's 'cousin' looked at him with big enquiring eyes. Unable to answer her mute question, the Prince signalled to proceed, and on all four, they slowly crawled forward, trying to make as little noise as possible.

A few minutes later, they set their wondering eyes on the most beautiful place they had ever seen. Even to Phyllida, the crystal cave had never been more spectacular. She barely managed to contain her glee as she let her hungry eyes roam the place with its blindingly beautiful stalagmites and stalactites, glittering in each other's reflection and casting rainbow colours all over the cave wall where stunning patterns were cast in a cornucopia of kaleidoscope creations. Mouth open wide and her archaeological soul aroused to the point of elation, she turned to look at the Prince, who, however, had his eyes fixed on the tall lithe figure with the long blonde hair, who had raised her arms and was pointing at … Merlin, who was standing before her like a hunted gangly roebuck.

With a roar of annoyance, Morgause thrust her arms forward and threw the skinny manservant's body into the air where it, none too gently, connected with the rock surface from whence he slid down like a broken rag doll, limp and dishevelled.

"You have spied on us for the last time!" Morgause said, furious, taking her sister's hand while still showering Merlin with spells with the other. "I will not make the same mistake twice, though I cannot for the death of me grasp how you got out of the serkets' nest."

Another roar mirrored the first and out of nowhere came the avenging prince, his sword raised high above his head, and his expression marred by the wrath of the righteous as he brought down his weapon across the witch's outstretched arms. Phyllida recoiled in horror. The sword went straight through both the woman's skinny arms, bringing down the limbs to writhe like bizarre snakes on the cave floor. She screamed. Or, wait, was it Morgana or her sister, who screamed?

Phyllida saw the witch slump to the floor, bleeding profusely from both arm stumps. Then all of a sudden, it was the Prince, who flew through the air and collided with the rock wall, approximately on the same spot where his manservant had crashed into the stone just moments before. Arthur gasped and winced. It had been hard, but not hard enough to render him unconscious; he looked down, gasping for breath as some invisible force appeared to squash his lungs.

The force emanated from Morgana; dark, beautiful, terrible and furious, with her arms raised, sending one tendril of energy after the other in his direction. Arthur didn't understand what he was seeing. She had been a victim, right? The witch Morgause had had both Merlin and Morgana at her mercy, right? Yet, it was undeniably she, Morgana, who was pinning him to the rock wall. Then she opened her blood red mouth, making her brother understand a little more of what was going on.

"Arthur, you pathetic son of a bitch queen and a bastard king, and unfortunately MY BROTHER. You have murdered my sister! And I will make you pay, writhe in pain as you lose your extremities, limb for limb. You shall perish right here and now, and I will bury you along side with your useless serving boy in this hidden cave where no one will find you!"

Clearly she hadn't seen Phyllida E. Dewhurst, who, in the meantime, had managed to reach Merlin, who had been knocked out of his wits and now lay dazed on the cave floor. She stuck out a hand and as discreetly as possible tried to shake him back to consciousness. She didn't succeed until she got hold of his prominent ears and gave them a good pinch. Joggling his head gingerly, Merlin came back to the present with impressive swiftness. Phyllida didn't have to update him on the current situation; the vision in front of him told him everything he needed to know.

Not even contemplating the repercussions his actions would have, he got up on staggering feet and immediately raised his hand towards Morgana and accompanied it with a spell:

Ástríce!

Surprise was evident in the young witch's face as an unseen power threw her into the air and crash-landed her next to her mutilated sister, who had bled to death already. Several things happened at the same time: Arthur slid down from the wall with a confused expression on his face, Phyllida got up to see if he was hurt and a shocked Morgana raised her weak arm feebly at Merlin, who just shook his head at her.

"You!" the witch groaned, "no … this cannot be true!"

"I'm sorry, Morgana," the warlock said hoarsely, his voice full of sadness and his heart still reaching out to this miserable soul, who only harboured hatred and bitterness in her heart.

"How … all this time?" she was shaking her head in disbelief, eyes brimming over.

"All this time," Merlin echoed her.

Phyllida had satisfied herself that the Prince of Camelot was unharmed and was now watching the scene before her with a certain fascination. When she saw Merlin lower his powerful hand with a soft expression on his face, she cried out: "NO! For heaven's sake, kill her!"

But he couldn't. This was not Merlin to kill a person lying down. Morgana immediately sensed his procrastination, and her face hardened as her eyes changed colour.

And in a flash and with an ear piercing scream, she disappeared.

