Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin

Hi there, guys! So I know it's been a while. I know I left this story with a horrible, terrible cliffhanger, but I'm want to get back into writing. Taking a story that is already partially written (several chapters are written, but as they were written so long ago, I want to rework them, including this one) and republish it. Updates might not be too steady, though, as I am dealing with a lot of stuff right now, but I really hope you guys like it. I'm sorry it was in hiatus for so long.

Quick note: the title of the fic is taken from Linkin Park's song "Iridescent".

Enjoy!

Prologue

When you were standing in the wake of devastation
When you were waiting on the edge of the unknown
And with the cataclysm raining down
Insides crying, "Save me now!"
You were there, impossibly alone

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but failure's all you've known
Remember all the sadness and frustration
And let it go. Let it go

—"Iridescent" by Linkin Park

Merlin jogged through the lower town, a tired, lopsided smile on his dirt smudged face. His hair was more tousled than usual, and his neckerchief was oddly askew. The bunch of fresh herbs clutched in his hand, however, made it worth it.

Several stall owners were setting up their stands, and the servant stopped by one to purchase some freshly baked bread and strawberries. He stuffed the loaf into the crook of his arm and kept his fingers tight round the basket of fruit. Breath smoking in the early morning air, Merlin rushed up the slight incline to the palace, smiling politely at everyone he passed.

The courtyard seemed to glow as he passed under the age-old portcullis. The alabaster tips of the battlements seemed to glitter with the rising sun; the gargoyles sparkled when the shards of precious light caught the hidden flecks of white drusy stone.

The servant smiled even brighter as he hopped up the main staircase, taking note of the intricate designs on the sides of the entrance. He turned the corner, his wrist brushing against the stone handrail as he climbed the next set of steps. Turning right, he nodded wearily to his fellow servants as he took the servant's passageways to Gaius' chambers, slipping out of the barely used passageways only feet from the place he'd called home for so long. Already, he could smell Gaius' infamous herbal tea brewing from within the physician's chambers. The door

s hinges squealed as he pushed it open, and Merlin ambled in, lifting his hand triumphantly to show off the herbs.

Gaius smiled broadly, his hair shining in the sunlight streaming in through the open window. "Thank you, my boy," he praised. Merlin set the bundle down on his worktable, setting out the loaf of bread and the strawberries too. "These'll do wonders for Dephry's cold. And strawberries! Wonderful."

Collapsing into his seat, Merlin ran his hand through his hair, yawning. "It wasn't easy to find, you know. You weren't too descriptive."

"Yes, I can see that by the dirt on your face," the physician replied cheekily. "You'd better get washed up before you wake Arthur."

The warlock tore off a hunk of bread, taking a large bit out of it and washing it down with some hot tea. Hastily, he stood up, skipping towards the wash bucket before splashing cold water on his face and drying it with a towel. "Speaking of, I'd better go."

The physician quirked his eyebrow in a way that only he could. "Did you get eat breakfast?"

"Gaius, I just—"

"A hunk of bread and one strawberry does not count as breakfast, Merlin."

"I'm going to be late! Again!"

Gaius eyed his nephew with affectionately. "When aren't you, exactly?"

The servant turned round just as he reached the door, his face scrunched up in thought. In the end, he released something sounding like "Eh," before exiting and shutting the door behind him.

Merlin skirted round the corner, picking up his pace as he entered a fairly long corridor. He could feel the sunlight warming his face as he jogged, smiling at passing servants and soldiers alike. As per usual, he slipped into the kitchens through one of the lesser used entrances, sliding easily past the bustling cooks and chefs and towards the back of the kitchen, where he knew the king's platter would be. His fingers curled around the edges and he picked it up, never stopping as he continued to the other side of the kitchens. Just as soon as he left, however, a firm grip on his arm halted his pace, nearly making everything on the platter fall off.

"Merlin!" Gwaine chimed. "Where're you going at this fine hour?"

"Fine hour?" the servant grinned. "It's barely morning. You're usually still unconscious this early."

