Author's Note: This chapter took FOREVER to write and I worked really hard on it so REVIEWS would be appreciated. Merlini, I dedicate this chapter to you and I hope it is all you hoped it would be. Also, if Spangley Pony and RocknVaugn are still reading I would love to know what you guys think.

Awen of the Fairfolk understood very little about the mortal world and those who inhabited it. The world of men was as different from hers as night and day and she frequently found herself astounded by their various day-to-day actions. She often liked to watch them come and go in the markets of Camelot, hidden upon her perch in the windowsill of an old and rather sickly shopkeeper who specialized in fine cloths and jewelry. The elderly man had become something of a friend to her and did not seem to mind her rather inhuman appearance or the fact that she spoke his native tongue so strangely.

So, with his blessing, she watched and she learned. Or she attempted to, at least. There were moments she found herself so dazzled by the actions of the people below her that she would have to ponder the meaning behind their seemingly thoughtless gestures for hours. It was as if she were watching a dance that everyone knew the steps for but her.

Arthur had attempted to school her in the ways of noblemen and royalty, but she grew increasingly dumbfounded at the many ridiculous mannerisms she was expected to adhere to. She could not leave her spoon in her soup bowl unless she wanted to offend her guests and if she desired to spit at the table, which she most certainly did not, she was required to cover her mouth to do so. She wondered if Arthur had merely been playing a joke on her to see if she would actually expectorate at the dinner table, but Gwen had laughingly informed her that her husband was being quite serious.

Even stranger to her was the fact that she was expected to stand until Arthur and Guinevere had taken their seats. This particular rule was only obeyed during the many balls and feasts they were required to attend and Arthur seemed to only do so grudgingly. He seemed to hate it even more than Awen did, but he plastered his silly king smile that she had come to recognize so well on his face and bore it with all the graciousness of a swan…albeit a rather ruffled and miserable one.

She could not eat until the king and queen had begun doing so and was often assisted in the daunting task of breaking her own bread by the nobleman sitting beside her. The first time she had attended a dinner party she had simply sat and politely reached for the small basket of bread upon the table, going about her business as she might usually do. It wasn't until she felt Merlin's gentle tug on her sleeve that she looked up and saw the many disgusted or pitying glances of the court. Arthur, of course, was trying hard not to laugh and only managed to do so after Guinevere politely trod on his foot.

"You have to wait," Merlin whispered to her.

"For what?"

"For Arthur and Gwen to sit," Merlin said.

"Why?"

"I don't know," Merlin frowned. "Its just…what we do."

"Well, that seems silly."

"It may seem silly to you," a haughty voice came from near the front of the table. "But these are our ways, woman, and you would do well to abide by them."

Awen watched in alarm as Merlin opened his mouth to say something that was most likely insulting and would most likely get him into trouble, but Arthur rushed to his defense…and hers.

"This is my guest, Lord Yamish," he growled. "And you would do well to watch your tongue in her presence. Her question is a valid one. I find such customs ridiculous, pompous, and arrogant. There is no reason to lord my power over another in such a openly mocking manner."

"Your father never would have abided by such insolence," Yamish spat.

"I am not my father," Arthur said softly, tones low and dangerous. "But, if you enjoy his company so much I would be more than happy to help you join him."

The vile man Yamish had little to say to that and the dinner had gone on as if nothing had happened. She had watched Merlin and Arthur dance around each other with a grace and charm she had not believed possible from them. Each seemed to know exactly what was required of them and each used one another to add an element of laughter to the evening. She had not been bothered again and had quickly strived to learn what she could for any feasts there might have been in the future.

In the six months since she had left Eryr Cadw, she had watched humanity rise and fall. She watched their capacity for greatness, their ability to create wonders of such beauty that the gods themselves would weep. She learned of their kindness and their loyalty, their bravery in battle and their unspoken loyalty to their fellow man. She read books about the great expanses of tangled forests and jagged mountain ranges that man had conquered. She listened to tales and songs of great kings and even great adventurers. Awen learned so much in such a short time that she felt her head might explode, but still she knew there was more to see, more to understand.

