Author's Note: So, clearly the episode doesn't end here, but this is the second part! Thanks so much to those who reviewed. A big bear hug to CeltOmnia for being a wonderful person :) You really cheer me up, darlin'.

The Shaman pulled a pillow over his ears, for all the good it did him. It was well into the night, the village had gone to sleep, and yet the voice was still in his head. It had begun about an hour ago and had given him no peace since. It was the voice of that prisoner, Mordred. And he only said one word, incessantly.

Merlin.

It was infuriating. Enough to drive the Shaman as mad as the man himself! If only he knew how to shut it out. But he didn't. How had Mordred gotten inside his head in the first place?

Growling his frustration, the Shaman flung back the blankets and wrapped a robe around himself. He stomped out of his tent angrily, his feet padding over the hard dirt ground as he made his way towards the dungeon. He jogged down the flight of steps and lit a ball of blue light without even thinking as he walked along the path that led directly to—

The two men leapt to their feet when he came to a stop just in front of the bars, fuming. Despite the ferocity of his expression, they both rushed closer to the door of the dungeon, their eyes drinking in the sight of him. This only annoyed the Shaman further.

"I spared your lives," he said harshly to Mordred. "Was that kindness not enough, that you are determined to drive me as mad as yourself?"

"What have you been doing?" murmured the other out of the corner of his mouth. Mordred ignored him.

"I apologize, Merlin, but I needed your attention," said Mordred.

"Stop calling me by that ridiculous name," he seethed.

"Oh, I'm never going to let him live that down," the other man chimed in. The Shaman turned a glare his way even as Mordred whacked his arm. "Ah!" he cried. "That was not warranted!"

"This is not the time for joking, Arthur," Mordred bit out.

The Shaman took a moment to examine the blond-haired man, Arthur. He was handsome enough, well built. There was something commanding about the way he held himself, regal even, as though he expected to be treated with courtesy and deference at all times. The Shaman smirked. It was almost endearing for him to look that way while locked in the Hintagi's underground dungeon.

He turned back to Mordred, seemingly the smarter of the two. "I don't know what you expect to gain out of this game you're playing," he said in a threatening tone, "but I warn you to give it up. You don't know what I'm capable of doing to you."

"If you were going to hurt us, you would have simply allowed us to be executed," replied Mordred. "Why didn't you?"

"Merlin loathes executions, you know that," answered Arthur frankly. He fell silent when Mordred turned a heavy glare on him again. He looked back at the Shaman, still awaiting a response.

It felt wrong, was the immediate answer in the Shaman's mind, but he couldn't say that. It would make him look weak, and he always had to appear strong for the sake of his people and their protection.

"Though you've clearly lost any ounce of sanity you may have once had," he said calmly, "I sensed your magic. I've never felt another sorcerer with magic the likes of what you've got. Your powers almost rival mine." He smirked teasingly. He wasn't sure why he was so pleased when the other man amusedly smiled back. "It would be a shame to see all that power go to waste."

Mordred nodded slowly. "Very well," he replied. "But if you sensed my magic, did you not consider that we would break free? It is well within my abilities."

The Shaman's head tilted in his curiosity. He was fascinated to see the way that both prisoners seemed to fixate on the motion. "Yes, I did consider that," he admitted. "In fact, I thought you'd be long gone by now. So why are you still here?"

Somehow he'd already forgotten the depths of annoyance that Mordred had driven him into earlier in the night. For whatever reason he was finding that he enjoyed the man's company, perhaps because he never associated with other sorcerers. He was even enjoying Arthur's company, though the reason for this was even less clear. Something about the man was just perpetually amusing.

"Why were you willing to let us go?" returned Mordred.

He shrugged. "You don't seem to be a threat."

"You're right on that account, at least," said Arthur, entering the conversation again. "We mean you no harm, nor the Hintagi people."

"Then what are you doing here?" asked the Shaman. "After all, you were trespassing on our land."

"We were looking for YOU!" yelled Arthur, his anxiety bursting forth. The Shaman's eyebrows pulled together and he gaped at the man. "And what do you mean 'our' land? This is not your land. Camelot is your land, your home. At least it was until two weeks ago."

