To Him Unconquered

Author: Jennie McGrath

Notes: originally published in WHOMSOEVER HOLDS THIS SWORD (1992)

To Him Unconquered

By Jennie McGrath

He stepped out of the hut and glanced about the clearing. Turning toward the rustling noise in the wood, he watched the white stag emerge from the forest edge.

"So, it is time," he murmured, as the stag came to a standstill in front of him.

Man and animal stared at one another for a timeless moment, then the man nodded and stepped back a pace.

Head held regally high, the stag continued across the clearing with measured steps. He approached the wood, pausing once to look back. After bowing his head, as if in farewell, the stag disappeared into the fine mist edging the forest.

The man waited patiently, as he'd waited these twelve years. As he'd waited all his life. Waited for the one he knew was, even now, headed this way.

Ah, there, faintly in the distance he heard the sounds. A horse, crashing through the underbrush, moving quickly toward his clearing.

The stallion leapt into the glade, his rider clinging tenaciously. Sliding to a stop in front of the hut, the horse stood, sides heaving, as the boy slid to the ground.

He ran to the man. "You must hide us," he commanded.

The man nodded. "Go inside, boy, I'll put your horse in the shed."

He saw the horse settled and entered the hut. The boy turned to face him. Tall, and broad for his age, he had an air about him. Even with his black curls tumbled wildly, breathing heavily, face and clothes torn from his frantic passage through the forest, there could be no mistaking his identity.

"I am called Merlin," the man said.

The boy studied him for a moment, measuring. "I am Emrys."

"Welcome, Emrys. Come sit. We have much to do."

Merlin saw the frown build between Emrys' brows. He waited for a response.

"What have we to do?" Suspicion evident in the careful words.

Merlin weighed his answer. "I have been waiting for you. I will be your teacher. You have many things to learn, Emrys. Our time together is short, so we must work hard."

"What, exactly, do I need to learn from you?" More curiosity than doubt in the young voice. A good sign.

"How to be a leader, boy. I have spent my life gathering every bit of knowledge possible to help you. Everyone I have ever known, everything I have ever done in my life, has been in preparation for this moment. And now, young sir, you shall learn to be a king...A Very Great King."

The boy gazed at him from brown eyes. A slight frown marred his features as he considered the amazing statement. Unconsciously, he worried his lower lip with a forefinger as he thought.

His expression cleared, Emrys nodded firmly, decision made.

"All right then, Merlin, let us get started."

#

Vila woke slowly. He fought his way to consciousness, struggling to open his eyes. As he stared at the ceiling, he remembered who he was, where he was.

A holding cell, waiting transport to the prison planet, Cygnus Alpha. He sighed, rising to sit on the edge of his cot. Better to have slept on. At least in his dream, he'd been free.

His dream. A strange one it had been. He'd had a different name, he remembered. And the boy, yes, he recalled the boy's face clearly. Who was he? He felt that he should know. Vila frowned, searching his memory. Nothing. Ah well, it was, after all, only a dream.

Shoving his thoughts aside, he rose and attended the day. Shower, breakfast, making his social rounds, he fell into what had become his routine over the last two weeks.

He heard the approaching footsteps, and moved to a spot that guaranteed a clear view of the impending arrival. At this time of day, such activity could only mean a new prisoner. His eyes brightened in anticipation as he waited. He'd made it his business to meet newcomers. It seemed prudent to know who would be on the prison transport with him.

Two guards dragged a limp body through the cell door and dumped it onto the cot next to Vila's. Struck by a sense of familiarity, he studied the unconscious man.

Even in repose, the man had an air of formidable strength. Tall and stolidly built, with handsome features, this was a man one would not forget having met. And yet, he couldn't remember where, or when, he might have met the new prisoner.

Damn, that blonde smuggler was watching him again. Gently, he removed the stranger's watch, then reached for his wallet. Not caring that the woman watched closely. Possibly, the lifted items would tell him why this man seemed so familiar.

Brown eyes flew open, and stared at Vila in surprise and anger. Before he could retreat, he found himself knocked to the floor by one sweep of a powerful arm.

Such a large man shouldn't be able to move so swiftly, Vila thought to himself, as he raised his hands in a disarming manner. "Easy, easy.... I hate personal violence, especially when I'm the person."

"Who are you?" Demanding.

"I'm Vila Restal." He managed to sound fairly normal as he introduced himself.

While absently swallowing the slop that passed for supper in prison, Vila found himself contemplating the new man, Roj Blake. He knew he'd seen this Blake before. And heard him too. The warm baritone still vibrated in his memory.

Frowning in concentration, Vila tried to recall where he'd heard that voice, seen that face. A vague impression of long, unruly black curls flickered in his mind's eye. Now where had that come from? Shaking his head clear, he firmly set such thoughts aside. Memory couldn't be forced. It would come back to him eventually. Vila never forgot a face.

