Let's Do This Over 1/3

[magictreestump]

Title: Let's Do This Over
Author(s): magictreestump / magicaltreestump
Artist: somnolentlyu
Pairings/characters: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Word Count:
Warnings: mentions of homophobia, character death
Summary: canon!au historical!au When Merlin is executed after being revealed as a sorcerer the fate of the world is changed forever. Arthur must travel to the Elvish court to fix his destiny. From there a tale of trust, religion and homophobia unfolds as they are reborn to fight alongside Robert the Bruce in a bid for independence.
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Colin Morgan and Bradley James, as well as the rights to Merlin/the BBC etc. Unfortunately I don't. The second part is in no way anything to do with my stance on the Scottish referendum. It was just my version of history revision. I personally like being England's bitch.
Author's notes: I'd like to say a massive thank you to my wonderful beta Emily, as well as my fantastic artist somnolentlyu! I'm still amazed at the art. I'd also like to say thank you to Morgan for being my number one bae and betaing my last minute stuff in school. Also, James Mi for writing the first dragon scene while I should have been revising. I'd also like to thank all of the EU group chat for putting up with my weird questions. On the upside, it brought archery into our hearts. Oh, and one massive thank you to my dad for not dying. That's awesome of you!
Art link: http://somnolentlyu.livejournal.com/1472.html





one. camelot.

1.1

Arthur Pendragon could still remember watching his first execution from behind his father’s legs. He had been six years old and far too young to truly understand what was happening. He could still feel the burning at the back of his throat and the heaviness in his nose. He could smell the fire and ash; the burning flesh that stunk worse than rotten meat.

Now, locked inside the prison cells underneath Camelot, Arthur could smell the smoke of another fire coming in through the grate. His father was out there watching over the proceedings for a balcony. The pyre was lit. The sorcerer would die.

He should feel something. He just couldn’t figure out what he was meant to feel. He was angry at his father, at the court for so brazenly betraying him like this. He should hate Morgana for not having warned him sooner. He should hate Gaius for ever letting Merlin stay. And most of all, Arthur should hate Merlin for letting himself be caught. He should hate Merlin for ever letting Arthur in.

Arthur sat with his back straight against the cool stone. His head tilted upwards, centred beneath the grate, trying to be as close to Merlin as he could possibly be. He wanted to defy the thick stone walls, the iron door and the courtyard between them. Every man and woman who stood between them would feel his wrath.

Arthur felt the pull of magic enticing him. He saw the silver tendrils once, twice sweep around the room in a graceful arch before resting on the door. This magic was peaceful; nothing like the decaying scene outside. This magic was nothing like Merlin’s. It felt like burning and with a hot flash of colour and light it threw the cell door open. Time stood still.

The guards were frozen in place. Their swords lifted up half way in defence. The magic startling them into a senseless sleep. They didn’t move as Arthur walked past. There was not so much as a blink from either one of them.

He felt the magic push him to the courtyard where the dreaded scene awaited him. The courtyard was full of courtiers dressed in their finest clothes; knights who had once been Merlin’s friends; and peasants who had once walked beside him. Uther, dressed in golds and red, stood apart from the crowd above them all like a God. His hand was lifted mercilessly, beckoning towards the fire. The malicious presence of betrayal held his figure down. A member of his own court-the boy he had named to serve his son-was guilty of the highest form of treason. The irony of it all hadn’t escaped Arthur.

Uther’s hand guided Arthur towards Merlin, slumped against the stake. He was the image of heavenly sacrifice. A man determined to protect all that was good burning in front of his friends. His hair was matted against his head, thick with sweat and blood. Deep scarlet lines were etched into his forehead, his clothes were torn and a crown of blood had been placed on his head. He was motionless like the rest of the world. The ash from the fire billowed around him and hung in the air, held their indefinitely by the unmoving wind. The ash was the only sign that the flames lapping at Merlin’s thighs had worked. There was no sign of burning on his skin.

There was something god like in all of this, Arthur couldn’t help but think. The stark contrast of red against the greys of the ash. The entire of the citadel had been covered by the breeze. Merlin’s sacrifice a grim reminder. It would take weeks for the ash to be cleared from the walls. In mid summer too the rain might not come for weeks, and then it could be too late to wash away the evidence of Merlin’s burning.

Arthur knew of the prophecy. Bits and pieces stuck out to him now. Like how Merlin was the saviour who would guide Arthur to welcoming magic back into the heart of Camelot. He knew that it was destiny that Merlin and he had met. He understood that their friendship was the start of something great. There was no denying the significance of their lives. They were the chosen ones; together they were the bringers of the golden age of Camelot. And with Uther’s decision to execute Merlin he had changed the fate of the world. Uther had made the ultimate sacrifice for Camelot. There would be no golden age. There would be only war, and hatred, and denial.

But the world was still a picture. And though the scene before Arthur was one of tragedy, he had time to save it all. A single flicker of hope remained inside Arthur. Merlin was alive. He had stopped time. Together they would escape Camelot.

Arthur moved. He walked through the courtyard, sidestepping the people as he went. He was too slow, too calm for his liking, but nothing else made sense. If he moved too swiftly then he might break the spell. If he went with haste he might ruin it all. Arthur wanted to scream and kick and fight as he rescued Merlin’s body from the flames. He wanted someone else to be aware of what he was doing.

He pulled Merlin down from the pyre and the ropes holding him fell to pieces. Time stuttered enough for the eyes watching Uther to shift to him. And fuck, if seeing Merlin burning for all eternity wasn’t enough to set Arthur on edge, this certainly was.

In the stables, no doubt by some miracle, a horse was waiting ready. Arthur’s sword, his armour and his hunting knife were already strapped to the sides. To the side, Morgana stood caught between readying another horse and breathing.

Arthur could feel the flames from the pyre. He felt the need to ride away into nothingness and plot his revenge. He felt the silver magic cold against his flushed skin. It took him away from his feelings and instead placed him in a field somewhere else. A moment of clarity washed over him, putting a rest to the fire and torment. He had to head north and find the Elvish Court deep inside the Màrnach. There he would find some peace.



1.2

Time had resumed when Arthur had passed the border between Camelot and Mercia. The Màrnach was eight days away by horse but how much of the journey had passed already Arthur was unsure of. The thick trees of the forest saw no end and the sun seemed to rise faster and set slower. Time was passing, but it was losing its common touch.

