by Lily Luchesi
“I thought unicorns were gentle creatures?” Merlin questioned.
“We were. However, if I am to be the last of us to be told of in song and tale, I will not have it be how I was harmed and hid away,” Pegasus replied.
Morgan petted his muzzle. “And I thank you for sacrificing your innermost instincts to protect us. And your colts.”
“Colts?” Merlin asked.
Pegasus bowed his head as if to nod. “My offspring shall live on in the human realm forevermore. Cared for by witches.”
Merlin had a million questions, but had to focus on the task at hand. “How will you assist us in defeating Arthur?”
“You let me worry about that,” Morgan said.
He shook his head. “I thought when you said you had a plan, it was poison or something of that ilk.”
“Oh, Merlin, I am much more than a one-trick pony.” She turned back to Pegasus and gave him another pet. “If I am never around, you can trust him.” She jerked her head back to indicate Merlin.
Pegasus nodded and nuzzled her again. “Goodnight, little fairy.”
Morgan led Merlin back to the edge of the forest, and he was still in disbelief.
“I think tonight tops my entire life so far,” he admitted. Emboldened or insane, he took one of her hands in his. “Thank you for putting your trust in me.”
Before Morgan could reply, a burst of magic broke them apart, sending them flying across the grounds.
Chapter Eleven
Merlin’s hand was warm and rough in hers; a steady weight she enjoyed feeling. An overwhelming sense of longing filled her at how their friendship dissipated when she joined Gwen, Fiona, and Accolon.
How stupid she had been, to abandon him in favour of prestige and inclusion with those who cared for nought but themselves!
She could easily remember how they played together as children, both newly orphaned thanks to Uther, and as they grew up. He was the reason she loved Brewing so much. She was his protector when the others made fun of his quiet, sensitive nature.
She went to speak when a burst of magic hit the ground between them, sending them both flying in the opposite direction.
“Conspiring against the Coven?” Fiona’s pretty brogue accused as she stood over Merlin, ready to attack him, despite her eyes focusing on Morgan.
Neither could attack, lest Merlin be harmed. So Morgan did the next best thing: she used her words as a weapon.
“Do not make me laugh, Fiona. Or do I call you Faleen? Or does it even bloody matter?”
The mad witch hadn’t expected that, it seemed, as her eyes widened.
Morgan decided to continue and disorient her enough where Merlin could attack or escape.
“Certainly, you had everyone fooled, even my mother. But I know you lied to Uther about how Igraine died. I know you are the one who killed him and his councillors, and you used my stores to do it. I know you are truly mad, and I will put a stop to everything you set in motion.”
Slowly, she began to stand, half expecting to be harmed.
“All I wish for is magical rule,” Fiona replied. “That is why I severed the connection between your mother and the king. That is why I poisoned Uther and let Arthur believe you did it. You would stand in the way of our true purpose.”
“Apparently you never read our creed: an ye harm none, do as ye will,” Merlin interrupted.
Fiona scoffed. “Please. We were born blessed. We were born better.” She closed her fist and red hot pain ripped through Morgan’s body. “Artaith.”
It was all she could do not to scream in agony, alerting every guard and witch in the castle.
“Obstupescas!” Merlin cast, despite his close proximity to Fiona. With his wand, he was able to blast Fiona out of the way, stopping her spell as he did so.
Fiona grunted in pain, forgetting about Morgan as she glared at Merlin. “And you, you could ruin everything! You always have been a killjoy, even as a child! I expected you to run to Camelot and stay there, dying like the filth you are. What could have possessed you to try and thwart my plans?”
“Honour. Loyalty. Love,” he replied, standing up as she was distracted. He brandished his wand. “Things you know nothing about.”
“Oh, but I do. I honour our ancestors. I am loyal to our kind. And I love obtaining power over mortals.” Fiona sent the same curse at Merlin, and he doubled over in pain, his wand emitting a blast of energy that went wild, hitting the ground in the distance.
