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Chapter Text

Ghosts of Gorlois

Cardiff Castle
Samhain/All Hallows Eve
The Present

“All shall bow before the true ruler of Albion, and know that the hour of Gorlois is at hand!” the sorceress called out, her eyes blazing gold fire as she held aloft the jewel encrusted staff of her ancestress. Winds blew from behind her, blowing the artifacts adorning the great hall aside, and her ghostly army marched forward.

“You have no right to the throne of Albion, nor the right to destroy that child you've possessed for your petty vengeance,” Cassandra shouted back, raising her arms to shield her friends.

The sorceress’s eyes narrowed and her face contorted into a sneer of disdain. “And who are you witch, to dare oppose me?” she asked, conjuring a ball of blue fire in her hand.

“One who has seen the sun set on more kingdoms then you will ever fathom, and endured more heartache then you can ever know,” Cassandra replied trying not to flinch as blasts of blue fire began to hit her shield. Glancing to her left, she saw that Methos had returned, his Ivanhoe drawn and ready. “MacLeod?” she asked in a whisper.

“Bringing the once and present heir to put an end to this nonsense,” he answered her query before slicing through the first line of ghosts. Jack, who’s trusty Webley was having little to no affect, decided to grab a sword from one of the broken display cases and try Methos’ method. To his chagrin, his sword simply cut them in half until they reformed and resumed their attack. Methos rolled his eyes and touched their sword tips together, saying the words that he had been taught to pass on the enchantment.

“Get to it Harkness,” he said, clanging their swords together before rejoining the fray. Jack swung the sword round with a grin before stepping out from Cassandra’s shield and attacking the ghosts with gusto.

“No! No! This shouldn’t be happening,” the sorceress screeched from across the room as her army began to fall. “How can you be doing this?” she demanded, stepping off the dais and throwing another volley of fire at Cassandra, until she fell to her knees, barely keeping her shield intact.

“She isn’t the one you should be asking,” Duncan yelled back as he ran to join Jack and Methos. The three of them made quick work of the remaining ghosts until the room stood bare once more.

“And who pray tell will stop me when the spirits of a thousand warriors rise to bring my vengeance?” she retorted, raising her staff again.

“That would be me,” called a lilting Welsh voice. 

~~~~~~~~

Klaloch Lodge
Olympic Peninsula, Washington State
One Week Earlier

Sunlight crept through the curtains, casting away the clouds of the crisp October morning and bathing their cabin in a warm harvest glow.

“Good morning,” Duncan whispered, leaning over to kiss his lover. Methos smiled up at him and returned the kiss.

“Is this how Highlander’s greet the morning then?” he asked as Duncan started kissing his way down his jaw.

“Mm hmm,” Duncan remarked, as he worked his way down his Methos’ chest. “Are you complaining?” he asked as his hands slid down his lean body to rest on his hip. “Because I can stop anytime you know.”

Methos growled and flipped them over so that Duncan was now pinned beneath him. Duncan stared up at him, unimpressed. He was used to the older immortal’s antics by now. They had spent much of the last decade apart, but after running into each other in Seacouver a few months back at Joe Dawson’s 60^th birthday party, it had only taken a beer or two before they had eased back into their old banter and within weeks they had resumed the relationship that had at one time been merely comfort, and now seemed to be blossoming into something much more.

Joe had laughed outright when they finally admitted that they were together, telling them that after a decade and a half courtship of denial, it was about time. He had saluted them with a round at the newly reopened Joe’s, and asked them to keep in touch as they set out to spend the next several months traveling the coast, and discovering exactly where their relationship was headed. They had been as far south as Mexico and were meandering their way back towards Seacouver, when they had happened along the Olympic Peninsula, and decided to spend a few weeks exploring the forests and beaches of the region, spending their nights making love in front of the fire of their cabin overlooking the Pacific Ocean, before falling asleep listening to the waves crash on the rocks far below.

“You’ll stop will you?” Methos replied with smirk, holding Duncan’s hands over his head, feeling his breath catch as he settled himself between the highlander’s legs. “I don’t think you can Boy Scout.” Duncan grinned back at him and was about to reply when a small cough came from across the room, causing them to jump apart and reach for the swords they had each hidden under their bed.

A wraith-like projection of Cassandra stood at the end of the bed with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised at the two immortal warriors standing before her, swords drawn and chests heaving as they each stood in a battle stance, ready to take on whatever threat came their way.

“Cassandra?” Duncan asked in disbelief, dropping his katana and grabbing for the top sheet.

“Hello Duncan,” the enigmatic woman replied with a laugh. “I take it I caught you at a bad time?” Methos lowered his own sword and watched in amusement as his lover scrambled to cover himself.

“Really MacLeod,” he said with a sniff, placing his sword on the bedside table before hopping back onto the bed and leaning against the headboard, and crossed his long legs, but making no move to cover himself. “While your antiquated attempts at protecting the lady’s modesty are admirable, I would be very surprised if anything we have on display would distract her at this point.”

Cassandra gave her one time enemy and barely friend a glare before acknowledging him. “Methos,” she said giving him a curt nod.

“Cassandra,” he replied in kind. “Seeing as you must be using quite a bit of power to project yourself this distance, I’ll get right to the point. What can we do for you?” The sorceress gave him a measured look before responding.

“I had a vision,” she finally said, her green-gold eyes boring deep into his own. “About Ifan.”

Methos’ entire demeanor changed at the mention of the young man he had sworn to protect. Gone was the impish grin, and in its place, a determined scowl and calculating hazel eyes focused on the woman before him.

“Tell me everything you know,” he replied with a voice of steel.

~~~~~~~~

Torchwood Three
Cardiff, Wales
Three Days Later

Ianto Jones looked out through the conference room windows down to the ground floor if the newly rebuilt Hub. It had taken a little over a year, and had meant calling in pretty much every favor they had, but it was finally done. Roald Dahl Plass had been rebuilt, with a new spiraling sculpture of curling bronze residing across from the water tower to commemorate those that had died during the dark days of the 456. Torchwood, its presence no longer hidden from those it protected, had rebuilt for a new world that acknowledged the presence of non-terrestrial threats. Great Britain and the Earth itself were floundering for leadership amidst the aftermath of the 456, and Torchwood had stepped up to the call and reshaped itself into a beacon of hope. Part of this new public face meant that the entrance to the Hub now lay above ground, at the opposite end of the Plass from the tower and the monument. The small glass and chrome structure that simply stated the word ‘Torchwood’ on top was now open to any and all who needed their help.

Ianto had seen to it personally that Lois Habiba was released from custody, and had hired her on the spot to take over the public face of Torchwood, giving her the run of the Plass office. She had helped with designing the interior of the structure, giving it a soft homey yet office-like feel. She now had two aids under her supervision, both of whom went out of their way to make any who brought them information feel safe and secure, rather than ostracized for doing so. Sure they still got their share of crazies and crackpots, but the number of random rift related deaths had gone done substantially due to early warnings from concerned citizens. And if the people of Cardiff slept a little better knowing Torchwood was on the case, they had done their job.

During those first hazy days when Torchwood was based out of Ianto’s flat, they had established a hotline for weevil sightings, and circulated pamphlets on how to handle them, cutting down the number of weevil related deaths in the area until they were almost non-existent. They had even brought on more staff, and as Ianto looked up, he saw Doctor Lofti and their resident xenobiologist Severn in the new medical wing, preparing to dissect a pair of Roathan Dune Bugs that had been found floating in the bay. Below him, Mickey was giving their new tech an overview of the mainframe, and it made Ianto smile to see Tosh’s programs in use once more. Gwen and Andy were down in the firing range, training up the new field agents, and Emma, who had arrived on their doorstep a fortnight ago, was in the canteen, preparing refreshments for the morning briefing.

“Makes you wonder how we ever did it with only five of us, let alone three,” observed Jack, as he entered the room and stood beside him. Ianto nodded, taking a sip from his coffee mug. “You left early this morning,” Jack continued, putting his arms around Ianto’s waist. Ianto sighed and leaned back into him.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Bad dreams again?” Jack asked concerned. Ianto nodded, and Jack kissed his temple. “Anything I can do?”

Ianto didn’t answer. He’d had the same dream for the past week. A disembodied voice in the darkness calling his name, his given name, the one that only a handful of people still knew the meaning of, followed by an army of ghosts storming the Plass, a rowan wood staff, balls of fire, and a woman screaming in the background. He knew that there was meaning behind it, and the voice sounded so familiar, like a long lost memory…

“Ianto?” Jack asked again, shaking him from his reverie.

“I’ll be fine Jack,” he said with a reassuring smile. Jack stared at him unconvinced. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll have Lofti prescribe me something.” Jack seemed pacified with his answer even though Ianto knew that in order to find answers he would need to seek help from a more unorthodox source.

“Morning,” called Gwen as she entered the room and plopped herself down in the nearest chair. She rested her head on her arms, closing her eyes. “Wake me up when we get started,” she said with a yawn. “Edward kept me up ‘till two and I woke from a nightmare at four. I haven’t had a lick of sleep.” Ianto studied her for a moment, wondering if their dreams were possibly connected. Before he had a chance to contemplate it further, the rest of the team arrived, and the morning briefing began.

