Author's Note: What does one say after an absence of many years? Sorry? I have to be honest. This chapter was super hard for me. I lost vision with this story and with my abilities as a writer, but I am beginning to find them again. Anyways, this is just one small part of more to come. I do plan on finishing this story. I hope you will all bare with me to the end. And to all those dear, dear readers who begged for me to continue even after years of radio silence, you are so appreciated. You gave me the drive to come back. Send me a shout about what you think. Love to hear it. XOXO

Amara had never been the type to question her place in things. She understood her abilities and the limitations on those abilities, perhaps better than anyone her age had a right to. More than that, Amara had been at peace with her place in the cosmic order of things for as long as she could remember. It was a teaching among the Druid community she had spent her early years with. To understand the balance of the world, that precarious push and pull of the mundane and magical forces of the earth, one had to understand their own place within it.

Of course, that was before she had ever met Arthur Pendragon. Before she had found herself on a quest to save a warlock of legend with the fate of a universe she thought she had understood on the line. Now, as she led the way in a grim procession of tense nerves and uncertainty, she had never been less sure of herself. She thought Arthur's plan had been crazy before, but now? After meeting the priestess, for the first time since she had fled for the deadly slopes of the mountains all those years ago, Amara felt truly hopeless.

It took everything she had not to turn around and demand they find another way. Some way. Any way but this because this was madness. She almost had. There had been a moment, brief but wild and enticing. She had turned around, the words already forming on her lips, but Arthur, as if sensing her concern, chose that moment to look up at her. It was the expression on his face that stopped her. Beneath the grief and the exhaustion, beneath the layers of grime and blood and sweat, was the most fierce determination she had ever seen on a man. It surprised her and, for a moment, she felt hopeful again.

Somehow, in the back of her head, she had imagined them getting to this moment, only to find that Arthur had made a different choice. In a way, she would have understood. It had become apparent to her that a king's duty was far more complex than she could have ever imagined. Arthur was going to be that king. He had a duty to his people and without a ruler they would fall prey to all sorts of monstrosities, the least of which being Morgana. It would have made sense, in a detached sort of way, to leave Merlin to his fate in order to rule another day. It was a calm, cold way of thinking and it made a heat of shame slither into Amara's belly, but it didn't change the truth of things.

Nor did it change the fact that Arthur had every reason to think that way. He had certainly been more open to magic and what his servant had been doing all these years than Amara had ever expected him to be, but to actually go through with this plan? To risk everything he was, everything he could be to save something that had been, until days previous, alien and hostile to him? Amara was not familiar with that type of madness, but it called to something within her. Some deeper connection to the world and her place within it was beginning to take root and no matter how insane things seemed to be, it wasn't for her to question. So she would take that next step as long as Arthur did. She was part of something so much larger now and although she was afraid, she would handle it.

Arthur was determined, so Amara was determined and suddenly she understood why Merlin was so hell bent on the prince becoming king. Arthur inspired loyalty and it had quickly become apparent to her that he sacrificed more for his kingdom and his subjects than anyone. For a man who seemed to have spent his whole life hiding from his "feelings", he led with his heart and was more in tune with his emotional intuition than he gave himself credit for.

Amara did not know what had taken place between Merlin and Arthur during her tense and terrifying visit to the Priestess, but something had changed in the prince. Arthur had looked almost angry, an expression that she had expected to remind her of Uther, but as Amara had come to find out...Arthur was not his father. Evidenced by their insane mission up this god forsaken peak.

Amara had wanted to ask him about it, but was afraid that opening a dialogue between them would lead to questions about the Priestess. Other than the few key points of information Amara had shared, Arthur had remained more or less mute on the subject. Whether this was because he was carrying a full sized man up a mountain or because talking about it would give voice to his own fears, Amara did not know, but she dreaded the moment he asked her about it. What would she say to him?

