The Man With The Dragon Tattoo

by Woodland Goddess

"Your life will always run in patterns, Merlin." Forged of old, tempered anew, Merlin walks a land divided by bigotry and ruled by tyranny. When the crunch comes, will he be willing to sacrifice his freedom...his life...for the sake of those he loves? Can a foe be trusted when they claim a new leaf or will Arthur's Bane rise once more? Contains slash. Don't like, don't read.

6. Chapter 6

Title: The Man with the Dragon Tattoo – Chapter Six.

Author: Woodland Goddess.

Rated: M

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has read/reviewed this fic so far. Yeah, I did forget to mention Morglain in the listing of side pairings in the opening chapter. My bad! Warning - There be some feels in this chapter; I can shamelessly admit that I cried while writing some of it.

Chapter Six: Photograph

He was falling, tumbling head over arse, through a tunnel of white light that caressed his skin, soothed his heart and wiped the trace of tears from his cheeks. Suddenly his downward progress was halted, his body impacting hard with a solid surface, a pained grunt pushing its way past his clenched jaw; it was only the swirling magic beneath his skin that kept him from shattering at the collision. After a moment his eyes drifted open and Merlin found himself sprawled across a footpath on Oxford Street.

Blinking in surprise, he climbed to his feet and looked around, hands on his hips. It was the Oxford Street he knew and yet there was something about it that he could not quite put his finger on. When a man strode past, newspaper opened in front of him, Merlin fell into step with him, looking over his shoulder. Noticing the date he jerked backwards, his spine set in a rigid line as his eyes widened almost comically. Apparently, it was the thirty-first of July, 1994. "This is not normal," he said, before slapping a hand over his mouth.

But no one was paying attention to him; it was as if he had ceased to exist. To test his theory, Merlin swung his arm in a violent arch towards an oncoming pedestrian. His hand passed right through the woman's shoulder and she continued on without once looking up at him. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward, hands gripping his hips too tightly in an effort to snap himself out of this bizarre hallucination. However, a familiar voice, not yet deepened by puberty, called his attention. "Come on, 'Gana; hurry up!"

"You know I hate that nickname, you prat, and it's not my fault you're practically leaping down the road like a bloody gazelle." Merlin whirled around, eyes snapping open to take in the sight of Arthur Pendragon, barely eleven years old, walking towards him. He was all blond hair, blue eyes, golden skin and a smile that would have old grannies cooing in delight. At his side, huge and powerful and black and white in colour, was a dog – a cross between a Siberian Husky and a German Shepherd, judging by its height and bulk.

The animal was bigger than Arthur was, but seemed perfectly trained; it did not once pull on the fraying leash that the former King gripped in his hand. Trailing along behind them was Morgana, only seven years old, who looked like she would rather be anywhere else than with her older brother. "Don't be a baby," said Arthur, looking back over his shoulder with a haughty smile that was ridiculously adorable on his cherubic face. "You always tell Father that you're big enough to go through London without him; why are you complaining now?"

Merlin's heart pounded painfully in his chest. He stared, swivelling unconsciously on the balls of his feet, as they passed him. "Because I don't need you, either!" The boy's response was to laugh and toss his hair with a flick of his head. A small smile tugged at Merlin's mouth and he followed along behind them as they made their way towards their destination, which turned out to be none other than Forbidden Planet. "Father's going to kill you," Morgana said conversationally. "You know what he thinks about that Superpower nonsense."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him – besides, it's not like there's anything special about Iron Man. He's just a rich guy in a high-tech suit. Other than that, he's completely normal," Arthur replied as he tied the dog's leash to the nearest vertical item. He met the dog's blue-eyed stare and said authoritatively, "look after her, yeah?" The dog butted his face against the boy's shoulder as though he had understood him. Arthur looked at Morgana and stared at her intensely. "Stay here."

"Yes, Mum." Her voice was sickly sweet as she spoke to him, but as soon as Arthur had turned his back she made a face at him.

"Stop making faces." Morgana startled at the command, unable to believe that he had known what she was doing. Merlin grinned, watching Arthur disappear in to the shop, leaving his sister alone with the dog. He wanted nothing more than to follow the boy inside but something was telling him he needed to remain where he was, keep an eye on Morgana while she was virtually alone. Almost ten minutes passed without incident, but then in the same moment Merlin and Morgana noticed the same thing.