Morgan couldn’t see Merlin injured; she sent a blast of energy at Fiona’s back, and the witch shrieked in pain.
If no one heard us before, they did now, she thought. “Leave him alone!”
“Why?” she challenged, holding her hand to the ground. Roots from nearby trees burst aboveground and trapped Merlin in their confines, leaving him vulnerable. “You never cared for him once we took you in, little strange thing you were anyway. Did you never wonder why we let you in?”
In truth, she had. Her quietness, her obsessive brewing, her sensitivity. She never fit in before.
“Because I convinced them we’d need you. I never expected you to fall back on some sort of misguided morals once Guinevere abandoned you.” She clenched her fist and Merlin groaned as the roots squeezed him.
“Gwen was decent until you got your hooks in her with your mad plan,” Morgan countered. “You ruined one person I cared for, I will not let you take another from me!” She whipped her wand in a slicing arc and cast, “Praetrunco!”
Fiona flinched, expecting to be hit with the strong and potentially deadly spell. It missed her by millimetres, tearing open the thick roots that held Merlin, who slumped to the ground in pain.
Fiona and Morgan sent levitation spells at the same time, cancelling each other out and knocking both witches to the ground.
Fiona recovered first, standing and laughing as she brandished a potion bottle that must have been hidden in the folds of her cloak. “You are still going to lose. And by your own recipe.”
“Why are you doing this? What do you have to gain? It’s not you who will be in control,” Merlin commented weakly.
Fiona turned towards him and smiled. “Because I thrive in chaos.”
With that, she vanished in a puff of purplish grey smoke.
“We have to warn the Queen,” Morgan said, rushing to check Merlin for injuries.
“Why? What was in that bottle?” he wondered as she probed his ribs and appendages.
“Mass Hysteria. It was a … jest. I meant to modify it for fun, especially children, or to temporarily raise the spirits of the ill. In its pure form, she could quite literally drive whomever drinks it mad.”
* * *
It seemed as though Queen Aritza was displeased with being woken at two in the morning. Especially when the wakening came with the news that the Coven had been betrayed yet again, and Fiona was going to blame whatever madness ensued in Camelot on Morgan.
“Could I perhaps go back, warn Arthur, stop this before it begins?” Merlin wondered. “He will believe me Morgan didn’t cause this ― and so will Guinevere.”
“No!” Morgan said, causing both the Queen and Merlin to look at her quizzically. “If you go now, you could wind up affected by the potion as well. The potion has never been tested this way; for all we know, the madness it causes is permanent. I’m not willing to risk you.”
He caught her slip, and the following blush on her face.
Dare I hope?
“She is correct,” Aritza said. “You will do no good to anyone to return to Camelot. Miss Le Fay, how long does the potion take to work?”
“Instantly.” Morgan’s dark eyes were wide and full of fear. “I kept my lab secure. I do not know how she broke my rune lock, and I apologise. I never meant…” Her voice wavered and she averted her eyes more than she normally did.
“Hey,” Merlin whispered, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t cause this, Morgan. There was a large chain reaction and you were never even part of it. Do
not blame yourself.”
“Do you believe, Miss Le Fay, that you are the first potioneer to bring volatile or otherwise dangerous substances within the castle’s confines for the sake of research? It is the hazard of the job, and if anyone save Guilfoyle is responsible, it is I for trusting her, or not reinforcing all stores, including the Elders’, when war was called for.”
Merlin arched an eyebrow at Aritza’s admission of partial fault. It wasn’t like her, but he had to assume she felt some guilt at war being declared while she was Queen.
“This was inevitable,” he spoke up. “Camelot never accepted the Coven, not for six centuries. But it is up to us, now, to ensure this never happens again.”
“I will alert the Guard. And the rest of the Coven will follow. We do not know what to expect, but human customs send an emissary as a precursor for war. So be prepared, both of you,” Aritza said as she turned and swept herself away to perform her royal duties.
