Author's Note: I got to one hundred reviews! I am so happy! Thank you all so much for taking the time and energy to tell me your thoughts. It means a lot to me! Now, about this chapter. It is a little different from what I have written before and it introduces a new character, one entirely of my own making. I really hope it fits into the story well because it is important for it to do so. It is also the longest chapter I have EVER written and took me almost two hours to write. Goodness! Also, from this chapter on I will be using Welsh sporadically throughout the story. I have used it a couple of times in earlier chapters, but I am really taking advantage of it now. If you haven't seen it I have put a little pronunciation guide at the beginning of the story to help you say the words if you like to have them be right like me. Otherwise, just say them however you want to. Haha. Anyways, I just wanted to let you all know that Merlin's suffering will eventually come to an end. I won't say how though. That would ruin it and I am enjoying the attention too much to do that. ;) Please review and let me know what you guys thought of this chapter and if it works ok. Oh, also let me know if you want me to put a little guide that says what the Welsh words mean at the end of each chapter. I can do so if you guys are really that interested. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!

Awen knew very little about the mortal world beyond the mists. She had heard stories, of course. Her Nan was the appointed Geidwad Arwyr for her people and kept the tales of Awen's kind alive. She had once gathered around the fire pits with all the other children and listened with rapt attention and awe as her Nan spun tales from the flames.

The stories told of the mortals beyond the mists and their achievements and their failures. Nan told of the great betrayal her people had suffered at the hands of humans and of the one kind king who allowed them entry to his kingdom. She told of heroes and villains, gods and goddesses, creatures of evil and of light. She told of great battles fought in the name of love and others fought in the name of tyranny.

Not that Nan had ever met a mortal before. All that she knew had been handed down to her by the last Geidwad Arwyr who had learned all she knew from the one before that. Nan had no real interest in the mortal world other than what she was dictated to tell, but Awen had been fascinated with them from the first time she'd heard the stories. Awen often spoke of traveling far beyond the mists to seek adventure and the wonders of the world, but Nan had quickly silenced her on such matters. It did not stop her from dreaming. Then one day the dreaming stopped.

Awen had reached her 18th cycle and was suddenly told of a birthright she hadn't known of and powers she hadn't wanted. Awen was a Blessed One, the first of her kind in over a thousand years and a beacon of hope amongst her people. All Fair Folk had the ability to heal to some degree, but Awen was blessed with a gift much deeper than that. She could heal more than the body; she could heal the mind and soul. Awen hated it.

It wasn't that she didn't want to help people. She wanted that more than anything, but suddenly she was no longer a child, even though by her people's understanding of age she should be. She had responsibilities and pressures thrust upon her and she was almost constantly overwhelmed by the needs of others. She could feel them in her head, echoes of their pain, joy, sorrow, rage, ecstasy. At first, she thought she was reading minds, but dismissed that thought almost instantly. She never heard actual thoughts, just feelings. When she'd asked Nan about it the old woman had simply told her it was part of being a Blessed One, calling her gifts the Way of Empathy, one of three separate powers she had been given. She hadn't discovered the other two as of yet, but she hated the fact that she constantly felt what others were feeling. The first thing she had done was to teach herself to control it and only use it when absolutely necessary.

Her Nan had attempted to teach her the Way of the Blessed, but she was not of the way and so understood little of its rules. Awen was left to learn of her powers and limits on her own and often found herself wanting in everything she did. She could barely heal a dying plant let alone a living, breathing being. Even now, at 23 cycles, she was a failure to her people and it weighed heavily on her. She found herself escaping, more and more, to the dream world she'd had as a child.

As time passed and her duties became more and more overwhelming, Awen had begun seeking refuge in the forests beyond Eryr Cadw, her home and her prison. At first she hadn't ventured far past the cities gates, but she found her sense of adventure rising and with each passing week tested her bravery and ventured further into the forests, until she finally reached the Veil of Light. Her Nan had warned her as a child to never pass through the Veil. The thin wall of magic was the only thing separating them from the Forbidden Lands beyond it. She knew of the Forbidden Lands purpose and had felt a strange chill at the thought of leaving the safety of her home to venture out into the testing grounds where mortals either succeeded in finding their way or died trying. No mortals had made it in over three hundred years and none had tried since.