A dark-skinned girl, no older than Morgana and wearing a yellow sundress, her black curls flying like a banner behind her, was running flat-out at the other side of the street. A bunch of boys were chasing her, their expressions menacing. Merlin sucked in a breath when he realised that the girl was Gwen. Morgana's face filled with an unimaginable darkness and without a word she stomped forward, her hands curled into fists at her sides. She was almost across, not even noticing the oncoming traffic, when Arthur stepped out of the shop, a new comic book in his hand.

The dog was snarling and pulling against his restraints. The leash snapped, the sound startling Arthur, who was frozen with shock. The dog tore across the street and collided with Morgana's back, sending her stumbling forward with a cry of surprise, knocking her out of the trajectory of an oncoming car. The world crumbled beneath Merlin's feet as several things happened at once; a squeal of rubber against the surface of the road; a whimper loud enough to burst eardrums; Arthur's grief-stricken scream.

The comic book lay forgotten on the footpath.

The world swirled, dissolving around him and Merlin suffered through the sensation of being squeezed through a tube of toothpaste, before the world began reassembling itself once more. He found himself in a completely different location. He was in a room this time; a bedroom with cream walls and lightwood furniture and a large window that allowed sunlight to pass through in large bursts. There was a library case stuffed to bursting with books, but there was not a cuddly toy in sight.

He moved towards the dresser, where several framed photographs were displayed prominently. The photograph at the very front was of the dog that had died on Oxford Street, losing his life in the place of Morgana's, following Arthur's order to the letter. Merlin's heart clenched painfully in his chest as he read the inscription written on the frame; In Loving Memory of Prince, My Best Friend. The photographs in the next row were of Morgana and Gwen in one and Morgana and Arthur in the other.

In the first the girls were wearing sundresses and had pretty flowers in their dark hair; Morgana was pale, paler than normal, though the skin around her eyes was bruised. She had either been crying and rubbing at the skin or had been sleeping poorly prior to the day the photograph was taken. Gwen had her arm wrapped around her, squeezing tightly, as if Morgana might break in to pieces if she let go. It was obvious it had been taken sometime after Prince's death, but not much after.

In the second it was Arthur's tenth birthday party; it was the same photograph from Arthur's office wall, the one where Morgana was shoving his face into his cake, a wicked smile on her face. He let out a huff of laughter; it was unsurprising that she was fond of that photograph, the evil brat. The next few rows were more of Morgana, accompanied by Gwen or Arthur or both simultaneously. At the back, the very back, almost hidden from view, was a picture of Morgana and Uther, the latter standing behind her, an icy presence in a life that should have been filled with warmth. Morgana's expression was tight, a mix of pain and anger and disgust and the urge to flee. Her small hands were curled into fists; she was only nine in that one.

The photographs did not depict her as a teenager or as a young woman, indicating that she was young, still a mere child. He nibbled his lower lip, knowing he was intruding upon her life, feeling guilty for it and yet it was sorrow that overwhelmed his heart, his mind. Merlin rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how similarly her life in Camelot had been – probably not much different at all, despite the time gap. Just as that thought crossed his mind the bedroom door burst open and Morgana ran inside, slamming the door shut behind her.

She leaned heavily against the door, head thudding hard enough against the wood that Merlin winced in sympathy. Squeezing her eyes shut, her mouth tightening, she pushed away from it, crossing the room to stand at the window. Merlin followed after her, standing beside her as she rested her head against the window frame. Her body trembled, twice, violently and her face suddenly crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks in rivulets. Her chest heaved and she kicked and pummelled the wall beside her without mercy, until she could do so no longer, sinking down to her knees in a pool of sunlight, fingers splayed against the wall as if she could draw its strength in to herself.

Throat constricting in rising misery at the sight of such a pained little girl, he reached out as if to comfort her. His hands passed through her, utterly useless. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head and looked at her again. "I'm not a monster; I'm not evil," Morgana whispered, the words forcing their way passed her clogged-up throat. She ran her hand across her face, trying to destroy the evidence of her weakness, but the tears kept coming. "Sorcery isn't evil." Her words carried the strength of her convictions and, God, Merlin knew how she felt.