For that matter, what had she expected? Farina, as the Priestess had once been called, had known her mother once, but that had been many years ago. Amara herself would have been no older than a babe and certainly had no recollection of meeting her, but her mother had told stories of Farina. When she was beautiful and powerful and young. They had been kind stories, of love and magic and wonder. In her mind, Amara had believed that Farina surely couldn't have lost that spark within her. Not for good anyways.

Perhaps, if Amara could convince Farina that Arthur and Merlin were the answer to the bloody struggle they had been fighting for so many years, she would lay aside the hate in her heart and peace could be restored without sacrifice and without bloodshed. She knew the Priestess by reputation, but reputation had been wrong about Arthur. Perhaps it was wrong about Farina as well. But, any hopes of that storybook reconciliation went out of Amara's head the moment she had entered that cave. She hadn't been afraid for herself in that moment, not truly, but she should have been.

The hike up to Farina's cavern had been easy enough and it hadn't taken her more than an hour to make the journey from Arthur's campsite below to where their quest would end. She had tried to catch sight of her friends beneath her, but they were too far down the mountain side. Then, taking a deep breath, she had turned to face the mouth of the cave that would either be the beginning or the end to something terrible.

As she had stood outside Farina's cave, trying to think of how to actually announce her presence, Amara had found herself struck with horror. What if Farina had moved on? What if she wasn't in the cave at all and all this time, all this planning had been for nothing? How would she ever go back to Arthur, only to tell him that Merlin was as good as dead? They were out of time and out of options. If this plan failed there wouldn't be another.

"Hello?" she yelled out suddenly, frantic her sudden thoughts may be true. "Hello? Priestess Farina?"

Only silence greeted her and Amara's heart thudded in her chest. Please, she thought desperately. Please be here. You have to be here.

She tentatively took a step into the cave, her hands trailing down cool rock, but stopped, startled as her movement into the cavern seemed to take all light with it. She hadn't noticed the eery, inky blackness from outside, but now, being inside the cave walls she could tell that this was no mere lack of sunlight. This was magic, but it was wrong. Much like Coran's had been wrong. It may have been beautiful once, but now it was cloying and suffocating and full of hatred. Amara almost gagged on it.

"Hello?" she called again, her voice wavering slightly as fear began to pulse through her veins. "Please. I need-"

The words were choked off in her throat as quickly as she had opened her mouth to speak them. She could feel the magic slowly pressing inwards on her windpipe, a terrible phantom sensation that sent chills down her spine even as her body began to fight back against it's invisible oppressor. She lifted her hands to her throat, as if to fight Farina off, but there was nothing to fight. Amara had never been on this level with magic and no power she could call could ever hope to defeat something as old and powerful as the Old Religion.

"Stop," she choked out, falling to her knees. "Farina. I'm-"

The words were again cut off, but this time Amara could feel the strength of it growing. It felt like her head was going to explode. There was too much pressure. She couldn't think and darkness was beginning to eat at the edges of her vision. Amara collapsed to one side and knew that this was going to be where she died. She wasn't even going to be able to do what she had set out to do. Merlin would be dead. Arthur would be dead. And the world as she knew it would be over.

It was this more than anything that kept her fighting and she struggled to return to her knees, feeling power boiling inside of her, more than she had ever felt in her life and with that surge of magic came a surge of air. It almost caught her by surprise, but her body understood what it needed. Her lungs hitched and with that precious gulp of air, she was able to summon the strength to stand.

"I have Arthur Pendragon," Amara choked out, already feeling the magic tightening against her throat in warning of what was to come.

They had been the right words to say. The pressure instantly eased and the inky, oppressive blackness lightened slightly. Amara took a long moment to catch her breath, waiting for what would happen next. She tried to make out anything in the dim gloom, but she couldn't make out much.

"I have Arthur Pendragon," Amara said again, stronger this time. "And I want to make a deal."

