Work Text:
The druid camp had been rearranged into a tight circle in the center of the ballroom. Non-magical druids had been sequestered in other parts of the castle for their safety. If all magic users, the great Emrys, and the Once And Future King were gathered in one place, it stood to reason that the frobana would launch its nightly attack in the same place as before. That didn’t solve the worrying question of who’d summoned the creature to begin with, but it did narrow the chances of its escaping tonight’s encounter.
Iseldir’s forehead still bore a stripe of pink new skin where Merlin had healed him. Arthur dearly hoped that tonight would result in no further casualties. The kingdom of Camelot had never stood so close to greatness or so near to disaster. And to his relief, the assembled druids seemed fairly unconcerned about the expected attack. Merlin, on the other hand, kept rubbing his forehead.
“What is it?” Arthur’s voice cut in through the throng in Merlin’s head.
Merlin looked up in surprise and then his cheeks reddened as he saw the concern in Arthur’s eyes. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he rushed to assure his king.
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
“I’m sorry! Um, habit. Sorry. It’s just,” he sighed, “I’ve been avoiding large groups of druids because of this whole ‘Emrys’ thing. They put a lot of faith in him--um, me, I guess--this is confusing. And they also talk a lot.” Arthur raised an eyebrow. The druids had been largely silent all evening. “They talk...in my head. It gets to be a bit much sometimes. Wait, this is good! Keep talking to me. They won’t interrupt the great Emrys and the Once and Future Prat. I mean, King!” Merlin grinned.
Arthur laughed in spite of himself. “So what does it entail, being Emrys?” he pursued. Merlin couldn’t help but notice Arthur’s eagerness whenever the topic of Emrys arose.
Merlin hesitated. “I don’t exactly know. Except that I’m meant to serve the Once and...well, you know the rest. Emrys is meant to protect and serve you, Arthur. So in a sense, I’ve been on the right track since my first week in Camelot. I’m not sure they meant for the great Emrys to press your tunics or empty your chamber pots, but, um, it can’t be all glory, right?”
Merlin realized he was babbling. It was just that Arthur was studying him so intently, hanging on every word. “Look, it’s not...I’m not suddenly important just because the druids think I’m part of some musty old story. I’m just Merlin.”
“And you think that makes you unimportant,” Arthur stated in a soft voice.
Merlin shrugged, unsure of himself. He fidgeted with the buckles on his vest. Whereas last night he’d been wearing sleep clothes and little else, tonight he was dressed in a combination of his own trousers and tunic, plus a layer of Arthur’s old hunting leathers in faded black and an additional studded leather vest. Tightened up, they fit him tolerably well. Arthur had insisted on him having some protection, even though Merlin argued back that it was unlikely to make much difference. Each forearm was wrapped in the golden vambraces and his dragonfire-burnished dagger was sheathed at his side. In his left hand he held the sidhe staff he’d kept hidden so many years.
He’d made light of Arthur’s precautions, but it did make him feel a little more confident, standing alongside Arthur in his chainmail. In some ways, this is what he’d dreamed of so many times: he and Arthur, fighting back to back, magic and might united in the service of Albion.
Lost in thought, he startled when Arthur reached across and squeezed the back of Merlin’s neck in a rather firm gesture of comfort.
Merlin winced. “Ow! Why? ”
Arthur punched him in the arm and smiled. “Camelot can’t afford for both of us to be brooding tonight. So cheer up and get ready to fight for your life.”
As if invited by his flippant choice of words, a sudden chill wind blew through the great ballroom. The druids, already on their feet, moved into a tighter circle as Iseldir raised the golden shield from the previous night.
Not a moment too soon. The creature seemed to bring darkness with it as it materialized within the hall, whirling around the magical perimeter and seemingly searching for a point of weakness. The druids’ shield flared in response.
“Now?” Arthur’s voice was tense.
Merlin nodded. “Now.”
Arthur drew forth Excalibur as Merlin struck his staff against the floor and brought forth a burst of eerie green flames. The flames would not harm the creature as daylight would, but Arthur suggested that a display of magic might draw the creature away from the druids. Arthur’s plan had been a good one, it seemed, for the creature turned at once in space and darted with alarming speed towards the king and his warlock.
“Emryyyys…” it hissed, and then “Mine …” Merlin slid the dagger from its sheath and struggled to hold his ground, as the darkness and cold rushed towards him.
“That’s where I think you’ll find you’re wrong,” came a welcome, sonorous voice. “He’s my shoddy manservant and if you want him, you’ll have to go through me.” And just before the shrouded thing reached him, there was Arthur, Excalibur in his hand, its blade dancing with reflected flames. He slashed across the body of the creature and it let out a spine-tingling wail. But then it turned, faster than Arthur had been expecting, and clawed at his right arm. With a clatter Excalibur fell from his nerveless fingers. Arthur stumbled and fell to one knee as the creature swooped over him, sucking the heat from his body, sending shooting frostbite-like pains through his rapidly numbing sword arm.