"You are both seriously mistaken about me. I've always lived here. I've been Shaman to the Hintagi people for… centuries. I'm, well… a bit older than I look," he added in a friendly, teasing manner. The jovial expression dropped from his face when he noticed the prisoners' reactions to his statement.

Both Mordred and Arthur reeled backwards, worry now written in every line on their faces.

"What have they done to you, Merlin?" whispered Mordred, wrapping his fingers around the bars and peering sadly into the Shaman's eyes. The Shaman's jaw clenched. How dare these two question him like this!

"I don't know who or what you're talking about, but I'm not Merlin," he snarled.

"Snap out of it!" demanded Arthur, coming up against the bars also, wrapping his hands around them with much more force. The Shaman actually jumped with surprise at the angry passion in the nobleman's face. "I don't know what they've done to you, but you've got to fight it. I know exactly who you are. Merlin, the most powerful sorcerer in the world. Merlin, the man who built Albion at my side. Merlin, my dunce of a servant without whom I would have been dead a hundred times over."

The Shaman watched with increasingly wide eyes as the inflamed Arthur recited his list.

"Merlin, the best friend I have, who I will not leave this village without, just as I know he would never leave me. Because that's what we do, Merlin. We look out for each other. I won't let them take you from me."

Having said his piece, Arthur yanked his hands away from the bars and marched into the corner of the cell, plopping himself loudly on the ground. He dropped his head against his knees, his hands clasped together on the back of his neck, refusing to look towards the Shaman any longer.

The Shaman was stunned to find that for the second time that day tears were tumbling down his cheeks. This was absurd! What was the meaning of this? Frustrated, he wiped them away.

"Try to remember, Merlin, please," entreated Mordred quietly. The Shaman's eyes snapped to him. "Camelot, Gaius, Guinevere, Arthur, the knights… me. Your home. Surely you can see that we do not lie to you." The Shaman's eyes flicked about unhappily. For it was true. They seemed genuine with their words, and what were the odds of two men sharing the same madness? "You must think. What happened two weeks ago? How did they give you this new identity?"

"Two weeks ago, I…" He sucked in a breath. "I was their Shaman, as I've always been." Another teardrop fell.

"Merlin, please." The knight's calm façade was beginning to crack, the panic underneath becoming exposed. "I beg you. I… I…"

The Shaman shook his head, his throbbing, aching head. "I have to go," he announced. He spun on his heel.

"No!" Mordred cried behind him. He paid no heed. Instead he hurried his pace. "Merlin, wait, please!"

And then he was aboveground, the cries of the younger man lost to him. The Shaman set a brisk pace towards his tent, brushing away each new tear as it fell.

All was quiet in the cell. Then,

"I have an idea."

Mordred turned to Arthur. For a moment he wondered if he'd imagined the words, but then Arthur turned to look at him. Slowly, he got to his feet.

"I was once under a spell," he recollected. "Nothing like this. I've got no idea what they've done to him. But… I know how Merlin woke me from mine."

"How?"

"True love's kiss."

The druid's eyes went wide, his jaw falling slightly open. "I… Apologies, what?"

"Guinevere. She kissed me and it broke the spell," the older man said, eyes intent upon Mordred. "So I'm wondering-"

"And what if it doesn't work, sire?" Mordred asked. "He could very well kill me for the assault."

"Not Merlin," was the immediate response. "Merlin wouldn't hurt you. You know that as well as I do. The worst that can happen is that it doesn't work. But it might."

Mordred shifted uncomfortably, looking past the bars to where Merlin had gone away. After a minute, he sighed and turned his gaze to Arthur. His blue eyes shined with worry.

"Shall I call him back? Or… wait until he returns in the morning?" A sudden panic overtook him. "He… he will return, won't he? We have not driven him away?" He grabbed at the king's arm for confirmation.

Arthur met his eyes steadily. "Knowing Merlin, he won't be able to withstand the curiosity that will draw him back to us."

Mordred's face melted with relief, and he smiled weakly. "Yes, of course," he said, forcing a chuckle. "I apologize, sire."

"It's fine, Mordred. I suppose we may as well get some sleep and wait for the morning."

Raising his eyebrows, he waited for Mordred to nod his assent before going to his corner of the cell. They both lay down on the hard ground, struggling to find sleep for many hours.