#

He entered the sleeping chamber quietly. Approaching the bed, he parted the curtains to gaze at the man sleeping peacefully before him.

The time had come to leave. He'd told Arthur that their time together was limited. Yet, it seemed only yesterday that the boy had ridden helter skelter into his life. Ten years was more than he'd hoped for, but it had passed all too quickly.

His knowledge of future events was a hard burden to carry, but he couldn't wish things any different. What was to come saddened him, although he realized it must be. He'd done his best to prepare Arthur for his future. All he could do now was wait.

"Emrys," he called softly. Sentimentally, he used the name given Arthur when he'd been a boy. When it had been necessary to hide the identity of the fosterling growing up in the care of Sir Ector. He sighed wistfully, remembering the exuberant boy he'd watched grow.

He had taught that boy to the best of his ability.

Yet, he knew nothing he could have told Emrys would change the ending of King Arthur's reign.

"Arthur," he tried again, in a stronger tone.

A slight frown flitted across the handsome face. Then, Arthur's eyes opened and he sat up, alarmed.

"What is it, Merlin?" Concern evident in his voice.

"Nothing to worry about, Arthur," Merlin hastened to reassure. "I've come to say farewell."

"Farewell? What are you talking about? You aren't going anywhere!" Arms folded across his chest, Arthur glared mutinously at his teacher and friend, ready to argue.

"The one I told you of arrives tomorrow. I saw it in the fire tonight. I must leave now, Arthur... You've always known the day would come, my boy." And then, softly, "I will miss you."

"Will I see you again?"

"When you have need of me, I will be there." A gentle smile. "I am proud of you. All that I have wished you to be, you will become."

Arthur's hand reached out to him, and Merlin grasped it firmly. "I must go. And you need sleep, now. He will be as I told you." Merlin heard his own voice, as if from a distance. "The greatest Knight to sit at your table. Your best friend, and in the end..." Merlin passed a shaking hand over his blurred eyes. These spells always disoriented him.

"And in the end?" Arthur prompted. "Merlin?"

"He will be there for you. With you." Merlin forced a shaky smile, offering reassurance. "Great adventure lies ahead for you. I envy you that, my friend." Merlin gave the hand he held a final squeeze, and turned to leave the room.

He didn't...couldn't look back.

Several hours later, he paused to rest his old mare, and enjoy the crisp morn.

"Old one, how far to Camelot?"

Merlin looked up at the questioner. The man looked to be close to Arthur's age, chestnut hair, sable eyes, lean of body. A commanding presence; this one would challenge Arthur.

"Not much further, milord. Two hours, perhaps less on such a fine horse."

"Thank you, sir." Lancelot nodded to the not so old majician, and rode on to Camelot.

#

He woke to the sound of the cell door opening. Sitting up, he looked toward the entrance, watching the newest transportee enter.

Gasping in shocked recognition, he returned the piercing glare directed at him. "I'm losin' it," he mumbled to himself, as he dropped his eyes to his tightly clenched fists. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the all too familiar stranger survey the cell. The hair was a shade or two darker with age, as the sable eyes were colder, more guarded. Yet, this was, beyond doubt, the young man of his dream, Lancelot.

Vila glanced over at the sleeping figure in the next bed. His mouth dropped open as the realization hit him.... Blake was the King waiting the arrival of his Greatest Knight. As Blake slept on, impervious to the new arrival, Vila rose and gathered himself to face the day.

Who, he wondered, were these men? Why had he dreamt of both, before meeting them? And why...why did the dreams seem so real, as if he were remembering cherished friends, wondrous times? He did know one thing; something important was brewing. The new prisoner was an integral part of whatever it was. Both of the new prisoners, in fact. What his own part in it was, he knew not.

With a fatalistic shrug, he turned toward the shower. The icily precise voice stopped him in his tracks. "How long, exactly, will we be in this hole?"

"Another eight hours, maybe." Belatedly, Vila held out his hand in greeting, "Name's Vila Restal. Welcome aboard."

The other man straightened arrogantly, pointedly ignoring the outstretched hand. "Avon," he stated.

"Avon? I've heard of you. Bank fraud, wasn't it?" At the other's nod, Vila grinned. "I'm a thief meself. Never had a scam quite like yours, though. You almost did it, eh? Kerr Avon...why, you're practically a celebrity."

Avon unbent slightly in the face of such friendly enthusiasm. "Yes, well...I didn't succeed. Therefore, I would assume that my fame shall be fleeting. Do try not to be overwhelmed by my presence."