There were only three things she knew she had seen that could never and would never be found anywhere else. Regardless of the centuries that passed and the civilizations that rose and fell away, there would never be another like them. The first was Arthur, the once and future king, a man brave, loyal, and true. A man who would create such an era of peace and posterity that bards would sing of him until the end of time, a man who others would follow into hell itself without question and without hesitation. The second was Merlin, the warlock destined to stand beside Arthur and become the king's very salvation. A man who had no limitations when friendship and brotherhood were on the line, a man who loved unconditionally and was so unerringly loyal he would face a thousand deaths before betraying one he called friend. A man who held the power of the world in the palm of his hands, the very fabric of reality at his fingertips, and still managed to be humble and true.

The third was their friendship. She had seen with her own eyes what the two men were willing to do for one another and she was sure that she would never see a companionship like the one they shared for as long as she lived. The forces connecting them were formed by a magic that was unseen and unheard of within the mortal world. An equal mix of push and pull, ebb and flow, dark and light. They were apart of each other and she knew that bond between them could never be broken. No matter how dark the days ahead, no matter how desperate their days would become, Arthur and Merlin would still be the light in the darkness.

Which was why, after spending a night overcome with worry and a morning frantically searching for the lost men, she was shocked and surprised to find them fighting. Rather intensely.

It certainly was the last thing she had ever expected to see. Awen had watched the men bicker enough times, but it had always held the undertones of an exasperated fondness, an almost imperceptible glee in the insults they traded. She had never witnessed them truly furious with one another and if the looks on the knight's faces were anything to go by neither had they. Of course, if Arthur hadn't been yelling at the top of his lungs they may never have found the two men so Awen couldn't entirely begrudge the king for ranting so loudly.

She had found little sleep the night her warlock and his king disappeared from their road weary group. Awen had watched the two of them vanishing into the tree line and had felt such a sharp, piercing panic fill her stomach she gasped aloud and had to sit down. There was no reason for her to feel such an emotion. They were only going hunting after all, but still the jagged anxiety remained and no matter what she did she could not shake her worries from her mind.

The Fair Folk woman had assisted her fellow knights in assisting camp with all the vivaciousness of a dead woman and she frequently found herself being studied by watchful and concerned eyes. None of her fellow travelers chose to voice their concerns however until camp was made and a roaring fire soothed their aching feet.

"My lady," Elyan said softly from across the fire. "You seem troubled. Is something wrong?"

"I—I'm…its nothing," Awen said not wanting to feel foolish. "Just travelers nerves I am sure."

"Doubtful," Gwain snorted.

"Excuse me?"

"I think what Gwain is trying to say is that you aren't exactly the type to get 'travelers nerves'," Percival said. "And we all know…well…"

"Yes?" Awen asked.

"We all know the uncanny connection you share with a certain warlock," Gwain grunted. "You read his mind or something, right?"

"I don't read anyone's mind, Sir Gwain," Awen laughed. "And certainly not Merlin's."

"But you are connected with him," Elyan urged.

"Yes," Awen said slowly. "I feel Merlin's presence in a way I have not felt anyone else."

"How does that work exactly," Bedwyr asked, chewing an apple from his pack thoughtfully. "Can you talk to him? Communicate with him?"

"Sometimes," Awen replied, trying to think of a way to explain her relationship with the warlock. "Or…he communicates with me. I don't have the ability to project my thoughts like he does."

"I thought only Druids could hear thoughts," Gwain said.

"I think Merlin learned it from the Druids," Awen explained. "But, if he opens his mind to mine then I can speak with him. Otherwise, its…its emotions and…I don't know…him."

"Him?" Gwain asked. "What does that even mean?"

"I've never had to explain this before," Awen sighed. "I can feel his pain…not emotional pain, but physical pain…or at least I could…before he figured out a way to shut me out. I could feel his power, know his past, and know the love he feels for the world around him. I just felt…well, like I said I felt him."

