As of March 10/13 ~ Favs: 41; Alerts: 74; Reviews: 69

Great balls of flaming hot chili peppers. The story is actually done! Whoop!

Ignoring the fact that I can't help but feel the utmost disappointment for this story, at least I didn't give up. Still stinks but that's okay. I'm pretty sure I disappointed many of you and for that, I'm sorry. Maybe I will re-write this someday...but probably not.

Anyway, do us all a favour, and do NOT share this with anyone...for the sake of my reputation...

One last quote for you lovelies, one last chapter, and one last thank you :) Grazie, my friends, grazie mille.

"You know, the problem with being the last of anything, by and by there be none left at all." ~ Barbossa (Pirates of the Caribbean)

~40~ Silverheart

It look Merlin over two days to drag himself from the warm coves of sleep...Well, more accurately, it was Arthur who took over two days to finally lose his patience and shake him awake.

"Nooo," Merlin groaned, rolling over and tugging his blankets closer around him. "Good dream. Go away—"

"Get out of bed, lazy bones." The king tried to grab him and pull him off, but Merlin began to squirm, desperately latching onto the opposite end of the cot like a limpet.

"No!"

"Come on!"

"No!"

After several moments of intense conflict, Arthur finally managed to wrestle the servant's grip free and drag him from the cot in a tangle of sheets. Merlin hit the floor with a thud and the king straightened, brushing his hands together as he left him on the ground.

"Revenge," he purred triumphantly, walking away.

On the floor, Merlin grumbled.

"Emrys, I must speak with you before you depart."

Merlin split from his companions, who were finishing the last of the preparations for their return journey to Camelot. He walked with Gabriela until they had reasonable distance for secrecy.

"There is the manner in which you are to fulfil your promises to Hecate, the priestess of the Ancient Kingdom," said the shaman lowly, holding up the Silver Heart in her hands.

Merlin nodded. On the day he had been cured the first time, he had promised Hecate that he would destroy the Heart once the werewolves were finally vanquished. It was a powerful vessel, after all, one that could penetrate the barriers between his world and that of the dormant Archons.

"There is a problem," said the warlock softly. Gabriela waited expectantly for him to elaborate. "Arthur and I are cured. Rowan will soon be dealt with. But Hecate took my curse into herself. In order for me to keep my promise..." He trailed of uncomfortably.

"That is why I needed to speak with you," said Gabriela. "A few days ago, the corpse of a white werewolf was discovered."

Merlin looked to her in shock. "Hecate?"

The shaman nodded wistfully. "I could See that it was her. But do not despair, Emrys. She was old. And, in the end, she got what she wanted. She shall forever be with her mistress, Larentia." Gabriela pressed the Silver Heart into Merlin's hands. "Don't take any unnecessary risks. Rowan must die, I am sad to say, but do not make it an honourable death if it risks the lives of any more people." She nodded at the Heart. "After he is gone, the vessel will be weak. A few good spells should deal with it. Or perhaps something even more simple." With that, she turned to leave.

"Wait!" Merlin held out a hand as though to grab her shoulder. She hesitated. "Thank you," he finally managed. "For everything."

Gabriela simply smiled. "Goodbye, Emrys. It has been a pleasure and an honour." With that, she was gone.

Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ

"And so rises the quandary – what we are to do with the remains of the Silverblood Order."

Arthur stood tall at the vast, circular table, the seats of which were occupied by the renowned knights of Camelot. Every man there, stone faced, regarded their king avidly, respectfully. Arthur scanned each subject in turn, but lingering on his closest companions just a little bit longer.

"Their leader, Baldwin Silverblood, had proven to be...a loose stallion, as it were. Unpredictable, fickle, dangerous. But in the end, he was seen as an enemy of Camelot. He should have been here today to face justice, but alas, he is not. In our endeavours to seek and slay the beasts that had slaughtered so many innocents within our walls, he and his lieutenant fell to the Blackhands' beast. It was by great fortune that everyone else escaped alive."

The knights nodded in agreement as Arthur regarded them, still expressionless. Yes, yes, it was a lie, but it was a white lie, woven to protect what needed to be protected. That was to say, all of Camelot. Arthur thought he relayed it rather well.

