Morgana could feel her heart racing as she strode along the corridor. She was still shivering, not yet recovered from the shock of the night air, and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
The draught didn't help.
The castle walls had always been draughty. And there was a time, though it now seemed so long ago, that Morgana had found their chill refreshing: like the crisp air of a Spring morning. But this time it felt different. The walls felt unsafe, as though the outside world could easily leak through and take the castle in its clutches, destroying it from the inside out and leaving behind nothing but crumbled stone and dust.
Morgana pushed the thought from her mind. Giving in to despair wouldn't help anyone. And, she reminded herself, she was the bringer of good news: all the villagers had made it into the castle. Most were unharmed, though obviously still in shock, and those with injuries were safe in the hands of Gaius and the team of helpers he'd managed to assemble.
But Gwen was still unaccounted for. Many of the servants who'd rushed to put out the flames had yet to return but, as Morgana forced herself to remember, many of the fires were still raging. Those who hadn't returned must still be busy. They had to be. She refused to believe the worst.
And then there was the other news. News which, as Morgana entered the final passage leading to the throne room, she was yet to decide how to take.
The dragon had reportedly vanished.
In one sense, that meant an end to the destruction, and hearing this lifted the fear from many hearts. But there was still a sense of foreboding. She'd seen the look in Leon's eyes when he'd delivered the news, and knew relief was far from his mind. Because if the dragon had disappeared, and following Merlin and Arthur no less, where exactly had they gone? What if they got hurt? What if—
Morgana stopped short.
The throne room door was closed. Completely shut firm. She stared at it. Something didn't feel right. Under normal circumstances she'd have just walked in, without pause, and announced her news but, for some reason, she found herself hesitating — hand hovering over the handle like a moth above a flame.
She heard voices.
Just two of them, it seemed, and they sounded on edge — not that that should be surprising, given the circumstances — but there was something else too. A sort of hostility, perhaps. But it was hard to tell. They were both so hushed.
Quietly, Morgana lowered her hand to the door handle. Then, in one quick movement, she turned it and, ever so slightly, pushed.
The door creaked.
She held her breath.
Nothing happened. In fact, the voices continued, utterly undisturbed. Feeling a little braver, she moved herself forward just enough so that she could see through the crack she'd made in the door.
There were two men stood in the throne room.
Most striking was Uther, decked in a golden crown and silver chain mail, sword at hand on the table beside him as he stood firm in front of the throne. Agravaine was much less impressive. He was messily dressed and pacing back and forth, dipping in and out of sight and encompassing Uther in a circle of footsteps: round and round and round.
"We must," the King continued, "locate the dragon."
Agravaine shook his head vigorously. "No, no, why do that? The beast is gone. You'd waste good men trying to take it down."
"Arthur could handle it, I'm sure."
"You'd send the Prince to his death!"
"I have every faith in him! You, on the other hand, are nothing but a coward."
Agravaine wheeled around. "Excuse me?"
"We have bigger problems at hand," Uther spat, stepping towards the door, "I do not wish to discuss this further."
"Oh? But I do."
"Well unfortunately for you, Lord Agravaine, you are not the King, and you do not give the orders."
Something of a smile crept onto the other man's lips. "Is that so?" He moved swiftly forward, almost gliding over the polished wooden floor, and stopping beside his brother-in-law. "Because I heard that the position had recently become available."
A frown flickered across Uther's face.
And then, as sudden as a lightning strike, Agravaine raised his hand, a dagger clutched tightly between his fingers, and plunged it downwards: straight into Uther's heart.
Morgana clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. She stood rigid. Her limbs had turned to ice and she could do nothing but watch.
"You see," Agravaine whispered, enjoying the way Uther clutched at his arm, "the people won't question the death of a King in a time like this. It was a tragedy, they'll say, he died trying to protect us. He died trying to put out the fires of the Great Dragon. He died in glory."
Uther tried to speak — to shout, for guards or for knights — but merely managed a small, strangled noise, that was followed by a spluttering of blood.
"And then," Agravaine continued, pulling the dagger free and watching as Uther's knees buckled beneath him, "they'll say, it's such a shame his son died too."
Uther's eyes widened, just slightly, as the last breath escaped from his lips. In that one, final moment he was able to grasp the true extent of Agravaine's betrayal as he kneeled, in agony, at his feet, knowing he could do nothing. Uther Pendragon, in his final moment, was utterly powerless.
And then he collapsed.
With no life left to hold him up, he fell on to his side, hitting the floor with a dull thud, and was surrounded by a growing pool of his own dark blood.
"Long live the King," Agravaine spat.
Morgana watched as he wiped the dagger clean and tucked it safely into his robes. And then, taking a few deep breaths, he seemed to change his whole demeanour: he let his shoulders droop, clutched at his chest as though he'd been gripped by a sudden panic, and let out a blood curdling scream for the guards.
Morgana stumbled backwards.
"Guards!" He screamed again. "Someone help! The King has fallen! Guards!"
