Author's note: *judge stands up and says loudly, "This horrible person has been accused of laziness and writers block, is there anyone here who will vouch for her?"- I look at readers hopefully- "anyone? Please? Oh, come on! I'm notthatlate!" – judge bangs evil gavel- "apparently not. Ok horrible person, you are sentenced to death!" me: "NooOOOOoo!"*

Oh, and sorry for the length of this chapter, there was just a lot that I needed to squeeze into it! Love you guys!

Cheers!

TTT

Chapter 9

The sun's early morning rays filtered through the edges of Arthur's eyelids, causing him to throw a hand over his face and turn over on the hard ground.

"For god's sake, close the curtains Merlin!" He said groggily, annoyed that his servant had chosen this particular morning to show up on time. He had had such an interesting dream. He kept his hand suspended above his eyes, waiting in hope that his untimely manservant might show pity on him this morning. Half asleep, a small part of Arthur's brain wondered why there seemed to be a sharp twig poking him in the back. Merlin's cleaning abilities may be below his own personal standards, but surely he wouldn't sink to letting his master's own bed become twig infested. Arthur's eyebrows lowered as he shifted onto what felt suspiciously like a pebble.

A light breeze stirred Arthur's hair and tickled his eyelashes, causing his blue eyes to flutter open.

He was in a clearing filled with bodies.

'No,' Arthur thought, dread forming in his stomach as visions from the previous night descended upon him like a dirty blanket. He pushed himself to his feet, his weariness dropping away from him as if it had never been there.

He remembered all too vividly the horror he had experienced just hours before.

A black cloaked sorcerer had attacked them with fire and magic and had mercilessly killed his men, enjoying every minute of it. Arthur hated him for it.

He had known at the time that if help did not arrive, he and his men would be massacred. Oddly enough, he had almost expected to be saved, in some way or another.

He had always been before. A broken branch saving his life here, a convenient rockslide there.

Arthur frowned. Sometimes, it seemed as if there were almost too many lifesaving coincidences happening around him. They happened often enough that he had begun to subconsciously expect them, even wait for them.

Arthur lifted his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes, ridding them of irksome grit.

He knew that expecting well-timed miracles to save them in times of trouble was irresponsible, even childish.

Yet one had.

As to whether this miracle was a blessing or a curse Arthur remained uncertain.

A dragon that was supposed to be dead had come swooping down out of the sky, chasing off the sorcerer and his thirty men.

Arthur's eyebrows lowered in thought.

The dragon was evil, or at least was supposed to be. It had killed a countless number of innocent people when it had mysteriously escaped from below the castle. Some of those people had been well respected knights. Yes, the dragon was most definitely evil. Arthur's head nodded as he came to this conclusion, more to help convince himself than anything else.

But at the same time…

'No,' Arthur told himself sternly, interrupting the thought before it could leave a trace of doubt in his mind, 'the dragon is evil and bloodthirsty. That's all there is to it.'

But at the same time… he heard himself annoyingly go on, the dragon had saved their lives.

Arthur combed his fingers through his blonde hair, stifling a sigh.

That was the heart of the mystery.

Shaking his head, Arthur glanced around the clearing. He needed to get his mind off troubling thoughts.

His men were sprawled out, sleeping in different, uncomfortable looking positions. Arthur understood why. Right before the dragon had flown away, a golden mist had spiraled from its jaws, descending upon them and putting them to sleep.

The corners of Arthur's mouth twitched downwards. He could find no purpose to the dragon's actions, and the very idea that the dragon may have done something to him formed a sick ball in the pit of his stomach.

All of his training told him that the dragon must have done something horrible to him, and the thought of facing the unknown was beginning to get to him. He just hoped that whatever it was, it wasn't a bewitching spell, or even worse, a love spell. He had had a few too many close calls with spells of that sort, and he now had a deep seeded nervousness of them.

Yet his instincts told him that wasn't the case. When the mist had touched him it had felt pleasant, and… Arthur searched for the word… warm.

'Of course it felt warm,' He told himself bitingly, 'It was a dragon's breath!'

And it had felt soothing, the illogical part of him went on exasperatingly. And when it touched my wounded knee...

Arthur sucked in his breath, and stared at his leg. He didn't feel… It couldn't be! But there was only one way to find out.

With experienced hands, Arthur probed at his knee, expecting to feel a stab of pain from the knee that had never fully healed. But one never came. Bewildered, Arthur bent over and pulled up the leg on his trousers, staring at the smooth patch of skin where the scar used to be. His knee was healed.

Arthur felt his mouth hanging open in a very uncomely fashion, but he was too shocked to care. The dragon had healed him! The dragon had healed him… with magic.

Arthur was not sure if he was disgusted or grateful, and in the conflict of emotions surging through him, it was surprisingly curiosity that got the better of him. Throwing caution to the wind, Arthur drew his hand back, took a deep breath, and then swiped at his knee.

Unavoidably, at the last second, Arthur's hand slowed the slightest bit in hesitation, but the impact on the knee was still substantial and if his leg had not been fully healed, the pain would have been excruciating. But he had felt nothing.

Arthur frowned, staring at his knee contemplatively. He didn't like that he had been healed by magic, but he planned to make the best of it. What was really worrying him was what his father's reaction would be when he told him. Knowing his father, he would not be surprised if he fell into a mad rage and redoubled his fight against sorcery, furious that magic had been used on his son.

Arthur was reluctant for that to happen, not because he held any pity for sorcerers – who had proved to be evil to their core time and time again, but because he was well grounded enough to know that with all the evil sorcerers sent to the stake, many innocents would die as well.

'I just won't tell him,' Arthur decided, 'if I just don't tell anybody, then no harm will come of this. And if anyone asks, I will just say it healed of natural causes.'

Distracted by his recent discovery and already on his nerve's edge, Arthur was unprepared to hear a soft whistle of surprise from behind him, and jumped guiltily.