Morgana moved, then, half-crawling under her bed, hands reaching, fingers scratching, nails catching on a loose floorboard. He watched as she retrieved a package hidden in a brown paper bag. She pulled back and sat with her back braced against the wall beneath the window. With trembling fingers she opened the bag and slipped her hand inside, pulling out a book. Merlin noted the cover and blinked in surprise; it was a copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by JK Rowling. He leaned over her to read the small note written on the inside cover. It said: I managed to save it from one of the fires that went down in my part of town. Don't let Uther catch you with it or it's my arse on the line. Love, Gwen.

"The 1997 Book-Burning," Merlin exclaimed in surprise, feeling the need to slap his own forehead for not thinking of it sooner. Tears stung Merlin's eyes at the thought of so many books destroyed, so many worlds...gone. He had been only six at the time, still living in Cardiff, but he could remember the way his father had wept, the way his mother had clutched him to her chest as if he, too, would burn if she let him go. Before he could see anymore of Morgana reading that treasured book, that swirling, squeezing sensation returned and he found himself thrown in to a new memory.

He was in an office this time and it was immediately recognisable. The desk, the window, the case full of books; this was Uther Pendragon's office. This was the Prime Minister's office. His insides squirmed with discomfort at the idea. Uther's icy presence made him feel like he should not be there – which, he supposed, was the truth. Morgana, fourteen and blossoming in to her future womanhood, threw open the office door, despite the harassed-looking secretary that followed after her, sputtering in shock and affront at having been so rudely ignored.

Uther raised his steely gaze from the tie he had been in the middle of fixing and gave the secretary a look that clearly said: leave us. The secretary squeaked and vanished, pulling the door shut behind her, leaving Morgana alone with her forbidding father. "You're not going out there," said Morgana firmly, her pubescent voice carrying hints of the authoritative woman she would become one day. "I won't let you." The Prime Minister looked at her as though he were trying to determine whether she was being serious or failing to be funny. He finished tying his tie in protracted silence, lips pursed slightly. "Did you hear me?"

"Morgana –"

"If you don't shut up and listen to me right now I'm going to walk out of here and I'll take Arthur with me."

"Arthur wouldn't –"

"Really? You think he wouldn't? You threw his comic book collection in the fire!"

"He knows my opinion on that rubbish; it's his own fault for breaking the rules – and getting caught, to boot."

Morgana's gaze took on a steely edge; it was an expression she shared with her father, no matter how much she may want to deny it. "And what about his sketchbooks? Years' worth of his drawings, his paintings, were destroyed when you incinerated them. How can you stand there and think yourself a good man when you've broken your son's heart a thousand times over?! Sod the rules! Your children's happiness is more important than your maniacal prejudice!"

"Better a broken heart than a mind corrupted by sorcery," snapped Uther, his shoulders tightening with mounting anger.

He made an attempt to move past her, to head for the door as it was clear that he had somewhere to be, but Morgana caught his arm and gripped tight, her hand like a vulture's talon. Her expression was less angry and more panicked now. "If you go out there, you'll die! The man with the Dra –"

Uther whirled around, the back of his hand colliding sharply with her cheek. The slap of flesh against flesh was painfully audible. Merlin winced in sympathy as Morgana jerked backwards, eyes stinging with rising tears, her hand finding her cheek as she stumbled away from Uther in shock and pain and anger. "That's enough of your nonsense, Morgana; I'm not in the mood to hear about your dreams! They're just dreams!"

"I predicted Prince's death! I've predicted yours!"

"Lies," roared Uther, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His nostrils flared alongside his temper. "You are NOT a sorceress!"

"What the hell's going on here?" Uther and Morgana looked, as one, towards the door, where Arthur stood; his hand still gripped the door handle. At eighteen he looked almost the replica of his royal incarnation that first day in Camelot, clad as he was in his Pendragon-red hoodie. Muscular legs were encased in blue denim. His blue eyes flicked from Uther's irate stance to the growing red welt on Morgana's cheek, which she tried to hide by tilting her head, casting her face in shadow. But Arthur was no fool.

The young man's blue eyes filled with molten fury. He beckoned for Morgana to come to him and she did so, throwing a fleeting look at Uther, laden with pleading. Arthur embraced her, resting his chin on top of her dark tresses. Uther paid them no mind; instead, he spent a long moment brushing imaginary lint from his suit and shouldered past them, expression indifferent. Morgana's lips parted to say something, but Arthur shook his head slightly, arms tightening around her. "You know what he's like, 'Gana; no one else's thoughts or beliefs matter where magic's concerned."

