"That is not your choice to make." Morgause rose to her feet, her silver dagger held in her right hand. She moved swiftly, slashing at Iseult's unprotected back. There was a cry of pain, and Elyan who had thrown himself desperately between Morgause and Iseult as she'd attacked, fell to the ground, the silver blade stuck in his arm. Iseult reacted, smashing her forearm into the woman's head to send her staggering backward. Iseult dropped to the ground by Elyan, ripping off a piece of her shirt to staunch the wound.

Percival drew his sword, the steely rasp it made as it withdrew from its scabbard precluding further movement from Morgause.

She froze, then relaxed, smiling at Percival coyly. "You wouldn't attack a woman, Sir Knight. Your self-imposed, skewed, and weakling code of honour prevents that."

"Normally I would agree with you Morgause, but you have been branded a traitor, and as such it is my duty to present you to the king for judgment. If necessary I'll present him with your head, and he can declare your bitterly wailing ghost guilty instead."

"I am a princess of the realm, and as such have the right to a trial by members of the aristocracy," she spat.

"You have lost that right," growled Percival. "The High King even now fights against your allies, the curs of war you have brought howling over the border. You are responsible for the deaths of hundreds, and yet you talk about your bloodline? You are guilty of treason and deserve to die."

Percival advanced on Morgause, his sword held high, eyes glittering with rage.

Morgause ignored him and spoke directly to Guinevere. "Still your yapping dog Guinevere, he cannot hurt a princess of the realm, no one but Arthur has the power to do that, and he still fights on."

Guinevere turned, looking longingly at the white armoured form of her husband who battled on below them. He was still desperately trying to beat his way through to link up with Ecrivain's beleaguered horsemen who had been routed by the Saxon wedge punched deep into their heart. Gawain and his few remaining horsemen had also reappeared and were hammering away at the western flank of the Saxons. The horsemen were whipping in a series of lightning-fast attacks as their forces headed towards the palisade at the foot of the hill: a palisade where a small force of Saxons held firm.

"I don't think we need to bother Arthur with this, he seems busy," she said, a note of determination entering her voice. She turned to Percival, her expression set. "Move away, Sir Knight."

"My Queen?" said the knight in surprise.

"You heard me, Sir Percival, move away, she is mine."

"But Queen Guinevere, shouldn't we wait for..."

"You will obey your queen, Sir Knight," said Guinevere, steel in her tone as she turned the full force of her authority on him. Percival bowed and sheathed his blade, moving away from his former lover, allowing Morgause to face the High Queen.

~

Arthur swept past a Saxon warrior, burying a long-bladed knife in the man's neck. Excalibur was sheathed for now in the brutally close fighting of the battlefield, so he fought with a short sword held in his other hand. Grayle, similarly armed, fought next to him, Mark coming up fast from behind. Gawain shouted across from his horse in greeting, and Grayle flashed a smile at his friend.

"We must get to Ecrivain!" shouted Arthur above the din of the battle. "We can drive the Saxons away together. Onwards!"

Forming a wedge, with Grayle and Mark at his shoulders, he pushed forwards, cutting his way through the steadily retreating Saxons with brutal efficiency. Finally reaching the shoulder of Ecrivain's horse, he shouted a greeting at the knight. Ecrivain slashed his blade through a Saxon and raised his visor to smile grimly at the king.

"Well met, my liege," he shouted. "Thank you!"

With Arthur and his men interceding between the Saxons and Ecrivain's horsemen, the knight retreated, regrouped, then rode back into battle, raking along the sides of the Saxon war machine. With the horsemen functioning properly again as a mobile unit, the combined forces slowly gained the upper hand, driving the Saxons back towards the palisade, the still forms of the fallen from both sides left behind on the scorched and bloodied ground.

~

Cadan slumped next to Merlin on the step behind the wall. The old man had closed his eyes in the morning sun, a faint smile on his face.

"Well, that were a series of events I 'adn't thought ta see," said Cadan. There was no reply, and after a few moments, he softly whispered. "My lord Merlin?"

Cadan leaned over and looked more closely at the old man. His lips had turned blue, and his breathing was laboured. After a few seconds one eyelid fluttered open, and Merlin fixed a gimlet eye on the Cornishman.

"I've spoken to you about this hill and my place in it, haven't I?"

Cadan nodded numbly, dreading what was to follow.

"Then you know what needs to be done," he whispered. Merlin lifted his arm and rested his hand on the miner's tanned forearm. "Take me down and lay me in the Eastern chamber, hopefully the damage down there will be minimal. I think it was only a load of dust, but the northern chamber will still be precarious. You're a good man Cadan, and I've enjoyed working with you, but my time here is done. Tell Arthur, Mark, Percival, and Grayle when they reappear where I am, and give Guinevere and little Anna a kiss for me.

"I need no burial rites. I suspect I'm more than qualified to look after myself in the afterlife. No one else needs to know what has happened to me, I think it best I just disappear. Adds to the mystery you know."

The old man chuckled to himself, grimaced, and gripped Cadan's arm for support against the pain before relaxing again. "I do love a sunny morning," he said softly.

As Cadan watched, Merlin smiled anew, lifting his face to the sun. Then, his eyes closed, his chin sank to his chest, and his last breath whispered away with the breeze as Cadan clasped his hand in farewell.

~

"Give her a knife," said Guinevere quietly, the light breeze flicking her hair around her face. The queen reached into a pocket and pulled out a leather cord, binding her hair into a ponytail, and unsheathed a long knife from her belt. Percival drew his long-bladed knife from his left hip and threw it at Morgause's feet, his look openly hostile.

Morgause glared at the Queen. "You have no right to do this. I demand trial by a superior."