Berating himself, Arthur turned his head to look over his shoulder and found Sir Norum standing there, an impressed look on his face.

"Well well, My Lord," Sir Norum said with a smile, "It seems we have both landed ourselves in a rather sticky situation."

Arthur stared at him uncertainly, unsure how he was going to react to the fact that he had just seen what was very obviously the result of magic. Powerful magic.

Arthur faced him, and then asked carefully, "Why would you say that?"

Sir Norum gave him a slightly sad smile, and then held up his arm, its sleeve soaked in blood and sliced from shoulder to elbow. To all appearances, he seemed to have a rather nasty arm wound. Norum reached for the cuff of his sleeve, and gently pushed it up his arm to his shoulder, revealing the unharmed skin of his forearm beneath.

Arthur's eyebrows soared and then he slowly sighed, rubbing the side of his face. It seemed he wasn't the only one to have been miraculously healed. This would be harder to keep quiet than he had thought.

"Though I must say I am relieved, Sire," Sir Norum said with an easy smile. "I had quite a start this morning finding my arm magically healed, and it's a relief if nothing else to know that I am not the only one."

Arthur nodded, unsure as to how he should react, as he was Uther's son. Confused and feeling slightly out of his depth, Arthur cast about blindly for a question to break the rather awkward silence that was developing.

"When did you notice the change?" Arthur asked, knowing the question was unnecessary but unable to think of anything better to say. He needed time to think.

Sir Norum raised his eyebrows and pulled the sleeve back down. He hid a smile at the question, which he had answered only moments before. 'The prince clearly has a lot on his mind,' Norum thought, cocking his head, and decided to try to lighten the mood a little.

"Well," Norum said with the slightest traces of a smirk, annoyingly acknowledging the pointlessness of the question, "this morning." He said unhelpfully, and then added, "After I heard you hollering at a certain… misplaced manservant."

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he detected the underlying humor in his voice. Recently, he had begun to notice a slightly sarcastic, amused side to Sir Norum's character. They were traits Arthur found he valued in his knights, who were normally so stiff and formal. He just wished Norum could find some other, less stressful time to reveal his unexpected quality of humor. He cast about for another subject, but couldn't think of one.

He was dealing with magic, the most frowned upon practice in the kingdom, and he wasn't sure what he should do about it. In fact, he wasn't even sure what he could do about it.

'I could always just ask Norum not to tell the King,' Arthur thought introspectively, 'but doing so would be asking him to commit a crime close to treason.'

Arthur lifted his hands to his face and closed his eyes, massaging his face. This was an unnecessary problem and he just wished it would go away.

'Besides, I doubt that he is the only knight to have been mysteriously healed.'He thought gloomily.

Arthur could feel Sir Norum's eyes upon him, trying to discern his thoughts, and that caused Arthur to feel increasingly uncomfortable.

Arthur dropped his hands from his face, and sighed, looking at the sky. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Norum leaning back against a tree, seemingly relaxed.

Arthur dropped his gaze and looked him in the eye, trying to figure him out. He was a knight; he was supposed to hate magic with an intensity mirroring that of King Uther himself.

All in all though, Sir Norum looked pretty at ease with the whole thing.

'He does seem oddly calm,' Arthur thought, suspicion beginning to worm its way into his mind, 'Considering he has just found out he has been influenced by magic, and in front of the Crown Prince of Camelot no less!'

Sir Norum must have been able to see the suspicion in Arthur's gaze, for his smile widened. They remained thus, and seconds slowly passed, each one agonizingly long, each one growing more awkward than the last.

Finally, Arthur could bare it no longer. He may not trust Norum, but he had to say something.

"So," Arthur started, and then cleared his throat, more to buy time than anything else. Sir Norum raised his eyebrows and politely gestured for him to continue.

Arthur sighed.

Norum could at least try to aid him in his fruitless attempt at retrieving back the lost threads of this conversation.

Coming to a decision, Arthur straightened his shoulders.

"I have been thinking," He began, trying to find a tactful way to ask Norum to keep his mouth shut about the whole matter and not tell the king. He would have to talk with the other knights later.

"My Father has been very distracted of late, and perhaps it would be best to just… you know." Arthur paused, knowing the enormity of what he was about to ask, "What I am trying to say is, do you think that you could maybe-"

"Sire," Norum interrupted, looking him in the eye to make sure he had his attention, "I won't tell the King."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise.

Sir Norum was smiling in understanding, and Arthur couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards, the short, blonde headed man before him, who was willing to risk his life to protect the innocents.

"Thank you," Arthur said sincerely, and felt a smile of his own tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Inclining his head, Norum pushed himself from the tree.

Then with a smirk and a slight bow, he turned on his heel and walked away.

….

A sad silence followed the conclusion of Ollic's reiterated history.

Merlin felt a lump forming in his throat, and pushed it fiercely back.

Ollic was staring out the window, memories of a time long gone showing themselves in his eyes.

"Ollic," Merlin said, emotion cracking his voice, "I'm so sorry."

Ollic nodded, but said nothing. Merlin suspected he did not trust himself to speak.

A sudden question presented itself in Merlin's mind, causing his face to wrinkle in thought.

There was one part of Ollic's story that just didn't add up. Merlin shifted uncomfortably, then took a preparatory breath and plunged into the question.

"One thing though," Merlin said, shifting all his weight onto his left foot, "You said that Lord Haymor was responsible for Chloe's dea…" Merlin trailed off awkwardly before finishing the word, not wanting to offend the physician.

Ollic waved his hand slightly for him to continue.

"It's just," Merlin said, a disturbed look on his face, "How? I mean, why blame him? What did he do? As far as I could tell, he was just trying to help, but then the knight found you."

Ollic stared at him, frowning.

Merlin shifted under the unhappy gaze and wished that he had just kept his mouth shut. It was getting him into trouble all too often these days, and Merlin made a mental note to bite his tongue the next time he tried to waggle it.