"I hate him," she whispered, mouth contorting as she trembled against Arthur, tears slipping down her pale face.

"No, you don't," sighed Arthur, squeezing her closer, his large hand resting against her shoulder blade. "Neither of us hates him and that's part of the problem. Now, come on; we've a stupid anti-magic rally to sneer during." He pulled back, turning away briefly to give her a modicum of privacy as Morgana got herself under control. Once she was ready she linked arms with her older brother and the pair of them followed after their father. Merlin hurried after them, not wanting to be left behind.

He climbed in after them when they were bundled in to an intimidating black car with tinted windows – Uther was in the other car, even more intimidating and bearing flags. Merlin was glad he was not in that one; he was certain his insides would have frozen over due to the glacial vibes the man was throwing off. During the journey Arthur reached in to his pocket, retrieving a pair of earphones, slipping them in to his ears. There was a click as he pressed a button on his walkman. Merlin bit his lip, wanting to warn Arthur of what was coming, for he knew it, but the man would never hear him.

When Arthur climbed out of the car, almost before it parked at its destination, Merlin and Morgana slid out after him, the former nervous and the latter pale with mounting terror. He followed them even as they followed Uther to a raised platform which overlooked a large grassy area, though it was black with people at this juncture. Some of them carried signs in protest of the Anti-Magic legislation, while the majority seemed to be in favour. Before he reached the platform, Uther turned and gave Arthur a sharp look. "Put it away. Now."

"Yes, sir," said Arthur, going through the motions until Uther seemed pleased, facing forward once more. Once his back was turned, however, Arthur flipped him the bird and slipped his earphones back in, turning up the volume. An arrogant smirk tugged at his mouth and Merlin's heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. It was unfair that, even with uneven teeth, Arthur was still a perfect specimen of male beauty. They followed Uther up the steps onto the platform, though they stood a few feet behind him when he approached the podium.

There were others gathered on the platform; important people, judging by the cut of their suits and the rigidity of their spines. Arthur threw them a glare and Merlin felt a jolt of pride shoot through him at the former King's obvious stance on the legislation. Merlin allowed his gaze to comb the crowd and spotted a familiar face; a lock of ginger hair falling in to his eyes, Leon leaned against a tree, arms folded across his strong chest. The look of burning recognition and loss and need to rush forward was as plain as day.

And Arthur had no clue the man was there or who he was. It was horrible. The poor bastard. Merlin shook his head and tore his gaze away, focusing on Uther's speech...on Arthur and Morgana. For almost three minutes Uther spoke, his words passionate, his hands gesticulating as he did so. Credit had to be given where it was due; the man was a phenomenal public speaker, even if his beliefs regarding magic were woefully incorrect and filled with bias. The more Uther spoke the paler Morgana grew, inching closer to Arthur's side.

Suddenly, Uther stopped speaking mid-word, the force of a sniper's bullet sending him toppling backwards, knocking Arthur to the floor in the process. Blood and skull fragments and brain matter were spattered across the podium, the floor of the platform, Uther's face. The expression on Arthur's face was devastating and Merlin wanted to turn away, to hide from the unbridled anguish, but he could not tear his eyes away. Morgana shrieked hysterically, tears flooding down her face as she dove on top of Arthur and the fallen frame of her father just like Leon had described, hands trying to put his brain, his skull back together. But even Merlin could tell it was too late.

Uther Pendragon was dead.

Before Merlin could blink he was thrown in to yet another memory. His cheeks flared with colour immediately; he was standing in a bedroom decked out in emerald green and dark wood and Morgana, sixteen years old, was not alone. She was wrapped up in the arms of Aglain, the former Druid leader that had died at the hands of the Knights of Camelot, though he looked to be no older than nineteen at that moment. Morgana's slightly flushed shoulders trembled and Aglain squeezed his arms around her in a comforting fashion.

Merlin was definitely glad he had not arrived sooner. He thanked God that they were wrapped up in the blankets, because that was a part of Morgana that he never wanted to see. Ever. Plus, Arthur would murder him. "I don't want to be that woman," whispered Morgana, forcing Merlin to focus his attention on the matter at hand. The girl, nearly a woman, sounded so afraid in that moment, her voice trembling under the weight of her insecurities. "How could I have become so blinded by hatred?"