"Right, mate, I'll try to keep a lid on it." Vila's face lit with amusement. This Avon looked to be an interesting sort. Vila had a sneaking suspicion that sparks would fly, when this man met Blake. Perhaps the long trip to Cygnus Alpha wouldn't be quite as boring as he'd anticipated.

#

Standing inside the darkened hut, he watched the horses thunder into the clearing. The two riders reined their mounts in, stopping beside each other to dismount as one.

"This is it? Merlin's famous schoolhouse?! An abandoned hut, and a neglected shrine of the old religions? However did you overcome such an education, Arthur?" Lancelot grinned wickedly, waiting the expected retort.

//Indeed Lancelot?// Merlin smiled to himself. Arthur had a well remembered glint in his eye. Although Lance had a cutting tongue, he knew his Emrys could give as good as he got.

"Ah yes, well now, Lance. I know you had the finest tutors, supplied with the latest materials and information, and I often envy you that. You are right, of course. What could a boy learn here? From a crazy old majician?" Arthur looked sideways at his best friend, and heaved a sigh of gargantuan proportions. "Only how to be King of Britain, Lance. Think what I could have done with my life if only I'd had a proper education." He mournfully shook his head, and sighed once more. "Throughout my years with Merlin, I always wished for a proper tutor. One who would do things the conventional way. Not with majic...not like this!"

Confidently, he turned to the hut, calling out, "Merlin, come to me. I need you."

Merlin paused before leaving the hut, studying the men in his clearing. He couldn't help being amused at the indulgent expression of disbelief on Lancelot's face. And on Arthur's...well, the absolute faith on his face warmed Merlin immeasurably.

"Gentlemen, welcome to my humble schoolhouse." He stepped into the glade, meeting Lancelot's eyes with a smile, pleased to see the discomfited expression his appearance had brought to the proud features.

"Merlin!" Sheer joy radiated from Arthur's eyes, as he ran the few steps to his mentor's side, reaching to embrace him fiercely.

Merlin returned the hug with enthusiasm. He had missed Arthur.

Reluctantly, Arthur withdrew from the embrace. "Merlin, I wanted you to meet Lance," he said.

With a grin, Merlin turned toward the Knight, "We've met, Arthur. Lancelot, I am glad to see you again. It would appear you have reached your destination." He met questioning eyes with a merry twinkle. "How do you find Camelot, milord?"

The slight frown disappeared from Lancelot's brow, as memory dawned. "I find that I am home, old one."

Eyebrows raised in inquiry, Arthur turned to Merlin, "You and Lance have met? Is that how you knew?"

"Knew what?" Lance queried sharply.

"I never mentioned to you what Merlin had foretold about you, did I?" Arthur mused. "Of course, I don 't remember it very clearly. That is one of his favorite tricks; one never recalls the exact words of his prophesies, just an elusive feeling of knowledge. When you and I met for the first time, Lance, I could hear Merlin's voice, as if he were standing behind me... 'And he will be the brightest star In your crown.' I am well aware that Merlin said much more about your coming to Camelot. That phrase, though, is all I remember clearly." He flashed a blinding smile at his mentor, "And you were, as always, correct. Lance has been a great friend, not only to me, but to the Kingdom as well."

The King and his Knight exchanged a look of such complete understanding, that Merlin almost felt as if he were an intruder. Shaking off his foolishly jealous thoughts, (he had after all wished for just this closeness between the two men) he spoke. "Come, boys. I have honey cakes and wine inside; there is more than enough for us all." As he turned to lead the way into his hut, Merlin noticed Arthur hesitate. "Emrys?" he gently questioned.

"I would like to go back, for a little while. You and Lance can get reacquainted while I am gone."

Merlin laid a restraining hand on Lancelot's arm when the Knight moved to follow his King. "Stay with me, he will return soon enough." The muscular arm under his hand taughtened with incipient revolt. Merlin noted the fierce loyalty exhibited, and was glad to see evidence that his foreknowledge of Lancelot had indeed been accurate. "He is just visiting the past. Sometimes, Lance, that is the only vacation spot in the world."

"I am not sure I understand. Has he really gone back, or is he simply enjoying fond memories in his own mind?" he asked, a puzzled frown creasing his brow.

"Ah, now we come to it. You want proof? There is none, Lance. What Arthur believes is all that matters. If he enjoys his little vacation, and benefits from it, then we should not question how it is possible." Unobtrusively, he led the Knight to the hut, "Come inside. We should talk, after all you are the best friend of my Emrys. I could not love him more if he were my son. And, I suspect, you also love him. You tell me how he is, and I shall tell you how he was."

#

Sipping his morning tea, Vila reflected on his latest dream. The parallels between the real world, and his dream world had become an accepted fact of life. In fact, he'd found himself 'remembering' his past...Merlin's past, actually. But, he wondered where Vila ended and Merlin began. Or should it be the other way 'round?