"But you can't anymore?" Bedwyr questioned.

"I can," Awen answered. "But, only if he wishes me to. Before he learned how to keep me in the dark I could sense when he was lying or when he was in pain, but now…now I'm just as clueless as the rest of you."

"So," Gwain mused. "It obviously isn't Merlin you are upset about. So what is it?"

"I am not upset," Awen scoffed, trying to ignore the pit of nerves settling in her stomach.

"Well something is wrong," Elyan replied. "You've been quiet all evening, my lady."

"And you've had this pinched look on your face like you caught a giant whiff of Percival's dirty socks," Gwain informed her.

"Tactful as ever, Gwain," Elyan sighed, rolling his eyes as Percival punched the wandering knight in the shoulder.

"Well," Awen said lightly. "Apart from smelling Sir Percival's socks I am quite alright, Elyan. Its just a feeling I have. I am sure its nothing."

"Every time someone says that it is nothing it turns out to be something," Bedwyr mused.

"The lad has a point," Percival grunted. "Maybe there is nothing to it, but what if there is?"

"Tell us about it, my lady," Elyan urged.

"I just don't feel right," Awen whispered, shrugging her slender shoulders. "Ever since Arthur and Merlin left camp I've felt like something awful was going to happen to them. Silly, isn't it?"

"Not entirely," Elyan frowned. "Feelings such as these have proved correct before…especially when it comes to those two."

"What?" Awen asked, startled. "When?"

"Before Merlin met you," Percival said. "He was dying from the griffin attack and Gwen felt something was wrong. She knew that Arthur and Merlin were in danger, but she didn't know how she knew. We almost didn't believe her, but when we went looking for them we found Merlin's shirt, all torn up and bloody."

"So you think my concerns are valid?" Awen asked, heart leaping into her throat. "You think I should be worried?"

"I'm sure they are fine," Elyan soothed. "They'll watch out after one another and with the two of them side by side I'm not sure even the devil would be able to best them."

"It was just a hunting trip," Gwain agreed. "I'm sure they'll be back soon."

But they weren't back soon. Awen paced anxiously by the tree line and watched with mounting concern as the sun sank ever lower in the sky. The knights tried to engage her in conversation, keep her mind far from the two men she had come to love, but she would not be dissuaded from her position at the edge of the forest.

"My lady," Bedwyr called to her. "My lady, Percival prepared a lovely stew for dinner tonight."

"Percival has already made dinner?" she replied sharply. "I thought we were waiting for Arthur and Merlin to return with meat."

"We got hungry," Bedwyr shrugged. "I'm sure they'll understand."

"But where are they?" Awen asked. "It will be dark soon, Bedwyr. They should have returned by now."

"I'm sure they are fine," the young knight assured her. "You should eat, my lady. It will help settle your nerves."

"I don't want to eat," she replied. "We should go look for them."

"That would not be wise," Elyan told her gently. "The forest will soon be too dark to traverse and it is dangerous to travel at night, my lady. We would be far better off to wait for them."

"And if they don't return?" Awen asked. "What then?"

"They'll return," Bedwyr said softly. "Don't fret, my lady."

"I'm not a lady," Awen sniffed.

"Oh," Gwain said, eyeing her appreciatively. "I beg to differ."

"Gwain," Elyan scolded.

"What?" the knight exclaimed. "I was paying her a compliment."

"I don't think leering counts as a compliment," Percival pointed out.

"It does in some countries," Gwain replied, turning to Bedwyr. "Doesn't it, little knight?"

"Who are you calling little?" Bedwyr growled.

"You," Gwain said, grinning wickedly.

Awen watched them bicker and banter with growing frustration. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that something was wrong. She could feel it in the air, a sort of greasy, cold vibration that settled against her skin. The very smell of the air, rotten and festering, fueled the fire of unease in her belly. There was something ancient and dark in these woods, something that sought to do the men she loved harm.