Kind-eyed Aglain looked down at his lover and ran a gentle hand through her sweat-soaked tresses. "Sometimes, we're so focused on doing what's right that we don't realise how far from the path we've strayed," he murmured. "Morgause's presence in your life didn't help matters. I'm not normally one to say that magic corrupts, but in her case...in her case it was true and she used you. You were vulnerable and so full of tumultuous emotions that you were ripe for the picking; she knew that. You were dealt an unfortunate hand of cards."

"I betrayed my family – my real family. Gwen...Merlin...Arthur. How can I ever look them in the eye, knowing what I became? What I did to them?" Morgana squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in Aglain's broad chest.

"By acknowledging your mistakes, your wrongdoings and taking steps to correct them," answered Aglain, caressing her shoulder with his thumb. "Isn't it possible that this new life is your second chance? Your chance to make things right? You can't change the past, Morgana, but you can forge a new future just like anyone else. Our lives may run in patterns, but only to a certain extent; there is always time to divert the flow. Just think about it: you're sixteen and you've never met Morgause in this life thus far. You know what you became when she walked in to your life; you can avoid it if she tries it a second time. You can walk away from that existence. I believe in you."

Morgana tilted her head up and they kissed. It was a languid kiss filled with unspoken love and need; it made Merlin feel as though he had been kicked in the gut. He wanted that. He wanted someone to kiss him like that, holding him just so, and be content with life. He tore his gaze away, turning his face away, a hollow feeling seeping in to the pit of his stomach. He had intruded too much already upon this intimate moment between Morgana and the man that would one day become her husband.

Luckily for him he was sucked out of there almost immediately, thrown out in to Covent Garden. He spotted Morgana, twenty years old and beautiful, striding through the bustling crowd like a woman on a mission. An engagement ring glittered prettily on her left hand. He followed behind her, watching intently. Someone bumped into her – an eleven year old child with dark hair, blue eyes and pale skin, wearing clothes that indicated he lived on the street – and managed to make it two steps past her before she whirled around, latching onto his arm with a vice-like grip. "Give it back," Morgana snapped, her gaze steely though it flickered with something akin to recognition.

Merlin realised why; the boy was none other than Mordred. "Give what back?" The boy blinked up at her unnervingly.

"My purse; I know you took it, you little pickpocket."

"I didn't take anythi –"

"I'm not a fool, Mordred; don't take me for one." Her mouth tightened at her slip as Mordred stepped back in surprise, before his face lit up. She, then, nodded her head, though the boy had said nothing aloud. Merlin knew he was speaking to her within her very mind; he had experienced the boy's penchant for it himself in the past. He frowned thoughtfully, wondering what conversation was passing unheard. When Mordred, pouting, reached in to his pocket and pulled out Morgana's purse, Merlin could not help but smile.

Morgana straightened as she took the purse back into her possession, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She offered him her hand. "Come on, then; you look half-starved. Let's grab some lunch before you keel over." No one even looked twice at them as she led him across London, to one of her favourite bistros. Merlin was certain it was the hair and skin that made them look related to each other, but as he had similar traits he did not think on it too much. It mattered little in the end for he was spat out in to a new memory a moment later.

He was now in the backseat of a posh car and there was a three year old girl with Morgana's hair and caramel skin strapped in to a booster-seat beside him. Morgana was in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Eyes filled with steel, she glared out through the windscreen at something in the distance. Mordred, seventeen, was waylaid by a man on his way out of his school's car-park, who spoke to him in low undertones that Merlin was unable to hear. The man was tall, carrying himself with pride, despite the burn scars that marred his face and neck. His tossed his mop of wavy blond hair out of his face as he took a drag on his cigarette.

Mordred eyed him and made to dart around him, but the man caught his wrist. The boy glowered at him, snapped a response and yanked his arm free, but froze at the sound of whatever the man had uttered next. Cursing like a sailor in a manner that made Merlin stare at her in surprise, Morgana threw open the car door and lunged out. Merlin went after her as she stormed across the distance separating her from Mordred. The boy looked at her and something like relief crossed his face. "Mum," he said, the word a sigh.