Later that night, while Jack was out on a weevil run with Mickey, Ianto settled down in front of his silver scrying bowl, attempting to discern what his dreams meant. Dressed in simple loose gray sweats and a white t-shirt, he poured the moon-gathered stream water into the bowl, clearing his mind. He dipped a sprig of laurel into the water, gently drawing it around the rim of the bowl until shallow ripples began to roll across it. As he watched the ripples resonate across the smooth surface his eyes grew heavy until he felt himself falling forward down, down into the water before him.

~~~~~~~~

When Ianto came to, it was dark. He was on a ledge inside a cave of some sort, deep underground. He glanced to the right and saw a large pair of luminous golden eyes watching him in the darkness. Struggling to stand, he inched himself backward until his bare feet touched the cavern wall.

“No need to be frightened,” soothed a voice to his left. Ianto turned and saw a young man about his age with dark hair holding aloft a torch. Despite his youth, Ianto knew him instantly.

“Emrys?” he asked in a whisper. Merlin’s eyes went wide at hearing his secret name being uttered by a stranger.

“How do you know that name?” Merlin asked, gripping his torch with shaking hands as he fought to keep his fear in check. Not sure where he was in his father’s timeline, Ianto looked back to the golden eyes he now recognized as belonging to The Great Dragon known as Kilgharrah, to ask for help.

“Ifan is a friend,” Kilgharrah answered, his great voice booming across the cavern. “He has come far to join us this evening young warlock. Trust in your magic Emrys. Does he feel like a threat to you?”

Merlin studied the man in front of him. Blue eyes the same shade as Arthur’s stared back at him. The hint of gold brewing in their depths felt as familiar as his own; deep and warm, the magic in this man’s blood called to his own, almost as if…

“Are we kin?” he suddenly asked, knowing somehow that it must be true. He watched as Ifan glanced to the dragon again as if unsure how to answer.

“Of a sort,” Ianto finally said with a smile. Merlin was about to ask him another question, this time about why he had the same bow-like mouth as his mother, when Kilgharrah interrupted again.

“Ifan needs your help,” he said, drawing Merlin’s attention back to the problem at hand. “He has been plagued by dreams of late, a prophecy of things to come.” He gestured to Ianto. “Go on boy, tell him what you saw and maybe the two of you can find the solution.” Ianto recounted his tale, focusing on the contents rather than the locations. When he finished Merlin began to pace across the ledge, thinking aloud as he walked.

“It sounds like one of Morgause’s tricks,” he said at length. “She has Morgana wrapped around her finger right now, willing to do her bidding, all for the honor of the House of Gorlois,” he spat in disgust.

“Has she ever used as staff like that though, tall, white, branches on top?” Ianto asked. Merlin stopped pacing and turned to stare at him.

“She used it to raise the bones of the dead,” he replied. “Morgana used them to attack Camelot from within while Cenred sacked the castle walls. I managed to break it, but if someone found another more powerful version, it could bring forth more than simple bones.” He turned to Kilgharrah for confirmation. “Could another such a staff exist?”

“There are more things in the universe then either you or I know Emrys,” the dragon replied. “Still, it does stand to reason that if one staff can be carved from the tree at the heart of Isle of the Blessed, another could be carved in a similar manner for an even darker purpose.” Ianto suddenly had a horrible thought.

“Could the staff be charged with the power of ghosts?” he asked, afraid he already knew the answer. Kilgharrah pondered the question, clicking his talons on the rocks in thought before answering.

“If the staff was wielded by a master sorceress or wizard, on Samhain when the ancestors are wont to walk across the ancient places, then yes, it could be done,” he finally replied.

“But could it be stopped?” Ianto and Merlin asked at the same time, before glancing at one another and sharing a grin.

“Possibly, but the incantation would need to be strong, and must bear the strength of the wielder’s own ancestors in order to bring forth its intent,” conceded the dragon with a sparkle in his eye. Ianto looked from Kilgharrah to Merlin and back again, realizing that this must be why he was brought here in the first place.

“Will you help me?” he asked the man who would one day be his father, hoping that the innate connection between them, born from their shared magic would be enough to stop whatever was to come.

“I have a bit of parchment with me, but it would be best if we consult a few books I have in my chambers,” Merlin said with a shy grin. “If we keep to the shadows, no one should be surprised by the oddness of your attire.” Ianto took in his appearance and shrugged. Other then the bare feet, he wasn't wearing anything too outlandish for the time.

“Have him back before the third cock crows Emrys,” Kilgharrah cautioned. “He can only remain a short while without upsetting the balance of time.” Merlin promised to return Ifan and taking up his torch, lead his new friend out of the cave and back to his chamber.

The two of them worked late into the night, scouring every text in Gaius’ library, attempting to make the incantation as powerful as possible. As dawn approached, Ianto fell asleep, resting his head on his arms as Merlin finished scribbling down the final words of the spell. Gaius came in from an all night vigil, watching over one of the knights who had taken a nasty spill off of his horse, and took in the scene.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked Merlin, watching as the young man slept.

“His name’s Ifan,” Merlin answered, wondering again about the man who he had helped on instinct alone. “I’m helping him with an incantation to stop someone from destroying his home.”

Gaius’ eyes narrowed and he looked at Ifan more closely. A worry-worn silver medallion hung from his neck, bearing a symbol that he immediately recognized. Before he could comment, the man blinked and lifted his head, stretching his arms back and up and rolling his neck, before he let out a mighty yawn. Gaius blinked. It was the same routine he saw Merlin perform each morning as he sat down at the breakfast table.

“Sorry for falling asleep on you,” he apologized in a Welsh lilt that had Gaius even more confused. “Oh!” He rose and held out his hand. “I’m Ifan. And you sir, must be Gaius.”

Gaius shook his hand, giving the young man a half smile, watching as Merlin tried to bite back a grin behind them. Outside the window they heard the first cock crow of the coming dawn. Ifan and Merlin shared a look and quickly gathered up the parchment they had written and scurried to the door.

“And just where are you two off to?” Gaius asked.

“Time to get Ifan home,” Merlin replied.

Ifan nodded. “It was lovely to meet you Gaius. Go easy on him for me will you?” he asked nodding his head towards Merlin. Gaius raised an eyebrow at him, and Ianto almost laughed aloud. He had always wondered, but here was proof from his own Grand Uncle, that the eyebrow was definitely genetic. Before they could say anything further, the cock crowed again, and Merlin threw the door wide. As the two of them ran down the corridor, Gaius shouted out a warning.

“Make sure that you aren’t seen by the changing of the guard Merlin, you know that Kay has it in for you!” Twin grins turned back and smiled at him, and both men waved before turning the corner and disappearing from view. Gaius shook his head as he re-entered the chamber. It was almost like having two Merlins at once. He stopped cold, suddenly wondering if Ifan had somehow been related to his nephew. But the medallion had marked him as belonging to the House of Pendragon…

”Best to leave well enough alone,” he admonished himself. He was getting too old to disentangle magical affairs. What he needed now was a nice spot of tea and a long nap.

~~~~~~~~

Ianto emerged from the pool back in his living room, with the parchment written by his father clutched firmly in his hand. It came as no surprise for him to find Jack sprawled asleep on his couch, greatcoat still on and one boot off with the other dangling from his toes off the sidearm. Shaking off the disorientation of time travel, he closed the circle of protection he had placed around himself before using the bowl, and slowly stood up. Taking the bowl and the laurel branch outside, he gave the water back to the Earth, and planted the branch in the ground where the water had been released. After putting the bowl away in the cupboard, he slid a pillow under Jack's head and returned to the kitchen, unrolling the parchment to re-read what Merlin had written, hoping that when the time came, he was strong enough to see it through.

It was nearing six in the morning, and Ianto was suddenly thankful for the small bit of sleep he had managed while in Camelot. He smiled to himself. Merlin had not known who he was, but he had recognized his magic. No wonder Merlin had spotted him so easily when his fathers had visited last year. Kilgharrah had been another matter altogether. The Great Dragon had warned him that the enemy he faced would be strong indeed, and he could not do it alone. He sighed, knowing that there were only two people in the world besides Jack that he would want beside him. One should be easy enough to reach; that is if he wasn't on the run again. The other, well Donan Woods wasn’t exactly known for its cell service. Filling the kettle to prepare a much needed pot of coffee, he pulled out his mobile, only moderately surprised when it began to ring.

Chapter Text

Cardiff Castle
Samhain/All Hallows Eve
The Present

“All shall bow before the true ruler of Albion, and know that the hour of Gorlois is at hand!” the sorceress called out, her eyes blazing gold fire as she held aloft the jewel encrusted staff of her ancestress. Winds blew from behind her, blowing the artifacts adorning the great hall aside, and her ghostly army marched forward.

“You have no right to the throne of Albion, nor the right to destroy that child you've possessed for your petty vengeance,” Cassandra shouted back, raising her arms to shield her friends.

