Merlin slowly stalked over to where the Cailleach would meet him in the centre of what was once the great hall of the Blessed Isle.

"So….Emrys. You choose to challenge me after all," she mused, mocking derision in her voice.

The pair came to a stop, facing each other.

"Will you give yourself to the spirits to save your prince?" she asked tonelessly, knowing full well his answer. Merlin's eyes narrowed and his hand shot out to the side in warning.

"Stay there, Lancelot," he ordered. Lancelot, about to walk toward the veil himself stopped, startled at the order. Merlin's cold gaze shifted to the Cailleach who stared back with hollow, cunning eyes.

"You lied."

Lancelot was stunned at the dark tone in Merlin's voice. Never had he been witness to such a quiet rage in the unassuming servant.

"You demand a sacrifice, not so that it would close the veil but so that you would deem it worthy of your efforts to send the Dorocha back." The two beings of magic gazed at each other, unnaturally still in the cold darkness that surrounded them. The aura of power the two figures gave off made Lancelot shiver.

"Your services are not required here," Merlin spat, furious at her inaction. The Cailleach was no fool. She was a being of magic, she knew full well the legend of Emrys, both his potential to bring peace and his wrath. With a respectful nod she faded away and left him.

Lancelot stood and stared, confused. "Didn't we need her to close the veil?" Merlin shot him an amused look.

"If you want a job done right, do it yourself," he quipped and continued making his way to the veil.

Merlin didn't bother reaching for his magic. It would take more than that to heal a tear between worlds. Reaching out for what his senses told him was there he grasped the very fabric of darkness and pulled it, manipulating it to his will. Once he'd brought the two pieces as close together as it would go and careful not to step too close to the edge, Merlin turned to his friend.

"Lancelot," the man started, as if in some kind of trance. "Go to Arthur and Gwaine, get them clear of the doorway." Without question Lancelot followed through and for a moment Merlin truly appreciated the loyalty of his friend. While waiting for him to pull the others to safety Merlin prepared himself.

He found something - not unlike his dragonlord heritage but more ancient. Reaching for it he called out to the darkness.

"Bebiede be arisan, ypile cume mec! Beo scildanbora steacra strengthe ealdan aewfaestnesse, ic the diegol searobend! Fago, folgie min bebeod!"

He gripped the ethereal walls and braced himself as the night was filled with screams. The first one shot towards him and just liked before he felt the unforgiving cold seeping through his bones. The Dorocha passed through him to the swirling beyond as the next came.

And the next.

And the next.

It seemed never ending.

Merlin shuddered and struggled to maintain his grip on the land of the living. Each spirit that crashed through him tried to drag him with them into the abyss. He tried to think of warmth, of what his magic felt like running through his veins, of resting in a chair next to hearth.

No warmth, no matter how comforting could make him ignore the icy darkness spreading through his body. He couldn't remove his hands from their grip if he tried, the coldness rendering his fingers frozen. But with the cold came the weakness. As the stream kept coming, Merlin was slowly being beaten back.

"Merlin!" He looked up at the call; not realising that he'd bent his head and closed his eyes until he opened them.

Gwaine had woken up. He could see him off to the side, held back from approaching by Lancelot. He looked terrified for him. Next to him, Merlin could see Arthur, still unconscious and a wave of memories came.

Arthur asking him to look after Guinevere, his stride resolute as he prepared to give his life for his kingdom. Arthur at his side, standing together with his knights at the Round Table, proud and strong. The king he was going to be and the dream of the future he would build. A fair and just land for all, the freedom of magic.

That was what he was fighting for. With renewed vigour Merlin stood straighter under the force of the darkness. He thought of his mother, of Gaius and Lancelot but mostly he thought of Arthur. His courage and morality. His stubbornness. His honour and his prattish ways.

Suddenly the flow stopped. He stumbled forward and the veil closed behind him. Merlin fell to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. His limbs trembled as the iciness covering them and seeping through to his bones. Dimly he heard running footsteps in his direction. He recognised Leon and Elyan calling out to him.

"Stay back!" he called out. His voice broke at the words but his message must have gotten through because they didn't come any closer. He could feel darkness in him, wrapping around his heart and restricting his breath. There was no time for spells. He gathered his magic and let it loose, his eyes burning hot.

The knights turned away, protecting their eyes as a golden light exploded out from the manservant. Lancelot was the first to go up to him after it faded, cautiously approaching the still warlock.

He stirred and slowly picked himself up off the ground. Lancelot lunged forward to catch him before he fell. Due to his support, Merlin was able to gain his footing once more. The knights stared at the unassuming manservant, Prince Arthur still obliviously unconscious.

"That, my friend," drawled Merlin, only half conscious. "That is how you save the world."

The warlock promptly fainted.

BriefShiningMoment

Because let's be honest. That episode did not end the way I wanted it to.

Spells:

"I command you come forth, moral evil come to me! I am unbending shield bearer by the strength of the old religion, I bind the darkness! Imminent death, obey my will!"