He pushed such thoughts aside, concentrating instead on the two men in his dream. They had become every bit as real to him as were Blake and Avon. He found himself delighting in the close friendship between them; and often wishing his shipmates could enjoy the same closeness. Tentatively, Blake and Avon had taken faltering steps toward friendship; yet, Avon's suspicious nature unerringly surfaced at the very moment Blake's hand was held out to him.

Vila had come to like both men. He was comfortable with them, had pretty much learned what to expect from them. Somehow, he knew that he could trust Blake and Avon; he wished that they could trust each other. Well, actually, Vila believed that Blake trusted Avon completely. Unfortunately for all concerned, trust was not a concept in which Avon held any faith. Too bad he'd never know what the tech had been like before...

Ah well, they were here on Liberator now. As safe as three escaped convicts, a rebel, an embezzler, and a thief could expect to be. On Liberator he'd found a home, and a family of sorts. Two things he'd not known since earliest childhood.

"Vila, you're up early today," Blake greeted, entering the galley. Behind him was Avon, still sleepy eyed, looking young and rather defenseless. For the first time, Vila caught a glimpse of the man Avon had been, before he'd been forced to erect his iron walls of protection. He wished, for a moment, that Blake could have known that man, as Arthur knew Lance.

"Mornin, boys. Lovely day, eh?" Cheerily, he welcomed the arrivals.

Two sets of eyebrows flew up, reflecting twin expressions of amazement at the unusual greeting. "Don't you think it's a bit early to be drinking, Vila?" Avon asked.

"I have not been drinking. I'm in a good mood, that's all. Had a great dream last night," he leered suggestively, "'m still enjoying the afterglow, if you know what I mean." Quickly he covered his lapse, it would behoove him to be more careful in future. Forgetting that he was dealing with Avon, not the young knight of his dreams, was not a smart move...And Vila was a cautious man.

#

Sadly, he raised his glass, toasting an empty room. "Peace, my friend." Swallowing thickly, he forced a small sip of wine past the lump in his throat. "You were a fine man. I will miss you, as will the others." Tears of grief slid, unnoticed, down his face. Goodbyes had always been difficult. This one, in particular, came near to breaking his heart. With a heavy sigh, Vila set his glass on the table and lay back against the pillows.

Memories crowded his conscious. Memories of the gentle giant he'd come to call friend, Gan. A more honest soul he'd never met. The man had become a kind of anchor for Vila to hold on to, adrift in a world suddenly filled with the insanity of rebellion. A rebellion he'd never volunteered for. To what should he cling now?

His eyes slowly closed, as he escaped into sleep, leaving his painful thoughts for another time. Maybe some day he would be able to think of Gan with a fond smile...instead of tears.

#

A dark, cavern-like, room...he stood to one side, an unwilling audience. Saw himself and Avon...and three others he did not know. Suddenly, Avon fired the weapon in his hand...a girl fell. They all rose, moved forward as...Blake? Yes...Blake entered, came down the short stairway. The young man standing beside his other self leaned forward, speaking to Avon. Vila couldn't hear the words above the roar in his ears. Avon's reaction however was...terrifying. There was no other word for the awful expression on his face...the painwracked countenance filled Vila with dread...Avon spoke. Blake moved closer, and...Ohmigods...Avon raised the weapon in his hands to point at Blake. He fired...again...The blood, oh no, so much blood. Avon had killed Blake. Helpless, Vila raised his hands to his face...screamed "No, no, please. Avon. Blake...no...no...."

#

"No, Avon, it's Blake. Don't, please, don't."

Gasping, Vila woke from his nightmare, tangled in the bedsheets, sobbing hopelessly.

Finally, his shuddering sobs abated a bit, and Vila rose from the bed. He called the lights up to their highest setting, somewhat comforted by the glare. In the fresher unit, he splashed his sweat-streaked face with cold water. Meeting his own eyes in the mirror, he caught his breath abruptly: a hollow eyed stranger stared back. A man who had seen the ultimate horror played out, a sight he would never recover from.

Reentering his cabin, Vila collected his glass and bottle of wine. Left his quarters, headed for the flightdeck in search of human companionship. Upon arrival, he found Avon on duty. Well, in this instance, even Avon was preferable to the terror-filled nightmare he ran from.

"Avon," the thief greeted in an unusually subdued manner. He saw Avon's eyebrow rise, questioning his diffident approach. Ironically, he realized that Gan's death offered the perfect excuse for any questionable behavior.

He met Avon's look with a shrug. "I can't seem to sleep. Keep thinking about Gan."

"Ah," the tech grimaced, "yes...Poor Gan, sacrificed to our fearless leader's Glorious Cause."