Shrugging, the knight carefully picked off a grape from Arthur's platter, smirking when Merlin rolled his eyes. "Perce and I had early patrol, so I thought I may as well see what you're doing."

"As you know, Gwaine," he grinned, "I have a job, remember? And I have to take the plate you're eating off of to Arthur before he wakes up. You know how he is if he doesn't have his breakfast."

The knight grimaced before releasing a laugh. "Yes, I know. You'd better get there or he'll have your head before he has ours."

"Oh, thanks for the reminder," Merlin grinned, giving the knight a nod of farewell before skipping around the corner. He arrived at the king's chambers only moments later and, as usual, he never raised a hand to knock. He flung the door open dramatically, unsurprised that the thick curtains were still pulled closed from the night before, blocking out almost any light.

Shaking his head in amusement, the warlock carefully set the tray down, happy to enjoy whatever peace and quiet he could get before he had Arthur listing off his chores. Merlin yawned as he walked towards the windows, remembering just how early he'd had to rise in order to get the herbs for a little girl in the lower Town. Gaius said they were best picked in the wee hours of the morning, when the dew was still settling and the leaves were freshest.

Sunlight streamed in as he flung the heavy material aside. The servant had to step left and reach upwards, however, to get the other maroon strip of cloth. "Morning, Arthur. Time to get up." Merlin turned round, yawning, only to freeze mid-stretch. The blankets on the bed had been cast aside, thrown to the other half of the mattress, and the sheets were in massive disarray. But that wasn't a surprise; Arthur often had restless nights. No, what was surprising was that Arthur wasn't there at all.

"Arthur?"

The call echoed around the large room, and when no response was offered, Merlin walked back the way he came, looking round the many curves and corners, even in the antechamber, only to confirm that the king wasn't there.

And that was when his eyes glanced at Arthur's desk.

Before his friend went to bed, Merlin made sure to straighten up the desk as best he could so Arthur didn't have too much trouble finding things in the morning, and the servant distinctly remembered righting all the scrolls the night before.

Pursing his lips curiously, Merlin slowly walked over to the old desk, running his fingers along the carvings along the side. He fixed the jumbled scrolls easily, laying them side by side at the top, just like Arthur liked it, after putting the quill pen back into the inkwell. It was only after this was done that the warlock allowed his fidgeting fingers to pick up the folded parchment in the center of the desk. His mind first considered that it would be a list of chores for him, then considered that it was, instead, a list of things to pack for an upcoming hunting trip, but what he found was much, much worse, and much, much more extreme. Carefully, he read the words aloud, feeling each syllable on his tongue as his shaking fingers clutched the piece of parchment.

"Dear Merlin," he muttered, a knot already forming within his chest, "Okay, so I'm sitting at my desk, and it's probably... about three in the morning. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't even think of anything except..."

He paused, forcing himself to look away from the paper and look into the room once more, if only to confirm that Arthur wasn't there. It felt like he was intruding on something so private, so secret. And, indeed, it was. "Oh, please no..."

The servant read on: "Merlin, I know. I know about your magic."

No. Oh, God, no.

He knew. Emotions that Merlin couldn't even begin to fathom rushed through him faster than a speeding horse, the ones residing within his heart ranging from terror to relief all at once. He felt lightheaded; his throat felt like like it was burning. The pain in his chest... oh, God. What would he do now? Would he be executed? He didn't think so, but... Should he run? Would he be banished? After all the lies he's told, the things he's done behind his king's back...

"I saw you save my life one week ago today in that bandit attack in the woods. Do you remember? His sword slipped out of his hand, and when I looked around, you turned away, but your eyes were still shaded with gold."

How could he be so stupid? Unshed tears burned behind his eyes, but he forced himself to continue. Merlin forced himself to focus on every word; he just wanted to get it over with, but he had to know what Arthur knew before he could even begin to sort out his own thoughts.

"I didn't do anything because I was so confused. Father had taught me that everyone with magic was evil, but I already knew that he couldn't be right. Gaius had magic, didn't he? I mean, he doesn't use it anymore, but even Father said he had it once, and he's not evil. But Morgana is. Maybe that was the most confusing thing. She was good. I know she was. But then she learned magic."