The sorceress’s eyes narrowed and her face contorted into a sneer of disdain. “And who are you witch, to dare oppose me?” she asked, conjuring a ball of blue fire in her hand.

“One who has seen the sun set on more kingdoms then you will ever fathom, and endured more heartache then you can ever know,” Cassandra replied trying not to flinch as blasts of blue fire began to hit her shield. Glancing to her left, she saw that Methos had returned, his Ivanhoe drawn and ready. “MacLeod?” she asked in a whisper.

“Bringing the once and present heir to put an end to this nonsense,” he answered her query before slicing through the first line of ghosts. Jack, who’s trusty Webley was having little to no affect, decided to grab a sword from one of the broken display cases and try Methos’ method. To his chagrin, his sword simply cut them in half until they reformed and resumed their attack. Methos rolled his eyes and touched their sword tips together, saying the words that he had been taught to pass on the enchantment.

“Get to it Harkness,” he said, clanging their swords together before rejoining the fray. Jack swung the sword round with a grin before stepping out from Cassandra’s shield and attacking the ghosts with gusto.

“No! No! This shouldn’t be happening,” the sorceress screeched from across the room as her army began to fall. “How can you be doing this?” she demanded, stepping off the dais and throwing another volley of fire at Cassandra, until she fell to her knees, barely keeping her shield intact.

“She isn’t the one you should be asking,” Duncan yelled back as he ran to join Jack and Methos. The three of them made quick work of the remaining ghosts until the room stood bare once more.

“And who pray tell will stop me when the spirits of a thousand warriors rise to bring my vengeance?” she retorted, raising her staff again.

“That would be me,” called a lilting Welsh voice. 

~~~~~~~~

Klaloch Lodge
Olympic Peninsula, Washington State
One Week Earlier

Sunlight crept through the curtains, casting away the clouds of the crisp October morning and bathing their cabin in a warm harvest glow.

“Good morning,” Duncan whispered, leaning over to kiss his lover. Methos smiled up at him and returned the kiss.

“Is this how Highlander’s greet the morning then?” he asked as Duncan started kissing his way down his jaw.

“Mm hmm,” Duncan remarked, as he worked his way down his Methos’ chest. “Are you complaining?” he asked as his hands slid down his lean body to rest on his hip. “Because I can stop anytime you know.”

Methos growled and flipped them over so that Duncan was now pinned beneath him. Duncan stared up at him, unimpressed. He was used to the older immortal’s antics by now. They had spent much of the last decade apart, but after running into each other in Seacouver a few months back at Joe Dawson’s 60^th birthday party, it had only taken a beer or two before they had eased back into their old banter and within weeks they had resumed the relationship that had at one time been merely comfort, and now seemed to be blossoming into something much more.

Joe had laughed outright when they finally admitted that they were together, telling them that after a decade and a half courtship of denial, it was about time. He had saluted them with a round at the newly reopened Joe’s, and asked them to keep in touch as they set out to spend the next several months traveling the coast, and discovering exactly where their relationship was headed. They had been as far south as Mexico and were meandering their way back towards Seacouver, when they had happened along the Olympic Peninsula, and decided to spend a few weeks exploring the forests and beaches of the region, spending their nights making love in front of the fire of their cabin overlooking the Pacific Ocean, before falling asleep listening to the waves crash on the rocks far below.

“You’ll stop will you?” Methos replied with smirk, holding Duncan’s hands over his head, feeling his breath catch as he settled himself between the highlander’s legs. “I don’t think you can Boy Scout.” Duncan grinned back at him and was about to reply when a small cough came from across the room, causing them to jump apart and reach for the swords they had each hidden under their bed.

A wraith-like projection of Cassandra stood at the end of the bed with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised at the two immortal warriors standing before her, swords drawn and chests heaving as they each stood in a battle stance, ready to take on whatever threat came their way.

“Cassandra?” Duncan asked in disbelief, dropping his katana and grabbing for the top sheet.

“Hello Duncan,” the enigmatic woman replied with a laugh. “I take it I caught you at a bad time?” Methos lowered his own sword and watched in amusement as his lover scrambled to cover himself.

“Really MacLeod,” he said with a sniff, placing his sword on the bedside table before hopping back onto the bed and leaning against the headboard, and crossed his long legs, but making no move to cover himself. “While your antiquated attempts at protecting the lady’s modesty are admirable, I would be very surprised if anything we have on display would distract her at this point.”

Cassandra gave her one time enemy and barely friend a glare before acknowledging him. “Methos,” she said giving him a curt nod.

“Cassandra,” he replied in kind. “Seeing as you must be using quite a bit of power to project yourself this distance, I’ll get right to the point. What can we do for you?” The sorceress gave him a measured look before responding.

“I had a vision,” she finally said, her green-gold eyes boring deep into his own. “About Ifan.”

Methos’ entire demeanor changed at the mention of the young man he had sworn to protect. Gone was the impish grin, and in its place, a determined scowl and calculating hazel eyes focused on the woman before him.

“Tell me everything you know,” he replied with a voice of steel.

~~~~~~~~

Torchwood Three
Cardiff, Wales
Three Days Later

Ianto Jones looked out through the conference room windows down to the ground floor if the newly rebuilt Hub. It had taken a little over a year, and had meant calling in pretty much every favor they had, but it was finally done. Roald Dahl Plass had been rebuilt, with a new spiraling sculpture of curling bronze residing across from the water tower to commemorate those that had died during the dark days of the 456. Torchwood, its presence no longer hidden from those it protected, had rebuilt for a new world that acknowledged the presence of non-terrestrial threats. Great Britain and the Earth itself were floundering for leadership amidst the aftermath of the 456, and Torchwood had stepped up to the call and reshaped itself into a beacon of hope. Part of this new public face meant that the entrance to the Hub now lay above ground, at the opposite end of the Plass from the tower and the monument. The small glass and chrome structure that simply stated the word ‘Torchwood’ on top was now open to any and all who needed their help.

Ianto had seen to it personally that Lois Habiba was released from custody, and had hired her on the spot to take over the public face of Torchwood, giving her the run of the Plass office. She had helped with designing the interior of the structure, giving it a soft homey yet office-like feel. She now had two aids under her supervision, both of whom went out of their way to make any who brought them information feel safe and secure, rather than ostracized for doing so. Sure they still got their share of crazies and crackpots, but the number of random rift related deaths had gone done substantially due to early warnings from concerned citizens. And if the people of Cardiff slept a little better knowing Torchwood was on the case, they had done their job.

During those first hazy days when Torchwood was based out of Ianto’s flat, they had established a hotline for weevil sightings, and circulated pamphlets on how to handle them, cutting down the number of weevil related deaths in the area until they were almost non-existent. They had even brought on more staff, and as Ianto looked up, he saw Doctor Lofti and their resident xenobiologist Severn in the new medical wing, preparing to dissect a pair of Roathan Dune Bugs that had been found floating in the bay. Below him, Mickey was giving their new tech an overview of the mainframe, and it made Ianto smile to see Tosh’s programs in use once more. Gwen and Andy were down in the firing range, training up the new field agents, and Emma, who had arrived on their doorstep a fortnight ago, was in the canteen, preparing refreshments for the morning briefing.

“Makes you wonder how we ever did it with only five of us, let alone three,” observed Jack, as he entered the room and stood beside him. Ianto nodded, taking a sip from his coffee mug. “You left early this morning,” Jack continued, putting his arms around Ianto’s waist. Ianto sighed and leaned back into him.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Bad dreams again?” Jack asked concerned. Ianto nodded, and Jack kissed his temple. “Anything I can do?”

Ianto didn’t answer. He’d had the same dream for the past week. A disembodied voice in the darkness calling his name, his given name, the one that only a handful of people still knew the meaning of, followed by an army of ghosts storming the Plass, a rowan wood staff, balls of fire, and a woman screaming in the background. He knew that there was meaning behind it, and the voice sounded so familiar, like a long lost memory…

“Ianto?” Jack asked again, shaking him from his reverie.

“I’ll be fine Jack,” he said with a reassuring smile. Jack stared at him unconvinced. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll have Lofti prescribe me something.” Jack seemed pacified with his answer even though Ianto knew that in order to find answers he would need to seek help from a more unorthodox source.

“Morning,” called Gwen as she entered the room and plopped herself down in the nearest chair. She rested her head on her arms, closing her eyes. “Wake me up when we get started,” she said with a yawn. “Edward kept me up ‘till two and I woke from a nightmare at four. I haven’t had a lick of sleep.” Ianto studied her for a moment, wondering if their dreams were possibly connected. Before he had a chance to contemplate it further, the rest of the team arrived, and the morning briefing began.