Arthur could tell just by looking at Merlin that time had not taken a hold of his body. His skin was cold, he had no pulse, but his cheeks were flushed with warmth and his mouth was parted in sleep. His legs were blistered and raw from the flames. The fever and sweat on his brow were the only indicator that beyond any possibility that Merlin was still alive. And he was in the forest, being taken away from Gaius’ help. It was the cost of treason.

Arthur couldn’t help but think that treason, in this one instance, was justifiable. He had seen Merlin’s magic first hand. He saw the way the gold curled around his body and made of him. He saw the stars in his eyes and the fire of a thousand suns inside of him. There was power beyond reason inside of Merlin, and Arthur had seen it all. Merlin was golden. His magic was for the good of Camelot.

Uther could never have seen it that way. His mind was corrupted with hatred. His anger had consumed all that was good about him. Arthur never expected his father to have reacted differently. It was... something else that took hold of him. Someone had betrayed their secret. Arthur could count on his hand the people who knew about Merlin’s secret, and there were even less that knew of their relationship. Of the handfasting. Morgana, Gaius, Gwaine. Gwen.

Arthur didn’t want to think of any of them as the betrayer. He hoped it was someone else. A passing servant had heard or seen too much. One of Uther’s knights had found out. If it were a man, let it be any other man than one of Arthur’s.

It was too late for regrets or could-have-beens. There was no way he could turn back time and change what fate had made of their lives. And how fate had played them well. It had promised the golden age and left Arthur with a dead lover and a destroyed destiny.

The Màrnach was all that lay ahead of him now.

1.3

The sun stopped in its place midday of the third day. Arthur's horse carried on despite not having rested. He hadn't even stopped to put on his armour. Arthur had Merlin's body cradled against his own and he could feel the cold sweat of fever creeping through his tunic. The static of Merlin's body was all that held Arthur in place. He was constantly moments away from breaking but the hope of reaching the Màrnach with Merlin’s body before the sun finally went down was all the hope he had.

Arthur had no way of knowing how long he had been riding. The silence of the forest didn’t help at all, and the forest itself seemed to last forever. It was like none of the five great kingdoms had ever been made, and beyond the northern border of what Arthur thought had been Gawant it was like the petty kings had never blessed the grounds of Albion. Instead what looked like remains of small castles-nothing more than stone dwellings destroyed long ago-had been overcome by thickets of grass and shrub. As Arthur rode deeper into the forest, now having gone days on end without rest, these buildings became more frequent and with better upkeep.

The trees grew sparser as Arthur went on. The buildings became less derelict but remained unlivable. The strength of the sun grew stronger, and the light began to blind him as it poured through the edges of the trees. The trees became mere silhouettes as white beams spread between. Arthur felt no fear. The light called to him the same way the silver magic did in Camelot. The shadows of the trees began to change, in places the branches hung to look like limbs and long hair caught in the wind. The bark carved by the wind to look like gnarled skin and golden flecks in the bark made out faded faces. The draw of the light, the warmth it cast over Arthur, was enough to calm him. He didn’t think twice about the faces in the trees. Instead he urged his horse on faster.

The trees bottomed out but the light carried on beyond the end of the world. Arthur felt himself slipping away from everything. For the first time in days he felt truly tired and the mercy of the light was so passionate. Behind him he felt Merlin stir briefly, sinking further into Arthur’s back before stilling again. Arthur’s eyes drooped. The light should have blinded him but instead it lured him into a sleep. Briefly he felt himself slipping from his horse, he lost the touch of Merlin behind him. It was as if the light had created hands to manoeuvre him from his horse. Arthur couldn’t react. He let himself be carried away by the light. He let Merlin’s grip fall from his body. He let his horse walk away.

Sleep came to him like a wave in an unstoppable ocean. He hoped he’d never awake.

1.4

Arthur woke up to the soft canopy of a tent above him. His eyes blurred with the soft light streaming in from all around. A stack of soft mattresses were beneath him. He shifted his hands slightly and felt flowers brush against his skin. The thorns didn’t catch on him or his clothes, nor did they seem to rip at the mattress. It was surreal, like an attempt at wooing a girl had gone drastically wrong. Shit, did that make Arthur the girl?

Arthur had never felt anything like this before in his life. There was content rooted deep in his belly. It stung him like the fire of his forefathers and it bore him no harm. There was sleep heavy in his eyes and a weight was resting in his heart. It was patient, the pain that slowly welcomed him as he came further into his senses. It was a glorious hurt, one that ripped through his very core and made him feel more than human. He was more than alive right now. But at the same time his very being was subdued. What made him hurt was unknown to him. It was strange-the content he felt coinciding so nicely with the need to suffer, with the want to scream out and make it all stop.

He wanted to reach out to something, anything to make it stop. His attempts to move from the bed were fruitless. He remained in place, barely able to move his hands to brush against the flowers around him. Where were the gods in all of this?

He managed to lift his head slightly from the pillows. It achieved nothing but the desire to burrow his head deep into the pillow and fall back to sleep. He must have been healing because his skin felt fresh and warm, his mind was calm despite the unexplainable torment his body was in, and his head was clear of all thoughts. He could barely remember who he was beyond Arthur Pendragon and even that was a mystery to him. He was Crown Prince of Camelot, bringer of the golden age, and the once and future king. Those words meant nothing to him now. He had come to be here, inside this tent, and he wanted nothing more than stay here for the rest of his days. It would be his purgatory. An endless torment tainted so that it brought him peace until the moment he could figure it all out and move on.

He welcomed the urge to sleep. Resting his head once again on the pillows, forgetting entirely the strangeness of the world around him. He needed to heal. He needed his mind to be cured before he could think straight. Arthur just hoped the gods were on his side.

In his sleep, he dreamt that Merlin and him were in a boat by the sea. In reality it was the crossing point to the foreign lands, but here it seemed like something much more significant than that. It was like the passing point from one momentous place to the next. The boat remained on the rocky shore, far from the reaches of the waves crashing silently against the stones. The boat still rocked. Arthur could feel it deep inside of him. Or maybe the uneasiness in his stomach came from knowing that this just might be the last time he would ever see his friend, and it wasn’t even real.

Merlin spoke. There was nothing strange or unpleasant about the way his words sound so foreign and familiar as they hit the air. They reverberated with softest of touches. Arthur could almost taste the way the sound of Merlin’s voice caressed his skin.

“There’s a war coming,” he said. He was the only thing alive.

