The Adventures of a King and His Warlock

The Call to Destiny

 Author's note: Part 2 of the Mayhem of Mercia. Short and sweet.

I make nothing from this and only do so for my own pleasure and yours. Everything to BBC and Shine.

 Merlin dreamt of darkness and chaos and war. He saw battle through the eyes of an unknown warrior on the scape of a barren plain, the screams and rallying cries of other men surrounding him. The clashing of iron and steel rang out. The pleadings of dying men who scrabbled at his clothing and person, desperate for one last chance at life called to him. He ignored them all, though it pained him. Instead, he adopted a mask of cool indifference, slipping into the role of the mysterious and ever elusive King of the Night Court and strolled lazily through the battlefield and to the one person that could end this.

"You have fought well, Lord of Darkness." The figure remarked calmly, observing the field. Swirls of darkness surrounded him, draping over him like a heavy cloak. He did not turn to face the warrior.

"Not well enough. Many of my men are dead or will be come morning. I should have done more to save them."

"What are the lives of a hundred men compared to that a whole city?" Merlin felt the warrior bristle with anger. His arm went to rest on the pummel of his sword, which lay undrawn. A subtle threat.

"Every life lost is a tragedy." He retorted coldly. "No matter who they are and what crimes they have committed." The figure only smiled grimly and turned to face him. His features were hidden due to the presence of the overwhelming shadows, but his icy blue eyes were clear enough, drawn down to the hand resting on the warrior's sword hilt. He didn't seem fazed by it.

"Except for me, I suppose."

"Especially for you." The man ignored him, whether because he didn't believe him, or perhaps because he did, Merlin thought.

"I cannot fix this. Beron's hold is too strong, even for me. The darkness will consume me."

"It won't." The warrior countered. Merlin suspected there was more to this than two enemies meeting on the battlefield. They knew each other-personally. He stepped forward, offering a pleading hand to the figure. "Take it." He said. "Let me help you."

"I won't drag you into this mess."

"I'm already waist deep in it! Me helping you find yourself again won't change that."

"Still-" "Look around you, Arthur." The warrior gestured a hand wildly around him to the battle field. The figure-Arthur-flinched as if struck, and Merlin's insides turned to ice. This cold hearted Lord of Darkness. Arthur? It couldn't be. "I am just as much a part of this war as you are. Men died today-good honest men whose only crime was to fight in the name of freedom, under the names of mine and yours. Would your forsake their sacrifice by giving up?"

Arthur only blinked at him, his face, which Merlin could now see clearly, blank with shock. "Would you?" The warrior pressed. Finally, Arthur seemed to gather some semblance over himself.

"Merlin..." He murmured. For a moment, Merlin thought he was talking to him, as if he knew there was an intruder there. But no. He wasn't talking to him. At least, not yet. The warrior looked straight into his eyes.

"Please." Merlin-the warrior-said. His arm was still outstretched. Arthur looked between his hand and Merlin's pleading face.

"I-"

Merlin jolted awake with a gasp. Beside him, Arthur dozed fitfully, lounging in a wooden chair by the bed where he lay. Arthur's hand rested near his, a silent reassurance. Merlin stared dazedly at him, trying to sort through what was reality and what was fiction, dreamt up by his own dark thoughts. "Just a dream." He murmured. Nothing. Just a dream.