In a fit of courage and daring, the young girl had stepped through the Veil, feeling the magic buzz inside of her and found a whole new world to explore. She had never gone back to exploring in the old forests, though if her Nan knew of her whereabouts she would be skinned alive for sure. At first, Awen had been afraid of the strange land, but it wasn't long before she discovered that it held wonders beyond her belief.

Her mother had been a Shadow Warrior, Cysgod Waig in the Old Tongue, and had taught Awen some of the things she knew before she had died. Awen was extremely gifted with the bow and was good enough with the Arian, the sword of her people. She honed her skills within the privacy of the Forbidden Lands, but for the life of her, couldn't seem to grasp the powers given to her by the Way of the Blessed.

It hadn't taken long before the other inhabitants of the Forbidden Lands became aware of her presence. Most of them were harmless to her for she was no mortal and they had little interest in the blood of her kind. There were others, however, that scared her and she had quickly learned the signs of their presence.

One such creature was the wraith that prowled the woods searching for victims to snare in her death traps. The wraith would start as nothing more than a faceless corpse, shifting and scrabbling across the forest floor. The first time Awen had seen it she had screamed and fled as fast she could. Nightmares plagued her for weeks, but it didn't stop her from returning. The second time she saw the wraith she held her ground, watching as the thing hitched closer to her, limbs moving in impossible directions. It laboriously pulled itself to her height and she watched in horrified amazement as it took on the features of her lost mother. Still she'd held her ground. It wasn't until the wraith spoke with her mother's voice, pleading with her to give her a hug, that Awen had fled. The wraith had followed her, but she was faster and managed to hide herself away in a tree. The horrid creature had searched for her for hours, alternating between voices to lure her out. Her mother's was most common, but there were others there as well. Some she knew and some she didn't. When Awen had heard the monstrosity begin to mimic the cries of a baby she had nearly thrown up. How had anyone stood a chance against such a thing without any prior knowledge of what it was? It was no wonder that no mortals had made it this far.

Still, even the wraith hadn't been enough to put Awen off her secret woods and she had learned quickly enough how to steer clear of the creature. The air would grow colder and the leaves would curl in upon themselves as if frozen, but no frost would be found. Awen would run as far away from those places as she could. As she explored she learned more and more about the tests the mortals would be given. She learned the paths and what each of them led to. It didn't matter where the path had started or where it ended. The only thing that made each path unique was the challenges faced. She spent what little free time she had in her forest of wonders and for a brief moment she was able to forget her responsibilities of being Blessed, so it only seemed right that she would be there the moment her life changed.

She pulled a leaf from off the tree she was perching in, pinching it at the stem, and watched as the colors changed. She knew she was hiding and should probably head back home, but she didn't particularly feel like receiving another lecture from her Nan about her responsibilities as Blessed. She'd heard it so many times before she could practically say it herself.

Awen sighed. She wanted adventure and love and well….so much more than what she had. Men were interested in her, of course. She was a beauty even among her naturally enticing people and her auburn hair was a bit of rarity. Never mind the allure of getting to bed the first of the Blessed Ones in over a thousand years. Awen hated every single one of her suitors, though she never told Nan this. The woman had been making Awen's bridal veil for years now and the thought of her only granddaughter refusing to marry would bring her to tears.

She plucked another leaf from the tree and tossed it to the wind, watching it whirl gracefully before touching down gently in the pool below her. As she watched the ripples slither across the water she dreamed of what lay beyond the mists and the adventures she could have there. Perhaps, she had thought later, if she hadn't been daydreaming she might have noticed the cold creeping up her spine or the leaves curling in on themselves as if trying to hide.

It wasn't until she saw a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye that she realized what was happening. The wraith was approaching her pool, face disguised in a form Awen had never seen before. It was a woman, beautiful and pale, and completely unlike anything Awen had ever seen. Her features were different from those of Awen's people. She jolted when she realized what she was looking at. A human woman, Awen thought. Which could only mean that the wraith was attempting to lure a mortal into her snare.

Mere seconds after Awen had realized what was going to happen, a young mortal man burst through the trees and into the clearing, obviously out of breath and was staring at the wraith with the desperation of drowning man.

"Mother," the man breathed out, his tongue harsh to Awen's ears.

Awen knew the tongue of man, as all her people did, but it was heard rarely and when spoken from the lips of the Fair Folk it sounded nothing like what it did coming from those of the mortal man in front of her. It was not unpleasant, she realized. Only different and strange to ears so used to hearing the softer tongues of her own people.