Later that night, while Jack was out on a weevil run with Mickey, Ianto settled down in front of his silver scrying bowl, attempting to discern what his dreams meant. Dressed in simple loose gray sweats and a white t-shirt, he poured the moon-gathered stream water into the bowl, clearing his mind. He dipped a sprig of laurel into the water, gently drawing it around the rim of the bowl until shallow ripples began to roll across it. As he watched the ripples resonate across the smooth surface his eyes grew heavy until he felt himself falling forward down, down into the water before him.

~~~~~~~~

When Ianto came to, it was dark. He was on a ledge inside a cave of some sort, deep underground. He glanced to the right and saw a large pair of luminous golden eyes watching him in the darkness. Struggling to stand, he inched himself backward until his bare feet touched the cavern wall.

“No need to be frightened,” soothed a voice to his left. Ianto turned and saw a young man about his age with dark hair holding aloft a torch. Despite his youth, Ianto knew him instantly.

“Emrys?” he asked in a whisper. Merlin’s eyes went wide at hearing his secret name being uttered by a stranger.

“How do you know that name?” Merlin asked, gripping his torch with shaking hands as he fought to keep his fear in check. Not sure where he was in his father’s timeline, Ianto looked back to the golden eyes he now recognized as belonging to The Great Dragon known as Kilgharrah, to ask for help.

“Ifan is a friend,” Kilgharrah answered, his great voice booming across the cavern. “He has come far to join us this evening young warlock. Trust in your magic Emrys. Does he feel like a threat to you?”

Merlin studied the man in front of him. Blue eyes the same shade as Arthur’s stared back at him. The hint of gold brewing in their depths felt as familiar as his own; deep and warm, the magic in this man’s blood called to his own, almost as if…

“Are we kin?” he suddenly asked, knowing somehow that it must be true. He watched as Ifan glanced to the dragon again as if unsure how to answer.

“Of a sort,” Ianto finally said with a smile. Merlin was about to ask him another question, this time about why he had the same bow-like mouth as his mother, when Kilgharrah interrupted again.

“Ifan needs your help,” he said, drawing Merlin’s attention back to the problem at hand. “He has been plagued by dreams of late, a prophecy of things to come.” He gestured to Ianto. “Go on boy, tell him what you saw and maybe the two of you can find the solution.” Ianto recounted his tale, focusing on the contents rather than the locations. When he finished Merlin began to pace across the ledge, thinking aloud as he walked.

“It sounds like one of Morgause’s tricks,” he said at length. “She has Morgana wrapped around her finger right now, willing to do her bidding, all for the honor of the House of Gorlois,” he spat in disgust.

“Has she ever used as staff like that though, tall, white, branches on top?” Ianto asked. Merlin stopped pacing and turned to stare at him.

“She used it to raise the bones of the dead,” he replied. “Morgana used them to attack Camelot from within while Cenred sacked the castle walls. I managed to break it, but if someone found another more powerful version, it could bring forth more than simple bones.” He turned to Kilgharrah for confirmation. “Could another such a staff exist?”

“There are more things in the universe then either you or I know Emrys,” the dragon replied. “Still, it does stand to reason that if one staff can be carved from the tree at the heart of Isle of the Blessed, another could be carved in a similar manner for an even darker purpose.” Ianto suddenly had a horrible thought.

“Could the staff be charged with the power of ghosts?” he asked, afraid he already knew the answer. Kilgharrah pondered the question, clicking his talons on the rocks in thought before answering.

“If the staff was wielded by a master sorceress or wizard, on Samhain when the ancestors are wont to walk across the ancient places, then yes, it could be done,” he finally replied.

“But could it be stopped?” Ianto and Merlin asked at the same time, before glancing at one another and sharing a grin.

“Possibly, but the incantation would need to be strong, and must bear the strength of the wielder’s own ancestors in order to bring forth its intent,” conceded the dragon with a sparkle in his eye. Ianto looked from Kilgharrah to Merlin and back again, realizing that this must be why he was brought here in the first place.

“Will you help me?” he asked the man who would one day be his father, hoping that the innate connection between them, born from their shared magic would be enough to stop whatever was to come.

“I have a bit of parchment with me, but it would be best if we consult a few books I have in my chambers,” Merlin said with a shy grin. “If we keep to the shadows, no one should be surprised by the oddness of your attire.” Ianto took in his appearance and shrugged. Other then the bare feet, he wasn't wearing anything too outlandish for the time.

“Have him back before the third cock crows Emrys,” Kilgharrah cautioned. “He can only remain a short while without upsetting the balance of time.” Merlin promised to return Ifan and taking up his torch, lead his new friend out of the cave and back to his chamber.

The two of them worked late into the night, scouring every text in Gaius’ library, attempting to make the incantation as powerful as possible. As dawn approached, Ianto fell asleep, resting his head on his arms as Merlin finished scribbling down the final words of the spell. Gaius came in from an all night vigil, watching over one of the knights who had taken a nasty spill off of his horse, and took in the scene.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked Merlin, watching as the young man slept.

“His name’s Ifan,” Merlin answered, wondering again about the man who he had helped on instinct alone. “I’m helping him with an incantation to stop someone from destroying his home.”

Gaius’ eyes narrowed and he looked at Ifan more closely. A worry-worn silver medallion hung from his neck, bearing a symbol that he immediately recognized. Before he could comment, the man blinked and lifted his head, stretching his arms back and up and rolling his neck, before he let out a mighty yawn. Gaius blinked. It was the same routine he saw Merlin perform each morning as he sat down at the breakfast table.

“Sorry for falling asleep on you,” he apologized in a Welsh lilt that had Gaius even more confused. “Oh!” He rose and held out his hand. “I’m Ifan. And you sir, must be Gaius.”

Gaius shook his hand, giving the young man a half smile, watching as Merlin tried to bite back a grin behind them. Outside the window they heard the first cock crow of the coming dawn. Ifan and Merlin shared a look and quickly gathered up the parchment they had written and scurried to the door.

“And just where are you two off to?” Gaius asked.

“Time to get Ifan home,” Merlin replied.

Ifan nodded. “It was lovely to meet you Gaius. Go easy on him for me will you?” he asked nodding his head towards Merlin. Gaius raised an eyebrow at him, and Ianto almost laughed aloud. He had always wondered, but here was proof from his own Grand Uncle, that the eyebrow was definitely genetic. Before they could say anything further, the cock crowed again, and Merlin threw the door wide. As the two of them ran down the corridor, Gaius shouted out a warning.

“Make sure that you aren’t seen by the changing of the guard Merlin, you know that Kay has it in for you!” Twin grins turned back and smiled at him, and both men waved before turning the corner and disappearing from view. Gaius shook his head as he re-entered the chamber. It was almost like having two Merlins at once. He stopped cold, suddenly wondering if Ifan had somehow been related to his nephew. But the medallion had marked him as belonging to the House of Pendragon…

”Best to leave well enough alone,” he admonished himself. He was getting too old to disentangle magical affairs. What he needed now was a nice spot of tea and a long nap.

~~~~~~~~

Ianto emerged from the pool back in his living room, with the parchment written by his father clutched firmly in his hand. It came as no surprise for him to find Jack sprawled asleep on his couch, greatcoat still on and one boot off with the other dangling from his toes off the sidearm. Shaking off the disorientation of time travel, he closed the circle of protection he had placed around himself before using the bowl, and slowly stood up. Taking the bowl and the laurel branch outside, he gave the water back to the Earth, and planted the branch in the ground where the water had been released. After putting the bowl away in the cupboard, he slid a pillow under Jack's head and returned to the kitchen, unrolling the parchment to re-read what Merlin had written, hoping that when the time came, he was strong enough to see it through.

It was nearing six in the morning, and Ianto was suddenly thankful for the small bit of sleep he had managed while in Camelot. He smiled to himself. Merlin had not known who he was, but he had recognized his magic. No wonder Merlin had spotted him so easily when his fathers had visited last year. Kilgharrah had been another matter altogether. The Great Dragon had warned him that the enemy he faced would be strong indeed, and he could not do it alone. He sighed, knowing that there were only two people in the world besides Jack that he would want beside him. One should be easy enough to reach; that is if he wasn't on the run again. The other, well Donan Woods wasn’t exactly known for its cell service. Filling the kettle to prepare a much needed pot of coffee, he pulled out his mobile, only moderately surprised when it began to ring.

Chapter Text

Camelot

The Past

Merlin dabbed Guinevere’s brow, watching as her face twisted in pain when her body was wracked by another contraction.

“When you promised to stay with me when I faced this, I never thought it would be this painful,” she panted, grasping his hand as another wave of pain wracked her body.

Merlin chuckled, remembering Gwen holding his hand during Ifan’s birth all those years before. She closed her eyes in pain and Merlin glanced to Goody Prentiss, the midwife overseeing the birth. The motherly old woman, who had overseen forty years of births at Camelot, had stepped away from her patient to wash her hands. When she turned to face him, her face was grave, and Merlin realized that the vision he had seen all those years before was coming true. The babe was early, but with proper care, he had hoped that he would survive; a simple shake of Goody Prentiss’ head had dashed those hopes, and made the horror of Gwen miscarrying real. A presence moved into the back of the room and Merlin’s back stiffened as he realized who it was.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, kissing Gwen’s sweat covered brow. She nodded, squeezing his hand once, before rolling onto her side. Merlin rose from her beside and giving the midwife a nod, made his way to the far side of the room and the figure waiting in the shadows.