"We cannot ignore Baldwin's crimes, but nor can we ignore Sophia Silverblood's invaluable aid. Without her, we may all have fallen to the beasts. We all owe her a debt of gratitude, a debt that cannot be respected if we were to execute the rest of her kin. I'm sure she would agree had she been here today."

The problem had been nagging Arthur for several days, ever since he remembered the remaining thirty or so Silverbloods that remained in the tower dungeons. They'd followed a rather shady leader, true, but that wasn't to say that any of them would have done the same as him, had they the opportunity. Sophia was one such example, as was Bianca, the woman whom Gwaine had saved – in turn, she had shed light on a lot of dark secrets.

Sophia wasn't there today simply because she had chosen not to. Upon the departure from Mistwood two days before, the Silverblood had approached the king and announced that she had decided to remain with the Druids.

"I have nothing to lose," she'd declared, "leaving them. Not really. I've always been sort of...different. I think I'll stay here, with Gabriela. Their pacifist ways may soon drive me mad, but then again, maybe not." She bowed to Arthur then, and said, when she'd straightened, "Live well, my lord. Should you ever need me, you know where I will be."

Arthur startled himself from memory lane as Leon stood.

"Then why do we not simply banish them, my lord? This is not their homeland, and I'm sure they would appreciate simply departing these shores with their lives and dignities intact."

Arthur, as rehearsed, nodded in approval. "That is a good suggestion, Sir Leon. There is no efficient way that we can figure whether any of them would have blindly followed Baldwin until the world came down around them, not anymore. With the passing of the werewolves, there is nothing left for them here."

"But, my lord," said Sir Ryan, a weasel-faced man whose prowess with the sword was greatly respected. "Is there not the Blackhand beast still out there? You say two of them are dead, but what of the third? Should we not pursue it?"

Arthur let his glace flicker up to Merlin, standing to the side, who remained skillfully impassive at the knight's question.

"Thanks to a few new allies, I have complete confidence that the beast has been dealt with," said the king. "You can be reassured that there are no more werewolves in Albion. Now, there is the manner as to how we are to help the families who lost loved ones to the beasts..."

Merlin witnessed the meeting of the Knights of the Round Table without really witnessing anything at all. His thoughts were too far gone, running over the memories of the past few days in his head.

He'd woken up in Mistwood, his wounds Healed to the best of the Druids' abilities, his heart flying with the knowledge that it was no longer burdened with the beast blood. His shoulder, the one that had been ravaged by Arthur, was still stiffer than normal and was unsightly with scars, not to mention the wound from the shard of silver that had been in his flesh for days still ached and revealed where it had entered his body.

Unconsciously, he reached up and felt the new necklace about his throat, the one made for him by Gwen. His own little piece of silver, always resting by his heart.

He never gave it much thought, how he'd been injured in the first place. He thought it might have been Baldwin, seeing as the man had bayed for his blood until the day he was torn to shreds by Rowan. But a Blackhand may have been just as responsible.

The warlock shook his head and stared off into the corner of the throne room. It mattered little, now. The Druids, when they found the Silver Heart, had also discovered the remains of Baldwin Silverblood and the Blackhand cult master in the woods. Personally, Merlin was relieved that Rowan had done all the messy work for them.

Vaguely, he heard Sir Ryan speak of the Blackhand beast still roaming Camelot's forests. At this, Merlin looked to his king, to see how he would answer. He wasn't surprised to see Arthur staring right back.

"Thanks to a few new allies," said the king, "I have complete confidence that the beast has been dealt with. You can be reassured that there are no more werewolves in Albion. Now..."

Merlin smiled, once more shutting off the meeting from his hearing. Dealt with, indeed. Through what Arthur said was true, he didn't know all of the...details. Rowan won't ever be a problem again...

Kilgharrah relished the sensation of wind beneath his wings as he soared high above the southwestern edge of the Darkling Woods, the sea of greens and ribbons of blue stretching on forever in every direction. If he flew but a hundred metres higher, he may yet see the ocean, but then he wouldn't be able to find his prey hunting in the trees below.

The Great Dragon had been watching one road in particular for hours, as it was where Rowan had been spotted last, according to Merlin. Spotted eating a small party of travellers.