Both men moved to sit on the couch. Vila poured himself a glass of wine and offered the bottle to Avon. Surprisingly, the tech accepted the offer, poured himself a measure.

"Thank you, Vila."

Vila merely nodded.

"Avon," Vila shifted, turning to face the tech, "what will happen to us? I mean, where is all this going to end?"

"It will end when we are dead, Vila. Surely you are not such a fool that you have not realized that fact." The sharp gaze watched him closely, waiting for a response. From the gleam in those brown eyes, Vila sensed that his answer was important; for what reason, he had no idea.

"Ahem, yes well." He played for time, having no idea how to respond. Finally, he turned to meet Avon's eyes once again, "I know, Avon. This crusade will kill us all. I just hope we're together at the end. After all this, it would be so sad to die alone."

#

The shoulders under his hands finally relaxed a bit. Vila continued the massage until even breaths told him Blake had dozed off. Moving quietly, he settled across from the sleeping figure. He sat back, studying the exhaustion on the face before him.

He and Blake were alone on the flight deck. Avon had stormed off in a fit of temper some time ago. The others had gradually drifted away, each dealing with the extraordinary tension in their own way.

A deep sigh escaped his lips. Star One. How he hated the sound of those words. Hated what this quest to find the damned place had done to all of them. Most of all, though, he hated what was happening between Blake and Avon.

The vitriolic comments the computer tech had thrown at Blake before storming off of the deck had hurt the rebel...hurt him deeply. Vila could swear he saw new lines of pain etched deep into Blake's face.

He frowned in thought, shifting to a more comfortable position on the couch. What to do? Closing his eyes, he let his mind roam free, searching for an answer.

#

Carefully, he bent to cover the sleeping boy.

"Merlin." He jumped, turning at the sound of his name.

"Arthur?" He was surprised...no, stunned. Arthur should not be in the cave now. Not when awake. Only after it was over, to sleep...and to heal.

He twitched the blanket into place, and moved to Arthur's side.

"What is it?" He kept his voice low, concerned by the confused pain on Arthur's face.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Merlin." He worried his lower lip, watching the magician. "Something is not right...." Merlin waited patiently, as Arthur paced restlessly.

"He hates me, Merlin. You heard him. He wants to be free...of me!" Arthur didn't try to hide his pleading tone. "What shall I do?"

Merlin spread his hands outward, shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know." He reached a gentle hand to grasp the other man's shoulder.

Arthur pulled away, whirled to face him angrily, "Don't give me that. You are not Vila here...You are Merlin, the King's enchanter. And I, The King, want an answer. What am I to do?" Frowning fiercely, he stood with clenched fists on hips, waiting.

"Arthur." Merlin fought to hide his amusement at hearing that demanding tone, so reminiscent of his beloved Emrys.

He cleared his throat, started again, "Arthur, sit down."

The belligerence faded as Merlin led Arthur to one of three empty cots near the fire. He sat next to the larger man and turned to meet his eyes.

...And almost drowned in the despair he saw there.

"My poor boy," softly, "it's early yet. Look," he gestured to the sleeping figure on the fourth cot. "He still sleeps, Arthur. There is more to come. Much more."

"My son." Barely a whisper, "Oh, no...I'd forgotten."

"I must wake him soon. The time for his arrival is near." As he had done so often in the past, he reached to cradle one of Arthur's hands in his, offering his love and support.

"It will all happen again, then." Desperately, Arthur grasped the hand holding his. "Not exactly the same? Please, Merlin.... Not exactly."

It tore his heart to hear the abject pleading in Arthur's voice. To see tears glimmering in brown eyes.

"Not exactly. There are many differences. You are all older. Avon has been hurt more times than you or I could ever bear. You have lost, and remade, yourself. Many memories you will not regain. Perhaps there is something there..." He trailed off, trying to catch the elusive thought, possible reason...

With a small shake, he drew himself back to the present.

"I do not have any answers for you, Arthur. I only wish I did. I know what will happen, ultimately. I do not, however, have any idea how you will arrive at that conclusion. Neither do I know how you may change it."

Reaching up, he placed an arm around Arthur 's shoulders. "You have time. Avon's feelings are there, he simply cannot admit them now. But Arthur, use caution with him.... He is very fragile."

"At this end," Arthur wet his lips, then continued in a halting voice. "Will we all be there? All three of us?"

"Oh, Arthur...Blake," he qualified, for it was in fact the truth. Somehow, the two were one. Whether for this moment only, he couldn't judge. "We four will be there. And I will bring us back here, to sleep...Until, once more, we awaken."

"Then, he," gesturing to the peacefully sleeping boy, "will have to...." He faltered, unable to continue.

"No," Merlin hastened to offer what scant comfort he could. "I said it would not be exactly the same. It won't be so bad for him, this time." Softly, "Believe me, Emrys."