"I'm not like her, Arthur," he promised to an empty room.

"What was I supposed to think? So I didn't say anything. I kept quiet and tried to reason it out because I knew that, magic or no, and no matter how long you've had it, you've always stood by me, you've always been there, you've always protected me, and you've always been my greatest friend."

A single hot tear finally fell from Merlin's dark lashes. Arthur thought... At least he wrote... He wasn't meant to find this letter, surely. But it had been left on the desk, he thought. Suddenly, more than anything, he wished his friend was there. He wished Arthur was there. Where was he?

"You probably don't trust me enough to tell me the truth, and I understand why. I really do. After everything you've seen here in Camelot. My father. And I am so sorry for any hurt I have caused you. I am truly, deeply sorry. I can't get that out of my mind either—what I must have done to you. I'm so sorry. And I hope to be able to apologize to you in person one day. You've hidden it... everything... so well. And I'm sorry that you've had to do that, too. I'll keep your secret, Merlin. I promise. I swear it on my life. I will wait until you tell me, and I will wait until you explain. I'm sure you certainly have a story to tell, you idiot. I promise. I just hope that day comes soon. Your brother, always, Arthur."

The warlock actually found himself feeling nauseous and collapsed into Arthur's chair after allowing the letter to fall on the table. "Oh my god..." Merlin put his hand on his forehead, already feeling a headache on its way. The knot in his chest loosened as he forced himself to breathe. His whole body quivered like a taught arrow string; his magic sung. The two extremes just made his head pound all the more.

Arthur knew. For a week, he'd known now. And he hadn't sent guards to come get him, he hadn't had him arrested, no... He had... he had accepted him and his magic. And he understood. Maybe not all of it, or even most of it, but... but he'd apologized. Merlin didn't blame him for anything, really, but the fact that he'd apologized... Arthur rarey apologized. Especially to Merlin.

And he promised... Arthur had promised to keep his secret. His friend was willing to defy Camelot's—his—greatest law for a warlock—for a servant.

He had to speak to him.

Merlin had to apologize and explain... God, he had so much to tell him. And now he finally could.

Determination like no other gave him strength and courage, and without hesitation or qualm, Merlin reached for the paper again, something he could use to begin the fated conversation, and clutched it in his hand, racing blindly out of the king's chambers.

Merlin ignored the annoyed looks he got from people he rushed past; ignored the frustrated shouts of "Slow down!" and didn't stop until Gwaine called out to him.

Perfect.

His breaths coming out in short pants, Merlin skidded to a stop in front of him and would have lost his balance if the knight's strong hands hadn't clapped down on his shoulders.

"Merlin, what's wrong?"

"Arthur," he panted, smiling. He didn't even know what or how to feel anymore. "Have you seen Arthur?"

Gwaine quirked his eyebrow. "Yeah, you just missed him. He said something about going to the Throne Room. He was acting a bit strange, too."

That made the warlock pause. Arthur had cleverly disguised his feelings all week? "Strange how?"

"Well, odd in the sense that he looked angry. Not his usual spoilt anger, though. He didn't go into details exactly when I asked. Just ran off. What did you do, Merlin?" Gwaine quipped.

Angry? At Merlin? No, surely not. He'd known for a week already.

Gwaine's hand squeezed his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts. His friend's eyes were narrowed with concern and his lips were drawn into a frown. "Merlin, honestly, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Swallowing thickly, Merlin just shook his head, not even pondering what his actions would do. "No," he answered honestly, lifting his hand unconsciously and exposing the now crinkled paper. "Arthur. I need to talk to Arthur." And before Gwaine could question him further, he was off again, racing towards the Throne Room.

"For heaven's sakes, Merlin, slow down!" the knight protested behind him.

Merlin barely registered it, his mind repeating Arthur's written words in his head as he built his courage to speak to his friend.

"You've hidden it... so well."

"I'll keep your secret, Merlin."

"I will wait until you tell me..."

"I know about your magic."

"...shaded with gold."