As the sun descended to its bed in the eternal west, Kilgharrah slid onto a warm wind thermal and floated, letting the elements do all the work while he kept an eye on the ground. With a pang of forlornness, he noticed that his gaze wasn't as sharp as it used to be...

Wait, what was that?

The dragon blinked, snapping out of a trance he didn't know he'd fallen into as he gazed down at the road.

But he was disappointed. It was just a youth with a herd of goats making his way home for the night. Kilgharrah snorted smoke and made his rounds, flying east along the road and then west again as stars began to reveal themselves in the heavens. Twice he flew over the shepherd boy, who seemed to be dragging his feet.

His mother's probably worried sick for him...Maybe I should give him some...encouragement, Kilgharrah thought with an amused dragon-grin. He actually felt his wings begin to fold to do just that when another movement caught his eye, something shifting at the edge of the trees below.

The shepherd boy detected nothing at first, but he looked around when all of his goats began to bleat in terror, the sounds reaching Kilgharrah's keen ears above. Then the boy saw Rowan bounding towards him, and fled. He wouldn't stand a chance.

Here we go, Kilgharrah declared inwardly. He folded his wings and plunged.

The ground rushed towards him, and the Great Dragon roared a challenge at the puny werewolf below. For a moment, the beast cringed, halting in its pursuit of the shepherd boy, but then it howled in defiance and tore at the earth veraciously.

Stupid beast, Kilgharrah thought flatly just before he flared his wings and landed on it.

The resounding crash that succeeded the action knocked the shepherd boy from his feet, and he fawned on the ground as the dragon turned to look at him, notably wiping one massive paw on the grass to clean himself.

"Well, that takes care of that!" Kilgharrah boomed, before lifting into the air and soaring away on the wind.

As the meeting of the knights of the Round Table finally drew to a close, Arthur gave no indication that he wanted Merlin to follow him, and, relieved, the servant made his own way out of the throne room.

Almost mechanically, he detoured to his chambers and then drifted to the western battlements, now holding something in a satchel.

It was almost completely dark, now, the sun having set and most of the light pulsing from the city. Merlin placed himself equally between the torches that were braced on the crenellations at regular intervals, giving him the most furthest range of sight as he could. Had he been closer to either torch, his long-distance would have been hindered by the light.

"A nice night."

Merlin turned to see Gaius approaching, a small smile on his aged face. The warlock grinned in return.

"One of many I hope I get to enjoy, now that..." He gestured wordlessly with his arm. "It's all over."

"And much neater than I had come to expect," said Gaius, placing one hand on the battlements and looking over the city.

For a minute, there was silence. Then Merlin asked him, "So the people really believe that Arthur and his knights, with Gwen, Baldwin and Tiberius, all pursued the werewolves from the gates to the borders of Camelot?

The physician nodded. "That is the word of the streets. During my rounds today and the past few days, it was all my patients spoke of. Many asked of what I knew, seeing as you were my ward and Arthur's manservant. Of course, I encouraged the, ah, rumours."

"None of them even seemed to suspect that..." Merlin made sure no one was near. "We were the beasts?"

Gaius nodded. "Good thing, too. Ever heard anyone say, 'It's so ridiculous, it must be true?'"

Now Merlin shifted uncomfortably. "And what about that hunting party? Gwen said the hounds were slaughtered, along with some of the men, by the Blackhands."

Gaius nodded solemnly. "That part is true. It is why the people are demanding that the last small pockets of Blackhands be hunted down and executed. By the words of Jonathan Vane, the man you helped capture weeks ago when you were first infected, there are small bands of Blackhands scattered about all over Albion. That part is a bit more difficult to deal with."

Merlin's face was drawn with worry. "But...but they could tell everyone the truth! They—"

"No one trusts them, Merlin," said Gaius with dry humour. "Their actions to save themselves also condemned them. There is no proof. Not anymore."

The warlock relaxed somewhat. "And there's nothing they can do to save face. The werewolves are all gone, now."

"For our sakes, I hope so."

Merlin slowly opened his satchel, gently taking out an animal figurine.