With a weary sigh, Ollic rubbed his face.

"I will tell you why," Ollic said, with a venom in his voice that made Merlin start, "It was right after the battle, and I was running through the woods."

Outside Camelot. 24 years ago

Ollic stumbled over a log, grazing his knee. It was dark, and he couldn't see a thing. He heard the shouts of men behind him and redoubled his efforts, the weight of Chloe's slight body feeling heavy in his arms. He was so tired.

A couple meters down the path ahead of him, Ollic heard a man grunt as he stumbled through the undergrowth.

Ollic's heart skipped a beat. They were closing in on him, and Ollic's breath was coming in short, ragged gasps. He knew he couldn't keep up this merciless pace for much longer and that sooner or later they would catch him.

He needed a place to hide.

Ollic stumbled gracelessly to a halt, casting his eyes about for a proper hiding place. A few meters up and to the left of the game trail he was traveling along, Ollic saw an especially dense clump of bushes and headed for them. The shouts of men behind him were getting louder.

The shrubbery was thick, but Ollic could see a small hollow at its center and plowed onward, the bush catching at his clothing and cutting lightly into his skin.

He was scraped and battered by the time he finally made it to the small hollow at the bush's center, and not a moment too soon.

Ollic heard a man's rather inventive curse nearby as he blundered through the dark, oppressive forest.

Ollic ducked and held his breath as the frustrated man passed by the protective clump of bushes and clamored on.

He remained stock still, not wanting to give himself away with a careless movement. The minutes dragged on, and Ollic heard more shouts and cries of triumph echoing in the night around him. As the time slowly passed, Ollic's breathing eventually slowed as well, but he could distinctly feel the never ending, frantic drumming of his heartbeat. He could feel his foot going to sleep beneath him, and resisted the urge to shift his weight.

The sound of Chloe's shallow breathing beside him caused him to turn his head and glance downward. As he looked into her face, a knot of tight, hurtful emotions churned in his chest, the most painful of which was love.

He didn't trust himself to let his gaze shift from her face, and slide down her body, for he was terrified of what he would see. A small, desperate part of him, tried to believe that if he didn't see the arrow, it wouldn't actually be there… sticking from his love's chest.

Ollic violently blinked back the tears that were forming in his eyes. Now was not the time to mourn, it would give them away.

Ollic was still struggling with his pent-up emotions when he heard another man walking down the path. Yet unlike the others, who stumbled blindly and uncertainly through the undergrowth, this man walked with a confidence and purpose that made Ollic subconsciously squat down a little further.

Peering through the bushes, Ollic just made out the face of the unpleasant knight. As the knight walked past Ollic's clump of shrubbery, an old soldier came skirting from the opposite direction and hailed him.

"Sir Heice," the soldier called out, coming slightly to attention, "All the sorcerers have been overtaken and killed, save their leader Ollic and the small girl, of course."

The knight frowned at the man, not satisfied.

"The king will not be pleased. He has demanded their heads, so find them! They can't have gotten far." Sir Heice commanded, his calculating eyes pitiless.

The old man shifted uncomfortably, not looking very enthusiastic.

"Well, yes Sir," the soldier said reluctantly, and then added, "but surely King Uther doesn't mean the little girl as well, she's just a slight little thing she is, can't be more than ten. What harm could she do to anyone, eh?"

Sir Heice smiled, an ugly glint in his eye.

"Youwillfind them lieutenant, or it will be your head replacing theirs on the chopping block. Understood?"

The old lieutenant gulped and actually took a half step back.

"Okay okay, Sir. There's no need for that. They will be found." The soldier said, trying to placate him.

The knight continued to smile unpleasantly at him, suspicion of his loyalty now all too evident in his gaze. He didn't believe him.

The grizzled soldier, seeing his end in the very near future, opted to try to smooth him over a bit. He stepped forward, taking on an admiring tone of voice. "And, if I may add Sir, you did a wonderful job at finding them. Simply wonderful." The man forced a weak smile, but it quickly faded under the knight's stony glare. Taking a deep breath, the old man decided to try again.

"I can't see how you did it Sir! You got there just in time as well! Staggering how you did that, simply staggering!" This time, the man was able to hold the smile on his face a tad bit longer.

The knight's eyes remained stuck to his face, cold and calculating, trying to discern if this old soldier was the type who would revolt.

Finally, Sir Heice turned away, a disgusted look on his face.

"Trust me lieutenant," The knight said as he walked away, "With the signs Ollic's friends left, a madman could have found them."

...

"Friends? Who else was there besides Lord Haymor?" Merlin asked, then understanding dawned in his eyes, "Oh, you mean his servant."

Ollic nodded widely. He seemed to have pulled himself together a little, or at least he had managed to get his mask back on. Merlin could still see the sadness in his eyes, but he no longer looked broken.

"Yes… his servant," Ollic said thoughtfully, "Fernor, if I remember correctly."

Merlin felt himself freeze as he sucked in his breath, but his mind started racing a mile a minute.

Fernor… Merlin knew how much he hated magic and everyone who practiced it. Fernor had practically killed him after all. He also knew that he was the only one besides Lord Haymor who had known where Ollic was planning to make his escape. But… He couldn't have… surely not.

In the distance, Merlin vaguely heard Ollic still talking.

"Don't you see, Emrys? Lord Haymor left "signs", clumsy tracks in the woods or something of that sort I reason. So because of his mistake, my Chloe is dead!" Ollic's voice rose in pitch as he spoke, so by the time he got to the last word, he was practically shouting.

Merlin shook his head distractedly. That didn't make sense, how could clumsy tracks in the woods let anyone know that Ollic was going to escape. No, whatever signs were placed that caught the knight's attention, had to have been intentional. Intentionally pointing to Ollic.

Merlin frowned, his suspicions of Fernor slowly increasing by the second.