Voices skittered out from the shadows and Amara's skin crawled. They were only whispers, mutterings that could not be discerned, but there was evil in them. There were things here that shouldn't be. Shadows. Spirits. Things from a world far darker and more primitive than her own. Whatever Farina her mother had known, this Priestess was no longer her and Amara needed to adapt to that or get them all killed. There would be no calling upon Farina's friendship with her mother. It had been foolish for her to think that she could.

"I know you're listening," Amara called out, braver than she felt. "I said I want to make deal."

"I am listening," a cool, feminine voice said suddenly, echoing around the chamber as if the Priestess were everywhere and nowhere all at once. "A deal requires something that I want."

Amara looked around for any sign of Farina, but there was nothing but murky shadows. The whispering continued and Amara's concentration was wavering. It was hard to think, but she felt the magic boil within her again and sudden strength surged through her. The whispers faded slightly and, for a moment, it felt like she wasn't alone in that cave.

"I do have something you want," Amara told the shadows. "I already told you. I have Arthur Pendragon."

"Show him to me then," Farina replied, stepping out of the shadows as if she were made of them herself.

She laughed when Amara took an alarmed step backwards, but came no closer. Only watched and waited. Amara took a deep breath and studied her. She was and was not what she had expected. Farina had been a great beauty and the echoes of that beauty remained though many of the features of her face had been worn down by time and hardship. Now, however, there was a feral, dangerous quality to her, a sharp curve to the edges of her mouth and eyes that seemed to speak of terrible things. She reminded Amara of the cold, heartless statues of the Fae that her mother had often taken her to see.

"You'll kill him," Amara said slowly, making sure to keep any affection that had grown between Arthur and herself from her voice. "I need something from you first."

"Poor, daft girl," Farina said softly. "What makes you think you make the rules here?"

Amara could feel the pressure again, the magic that had nearly suffocated her before. It was a warning, that she knew. It was soft now, but wouldn't be if she didn't play things right. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she thought of Merlin, dying below them and the destiny that was his to bring about.

"Because I won't just give you Arthur's life," Amara told her, ignoring the ache in her throat. "I'll give you his soul."

Farina's eyes narrowed and she took a threatening step towards Amara before her greed got the best of her and she stopped. There was anger, but curiousity and a hunger for blood won out. Arthur's blood. And perhaps Merlin's too if she weren't careful.

"A soul is not something you can give away," Farina hissed. "It has to be given up out of free will. You lie."

"I don't lie," Amara said quietly. "Arthur Pendragon is here and he is willing to give you what you his soul."

"And why would he be willing to do such a thing?" Farina asked, studying her like a child might study an insect.

Amara knew the answer to that question, but a flash of intuition told her that Farina would not understand Arthur's reasoning. That she was too far gone into darkness for her to understand love and the power of sacrifice. Somehow, for reasons she did not fully understand but accredited to this new, strange force of magic within her, Amara understood that Farina could not know of the friendship between prince and servant. It would be their undoing if she did.

"Uther demanded it," Amara said simply, relying on their mutual dislike of the current king of Camelot to work to her advantage. If Farina expected Uther to be as full of hatred and resentment as she was, than it was best to give the priestess what she expected. Farina would clearly sacrifice anyone in her way, why wouldn't Uther?

"Explain," Farina said coldly.

The whispers had started again, only louder this time, as if hell bent on drowning out her thoughts. Then, faster than before, the whispers faded from her ears with a rush of magic that she was beginning to suspect was not entirely her own. This time, in the surge of power, she had caught something familiar. Certainly something that should not have been there, but if she hadn't known better she would have sworn it was Merlin. It had been nothing more than a whisper, faint and weak, but it had called to the magic inside of her and her magic had answered. Whatever it had been, it was clear that what little strength it had been able to lend her would be the last/

"There is a man," Amara answered, trying to find the dim hope the magic had ignited in her. "He's dying. Uther requires you to heal him in and in exchange you will get Arthur."

"Madness," Farina scoffed. "Uther is many things, but a fool is not one of them. He would not give his heir up needlessly. Not to save a man, as you call him."