Arthur could feel his mouth moving, he could tell he was speaking but he couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Merlin smiled the way he did sometimes when he thought Arthur wasn’t looking. There was pride in his eyes and a sincerity in the way his mouth curved upwards without thought.

“You can’t stand against your father alone,” Merlin said. “You don’t have any men to fall back on.”

“I’ll stand against him,” Arthur said, this time he could hear himself. What he said the first time was lost to him. It had still not caught up. It was lost somewhere between the silence and waves hitting relentlessly against the rocks. “I’ll stand against him and I’ll win no matter what it takes. I’ll do it all for you Merlin. It’s always for you.”

Merlin sunk back. “Yes, but what will you do?”

Arthur couldn’t believe that Merlin didn’t see what he going to for him. He thought it was obvious. “I’ll show him that I’m the rightful king. I’ll be the greatest king that Albion has ever seen, and with you by my side he won’t be able to not realise that.”

“It’s a righteous plan,” Merlin said. “I’ll give you that.” And then when he stopped speaking for a few brief moments the entire world stood still all over again. He looked out over the sea, towards where the foreign lands would be, and brought his ups to rest his head in them. “The gods told me that we once had a destiny that ended something like this, except that in that life your father was gone and you never knew of me until your final days. And you died tragically young in the arms of someone who loved you dearly. I can’t help but think that this life is something like that. You were never meant to fight your father like this. Neither one of us, in either destiny, was meant to die at your father’s hands. What you’re facing is something that even the gods don’t know the extent of. If you fight your father you’re sure to fail.”

Arthur was shocked. Merlin had always been supporting him. Even if what he did had disastrous consequences. Their lives were intertwined. Everything Arthur did in his recent years he had done for Merlin. It was all for the betterment of their cause. And this was something different. Merlin had always said when Arthur was about to make a huge mistake but he had never so plainly out that Arthur straight out fail. There was no hint of humour or poking fun at. Merlin had been entirely serious. It was probably the biggest sign Arthur had to turn back and stop what he was planning. But when did he ever listen to what Merlin said?

“I’ll bring magic back for you,” Arthur said so quietly that he was surprised Merlin could even hear it.

“I’m sure you will,” Merlin said. “But now is not the time. Albion has twenty two kingdoms, four of them great enough to be recognised by Camelot. When I died our destiny died with me. I think we all died then. You’ve just got to realise it. There is no hope for us. What we were meant to achieve has come to pass and all we do from now is wait it all out and hope everything comes around to give us another chance.” Merlin stopped again. He stood up in the boat and walked over to sit beside Arthur. He pulled him into his arms and ran his hands down Arthur’s sides. “I will miss you,” he said. “For all of time. And you will be a great king but not now. One day you will be, but for now you have to settle with surviving outside of your kingdom. The saints will help you realise all of this. But first you have to forgive your father and let this all go. You are my prince, my sweet prince and you’re my king. You were never meant to love me like I love you. I was meant to burn for you as I watched you become the greatest king the world has ever known. But I’ll settle now with knowing that you were always my king. Don’t you dare give this all up for me. Don’t let yourself be overcome with hate and the need for revenge. Don’t let yourself become the man your father has become.”

Arthur turned his head so his mouth was breathing hot against Merlin’s. “You’re so stupid, Merlin. I’ve already given everything away. I gave it all up for you in a heartbeat. The moment I saw you as you are now I knew I would do anything I could to keep you with me.”

“With you and your memory.”

“Yes,” Arthur breathed out. He kissed Merlin one last time as the sound of waves finally came crashing down around them. For a second their mouths met. Then Arthur pulled back and said, “I gave it all up for you long ago.” And then everything was gone. Arthur was left alone in the shell of a broken boat with the knowledge that he would have failed no matter what life he chose to lead.

1.5

When Arthur next awoke it was to realise that the clothes he was wearing were not his own. He looked up to see that he was still in the same tent as he was before, except this time he wasn’t as conflicted. His feelings were bright and raw with the memory of his dream.

He sat up and looked around the tent. Arthur was in the centre, backed up against a wall of fabric on his pile mattresses. The sun lit up the surroundings as it poured in through the material giving everything a warm glow. To the right, the door flaps were closed but moved slightly with every passing motion of the wind. Rich, thick rugs were placed over the grass and underneath all the furniture. A wooden chest of drawers were in front of Arthur. To the right was a chess table, two chairs, a dining table set up with six places; the chairs draped in furs to make them more appealing. Every piece of wood on show was carved with intricate designs of archaic scenes and nature.

Arthur clenched his hands in the mattress. The flowers still surrounded him. They were fresh as the day they were picked but they felt like the very same flowers that Arthur had first woken up to. He didn’t know just how long he had been sleeping, but it must have been quite some time. The dream he had of Merlin had seemed to have lasted a lifetime and it was there he had said words so much unlike his own to form a vow. Arthur couldn’t care less about who had brought him to the tent or why. He was filled with an insatiable need for revenge.

Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to find success in his desires that Merlin and the gods had not foreseen. Merlin himself had said that the gods had no idea of what awaited Arthur. So maybe that meant he stood a chance if not even the gods had seen his downfall.

Arthur remember his quest to find the elves. Earlier than that he remembered his anger and his father’s rage. He remembered the declarations of treason, the accusations brought against Merlin, and he remembered Morgana’s pleas. He remembered Merlin’s body, lifeless on the pyre but ridden with fever during the journey that spanned Albion. He had carried Merlin’s body against him the whole way. If there was some inkling of insanity to all of this then Arthur just couldn’t see any of it.

And now, after all of that time spent, Merlin’s body was nowhere to be seen. Maybe Arthur really was dead. Maybe beyond those fair curtains Merlin was out there. Maybe this was the beginning of it all.

A boy came in through the opening then. He was young with sharp features, seemingly no older than Arthur was, and with a natural grace surrounding him. His cheekbones, sharp and slanted, slashed steep angles down his face. His lips were thin and wide, and his nose straight and narrow. There was something jarring about him. Something so unintentionally off putting about the boy’s appearance that Arthur couldn’t help but feel the need to recoil. The boy’s eyes settled on him. They were steel grey, set against silver skin and contrasting pale yellow hair. His aura glowed around him, deep and violent against the soft yellow of the tent.

He spoke in a sweet, feminine voice that made Arthur’s emptiness all but disappear. “You’ll be seen now.”