Seemingly out of the blue, Merlin remembered Danen telling him that Lord Haymor had been poisoned a couple years back, and that they had thought they had found the culprit until he was poisoned a second time a couple months later.

Fernor was the only servant who had been working for Lord Haymor during both attempts. Merlin took a step back, placing both hands on either side of his head, wrinkling his face. So many different, seemingly random coincidences were all beginning to add up.

'Ok ok,' He told himself, 'wait a minute, I can see that Fernor may hate sorcerers enough to betray Ollic to Uther, but what reason would he have to poison his own master?'

Lord Haymor had tried to rescue Ollic, he reasoned to himself, and in a way he had succeeded. If Fernor hates sorcerers enough, surely he would hold a grudge against his master for aiding one.

But would that grudge be strong enough to motivate him to poison a master he had served for twenty years?

Merlin wasn't sure.

He also knew that there was one foolproof way to find out.

Merlin dashed for the door.

If Fernor truly had tried to poison Lord Haymor twice, Merlin had no doubt that he would try a third time, and if that were the case, he would probably still have the poison he had used in both previous attempts in his possession.

So caught up in his thoughts was he, that he scarcely heard Ollic's exclamation of surprise at his abrupt behavior.

"Emrys! What are you-"

Merlin never heard the end of his sentence however, for he was already out the door and rushing down the hall to the servants' chambers.

….

Merlin burst into the room, casting his gaze about left and right for where Fernor might have stored the poison.

His eyes lighted on a metal chest beneath Fernor's bed, and he started towards it, suddenly cautious.

He could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins, speeding his heartbeat. His lips twisted. He had begun to like the feeling.

Casting his gaze around a little belatedly to make sure the room was empty, Merlin squatted down beside Fernor's bed and quietly pulled the chest out.

As he had expected, it was firmly locked. However, he wasn't concerned, for with a flash of his eyes the chest easily clicked open.

Merlin's heart gave a twist of pity as he saw its contents.

The chest was filled with dust-covered keepsakes, nothing odd about that, Merlin assumed, for this man as evil as he might be, had to own something other than vials of deadly liquid. No, it wasn't that he owned keepsakes that made Merlin stop, it was the nature of them.

For to one side of the chest, lay a very old looking elegant white dress, and in its folds lay a very beautiful, if simple, ring.

Merlin looked at them thoughtfully. He knew Fernor wasn't married, wasn't even interested in anyone as far as he knew.

As his gaze shifted to the other side of the chest, realization dawned on him. At the other side lay portraits.

All of them displayed a much younger, much happier looking Fernor, and in all of them a small dark haired woman was grinning at him lovingly.

Merlin stared at Fernor's face, fascinated. He had never seen him look so… innocent. He shook himself out of his stupor. He had opened this chest to do more than rummage through Fernor's past.

He gently pushed aside some of the treasured paintings, trying not to pay too much attention to them. He respected Fernor's privacy.

Brushing aside a small wooden carving, Merlin finally found what he had been looking for. He bit his lip sadly.

Deep down, in the far left-hand corner of the chest, lay a small bottle of hemlock. Staring at the bottle, Merlin shuddered, painful memories awoken.

Slowly he reached his hand in and pulled it out. This was all the proof he needed. Fernor was truly evil, there was no way to get around that now. He just didn't know why that made him feel so sad.

So engrossed in his thoughts was he, that he didn't notice the slight creak of the door slowly opening. His gaze shifted back to the young, happy pictures of Fernor, and he wondered how he could have fallen so far.

A shadow fell across the chest.

Merlin started, quickly moving to spin around and stand up, but he was too late.

A rough hand grasped his throat, hauling him away from the chest and tossing him into the far wall.

Merlin's hands clenched protectively around the bottle as he felt himself hit the ground, knowing it was the only proof he had against Fernor.

He stumbled to his feet and with a heavy heart looked his attacker in the eye. Unlike the pictures that had so fascinated him, this man's face held no trace of happiness or innocence. Fernor's face only beheld hatred and rage. Merlin felt as if he were reliving his previous run-in with him, only this time no doubt remained in his mind as to whether this man would kill him or not.

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin saw the open door not four meters away. He knew that if he could get out and tell Lord Haymor what Fernor had done, he might just be able to solve this ghastly quandary he had landed himself in.

Fernor started advancing upon him, a bitter smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"So, the sorcerer scum decided to waggle his filthy hands into my business," Fernor said almost calmly, widely extending his arms out beside him in a careless fashion, though the hate and venom in his voice belied the effect. His eyes strayed to the bottle in Merlin's firmly clasped hand.

"And his filthy hands touched stuff that was meant to be left alone," The smile left his face, leaving it cold and determined. Merlin, who had begun to start quietly edging towards the door, felt himself involuntarily shiver at Fernor's expression. It was a heartless, hopeless look, one that not only terrified Merlin, but made his heart give a twinge of sympathy as well.

Merlin inwardly scolded the renegade organ for its softness, but could not help wondering what had caused this poor man to sink so low. Like always, once the question was in his mind, it was on its way out his mouth.

"Why did you do it, Fernor?" Merlin asked, anger and disappointment clear in his voice. "Why would you poison the man you served for over twenty years? Was it just because he befriended Ollic, a sorcerer?"

As he was speaking, Merlin quickened his shuffle towards the door, but Fernor sensed what he was doing and moved to bodily block him.

"Sorcerers," Fernor spat at the word, "you who study things that are hidden and meant to be left in the dark, twisting it to your own purposes, and destroying any who would tell you it's wrong!" Fernor shook his head in disgust.

"Is that what happened to your wife?" Merlin asked unthinkingly, finally getting an inkling as to Fernor's hatred of magic, and could have bitten off his own tongue.

Fernor took a step back, and his face twisted in outrage.

Apparently so.

'Why can't you ever keep your mouth shut?' Merlin asked himself, resignedly.

Merlin opened his mouth to apologize, but he never got the chance.