Despite the dire circumstances the young human had found himself in, Awen took a moment to study the man. There was nothing she could do for him, anyways. Helping a human through the paths was the same as signing their death warrant. It voided any successes they had previous to the help and brought their quest to a vicious end.

The man was unlike the men of her own people, though she had never expected them to look similar to one another. Still, she was surprised to find the human man pleasing to look upon, though she sensed with her gifts that he was enraptured with a woman of his own kind. The young man was broad in shoulder and chest where her own kind were lean and willowy. His hands, big and strong, shadowed the tapered fingers of the Fair Folk, but looked as if they had the capacity to be both fierce and gentle. The young man's eyes were deep pools of blue, color's Awen had never seen in eyes before. Her people had pastel shades of sea green, honey, and in her case, lilac.

The man seemed troubled, looking from the wraith to a spot somewhere over his shoulder. He looked to be debating with himself on staying where he was or turning back and Awen hoped he'd turn away with all her heart. Her hopes were dashed when the wraith spoke and the man's head snapped back to the creature, eyes wide and trusting.

"Arthur, the wraith said in tongue of man. "You do not seem happy to see me. Don't you love me, my son?"

"Of course I do," the man said, taking a hesitant step towards her. "It's just that—"

He looked over his shoulder again as if looking for something and seemed concerned when he didn't find it. Turning his attention back to the wraith the young man smiled and took another hesitant step forwards, but not going any closer, as if uncertain whether she was real or not. Awen prayed he would turn away and by doing so pass the last test, but he didn't. He stood there, uncertainty and love battling for dominance over his face.

The wraith did not move from its spot on the edges of the pool and Awen realized the creature was planning on drowning the young man. The wraith opened her arms wide for an embrace and smiled so believingly that Awen nearly fell for it herself even knowing what the creature was. The young man was obviously desperate for the woman's attention and love and this simple gesture on the wraith's part was his undoing. He all but flew forward into the waiting arms of the wraith who smiled and tightened her arms around his shoulders in what would seem to be a motherly embrace, but would turn out to be far more deadly. The wraith turned the both of them around so that the young man's back was facing the pool and Awen could clearly see his face.

She watched horrified as the wraith began to squeeze her victim. The man's eyes opened wide and he tried to jerk back and away from her, but she held him tightly against her chest. Awen could hear the young man's breathing grow harsh as the wraith continued to crush the air from his lungs. Awen was sure the mortal man was going to pass out, but before he could do so the wraith threw the young man roughly into the pool. The man was able to scream a name before he disappeared beneath the water, but Awen could not make it out.

The young man struggled in the water and Awen realized with a horrible jolt that whatever armor the human had on was weighing him down. She watched as his fingers desperately tried to remove the heavy metal pieces, but he couldn't seem to find the right catches. Awen was filled with sorrow. The first time she had seen a human and the man was to die before her eyes. Even if she attempted to save him it would do little good.

Then suddenly Awen heard the angered shout of another mortal and before she could really comprehend what was happening a second man ran into the clearing. He was as different from the other man as one could be, except for matching blue eyes. This man's hair was black and tousled as if he'd been sleeping for a long time. He was thin and tall, legs and arms competing for length, but he moved with confidence, even though he seemed unsteady on his feet. Awen cocked her head to the side when she noticed the dark black lines that appeared at the top of his tunic, wound around his throat and covered the majority of his face and hands. She didn't think he was supposed to look this way and she opened her mind to see if she could feel any signs of sickness.

Awen was almost overwhelmed by the sheer power in this man and she knew, without a doubt, that he was not entirely mortal. The magic running through his veins was of the Old Religion and Awen felt her own magic buzzing in response to his. His power was warm, golden, and Awen felt a strange sense of euphoria build within her at the feel of his magic touching against her own. Yet, there was something just beneath the surface of his gifts that made her feel slightly uneasy. A darkness that wasn't entirely a part of him, but not entirely separate from him either.

The wraith turned her attention from the golden haired mortal to the young man standing defiantly before her. The young man watched with indifferent eyes as the creature changed forms, but when a young mortal woman in tattered clothes took the place of the fair-haired beauty the man's face turned fierce with anger and sorrow.

"Merlin," the wraith said softly. "Merlin, he's keeping us apart. We could be together in this place forever. Don't you want that?"