Morgan collapsed against a chair in the Brewing classroom, where they met the Queen, head in her hands.
Gingerly, so as not to startle her, Merlin placed his hands on her shoulders, trying to give comfort.
“Is it all my fault?” she wondered tearfully. “Before I was even born?”
“No,” he said, glad to be able to assure something with confidence. “No, we established that. Don’t let the mortals tell you otherwise.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back to rest on his chest. He imagined she was as exhausted as he, being up all night and then in a duel, plus the shock she went through.
His arms came around her and he rested his chin atop her head. “We will win this, Morgan. I promise.”
She stood up and hugged him back, not a typical gesture for her towards anyone, as far as he knew. Not even Guinevere.
“I just want you to know, I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“Abandoning you when we were thirteen.”
He held on tighter, unsure of what to say. He never expected to hear those words for that reason, and hated acknowledging how devastated he was when she left to join those who would torment him when given half the chance.
“It’s all right,” he replied finally. “When the time came and I was in that position, I did the same: abandoned you and went to Camelot. So I suppose we are both as bad as the other, eh?”
She looked up at him, eyes glittering in the green flame like onyx. She opened her mouth to speak again when there was a ground-shaking crash somewhere above them.
Merlin ran to the door, but Morgan called him back.
“Wait.” She ran to a cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Wakefulness Potion. “Here; take two sips, no more. It will keep you alert without sleep.”
He did as she said, grimacing at the medicinal, bitter taste. She followed suit, her face never changing and belying the rancid taste.
She put it back and slipped a couple other phials into her pockets. When she turned back to him, he took her hand in his, like they were children again.
With bounding steps, they ran to the top of the stairs. The castle seemed intact, but Merlin could distinctly scent the acrid tang of smoke in the air.
“The forest,” Morgan gasped. “The elves and gnomes and Pegasus: we must ensure they’re all right!”
That was where they headed, Merlin smiling to himself at how sweet she was under that Dark exterior. It reminded him of their childhood, playing together in the trees; she’d nurse a baby bird who had fallen from the nest, bringing it back to life.
To their surprise, the forest wasn’t ablaze, yet, but the grass near the border between kingdoms was. Knights on horseback, wielding crossbows, stood a safe distance.
“Why is it not working?” one shouted.
“It’s not working because you’re on cursed ground,” Morgan called. Using her wand, she shot a warning ball of magical energy at them. Two horses bolted, leaving their riders bruised and alone on the ground.
“Your kind have cast yet another pestilence upon our kingdom!” the one who seemed to be in the lead called. “Prepare for war, demons!”
He fired not one but three arrows at once, and while the grounds couldn’t burn, their clothing could. Merlin nearly tore Morgan’s cloak off, ignoring his own, and tossed them both on the ground.
“Imple usage,” he cast, and the flames died down. The cloaks didn’t seem horribly damaged, and he hoped whatever potions she stored in hers were all right.
At that moment, a crack of lightning sounded over the castle and Queen Aritza arrived. Holding her hands up, she waved and sent the lightning near the horses, but not so close as to spook them.
“Tell your king his cry of war has been heard and heeded.”
They all began to fire more arrows. The witches managed to block some, but not nearly enough. Clothes and flesh were sliced; Morgan seemed to protect Merlin from the worst of the damage.
“My Queen, go back inside and rally the Coven,” Merlin said. “We can handle it from here.”
Morgan reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a potion bottle. She then proceeded to do something at once brave and idiotic: she ran towards the men firing arrows at her. She tossed the potion bottle into the air, at the same time an arrow sped right at her head.
It instead hit the bottle, and the contents exploded. “Dispergo! Volant!” she cast, ensuring none of the potion hit her, but instead hit the horses.
Merlin wondered what it could be: Morgan would never harm an innocent creature.
The horses began to rear up erratically, beginning to stamp their hooves and whinny in fear apropos of nothing, or so it seemed.
“Witch!” one man cursed. “What have you done?”