"Ah." Arthur's shoulders slumped with relief, then straightened as he remembered. "There's still Avon." He raised tortured eyes to Merlin's waiting gaze.

"Lance," he whispered, "was my best friend. My comrade. My partner. We did great things together. And, I can see that friend in Avon."

Merlin waited, as Arthur remembered.

"I cannot reach him, Merlin. Every time I try, he panics, strikes out at me." In that ever-familiar gesture, Arthur tugged at his lower lip. "Yet, he has saved my life...more than once. And he has been at my side, supporting me, when I need him most. But now...."

Merlin watched as the rebel king rose, started to pace.

"Perhaps...yes, that may be it." Merlin heard reluctant acceptance in Arthur's voice. "I have to leave him. Let Avon have that which he clamors for. The ship, and freedom from Blake. If I give him a little time, take away the pressure, he may see what we could have together." Renewed hope, in the wistful words, "Maybe we can regain our friendship. Before..." Arthur/Blake turned quickly away from that thought.

"Wake Up."

Both men started at the intrusion of another voice. Met each others' eyes for a second....

#

Vila woke, to find himself staring into Blake's eyes from his position on the couch. Saw the startled knowledge there.

"You remember?" Heard the horror in his own voice.

"Yes, Vila. I do." Blake's eyes remained on Vila. Both ignored the glowering man standing in front of the couch.

"Oh my gods.... It's all true." Vila moaned.

"Yes," came the whispered response. Blake lowered his head into his hands. "All true."

"No...." Vila rose to his feet, "I have to...." Wildly he glanced from Blake to Avon, "Excuse me." He all but ran off of the flight deck.

Even as he fled, he knew he could never escape the awful truth of his dreams.

Not knowing where else to go, Vila finally entered his own quarters. Once there, however, he found himself at a loss. Certainly, he did not want to sleep.

A little liquid refreshment might help. He opened the hidden drawer under his bed, pulled out a bottle of wine and a glass.

The liquid in his glass reflected the soft room lighting in a ruby glow. Vila admired the effect, stared fixedly into the glittering red facets.

#

Quietly, so as not to frighten the sleeping boy, Merlin sat on the edge of the cot.

"Wake up, Mordred."

Startling sapphire eyes were revealed as the sleeper languorously stretched, slowly returning to consciousness.

A small crease formed between his brows as he took in his surroundings. Propping himself up on his elbows, he studied Merlin's face, trying to recall where they had met...when.

"No!" Sheer panic flared in his face. "No, you promised me!"

Merlin met the accusing eyes calmly. "Yes, I know. And I meant it."

"I won't go. You cannot force me. I refuse to do it again."

He'd known this would be difficult. The poor boy sobbed helplessly, lost in ages-old grief.

"Ssssh." Easily he gathered the shuddering body close to his. "It will be different this time." Merlin soothed in a low voice, "I do understand. However, none of us may deny his fate. Not even I."

#

He huddled closer to the fire, drawing his cloak tighter about his shoulders. The autumn air was chill, creeping into his bones. The night faded as he stared into the flames.

"I cannot send him away, Lance!" Arthur ran a hand through his curls, obviously frustrated.

"He is a snake, Arthur. He will ruin you, all of us. Everything we've built here. We must not let that happen." Lancelot turned, locking eyes with the King. "If not for us, then for the Kingdom. You must do it. It is the only way."

"He is my son. And, apparently, the only son I will ever have." Arthur's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Don't you see, Lance? I have to believe there is something of me in him...." His voice dropped to a whisper, "there must be."

#

Drawn, as if by a magnet, to Tarrant's door, Vila paused. He knew, could feel the desolation emanating from the pilot. Indeed, Tarrant had hidden the overwhelming pain of his brother's death from the others. Vila, however, could not block the growing awareness of Tarrant and Avon's emotions. Was compelled to help his charges, attempt to ease the suffering enveloping Tarrant.

Knowing Tarrant would not voluntarily allow anyone into his quarters. Would not allow any to witness his pain. Vila simply bypassed the locking mechanism. Moving quickly, he entered the darkened cabin, resetting the lock behind him.

Surprisingly, there was no discernable reaction from the man reclining atop the bed. Crossing the room, Vila grabbed a chair along the way. Still, Tarrant ignored him as he seated himself next to the bed.

"Tarrant."

Tentatively, Vila reached to touch the shoulder closest to him. No response, the pilot lay still, as if dead.

"Tarrant, let me help. Please, don't deny your need. I understand." He felt the tensing of muscles, saw the imminent refusal. "Don't. I've lost loved ones too...family. I know how it hurts." He softened his voice. "Let it go."

