A/N: This is not a chapter continuing the story; this is the alternative Chapter 30, which some people expressed interest in seeing.

Morgana heard the frantic footfalls before she saw Merlin slip into the throne room. He had never looked her way, too intent on his destination to think of anything else. But she had seen what he had with him: Emrys's staff. The one she'd left in Aithusa's care.

Emrys had tamed the beast, and now she saw nothing wrong with betraying the one who had been her companion these past two years.

Morgana quickened her steps. Perhaps Gwaine and Arthur had thought they would hide Emrys in the throne room, that she wouldn't again search where she had already looked. And Merlin had been sent to fetch the one thing Morgana was sure would help. Emrys must have told him where to look, must have told him what to say to sooth Aithusa.

He clearly must be more coherent than Morgana had hoped.

The doors weren't tightly shut, and Morgana paused just outside of them, listening. She had expected to hear Merlin. She'd expected to hear Emrys, Arthur, or Gwaine. She hadn't expected to hear Mordred.

"Just tell me why. That's all I ask."

"It's complicated." Merlin's voice, spouting the expected excuses for whatever he—or perhaps Emrys, if Merlin was speaking for him—had done to wrong Mordred.

"How can it be complicated? I just…. What had I done to make you—?" The frustration in Mordred's voice was clear. "You betrayed me."

"You don't understand." Merlin's voice was pleading. "I didn't have a choice."

Merlin was no different from Emrys. And if he was going to continue to help the old sorcerer, Morgana didn't need to listen to Merlin's pathetic excuses. She began whispering her spell even before she slipped into the throne room. Mordred spotted her instantly, his widening eyes giving Merlin the only warning he had.

By the time Merlin turned to face her, Morgana had already sent off a blast of fire in his direction. Before he had time to even think about conjuring a shield and blocking its path, she sent him flying and effectively separated him from Emrys's staff.

She'd underestimated Merlin in the past; she didn't want him to have any help it might give him.

Morgana picked the staff up, feeling its power reacting to hers and pulsing beneath her fingertips. She should never have let it out of her sight. "Mordred," she asked, though she kept her eyes fixed on Merlin, "with whom do you stand?"

Mordred didn't answer her.

Merlin scrambled to his feet. He looked more tired than she felt, but she supposed if he had been running after Emrys all this time, he had reason to be. "I didn't have a choice," he whispered. He was staring at her, not Mordred, but she wondered if his words were for both of them.

He'd wronged her, after all. He'd tried to kill her.

It was beyond time she repaid the favour.

Morgana's grip tightened on the staff. "You always have choices, Merlin. You just make the wrong ones." At her word, lightning arced from the staff.

To her surprise, Merlin was quick. He threw up a hand and the lightning split against his shield. She hadn't thought he could conjure anything so strong. When he dropped his hand, however, his exhaustion was written even more clearly across his face.

"Morgana, please."

He was pleading. How pathetic. But clearly he didn't have the strength to fight her or he'd at least put on a better show.

"You're no better than Emrys, Merlin, when you do his bidding blindly." Morgana turned her head. "Mordred? Have you chosen?"

Mordred looked like the boy he was, torn and terrified. She'd wanted support in this fight, but looking at him now, she wasn't sure he could give it even if he was willing. He was in over his head. "I…." Mordred shook his head. "This is not my fight, my lady." He stepped back, and she trusted him only enough to be confident that he would not attack her.

She wanted to trust him more, but she could not when he would not even make his allegiance known.

"You have to stop, Morgana." Merlin again, his voice cracking on her name. "This doesn't have to end now."

"Doesn't it?" Morgana sneered. "It must end sometime, and I'll gain nothing from waiting."

"I'll fight you, if you don't stop."

Morgana smirked at the boast. "You haven't the strength."

Rather than backing down, Merlin's face hardened. She should have expected no less from him, given what she knew he had faced in the past. "You don't know how much strength I have."

"You hardly have the strength to stand," Morgana shot back. "Ástríce!"

"Sclidan." Shield spell after shield spell. He was not living up to his word if he was only going to defend himself, but she supposed she could be impressed that he could still conjure one in his pitiful state. "Morgana, I don't want to fight you. Don't make me."

Morgana snorted. "You're little better than a child, Merlin. I am not making you do anything. You simply don't want to fight me because you know you'll lose."

Merlin shook his head. "You don't know what I can do."