Guinevere took a quick step forwards and backhanded Morgause across the face, splitting her lip and drawing blood. "I am the daughter of Welsh Kings and High Queen of this realm. You have already been judged, by me. Now stand and fight."

During the brief exchange, Cadan had made his way over the wall and stood near Iseult and Elyan looking solemn and upset.

"Where is Merlin, Guinevere, is he not here to protect you?" said Morgause, a glint of anger in her eyes.

Morgause made a show of looking around, smiling as she read the situation. She flexed her left hand stiffly, the injury from Merlin's thrown blade still plainly evident despite Morgause's own prowess as a healer.

She spat blood at Guinevere and started to speak in a guttural language, weaving strange signs with her hands, moving seductively towards the queen, who immediately stepped in and backhanded her across the face again.

As Morgause staggered backward once more, Guinevere looked over the woman's shoulder. Cadan shook his head wordlessly, the simple gesture brief in its eloquence, and sadness flickered across the queen's face, hardening into anger and pain as she spoke again.

"I am also Priestess of the White Faith, as was my sister before me," she spat harshly, cutting through the witch's atonal dialect. "Your dark arts hold no sway over me. Now pick up the knife and defend yourself, it is your only hope. Beat me and you will walk free."

"Like hell she will," growled Percival.

"Your word, Sir Knight," said Guinevere looking him in the eyes.

"My Lady, please," begged Percival.

"Percival, your word," said Guinevere softly.

"If you so desire Queen Guinevere, but I would not want you hurt. This is wrong."

"Listen to your lapdog Guinevere," said Morgause silkily, her dark eyes calculating as she leant down and picked up the knife.

"Honestly woman, do you ever stop talking?" asked Guinevere testily.

The two women, near identically clothed in dark forestry style garb of leather jerkin and trews, circled each other warily, blades held in their right hands. Both were trained as warriors by their fathers, despite custom and general practice: Uther resigned to the fact his daughter would never lead a normal life, and Guinevere's father ever practical, and determined his daughters would be able to defend themselves and be self-reliant.

Morgause, her dark hair trailing over her shoulders, lunged an exploratory blow that sliced through a sleeve causing a hiss of pain from Guinevere. She danced back from the expected retaliatory blow that whistled past her cheek, missing by a hands width. Percival watched impassively, only the tightening around his eyes betraying his tension. Iseult held Elyan close to her, the boy standing utterly still as his queen attacked her dark-haired sister-in-law. Cadan, his miners now manning the fort behind him, also stood helplessly, and watched as the two women circled each other, each looking for an opening.

Blood dripping from her left sleeve after the first strike, Guinevere watched Morgause carefully. The woman was lightning fast, obviously skilled with a blade, and now wore a self-satisfied smirk at having drawn first blood.

"Would you like me to bind your wound, Guinevere?" Morgause asked mockingly.

"I'd like you to stop prattling woman, you chatter more than a child."

"And we nearly had yours didn't we..." Morgause left the comment trailing into the wind, smiling in ophidian fashion, her tongue seeming to taste the anger radiating from Guinevere.

"I see now why your own child has disowned you Morgause," Guinevere responded eventually, her tone low and dangerous. "Had I known you were behind the attempt on my daughter I would have cut your throat where you lay: it seems we now have one more thing to consider."

Guinevere smiled thinly and flicked out her blade, which was blocked by Morgause. Time and again the two crossed blades, their injured left hands virtually useless, small cuts appearing in clothing and blood colouring the blades. Breathing heavily, the two circled.

It ended abruptly. Guinevere, moving adroitly, stepped inside a high blow, blocked Morgause's incoming knife hand with her left forearm, catching the cluster of nerves in the wrist, and buried her own blade to the hilt into Morgause's stomach. Morgause screamed in pain, her knife dropping from nerveless fingers as she clung to Guinevere.

"Have pity!" gasped Morgause, her hands scrabbling at the hilt of the knife and Guinevere's clothing.

"Pity? You have attacked my husband, manipulated the deaths of hundreds of men, and ruined lives across the country; you have tortured a king, killed Lancelot, and plotted the fall of the Law, and yet you still have the audacity to demand pity? But, worse than all of those, you, as a mother, tried to take my daughter from me." Guinevere paused, her anger a burning fire in her eyes as she delivered a final epithet. "Pity is for the pitiable. You have gone beyond that. You deserve nothing from me, but death."

Guinevere twisted the blade and ripped it sideways and out from Morgause's stomach, eviscerating her, and wrenching a scream of horror and pain from her mouth. As Morgause started to fall, the queen backhanded the double-edged blade across Morgause's throat, intestines and blood flowing to the grass as she hit the ground, her life following in a few seconds of gurgling certainty.

The bloodied queen stood, looking down at the fallen woman whose dark eyes now stared lifelessly at the sky, and suddenly all the frustrations, fear, and anger boiled to the surface, tears flowing down her cheeks. Cadan moved first, stepping forwards to envelop the now sobbing queen in a massive hug, his large arms closing protectively around her. After a few long moments, he whispered something in her ear, and she nodded. Kissing her gently on the brow, he hugged her once more, then abruptly released her and knelt in front of her, his head bowed.

"My apologies my queen, I acted hastily and should not have been so forward as to touch you."

Guinevere passed her bloody weapon to Percival, offering her uninjured hand to the Cornishman who knelt before her, urging him to his feet with a sad and gentle smile. "You are married are you not Cadan?"

"Yes, my Queen," he replied.

"Then you will know that all women, every now and again, require a good hug, regardless of who they are or what they do. You hug well my friend and thank you. Thank you too for passing on Merlin's last request. You have my permission to hug me whenever you feel I need one."

She started to cry again, mourning the loss of the irascible old man who had been a part of her life for so long, and once again Cadan's arms enveloped her, quickly joined by those of Iseult and Percival.