There was a pause, when the words — and their very echoes — seemed to fall away into nothingness. All was silent. And then, somewhere near by, came the unmistakable chorus of footsteps and accompanying shouts.
Morgana had never run so fast in her life.
~~~
The clearing couldn't be far now. Arthur knew this part of the forest like the back of his hand; he'd practically been raised here, constantly going on hunting trips and outings with his Father — though the forest looked very different now, cloaked in darkness, than it did in the height of Summer. But that hardly mattered. Arthur could walk these paths in his sleep. He knew every twist, every turn, every—
He burst into the clearing.
And then, behind him, Merlin appeared too; both of them materialising from the tree line and hurriedly dismounting, almost flinging themselves from the horses in their desperation to be grounded.
For a moment, there was silence.
Arthur scanned the sky. It looked empty: nothing but darkness and scattered stars. He narrowed his eyes. There was something stirring. He felt it in the way the trees began to rustle, as though they'd picked up the beginnings of an evening wind that seemed to blow in no particular direction. In fact, Arthur realised, the trees seemed to be moving backwards, leaning away from the clearing in every direction, as if—
Arthur jumped as a great pair of wings blocked out the stars. The dragon was directly above them. It was above them and descending, flapping its wings with increasing violence as though it were trying to whip up whirlwind.
Merlin swore. The pages of his book were fluttering like a trapped butterfly. He could barely see enough to read them, let alone separate them for long enough to find what he needed. "Arthur—"
"What do you need?"
"Time."
The Prince nodded and drew his sword, just as the dragon settled itself in front of them. "Hey!" Arthur yelled, doing the very questionable thing of walking directly towards it, "we freed you!"
Kilgarrah glowered. "As I am well aware."
"Then why are you doing this? Why destroy Camelot? Don't you owe us something?"
"Owe you!" The dragon roared, "it was your Father, young Pendragon, who kept me caged for years. It was your Father who waged war on my species, on magic, and you believe yourself owed something?"
"I am not my Father! His crimes are not my own!"
"No, but you are every bit his son. I owe the bloodline of Uther Pendragon nothing: not obedience and certainly not peace."
"And what about me?" Merlin yelled, grasping tightly at the open book, "do I mean so little to you that you'd destroy the city I love? All your talk of guidance and destiny and friendship — how am I to trust any of it now? How am I supposed to trust you?"
"I never lied to you, young warlock. I never—"
"That's enough! I don't want to hear it, I don't—" taking a deep breath, Merlin focused his mind on the words in front of him. "You may not owe Arthur's bloodline anything, but mine is that of Dragon Lords, and you will obey me."
Kilgarrah looked almost taken aback.
"Dragorn," Merlin began, eyes already gold, "non didlkai. Kari miss, epsipass imalla krat. Katostar abore ceriss—" with each new word, the dragon's head began to droop, as though he were being lulled into a deep sleep, his rage slipping from his body like water off a roof, "—Katicur. Me ta sentende divoless. Kar... krisass."
The spell was sealed.
As the final word had fallen from Merlin's lips, the dragon's rage had subsided. And, more than that, Kilgarrah was forced to surrender himself to the warlock's will.
"You will leave this place," Merlin commanded, only dimly aware that he was still yelling, "fly far away and never return to Camelot unless I call for you. Otherwise, if you come back without my permission, I'll kill you myself. Do you understand?"
The dragon bowed his head.
"Go."
Kilgarrah rose up, his great wings spreading across the clearing and clipping the tops of the trees. "Good luck," he breathed, looking between the Prince and the warlock, "both of you. Destinies are troublesome things." And with that, he took off: soaring up into the sky until, once again, he'd become no more than a distant shadow in the moonlight.
"Good luck?" Arthur scowled, returning his sword to its sheath, "what's that supposed to mean?"
Merlin sighed. "I've no idea."
"Fat lot of use you are."
"Hey! I just fixed our dragon problem. What have you done?"
"Helped."
"Right," Merlin rolled his eyes, "of course."
"We should get back," Arthur reminded, massaging his shoulder, "there are still fires to put out."
"Yeah, and you need to see Gaius."
"Not my top priority."
"Yeah? Well it's mine. So shut up while I get the horses."
~~~
They'd dismounted as soon as they'd entered the village and now, approaching the open castle gates, the place seemed eerily quiet. The screams had subsided. The remaining voices were so distant that they seemed to exist in solitude: separated from their owners and floating through the empty streets.
A lot of the fires had been put out. At least, a lot of the larger ones, for the reds and oranges of the flames had been replaced with the dismal grey of the night. It made the place seem almost peaceful. And yet, Arthur couldn't help but feel like they were being watched; as though, like unsuspecting prey, something was stalking them from the shadows.
He stopped abruptly.
Something had moved by the gates.
Arthur was about to reach for his sword when something — someone — rushed out of the shadows and flung themselves at him, full force, into a hug. "Morgana," he smiled, "as glad as I am that you're safe, you're sort of crushing my shoulder."