Fernor seemed to have decided that they were done talking and forcefully lunged at him, kicking out with his right foot as he did so.

Merlin gave a startled yelp and dove to the side, banging his elbow painfully on the corner of a low table in the process. Merlin turned the dive into a roll and managed, to his delight, to regain his footing simultaneously.

Fernor lunged again, but this time Merlin was ready, and skirted around him while awkwardly rubbing the sore spot on his elbow.

He'd gotten away twice! Merlin saw no reason to push his newfound luck, however, and quickly bolted for the door.

Unfortunately, turning his back on Fernor had been a mistake.

As Merlin's hand found the door latch, a hard object connected with the back of his head.

Merlin's vision became speckled with red dots and he crumpled. He had barely hit the floor before Fernor was on top of him, viciously kicking him in the ribs and chest, causing Merlin to writhe on the floor helplessly.

Merlin weakly lifted his hands to defend himself, but knew that the gesture was hopeless.

"My wife died because of a sorcerer!" Fernor screamed breathlessly at him between kicks, working himself up.

"I will make you pay for what they did to her!" From the table beside them, Fernor grabbed a vase of Danens, and drew his hand back to smash Merlin upside the head with it.

At that moment something inside Merlin snapped back into place. Enough was enough.

He felt his eyes grow warm as they flashed gold, and Fernor went flying backwards into the wall Merlin had crashed into moments before.

The crash knocked the breath out of Fernor, but he was back on his feet within seconds, boiling with rage.

Merlin didn't waste a moment. As Fernor went flying, Merlin staggered to his feet and threw himself through the door, grabbing the edge of it and hurtling it closed behind him.

Instinctively Merlin's eyes shown gold and the door locked behind him, but Merlin was already on his way towards the guardroom, where he knew Lord Haymor had a meeting scheduled and so he hardly noticed. What he did notice was Fernor savagely throwing himself at the door and the large crash as it snapped beneath his weight.

Merlin's sides ached painfully where Fernor had kicked him, but he determinedly pushed himself onward, still clutching the small vial of hemlock in his hands.

Behind him, he heard Fernor's rapid footsteps getting louder, and he knew that he would be overtaken within moments unless he hurried.

He was approaching a staircase leading downward and quickly jumped down them, stumbling and tripping clumsily as he went. The guardroom was close. He was almost there.

He tripped down the last three steps of the stairway and landed painfully on his face at the bottom.

Merlin could hear Fernor bounding down the steps above him and, frightened, he dragged himself to his feet, forcing himself to continue.

He skirted around one corner and then another. The large guardroom door was just in sight and with renewed effort Merlin sprinted towards it, hope springing to life in his chest.

He threw himself against the door and fumbled with the latch, his hands clumsy with the rush of adrenaline surging through him.

He had just managed to push it open when Fernor latched onto his forearm, unavoidably pinching his sore elbow and causing Merlin to jump. They both went tumbling inside, barely keeping their feet.

By the time Merlin was able to pry himself loose of Fernor's vicious grasp and look up, he had the entire room's attention. They were in a large, circular room with tall windows and a bench running along the walls. Soldiers sat sprawled out on the bench, and a few of the higher ranking officers were talking amongst themselves at a large table in the center of the room.

Lord Haymor sat among them, studying a map of the surrounding countries. Or at least he had been. Now he was looking very curiously at Merlin's face, with no little amount of exasperation or annoyance. Yet the cuts and bruises blotching Merlin's face did not escape his notice.

Beside him, to Merlin's relief, sat Cal who was looking amused as always. Merlin was beginning to suspect that the Captain's constantly cheerful persona was just a shield, built up over the years to protect himself and hide his emotions. He didn't have time to dwell on that now however. He had a job to do.

Merlin stepped forward, lifting the bottle up for all to see. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Emrys," Lord Haymor said interrupting him, and paling at the sight of the bottle, "Where did you get that?" Lord Haymor knew that the poison used against him for both attempts of his life was hemlock.

Merlin lifted his finger to explain, and was interrupted once more.

"My Lord!" Fernor cried, grabbing the vial from Merlin's grasp and immediately becoming distraught, "Do not let this boy speak! For all he knows to say are lies!"

Merlin stared at Fernor evenly. He knew that Fernor felt as if he were backed into a corner, and in a way he was. Fernor's only option was to bluff his way through this.

Merlin shook his head, and turned back to Lord Haymor, who was looking quite confused.

"My Lord," Merlin said, a bit louder than he had intended, "I need to speak to you," then added, glancing at Fernor, "alone."

Haymor never got the chance to respond however, for Fernor lifted the vial high and announced in an accusing voice, "Not ten minutes ago, I beheld Emrys pouring this into My Lord's evening meal!"

"What?" Lord Haymor demanded, immediately standing up and causing his chair to go falling backwards onto the floor. His eyes moved from Merlin to Fernor then back again.

"What?" Merlin echoed disbelievingly, his eyes wide, "No! No My Lord, he's lying!"

"Lord Haymor, I know that you are fond of this boy," Fernor said loudly stepping forward and pointing his finger at Merlin, "but you must know that he has been lying to you from the beginning! He is not who he says he is!"

Fernor turned on Merlin, a malevolent glee in his eyes as Lord Haymor's eyebrows snapped down.

Merlin felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he had the evidence against Fernor, so he had thought that it would be easy to convince Haymor of Fernor's nature.

But he wasn't the only one with potentially fatal information, and he didn't have twenty years of service to back him up.

For the first time, Merlin thought that maybe he wouldn't make it through this fight alive, for Fernor knew that he was drowning, and he had decided to drag Merlin down with him.

Merlin shook his head franticly, angrily denying the accusation.