So these were the elves, Arthur thought. Because there was nothing else these monstrous creatures could be. There was something horrifying about the boy’s beauty. Arthur knew that the elves were intimidating, but from the stories he had been told he had imagined them to be more callous than fearsome. Arthur followed the boy out of the tent and stepped into meadow surrounded by trees. Elves were gathered in clusters around other tents, fires and tables. Looking around he realised that it was all of the elves who looked like this. He had never expected them all to be so brutish in their beauty.

When the boy got to the edge of the meadow he stopped and motioned for Arthur to come forwards.

“I can go no further,” he said.

“I thought I was meeting someone.”

The smiled, causing his eyes to form narrow slits. “Of course. You have to find your own way from here. You must first prove your worth to the gods before you can see her.”

Arthur nodded, stepped forwards and then, “Where’s my horse?” but that wasn’t what he wanted to ask.

“It’s fine. He’s fine too.”

With that, the boy turned and left to join the other elves. Arthur took one last look around the clearing before walking into the trees. He was one step closer to the goal he didn’t realise he had. Although now he was here he was unsure of how much of the journey had been his decision.

The sun had hung in the sky during his first journey through the forest. And the kingdoms Arthur had come to know throughout his short life had been overrun by the trees. There had been no sign that they had ever truly been kingdoms at all. Now Arthur was walking into the forest he had spent so much time in all over again. Except this time he went without a horse or a friend. This time he went with the fear of his father and the grace of the unknown resting on his shoulders.

There was nothing left that could be done.

1.6

The ground began to slope upwards steeply. The trees thinned out and gave way to a large clearing. Directly across from where Arthur emerged from the forest was a cave offset in a sudden cliff. A path of mud crawled its way up the left side. A burn trickled past the other, more still than it was fast. A breeze rustled the undergrowth and a sudden heatwave pulled Arthur to his senses.

A dark, hulking shape stumbled from the cave. Arthur froze. It was a dragon, medium in size but lacking that innate cleverness in its eyes. It was a brute. Arthur didn’t move, hoping it wouldn’t notice him.

Stupidly, he closed his eyes. He didn’t need to wait for long. A terrible, guttural roar came from the dragon. It reared up and let it’s jaw fall open. Instinct threw Arthur to the side. A jet of flame rifled through the air, reaching past where Arthur had been standing.

Arthur searched the clearing for an escape. Leaning up against a tree was a bow, white and decorated with ornate carvings painted gold. A quiver stock full of arrows sat lie next to it.

The dragon reared up again and Arthur pushed himself up enough to lung for the bow. It was his only hope. He grabbed it as he fell, nocked an arrow and loosed it.

The dragon was caught short. A shot of flame erupted from his belly. It hit the ground like bricks. Arthur looked into its eyes as they glazed over. He stood up, brushed himself off and swung the quiver over his shoulder. He left the dragon’s body to the forest, not pausing to look at it as he walked away. He still had to go on.


1.7

The house is kind of like this beast of a thing appearing out of nowhere. It's like nothing Arthur has ever seen before and it's brilliant. The architecture is grand, using grey granite to create this monstrous manor. It was nothing like a castle should it. It was built solely for the aesthetics, but that alone seemed to hold the power to stop armies before it. It has such presence and majesty that it seems like a thousand times more than it really is. It has Arthur by the throat, pulling him to pieces as he walks forwards. The sun beats down, hard and slow, and it's tormenting. He can feel it boiling his blood as he goes. It grinds against him slow, pushing him down further and further into the grass. He can't walk without the sun killing him slowly as he goes.

It's the feeling of remorse carried with it that tops it all off. The sun is like this intense ball of everything Arthur has been feeling over the last few days happening all at once. It's hanging over him like an ominous cloud that was born with the sole purpose to fuck him over. It burns. All of it burns like nothing has ever hurt before. The gods looked down on him, and laughed. Arthur could practically feel their eyes boring into him as he walked.

Arthur walked up the steps and pushed open the heavy doors. They gave away beneath his touch easily. Inside, it was dark and cool, a quick relief from the heat of the sun. Dust floated thick in the air where they were caught by the beams of sun streaming in through the windows a story up. Tapestries hung on wood panelled walls, dark wood covered every surface. For some reason Arthur knew not to explore the downstairs any further. Instead he made his way up the curving flight of stairs. The landing took him to a hallway leading off in all directions with doors on each side.

Arthur didn’t need to think about which door he was meant to walk through. He had come this far without truly knowing what he was meant to be doing. One more push to open a door was nothing in the scheme of things, but still it made Arthur feel purposeless, without choice or direction. He wondered now about how much of his life had been his decision. How much of his life was just prompts from the gods, pushing him towards a greater good that still managed to fall through.

But Arthur was here. He could turn back the way he came at any time. He could cross the kingdoms of Albion only to arrive in Camelot with an army waiting for him. Arthur was a traitor. In his father’s eyes he was worse than whoever had betrayed him. It was too late to turn back anyway. Merlin was gone, for good this time. He had barely seen more than three suns though he had been travelling for weeks. He was too far gone to turn back. His father would have disowned him, the gods only knew what happened to Morgana, and he had ruined his reputation. Arthur may not of have his complete will, but nor did he have any other choice than to go through the door and finally find out what his calling was.

Behind the door a spacious room was revealed. In front of Arthur a woman sat on a throne in such grand dress cast in faded light. She was sharp angles and hard lines. Prominent cheekbones cut down the sides of her face in a jarring way. Her hair was pale gold and as too was the aura that surrounded her, contrasting against her near silver skin. She was horrifying to look at; her image so intense and intimidating that it seemed almost vulgar to Arthur. Almost immediately Arthur recognised her, despite never having seen her before. Her name was Eva. She was the Queen of the Elves.

She drank wine, like any other mortal being would; from a simple goblet. The room framed the scene. Ivy climbed up the walls to twist around balconies and banisters. To the right of the door were large windows that were the only source of light in the room. And then there were the wall paintings. Images that Arthur had only ever dreamed of seeing were in full view now. Scenes of mortal and immortal war alike were painted on the wood panels. Tapestries hung and told much simpler versions of the same wars. It was like a memorial to all those lost on Albion’s soil. In the paintings even the gods walked freely amongst mortal men in combat.