“Morgana,” Merlin greeted, as she removed the hood of her cloak to show her face. She had changed little over the years, only a few streaks of white amongst her raven locks showing the passage of time.

“Merlin,” she replied in kind. “I see you have been named Royal Wizard and Advisor,” she observed, taking in his robes of office. “Has Arthur seen the truth of you at last?”

“He has repealed all acts against magic if that’s what you mean,” he answered her calmly. “I make no secret of who I am, it was Uther I feared, never Arthur himself.” Morgana’s eyes narrowed.

“Uther,” she said with disgust. “If it weren’t for him and Morgause, none of this would have happened.” Merlin raised an eyebrow. Had Morgana finally seen her half-sister for the tyrant she truly was?

“I take it you are not responsible for this then?” he asked as Gwen moaned in pain. Morgana shook her head, and to Merlin’s surprise, there were tears in her eyes.

“No,” she whispered staring across the room. “Morgause, she-“ The door opened, and the two of them drew further into the shadows as Arthur strode into the room, kneeling at his wife’s side. Gwen cried out in pain, and he held her hand, kissing her cheek and whispering to her that everything would be alright.

“But it won’t be will it?” Merlin asked as he watched the midwife lift the sheets to reveal a dark patch of blood. “Can it be stopped?” Morgana shook her head.

“She used a thorn from the blood rose,” she explained with a sob. “It will grow in her womb, destroying the child and leave her barren. Morgause has ensured that Arthur Pendragon will have no heirs by his queen.” Merlin closed his eyes in defeat. He knew how much Arthur wanted an heir to pass on his throne. He looked to where Gwen cried quietly while Arthur stroked her hair, telling her that they would try again as the midwife wrapped their stillborn son and took him away. Thinking of his own son, safe in the future, far from the chaos surrounding Camelot, he felt guilty that he had survived, when Gwen’s child had not.

“You’re thinking of him aren’t you?” Morgana asked, tilting her head to regard him. Merlin stared at her, his eyes wide as he realized who she meant. “Does Arthur know of your son?” she asked, watching him struggle to answer. Merlin swallowed and shook his head, suddenly fearing that the future may not have been far enough.

“I never told him, and if he knows, he has never said anything,” he replied, his throat dry as he tried to figure a way out of this. If Morgause knew about Ifan, she would destroy him as well. “How did you know?”

Morgana didn’t answer, merely watched as her former friend paled in fear. She waited for the satisfaction of overpowering the mighty Emrys to take hold, but it never came. Looking over his shoulder she saw her reflection in the nearby window; still beautiful, but hard and brittle as ice. Is this what she had become? When had the need to protect those with the gift of magic become so twisted that destroying the lives of others was a reason for celebration?

“I never told her,” she finally replied, her voice tired. “I don’t know why really, but somehow I knew that there were some things even Morgause should not know.”

“Thank you,” Merlin breathed, letting out a sigh of relief. “I wish that things had been different,” he suddenly said, remembering how the two of them had once been friends.

“So do I,” she replied with a sad smile. “It feels like all I am now is vengeance and hate. How did I get so lost?” Her pale green eyes were full of sorrow and Merlin was suddenly thrown back to a night so very long ago when she had woken screaming from a particularly bad vision and he had held her while she sobbed.

“A wise man once told me that only time can heal past wrongs,” Merlin replied, smiling as he quoted the immortal man now guarding his son. “He had once been the hand of death himself, and only by leaving those that had drawn him into chaos did he find a sense of absolution.” Merlin watched as Morgana thought over his words. He had seen a glimmer of the girl she once was as she watched her friends in pain. Regret and longing had clouded her features and he wondered, not for the first time if Kilgharrah had been wrong and the darkness surrounding her could somehow be lifted.

“Can it really be so simple?” she wondered aloud. “To leave it all behind and start anew, far from Camelot, somewhere safe, where I am merely Morgana, not a queen, or a sorceress, but simply a woman looking to find peace?” Merlin put a hand on her arm and she placed her own upon it, before looking up at him with tear-bright eyes.

“Where will you go?” he asked, knowing she had made her decision. Morgana stared out the window into the star filled night, and saw her answer shining in the distance.

“Avalon,” she replied. “I will appeal to the priestesses of the Old Religion for sanctuary.” Her face softened as she spoke, and Merlin saw the prophecy of truth in her words. “I will remain there until Arthur’s death, and escort him to the Isle of the Blessed for his hard earned rest when the time comes.” She blinked and looked back at him, a smile of peace on her face. “I will not forget your kindness Emrys,” she said, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Even when we were enemies, you always saw the good in me. Someday I will make right all that I have wrought. I give you my pledge that none of yours will come to further harm by my hand.” Merlin kissed her palm in acceptance of her vow.

“Merlin?” Arthur called, somehow knowing that he was nearby. Morgana looked at her brother, and felt the need to go to him pulling Merlin from her.

“Go,” she said, stepping further into the shadows. “He will need you now more than ever. Do not doubt that my brother loves you. He knows more than you think.” Merlin’s mouth dropped open in confusion, but before he could reply, shadows surrounded Morgana and the room pulsed in power.

“Serve him well Emrys,” her voice whispered as the shadows cleared and she was gone.

~~~~~~~~

Torchwood Three

Thursday, October 28, 2010

“Best to use dissolving stitches,” coached Methos as Doctor Lofti stitched up Duncan’s shoulder. “The other kind is a bitch to get out since we heal so fast.” Lofti glared at him over the top of his glasses.

“And you’re a doctor then are you?” he asked, looking back down to continue his work.

“Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief; I have the paperwork to cover them all,” Methos said with a grin. Duncan rolled his eyes at the familiar refrain.

“Can you keep any eye on him while Lofti finishes up?” Ianto asked Cassandra from the other side of the room. She gave him a nod, and tried to conceal the smirk on her face. “You two,” he said pointing to Jack and Methos. “My office. Now.” Ianto opened the door and stalked through, with Methos and Jack following reluctantly behind. Cassandra stared after them a moment before looking back at Duncan, watching his mouth twitch as he fought to contain his laughter. 

~~~~~~~~

“So,” Ianto began, waving his hand, causing the blinds to fall and the door to slam shut behind them. “Anyone want to tell me what the hell happened?” Methos and Jack exchanged a look. When neither spoke, Ianto started to pace behind his desk. “I realize it must have been a shock for you Jack, to find out that you aren’t the only immortal out there, but shooting Duncan in the middle of the Plass office, after all of our hard work to make it a safe haven, what the hell were you thinking?” He stopped his pacing and stood with his hands on his hips, waiting for an answer.

“I was trying to protect you,” Jack answered, narrowing his eyes in anger. “But as you seem to have a whole group of immortals at your beck and call, it appears I’m not really needed.”  

Methos snorted. “He’s a real find Ifan, an immortal that not only doesn’t know about us, but has an insecurity complex a mile wide.”

“I’m very secure in my relationship with Ianto, thank you very much,” Jack retorted, glaring at Methos. “And as he’s never mentioned you before this morning, I’m not sure you have much to say about it anyway.”

“I have every right to dismiss suitors that are beneath my charge,” Methos fired back at him. “I swore an oath to his father that I would protect him, and that includes pompous 51^st century conmen who seem to think they have a right to go around shooting people when they don’t understand the situation.” Jack dropped his hands to his side and took a step towards Methos, his hand twitching over his Webley. “On the attack again I see,” Methos remarked. “Really Ifan, besides being pretty, what do you see in him?”

Ianto pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He was tired, angry and had enough on his mind without adding a couple of immature immortals to the mix. 

“I happen to love him,” he sternly replied. “And I care a great deal for you as well old man, even if you are an overprotective old goat sometimes.”  The two immortals turned to stare at him and Ianto sighed. “Not that I don’t appreciate how much you both care, but we have a lot more to worry about then who has the biggest…ego in the room.”

“I see that Captain Innuendo has been a bad influence,” Methos replied, raising an eyebrow.

Ianto laughed. “Methos, you’ve been a bad influence since before the word was even invented.” Methos opened his mouth to reply, but Ianto continued before he could speak. “It’s been a busy morning, and I spent most of last night pouring over spells with my father.” He pulled on his jacket and grabbed his keys off his desk. “I’m tired, caffeine deprived, and have a partner that is standing there posturing, when inside he is secretly freaking out that he is no longer the only immortal in Wales.” Jack grimaced and Methos gave him a contemplative look as Ianto crossed the room to the door. “If the two of you don’t mind, I suggest we collect Cassandra and Duncan and head to my flat where we can discuss this further, hopefully with minimal bloodshed, and figure out how the hell we are going to stop a medieval sorceress with revenge on her mind from destroying most of Great Britain before Sunday.” Pulling the door open, he marched towards the lift.

“About time the Pendragon side came through,” Methos chuckled watching him go.

“Pendragon?” Jack asked, confused. “As in Arthur Pendragon?” Methos nodded. “So when you said you swore an oath…” Jack stopped, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Oh, I didn’t swear an oath to him,” Methos replied as they walked through the door. “That was to his other father, Merlin.”