Brilliant azure eyes turned to Vila, searching. Vila consciously radiated warm support, friendship. Saw the surrender, the childlike need for comfort. He shifted onto the bed, reaching to hold Tarrant.

Murmuring soft nonsense, he held the sobbing man. Gradually, the younger man's grief eased, blanketed by the compassion and acceptance Vila offered.

Exhausted by the unaccustomed emotional storm, Tarrant finally slept. Vila eased him back, carefully covering him with the blanket resting at the foot of the bed. Certain that Tarrant would sleep for some time, Vila quietly left the room.

In his own quarters, Vila reclined on the bunk. Allowed himself to sleep.

#

"Who are you?"

He looked about. The cave. He was in Merlin's cave...and before him, stood Tarrant.

"You know me."

Tarrant snorted disdainfully. "I know a snivelling coward named Vila. Who the hell are you? And what is this place?"

"It's a dream, Tarrant, nothing more than a dream."

"Oh no, I've seen this place. I've, no...we've been here before. And someone else was here with us," he frowned, trying to catch the elusive memories. "You," he met Vila's eyes, "Merlin, Merlin the Enchanter. And you called me...." He trailed off, staring at the cot he'd lain on so many times, the fire that had warmed him. And the man who had held him, comforted him, healed him.

"Mordred." Softly, Vila supplied the name Tarrant couldn't recall. "I called you Mordred, for that is your birthname."

Instant recognition on Tarrant's face. Then confusion. Fear.

"Why now? Why are we here? Where are the others? And whyever do you pretend to be Vila? You are no coward. Nor are you a thief."

"I am who I need to be. Know this, Tarrant; nothing is changed, I am Vila Restal. Merlin is here, in this cave, and in me...However, Merlin cannot alter the cycle. It is almost finished now. Vila must be with you and Avon when Blake is found. And Tarrant, we will find him. Then the cycle is complete, and we will return to this place," he gestured around himself, "Merlin's Cave."

"When the cycle is complete," Tarrant repeated to himself, testing the words. Dawning realization brought his gaze quickly to Vila's. Horror shone brightly, then anger. "You promised me! You said I wouldn't...." Unable to continue, the tortured voice faded away.

Swiftly, Vila/Merlin moved to the young man's side. "I didn't lie to you. I couldn't. You will not kill him this time, although the end result will remain the same."

"Then what," Tarrant started to ask.

"No, it is better that you not know. What will be, must be. Neither you nor I can change it. We shall simply ride our fates." Gently, Vila touched Tarrant's shoulder, "It is, in the end, all we can do."

#

A fine mist swirled before him, clouding his view of the two men on the lake shore.

He concentrated, sharpening his focus, until he could see them clearly.

Arthur lay on the ground, Lancelot kneeling at his side. The King held Lance's arm, speaking urgently. With an emphatic shake of his head, Lancelot rose to his feet, backing away from Arthur.

Knowing time had grown short, Merlin moved toward them. He had suspected Lancelot might balk at Arthur's request. No man wanted to accept the death of his King...even less the death of his best friend.

"Lancelot," Merlin stepped into view, "You must do as he asks."

"No." Merlin flinched as the pain in Lancelot's eyes cut him to his very soul.

"No," continued the husky voice, "Excalibur put him on the throne. It is more revered than the crown itself. He will need it," the auburn head turned to Arthur, once again, "when he recovers.

Merlin moved another step closer. Softly, he spoke to the pained man. "Look at him. The wound is mortal. No healer can help him. Even you, Lancelot, cannot save him this time." He pointed to the sword laying at Arthur's hand. "Excalibur is the sword of King Arthur, no other may wield it."

Arthur wearily raised his eyelids, seeing Merlin for the first time. He opened his mouth to speak, was capable of soft sigh only. He looked to Merlin in mute appeal.

"Ssssh," the majician soothed, as he knelt at Arthur's head. Gently, he stroked tangled curls from the fevered brow. "Soon, my dear boy...we'll go home."

Lancelot watched with confusion. "Merlin?"

"I will take him to a safe place. When the time comes, you will join him...us. But, Lance, he won't leave until the sword is safe." With purpose, Merlin rose to his feet, pulled the other man up with a commanding stare.

"Do as he asks. The lake will keep Excalibur, no man shall hold it until Arthur reaches for it again."

Still, Lancelot hesitated. Doubtfully his eyes moved from Merlin to Arthur, searching for another way.

"Hurry. Time is running out."

Reluctance evident in every move, Lance gripped the great sword's handle and moved to the water's edge. He paused, then, with a mighty heave, flung Excalibur out over the water.

End over end it tumbled, disappearing into the fine tendrils of mist rising from the lake's surface.

"Merlin," he lowered his ear to Arthur's lips in order to hear the, barely audible, whisper. "Go...talk to him, help him. Please."