"That's not true!" Merlin protested, looking Lord Haymor in the eye and throwing a quick look at Cal. "Fernor was the one with the poison, not me! He has already poisoned you twice and is going to do it a third-"

"Lies!" Fernor interrupted with a condescending laugh, knowing that acting nervous would give him away. "Listen to him My Lord. The moment I reveal to you his true nature, he tries to blame his crimes on me!" Fernor stared at the aghast Merlin, a sardonic smile playing about the corners of him mouth, "But I suppose we can't really blame him, after all, he is only trying to save his own skin. For not only My Lord has he tried to poison you, he is the one responsible for the mysterious destruction of our wagons, the ones that were burned only a week ago!"

At that, the room erupted into chaos. The soldiers in the room stood up and drew their swords, but were unsure as to who to point them at, as each of them had different opinions on who was telling the truth. Fernor wasn't a favorite servant, in fact no one really liked him, but he had lived in the castle for twenty years so some of these people knew him.

Merlin was just a stranger.

Over the noise, Fernor started shouting venomously, "He is a sorcerer! He blew up the wagons with magic! I saw him! I saw him! He is here to kill us all! To kill the King! And he was going to start by poisoning Lord Haymor! He speaks lies. Lies! LIES!"

"I would never poison anybody!" Merlin shouted back desperately, and then felt a twinge of guilt. He had poisoned someone. He had poisoned his friend. Merlin closed his eyes, shoving back the nauseating wave of guilt that had been awoken inside him. That plus the noise in the room was beginning to make him feel dizzy.

He turned to Lord Haymor, "Please," He said quietly, knowing that he couldn't hear him but getting his point across with the look on his face, "please, you must believe me!"

Lord Haymor frowned. It was true that he had always liked the boy, but he had always known that there was something not quite right about him. Now he was being accused of treason and attempted murder.

"Now that is just insulting," a voice stated cynically, sounding bizarrely quiet in a room filled with men in shouting matches. That fact alone was enough to cause everyone to stop talking, but the fact that the voice belonged to their captain didn't hurt.

Cal smirked.

He was leaning back against a wall, one leg crossed over the other in a relaxed gesture. He lazily motioned at Merlin and raised his eyebrows.

"Can any of you really believe that this idiot could get past my men? Could get past you? I don't think so, and the thought of him being a sorcerer is just ridiculous to say the least. I mean, look at him. Fernor must be mistaken." Cal said with a condescending shake of the head at Merlin.

"I am not!" Fernor yelled angrily, but nobody seemed to be paying much attention to him now. Everyone seemed to hold Cal's opinion very highly.

Some of the men had started nodding their heads in agreement, and one or two chuckled at the idea that Merlin could have destroyed their army's food supply, which seemed absurd now that their captain had mentioned it.

Merlin stared at them disbelievingly. 'What is so funny about the thought of me being a sorcerer?' Merlin thought indignantly, before shrugging the thought away. At least he was still alive. Maybe he would make it out of this after all.

"No! No, he did blow them up! He threw his shoe to create a diversion and while no one was looking he set the wagons on fire!" Fernor said angrily, glaring at Cal.

That got Lord Haymor's attention. He turned to Merlin, a troubled look on his face.

"I do recall that you lost your shoe," He said unhappily, doubt obviously beginning to worm its way into his mind.

"I lost it in the mud and later a dog carried it off." Merlin said, knowing the flaw in his logic even as he said it.

"And yet you have it now," Lord Haymor said thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed. Merlin shifted uncomfortably, his hopes slowly beginning to sink.

"I, uh, got it back," Merlin said lamely, the suspicious looks the soldiers now threw his way not escaping his notice.

Fernor grinned triumphantly.

"You see My Lord? He is nothing but a liar! And not even a very good one at that." Fernor smiled maliciously at Merlin's pale face. He stepped closer to Lord Haymor and said in a low voice, "He tried to kill you My Lord, he needs to be executed."

Lord Haymor looked at the ground and then with a sigh slowly closed his eyes.

The entire room waited in silence, waiting for his decision. Lord Haymor looked up, his eyes sad, and said quietly, "Arrest him."

The soldiers hesitated, not sure who he meant.

"Lord Haymor?" a higher ranking soldier asked hesitantly.

"Emrys," Lord Haymor said wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "arrest Emrys."

The men nodded in understanding and stepped forward, a soldier grabbing each arm and one pointing a sword into his back.

Merlin felt the urge to shrink back and run, but he knew that doing that would be as good as admitting his guilt and Fernor would never be seen for what he was until it was too late. So he stayed still, gazing steadily at Lord Haymor as he began to list the charges against him.

"You, Emrys, are guilty of high treason, and attempted murder. The only punishment suitable for these crimes is death." Lord Haymor said heavily, and then added softly, "I had thought that I was a better judge of character than that."

Merlin shook his head, and felt a lump rising in his throat. He violently pushed it back, clearing his throat.

"I didn't do it!" Merlin whispered, "I would never try to poison you! I tell you Haymor it was-"

He was cut off as he felt a searing pain cut into him, running from his shoulder to his lower back. He screamed and his knees buckled, causing him to remain upright only by the guard's harsh holds on his arms.

Merlin gasped, and felt a warm liquid soaking the back of his shirt.

"How dare you address Lord Haymor in that fashion!" The guard behind him sneered, "It is LordHaymor to you, boy!"

Merlin gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain.

"Put the whip down, Sergeant." An angry voice said quietly from beside him.

Through the haze, Merlin blearily tried to open his eyes, wanting to see his rescuer. His eyelids felt as if they had lead weights attached to the ends of them, however, and he knew that he was beginning to lose consciousness.

By sheer willpower he managed to force his eyes open, wincing as the light sent daggers into them.

Cal stood right next to him, his hand locked on the wrist of the man who had struck at Merlin with the whip.

"But Sir," The man started to protest, but was cut off as his wrist was violently twisted clockwise, causing him to double over with his arm twisted behind his back.

"I said… Put. It. Down," Cal said, dangerously quiet. He wasn't just angry, he was livid.

The whip dropped to the floor.