Back in the cave stood a completely bewildered prince, a devastated warlock … and a time traveller who felt out of place more than ever. On the floor lay the remains of a once powerful witch, whose blood was soaking the cave floor to the extent that the colour was repeated mercilessly in each and every crystal and projected onto the cave wall like a grotesque laser show. The whole place was shining red in a dance macabre, mocking her death in every shade and aspect of the colour.

Phyllida turned and noticed the looks the two men exchanged, one inquisitive and angry and confused and one fearful and apologetic. She cleared her voice. "Ahem. I should probably disappear and leave you boys to talk," she said, beginning to take a step backwards. Then .. she noticed that her hands were … transparent. She turned them round, looking at them with growing panic. She was, indeed and literally, disappearing!

As if he hadn't had shocks enough to last him a year, Arthur now saw the woman he knew as Merlin's cousin vanish into thin air. Merlin took a step forward, pain etching his young face. "No...," he said, his voice soft, vulnerable and sad. Phyllida opened her mouth and tried to shout one last word to him.

"It's all right! This is good!"

However, all that the two young boys caught was 'It's all..." and the rest disappeared in a whisper with the time traveller.

x

Prince Arthur had moved to the fallen witch's dismembered corpse. Her two severed arms lay some distance from her remains, and in some odd parody of last respect for a slain foe, Arthur picked up the limbs and reunited them with the body.

Then he turned to face his best friend and manservant through five years. He saw a young man with a sensitive face and a pair of eyes that conveyed sad fear. And that's when it really occurred to him: The person who had just saved his life and whose life he had just saved … was afraid of him. Arthur found that he had mixed feelings about this realisation. He had to ask.

"Why are you afraid of me? From what I have just seen, you can flatten me any time you'd like."

There was a certain harshness to his voice. On one hand, this was just good ol'e goofy Merlin, who never would harm anyone in his life. On the other side, he had just seen the same manservant throw a witch round with the same ease that you would a rag doll. And where did Morgana fit into all this? So many things he didn't understand.

And the third witch – Phyllida? Too many questions. Arthur shook his head gently. One issue at a time.

"I would never flatten you," came Merlin's gentle voice. "I would gladly submit to any mercy or punishment you bestow on me. My only fear is that this revelation would end our friendship."

Arthur rose, and for once didn't sneer at the word 'friendship' in connection with his manservant.

"For how long have you had this … curse upon you?"

Merlin frowned, not too happy with the prince's choice of words.

"I was born with it, and I don't see it as a curse." The warlock rested his hands on his hips, looking even more miffed. "Do you know how many times I have saved your royal bottom?"

Arthur looked down and couldn't help smirking.

"Now, that's the Merlin I know," he remarked.

"I'm no different from before," Merlin pointed out. "The only difference is – now you know more about me than you did."

Arthur's smiled disappeared, but the sternness didn't return. Instead, he looked anxious.

"You've been lying to me all this time?"

"Well, wouldn't you? Given the ban on magic?"

"I wouldn't have gone anywhere near Camelot in the first place," the Prince stated.

The young sorcerer didn't reply at first. Instead, he took a few seconds to scrutinise the Prince's face. It looked pretty much how his own must look: bathed in a surreal light of blood red, making it very difficult to really read his expressions.

"It is my destiny," Merlin finally said, his voice back to soft, "my solemn duty and destiny is to protect you, my liege, and help you unite Albion."

Arthur opened his mouth and was about to offer some saucy reply as to the implausibility of Merlin helping him do anything, when he remembered: Merlin had magic!

Merlin has magic.

Somehow, he just couldn't wrap his mind round that fact. Yet he had seen what he had seen.

"Will you turn me over to the King?" Merlin asked, his head bowed as if awaiting his doom.

Arthur started, his mind not even having reached the point of Merlin's further fate.

"I don't … Merlin, I ..." Arthur said, confused, "probably … not. But I..."

Helpless, he just stopped and raised his head to look at the young boy that had been his manservant for years, always loyal, always faithful – always cheeky. He took a couple of minutes to think and then he sighed.

"Had I not seen it with my own eyes, Merlin, I would never … But you have been very faithful as my manservant and I have never known you to spare yourself. I remember you even tried to turn yourself in once."

"Twice," Merlin murmured. Arthur cocked an eyebrow. "Really? When was the second time?"

Merlin opened to his mouth to answer when the Prince just stopped him.

"You know what? No … forget that. Instead, I need to know everything from the start – ending with this odd thing with your 'cousin' or whoever she was."

Merlin looked at his master and a slow smile started spreading over his facial features, his eyes beaming away, his normally crystal blue eyes now crystal red. He had a good feeling! This was actually going to be all right. He nodded his acquiescence to Arthur and turned to follow him out of the blood red cave that glinted a little too ominously for his taste.

