Title: Where Nightmares Come True

Fandom: Merlin

Rating: T

Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Dragoon (not a pairing, just in case you wondered), Arthur, and Morgana, mostly. Also some OCs.

Spoilers: Set a little bit after Series Four, so . . .

Warnings: Mild violence in later chapters, and maybe some disturbing descriptions.

Disclaimer: Here's looking at you, BBC.

Beta: DeleaMarie

AN: I apologize for the unusually long wait: school is time-consuming and inspiration is sparse at the moment. I hope you still remember what's going on;)

Enjoy!


Chapter Nine: Assigning Blame

"More?" Marin asked.

"Oh no, thank you, I think I've had enough," Merlin replied, fending the offered spoon off with a hand. The other appendage was resting on his stomach, testing for signs of an impending burst.

Needless to say, it had been a good dinner. Dragoon was dozing by the fire, and the two children were yawning widely; Jeremy especially seemed very tired.

"Aisha, bedtime," Marin commanded as she fetched the pot from by the fire. The girl groaned.

"Why doesn't Jeremy have to come?" she whined, even while standing. "He's even more tired than I am!"

"You know why; he won't sleep with those nightmares anyway," Marin said, shooing her daughter towards the nearby tent.

"You get nightmares?" Merlin asked Jeremy in sympathy.

"Yeah, just recently," Jeremy murmured. "They're just night terrors I guess. But Father said I didn't have to sleep if I didn't want to."

Dragoon spoke up, even though his eyes remained closed. "That doesn't sound like the sort of thing a father would say. Usually, it's all about how you should soldier through it, and how they'll go away, that you need your sleep and all that. Right?"

Jeremy shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, I guess. But my father understands. He lets me stay awake." He yawned again. "Though I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up."

Merlin frowned. Jeremy was only about twelve or thirteen; he needed his sleep. He wondered why none of the Druids had tried a spell to ease his nightmares. But before he could ask, Jeremy stood up and said, "I'm going to go read," and left.

Merlin watched him go, and an idea popped into his brain. "Do you think he's a seer?" he whispered to Dragoon.

"No," Dragoon said definitely. "I don't think he's a seer. Though, there are other ways of seeing things that will happen. Perhaps you're more correct than you know."

Since this didn't really make much sense, Merlin said, "What do you mean?"

The old warlock smiled. "These memories seem to strike at the oddest times," was all he answered to the question before asking one of his own. "So tell me, Merlin. Powerful warlock and a kingdom that hates magic. What brings those two things together?"

Merlin shrugged. "Destiny, I suppose." He thought for a moment, then added. "And chicken. Or the lack of being one, maybe."

Dragoon obviously didn't understand, but he took this in stride. "I suppose you have to keep it a secret?" A nod. "Even from Arthur?" Another nod. "Isn't there anyone you can talk to?"

"Well, there's Gaius, and there was Lancelot . . ." Merlin trailed off. "That's it, I guess. And now, I suppose I have you, at least until you go home again." He smiled. "It's weird, really. I mean, Gaius is good to talk to, but I don't think he really understands. No one does."

"That'd be impossible," Dragoon told him, and the younger man nodded.

"Yeah, but it's really nice to know that you're here, even if you can't remember. It's nice to know that somewhere in your head there's everything that's ever happened to me, and an understanding too." Merlin ducked his head shyly. "You sure you have to leave after whatever's happening is over?" He looked over at Dragoon and they shared an understanding smile.

There was a scream. The two warlocks jumped to their feet, automatically turning towards the sound. Farrell and Marin almost leapt out of their tent, just in time to catch Jeremy as he stumbled blindly towards them.

"I fell asleep!" he cried hysterically. "I fell asleep! I'm sorry!"

"No, Jeremy, just tell us what you saw," Farrell said, taking his son's shoulders firmly. "It's okay, just calm down and tell us what you saw."