"I'm not so sure I want to get rid of this," he said, looking down at the Silver Heart. "It's been so helpful, but...but..."

"It belongs here no more," finished Gaius sombrely, and Merlin nodded.

"I did promise to destroy it once the werewolves were vanquished."

"And have they?"

Merlin thought of himself and Arthur, both cured by the Heart after the beast blood tried to separate itself from them when in the presence of the Wild. He thought of Rowan, finally beaten by a creature older and bigger than himself. He thought of Hecate, how she had taken his curse into herself and became a beast of the wood for only a few short days before death claimed her at last.

The passing of the werewolves was the passing of a legend as old as mankind itself. Personally, Merlin couldn't be more relieved.

"Hecate never specified how to destroy it," he said, studying the Heart closely. "I thought maybe Excalibur might do the trick."

Gaius lifted one shoulder. "Perhaps. Then again, it may be more simple than that."

Merlin caught on quickly. "Might as well give it a try," he said, before tossing the Heart over the edge of the battlements.

It took several tense seconds, and the figurine was lost in the darkness as it fell to the cobbles far below. But Merlin didn't need to strain his hearing to detect the shattering of silver and whatever cynical material the Heart was made up of. Not that it mattered. In a thousand little pieces, it could do no harm to anyone.

Gaius lifted his eyebrow into its signature arch. "Messy, but effective."

"And oddly satisfying." Merlin felt like a burden the size of a castle had been finally and fully withdrawn from his care. The ominous, looming storm clouds of worry dissipated in a cool breeze. It was so refreshing, so relieving, that Merlin simply heaved a contented sigh and leaned on the crenellations again.

He felt Gaius' hand on his shoulder.

"You've done me proud, Merlin," he said. "I can't even begin to express...I thought for sure that, this time, Camelot would be without the man she needs most."

Merlin nodded. "Arthur has never quite been so close to death, I think. If he didn't die from his wounds, then he—"

Gaius was shaking his head. "I wasn't talking about Arthur, Merlin."

The servant stared.

"I was talking about you."

Merlin didn't know how to reply. So he didn't.

Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ

"Don't forget to wash that tunic, Merlin. I'll need it for the banquet next week."

"Sire, you told me that three times already. I did it yesterday."

"Oh. Right. That'll be all, then."

Merlin cocked an enquiring eyebrow at his king, who sat slightly slumped at the table of his chambers. His face was bland in the candlelight, his eyes focused on something in another plane. The food before him was untouched, an unusual occurrence – the king had a love for steak. Yet, for some reason, he seemed to like it a little more rare than usual...

"Are you all right, sire...? Sire...? Arthur!"

With a rather violent flinch, the king returned from his dream world and glanced up at him. "Have you done as you were told yet? By the gods, you can a sloth! It's late and you haven't even...even..." He glanced around, trying to find something Merlin hadn't done. Which was to say, nothing.

The warlock gave his master a worried look. "Arthur, I already told you. I did everything you asked. Look, even the tunic's been cleaned." He opened the wardrobe to prove it. Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"Are the buttons polished?"

Merlin sighed with exasperation and slammed the door shut. "Four times. And I even enhanced your belt for you."

Arthur frowned. "You what?"

"Never mind." Merlin moved closer to the table, leaning on the backrest of one of the chairs. "Is there something wrong?"

"Actually, yes there is. Oh, but what is it...?" The king pretended to search for something in the room. Then his gaze returned to the warlock, and he looked astonished. "Ah, yes. You're still here!"

Now Merlin definitely knew something wasn't right. The jibe was rude and uncalled for. Now, that was the usual characteristics of Arthur's barbs, but in this case...

Merlin made for the wine cabinet (a new instalment since Arthur's rise to kingship) and pulled out spirits old enough to drink its own spirits. He snatched up a reasonably large goblet, stormed back over to where the king sat and slammed it down in front of him. Before Arthur could protest, Merlin jerked out the cork and poured him a generous portion. The bottle nearly shattered as he slammed it down as well.

Yanking out a chair, he sat beside the king and glared at him.

"What's wrong?"

Arthur was staring right back, looking astounded as such insolence. It wasn't unusual for Merlin to be impudent, but the king was starting to indicate that the servant had finally overstepped the final boundaries.