He shot one final arrow, which went wide, before his horse forced him to leave along with the others. The two knights who fell ran off, most likely to beg a townsperson for loan of a horse to return to Camelot.
Sharp pain caused Merlin to reel back and fall to his knees. The arrow meant for Morgan was embedded in the fleshy part of his thigh, and only it was preventing an artery from bleeding out.
“Help,” he croaked, as pain radiated down his leg.
Morgan exclaimed wordlessly and rushed toward him, helping his legs out from under him to ease the pain. “Hey, it’s okay. I can take care of this. Just breathe for me, all right?” Dark eyes met his and he nodded, mesmerised.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered. “And whatever you do, do not bite off your tongue. Those can be a mess to reattach.”
“Much obliged for the advice,” Merlin muttered, but he did as she said.
There came a sharp, hot pain, and the sound of tearing fabric and flesh. It was loud in his ears; grotesque enough to make his stomach do somersaults.
Hot blood began to cascade down his leg, and then his flesh began to tingle. With trepidation, he opened his eyes to Morgan holding her wand over his gaping wound. Her magic was sparkling against his skin in a way only hers ever did.
“Plaga reparo,” she cast, and a white light engulfed his thigh. She gasped and held her corresponding appendage with her free hand for a moment. The light dissipated, and she let her leg go.
Merlin’s wound was completely healed, without even a scar.
“How did that work?” he asked.
“Some wounds are easy. Others are not. Your artery was nicked, not severed,” she explained. She ran a soft hand through his greasy hair. “Better?”
“Y-yes,” he stammered, feeling heat creep into his cheeks. Her face was so close to his, and between what was coming, what they had both been through, and what just transpired moments ago, all he wanted was to know what it felt like to kiss her.
Before common sense could catch up with his heart, he put a hand in her still soft locks and brought her face down to his. Her lips were chapped from the smoke and she tasted like the Wakefulness Potion, but to him it was the best, sweetest kiss he could ever hope for.
When he pulled away, fear coursed through his v
eins and he began to babble. “I apologise. I don’t wish to ruin whatever sort of friendship we began to rekindle, but I have loved you since we were children, and I―”
“Merlin!” she hissed. “Please be quiet.”
He feared the wrath of her sharp tongue, but was pleasantly surprised when she leaned down and kissed him again. When she pulled away, she was smiling, her cheeks adorably pink.
“I thought … you liked women?” he asked, confused.
“If I can be both human royal and regular witch, I can certainly enjoy the attention of both men and women,” she replied, her smile widening. “And despite Gwen being my first love, I think you will be my forever.”
Merlin wrapped his arms around her waist, relief and love and pure joy coursing through his veins. “We are going to win this war, Morgan. We’re going to win, and we are going to have our happily ever after.”
Chapter Twelve
Morgan and Merlin sat at the riverbank, cleaning their cloaks of ash and ensuring Morgan’s potion was off of them as well. If it got into their wounds, it could cause a reaction with their blood.
As she went to cast a drying charm on her cloak, the river water began to ripple and Nineveh broke through the surface, sending water all over her freshly dried cloak. And Merlin’s, too.
“Much appreciated,” he muttered, redoing the charm.
Effectively ignoring him, Nineveh’s eyes met Morgan’s. “Little fairy, you will meet great resistance if you go into Camelot alone.”
“She isn’t going alone,” Merlin spoke up. “I’m going with her.”
“You are not!” Morgan scolded.
“I am, and you cannot stop me if I were to hop on a horse and head there myself,” he replied.
“Children, enough,” Nineveh said. “Morgana, you should take the boy with you, if only because his love will make him loyal and protective. And you will need protecting.” She smiled. “Just as you need a weapon.”
“No,” Morgan said. “It is against the witches’ code to use man made weaponry.”
“This is not man made. This is dragon made.” From the depths, Nineveh pulled out a longsword, holding it aloft by the hilt. It read “take me up” down one end, and “cast me away” on the other.