Jack’s mouth dropped open. “You mean that Ianto is…” He trailed off, unable to articulate his question. Methos suddenly realized that Ianto hadn’t had a chance to tell him much before they dropped in to say hello. No wonder he was so angry.

“Ianto is really Ifan Pendragon, the son of Merlin and Arthur,” Methos replied patting a stunned Jack on the shoulder. “I know this has been a shock, and I may not approve of you, but you are his chosen consort, and he’s going to need your help Harkness. Can I count on you to stand by him?” Jack stared back at him.

“Jack?” Methos prompted. Jack blinked as his brain tried to process what the other immortal had said. Ianto, his Ianto, was the son of two of the greatest folk heroes in history. And he had almost given him up for the Doctor.

“I’m an idiot,” he finally said.

“No argument from me,” Methos replied with a laugh. Jack scowled back at him.

“No, I mean I am an idiot for not realizing how special he was sooner,” he rolled his shoulders and straightened his back, pulling on his soldier persona like an old familiar coat. “I won’t let anything hurt him ever again,” Jack vowed. Methos broke into a grin and patted him on the back.

“Glad to hear it. Now let’s find my Highlander and the bit-I mean witch and get the hell out of here before anything else happens.”

~~~~~~~~

Glastonbury Abbey

Somerset, England

Sunset

Morgause was frustrated. She had spent most of the day looking for the location where she had hidden the staff without success. The landscape had changed so much since her time that it was impossible to find where it had been buried. She was going to need to collect scrying crystals and other supplies if she was going have any chance at finding it in time. Hoping that her secret cave in what was now the Forest of Dean was still secure, she disappeared into the dusky twilight, determined to return and claim her prize.

~~~~~~~~

Cardiff, Wales

Later that Evening

A buffet of Chinese take-away and several rounds of beer and whiskey later, Jack was finally feeling comfortable around the other three immortals. He was floored that they were only a few of so many, and that their kind had been around since the dawn of time. He’d looked to them for answers to his own immortality, hoping that the Doctor had somehow been wrong, but Methos had merely shrugged and said ‘hell if I know’ in relation to how they had come into being, providing Jack with no real answers.

Jack found himself begrudgingly admiring the man, seeing his own life reflected in all the older immortal had overcome. The group had fallen into an easy banter, recounting the past, some of which Jack had seen himself as a Time Agent, and he had joined the others in telling wild stories filled with laughter and sorrow, enjoying the ease being amongst others who understood the pleasure and pain of his long existence.

Ianto sat in the armchair, with Jack leaning back between his legs, feeling a sense of peace watching his friends and family come together and accept Jack for who he was. He rested his glass of scotch on the edge of the armchair and leaned forward to place his hand on Jack’s shoulder, only to have the immortal look up at him whisper ‘thank you,’ before giving him a gentle smile. Ianto nodded and smiled back, happy that Jack had found acceptance, and perchance someone to turn to after he was gone.

A loud knock at the door interrupted them and Ianto found himself thrust behind Jack as swords and Webley were drawn out once more.

“I’ll answer it,” Methos said, crossing the room to open the door.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” demanded the newcomer. “Where’s Ianto?”

“Who’s asking?” Methos countered, blocking the door.

“Rhys Williams,” Rhys replied in frustration. “You better let me in mate, if you know what’s good for you.”

“And why would I do that?” Methos asked with a grin, giving the Welshman a once over and deciding that he was little to no threat.

“Because he has as much right to be here as the rest of you,” Ianto answered, pulling the door wider so that Rhys could come inside. Rhys gave Methos a smug look and stepped into the lounge, giving Jack a nod before turning back to Ianto.

“Do you have somewhere private we could talk?” he asked eying the gathering in the lounge.

“They’re safe Rhys,” Jack assured him. “Torchwood or otherwise, you can speak freely in front of them.” Rhys gave him a measured look.

“This has nothing to do with Torchwood,” he replied, turning his attention back to Ianto. “My Lord, It’s Morgause; she’s taken over my wife and gone in search of the staff.”

Chapter Text

Cardiff, Wales

Thursday, October 28th 2010
Evening

“Explain,” Ianto commanded after Rhys’ outburst. Rhys nodded and pulled forth a chain from beneath his shirt. Attached to the chain was a silver circle with a cross inside of it. Within the circle lay a rampant red dragon with a golden crown lying at its feet. Ianto had seen it before around the neck of his father; the emblem of the legendary knights of the round table.  Ianto reached for it and stroked the red dragon on the pendant with his thumb.

“How did you come by this?” he asked his voice barely more than a whisper as he traced the dragon’s outline.

“It was passed on by my father from his ancestor,” Rhys replied. “When your father asked him to give the sword back to the Lady of the Lake, he swore an oath to Arthur that his descendants and those of the other knights would stand fast through the ages, protecting both the sword and his heir in silence until they were needed again.” Ianto released the necklace and stepped back, realizing that Rhys must know exactly who he was.

“You are descended from Sir Bedwyr’s line?” he queried, needing to clarify that Rhys Willams, manager of a lorry firm, and the man he watched rugby with while drinking beer and swearing at the telly, was indeed the progeny of the most loyal of Arthur’s knights.

“Rhys Bedwyr Willams at your service,” Rhys responded with pride, pulling a sword from beneath his jacket and bringing his arm across his chest in a mark of fealty before bowing slightly. “I’m sorry I never told you Sire, but our oath was to stay hidden to ensure that your identity remain secret.”

“My thanks for your service,” Ianto replied with a smile. “But you mentioned Morgause when you arrived, and she is not a foe to be taken lightly.” Rhys’ face fell, and his eyes danced in anger as he recalled her actions this morning.

“She used the bracelet that Gwen had brought for the curator to examine,” he explained. “Gwen had been identified as a descendant of Morgana long ago, but the bracelet was harmless, and the sight has not been prevalent in the family since the 1800’s so we assumed she was not a risk.” His jaw clenched and Ianto put a hand on his shoulder in comfort as Rhys gathered himself to continue. “Kay called this morning to warn me that Galahad’s research into the exhibition had shown that there were certain pieces that held a small magical charge, not much, but enough that I was to keep Gwen away from them on the off chance that they affected her somehow. We had managed to make it through the morning unscathed, when the curator found a garnet that had been inscribed with the same symbol as the bracelet, and joined them. Before I could stop her, Gwen put it on and Morgause manifested.” He looked to the floor and Ianto squeezed his shoulder, prompting him to continue.

“She kept us frozen, but the pendant protected me enough that I could still hear her and watch her movements,” Rhys continued, lifting his gaze from the floor. “She manipulated Gwen into helping her to save me and our son. Morgause trapped her in the bracelet somehow.” He looked up at Ianto pleading with his eyes for forgiveness. “She mentioned Glastonbury before she disappeared. Our order managed to track her as far as the abbey, but she left at dusk empty handed. I am certain that it is only a matter of time before she returns.”

“You did well Rhys,” Ianto assured him, knowing that his failure to stop Morgause was not his fault. “Knowing Gwen, her curiosity would have found a way to cause this even if you hadn’t taken precautions. We need to find Morgause before she causes Gwen or anyone else permanent harm.” Dropping his arm from Rhys’ shoulder he turned to address the rest of the group. “Any suggestions?”

“Do you have a scrying bowl?” Cassandra asked from the back of the room. Ianto nodded and went to retrieve it while the others cleared off the coffee table. Ianto returned with a pitcher of moon-gathered water and his silver bowl, placing both on the table. Cassandra smiled at him and asked the others to step back while she prepared her space. A few moments later, the water in the bowl began to ripple and an image appeared of Gwen/Morgause pacing inside of a cave, gathering crystals and herbs from what appeared to be a personal cache.

“Is this what you were doing last night?” Jack whispered to Ianto, who nodded, keeping his eyes on his former teacher. Suddenly the image in the bowl stopped moving and stared back at her.

“Who dares watch me?” Morgause hissed. Cassandra waved her hand to clear the water, but before the image cleared a gloved hand burst through and grasped her neck. Cassandra started choking as the hand squeezed off her air supply, and Methos lurched forward and tipped over the bowl, causing the hand to disappear, and caught her as she fell back.

“Th…Tha..Thank you,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. Methos helped her stand up and brought her over to a nearby chair. “She’s strong,” Cassandra rasped out. “She nearly pulled me through the portal before you closed it.” Ianto handed her a glass of water and she sipped it slowly letting it sooth her bruised throat.

“Will my Gwen come to harm while she’s using her?” Rhys asked, worried.

“I’m not sure,” she replied, her voice a little more steady. “The longer her mind is suppressed, the stronger Morgause’s hold will grow.” She took another sip and leaned against the back of the chair. “I need to regain my strength. Dousing the bowl like that should have drained her as well, at least until morning.” As she spoke, her eyes grew heavy and Ianto eased the glass from her hands as they began to drift closed.