And, finally, the one that gave him more boldness than anything else: "You've always been my greatest friend."

He yanked the Throne Room door open, ignoring the protesting hinges. But just as quickly, his heart froze. Instinctively, his magic bubbled within him just as Gwaine jogged to a stop behind him.

"God, Merlin, you can run," he huffed. "Must be a heckva piece of paper, that."

"Shh."

Maybe it was Merlin's tone, or the way his brows came together above hardened blue eyes, but Gwaine, surprisingly, didn't speak another word. The knight looked over his friend's shoulder, taken aback at what he saw.

It was morning. The sun was rising, the birds were chirping, people were waking...

So why did the Throne Room alone look like it was the dead of night? Sunlight should be streaming in through the multiple windows. Or at the very least, moonlight. But there was nothing but black. It was as if there were no windows there at all. And why did Merlin suddenly feel sick to his stomach? Why was his magic jumping within him, itching to get out?

Flecks of dust caught in the light coming in through the open door glittered in the eerie, dead silence save for Merlin and Gwaine's own breath.

Cautiously, Merlin took a step in, keeping on hand on the thick door while the other kept the letter close. "Arthur?" His deep voice echoed round to room, and there was a moment's pause before he was answered.

"Oh, Merlin," the sultry voice began. "How nice of you to join us."

Gwaine's sword was already pulled from its sheath before Morgana stopped talking. She emerged out of the shadows, a cruel smile on her face; Merlin's heart sunk. He couldn't fight her. Not with...

"Gwen!"

The girl's breath hitched when Morgana pulled her with her, pressing the cold knife against Guinevere's very exposed throat for motivation. "Merlin, get out of here! You have to run!"

Morgana's emerald eyes narrowed, and her frown was replaced by the knowing smirk. "No, please, stay. We were just talking about you."

Out of the corner of his eye, movement sparked Merlin's defence, and he whipped his head towards the blond on his right. Arthur.

The king looked at him wide-eyed, his glazed orbs filled with the highest level of desperation that Merlin had ever seen. His eyes caught on the parchment in his hand, and Arthur's eyes narrowed as he locked onto Merlin's face, sending a silent question.

Nodding and swallowing hard against the lump of emotion in his throat, Merlin bit his lip hard. This isn't how it was supposed to go. This shouldn't be happening. He needed to talk with him, tell him everything. Or at least, most of it.

But there were more pressing matters. He sought out Arthur's mind amongst the group. He could feel all of their minds, like someone brushing against him, but he found Arthur's specifically and latched onto it. He felt Arthur's own emotions—fear, hope, anger, relief—brush against his own mind. Merlin pictured the words in his head, saying them off one by one. "You cannot let her know that you know about me, Arthur. Please." The young king flinched, though the others didn't see it, and he knew that his message got through.

The warlock turned back to the intruder, glaring. "Morgana," he said strongly, "let her go."

She, however, completely ignored him; Morgana smiled pleasantly and her brows lowered almost tenderly. "Gwaine, dear, would you mind shutting the door behind you?"

The knight clenched his jaw, and when Morgana made a show of glinting the knife at Guinevere's very exposed throat, Gwaine looked at Arthur. He gave a small nod, and Merlin stepped forwards a few inches, allowing Gwaine to swing the door closed. Now, the room was cast in almost complete darkness, only the faintest green glow coming from what must have been her magic.

Arthur glanced at the warlock for barely a second before speaking bravely, "Let her go, Morgana."

Her eyes traveled to Merlin, however, and her lips pulled into an unamused frown. "You know, Merlin, for a bastard peasant, you do know how to keep your secrets." Now, Morgana smiled knowingly, letting out a small huff of laughter. "Oh, but this one... Merlin, you really are something."

"What the heck are you on about now?" Gwaine demanded, gripping the pommel of his sword tightly.

"Magic, Sir Knight," she grinned, eyes lit with a twisted excitement. "Or did you not know that your beloved friend was a sorcerer?"

"Warlock," Merlin snapped. Arthur already knew. Gwen and Gwaine, at least, knew him well enough to know he wasn't evil. He hoped. He was too nervous to look at them. "At least get it right."