"Good!" Cal said cheerfully, letting go of the man's wrist and dropping him gracelessly on the floor, "Finally, someone with some sense!"

Merlin stared at him, and began to shake his head at Cal's loose-canon behavior, but realized it was a mistake as he felt a wave of nausea hit him. He squeezed his eyes shut, and bent his head until it had subsided. 'So I was right,' a small part of his brain that should have been doing something useful thought, 'Cal's cheerfulness is a mask.'

"Get the physician!" Merlin heard Lord Haymor order, and his heart warmed as he heard the concern in his voice.

"But, My Lord!" Fernor objected, his voice having a hint of anger in it, "Why? He is going to die anyway, why bother? I mean, he tried to poison you!"

Lord Haymor opened his mouth to sharply rebuke Fernor for his heartlessness but was cut short as Merlin's desperate voice gasped out, "Lord Haymor got poisoned twice before I even got here!" Even in the barely audible voice, Merlin's exasperation was clear.

Lord Haymor frowned. Emrys had a point.

He turned on Fernor, a probing look in his eyes, "He is right Fernor, Emrys wasn't even in Cenred's Kingdom a couple months ago, so who poisoned me then?"

Fernor floundered, and shook his head, whether in anger or in confusion was anyone's guess, "I don't know, My Lord!" Fernor said with a slightly rough edge, "All I know is that I saw Emrys poisoning your food just about a half hour ago!"

"Yes…" Cal interjected slowly, "You have seen quite a lot of things, haven't you, Fernor?"

Fernor looked at the Captain cautiously, some sixth sense warning him that he was on dangerous ground, "Well yes, I suppose."

Cal grinned disarmingly at him, and casually stepped around Merlin so he stood closer to him. "I mean, not only have you seen him try to poison your master, you stood by and watched as he blew up our army's food supply!" Cal shook his head, looking impressed, but then the look faded, as if he were just noticing something, "Wait… you just stood by, while he blew up our army's food? You didn't try to stop him? You didn't tell anyone?" Cal shook his head, wincing, "You know, that could be a very serious crime."

Fernor's eyes narrowed in anger. This man was really beginning to get on his nerves.

"I didn't tell anyone because I wasn't sure," Fernor finally said irritably.

Cal's eyebrows soared, "Wasn't sure? You have just accused Emrys of treason, and you aren't sure?"

Fernor's eyes widened as he realized his mistake. Not sure what else to say he turned to Lord Haymor.

"My Lord," Fernor said stiffly, "are you going to allow me to be treated like this?"

Lord Haymor was looking at him intently now, "Yes," he said slowly, "I will. Now answer his questions."

Fernor looked uncomfortable, and just shrugged.

Cal began pacing the room, back and forth in front of Fernor, as if he were interrogating him. "So you saw him blow up the wagons…" Cal said slowly, and then added, "and you saw him add poison to Lord Haymor's meal?" As Cal asked this last question he stopped pacing, and looked Fernor in the eye.

Fernor stared back unblinkingly. "I did."

Cal grinned, "Well then, that's terrific! As I recall, Emrys claims that he didn't add any poison, but I am sure that if he is asked to eat from the same plate he poisoned, he won't be so adamant." Cal smiled, happy with his decision. Out of the corner of his eye, Cal saw Merlin's shoulders slump in relief, while he could distinctly see Fernor stiffen.

At that moment, Ollic came bursting into the room. It took only a glance at Merlin's torn back for his face to become clouded with concern.

"Emrys…" Ollic said aghast, "What have you done?"

Merlin gave him a watery smile, "Oh, you know, just making a fool of myself. Nothing new."

Making shooing motions at the guards, Ollic squatted down next to him and lifted his shirt up. Merlin winced but kept quiet. Ollic whistled quietly when he saw the state of Merlin's back.

The narrow gash spread from the top of his left shoulder all the way to the middle of his lower back. Blood was still pouring from it freely.

Ollic looked at the men in the room in horror, "What happened?"

Nobody met his gaze. Sensing that he was going to get no answer, Ollic began to poke and prod and Merlin's back.

"Ow!" Merlin whined, and then got rapped on the knuckles.

"Oh hush," The physician said, the smile that was not on his face in his voice.

Quietly, Haymor signaled for a servant to bring his apparently poisoned plate of food. The servant nodded and hurried out.

The room watched in fascinated silence as Ollic closed his eyes, and began chanting under his breath, fingers widespread over Merlin's bloody back.

Merlin's back began to itch horribly, and it took all of his willpower not to claw at it. Keeping himself still, he forced himself to start counting- a practice that had always helped him in the past- to take his mind off the ghastly itching.

'One, two,' Merlin began, and then bit his lip hard as the itching increased.

Ollic began to chant louder and faster, and slowly, the itching faded into a dull throb. Merlin gave a sigh of relief and rotated his shoulders.

Ollic's hand dropped from the air above Merlin's back, and he stopped chanting. Breathing heavily, Ollic stated matter-of-factly, "That's all that I can do for you now, I will be able to heal the rest later." Then he added with a slight smile, "You have got to be the most accident prone person I have ever met!"

"It wasn't exactly an accident," Merlin grumbled under his breath.

The door creaked, and the servant entered with a plate of food. The tension in the room was almost tangible as the servant handed the plate to Haymor.

"Will that be all, My Lord?" the servant asked meekly.

Lord Haymor nodded, and the servant quickly scuttled out, unwilling to remain in the room any longer than necessary.

The servant wasn't the only one who seemed to notice the tension, as Ollic frowned, looking from one face to another.

Cal held out his hand for the food and turned to Merlin, a well hidden smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "So, Emrys, Fernor claims that he saw you contaminating this dish with hemlock. Is that true?"

Merlin shook his head, hiding a grin of his own, "Nope, it's not."

Cal looked at him in mock surprise, "Really? Then you will not mind if I ask you to eat it?"