"This man holds the future of Camelot in his hands," Amara replied. Ryker had once told her that sometimes a lie was easier to get away with if one only bent the truth instead of rewriting it. She hoped he would be proud that she was channeling him in her hour of need.

"He is powerful?" Farina demanded, eyes glowing with what looked like hunger.

"No," Amara said quickly, again sensing that the priestess knowing about Merlin's power was not the way to go. "But his father is. This man was taken hostage by terrible men-"

"Uther," Farina hissed out, eyes narrowing into slits. "Or his brute of a son."

Amara should have expected the assumption. After all, she was attempting to be purposely vague on the wording of their ordeal so far and if Farina wanted to draw the conclusion that Uther was to blame for Merlin's plight, it shouldn't have bothered her. But, the vehemence of her accusation couldn't help but make her feel a pang of fear for Arthur.

"Out of revenge the father paid a great price and created a pact born from the Old Religion," Amara continued. "The life of this man and the prosperity of Camelot are now linked. If one dies, the other will soon follow. Uther will do anything to keep this from happening."

"He would sacrifice his son for this endeavor?" Farina asked calmly.

"It's what was demanded. The price of the blood that was spilt. Uther can always make another heir," Amara shrugged, hating herself for how callous she sounded even as the words slipped from her lips.

"And this boy goes willingly to his death?" Farina whispered coldy. "Why?"

"Death awaits him either way," Amara said, bending the truth again. "The blood price must be paid. He's simply making his own stand and ensuring his kingdom doesn't fall with him."

"Noble efforts of a foolish man," Farina mocked, twisting a dark, matted curl around one pointed finger. "This dying man. Does he have a name?"

Amara floundered for a moment. This was not a question she was prepared for, but she should have been. She certainly couldn't use Merlin's real name. What if the priestess had somehow heard of Arthur and his servant? What if she recognized it? Her whole story would fall apart. Nor could she use his Druid name. Emrys. There was no doubt that the priestess would have heard that name.

"Castor," Amara blurted, remembering the fake name she had given Arthur when their plan had been far more simple. "His name is Castor. I do not expect you to know him."

"Come now," Farina purred, her voice dangerously soft. "A man whose father has the power to link all of Camelot to his son's life must be powerful indeed. Surely I would have heard of him."

"I told you," Amara said, breath hitching. "He paid a great price for this magic. That is all I know."

Farina was quiet for a long, tense moment. Her expression was cold and unreadable. Amara didn't like it, but stood in silence. The woman was clearly thinking and Amara wasn't going to make things worse by interrupting her.

"Does he know?" Farina asked suddenly. "Does he know what he's giving up?"

"I don't," Amara began, but the priestess raised a hand and the words cut off.

"Does he understand?" Farina repeated. "The prince. He's giving up his soul to me, dying the only true death one can ever have. Does he understand this price?"

"He understands," Amara told her firmly.

The priestess stepped forward suddenly, almost seeming to fly at her, and her jaw was pinched brutally between her fingers. Amara tried to step back and away, but the woman's vice like grip was too strong. Tears pooled in her eyes but she blinked them away.

"If you lie to me," Farina hissed at her. "I will peel the flesh from your bones, girl. Do you understand?"

"I'm not lying," Amara snapped back, finally yanking out of the woman's grip. "Do you want to make the deal or not?"

"Bring him to me," Farina smiled. "Bring them both to me. Then I will decide."

"Arthur will not allow you to destroy his soul without healing this man," Amara reminded her. "That's the deal."

"I hear your terms," Farina laughed coldly. "Bring them."

"But," Amara began. "You have to agree to it before-"

"I will not repeat myself again," Farina whispered, fading back into the shadows she had come from. "Leave now, girl, and deliver my verdict. Or I may be less inclined to hear more upon your return."