"Warlock, sorry," Morgana smiled, reaffirming her grip around Guinevere's shoulders. "You poor dear. Your servant could level mountains with barely a glance if he so wished. Oh, yes, I'm going to have fun with this indeed."

Merlin could feel Guinevere's and Gwaine's eyes boring holes into him, but he couldn't—couldn't—deal with that right now. He kept his magic spread and at the surface, focusing on that and keeping his emotions in check. I'm sorry, Gwen. I'm sorry, Gwaine. I'm so sorry. "How did you know?"

Her smirk grew, and she didn't even bother glancing behind her as she beckoned, "Agravaine." As if a wraith, the lord stepped out from the shadows, his usual arrogant smile plastered on his face. His leather clothing shined green in the dim light, and his arms were folded confidently across his chest.

"Agravaine," Arthur spat vehemently. "I knew it."

He cocked his head to the side, eyes taunting. "Knew what, my lord?"

"That you were a traitor."

"And who told you? Your fool servant?"

Arthur stood a little straighter and clenched his jaw. "Merlin is no fool."

The young warlock's eyes snapped towards his friend. The confidence in Arthur's tone, the underlying brotherly love and defiance against the words his uncle has said... Did Arthur really already believe in him so much? Did he really trust him so?

Merlin's heart couldn't help but soften a little, despite the situation. Maybe everything would be okay after this. Just maybe.

"Hiding magic in Camelot isn't foolish?" Morgana cooed. "Oh, dear, Arthur, you certainly have slipped."

Agravaine nodded curtly, looking towards the servant. "Once week ago, in a bandit attack in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, you jumped off your horse and made the pommel of a sword burn red hot, in effect saving the king's life. Very subtly, I might add. If I hadn't been looking at you, I would have missed it altogether. Commendable, really, the extent of your deception. "

Despite the sudden weight of self-loathing he felt at the reminder of his secrecy, the warlock only stared at Morgana with unadulterated hatred. It wasn't her place to come barging in and unveil his most guarded secrets. It wasn't her place, or Agravaine's, to put him through the same kind of self-hatred he put himself through everyday. "What do you want? Why've you come here?"

"Please, Emrys—"

"What?"

"Oh, dear. Emrys, you really underestimate me, don't you? I'm not the naive girl you remember. I know all about you. The warlock of legend, hm?"

"What do you want, Morgana?" he repeated coldly. His magic lashed against its invisible boundaries, begging to be let out, to attack, but he pushed it down. For now.

"You know, I've been doing some digging, and I've learned a little about 'Emrys.' He is supposedly tied to the Once and Future King, his destiny. Together, they're meant to unite Albion and bring magic back to the land. Two sides of the same coin, they say. Arthur is the Once and Future King. And you are Emrys. But I'm sure you know all of this, surely?"

"Morgana—"

"And then I started wondering, "What would happen if one side of the coin was smoldered?" she continued. "What if... What if one side of the coin was killed by the other?"

Silence filled the chamber as everyone looked between the servant and king; Merlin and Arthur shared a glance of mutual anticipation and fear.

Arthur had accepted him for his magic. Mostly. They still had a lot of talking to do, probably a lot of fighting, but the warlock knew his king wasn't his father. He wouldn't put Merlin to death for what he'd done.

The king took a small step forward, fists clenched at his sides. "I am not killing Merlin, Morgana."

"Of course not," she simpered cruelly. "He is your best friend, after all. Even if he does have magic. Even if you couldn't accept your own sister. No, Arthur, he is going to kill you."

Any sense of caution Merlin had felt melted away as rage burned within him. "No!"

As if a reminder, Morgana shuffled Gwen in front of her, repositioning the knife. "Well, Merlin, you obviously didn't trust him enough to keep your secret. And he's of no use now. Besides that, I'm afraid you have no choice, Emrys."

"He's accepted me, Morgana. He's willing to listen," he tried. "Don't you understand? This could be the change we need. The war could end."