She looked up at the night sky and was horrified to see the last vestiges of sunlight disappear behind the mountains. If the knights could not travel in the dark then the young king and his companion would be waylaid by it as well. She wanted to pull her hair out in frustration as she realized how useless she was in saving her warlock from the threat, imagined or not.

"Stop bickering," she snapped at the knights. "Its dark and they aren't back yet. Something is wrong."

"We don't know that," Percival said in an attempt to sooth her troubled mind.

It was that moment an inhuman scream rent across the night sky like thunder. The sound was so sharp in Awen's ears that she clapped her hands to her head and winced as the shrill shriek grew higher in pitch and ever louder in volume. She had heard that sound only once before, but it was not forgettable then and it certainly wasn't forgettable now.

"What is that?" Bedwyr screamed.

"A banshee," Awen cried.

"She sounds like my sister did on her wedding night," Gwain shouted, his stocky frame bent over with his arms around his head.

"Your depravity knows no bounds, Gwain," Elyan yelled.

"Gods, make it stop," Bedwyr shouted. "How do we make it stop?"

Perhaps the young knight's words reached across the vast expanse of forest and ended the creatures shrieking tirade. Perhaps the banshee had delivered the message of blood and death. Whatever the reason the forest suddenly went still, the night air silent as the grave. There was no cheery chirp of crickets, no mournful howls of wolves in the night, no flutter of moth wings or crackle of flame and wood. Silence. Complete and deceiving in its clarity.

"Good hell," Gwain muttered, rising from his defensive crouch upon the ground. "I pity the poor bastard that was on the receiving end of that message."

"Is it done?" Bedwyr asked. "Is it over?"

"Its over," Elyan answered. "The creature has woven her song of death. Be grateful you were not there to witness it."

"How do you know?" Percival asked. "What if its just…I don't know…taking a breath or something?"

"Its not," Elyan replied. "I've dealt with a banshee or two in my time away from Camelot. This is not the first time I have heard its devilish scream…or seen the men who have been on the receiving end of it."

"What do you mean?" Awen asked, heart in her throat. "I've heard a banshee's scream once. In the forests of my homeland…where the souls of mortals are tested, but I have never seen one."

"The banshee gives visions of death," Elyan explained. "It forces the victim to witness their own destruction…over and over. The legend says that a man who truly believes in the destiny he's been given, is truly content with the man he is and the life he leads, will not be affected by a banshee's cry."

"And the others?" Bedwyr asked breathlessly. "What happens to them?"

"The tale varies," Elyan said. "In some the men who witness their deaths go mad, in others men go blind, unwilling to face the path in front of them, unconfident in their ability to alter their fate."

"I don't understand," Percival grunted. "How can being unconfident in yourself cause a man to go blind?"

"Not sure," Elyan told him. "Some say it isn't blindness at all, but an unwillingness to see the obstacles that lie before them, as if the soul deceives the eyes into darkness."

"So it can be fixed?" Awen asked. "Its not permanent?"

"Depends I suppose," Elyan replied.

"On?" Gwain said.

"On the man," Elyan answered. "It is not something magic can fix because it is not a physical wound, not a failing of the body, but a failing of the mind. It is up to the person the banshee sang to as to whether or not they regain their vision."

"But that's it?"Awen asked. "It only affects the man who the banshee sings to?"

"No," Elyan frowned. "Anyone who is near when the banshee cries goes deaf. A song of such ancient power is not meant for anyone other than who it was sang to. Each song is different for each person. Her very voice is crafted from the life force of the victim."

"So we're going to go deaf?" Gwain exclaimed. "We won't be able to hear?"

"We were far enough away for there to be no lasting damage," Elyan told him, watching Awen's face closely. "What is it, my lady?"

"Merlin is out there," Awen whispered. "And Arthur…what if…Elyan, what if the banshee's song was meant for one of them?"