Amara had cursed inwardly and battled within herself on whether to stay or leave. In the end, she had backed out of the cave, never keeping her eyes off the increasing darkness. It wasn't until her feet hit sunlight that she even realized she had made it out in one piece. What else could she do? It was the only guarantee she was going to get and with time being what it was, it was doubtful they were going to get anything better.

The walk back down to Arthur had been the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. She would see this through because she couldn't find it in herself to do anything else, but she felt empty. She was sure that Merlin had been with her in the cave, somehow. It didn't make sense but the more she thought on it the more she felt she was right. This should have encouraged her, but instead her heart thudded with fear. It had been so weak at the end. Nothing more than a push. If that was Merlin, how much longer did he have?

On the same token, was Amara prepared to watch Arthur sacrifice himself like this? There was no doubt in her mind that she would be forced to participate in some way. What would she have to do and what part of herself would she sacrifice to do it? For that matter, what would Arthur sacrifice? If he gave himself up to the void, would he be the same? She doubted there would be much pain for the prince. Luck was on his side in some ways, she supposed. Power such as this required ritual. A specific order and way of doing things. Torture for the sake of torture was not something that fit into practiced spellcraft. Pain was not a price magic had ever asked for or needed. Blood was the sacrifice. The ingredient that mattered most. It would be Arthur's blood she would take. Quick. Ruthless. Efficient.

Amara wanted to be sick. Farina was not just a creature twisted by hatred, although of that there was plenty. She was also completely sure that she was doing was the right thing. Morgana, at least, knew what she had become, but Farina seemed unaware that her anger had twisted her magic into something far different than what it should have been. There would be no hesitation in Arthur's demise. Arthur, no matter what choices he made from this moment on, would not leave the mountain alive. One way or another, the prince was going to die and while Amara knew that she and Arthur would never be close, the thought of her never seeing him again filled her with dread.

They had left their ledge immediately upon her return and other than a few terse words between them, there had been no sound but cold wind and Merlin's labored breathing. She had been thinking of what the priestess had said and whether she should warn Arthur of how dire things may get. They were getting close now. Amara could almost feel the greasy, oily magic of the cave above her. If she didn't warn him now, she never could.

"Arthur," Amara said, placing a bracing hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Stop for a moment."

"You said it was close," Arthur panted, adjusting Merlin on his shoulders. "We keep moving. It's almost over now."

His gaze never softened. He was as determined as ever to see this thing through.

"The priestess," Amara began, but stopped when Arthur shook his head softly.

"Don't," Arthur told her gently. "Don't tell me anything."

"I don't understand," Amara argued. "Why won't you just let me-"

"I'm afraid," Arthur said simply, looking away from her and focusing on the ledges above them. "I don't...I'm out of my depth, Amara. Please don't give me any reason to give into that fear."

"What happened when I left?" Amara asked gently, allowing Arthur his dignity by choosing not to comment on his admission.

"I spoke to Merlin," Arthur said with a brief grimace.

"He woke up?" Amara asked, surprised.

"If you can call it that," Arthur replied cryptically. Amara cast him a confused glance, but the prince shook his head in exhaustion. "I don't even know how to explain it. He wasn't himself."

"He's going to keep fighting," Amara told him.

"Perhaps," Arthur murmured, looking back at his friend's head lolled against his shoulder. "For now, I'll just have to fight for him."

"I think he was with me," Amara said, as much for herself as for Arthur. "In the cave, I mean. I think, somehow, he was there. He helped me."

"That's Merlin," Arthur replied with a cryptic smile. "Always everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. He's making it out of this, Amara. I've come too far now. It's time to finish this."

There was that determination again. It was raw and unbridled. This was a man who could accomplish great things with that determination, create cities, wage wars. Instead he was here, with the odds stacked against him, trying to save a man at all costs. If Amara couldn't draw hope from such a man who could she draw hope from? And, if the familiar spark of magic that had settled in her chest as they drew closer to their end game was any indication, Merlin had not given up hope either.