“I’ll take her,” Duncan offered, lifting her from the chair and taking her to the guest room. When he had gone, Ianto stood and walked to the fireplace, staring into the flames as a plan began to form. Tonight was only a glimpse of what was to come. He had felt Morgause’s magic as it pulsed from the bowl, searching to find the source of power that had breached her wards. It had only been Methos’ quick thinking that had kept her from discovering his presence along with Cassandra’s.

“Rhys,” he called, not turning around. “Do the other knights know if Morgause was aware of my existence?”

“No Sire,” he answered, coming to stand beside him. “Only the moniker of the once and future king ever gave any allusion to the fact that there might be an heir. Merlin and Arthur were very careful in who they trusted.” Ianto nodded his thanks and straightening his back, turned from the fire to face the two men who he knew would protest his plan.

“I’m leaving in the morning for Avalon,” he said, watching as Jack’s jaw clenched and Methos crossed his arms. “And I'm taking Rhys with me.”

“I’m going too,” Jack immediately argued. Ianto shook his head.

“Avalon and the Isle of the Blessed are only accessible by those of magic, or the pure of heart,” Ianto said with a sad smile. “While each of you are admirable men, the darkness of your pasts prohibits you from making the journey.”

Methos and Jack exchanged a look and as Ianto watched, both of them turned back to him with haunted eyes, borne of centuries of atoning for atrocities that no penance would ever make clean. Duncan returned from the guest room and took in the long faces, wondering what he’d missed. Methos glanced at him and then back at Ianto, a slow smile blooming on his face.

“We’ll send Duncan in our stead,” he said with a smirk. “Boy Scout should be able to pass through their gates with flying colors.”

“Now just a minute,” Duncan interrupted confused. “What are you volunteering me for?” Ianto looked the highlander up and down and made his decision.

“Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod,” Ianto stated, and Duncan found himself drawing to attention at the formal tone. “I have need of your assistance to accompany me and my knight on a quest for my father’s sword Excalibur, do you accept?”

Duncan stared at the young man in front of him. As the firelight flickered behind him, the sound of past battles and long forgotten acts of chivalry seemed to echo in the distance. The mild mannered man he had first met had been replaced by a determined man of honor, seeking to save his kingdom. He didn’t hesitate.

“Aye, It would be an honor,” he replied, drawing his sword from where it rested beside the couch and holding it across his chest in fealty to the young heir to Camelot.

Ianto smiled. “It’s decided then, we leave at first light.”

~~~~~~~~

The following morning, Duncan, Rhys, and Ianto left the others behind. Ianto had obtained a sworn promise from Methos and Jack to watch out for each other and Cassandra, and to above all to not kill each other before they returned. Rhiannon had agreed to watch little Eddie through the weekend, being pacified at Rhys’ explanation of Torchwood needing to rescue Gwen and wanting his son to be safe. They had driven most of the day and by late afternoon had reached the far north of Wales and the Llyn Peninsula. Ianto had chartered a small boat to make the crossing to Bardsey Island, and after a brief lunch, the three men boarded the vessel for the short trip from the mainland. Once there, they sought the old apple tree growing near the ruins of Saint Mary’s Abbey, and followed the arrow carved into the leftmost knot of her trunk to the trap door hidden beneath the crumbling remains of the bell tower. Descending down into the dark, the soft glow of their torches led the way as they made their way to the cavern hidden below. A small wooden boat without oars was moored beside the ancient lake that filled the cavern, and after leaving all but their swords and the parchment containing Merlin’s spell behind, the three men entered the boat and cast it adrift amongst the mists hanging over the lake's edge.

They travelled out of the cave and into the sea, but no wave crashed, nor bird sang; only the dense fog kept them company as they moved silently on. None of them spoke, though Duncan and Rhys both kept their hands on their sword hilts, ready to take on whatever lay beyond the misty barrier. At length, the fog parted, and the walls of an ancient castle could be seen in the distance. A dense forest surrounded it on one side, and a small village filled the other. As they drew closer, a lone woman dressed in green could be seen waiting on the dock, a small retinue of handmaidens standing behind her on the shore. As they approached, the three men stood, and when the little craft stopped at the edge of the dock, Ianto was the first to leave it, stepping onto the dock and bowing to the lady waiting there. 

“Greetings Ifan, son of Arthur,” she said before he could speak. He looked up and saw long white hair, soft as a snowdrift, framing a youthful face with pale green eyes. “Long has your visit to our shores been foretold.” Duncan and Rhys stepped up beside him and she smiled at each of them in turn before her gaze came to rest on her nephew. “I am the Lady Morgana, protector of this blessed place.” Ianto started at the name. He remembered Merlin telling him of how Morgause had twisted Morgana to her will. Could he trust her? Maybe this entire journey had been a big mistake…

“Worry not, young prince. It is because of Emrys that I found peace. No harm will come to you on Avalon’s shores,” she assured him, reaching out to touch his face. “You have my brother’s eyes,” she observed with a smile. Dropping her hand, she turned to the maidens on the shore and clapped her hands. “Come. The ladies of this place will see to the comfort of your knights while you and I discuss what is to be done about my wayward sister.” Looping her arm through Ianto’s she lead the way down the dock toward the castle, with Rhys and Duncan trailing behind them.

~~~~~~~~

Glastonbury Abbey

Somerset, England

Saturday, October 30^th

Morgause had spent the last two days scouring the countryside surrounding the abbey. She had found two would be interlopers watching her the evening before, and had turned the tall blond one into a red kite, and the dark one into a fox, amusing herself as the two of them attempted to fight their animal natures, wondering if one of them would attempt to kill the other before she let them go.

It was nearing dusk again and she had little to show for her efforts. She sat down to think, and saw a groundskeeper making his way to the bell tower at the top of the tor, muttering about the ‘holy thorn’ under his breath. Curious, she followed him up the path, watching him secure the site, before making his way back down and checking over the supposed grave of Arthur and Guinevere below. He made his way through the abbey courtyard and stopped to pat a mound of earth near the far wall and she hid behind a pillar as he said a small prayer before leaving the site to close it for the day. Morgause waited until he left, and crouched down, placing a finding stone on the ground and said the incantation she had reciting many times over the past couple of days, grinning in satisfaction as it began to grow. Running her hands over the earth, she caused the ground to fall back, exposing a long wooden box. She lifted the lid and saw the remains of a withered tree trunk inside. Stroking the trunk with her fingers, she felt the power inside of it, and with a flick of her wrist, the trunk cracked in two, exposing the white shaft of the staff hidden within.

“At last,” she whispered, freeing it from its prison and drawing it into the late afternoon sun. It was more ornately carved then the version she had held before. This staff was covered in runes and wrapped in swirls of silver, the branches at the top twisting into a dome, with a small opening to slip the power stone inside to activate it’s power. Morgause laughed as she pulled a pouch from her pocket, and unwrapped the onyx crystal within to place it inside the globe. The globe immediately filled with a blue-black ball of light, illuminating the ruins with an unearthly glow.

“Now, to claim Albion and remind all of the Britons what it means to be a true kingdom of magic!” she shouted in triumph. A dark mist swirled around her and she was gone. The forgotten fox and the kite exchanged a look, and with an collective sigh, began the long trek back down the hill towards home.

~~~~~~~~

Torchwood Three

Later that night

Jack was pacing on the catwalk above the pit of the Hub, checking over the various monitors and trying to anticipate where Morgause would strike. Most of his team was out in the field on routine retrievals; Andy and Mickey had gone to Glastonbury the day before and not reported in since. He’d called UNIT and asked Martha to send a squad to find them, and could only hope that they were alright. Ianto, Duncan, and Rhys were on some crazy mission to a mystical island in the middle of nowhere, and he was stuck with two snarky immortals who bickered like ten year olds. As they started arguing once again, this time over whether or not Methos truly had invented beer, Jack slammed his hands down on the nearest desk.

“Would you two please shut up!” he yelled. The other two immortals jumped and turned to stare at him.

“Problem Captain?” Methos asked innocently. Jack swore in upper galactic.

“No! I enjoy listening to the two of you hash out passive aggressive bullshit for hours on end while the love of my life is off in the middle of nowhere conversing with ancient magic,” he ranted.

“I know you’re worried,” Cassandra said, rising to put her hand on his arm, “but Ifan is strong and can protect himself, you need to trust him to come back to you.” Jack placed his hand over hers and nodded, attempting to push down the fear that always crept in whenever he felt Ianto might be in danger.

“He almost died last year,” he said quietly, not meeting the other immortals' eyes. “You know what it’s like with mortals, they always seem to flash through your life like a comet; burning so bright, but if you blink they’re gone.” He looked up to where Methos stood watching him. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“You won’t,” Cassandra replied with a soft smile. “He has a great destiny before him, and this battle will only be the beginning. I’ve seen it.” She stared into the distance with a faraway look in her eyes and Jack straightened up with a sigh, putting one hand in his pocket and flicking through the images on the CCTV with the other.

“But how can you be sure?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the screen. “Even magic isn't foolproof.” Cassandra glanced to Methos and he nodded, seeming to know what she was going to say.

“In all my 3,000 years, I have very rarely been wrong Jack,” she soothed. “And when I have, it has been for a very good reason. I have not seen Ifan’s death, but I have seen yours. Take comfort in the fact that when it comes, you will not be alone.” Jack stilled and turned to stare at her, resisting the urge to ask her more.

“I won’t tell you when,” she answered his questioning look with a smile. “But it will be far away from here on the other side of the galaxy, a long time from now.” Jack closed his eyes, letting the knowledge sink in that even if it would be centuries away, at least someday there would be an end to his long existence. The sound of a rift alert broke him out of his melancholy and he began scanning the readings, looking for what had come through.