She released him instantly. "Gods, I'm sorry, I just— it's such a relief to see you — and Merlin, of course," she threw him a shaky smile, "I'm just glad you're both safe."
The Prince laughed. "Come on, Morgana, don't you have any faith in us?"
"No— I mean, yes, but that's not it."
Something about her tone was unsettling.
"Arthur," she continued, "I don't know how to tell you this—"
The Prince tried to keep his voice level. He tried to keep calm. He tried. But his heart was already beating far too quickly, and all the blood that it tried to pump around his system just seemed to trickle out through his shoulder. "What?" he gritted his teeth and sucked in another breath, "what's happened?"
"Your Father's dead."
He stared at her. He must've misheard. Or misunderstood there— there was no way that— surely it wasn't—? He looked between Morgana and Merlin like he was missing some sort of sick joke. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. It was a mistake. There was no way—
"I was outside the throne room when I heard arguing and I managed to get the door open a crack and Agravaine— he, he just— he stabbed Uther — right through the heart — and I just froze, Arthur I'm so sorry I— there was nothing I could do. I had no idea what to do and then—" she forced in a breath, "and then Agravaine yelled for the guards and pretended it was all some sort of freak accident and I panicked. If I'd have walked straight in it would've been too suspicious — he would have known what I saw and— and I couldn't risk not getting to you because I heard him, Arthur, I heard— he wants the throne. He's desperate for it. And if he finds you, he'll kill you too!" She was crying now, tears streaming down her face as shock mixed with anger and tore at her heart. "I should have done something," she whispered, staring down at her shaking hands, "I should have—"
"No," Arthur whispered. "You were right not to risk yourself. Morgana, if I lost you too—" his voice cracked, and he gave way to the silence as though it were a wave: crashing over him and dragging him under. He could hardly breathe. His head was spinning and, for a moment, he thought he was going to be sick.
Merlin placed a gentle hand on the blond's arm. "Arthur," he said, softly, "are you—"
The Prince shook his head. "No," he hissed, clutching at the hilt of his sword. And then: "I'm going to kill him."
"No!" Morgana lowered her voice, "it's too dangerous. The guards have orders to find you and bring you to Agravaine, so he personally ensure your 'safe' return—"
"Good. Then he can face me like a warrior."
"You'll lose," she insisted, "look at you! You're covered in blood — you're badly injured and in shock. Facing Agravaine now would be suicide. You have to leave before he finds you."
Arthur swayed slightly. "What? Leave Camelot? Leave it in the hands of— of a murderer? Morgana, have you lost your mind?"
"She's right," Merlin soothed, "if we go now you can recover your strength and live to fight another day. Camelot needs its King — it needs you — but you're no use to it if you're dead."
Somewhere in the back of Arthur's mind, he was aware that it made sense. He wanted to fight — he wanted to march into Camelot and tear his Uncle to pieces, or lock him up and throw away the key — but he felt dizzy, and standing upright was getting difficult and his shoulder was sending waves of pain through his body and he was tired. He was so tired. And as much as he hated to admit it, as much as he felt he was betraying his Father and his entire kingdom, this wasn't a fight he could win. Not now.
"Go," Morgana urged, "before anyone sees you."
"What will happen to you?"
"I'll send word to the knights — and to Gwen and Gaius — and we'll find a way to protect the people and to contact you and we'll think of something. We'll have a plan, I promise. Until then, leave the horses here; when people see them wandering alone they may think you're both dead. Look," she continued, seeing the pained expression on Arthur's face, "it's not ideal, I know, but if Agravaine thinks you're dead — even for a short while — he won't come after you. He'll order the guards to search the forest, but they'll be looking for a body and they won't go too far. Not at first. It means you'll have more time."
"Alright," Arthur sighed, removing his hand from the hilt of his sword and leaning, ever so slightly, into Merlin's touch. "Alright. We'll go."
Stooping slightly, Merlin lifted Arthur's good arm around his own shoulder and then looped an arm around the Prince's waist. Travelling without the horses would be difficult at the best of times. But now, with Arthur injured and no real destination (expect the need to get away — far, far away, as far as possible), travelling on foot seemed an impossibility.
"You'll look after him?" Morgana whispered.
Merlin smiled. "Don't I always?"
"All the time."
"Oh, and Morgana?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry I couldn't be much more help to you with— well, you know," he let his eyes turn gold for a second, and then disappear back into their usual blue.
"It's alright. I still have Gaius — and Gwen, thank goodness. I lost her for a while earlier and—" she smiled, "it doesn't matter now. You two get to safety. The rest of us will be fine." Leaving them no time to reply or dawdle, Morgana gave them a quick nod, flung up the hood of her cloak, and then disappeared back into the shadows beyond the castle gates.
~~~
It was only some several hours later — high up in the forest with Camelot below them, in the distance, still glowing orange as the last of its fires were put out — that Merlin realised.
A great shadow in the sky, and Camelot in flames.
Morgana's vision had come true.