He felt a trill of uneasiness in his chest as Arthur continued to stare, and showed no signs of relenting his inner turmoil. But then he sighed, one hand lifting to finger his mouth and chin. His submitting eyes moved to Merlin's left side.

"You used your left arm."

Merlin blinked.

"To pour this. You used your left arm."

"Oh, yes." Merlin rotated his left shoulder as best he could, stretching it. "It's loosened a bit."

"Does it still keep you awake?"

Again Merlin blinked, his turn to look slightly astonished. "How did you know—?"

"Gaius told me," Arthur interrupted, and his gaze flickered down to the table and then off into the distance. Merlin frowned. The king never avoided his gaze like that unless he was feeling guilty.

"...Arthur?" No answer. "What—is—wrong?"

The king still avoided his gaze, and instead he stared at the goblet sitting before him, untouched. "I never told you how you got that silver in your shoulder."

Merlin continued to frown. "A Blackhand speared me. Or Baldwin. What has this...?" He trailed off as Arthur stood, slowly, like an aching old man. He moved to stand by the bed and leaned on the curtain post, staring out into the darkness.

"That night...the Blackhands were just milling about in confusion. You...had Baldwin at your mercy. The knights were lost in the chaos. I...I was the only one who had a clear line of attack."

A weird twist spawning in his belly, Merlin stood up as well. He took a few tentative steps forward. "You mean, you...?"

Arthur nodded. "It was me. I didn't want to tell you, but..." His stance looked uncomfortable, with reason, as his servant stared at the back of his head.

The burning memory of the poisonous silver coursing through his veins was fresh and vivid, clear like it had happened that morning. Unconsciously, Merlin reached up to massage the offending shoulder, as he often did late into the night. He was aware of that silver shard, now resting cool on his chest beneath his shirt.

He shook his head, brow creased with worry. "Damn it, Arthur. First you drag me along to attack the Blackhands, then you shove me into the care of Silverbloods. You almost rip me to pieces, near bite my arm clean off, and then you spear me with silver! If you wanted me dead this badly, why does it have to be so dramatic?"

Arthur turned so quickly, the warlock flinched. A muscle jumped in the king's jaw as his eyes snapped to meet Merlin's, who held his tight look of anxious consternation for as long as he could. But then he could not hide the spreading grin behind his eyes. The king saw that grin, and his brow furrowed even as it lit up Merlin's entire face.

"Why, you little—"

He lunged at his recoiling servant, teeth bared, and wrapped an arm around his neck. He pulled him into a bow and proceeded to drive his knuckles into the warlock's skull veraciously.

"Ow! Arthur, knock it off!" Merlin squirmed incessantly, but could not break free. "Help!"

"I'll show you dramatic!"

Three bashes on the door to Arthur's chambers announced the arrival of two knights. Leon burst in first, Gwaine at his shoulder, just as Merlin made his move of self-defence.

There was the softest clinks of metal, the rustle of rubbing leather, and the king suddenly found his trousers hanging about his ankles. Needless to say, it was not a pleasant view for Merlin.

"My lord, we have found, uh...!" The knights froze, staring at what could only be the strangest of spectacles – Arthur with his arm around Merlin's neck, his trousers falling down past his knees, a bottle of strong spirits on the table.

Just the thing to ruin a king's reputation.

Arthur sputtered.

"Wha'...? Hey!"

The king shoved Merlin away and immediately yanked up his pants as Gwaine howled with unsuppressed hilarity.

"You had that one coming, your majesty!" he crowed, holding his sides. Arthur cursed at him so foully his own mother would have slapped him, but that only made him laugh all the harder.

Merlin was grinning like a shark that had just eaten its fill as he stood and dusted himself off – that is, until Arthur turned is thunderous gaze on him.

"You...enhanced my belt, did you?"

The warlock fawned. "It...it was just one hole shy of perfection!"

"Perfection!? I'll show you perfection!"

"I think you've shown me enough tonight, Arthur."

"ARG!"

It was a wonder that the table and chairs weren't sent flying as the warlock fled from the room at top speed, but it happened near enough.

"MERLIIIIIIIIN!"

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