Two updates in two days, awww, yeah! And thanks for the comments everyone! They always make me smile.


There was no chance of Merlin sleeping that night. For hours he had been tossing and turning on the hard ground, the events of the past week rolling over and over again in his mind. Gwaine's near-fatal burning, the spell from Kilgharrah backfiring and taking an innocent man's life, the way his magic acted when it was fueled so solidly by anger and despair, that this same magic resulted in the accusations against his mother, and, of course, coming so close to revealing his secret to Arthur. Though he'd discovered it had all been an act, he couldn't help but believe the prince would behave the same way were Merlin's powers truly discovered.

Magic. It all came back to magic. Useful sometimes, but a headache more often than not. He'd always convinced himself that by utilizing his power for good, he was separated from all of the sorcerers who sought to do Camelot harm; from those who used it for power, for money, for prolonged life. But what if it wasn't the person? What if Uther had been right all along? What if it really was the magic that corrupted them in the end?

The warlock rolled forward and crawled to his feet, tired of laying there battling with his thoughts. He quietly crept off through the ancient forest, leaving Arthur and Gwaine sleeping like a couple of big dumb rocks, the lucky sods. Merlin found the forest eerily silent in a thick, almost tangible way. He could hear his own footfalls, the noise dying the moment the heavy forest took it, but of birds or insects there was nothing. It didn't help much in his quest for a distraction.

As if hearing his plea, a diversion came again in the form of quiet laughter. Merlin picked up his pace, as though he might outrun it. What was happening to him? The voice was so evil, so sinister, so set on his despair. The further he ran and the more desperate his thoughts became, the louder was the laughter's intensity. Was this his magic rebelling again? Was it intending to drive him mad? Or was this the beginning of his fall into darkness? Was everyone who played with magic destined for villainy?

But he'd been born with this! Did that count for nothing? Or did it just make him that much more a conduit for depravity? The laughter answered him, sharp and foul.

Maybe I should just tell Arthur, Merlin thought. Leave it up to him to decide what to do with me.

He ran until his lungs were burning, his head a dizzy rush of adrenaline. Merlin fell against a tree, clutching it with white fingers. His watery gaze fell forward and hit on something strange.

It was a flickering glow, coming from within a dark tent of purple fabric. It looked as though it had been pitched only moments ago, but Merlin found the warmth from within quite appealing. He pulled himself from the tree and approached the suspicious shelter.

"Hello?" He found that his voice died in the air just as quickly.

There was silence, but he heard a shuffling coming from within the tent. He paused, rethinking this decision. The laughter returned, growing in strength, threatening to burst his eardrums. Merlin winced and took a step back.

"Hello, Emrys."

He stopped in his tracks. People who knew him as Emrys were either very close friends and protectors, or the worst of his enemies.

"Who's there? Wh-who are you?"

"A friend. Please, come inside Emrys. I mean you no harm."

No, of course not, they never meant him any harm until they were harming him. Merlin bit his lip and looked left and right over his shoulders. The mysterious voice from the tent coupled with the mysterious voice laughing in his head was not at all encouraging him to pursue this course any further. As the laughing began to cause him physical pain, an old woman hobbled out of the tent. As soon as Merlin looked at her, the laughing ceased.

She was gnarled and thin and bent over a cane, old enough to have made Gaius look like a spry young chap. But her eyes were gentle and her smile as warm as the fiery glow coming from within the tent. She had stopped the voice from assaulting his mind. Merlin felt immediately at ease.

"You've been through many great ordeals, Emrys. Come inside and perhaps I might calm your mind."

Merlin found himself oddly eager to oblige. Wordless, he followed the old woman. Inside, the tent was a motley assortment of artifacts, crystals, bells, beads, and colourful orbs. Sheets of multi-coloured silk hung outward from a center post, at the base of which was set a little iron table and two blocks of wood for chairs.

"Sit, sit!" the woman smiled, shuffling her tiny feet to the fire. "Would you care for some tea? Lovely herbal tea. Quite calming."

"Oh," Merlin pried his eyes away from a shelf of rune-covered odds and ends. "Yes, thank you."

She hummed as she collected the kettle and hobbled back again. Merlin sat, the makeshift seat very low to the ground so his long legs barely fit under the table. The old woman filled two small mugs and took her own seat.

"Now there, isn't that nice?" she sipped from her mug, sporting a smile that almost caused her eyes to close.

Merlin nodded, finding the tea acted quickly to settle his stomach and warm his insides. He was feeling markedly better than he had been back at the campsite.

"You drink that up while I tell your fortune."

Merlin snorted. "My fortune?"

"Well yes, my boy, that is what we fortune-tellers do best, after all. Those of us that have the gift of foresight, in any case. I'm no con-artist traveling with a mummer's troupe, no indeed. I don't ask for anything in return, except for those who listen to mind my words."

"Did you know I was coming then?" Merlin asked, putting down his mug.

The laugh-lines overtook the woman's eyes once more. "Of course, Emrys. What a silly place to pitch my tent otherwise. Now, your fortune—"

"I know my future," Merlin interjected. "Kilgharrah and the druids have already told me. They can't stop telling me."

"Have they? They've told you everything?"

"Well," Merlin stared at his lap. "Everything might be stretching it a bit."

"Have they told you about your darkest trial?"