"Morgana." Mordred spoke her name very quietly, but she had no trouble hearing him. She also didn't miss the flash of fear to cross Merlin's face, and she knew Mordred had information Merlin wanted to keep from her.

Quite possibly, Emrys's location.

"Listen to him," Mordred said softly. "He's right. This doesn't need to become a fight."

"It's already a war," Morgana snapped. "You should know that, Mordred. Your people are caught in the middle of it."

"Only if you make sure to keep us there," Mordred pointed out.

"This war's been raging since before you were born. The slaughter began the moment Uther sought to rid Camelot of magic. I just want to finish it."

"By killing more people?" Merlin accused. "That's what you're doing, Morgana. That's what you've done!"

"And Emrys is better, is he?" Morgana scoffed.

Merlin blanched. "He…he tries to do the right thing," Merlin argued weakly. "He's only trying to help!"

"To help," Morgana repeated. "To help kill. To help extend the slaughter. To help destroy the few remaining traces of magic that survived Uther's purge. Is that your idea of helping, Merlin? You are the only person with magic he has helped. He abandoned the rest of us!"

Merlin shook his head, his lips already forming his denial, but Morgana ignored him. He wouldn't still be trying to get her to talk if he thought he could win a fight, and she tired of indulging him. If Emrys wasn't here, she would find out where he was. And if Merlin wouldn't tell her, then perhaps Emrys would have enough sympathy to save his lackey from certain death.

Assuming the old sorcerer was even well enough to scry, which she rather doubted.

"Ligfyr," she called, and flames sprang up from the stone at her command.

Merlin glowered at her from behind the wall of fire. "Færblæd wawe," he commanded, his eyes burning brighter than she had expected them to as the wind rushed through the room and swept her spell away. The gold hue faded from Merlin's eyes, and he said, with the steel still in his voice, "You must stop, Morgana, or you won't give me a choice."

Morgana opened her mouth to retort, but a clatter at the doorway caught their attention and they all turned as Arthur and Gwaine stumbled into the room. The fools both wore swords, and Morgana smirked. They could do so little once she disarmed them. "Fleorge seax forþ."

Arthur and Gwaine still looked startled as their swords flew to her. She cradled the staff in one arm and caught both swords easily. The knight and her brother were as unprepared for this fight as Merlin was. The only one who had yet to show was Emrys. He must have been stronger than she'd given him credit for, however. Though he hadn't shown his face again, she did not doubt now that he was alive. Arthur and Gwaine would not both have left him unattended, and with Merlin already here, it was unlikely there was anyone else Arthur trusted enough for the job.

He was a sorcerer, after all, and Uther's legacy remained in place.

Morgana spared a few precious seconds to assess the situation before turning and tossing Arthur's sword to Mordred. The boy was clearly startled, but his reflexes were commendable and he caught its hilt easily—without the aid of magic, a feat she wasn't sure too many of Arthur's knights could even pull off. Throwing Mordred the better sword was a risk, but already he had confirmed her suspicion that he had skill with a blade, and she believed her show of good faith would be repaid.

Mordred never had wanted to work against her, unlike everyone else who stood in this room.

"Choose your side," Morgana directed. "If you don't stand with me, you stand against me." And if he made the wrong decision, she was still confident that she was the best swordsman in the room, however out of practise she was. Arthur had always fallen to her blade, despite his insistences, and he'd always practised more than she.

"I can't," Mordred said. "I don't want to fight any of you."

He was just a terrified boy, little better than the child he had been when she'd first met him. Morgana set her jaw. She held the staff in her left hand, Gwaine's sword in her right, and she had to mentally remind herself not to tighten her grip on either to the point where it would be detrimental. "I cannot afford any weakness," she reminded him. She wasted no more time before beginning her attack.

"Why aren't you helping him?" Arthur demanded when Merlin didn't move.

Merlin opened his mouth, but he couldn't say the words Arthur wanted to hear. In truth, there was a small part of him that didn't want to help at all. Mordred was doing a fair job of parrying Morgana's strikes, but she was forcing him into a corner; he'd have to go on the offensive soon. And as long as they were fighting each other, they weren't standing united.

And if one fatally injured the other, that would be one less person he might have to kill.

Because Morgana was right, even though he didn't like to hear it. He had killed. And he'd turned his back on both her and Mordred, even if she was wrong in thinking he had abandoned everyone who had magic.

But it was a rare thing indeed for him not to have to fight them, and rarer still that those magic users walked away as friends like Gilli had instead of turning their twisted gifts against Camelot to the point where he hadn't had a choice but to kill them to preserve the future.