The young man didn't reply for a long time, but the expression on his face seemed to be considering the wraith's offer. Awen wanted to scream, but she held it in and waited for the human's response. Finally, his eyes cleared and his face transformed into a cold mask of defiance.

"There is only one problem," the man said, voice dangerously soft. "You aren't Freya."

The man threw himself forward in an attempt to get to his weakening companion, but the wraith stepped in his path. Awen couldn't help but yell out when the dark haired man collided with the wraith and slipped through it as if it hadn't existed. The young man screamed, but his shout was abruptly cut off when he splashed into the water. The wraith was also shrieking, so loudly that Awen had to cover her ears for fear of going deaf. Finally, with a gust of wind so powerful Awen was nearly blown from her perch on the tree the wraith vanished.

Not a moment after its disappearance the two men came gasping up onto the bank, hair and clothes dripping, trying to hack the water from their lungs. The dark haired man, Awen guessed his name was Merlin but she couldn't be sure, suddenly collapsed onto his back, eyes wide. She could hear a single gasping breath before he went still, staring blankly up at the paint colored sky.

His companion noticed a moment later and Awen watched as he went from annoyed to frantic, pulling and shoving his friend in an attempt to get him to wake up. After minutes of pleading and threatening the young man seemed to waver on his feet before collapsing to the side of the pool and retching. He sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at his dark haired companion, slow tears of desperation and guilt streaming down his mud streaked cheeks. He tenderly put his sopping wet cloak beneath the fallen man's head, before sitting back as if unsure where to go from there.

Awen slowly made her way down from her perch on the tree and ran to the side of the clearing, feet quick, light and silent. She debated on showing herself to the golden haired man, but she quickly decided that she was entirely in her rights to do so. After all, they had passed the final test. They were deemed worthy of the Fair Folk's gifts.

"What is wrong with him," she asked, quietly stepping out of her hiding place.

The young man turned to stare at her with dead eyes and Awen was a little afraid to see the shadow of anger and hatred within them.

"Come to finish us off, have you," the man replied harshly. "Who's form are you taking on this time?"

"I am not the wraith," she sighed, coming to stand beside the man's fallen companion. She reached out a hand to touch him and prepared to open her mind to connect with his own, but was stopped by an iron blade inches from her nose.

"Don't touch him," the golden haired man snarled. "Take one step closer and I swear you'll lose your head."

Awen took a step back, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. She felt the injured man shudder once and could feel pain rolling off of him in waves, even without opening her mind to his.

"Please," she whispered. "He's suffering. I only want to help."

The fair haired man studied her for a long time, never lowering the sword in his giant hands. His eyes narrowed and Awen was sure he was going to deny her request, but his dark haired companion shuddered violently against the ground once more, drawing the man's attention back to his friend's suffering. When he looked up at her again, he nodded his consent, wearily stepping to the side but keeping his sword near him.

"What is his name," Awen asked softly, brushing damp hair from the man's face. She nearly jerked back when her fingertips pressed against his skin; his flesh seemed to be burning.

"Merlin," the golden haired man whispered. "His name is Merlin."

"And yours?"

"I'm Arthur Pendragon. Or just Arthur."

Nodding and taking a deep breath, Awen pressed the entire flat side of her palm against Merlin's forehead and closed her eyes, willing his mind to open before hers. What she felt nearly took her breath away and she had to pull back almost instantly. As soon as her hand left him, Merlin convulsed once, his pupils glowing a brilliant shade of gold before his eyes fluttered closed. He did not open them again.

"What happened," Arthur asked frantically. "What did you do?"

"I saw what he sees," Awen answered wearily. "I felt what he feels."

"And?"

"He's hurting, but he's fighting. That is all he has the strength for and what little he has will not last long."

"We are here looking for the Fair Folk, " Arthur said. "A friend of ours told us that they could heal him. You have to help us find them."

"You already have, Arthur Pendragon."

"What do you mean I have?"

She looked at him levelly and his blue eyes widened in realization.

"You mean…you are a Fair Folk?"

"I am," she said, nodding. "I am Awen, descendant of the Blessed and the last great healer of my people."

Arthur could feel little embers of hope rising in him. Merlin wasn't healed and they still had a long journey to go, but the hope, as small as it was, was there and it was all Arthur needed. After all, it only took a few embers to make a flame.