Merlin looked up, eyes narrowed. The old woman bowed her head.

"Have they told you about the madness that's to take you? Did they tell you when your magic would start to turn you toward darker deeds, Emrys?"

The voice in Merlin's head chose that moment to chuckle, and all the warmth once again slipped away from his body.

"It's true then?" Merlin choked. "My magic's turning bad? It's turning me bad?"

The old woman opened her eyes and he saw that they were glowing white-gold. She raised her hands toward the ceiling. "This is just the beginning. Your power is great, but it will spiral out of control. Your magic will seek to destroy others. You will turn on your friends, you will turn on Camelot. You will betray your prince."

Merlin swallowed hard. His fears were true, then. But, no, wait, this all went against what the Great Dragon and the druids and Gaius had taught him. Magic was a natural force—an energy that was neither good nor bad—and could be used as a means for many ends, good or evil. At the same time, what the woman was saying made sense, it explained the way his magic was turning on him—hurting and killing people instead of healing. It explained why his magic seemed so much stronger when he was feeling angry. The idea that it would change him, twist him, and force him to hurt the ones he loved shook him to his core.

"What can I do? Can I stop this from happening?" Merlin's voice was panicked.

"Stopping it is the only way you can fulfill your destiny, Emrys."

"How do I stop it?"

The old woman lowered her hands and closed her eyes. "The only way to protect Arthur is to sacrifice your magic."

Merlin froze. Sacrifice his magic? How could he sacrifice something that was a part of him? Did this old woman mean for him to die? Was his demise the only thing that could prevent this?

He was almost afraid to ask. "H-how?"

The woman pushed back and got to her feet, collecting her cane. She hobbled across the tent to a large cedar chest and opened it with surprising ease considering the frailty of her appearance. Rummaging for a moment, tossing other objects aside, she pulled back with something small clutched within her bony fingers. Merlin got up from his seat and approached as she showed him what looked to be nothing more than a tiny red stone.

"It is the Nefnecræft. The Stone of Binding. It was used once to control sorcerers. Worn about the neck, magical power is lessened. Heated by flame and placed against a sorcerer's skin, magic is deflected entirely. The user can never again wield it."

Merlin eyed the stone with unease. He didn't just use magic. He didn't learn it. He simply... had it. It was with him always. Would the stone even function as it was supposed to?

"And... this will work? This will change what you saw?"

"It is why you found me here tonight, to prevent evil and assure the glorious future of Albion."

Merlin felt a part of him tugging, urging him to leave now, that something wasn't right here. But a larger part was overwhelmed with fear, was too convinced that yes, something bad was happening and he had to act now to stop it. Merlin had a tendency to be impulsive when it came to protecting Arthur and Camelot; quick to find the fastest solution and quick to put his own life in danger if that was the price. Usually it worked out, and this felt like just another challenge that needed facing. He couldn't run from this. His magic had once been everything to him, but in recent weeks it had betrayed him worse than ever. He couldn't deny that it would hurt, as much as losing a necessary appendage might, but where his destiny was concerned, there was no questioning the personal consequences. As always, he did what had to be done for Arthur.

"All right," he said, surprised by how steady his voice was. "I'll do it. Please, help me."

"It has been my only purpose, Emrys, all these long years of waiting for tonight. I shall do so gladly."

The stone had been heated in the flame, glowing orange as it was plucked from the pit with metal tongs. The old woman muttered a warning of imminent pain. Merlin had shut his eyes and nodded. The stone had dropped onto his bare chest, and the scream that followed was echoed by the scream of the mocking voice as it was expelled from his mind. Spreading out from the stone grew a pattern of twisting symbols, etching themselves into his skin, wafting up a smell of charred flesh not unlike what Merlin had smelled when Gwaine was injured.

Stumbling back to the campsite, Merlin felt a relief wash over him. He couldn't hear the voice, he couldn't feel his magic. It had worked, after all. The pain of the burn was harsh, but Merlin ignored it, finally content with the knowledge that everything would now be okay.


"Morgana."

The woman looked up, eyes wild with panic. She twisted around to hide the table before her from something she couldn't see.

"You're back. You've been successful then?"

She walked forward, brushing hair from her eyes, looking shifty and unsettled.

"Emrys has begun his descent. I have bound his magic."

Morgana smiled, and her smile turned into manic laughter. "The stone? How? Did you attack Arthur? How was it that you were able to get Merlin alone?"

"He was deceived by a serpent's cunning. And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light."

"How long now?"

"Emrys is a being of magic. Bound by the Nefnecræft, he will soon wither and die."

"I will step in before he's allowed to perish. You've done well, demon."

"I am bound also, Morgana. But I will not die. You will die. You will die and then you will be mine."

Morgana's eyes flashed. Her smile faltered.

"Do not think you can outwit me, betray me, rebuke or abandon your pledge."

Morgana scowled, deserting her efforts to hide the object she had been working on. "Of course. Let neither of us underestimate the other."

She felt a pain in her head then, the deafening roar of a lion followed by the buzzing and stinging of an angry swarm. Morgana fell to the floor, thrashing at the insects she felt enveloping her, choking on them, gasping, millions of legs crawling, wings pumping. As the flies dissipated, the laughter replaced their droning. Morgana covered her ears to no avail.

"Let us not, Morgana Pendragon."