On his way out, one particular crystal caught his eye inadvertently; about to divert his glance and not wanting to see the moving images of the prophetic crystal, a certain recognisable shape caught his attention after all and he grinned.

Phyllida!

Phyllida coming out of the cave, the surroundings looking differently, her long forest green dress caught in twigs and roots and the archaeologist swearing. And then Phyllida sitting on some sort of leather seat, looking directly at him as if she knew he was watching, her eyes sparkling and her radiant smile flashing and her mouth saying something ...

Merlin laughed back at her.

Yes, things were definitely going to be all right.

EPILOGUE

Albion

The dust and dirt were choking her to the extent that she almost gagged. Her already strained lungs working overtime, she only just managed to cough up various leaves and twigs and after several minutes of harking, she finally breathed more freely, despite the sharp pain in the upper part of her chest. Phyllida dusted off the dirt from her eyes, blinked gingerly and lifted her head, now ready to examine her surroundings more closely. She was still in the Crystal Cave.

The first rush of disappointment quickly subsided as she got up on quivering legs and realised that there was no grotesquely dismembered corpse on the floor, reflecting the red blood in the entire cave; there were no debris or sign of a giant crystal having exploded into a thousand little pieces. There were, however, dirt everywhere, a hole instead of an entrance and her cave lamp, still working and casting light in cascades all over the place.

She was back!

Back to her own time, her own life.

Still coughing in short little huffs, she suddenly began to laugh. Oh, boy! It had been a dream! A wild, extraordinary, crazy dream that …

… and that's when she saw what she was wearing.

A very dirty forest green dress of the 1st century.

The Lord have mercy on me! It wasn't a dream!

At least … that's what she expected a Carbon-14 dating to prove.

Despite her many years of experience of spilanking, the archaeologist suddenly felt very claustrophobic. On staggering legs, she zig-zagged between the woods of stalagmites and stalactites and onto the slope by which she had slid down when she first came there. Trembling, still suffering from adrenaline shock, she then crawled out of the excavated entrance and hauled herself onto the forest floor, using the rope she had left there. Finally out in the open, she immediately and gratefully recognised the first entrance she had discovered an eternity ago. What was more – the mist had gone and everything was now visible. She almost cried in relief. There was the camp – and what was more, there was the car! Stumbling, tears running down her face, she limped to the vehicle and tried the door. Locked. Annoyed, she stuck her hand into her pocket... except, there was no pocket in this dress. And that's when she realised with a pang: She'd left the keys in the 1st century!

Swearing and grunting, she sat down on a tree stub, rustling up leaves and twigs, to think through her dilemma. Imagine that. To have come this far and be stumped by not having any blasted car keys! Don't let this get you down, Phyl – think! Work the problem!

She knew she was about two hours from the nearest town; she was thirsty as hell and she had no water; she had no mobile (it had remained in the 1st century, in her field bag and was burned on the pyre together with her iPad); she was, in short, in deep shit.

Phyllida E. Dewhurst rose. Well, she had been in worse pickles – being burned on the stake, just to mention one. Her thirst would probably be quelled at the next brook, if it was running, it was probably healthy. And she would go to the road that was bound to be asphalted now and a car would no doubt come by soon.

This was, after all, the 21st century.

Fifteen minutes later, she was picked up by a car. It felt very odd, sitting in the modern car seat of cool leather and looking at the landscape that went by so quickly. The driver was a middle aged, bulky person with very little hair, dark glasses and a tie that his wife definitely had not picked out. Well … she was a fine one to talk. She felt him eyeing her.

"Nice outfit," he smirked, "is there a medieval fair round here?"

My god, that was my line once, she thought with irony.

"Fashion," she deadpanned, "what can you do?"

"Right," the burly man grinned, "I'm taking you to Pontypridd. Is that all right?"

"Where is that?"

"Here," the driver reached over her and pulled a map out of the glove compartment, "it's about 30 miles of where we are now."

Phyllida took the card and unfolded it. She quickly located where she had been picked up and trailed the route from there to where he was taking her.

It wasn't until she folded it back again that she noticed that something was very different – different from what she used to know. Slowly she unfolded it again, scouring the paper and her trained archaeologist eyes quickly finding what she was looking for.

And there it was, staring her in her face: On top of the map, it read:

UNITED KINGDOM

And then Phyllida laughed. And laughed. Not caring that the driver was beginning to think that he had let a dangerous nutter into his car. Into the air, seemingly addressed to no one in particular, the archaeologist said loudly:

"You did it, Merlin! You and Arthur together! You united Albion. Good on you!"

It was probably her imagination, but she almost got the impression that he heard her.

The end