"Get in the car," she bit out through clenched teeth. "Now." Mordred went without argument, throwing a dark look at the man that had ambushed him. The man eyed Morgana in amusement, blue gaze raking her suit-clad figure in an unnecessarily sexual manner. If she noticed the way he eyed her, she ignored it. "Touch my son again, Muirden, and I swear I'll hit you with a lawsuit so hard it'll become embedded in your worthless brain!"

Muirden exhaled a cloud of smoke in her face. To her credit, she did not even sputter a cough. "Touchy, aren't we?" said the man, an evil smirk dancing in his eyes. "Fallen into any comas, recently?" Morgana's hand came out of nowhere, slamming into the man's undamaged cheek, knocking his head sideways with the force of it. After a moment, he turned his head towards her once more, something predatory having crept in to his eyes. "Come now, Morgana, there's no need for that; I was only talking to him."

"If talking is a euphemism for recruiting, then, I have no doubt of it."

"Recruiting?" Muirden affected a scandalised expression and pressed his hand to his chest, over his heart – or rather, where his heart should have been. "You wound me, my Lady."

Morgana's mouth contorted in an angry snarl. "I'm not your Lady."

A slow smirk pulled at the corner of Muirden's mouth. "They all say that at first, but in the end...they eat their words."

He did not get a response from Morgana, other than her whirling around and striding back towards the car, her hackles raised. "Creep," she murmured as she climbed in to the car, pulling the door shut behind her. Mordred was seated in the front passenger seat, schoolbag down by his legs. She glanced sideways at him and her expression visibly softened. "What'd he say to you?"

"Some bullshit about fighting for our rights," the boy replied, frowning out the window. "I told him where to bloody stuff it; I don't want to get mixed up in that crowd. I could tell by the look of him that he really meant fighting, rather than peacefully protesting like we do. Having magic doesn't mean we have the right to use it to hurt people."

"That can't be all; I know he said more to you. What made you freeze up like that?"

Mordred swallowed thickly and turned his head, looking at Morgana with dread. "He said that he heard Amber's powers were starting to manifest and that we should be proud of her burgeoning talent. How the hell did he know that, Mum?" What little colour that had been present in the boy's face began seeping away. He glanced towards the little girl strapped in to the booster-seat, her caramel hands folded primly in her little lap. Amber, all dimples and dark eyes, grinned happily at him. "Are we being fucking watched?"

"Watch your language," scolded Morgana, avoiding the question as she started the car. She glanced in to the rear-view mirror and felt bolstered by the presence of her daughter. "We'll talk about this later, love."

"But –"

"Later," said Morgana, more firmly.

Mordred sighed and rolled his eyes, turning his head to look out the window. "Fine, but no secrets."

"Is this about the nice man who climbs the telephone poles?" Amber asked curiously from her booster-seat, frowning at the back of Morgana's chair. Merlin startled and glanced in her direction, having forgotten that children could speak at that tender age. "He gives me lollipops when I make things do what I want."

Morgana and Mordred shared a look. The woman's mouth tightened and she glanced in the rear-view mirror again. "Don't do things like that anymore, no matter how many lollipops he offers you."

"But I like lollipops." Amber pouted and it was so adorable Merlin thought his heard might explode in his chest at the sight of it. Morgana grimaced, hands tightening around the steering wheel. "I'll do what you say, Mummy; I don't like you when you're angry." Merlin snorted in amusement, knowing that was the biggest understatement of the century. Nobody liked it when Morgana Pendragon was angry; people usually ended up with body parts forcibly removed or sliced open. Amber opened her mouth to say something else, but he never discovered what it was.

He jerked awake, his skin clammy, eyes snapping open instantly as he lurched upwards. A man's gentle hand tried to push him back down onto the bed – when the hell did that happen, Merlin thought in a moment of panic. His eyes followed the dark-skinned hand up a shirt-clad arm to a bald head. He recognised the man instantly; it was Aglain, Morgana's husband and former Druid leader. Beside him stood the woman herself, one pale wrist held gently in Aglain's hand. She gazed down at Merlin intensely, though there was a thinly-veiled haunted look to her green eyes.

The world start spinning and his rigid body immediately sagged against the mattress. "You're a little disorientated," said Aglain in a gentle tone, "that's perfectly normal for this situation; you're not supposed to get a tour through other peoples' memories, but we knew it would be the only way to get you to calm down. You're a nuclear explosion waiting to happen, did you know that? It's really frightening, actually. I'm definitely glad we managed to get you calmed; I can imagine the social and political damage the blast would do for sorcerers."