Arthur recognised some of the faces. On the left wall there was Thekla the true prophet, dressed in a red cloak and armour. The painting beside her was of Constantine kneeling before a golden throne; he was the first man in Albion to have ever met the elvish delegation. Duncan, first king of the Màrnach was next. On the right were Elisa, Nathanael, and Raphael, the monarchs of the first age. Then on the wall directly opposite the door and underneath the balcony were the paintings of the great elvish saints: Zachariah, the God of War and Fate; Thanos, the guardian and God of Death; and Cameron, God of the Earth. There was an empty space on the wall, Arthur assumed it would be where the current queen would go. And there in amongst them all was a man standing mid battle, a dragon caught mid fire, holding the exact same bow that Arthur was holding. His features had been made soft by the paint. He was vibrant with yellow and red stripes stretching out behind him. Unlike the paintings of the Saints beside him, his entire body was painted instead just a portrait.

“His name is Mercutio,” Eva’s voice shocked Arthur from his thoughts. “And that bow you hold belongs to him.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say. Eva still didn’t look at him, but her features began to blur and soften as the sunlight slowly moved over her.

“You changed,” Arthur breathed out.

Eva smiled slightly. “We always change. You’re quite the talk in Avalon but I should assure you it is all good.” She rolled her shoulder back and then set the goblet upon the floor. She stood up and walked towards the window. She motioned for Arthur to follow her and he stuttered into an approach. She looked nostalgic, like an old friend Arthur hadn’t seen before in a long time. He almost expected her to start reminiscing about their early years.

Instead, she said, “We’ve met before. You were betrayed.”

“I was,” Arthur agreed.

Eva snapped her head round. “Before?”

“Days ago now. Maybe weeks.”

The wistful expression fell from Eva’s face. “Oh,” she said, her voice much less kind and sounding far more confused than it did before. “Of course. You came from Camelot this time.”

It was Arthur’s turn to be confused, but he nodded anyway.

“So I was right, you have been betrayed. I’m sorry, it’s just so hard to keep track of things some times. And now the realms are falling everything’s gone mad with fear.” Eva shook her head. “You met the dragon though?”

“Just now.”

Eva continued on like she didn’t even hear what Arthur said. “You know, there’s a space for you two above the door. Zachariah likes to call it ‘Two Lovers Lost in Paradise’. It’s meant to be juxtaposition, I think. You two great things who fell down at your first hurdle set opposite the greatest men Albion has seen. The irony was lost on some, though.”

“Me and the dragon?”`

“What? No! You and Merlin.”

Arthur took a few moments. Eva looked unperturbed. The window gave view of the surrounding forest. A hill peaked out from the trees, on top of it was a castle with a flag flying over head. The Màrnach, Arthur thought, caught in amongst the elvish lands. A remnant from the past.

“I found the dragon,” Arthur finally said. “What do you want from me?”

“He’s kind of like Hylas, don’t you think?” Eva was still avoiding the question.

“I’ve heard the story.”

“Yes, well. Merlin looks like him in another life. And then in another life again he looks like-”

“What’s the point?” Arthur interrupted. “What’s the point in telling me all of this? What you’re doing is just rubbing salt into the wounds. I was summoned here by some means. I had no choice in coming here, you must at least have the decency to tell me what I’m meant to do.”

Eva waved her hand and a chair appeared out of nowhere. “You should sit,” she said.

Arthur shook his head. “I’d prefer to stand.”

Eva rolled her eyes. “If I’m correct, you know of the prophecy. Obviously this time round destiny has failed you. There were too many anomalies, too many coincidences and wrong turnings that led your lives astray. You were never meant to be happy,” Eva stopped. “Gods above, no. That sounds wrong.” She took a moment and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s just nothing like this has ever happened before. The life the prophecy had foretold was one that saw great success but little personal happiness. Your wife was to leave you after failing to conceive, and you were to die at the hands of your bastard son.”

Maybe Arthur should have accepted the seat in the beginning. He sat down and put his head in his hands. “I thought I was meant to bring about the golden age.”

“Oh no, you were, but that doesn’t mean you were going to be happy.”

“And I suppose I came here because I failed.”

“The gods called you,” Eva corrected. “Because they need to salvage what was lost. They sent you on the path to the Màrnach knowing that you would prove yourself.” Eva went back to her throne and sat down. This time though she looked much less queenly and far more like a scared little girl. Arthur imagined that when she wore her crown it would be far too big for her head. “You’re the stuff of legends. The gods were never just going to let you go. Merlin held the pure magic of the earth inside of him. He was the key to returning magic to Camelot and together you two were meant to unite Albion.”

It was then that Arthur began to link it all together. The dragon had lumbered about like a drunk man, lost and unable to find its way. His lack of hunger or tiredness on his journey. Merlin still seeming alive even though there was no way he could have survived. Time had stopped in Camelot. The sun had hung high in the sky for days, and the sudden shifts between day and night began to make sense. Magic was fading from the earth.

Arthur began to speak, “The trees in the forest-”

“Were elves.” It was Eva’s turn to look sit back and look sombre. She opened her mouth but struggled to find the words she wanted to say. When she finally found what she wanted to say she didn’t sound sure. “The people have begun to hibernate to save themselves. It’s an attempt to save themselves from the storm, but the court remains I assure you. No matter what happens, my people will be here.”

Somehow Arthur doubted that Eva had managed to convince herself of that. She was young in comparison to the gods behind her. Even in comparison to Arthur’s age of nineteen she seemed young and foolish. Her heart was obviously dedicated to the task. She had seen more lifetimes in the blink of an eye than Arthur had seen years. Despite her naivety Arthur saw something of himself in her. She was terrified, having been thrown in at the deep at after being forced to rule over the people before she came of age. Her father had died young and helpless in the face of a war. She had been gifted with the crown, an honour that Arthur would probably never know. Then there was her life after death.

Even Arthur knew what was meant for her, despite Uther’s strict hand over any information of any magical kind being passed to him other than “evil”. The gods had gifted her with the cup of life when she was a child and her fate was sealed. Upon coming of age she was to become the saint of life. When she died she would join the ranks of the gods.

“It’s summer here,” Eva whispered, like it was a secret “Can you tell?”

And Arthur could. In spite of everything that Arthur wanted to feel he could still sense the heat beating down on him. Even seeing was proving hard. He was unsure if it was the sun that blinded him more, or if it was just the grief he had yet to properly feel. He didn’t want to feel the sun on his back when he walked. He didn’t want to have to squint his eyes. He didn’t want to shield himself away from everything. He wanted to grieve and for the world to follow suit. Instead he remained strong and motionless. The golden light around him only made him feel worse.

“Where’s Merlin?”