He didn't want to keep doing that.

He didn't want Morgana to be right.

"Mordred's holding her off," Merlin said uncertainly. He knew he should help; a large part of him still wanted to, but…. But he didn't want to hasten the future, didn't want to do anything that would help see the prophecies come true, didn't want to live with the knowledge that Arthur was going to die because he'd helped Mordred now.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I know you must have suspicions about him, Merlin, but he's just a boy. And he came to help."

"He came for answers," Merlin corrected softly, "and he didn't even get proper ones."

Merlin wasn't sure whether Arthur ignored him or didn't hear him in the first place, but the king caught Gwaine's eye and jerked his head toward the fight. Gwaine raised his eyebrows but reached down to pull out the dagger he had strapped to his calf. Arthur reached for it, and Merlin—who had visions of this ending badly—moved to stop him.

"Merlin," Arthur said, the annoyance clear in his voice, "just because you are content to leave the boy to fend for himself, it doesn't mean I am. He's up against Morgana."

"Mordred has magic," Merlin argued.

"And Morgana is keeping him too winded to use it."

"Not all spells are verbal. If he wanted to fight her with magic, he could."

"Then why isn't he?" Arthur asked, exasperated. "Because she has that staff? Or because this isn't his fight and he doesn't want any part of it?"

Gwaine was frowning at the two of them. "Merlin, what aren't you telling us?"

"Nothing," Merlin insisted.

Arthur snorted. "That's about as believable as you being off collecting herbs when you disappear for the entire day."

"We know you better than this," Gwaine put in pointedly. "What do you have against him? Why don't you want to help?"

"It's complicated," Merlin hedged. "A long story we don't have time for. Just trust me, please."

"You're being an idiot," Arthur said bluntly, but he knew better than to keep arguing and didn't press the point.

He didn't know enough to walk away from the fight, because he headed into the midst of it to try to help Mordred.

"Dollophead," Merlin muttered, wishing he had more energy. There was a small part of him tempted to get Arthur out of here the way he had the last time Morgana had attacked, but he knew that would just make everything worse, in the end.

He was willing to sacrifice his secret now, if he had to. At the rate things were going, Morgana was going to find out sooner or later.

And though Merlin wasn't comfortable with the idea, he might need to trust Mordred to make sure Arthur made it out of this alive. If he wasn't going to listen, and Merlin couldn't make him listen, then Merlin didn't have very many options. Gwaine might readily agree to bodily dragging Arthur away, but Merlin knew how difficult it would be to actually stop him from coming back.

Merlin wasn't really sure that Arthur trusted Mordred, but he was at least willing to believe what Mordred said and clearly figured that anyone who wasn't working with Morgana now didn't deserve to be targeted by her for just that reason.

But Arthur didn't know what Merlin did, didn't know that Morgana and Mordred would work together if he couldn't stop them….

"You're not just going to stand there, are you?" Gwaine asked, the disbelief clear in his voice. "I saw what you went through," he added, lowering his voice, "but I've seen you go through a lot, and I can't remember the last time I saw you look that lost."

Merlin blinked and realized Gwaine had managed to rip one of the tapestries off the nearest wall and was now carrying the bundle of heavy cloth in his arms. "What are you—?"

"I need some weapon, don't I?" He nodded toward the fight, where Morgana still seemed to have the upper hand, despite having to ward off both Mordred and Arthur.

But that was quite likely because Mordred wasn't really fighting. He was just defending himself. Because he didn't want to be part of this.

Merlin wanted to scream, because he already was part of this. He'd been part of it since he'd first befriended Morgana. And it was all Merlin's fault, because he'd introduced them. He'd started this.

Merlin closed his eyes for a second to compose himself. "You're right," he acknowledged. "It's just…been a long couple of days." But that was just another excuse rolling off his tongue. Merlin could recognize them more easily now. Lying to himself had gotten harder, especially now that he wasn't lying to the others anymore.

"I trust you, Merlin. Arthur and I both do, even if he doesn't show it. Now come on." Gwaine gave him his usual carefree grin, one Merlin hadn't seen for a few days. "Let's make sure the prat doesn't get himself killed."

Merlin swallowed. "Right," he managed. He tried not to think about that being, quite seriously, precisely what they needed to do. Arthur put himself in many dangerous, potentially lethal situations. Merlin was getting rather used to that. But with Mordred and Morgana both here, it all felt so much worse.