~~~~~~~~

Avalon, Isle of the Blessed
Somewhere in time

Morgana brought Ianto to a crystalline dome in the center of the great woods surrounding the castle. A raised platform lay inside, and lying in repose atop it was his father. Ianto took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips to steady himself as he looked inside to where his father slept.

“He spoke of you once, before he succumbed to the sleep of ages,” Morgana said looking through the glass at her brother. “He mentioned that he and Emrys had come to see you before the battle of Camlann, and he was so proud to see his son grown and strong.” Ianto didn't respond, remembering that all too brief meeting the year before.

“Can I speak to him?” He asked, wanting nothing more than to see his father again. Morgana regarded him for a moment, as if looking for something before she slowly nodded her head.

“He will only wake for those who have great need,” she told him, taking his hands in her own. “He has only woken twice since he has been here. Once for me when I sought to find where Vivienne had hidden Emrys, and once for a lost traveler from across the stars seeking absolution.” Ianto’s brow furrowed at that, wanting to know who had come to his father for aid, but Morgana shook her head before he could ask. “It is not my story to tell,” she said, her eyes dancing with secrets, but one day, you will know of whom I speak.”

Ianto waited for her to say more, but when she did not, he glanced back to where his father lay waiting. “What do I need to do?” he asked, releasing her hands.

Morgana closed her eyes and when she opened them, they flashed silver and a small door slid open in the side of the dome, allowing him entrance. “When you want to leave, place your hand on the center crystal,” she said, pointing to the one she meant. “And Ifan, remember, he has been sleeping a very long time. It may take him a moment to remember where he is.” She kissed his forehead and gestured for him to enter. Ianto hesitated on the threshold, gathering his courage. Straightening his jumper and squaring his shoulders, he stepped through.

The dome was filled with midsummer light, butterflies flitted through the air, and the grass floor was covered in wildflowers. A great spear and a shield bearing a rampant lion and a red dragon were propped up against a throne, and a set of chain mail stood waiting on a stand to the right of the bed, with a table bearing a crown and a small chest just beyond. Ianto cautiously made his way forward, kneeling alongside the great king, and took one of his hands in his own.

“Father,” he said, trying not to let his voice crack. “It’s Ifan Pendragon, your son.” He looked down at the face he had seen in his dreams so many times; taking in the streaks of silver marring the close clipped beard of reddish-gold. As he watched, the long blonde lashes fluttered open, and the same blue eyes he stared at every morning in the mirror looked back at him.

“Ifan?” Arthur asked, blinking himself back into consciousness. “How are you here?” Propping himself up on one elbow, he threw aside the blanket covering his legs and sat up, patting the place beside him for Ianto to join him. “You haven’t aged much since the last time I saw you,” he observed, reaching up to cup his son’s cheek. “I have to say though, losing the neckerchief was definitely a good idea.”

Ianto laughed through the tears that threatened to slip from his eyes and Arthur joined him, his own laugh deep and rich like Jack’s.

“Merlin mentioned you had a good laugh,” he said, glancing at his father out of the corner of his eye.

“Well when he wasn’t blathering on about some new concept that I could barely keep up with, Merlin had a wicked sense of humor that made me laugh quite a lot actually,” Arthur replied with a grin. “I take it you have seen him again then.”

“Just the once,” Ianto replied, looking wistful. “Kilgharrah pulled me through so that he could help me with an incantation to stop Morgause.”

Arthur looked blank for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. “Is that crazy sorceress still around? I would have thought that without Morgana at her side, she would have died long ago.”

“I wish it were true,” Ianto answered, and proceeded to explain what Morgause was up to.

“So she seeks to take Albion for her own,” Arthur said when he had finished. “She never knew of your existence, so you will at least have that as an advantage.” He stood up and began pacing as he thought through a plan. “And Excalibur, has it been recovered?”

“The descendants of your knights have kept it safely hidden in the lake,” Ianto answered, as he stood up. “In fact their leader, the progeny of Bedwyr, accompanied me here. They have stood watch over Excalibur and the Pendragons for centuries. It’s his wife that Morgause has taken for her vessel, and I won’t let him down.” Arthur smiled as his son spoke with the voice of a commander. He had been unsure when he had seen him before if he had enough spirit to make a proper king, even if it was in name only. Looking at him now, he saw the perfect melding of Merlin’s cunning and his own bravery. If the descendants of the round table were at his side, he was certain that he would not fail. Walking to the table at the far side of the dome, he came to a decision. It was time to give his only son the title that was his by birth.

“I had this fashioned after we visited you,” he said, opening the chest that lay atop the table and pulling forth a golden circlet-style crown covered in Celtic knots and bearing six rubies, one at each place where the knots joined. Not sure what to do, or if he was even worthy of the honor, Ianto knelt in before him. “In order to claim Excalibur and defeat Morgause, you will need to embrace the role that is your birthright.” Ianto kept his eyes on the primrose at his feet, trembling as he felt the magic inside the dome build.

“I Arthur, King of the Britons, do hereby name you my sole heir and successor to the throne of Albion. Unless the time comes when I must leave this place and fight at your side, I name you, King of Albion and protector of the realm.” Arthur placed the crown on his son’s head, and felt the magic of the Old Religion that pulsed through him at his own coronation, claim him again and bathe them both in acknowledgment of Ifan’s right to the title of king. “Rise son,” Arthur said his voice full of pride. Ianto stood on shaky legs, and found himself pulled into his father’s warm embrace.

“But, what-“ he started to ask, unsure where to begin.

Arthur laughed and held him out at arm’s length. “Always asking questions,” he said shaking his head. “You definitely get that from Merlin.” He patted his cheek and stepped away to collect something off the table. “This is the scabbard of Excalibur,” he explained, handing it to him. “Morgana retrieved it and brought it here long ago, it will keep you safe.” Ianto nodded dumbly, watching as the scabbard to the mythical sword he had dreampt about since childhood was placed in his hands. Arthur saw his stunned expression, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve faced Morgause before and she is a powerful swordswoman,” Arthur said, making sure that he understood. “Even with Excalibur, and the training that Merlin mentioned this Methos person was to have given you, always keep the scabbard with you, it could mean the difference between life and death.” Ianto nodded, securing it to his belt.

“But what about the crown?” he suddenly asked, wondering where he was going to hide it.

“You’ll love this,” Arthur said with a grin. “It was Merlin’s idea, came about after a long night of…” Arthur’s face flushed red, and Ianto bit back a laugh as he knew exactly what sort of thing caused him to have the same reaction. “Well let’s just say, he had a good idea.” He quickly finished. Arthur removed the crown from his head and placed it in Ianto’s hands.

“Lufu,” he whispered, and the crown shrunk until it was small enough to wear as a ring. Taking it from his palm, Arthur slipped it onto the middle finger of Ianto's left hand. Ianto held it aloft, watching the rubies twinkle in the sunlight.

“He’s a clever one my Merlin,” Arthur grinned. Ianto smiled back at him. If using the old English word for love as the incantation to re-size the crown was any indication, their relationship was a lot more involved than the one mentioned in the storybooks. “I’ve given you all that I can to help you son,” Arthur said, stifling back a yawn. “My time grows short. Can your knight lead you to where Sir Bedwyr hid the sword?” Ianto nodded, following him as he made his way back to the platform and sat down.

Arthur’s eyes grew heavy and Ianto plumped the pillow for him as he lay back down. “Thank God for that,” Arthur said, wiggling his way back into the bedding. “There was a lump in there somewhere and it wouldn’t do for me to wake the next time with a crick in my neck,” he said, yawning his way through a smile. As Ianto watched him get situated, he suddenly felt the need to cling onto him for as long as he could. Kneeling beside him once more, he gathered his hand in his own.

“Thank you,” he said, fighting back tears. Arthur turned his head towards him smiled with a heavy lidded gaze. Reaching out to stroke his cheek and ruffle his son's hair, Arthur gave him one last smile before closing his eyes with a sigh.

“I love you son,” he whispered, before the sleep of ages took hold once more.

“And I you father,” Ianto whispered back, releasing his hand and leaning forward to kiss Arthur’s brow. He watched him a moment longer before standing up and touching the center crystal. With one last glance back at Arthur's sleeping form, he wiped the tear that had escaped from his cheek and left the dome to find Morgana and the others with a renewed sense of purpose.

His father had trusted him to carry on the Pendragon name and keep Albion safe.

He would not fail.

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