"We have to tell them!" Jeremy sobbed, not hearing what his father said. "Dad, we have to tell them!"

"But we can't!" Marin glanced over at Dragoon and Merlin as she held her son close.

"It's their right; they have to know!"

Somehow, there was no doubt in anyone's mind who 'they' were. 'They' moved closer, uncertain and confused. "What do you need to tell us?" Merlin asked cautiously. "If there's any way we can help-"

"How can you be sure, son?" Farrell asked. "How can you be sure what caused this?"

"Can't you tell? They're wrong, Dad. There is only one Emrys, and yet there are two. How can that be? The only question left is, which one am I responsible for?" He dissolved into fresh tears, moaning, "It's all my fault . . ."

Marin clenched her fists. "No, it's Beatrice's fault, and we all know it."

"What about Beatrice?"

They all jumped at the voice. An old but sturdy woman was coming closer to them, her long gray hair held back in braids. Her eyes shone.

Jeremy jumped to his feet with a cry and flew at her. "Grandmama!" Dragoon stood up and went to stand by Merlin.

"My darling," she said with quiet affection. "Why are you so upset? And who . . .?"

She eyed Merlin and Dragoon, confusion growing on her face. The old warlock murmured, "Something tells me that something great is about to be revealed."

"We were just . . ." Farrell sighed. "Mother, there's something we need to tell you."


Arthur looked up; it was a full moon that night, and the glowing circle was reaching for the tallest part of the sky. "We don't have much time," he said softly, the forest deadening his words. "He'd better find us because I have no clue where he could be."

The day had gone better than either of the Pendragons could have predicted, with only minor skirmishes between the two of them. Of course, their good manners were rewarded with zero luck in the finding-Dragoon-and-Merlin quest. They had wandered the whole Valley, searching for clues, but had found nothing.

"He must have something that will allow him to find you later," Morgana had said as the sun set. "At least, I hope he does, otherwise there will be no meeting at midnight."

"'Something'? Like what?" Arthur responded. She shrugged.

"Hair works. Clothing? Who knows. Just something that you've touched or that's important to you." Then she had smirked a little. "Like . . . Merlin, maybe."

She'd gotten a good laugh about that, while Arthur had rolled his eyes and grumbled about how Merlin was simply an idiot.

Morgana sat down on a tree stump, heaving out a long sigh. "Let's stop here," she said. "There's no point in going any further."

Though the thought of sitting and doing nothing was aggravating to Arthur, he saw her point and stopped walking. As he gazed restlessly into the darkness, she pulled out the box again.

"Why do you keep on looking at that?" he asked. "Is there something else to see?"

She didn't answer for a moment. "I have a couple theories as to why this box is important, and I'm trying to think of a way to test my theories."

"Care to share?"

She shot him a withering look. "You know nothing of magic," she said. "What makes you think you could understand?"

His chin went up proudly, but he managed to restrain whatever angry thought came to his head. "Use small words then."

Morgana rolled her eyes, but spoke. "This box has something to do with the monster. You said you attacked Beatrice a week ago; the monster first appeared a week ago. Follow?"

Arthur started to look interested. "Yes."

"Maybe the box held the monster in some way. I've heard of demons trapped inside magical containers; maybe this was one of them."

Arthur was skeptical. "How would the creature have fit inside that box? It's huge!"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe magic helped?" Morgana retorted, then clenched her teeth together. "Your ignorance of magic will be the death of you one day, mark my words." She continued on before Arthur could respond. "What I don't understand is, why was it so easy to destroy? If it were me, I'd have put powerful protective spells around it, to lessen the chance of the demon being released."

"Beatrice was mad," Arthur pointed out. "Maybe she forgot-she was crazy enough not to send the creature back where it belonged, if it is a demon."

Without thinking about it, the two started to circle each other, not with intent, but unconsciously. A wary feeling started to build around them, but neither noticed.

"Do you really think that's what it is?" Morgana questioned, then shook her head. "There must be something else."