Merlin grinned at the room, tactfully ignoring Fernor's hateful glare. Reaching towards the plate, Merlin plucked off a thin, glossy sliver of ham, and popped it into his mouth. He swallowed loudly, and the room waited in anxious anticipation. Seconds slowly ticked past. Nothing happened.

Fernor's face had turned a dreadful shade of red, and his jaw was sticking out and locked. Under any other circumstances, he would have looked quite comical. But not today.

Lord Haymor turned on him, a hurt, betrayed look on his face, "All these years I have trusted you, paid you, looked out for you, and this is how you repay me?"

Fernor shook his head once, in a stubborn gesture, "This proves nothing, My Lor- "

"This proves everything!" Lord Haymor shouted angrily, stepping closer to him, "What happened to you Fernor? Why did you do it? Why?"

Fernor met his gaze unflinchingly. And unremorsefully.

"Why?" Lord Haymor asked again, his voice almost a whisper.

Fernor's lips twitched into a bitter smile, "Because I hate you." He said, the look in his eyes leaving no room for doubt.

Lord Haymor stepped back, recoiling as if he had been slapped. The look on his face tore at Merlin's heart. This conversation was practically playing out his worst nightmare, a nightmare of Arthur's reaction to his secret, his crime, his gift.

Lord Haymor's face then set into a determined line. "So be it," he said, lifting his head. He motioned at the guards, "Arrest him," he said roughly, but not roughly enough to hide the crack in his voice.

The soldiers had no trouble discerning who he was talking about now. Much like they had done to Merlin, two grabbed his arms and one pointed his sword into Fernor's back.

"Take him away," Haymor said wearily, not wanting to have to look at his servant's face any longer. The guards nodded and began to drag Fernor away. As they began to move, Fernor suddenly got violent, and began to thrash and wiggle and worm, but to no avail. As they passed by Merlin, Fernor leaned forward and spat in his face.

"This is your fault, sorcerer!" Fernor screamed at him, "It is because of you and your kind that my wife is dead! It is because of you that I am being sentenced to death! I hope that you will remember that, and I hope that your guilty conscience with drive you to the grave!"

Merlin shuddered as Fernor was dragged out of the guardroom.

His shouts echoed down the hall to them, and hours later, Merlin would wonder if he could still hear them.

Cal walked up to him, and said as if he were just realizing it, "Well Emrys, considering your accuser turned out to be a complete…" Cal threw a quick glance at Lord Haymor and changed his mind on whatever he was going to say, "a very bad person, I think that we can drop all charges laid on you. Wouldn't you agree Haymor?"

Lord Haymor looked up distractedly, "What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course Emrys, sorry."

Lord Haymor rubbed his face, and sighed.

"I think that I will just turn in for the night," He said sadly, and with a slight incline of the head at Cal, Lord Haymor walked with a heavy heart, out of the room.

Cal watched him go, sadly. For a second, Merlin could see him without his sarcastic mask, and he realized that Cal now looked far more genuine. Then the moment was gone, and the smirk was back on Cal's face.

"I do think that it is safe to say that you owe me." Cal said to Merlin with a smile, his eyebrows raised. He didn't give him a chance to answer however, for with a mocking salute, he turned and began to walk out the door.

"Cal," Merlin said before he could leave, and as the Captain looked back at him, Merlin noticed that the mask was already beginning to slip, "Thank you."

Cal smiled, and the smile was genuine, "You're welcome." He said, with a twinge of sadness. Then he was gone.

Ollic slapped him on the forearm.

"Ow!" Merlin yelped, and then looked at him exasperated, "What?"

"You never told me 'thank you'," Ollic said disapprovingly, but the twinkle in his eye belied the effect, "Physicians never get any praise or thanks you know. We save someone's life and we rarely even get a 'Well done!'"

Merlin shrugged teasingly, "I guess it is just an occupational hazard of yours," He said in mock sympathy.

Ollic twacked his arm.

"Ow!" He whined.

Ollic shook his head in exasperation.

The smile slowly faded from Merlin's face as he remembered that Ollic didn't know the truth about Chloe's death. He didn't know that it was Fernor's fault, because he had turned them into Uther.

Merlin sighed. He had hoped that he could be done with the intense conversations for today. He slowly turned to Ollic.

"We need to talk."

The Great Dragon soared down from the sky above her, its mouth alight with flame. Morgana couldn't move, she was too scared, and she already knew that she wouldn't make it in time. She was going to die.

Morgana sat up, gasping, her fingers clutching her sheets. It was still dark. The moon was shining through the crack between the two curtains, casting a silver snake on her floor.

She waited for her breathing to subside, but it never did.

It was the same dream, the dream she had had every night for a week now. She choked back a sob. She did not want to die.

…..

The black stones of Cenred's castle shone dully in the moonlight. From Arthur's view in the woods, it looked even less inviting than the first time.

He smiled at his remaining knights. Tomorrow night would be the night. Tomorrow, they would kill the sorcerer.

Author's Note: Okay, so the next chapter should be up pretty soon… no, really. It is finally starting to get into the actual storyline now, no more random rabbit trails, so I am getting excited!

Thank you so much to everyone and I mean EVERYONE, who has stayed with me this long, whether you reviewed or not, it just means a lot!

But very very special thanks to: Notquitebezerk, Ebonyice, 1, Falling Down The Stairs, Ruby890, Eclipseoftheheart17, Wisegirl24256, Castwomanswrath, Cwam, Emachinescat, Suzie, Lilyplusjamesistotallove, Whirlwind421, llLethell, Merlin Fan, Nykskyblue, Rawr52, Ariacle, Coby, Katherine Moonhawk, and Micro Chibi Baka San, Ringo's imaginarycat, TaintedXIllusion, 104Arianna, Imperial Mint, Teenmuggle, Arbitrary9, Klester1987, Sydelle Rein, and DragonGem777!

Love you all!

Cheers!

TTT