“Shoddy, eh?” Merlin stepped neatly in front of him. “Tell me, Sire? Would you prefer me or George by your side, just now?” And the creature shrieked again as Merlin’s dagger jabbed upwards through what would have been its ribcage. Arthur snatched up Excalibur in his left hand and rose to stand shoulder to shoulder, back to back with Merlin. Merlin let his staff fall to the floor, still blazing with its unearthly light, and raised the dagger to strike.
For a moment, it seemed that the frobana might have retreated into the darkness or even fled, but then it descended on them, screaming down from above and forcing them to break their formation. But in doing so, the creature placed itself between its two deadly adversaries. Silver and gold slashed and stabbed. The hissing shadow seemed to be unable to escape the trap in which it found itself.
“Now, Arthur?”
“Finish it.”
Merlin stretched out his left hand towards the creature and incanted. Arthur was momentarily motionless at the sight of Merlin’s eyes like molten gold in the darkness and his voice, almost inhuman, chanting the words of power. And then from his palm, an orb rose. Arthur’s breath caught at the sight of it. Even after all these years, he could not fail to recognize it. Someone knew I was in trouble and sent a light to guide the way. Someone certainly had been watching over him. He’d felt it for years. Now he knew his name. As if there had ever been any doubt.
The orb exploded into a burst of pure daylight that illuminated the hall. It caught on Excalibur, on Merlin’s dagger and vambraces. It warmed Arthur’s face with the heat of a summer day. Merlin risked a glance at Arthur and his hair was shining like gold, his smile as jubilant as a child’s. Arthur caught his look and held it, something indefinable but joyous in his eyes. And then as one they closed on the creature.
Both blades flashed and tore in a dance of death. It wasn’t clear which struck the killing blow, but there was a sudden shockwave and freezing blast that knocked both men to the ground. The shadow itself seemed to explode into infinite fragments of darkness.
The light from Merlin’s hand went out as his head cracked against the stone floor. There he lay motionless, the dagger falling from his lifeless hand.
Arthur flung himself across the few feet that separated them as the druids’ shield disappeared. It took a moment to register their murmurs of dismay and confusion, for Arthur’s entire being was concentrated on Merlin’s face, pale as marble in the moonlight.
“Merlin. Merlin!” Arthur tapped his cheek gently but urgently. “Open your eyes. You’re fine. You’re alright now, just open your eyes.” His tone belied his words. Merlin was still. Too still. Arthur combed a careful hand through the dark curls and drew it back again immediately, fingertips bloody.
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur recognized the approach of Iseldir, who moved quickly and silently to kneel at Merlin’s side. “Can you heal him?” Arthur asked. A note of fear crept into his voice.
“I shall try,” Iseldir answered gravely. He closed his eyes and began to chant. Arthur hadn’t noticed their approach, but the rest of the druid sorcerers had gathered behind him, and now echoed his words. From Iseldir’s raised hands, something like a fine golden mist rained down on Merlin’s form, each mote of light disappearing as it touched him. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then Merlin began to twitch and shake. It was as though every muscle in his body were seized with tiny contractions. “What’s happening?” Arthur demanded, but the druids only continued to chant.
The shaking grew more violent. Now Merlin’s head tossed from side to side and his forehead creased with pain. The chanting grew to a crescendo as Merlin’s body arched in a final violent spasm. Then the echoing voices ceased and Merlin collapsed, limp, on the ground, his head falling slackly to one side, eyes still closed.
Arthur’s sight seemed to go dark at the edges, vision retreating until only Merlin’s pale face was visible. If there was sound, it reached him as if underwater. Merlin...he wasn’t...could not possibly be… Arthur’s heart pounded in his chest and Arthur cursed it. Beat for his, beat for his heart or what’s the use in you? Gods...Triple Goddess...let him live, let him live, let him live...
“Just look at me, Merlin. You’re going to be fine, just open your eyes and look at me.” Arthur scarcely registered the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Just look at me. Please, Merlin. You can’t do this to me.” Arthur lowered his face and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s forehead, before touching his own against it. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered.
Merlin’s breath was a gasp. It was a shocking sound, wet and harsh, but it was the most beautiful sound Arthur had ever heard. Merlin’s long eyelashes fluttered and Arthur’s heart almost forgot to beat.
Merlin’s eyelids flew open. The beloved eyes met Arthur’s. Even in the moonlight there was no imagining it.
Inky black pools stared back at him.