"I'm sure they are fine," Elyan soothed, but Awen could see the lines of worry reflected in his face.

"I don't think so," Awen said softly. "Oh, Elyan, I really don't think so."

That night had been the most sleepless night of her life. She had tossed and turned restlessly and had finally given up any hopes of slumber long before night had released its hold on the world. She watched the stars shimmer in the sky and prayed to any god that would listen to her that the two men of Camelot would be safe. They planned to break camp in the early hours of the morning and look for them, but the dawn was not coming soon enough for the Fair Folk woman.

By the time the first tendrils of sunlight slunk lazily across the sky, Awen felt as if she were going mad. She all but pounced on the knights in a desperate attempt to get them up and moving and was rewarded with groans of discomfort from most of them and a cheery invitation to join him in bed from Gwain.

It took them close to an hour to finally break camp and begin following the tiny trail Arthur and Merlin had left for them. It was clear that Arthur had been in true hunting form that day for barely a leaf had been stirred nor twig broken. If it hadn't been for Percival's sharp eyes and the revolting trail of blood, feathers and fur Arthur's kills had left behind they may have traveled in circles for hours before finding the right path.

Even with the trail, however, there was no sign of the two men. The hours crept by and Awen's stomach writhed even more nervously then before. It wasn't until almost mid-day that they heard Arthur's disgruntled bass drifting through the trees and Awen's heart leaped at the sound.

"Merlin," she breathed, kicking her horse lightly into greater speeds. "Merlin, I'm coming!"

She galloped into the clearing, heedless of any obstacles that might be in her way. Her eyes sought his own and she felt tears of relief swimming in her eyes when she finally found him. He was staring at her, mouth open in a slight 'o' of shock, but he grinned when he finally recovered and she leapt from atop her horse and into his arms.

"Merlin," she cried, kissing any part of his face she could reach. "I was so worried about you. You didn't return and I had this horrible feeling and…Merlin, there was a banshee."

"I know, I know," Merlin soothed, hugging her tight. "I'm alright, Awen. We're safe."

"Arthur," she questioned, pulling back to look at him. "Is he—"

"He's fine," Merlin snapped, face darkening strangely.

"Merlin," Awen whispered, confused. "Is everything all right?"

Merlin opened his mouth to answer, a strange and bitter smile quirking his lips, but before he could the pair were interrupted by the sudden appearance of the knights who galloped into the clearing in a stream of red and gold.

"Merlin," Gwain exclaimed. "Glad to see you alive, old friend. I would say I was worried about you, but my mother told me it was a sin to lie."

"Good to see you to, Gwain," Merlin laughed.

"How's the Princess?"

"A prat," Merlin said. "As usual."

The words that crossed his lips were not in any way unusual. Awen and the knights had heard Merlin call Arthur a prat more times than they could count. It was the way the warlock said it that gave them pause. There was a venom in his words Awen had not heard before and his eyes darkened upon mention of the king.

"Merlin is just upset because I'm king and he's not," Arthur said from behind them.

Awen turned to face her friend and was surprised to see Elyan and Bedwyr assisting the king as if he were an old man. She studied Arthur's face and bit back a cry of shock as she realized the young man could not see. She had been right all along…the banshee was after them.

"Arthur," she whispered, touching her hand to his face. "Oh, Arthur, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Arthur told her. "Its his fault anyways."

"Whose fault?" Awen asked, confused.

"Merlin's," Arthur snapped.

"Oh, here we go again," Merlin snarled. "Why is it that whenever something bad happens you blame me, Arthur? Why can't you just admit you aren't strong enough to handle things without my help?"

"Merlin," Awen gasped. "What on earth has gotten into you?"

"He has," Merlin shouted. "All I've ever done for him is save his miserable life…all I've ever done is try and be his friend—"

"Who said I wanted to be your friend?" Arthur interrupted. "Did I say that? No, I don't think I did, Merlin. There you go again…making wild assumptions."

