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The castle is burning. Arthur stands and watches the red-gold glow creep across what had been his home, and his eyes burn in sympathy, with more than smoke. "Let's go," Merlin says, coming up beside him. "There's nothing more we can do here."
He turns and takes in the sorry remnants of his people waiting on the slopes behind him, ragged and sooty, clinging to one another and looking to him with only faint glimmers of hope, but trusting in him. Gwen squeezes his hand, not speaking. "Where are the knights?"
Merlin glances around, eyes going distant and golden. "Percival and Elyan are scouting ahead, they say the way is clear. Leon is helping Gaius. Gwaine is somewhere down there, he says he's cheering the people. We're as ready as it gets."
He nods. "Let's go."
Merlin moves on to help Morgana lift Mordred to his feet; the youth looks confused for a moment, then finds his footing and props himself on his walking stick, refusing further aid. Morgana shrugs, Merlin shoulders Mordred's small pack with his own, and comes back to rejoin Arthur. Arthur grabs him by the scruff of his neck with his free hand and pulls him close, pressing their foreheads together for a moment. "It'll be all right. We'll be all right. Trust me this time."