Unable to deny this man, Merlin nodded, then rose to his feet. Cautiously, he approached Lancelot.

"I will take care of him. He won't die, Lance. He will sleep, and heal in my care."

No response. Lancelot stood, as if turned to stone, staring sightlessly ahead. Merlin laid a gentle hand on his arm, speaking softly: "Come now, Lance. You and he shall be together again. When the time is right. Believe in me. Believe in him. This is for a short time only...until you fulfill your destiny."

"My destiny?" With a choked sob, he turned to face Merlin. "He," gesturing to Arthur, "has been my life. His dreams mine, for as long as I can remember. There is nothing left, the kingdom is shattered, the table destroyed. And the King, struck down...." Lancelot drew a deep breath, released it with a loud hiss.

"Mordred." Venom fairly dripped from the icily precise voice. "I shall see to that one."

"No!" Lancelot started at the sharp tone, then met Merlin's eyes defiantly.

Squeezing the forearm beneath his fingers, Merlin spoke intently. "You will do nothing. Mordred is his son. His faults were laid upon him. He never wanted to hurt Arthur, but his past prevented him from ever being able to give, or receive trust...and therefore, love. Everything that ever happened in his life, contributed to what he's done to his father." A hint of doubt crept onto Lancelot's grim face. Dropping his voice, Merlin finished, "At any rate, Mordred was also wounded. He is gone from this place. Beyond your reach, or that of any man."

Merlin turned toward the now-unconscious King.

"We must go now." He moved, once again to Arthur's side.

As his arms rose, the mist slowly intensified. Lancelot started to turn away, but Merlin caught his eyes and saw....

A madness that leapt like a flame, seemingly fed by the mist that inexorably engulfed them.

#

"Avon!"

Gasping for air, he bolted to an upright position. Across the fire, Avon's midnight eyes glittered at him.

And Vila stilled as the awful knowledge filled him. Merlin had not seen Lancelot's madness, but Avon's.

Even more horrifying: he'd seen that same helpless insanity in Mordred's eyes, as he killed his father.

Finally...helplessly, he acknowledged his nightmare as that inevitable 'ending' to which Merlin so often, referred.

He sank to the ground, curling into himself protectively; eyes closed to shut out the ominous presence across the fire.

Just a little time. He only needed a little time to himself. Before he faced this new, yet terrifyingly known, aspect of Avon.

For he knew he had to help as much as possible. Poor Avon. He could no more stop what would happen than Merlin himself could do.

And that, as Vila knew all too well, could be the end of everyone.

For he'd never dreamt of anything beyond that awful room...flashing red lights...his own body falling limply to the floor.

If he and Merlin were one and the same: then who, he wondered, would carry him to the cave?

#

He heard Blake call, panic evident in that fine voice. Looking around, he found himself standing in Merlin's schoolhouse. The call came again. He ran out into the clearing, responding instinctively to the anguish that cut him.

Blood streaked the chest of the white stag. Sides heaving with exhaustion and pain, the animal slowly raised his, still regal, head to meet Vila's horrified eyes.

Tears ran unchecked down the suffering creature's face.

#

"Vila."

He heard the voice, as if through a fog.

"Vila!" This time the angry tone broke through his sleep. He opened his eyes to find Avon glaring at him.

"Avon," he asked, "can a deer cry, Avon?"

His own words brought Vila fully awake. Staring blankly ahead, he mentally reviewed his dream.

Turning, he looked away from Avon, hoping to hide the undisguised horror revealed in his expression.

"Oh, no...," he murmured, as the unwanted knowledge swept over him. He opened his mouth to warn Avon, then paused. What use? He knew now where they were headed. Had seen that place before.

Now the nightmare had a name...Gauda Prime.

#

Eagerly, he entered the control room. Avon had finally come to him. He had, indeed, done the correct thing. As he started down the steps, his eyes met Vila's for a fleeting moment. His steps faltered; the thief's expression was one of resigned knowledge, of finality.

A feeling of dread came over him. Slowly, Blake allowed his eyes to move to Avon. Oh no...this was not how it should be, such pain in his friend's eyes. And he knew, beyond doubt, this was the end. That ending that Vila, or Merlin, it mattered not which, had spoken of so sadly. But, he had to try, as he had so many times...so may places, to gain the trust of the man before him. "Avon, it's me...Blake."

#

It had been close this time.... Very close. But, he'd made it back. They'd all made it back to the sanctuary of Merlin's Cave.

He turned to view his sleeping charges. All three had been fatally wounded on Gauda Prime. Here, safe in his cave, they would heal, with time.

And they had plenty of that.

Until it started again....

THE KING WHO WAS...

THE KING WHO WILL BE AGAIN

To Him Unconquered

* * * * * * *

END