Morgana snorted and slapped his arm. "Leave him alone."

Merlin blinked several times, trying to get the world to stop spinning enough for him to focus on her. "How do I know any of that was real? Where the hell am I?"

Her expression tightened, but she did not answer him. Instead she walked across the room – small, hardly furnished and totally bland in colour, as if it were just waiting for a personality to invade it – and opened the door. The room must have been sound-proofed for, as soon as the door was opened, a pounding beat from The Isle's loudspeakers made his head pound in a similar manner. Arthur, irritated beyond belief and concerned simultaneously, barrelled through the open door immediately, followed by Gwaine, who threw Morgana a dirty look.

"Ask him," Morgana bit out, folding her arms across her chest.

Arthur and Gwaine threw her bemused looks, but Merlin swallowed thickly. "Arthur...did you...have a dog when you were a kid?"

"Prince?" Arthur's bafflement doubled. "What does he have to do with anything?"

Merlin shook his head and gritted his teeth at the wave of dizziness that washed over him. "And an illicit comic book collection?"

"Yes."

"You did?" Gwaine asked, surprised, giving Arthur an appraising look. Merlin decided it was a good thing he had not mentioned the sketchbooks; he was certain Arthur would have died of mortification if Gwaine got his hands on such a juicy piece of information.

The former King scowled. "Didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, but...you were the Prime Minister's son! You go, Dumbledork!" Gwaine punched the man's arm, earning a huff of laughter and a grin.

The sorcerer looked at Morgana for a long moment. "Yeah," he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut briefly as if he might regret his next words, "okay. I believe you." For a second he thought the harpy might cry, but instead a small smile graced her mouth. She inclined her head in gratitude and respect. "How long do I have to wait for the dizziness to stop?"

"A few minutes at most," replied Aglain, vacating the bed – on the edge of which he had been sitting. The man rubbed his bald head tiredly, leaned in to murmur something in his wife's ear and headed out. At the door he paused and looked over his shoulder. A warm and sincere smile danced across his mouth. "It's good to see you again, Emrys; hopefully our acquaintance won't be so short-lived this time." With that he was gone, pulling the door gently shut behind him.

"Can you guys give us a minute alone?" Merlin asked, throwing a thinly-veiled pleading look at Gwaine and Morgana. The former's cheeky grin went ignored, but Morgana's knowing smirk made him feel indescribably vulnerable. They did as asked, however, so he supposed he had to be grateful for small mercies. The door clicked shut, leaving Merlin and Arthur in blessed silence. "I'm sorry."

Pale eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "For what?"

"For everything I couldn't change, everything I couldn't be there for." Knowing he would feel more comfortable once he was no longer sprawling on top a narrow bed, Merlin slowly climbed to his feet. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut against the swirling walls around him. He took several steadying breaths and opened his eyes, taking a step forward. Somehow, he managed to misjudge the distance between his legs and the floor, coming down wrong on his very first step. It was only Arthur's torso and strong arms, suddenly just there, that stopped him from toppling on his face, catching him firmly, holding him up.

Convinced Arthur would make a comment about girls and swooning, Merlin was surprised to only hear a quiet, "Idiot." There was a fond note in the word, but a hint of something else, as well. Something Merlin was unable to decipher. Hands fisting and wrinkling Arthur's shirt, Merlin glanced up and felt his heart constrict. The intensity in the man's gaze took his breath away, as clichéd as that was. "There's nothing you need to apologise for," he continued, words soft but sincere, "And if you ever try, I swear I'll punch you."

"Charming."

"Perfectly."

Merlin swallowed thickly – or, rather, he tried to do so; his mouth and throat were just too dry. He grimaced in distaste. "I could use a drink."

Arthur let out a huff of laughter, shifting Merlin around so that he could lean on him for support, one arm slung across Arthur's shoulders. "Come on, then," he said, "before Gwaine thinks we're canoodling."

"I can't believe you just fucking said canoodling," replied Merlin, uttering the last word as though it were something dirty. He lost himself to a fit of inappropriate laughter, which only intensified when two spots of colour flared across the former King's cheeks.

"Shut up, Merlin."

To Be Continued

Feel free to let me know what you think; I am all ears.