1. Morgana stared at the dragon. The dragon stared back at her.
It was strange to stand face to face, finally, with the creature whose words and actions had shaped her fate for so long. A master manipulator that had been so intent on shaping the future to avenge the past that he had lost sight of the details. So intent on his vain attempts to stop an alliance between herself and young Mordred that he'd been willing to turn her and Merlin on each other when their cooperation would have served his cause far better.
There were so many questions she had wanted to ask him. Since discovering Kilgharrah's existence she had imagined many versions of this confrontation, yet standing here in front of him she couldn't think of a single thing to say.
Gwen sighed deeply and interrupted their staring match.
"We know what you're up to and you're not fooling anyone anymore. This war between magic and Camelot was never ours but we've had to carry too many of the consequences already. It ends now."
"What makes you so certain young Guinevere? I have dreamed a thousand fates and thousands way this might end. You might have been Queen of all Albion and yet you stand here at the side of an outcast, a seer almost driven mad by her dreams. What power can you possibly wield against me?"
"I do not deal in dreams. I heed their warnings but I do not trust them. They are as sneaky and contradictory as dragons. Your dreams mean all Albion in flames, some Queen I would be if I allowed that to happen. The nightmare ends tonight; for all of us." She spoke with such certainty that for a moment the dragon seemed to hesitate; in that moment Gwen reached out and took Morgana's hand.
In the darkness Morgana's eyes shone golden.
2. It wasn't as though they'd intended to burn an entire city to the ground. Even if they had intended that, it was clearly Nimueh's fault for pulling that trick with the Ankh again.
It was just that last time the Plague had come around it had killed around 2 million people in Albion alone so they'd been less than keen to see it take hold again anywhere. They'd even managed to develop a decent cure for the more usual variety of plague that didn't involve magic and thus avoided the tiresome process of some isolated village attempting to burn them at the stake for witchcraft. Just because it was a) true and b) never exactly a successful means of killing them, did not mean they weren't thoroughly bored of such ungratefulness.
This plague really was the product of a vengeful witch, a magical malady that would cause untold damage if it continued to spread as virulently as the bubonic variety. Naturally this particular ankh needed to be destroyed by fire and was hidden in the basement cellars of bakery.
Their post-Save-The-World-from-Magical-Plague plans had involved finding a nice hotel that wouldn't ask questions, drinking lots of wine and spending a relaxing few days in bed enjoying the finer things in life – especially each other. Fleeing a conflagration of legendry proportions was not in the plan. London had good plans for fighting fires; it wasn't their fault they didn't get put into force properly.
3. Morgana was sure that being Excalibur's guardian would come in handy at some point down the centuries. She just never foresaw a situation quite like this.
Fighting supposedly mythical creatures was something she had gained lots of experience of over the centuries and certainly these creatures had a certain mythic quality judging by the way they cropped up in popular culture. It was just that, well fighting zombies lacked a certain romance. She was used to ending up covered in blood and guts or simply mud and soot when fighting monsters, but she could gladly have gone through her entire long life without encountering flying brain matter. It was just plain undignified whichever way you looked at it.
However, Gwen had been quite adamant that removing the head or destroying the brain was the only way forward. In all fairness, thought Morgana, if she were going to die horribly at least it would be back to back with her girlfriend. Murmuring a spell she was sure she'd forgotten decades ago Morgana set their swords alight and watched as the advancing hoard of the undead hesitated. She felt a predatory smile curve her lips and heard Gwen's triumphant huff of laughter in return.
"On three," she murmured unnecessarily. World wasn't going to save itself now was it?
4. Gwen doesn't like guns. She objects to them the way she used to object to bows and arrows in battle, too sneaky and detached for a fair fight. Taking a life takes a toll and Gwen dislikes weapons that allow the illusion of distance from that act. Weapons of close contact require physical effort, when you pull your sword from someone else's chest there is no escaping the truth that you've killed them. It is bloody and brutal, dangerous and destructive, in truth everything that battle is, and this is as it should be.
She's never been keen on magic in battle, but accepts that it is often necessary. Magic takes it's own toll on the user, every spell or death impacting on the wielder as surely as the swing of the sword.
Which is naturally why she's the one with her arms deep in the computer systems that control these missiles, carefully dismantling the guiding systems and rendering them no more dangerous than a pile of oversized metal piping. She has only Morgana's word for the destruction they will cause, her whispered words of unsuspecting cities in flames, people reduced to nothing but shadows on the wall. However, she also knows that she hasn't seen Morgana so haunted by her visions in centuries.
This is the fourth complex they've taken down in as many weeks and in deference to Gwen's preferences, Morgana has become quite adept at non-lethal methods of preventing Gwen being interrupted in her work. The swamp now adorning the corridor outside the control centre is going to take some explaining but the days when Gwen and Morgana bothered to explain themselves to anyone are long gone. It's hardly the fault of the people guarding these monstrosities that they're in the wrong place at the wrong time, they both know that its too often that the guards get the rough end of the bargain and there is a far greater evil here.
On the other hand, whoever thought nuclear proliferation was a good plan is getting the boiling oil treatment with extreme prejudice.
1. Gwen moved slowly through the half-light of the tomb, carrying her burden carefully. Merlin watched her with wide eyes from his restrained position. It amused her somewhat that after all the epic battles he and Morgana had had over the years, Morgana had succeeded in restraining him by simply sneaking up behind him, gagging him with her hand and twisting his arm behind his back. He still wouldn't help them but he wasn't trying particularly hard to stop them either.
It was by their calculations long overdue for Arthur to arise once again. After all these years they reckoned themselves experts on what did or did not count as Albion's greatest hour of need. If Merlin wouldn't help them wake Arthur, they'd just do it themselves.
Cold water was perhaps not the most conventional method of ending an enchanted sleep but it proved every bit as effective as it had when Arthur was alive the first time. He was every bit as charming as he normally was of a morning but he was soon raring to get on with a bit of daring do. Though he was less impressed with Gwen and Morgana's insistence that their work was done here and expected them to 'help'.
"Oh no, we've spent the last two thousand years saving this planet from itself, this one," Morgana paused for a moment to clap Merlin and Arthur companionably on the shoulders, "is all yours boys."
"My lady," murmured Gwen taking her arm and hiding her own smile as they swept out of the tomb together. Debating exactly which mountain would afford the best view of the coming show, Gwen and Morgana walked down the hill towards the rising sun. It looked like a beautiful day for the end of the world.