"How good are you at targeting your spells?" Gwaine asked in a low voice as they began their slow, roundabout approach. "Can you make sure you don't hit Arthur by mistake?"

"Probably not," Merlin muttered. He didn't know what spell Morgana had used earlier to freeze Gwaine in place—that one would be very useful right now—and for the most part, his offensive spells either required him to hurl them in the approximate direction of his target or they covered a large area. Neither was exactly ideal. "I'm not even sure I can properly shield Arthur if he keeps moving. If he'd just stay behind me…."

Gwaine snorted. "I'm not even planning on staying behind you."

"You should, though. This isn't your fight."

"From what Mordred says, it's not his, either."

Merlin sighed. "Give me the tapestry. You won't be able to dodge anything if you're lugging that around."

Gwaine looked at him doubtfully but handed it over. "And what am I supposed to use?"

Merlin fumbled with the tapestry for a moment before giving up and using a spell to slice the fabric at its top. He handed the newly-freed rod to Gwaine. "Use this."

Gwaine was still giving him a searching look. "How much is this taking out of you, Merlin? How much are you pretending?"

"I'm fine," Merlin insisted. "Let's go." He turned his attention to the fight, and Gwaine didn't push it.

Mordred was fighting well—about as well as Arthur, surprisingly enough. Morgana's movements made it clear that she was toying with them both, though. Arthur was forcing her to fight well, not giving her room to make mistakes that she may have been able to had she been fighting Mordred alone, but with only Gwaine's dagger, Arthur had the disadvantage. He had to dance out of the way of Morgana's blade when he ordinarily would have blocked her strikes. He was less comfortable with this style of fighting, and Morgana knew it.

But that didn't mean Arthur was fighting poorly by any means. Since Morgana had kept her hold on Merlin's staff, her movements were inhibited, too. She couldn't move as easily or as quickly—which was why Merlin wasn't entirely surprised to see that she was supplementing her fighting style with the occasional burst of magic to try to push Arthur out of the way while she dealt with Mordred or vice versa.

And then Merlin saw the crystal atop the staff pulse, and he felt the swell of magic, and he knew that whatever Morgana was planning now was more significant than anything she had done so far.

Gwaine, who had not stopped advancing when Merlin had, stepped forward and entered the fight, trying to catch Morgana by surprise.

He did.

Mostly.

But a rod was not a sword, and though Morgana crumpled when he swept at her feet, it wasn't enough. Or perhaps it had been too late; Merlin wasn't really sure. All he knew was that at the same moment Morgana hit the floor, blinding light burst from the staff.

When the white faded, darkness replaced it. Not the darkness of before or even the black that descended when the torches were all extinguished. They were extinguished—Merlin had no doubt about that—but this was different. This was a blackness that belonged in the blackest of places, those that never saw light. It reminded Merlin of the times he had explored the caves near Ealdor—and how he had tried, once or twice, to see if he could find his way back out from their heart without magic lighting his way.

There was a slither of steel on steel, a bewildered cry and a hiss of pain. Morgana clearly intended to continue the fight. There was another clang, then another, and an awful thud, all in quick succession. He suspected she was still incanting spells—silently or under her breath, no doubt, with her eyes closed—and from the lack of light, he suspected she was managing to keep Mordred from casting any spells of his own to end this darkness. Or perhaps Mordred had taken advantage of the distraction and run, though Merlin rather doubted that. This darkness of Morgana's was disorienting. The only way they would be able to fight would be to listen for her strike or to strike where they thought she now stood.

Merlin threw the tapestry to the floor—he hadn't figured out a good spell to animate it and make it wrap itself around Morgana anyway—and shouted, "Forbærne!"

The cloth burst into flames.

It cast an eerie light on the scene, and Merlin wanted to be sick. Morgana had never gotten to her feet; she'd merely begun controlling her sword and had allowed it to do the fighting for her. Mordred was wounded, a jagged cut on his sword arm that forced him to keep his other hand pressed to the gash. It did little to stop the bleeding. His eyes, Merlin saw in an instant, were also closed—though open eyes in that blackness would have done more harm than good anyway—and his lips were moving. He was, no doubt, uttering healing spells that Merlin really ought to learn to perfection.

But Gwaine was on the floor, blood seeping from the side of his head, and Merlin really hoped it wasn't as bad as it looked. Head wounds bled a lot. He knew that.

He also knew how much blood a person could stand to lose, and the flow wasn't stemming.

And that's when Merlin realized that Mordred's sword bore traces of blood as well.