"The war will end, Emrys. I will end it. I will be the one to restore magic to my kingdom. Me. You have no choice."

"I—" Terror colder than anything he'd ever felt coursed through Merlin's veins. His magic cried out. He couldn't kill Arthur. He couldn't. He was his king. His destiny. The other side of the coin. And he couldn't just let Guinevere die. She was his sister. His confidant. His friend. He had to... He had to...

"Morgana, please..."

"Oh, Emrys," she glared. "When I first learned of my magic, I asked you for help, pleaded with you, and you cast me aside! Look at you now, begging me..."

"I couldn't help you! Your magic was uncontrollable, even for me! You think I didn't want to help you? "

"Well, I can certainly control it now," she spat. "And if you do not do as I say, I will lay ruin to Camelot and Ealdor."

"And I'll stop you. I always have in the past, and I always will."

Morgana suddenly laughed. Dark humor laced her words. "I did not know your secret, then, Emrys. You think this knife is my only form or leverage against you?" She cast out her hand, keeping one against Gwen's throat as her eyes burned. An image entered into each of their minds, causing Merlin to wince and grab for his head as it pounded and throbbed. It was blurred, but the pile of clothing on a dirt floor quickly became clear.

Oh, no.

It was Hunith. Thick ropes bound her wrists, blood spotting the rope where her wrists had chaffed. She was covered in dirt from head to toe and a dark bruise covered most of her right eye. She wasn't moving, either. Hunith just sat there, lifeless against the cold stone wall. The only sign that she was still alive was the way her breast moved with her shallow breathing.

Tears of fury and fear burned the backs of Merlin's eyes before they snapped open, speckled with gold. The air itself seemed to radiate with the anger lighting his magic, and he took a brave step forward. "Morgana, you—"

"Now, now, Merlin, don't say anything you'll regret later."

"I could kill you, Morgana. Right here, right now. Let. Them. Go. This is between us."

She nodded, never taking her eyes off the trembling servant. "Oh, I well know of your powers, Emrys. But, see, I am no fool. There are men prepared to kill Hunith; I have men prepared to pillage Ealdor and several other villages within Camelot's borders. If I don't report back to them that all went to plan, then they are commanded to carry out those orders. Do not underestimate me, Merlin. I have a sizable army. How many would die for the sake of one man? Hundreds? Thousands?"

"And how many more would die if I allowed you to live?" he shouted breathlessly. "I should have killed you long ago."

"Emrys, please," Morgana continued. "Do not make this more difficult that it already will be. Your precious mother, sweet Guinevere, and hundreds of innocents will die if you do not obey me."

His breaths were coming in short gasps now, and he couldn't bring himself to care any longer how pathetic he looked. The life-changing note Arthur had written him fell from his hands. "Morgana, please."

"Do it."

The warlock's eyes whipped towards his best friend, stunned. His lungs seemed to stop and he wanted nothing more than to disappear. "Arthur, no." he whispered. "I can't—"

"You have to." His face betrayed no emotion. His voice spoke of his resolve.

Merlin's deep voice cracked, "I can't."

Arthur stepped towards him; Merlin stepped back. The king would never forget the amount of emotional pain in his friend's eyes. The distress coloring his usually cheery eyes. The need, the longing, to explain everything. The hundreds of apologies that were on the very brink of falling from his lips. Everything was so, so wrong. "Merlin, hundreds of people will die. Do it."

A hot tear fell, glittering against his delicate cheekbone. His whole body trembled. The warlock's eyes exposed more vulnerability than Merlin had ever allowed the king to see, pleading with him to change his mind. They both knew that Merlin would gladly do anything his friend asked of him, but this... It was unspeakable. It was a gross injustice that went against the very friendship both of them had built over the years. "Arthur..."

"Listen to him, Merlin. I'm afraid your mother doesn't have much longer."

The warlock barely glanced at her before locking his eyes on his best friend; his destiny. His sky colored eyes were soft with acceptance, and the brotherly affection there was almost too much for Merlin. Arthur had accepted him for who he was—magic and all—and now he was supposed to kill him? Hatred stronger than he'd ever felt burned within his gut, but that was nothing compared to the anguish that churned in his heart.