A sharp intake of breath was the only thing that let Arthur know that Eva had heard him.

Her voice shook as she spoke barely above a whisper. “I tried. Believe me, I tried.”

Arthur didn’t have to look at her to know that she was crying. His eyes stung and he held his breath in an attempt to calm himself down.

“Let me see him.”

“Arthur-”

“I want to see him,” he raised his voice. “Please.”

Arthur avoided Eva’s eyes, instead choosing to look out the window. The sun was only just beginning to set but Arthur would have bet anything to say that it would stay just above the tree line for some time.

“Tomorrow, there’s someone who’s heard of your plight. I’ll think he’ll want to see you then.”

“I don’t care.”

Silence echoed around the room. It felt like the paintings were watching him. The room would have been grand long ago but now it just seemed over the top.

“Very well,” Eva finally said. “But tomorrow...” She didn’t bother to finish her sentence. She just stood up and walked towards the door.

1.8

Merlin’s body lay on a stone plinth. He was dressed in fine clothes that were like something Arthur would find in his own wardrobe. He wore a blue padded jacket and breeches made out of the finest of fabrics. His neckerchief, Pendragon red, was tucked underneath his jacket in a way that reminded Arthur of courtiers in foreign courts. It was fitting. Merlin was from another world in a sense of the word. He was royalty to those born of magic. He looked older. His skin was warmer but traces of ash still remained on his face and hands.

He was just like Arthur had imagined him to be when he was king. Merlin looked as if he was simply sleeping, having chosen to take a rest from his position as advisor and court sorcerer. The truth of the situation was almost too painful to bear.

“Do you have a cloth?” he asked.

“There should be one in the bucket on the other side,” Eva replied.

On the other side of the plinth sure enough there was a cloth. Arthur dipped his hands into the warm water and pulled the cloth out. While he wrung it out in one hand he let his other reach out to touch Merlin’s jaw. His skin was cold, not at all like it had looked. Arthur brought the cloth up to Merlin’s face and began to gently clean away the dirt, avoiding the fine clothes as best he could.

“I’ll leave you alone,” Arthur heard shortly before the dull thud of the door closing help shatter the silence.

Arthur worked silently. Part of him expected Merlin to jump or stir with each new touch. Instead he lied there with a placid expression on his face. He was peaceful in death in a way that Arthur had never seen him in life. Arthur worked gently. He took his time to wash away the ash.

After Merlin’s face was clean he moved onto the arms. He folded down the jacket sleeves to wipe at Merlin’s limp wrists and forearms. Then he cleaned the palms before moving onto the backs of his hands. Finally, he washed each finger and thumb individually. When he was done and had run out of excuses to touch he dropped the cloth back into the water. He readjusted Merlin’s jacket and then thread one hand through his hair and leaned down to press one last kiss to his lips.

He left Merlin behind him when he walked out the room, but he never left him behind.

Eva was sat on a wooden bench behind the door. Her eyes were wide with shock or fear, Arthur didn’t know which. She stared at the bottom of the opposite wall.

“You show him the greatest kindness,” she said.

“What do I do now?” Arthur asked instead of replying.

Eva jolted her eyes up. She took a moment to process what Arthur had asked before she looked at him. “You carry on. You live.”

“I wage war.”

Eva hesitated. “Yes,” she answered. It hadn’t been a question.

1.9

In the morning, if it could have been called a morning as the sun still hung heavy in the sky, Arthur walked into the grand hall to find Morgana waiting by the window. She was framed by the sunlight that never faded.

Eva walked in beside Arthur but didn’t say a word. She didn’t even look surprised by Morgana’s sudden appearance. She was the only connection they had to the gods. Maybe it was to be expected that she knew things that Arthur didn’t.

“You’re here,” Arthur said, he was still surprised by Morgana’s arrival even if Eva wasn’t. “Are you hurt?”

Morgana turned around, surprised by Arthur’s appearance perhaps more so than Arthur was of hers. Morgana immediately walked forwards and pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m fine. I thought you were dead,” she replied. She pulled away and locked eyes with Arthur. She hesitated, “Is Merlin?”

“It’s best not to dwell on it,” Eva said, reminding Arthur of her presence.

“Oh, of course,” Morgana said, clearly noticing Eva for the first time.

“I’m Eva,” Eva said when she noticed that Morgana was confused. “I’m the Queen of the Elves. I helped give you passage through the Màrnach.”

Morgana nodded distantly. She looked back through the window she had been beside earlier.

Eva frowned. “You’re looking for someone. There’s something you’re not telling us.”

Arthur trusted Eva. She was young, inexperienced and it probably wasn’t too much to say that she was out of her depth. However despite how little time Arthur had known Eva for and despite all the little nuances that made her different from him, Arthur couldn’t help but trust her. She knew things that one else could have known. Beyond everything else, she had tried what even Merlin had failed to do-to revive the dead. She wasn’t even of age, and yet she had still tried despite knowing that she wouldn’t be able to do anything. Arthur couldn’t help if that action had evoked some sort of vague sense of loyalty.

Morgana broke Arthur from his thoughts. “It’s Gwen,” she said. “She was with me but she must have gotten lost in the forest.”

“Do tell,” Eva leaned forwards in interest. “She got lost?”

“We were riding. We’d been in the forest for days when we came across the court she was with me the whole time we were there. But when we left to go back to the forest we got separated. I haven’t seen her in days.”

Arthur looked at Eva who was practically buzzing with excitement. The glamour that was softening her features faded briefly with the splitting of her concentration, leading Morgana and Arthur both to recoil. Arthur knew the significance of the second forest was greater than the first. The first forest was simply to determine a righteous cause. The second forest saw the judgement of the gods cast down upon any mortal man. Anyone who was deemed good would be allowed to pass through the second forest without harm.

“You were betrayed,” Eva smiled.

Arthur heard the blood rushing in his ears. His heart pounded in his chest with the anxiety of what would come next.

Morgana was stunned. “Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything-”

“No, no. You don’t see. You were betrayed. The second forest is for the gods to determine who is trusted to their cause. Your traitor was found the moment she left the court. She was doomed from the start.”

“You don’t mean-”

“The gods presented Arthur with Mercutio’s bow as a sign of their trust. They gave you the loss of a friend so you could stand with Arthur.”

“And I slayed the dragon,” Arthur cut in.

Eva snapped her head round to look at him. “You slayed the dragon?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, drawing the word out. “I thought that should have been obvious.”