Clang.

Morgana's sword dipped to defend her as Arthur, a grim expression on his face, surged forward in the attack. Merlin's relief that he wasn't hurt was palatable, and he began to creep forward to check on Gwaine without taking his eyes off the fight. When he reached the knight, Merlin immediately started to heal him, hoping to at least coax the wound closed. His probing fingers told him it wasn't as bad as it could have been. The gash wasn't very deep. Gwaine would need rest, but he would live.

Morgana was still ignoring Merlin in favour of concentrating on the fight and maintaining her spells; she didn't know the truth, didn't think he had enough magic to be a threat, and perhaps rightly assumed that he didn't want to cast any spells that might catch Arthur as well. Mordred was pale, but his own healing spells had worked well enough that he could wield his sword without difficulty, even though he must still be in pain. As Merlin watched, Mordred's face hardened into a mask of determination, and he began to attack as well. Morgana's sword was quick, but one sword could not easily defend assaults from two fronts.

And then it all went wrong.

It didn't seem that way at first. Arthur and Mordred were both converging on Morgana, who had scrambled to her feet in an effort to keep out of range. She still held the staff, but Merlin wasn't sure how much strength she had left in her. She wasn't used to channelling her magic through such a route—to be fair, neither was he, but he had done it before to great effect much more often than she—and he suspected her earlier spell had taken more out of her than she'd anticipated, even with the help of the staff.

It was perhaps because of the staff that the darkness wasn't yet abating, despite the light cast by his fire, which seemed to be swallowed up farther on.

Couple that drain on her magic with the current spell to control the sword, and she must feel nearly as exhausted as he.

But as Mordred and Arthur moved to strike together, Morgana dodged forward, abandoning the staff and rolling beneath her own spelled blade, and….

Arthur and Mordred both tried to adjust, and both managed to turn their blades to follow her path, but both equally had trouble fighting the momentum, and Mordred's inexperience showed, and….

Merlin tried to scream, but the words were stuck in his throat. Death stopped destinies from being fulfilled, and Kilgharrah had told him long ago that he should kill Morgana, that he should kill Mordred. He'd never been able to do it.

And now the price for his failure had been paid.

Morgana's laughter rang in Merlin's ears as he surged forward, too late to catch Arthur. Mordred looked shocked, staring at the red stain glistening on his blade as if he couldn't quite comprehend what had happened, what Morgana had tricked him into doing. It was not the alliance Merlin had imagined when he'd first learned of it, but it was an alliance nonetheless. Mordred had done Morgana's bidding. He had…he had….

He couldn't have. But healing spells had never been Merlin's strong point, and he'd faced death too many times to be able to comfort himself with a lie now. He could feel the ineffectiveness of the spells he was uttering, so different from when he had been bent over Gwaine moments before. He'd need the Cup of Life to bring Arthur back, and he didn't have that. Even if he was more than willing to give his own life for Arthur's because it wasn't supposed to be like this, not when there was still so much to be done….

"Arthur," Merlin croaked, giving him a small shake. "Arthur, you clotpole. You have to get up. You…you're going to…." Merlin swallowed. "It'll take me all day to get the stain out of that shirt if you don't…." But his throat closed up on his words, and he couldn't choke them out when he knew Arthur couldn't hear him.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Merlin was dimly aware of the clatter of steel on stone, and within moments a stricken Mordred had joined him. Merlin hadn't the strength to push him away, to be angry for what had been inevitable. He wanted to be. Oh, how he wanted to be! But when he looked at Mordred, all he could see was the scared young boy who had lost his father, who was being hunted by Uther's guards, who was caught in circumstances that had spiralled out of control all too quickly.

"I didn't mean to do this," he whispered urgently, eyes raking Arthur's body to assess the situation. He ignored his own wound and pressed his hands to Arthur's instead. "Ge hailige," he began in earnest. "Þurhhæle dolgbenn. Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare. Ic hæle þina þrowunga. Wel cene hole; gestepe hole, þurhhæle. Licsar ge staðol nu!"

Heal. The command rang in the spells, many of them the same ones Merlin had tried. But it wasn't enough.

The spells could heal the flesh, seal the wound, but the damage had already been done by the blade forged in dragon's fire.

It was too late.

The end had long been written when the prophecies were first divined, the destinies defined.

"The time of Once has passed," Mordred murmured, finally accepting what Merlin already knew, what he couldn't deny no matter how much he wished it.

Arthur was gone.