"Do it, Merlin," he repeated, softer. "It's alright."

The warlock shook his head. No, it wasn't. It never would be. Not now. Not ever. Why would Arthur ever believe that it could? He was giving him permission to kill him. Arthur was his best friend; the closest thing to a brother he would ever have. Forget destiny. This was Arthur...

But if he didn't...

Chest heaving, he forced himself to raise his shaking arm, palm facing his best friend. The words were already forming on his lips, and more shining tears fell from his dark eyes.

"It's okay."

His magic protested, but he pulled it up from within him, forcing it towards his palm as, crying, he muttered the words that would bring his friend's life to an end. The other side of the coin. Just as the last word slipped from his lip and his magic began to take physical shape, three more words fell heavily. "I'm so sorry."

Arthur simply shook his head, a small smile curving his lips, silently telling him that he had nothing to be sorry for. Ever. He didn't speak; he didn't yell when the glowing sphere of blue magic collided with his chest; he didn't scream when it spread over his body. Merlin, however, did.

As he watched his own wretched magic cover his friend's form, he screamed. A scream so loud, and so utterly heartbroken that even Morgana flinched at the inflation in his voice. When a cloud of smoke completely encased Arthur, the warlock fell to his knees, his tears falling freely from his glazed eyes. And when a stream of black dust settled on the ground where Arthur had once stood, Merlin wept, covering his face with his hands as uncontrollable sobs racked his body.

Almost immediately, Morgana pulled the knife away from Gwen's throat and pushed her into a stunned Gwaine, who caught her round the waist. Their eyes were locked on the small pile of ashes on the ground. Guinevere cried in Gwaine's arms, and a few hot tears fell from the knight's lashes.

Morgana slid the knife into a sheath somewhere within the folds of her dress, pulling out a silvery band and stepping hastily towards the warlock, and before he could do anything, she knelt down and clamped the band round his ankle.

At once, the warlock flinched, his cries choked as though Morgana had wrapped a noose round his neck. His hands struggled at his neck and his body convulsed at the pain lancing through his very soul. His eyes glossed over while he struggled to simply breathe, but within mere seconds, Merlin was lying limp on the floor, barely conscious.

Gwaine rushed to his side, falling to his knees beside the warlock just as he lost consciousness. He turned the young man's head to face him. The tear tracks beneath his eyes shined, and there was barely a breath of life escaping his parted lips. Even in his sleep, his face betrayed the pain he was in Guinevere came to Merlin's other side as the knight's eyes traveled down to the runes glowing on the metal band on his ankle. "What did you do to him?" she screamed. "What is that?"

"Do not fear, he is still alive. I couldn't kill him just yet." She smiled down at them, her eyes lit with mad glee. "The fun's only just beginning."

And, for Morgana, this was true.

She was prepared indeed, and the hordes of men flooding Camelot from the underground tunnels was a testament to that. The lower town was taken in half and hour; the citadel didn't take much longer. They didn't have anyone to command them, after all. Leon tried, of course, but he couldn't be everywhere at once; there were too many men. By noon, the fighting was over; the palace was completely taken and everyone knew by whom. On Morgana's orders, the knights—Leon, Percival, and Elyan—were all stripped of their command and thrown into the dungeons until further notice. Gwaine, however, was laid out on Gaius's table, bleeding out from a severe head wound he'd received fighting Helios—Morgana's third in command. Guinevere was reduced to her old position as Morgana's personal maidservant once more. Gaius himself worked through the night to treat the wounded kept in the dungeons after sewing Gwaine's head and treating his wounds. His mind, though, was not on his patients—it was on his ward, who had been taken to the disused West Tower, still unconscious, and hadn't been heard from since.

Days passed, and Morgana's reign was solidified as the people learned that their beloved king was killed. How, though, was known only by a few. Anyone who outright challenged Morgana died; anyone who disobeyed was put in the dungeons.

It was horrible.

And it was only just the beginning.

Thank you for reading :)