They were both silent for a moment, pondering the words that Morgana had spoken. Arthur quietly mused, "Maybe she wanted it released. Maybe it was not a prison, but a resting place; not something to hold the creature back, but to help it grow stronger . . ."

His sister considered this. "You may be right," she admitted. "I didn't know her for long, but Beatrice seemed like the sort of person that would unleash chaos just to see how everyone would react. She's a bit sadistic, I think."

"And it would have been her fault," Arthur said. "If she was keeping it, and she let it loose, however accidentally . . . But what does it have to do with Dragoon?"

"The monster must have attracted his attention. But why kidnap Merlin and make you leave the castle?"

It seemed that they were no closer to finding the answer than before, and both of them let out deep sighs of frustration. In that moment of unguarded emotion, they finally caught on to the charged air around them, and they turned to eye each other.

"Why are you doing this?" Arthur asked suddenly. "You hate me, you hate Dragoon, and you couldn't care less if Camelot was destroyed. Why are you helping?"

Morgana looked affronted. "I most certainly would care if the monster destroyed Camelot! You must have forgotten that it's my ambition to be queen-and what's the point of being queen of a wasteland? Beatrice warned me of what the beast could do. I still have a heart, you know."

"So you're saying that you actually care what happens to the people of Camelot? Why don't you tell that to families of the innocent people you slaughtered?!"

"You can talk!" she cried. "What about the innocents that died during the Purge? Half of them didn't even have magic, let alone use it for evil! You and your father both, you're like these . . . vessels that have been filled with prejudice and-wait!"

Her eyes widened, and when Arthur opened his mouth to speak, she held up a finger and said, "No, stop, please, I think I know . . ." She held up the box with an almost mad glint in her eye. Her brother abruptly stopped, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Arthur," Morgana said softly, "have you ever thought that it's possible to know the answer to a question by hearing yourself say it? And no," she continued before he could answer, "I don't mean that in the way you think I mean."

"Then how do you mean? Don't be so mysterious; explain yourself!"

Morgana smiled faintly. "Arthur, what do you know about magical vessels?"

Arthur blinked. "Gaius has mentioned those I think. Aren't they used when a spell is powerful enough that it would be dangerous to cast it alone?"

"An inadequate summary, but true," Morgana conceded. "The vessel can do a great deal more than that, like increase the spell's potency depending on proximity with the object you want to enchant. But one thing you have to be careful with when using vessels is protective spells, especially when you have something like this." She held up the box.

"Why?" Arthur asked, taking the object from her and examining it.

"With living things, you can put as powerful a spell as you want on it and as many protective enchantments, too. Why? Because the gods build living things to hold magic, at least to a degree. But with inanimate objects, it can be dangerous, because things that aren't alive were never meant to hold magic. Even making them vessels can be dangerous, but adding more magic, like protective charms, can overload them, and the spell will backfire."

"Well, that sounds dangerous," Arthur stated. "Why use an inanimate object at all? Why not use something living all the time?"

"Because living things die," Morgana replied. "And the major plus-side of vessels is that if the caster dies, the spell lives on. That's why they're used so often, even when they're not needed."

"I see," Arthur murmured. "So maybe Beatrice did have a spell in place to hold the monster back, and it was broken when the vessel was destroyed."

"Yes," his sister agreed. "Destroying the vessel would have destroyed the spell, too." And then she smiled a little secret smile. "Of course, it's just a theory; there are spells to find out if I'm right, but I'd have to look through my spellbooks to find them, so that's out of the picture right now." She sighed, suddenly changing the subject. "It's midnight, where are they?"

"Here," Dragoon said from behind her.


Personally I'm not to sure about this chapter. There's just something . . . But I hope you enjoyed it and are excited for the next one! Because things will be revealed . . . DUNDUNDUN.

kitkat: Sherlock is pretty great;) Though the length of the seasons are not.