“Oh gods,” Eva despaired. “I can’t believe you killed the dragon.”

“Was I not meant to do that?”

“No it’s… If it’s what the gods wanted for you to do, then of course you were meant to slay the dragon.”

Eva walked away from them both. “I’m sorry, I just need a moment to take this all in.”

Morgana leaned in to Arthur so that only he could hear what she was about to say.

“You totally just killed her pet,” she smiled sharply.

Arthur let out a loud laugh for just a second before he managed to recompose himself.

“Do you think she minds?”

“Hmmm,” Morgana smiled. “I think you might have just ruined your chance, that’s for sure.”

Arthur smiled right on back. It was bittersweet to find this type of adolescent joy in amongst all of their grief. It was needed though, even if it was at Eva’s possible expense.

“I can’t believe you slayed the dragon, though,” Morgana said.

Eva chose that moment to return. She had recomposed herself but still remained a little teary eyed. “As I was saying,” she said, “When Gwen stepped into the second forest her true self was revealed. She was the one who betrayed Merlin’s secret. There was no other way for the gods to not let her pass through.”

Arthur could bring himself to believe what was being said. It made sense, though, that was the scary thing. Only someone who had been close to Merlin could have possibly known his secret. But still, Merlin had been careful. Arthur had made him promise to not do magic in front of anyone except him and Gaius. Gwen could never have known Merlin’s secret. Unless… unless she had discovered something else. Something that was perhaps even bigger than magic being at the heart of Camelot.

“Was Guinevere meant to be my wife?”

Eva’s hesitation was all that it took for Arthur to realise the extent of the damage done. “She was always going to betray you, Arthur. Even your heart couldn’t change that.”

Arthur swallowed. Too busy trying not the feel to realise the extent of his anger. It was a horrible combination. The anger and hate he suddenly felt towards a long time friend mixed in with the grief of losing Merlin.

“I’ll give you time,” Eva said. “Why don’t I show Morgana around while you take your time.”

Arthur barely managed to nod in agreement, let alone hear Morgana’s soft whisper of “I’ll see you through. I’m sorry,” before she left the room. Arthur went to the window. There was space enough for him to sit down on the sill that he had failed to notice before. He sat and looked over the forest. He could see the very same tree line that he had stumbled from only days before.

“We were outside Morgana’s chambers,” Arthur said to the empty room. “The night before.” Arthur closed his eyes and pressed his head against the wooden frame. He was so glad to be sitting down, otherwise he feared that his legs might give out beneath him. “I should have noticed. I should have thought.”

It was too painful to dwell. What was done was done. There was going back and changing the past, no matter how much Arthur wanted to. As much as Arthur blamed Guinivere for what had happened-and now he blamed her more than anything else-he also couldn’t help but take some of the blame. It was his fault, after all, that they had been discovered in the first place.

Jealousy, he thought, was a strange and fickle thing. He was glad that now at least he had seen the last of it.

1.10

It was from his place on the window sill that Arthur saw Sir Patrick stumbling out of the forest merely hours later.

Sir Patrick hailed from the foreign lands, the island just across the sea at the last place Arthur had spoken to Merlin, even if it had been in a dream. He was fair and noble, and favoured heavily by the prince of his kingdom. His green eyes were held in an otherwise plain face, and his strawberry blonde hair hung limp in tufts. He introduced himself not to Eva like Arthur had expected, but to him.

“I am Sir Patrick, of the Foreign Lands,” he said, while staring at Arthur with admiration evident in his eyes. Arthur thought he was only just stopping himself from dropping to his knees and bowing his head. Except, maybe Arthur thought too soon because immediately Sir Patrick dropped to his knees out of respect. “My prince told me of you plight and I am honoured to have been allowed by the gods to be in your presence, my lord. I wish to help you in your valiant fight. My prince gave me to offer to you as much as he could spare. Our foot soldiers, out finest archers, the best knights to be your cavalry. I give them all to you.”

Arthur was unsure of how to take this. He looked at Eva who looked more amused than uncertain. She nodded her approval with a smile just tugging at her mouth.

“What’s your house?” Arthur asked.

“Thomas,” Sir Patrick said excitedly. “I’m the second son of Sir Duncan of Thomas. I’ve was a mercenary first and then a knight under the name of the prince for the past three years, now.”

“You were trusted with the prince’s army?”

“I was favoured. The king was reluctant but the prince insisted that you had a noble cause. Magic has been legal in our kingdom for years. We’ve had people flocking to our lands seeking asylum from the kingdoms on our island that still have laws against it.”

Suddenly Arthur understood. Sir Patrick came from a land of magic. The people of the Foreign Lands believed that Arthur fought in the name of magic and not in the name of love. It was probably better that way. Arthur doubted that anyone would want to fight for him had they known the true core of his rage.

Arthur found himself with no choice but to accept Sir Patrick’s offer. He was uncertain of exactly what Eva would offer to him now that she knew that he had killed the dragon, especially on top of the large numbers of elves hibernating to save themselves. “Thank you,” he said. “I am honoured by your loyalty to the cause, truly.”

“It is me who is honoured, sire. You have the makings of a great king with a heart of gold. It would be a shame to see you lose your rights to your kingdom.”

1.11

“I think I’m going insane,” Morgana said. Her brow was creased in a frown and her voice was knitted with stress so great that it shook.

“Is this about Gwen?” Arthur asked.

“No, it’s just- this is all so much to take in. I can’t believe our lives could have changed so quickly. Our friends are currently on their way to try and kill us in the name of your father.”

“I know. I understand completely, Morgana.”

“I just wish this could have turned out differently. None of us deserved to die like this.”

“I know,” Arthur said. There was no point in pretending that their deaths weren’t certain. The battle that would come sooner than they had time to prepare for was going to be the death of them all. It would in vain, Arthur was sure of that. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

1.12

It was Arthur, who had fallen asleep outside of Merlin’s chambers, who awoke at the slamming door announcing Morgana’s arrival.

She shouted, “Arthur! Arthur, wake up! You have to get ready.”

Eva stormed in behind seconds later. She didn’t even need to touch the doors as they flew open ahead of her.

“The knights of Camelot fast approach,” she shouted. “They were not been blessed like you were. If we ride out soon then we should meet them before they ever near the Màrnach.”

“We’re fighting on foreign soil?” Morgana was appalled. “Surely you must know that you can’t just do that.”

“They were routed to the Northern Lands but even they must have noticed by now. The first forest doesn’t always guide you to the court, you know.”