Awen threw a startled glance at Percival and Gwain who were standing behind her with their mouths open. She had never heard them talk to each other like this, never heard them insult each other with such vehemence. What in the name of the gods was going on?

"You are such an ass," Merlin yelled. "I don't know how I managed to put up with you for all these years. How I got up every morning and looked at your face."

"As if I wanted you to," Arthur snarled. "All you ever were was an inconvenience. You never could do anything right, Merlin. Never! You were lazy, incompetent, idiotic, stupidly dressed, sloppy and quite possibly the worst servant I've ever had."

"Arthur," Awen cried. "You don't mean that!"

"Oh, I do," Arthur told her. "I've never meant anything more in my whole life."

"Fine," Merlin muttered, digging in the depths of his shirt and pulling the ring Arthur had given to him from around his neck. "You don't want me around, is that it?"

"I want you gone," Arthur shouted. "I have no use for you anymore, Merlin."

"Fine," Merlin repeated, bowing low in mock respect. "Your wish is my command, sire."

With that Merlin threw his ring in the dirt and stomped off, not giving Arthur or his crew of knights a second glance. Awen could hear him ranting and raving, but could not seem to get past her initial shock long enough to stop him.

"Wait," she finally cried, rushing after him. "Merlin, this is madness! I don't know what is going on between you two, but…its crazy! Come back."

"No," Merlin snarled, turning to face her. "The only madness is that I dealt with him for so long, Awen. I am done being his scapegoat. I am done being his friend."

"You don't mean that," she cried. "Merlin, think about this for a moment and you'll see that something is horribly wrong here. You've been enchanted or…I don't know for sure, Merlin, but this is wrong."

"You're on his side then?"

"What? Merlin, I never said that—"

"Its really simple, Awen. Me or him."

"Merlin, this is crazy. Stop and think about—"

"Make your choice, Awen."

"You can't ask me to do that. I won't."

"Then you've made it already," Merlin said bitterly.

"Merlin," Awen pleaded. "Please, think about what you are doing. I am sure you two can work whatever this is out. He needs you…and you need hi—"

"I don't," Merlin hissed. "I don't need him for anything, Awen. He has done nothing but hold me down. He has always resented me for having more power than he does."

"That's not true," Awen whispered. "Merlin, you know that's not true. Just…just look in your heart and you'll see that this is wrong."

"No," Merlin said with a smile. "You are the one that is wrong, Awen. I have looked in my heart and for the first time I see what he has made me into. I would have died for him and he…he just threw that in my face like it was nothing. Why would I want to serve a king like that?"

"Myrddin," Awen said. "Don't leave."

"Come with me," he told her. "Come with me, Awen, and we can have amazing adventures and—"

"I can't," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes at the expression on his face. "Myrddin, I can't go with you."

"Why not?" Merlin croaked. "I thought you loved me, Awen."

"Oh, Merlin. I do! I love you more than anything, but—"

"You love Arthur more," Merlin whispered dejectedly.

"Gods," Awen shouted. "Merlin, listen to yourself. I love Arthur more than you? That is madness and you know it. There is something wrong with you, Myrddin. Some dark magic that has taken hold of you. There has to be."

"No," Merlin replied, shaking his head. "For the first time my eyes are open to the tyrant Arthur Pendragon is and I won't be a part of his life anymore. Even if you will."

With that the young warlock turned on his heel and did not look back at her. She felt a sorrow in her chest so over whelming she almost fainted. How could he think she did not love him? How could he just leave Arthur without a second glance? How could he give up on his king so easily?

"Myrddin," she yelled after him. "Please!"

Merlin turned to look back at her once, but the expression on his face was not one of sudden clarity or doubt. It was one of hurt and anger…and as his eyes met hers she saw a reflection of something in his twin pools of blue. There was a figure there, standing still and silent in robes of deepest ebony. It seemed to her as if the figure were standing directly behind her, but when she turned her head there was no one there. She went to look back Merlin, but the reflection was gone and so was the warlock it belonged to.