Morgana was instantly relieved. Arthur couldn’t feel a thing.

“Is Sir Patrick aware of this?” he asked.

“He was there when we found out. He’s taking his men to meet them before they reach the Moray.”

Arthur couldn’t do anything else but nod in acceptance. He could scarcely believe that this was it. The day of the battle was finally upon him. This could very well be the last day that he ever see alive. Or, in a turn of events that he was absolutely sure no-one was expecting, it could be the day his father fell.

Eva said something that Arthur couldn’t hear, but he noticed when Morgana leant down to eye level and held his shoulders.

“I’ll help you with your armour. The faster you’re out there the better,” she said.

Arthur still couldn’t speak. His mind was so riddled by a fear that he had never felt before. He stood up all the same and walked under Morgana’s guiding hand as he was taken to the armoury. In an hour’s time he would be standing across from the army he had once trained and guided. He knew that their collective strength was greater than any portion of his new shamble of an army.

1.13

If there ever was a time for stirring speeches, this would be it. Instead, with Uther’s army only an hour away at most, Arthur was left to make the final preparations for battle.

Arthur’s sword was returned to him by Eva before she left Arthur, Sir Patrick and her men to fight. (“Do what you can,” she said. “Your bow will carry you well. I’d stay with you but I’ve been away from the court for long enough.” She then gave him his sword, polished and ready for battle. “I wish you could have known what it’s called. When you see him, ask him what it means.” She was gone in the instant of a second, disappearing back through the vale between the worlds like she was never really there at all. Maybe she never had been.)

Sir Patrick’s men were lined up on horseback, ready to charge when given the order. The elves were behind them in a schiltron formation that Arthur couldn’t doubt himself into thinking would survive the enemy charge. They were laden with swords and few bows, not anything like the elvish armies Arthur had heard of in his youth.

His army was a mass of well-trained knights and infantry men on Sir Patrick’s part and near untrained foot soldiers that the elves very rarely relied on in battle. Compared to Uther’s army they were outnumbered three to one. A miracle would be needed for Arthur’s men to survive. No prophecy was needed to foresee that a massacre was about to take place.

When Uther’s army finally came into view, Arthur signalled to Sir Patrick to take a small portion of the cavalry round to attempt to outflank Uther. Andrew, one of Sir Patrick’s most trusted men, also led his own small faction of the cavalry to do the same in place of Arthur. Arthur would stand with the foot soldiers, sword in hand, his bow on his back but already left long behind him.

Unlike any other like battle Arthur had seen, there were no attempts to reach a truce. The battle was called when the stampede of his father’s cavalry made the ground shake. Then Arthur’s own cavalry charged in attempt to force back the enemy charge. Sir Patrick and Andrew led their men out of view and left the infantry without any protection.

The two lines of horses crashed into one another, lances hit hard on metal armour and men were thrown off their mounts and down to the sodden ground. Still, Camelot’s knights broke through the barrier and rode on hard.

Arthur could sense the men around him growing anxious and he understood their worry. He too was jittery with fear. What he was about to do was reckless and self-destructive; there was no way half of them would survive the charge.

“On me!” Arthur shouted, gripping the hilt of his sword tight. His voice echoing around the battle ground, and with that the men around him let out cries and shouts as they all ran forwards towards the enemy.

In front of him, Arthur could see the horses getting closer and closer. All around him men were thrown back metres by the sheer force of the impact. Some were impaled on lances or trampled on, others, like Arthur, managed to break through the initial onslaught and were well on their way to face Camelot’s own infantry.

Soon, the sounds of sword on sword and metal on metal filled the air. The ground was compacted down and covered in blood and rain as the heavens opened. All around Arthur were screams and war cries as man went against man.

Arthur fought hard; his muscles ached with each swing of his sword as he sent man after man down the ground. He stepped over the bodies of his men and his old friends as he carried on his fight. Nowhere in all of this had he seen the king.

Out of nowhere the sound of the battle around him lowered into an unearthly hush. The quiet resonated like the impact of sword on bone. In front of him, Arthur could see one blackened, charred figure stand out like no other. It shattered what little hope Arthur had left.

A knight stood in chain mail that hung down below his knees. Thick black breeches covered his legs. Arthur had never seen a black look so deep and true before, but this knight, from his gambeson to his surcoat with an illegible coat of arms on it, was adorned in it.

Arthur felt like he has seen this man before. The recognition was slight and sudden. It was impossible to tell who he was as his face had been obscured by a helmet. But surely Arthur would remember meeting a man like this. There was nothing to remember. No memories lay hidden in Arthur’s brain. Still, the feeling of familiarity was strong.

The knight walked towards Arthur, heavy sword dragging along the ground as he did so. Smoke seemed to follow him as he walked. Arthur, almost afraid enough to turn and run like a coward, tightened his grip on his sword.

When they met in the middle he swung, but the knight blocked him easily. Arthur was almost knocked off his feet with the strength of the blow. He didn’t relent. He swung again and again, each time being blocked by the knight’s easy advances. There was no obvious way out. There was no ally of his around to detract from the knight’s strength and focus. There was nowhere for Arthur to go. If he attempted to run away then he would be struck down. Arthur was doomed.

He kept on fighting back in vain though. Sword hit metal hard and fast and ragged breaths filled the air. The knight blocked each of Arthur’s attacks and then saw advantage in Arthur’s exhaustion and swung his sword back.

Time slowed down around in an all too familiar fashion. The sound of the battle came back like a crash and escalated so much that Arthur could feel nothing else. When the blow of the sword hit him pain too came full force. Winded, he stumbled backwards only to have the knight follow and issue him blow after unavoidable blow. Then finally, when Arthur had given up trying to defend himself, the knight plunged his sword through a break in Arthur’s chain mail and down through the gambeson.

Arthur had tales of the torment of being wounded like this from knights who had barely survived battle. He had never expected such ear splitting pain to radiate through his body. Arthur’s wound throbbed with heat and sticky blood as his heart pounded in his ears. He felt his lungs burning and legs failing him. He screamed out and all the air left his lungs in one drawn out breath. With heavy, sobbing gasps he tried to stem the blood that erupted from him.

The battle was so far away. The blood that came out of him rushed like a waterfall. It ran down his armour like rain did in winter. It was over all too soon. The blood was too much and Arthur was too weak to fight off his death. Wanting peace, he let the darkness on the edges of his vision engulf him completely.

He was calm.

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