Merlin screamed.

Arthur didn't want to hear that, but he'd rather Merlin's screaming than Merlin's silence right now.

Morgana pulled out the bloodied blade, and Arthur just focused on running, not sure whether he was going to try to tackle Morgana or check on Merlin. He decided he'd figure that out once he got closer.

He knew Gwaine was flanking him, was confident that Morgana's once-loyal dragon would yield to him—he wasn't sure why, but he felt it with an inexplicable certainty he'd come to trust, just as he'd come to trust almost everything else involved with Merlin in ways he didn't yet understand—and realized that he didn't care that he was advancing on Morgana unarmed.

She'd attacked Merlin.

He couldn't forgive her for that.

Something shifted, and Merlin finally collapsed forward, the sudden end to his scream leaving Arthur's ears ringing in the silence.

Arthur—who realized now his feet had been taking him to Merlin all along anyway—collapsed beside his fallen manservant. Gwaine was a split second behind him. Arthur was aware enough of Morgana that he turned and rolled when he sensed her moving closer, but before he could ready himself for a fight, the dragon sent a plume of fire in her direction. Morgana backed off, clearly startled despite the dragon's earlier actions, and Arthur was absurdly pleased when Morgana's soothing words were cut off with an angry roar from the dragon that was no longer hers—and never had been, if Merlin was to be believed.

Gwaine was already pressing on Merlin's wound, but the darker stain of red was showing on Merlin's robes.

Morgana hadn't driven the sword into his heart, and Arthur could only assume it was because she wanted Merlin to suffer. She always wanted him to suffer, just as she thought she had, no doubt.

She didn't realize that Merlin already had.

He was thankful for it, though. Morgana had given them a little bit of time. Not a lot, admittedly. Arthur was no physician, and his knowledge of the healing trade was passable at best, but he knew enough to know that this wound would still kill Merlin—distressingly soon—if he didn't do something to stop it.

But he had time to try, and that was enough.

"We need to find Merlin," Gwaine said in a hushed voice, his eyes flicking back over Arthur's shoulder to keep watch on Morgana and the dragon.

"No," Arthur said.

"Merlin can help," Gwaine insisted.

"Merlin can't help us now," Arthur said, his voice gruff as he stared down at his manservant. Merlin's eyes were closed, the one truly identifying mark he had in this form hidden from the world, and Arthur had never wished so hard that that wasn't the case. But Merlin was pale, and Arthur knew he had to figure out what to do fast.

He should have figured it out by now.

"He can."

"He can't," Arthur shot back. "I don't care how many years he's trained with Gaius, he can't."

"He can. Merlin knows more than you think. You should stop underestimating him, Arthur."

"I'm not underestimating him," Arthur ground out.

"You are," countered Gwaine. "Merlin has more talents than you realize. If anyone can help Emrys, it's him." He glanced again at the dragon. "Or Aithusa, but she's distracting Morgana, which is a blessing in itself. So Merlin's our best bet."

They couldn't afford to keep arguing here. While the dragon was keeping Morgana occupied, it wouldn't be long before she found the time to send a spell sailing in their direction. Arthur motioned Gwaine back and, with difficulty, picked Merlin up. Under ordinary circumstances, Gwaine would watch his back and cover him as he moved toward safety. This time, since there was nothing Gwaine could do to defend them, the knight ran ahead to make sure the way was clear for Arthur.

That Arthur didn't even have to issue any orders, do nothing more than jerk his head toward the main doors, spoke volumes.

Arthur didn't dare move far, and Gwaine, being sensible for once, motioned them into the nearest room with a bed. Arthur doubted barring the door behind them did any good, but if it slowed Morgana down for even a second, it was worth the attempt.

Merlin was murmuring under his breath as Arthur laid him down, and he was beyond grateful that his manservant was even semi-conscious.

But he only needed to look at the blood staining Gwaine's hands and his own—not to mention Merlin himself—to know that Merlin might not be able to respond to them.

For the first time in his life, Arthur desperately wished he knew more about magic. Not just in the broad sense, as Merlin was endeavouring to teach him, but specifics. Especially this aging thing Merlin had done. Did the physical appearance carry through to the inside? Would Merlin have more of a fighting chance if he was back in his usual, younger body?

Did Arthur risk that he would and still do nothing, solely because Gwaine was here?

"Emrys," Arthur said, shaking him a bit. Then, slightly louder, "Emrys."

It wasn't helping.

Arthur leaned close to Merlin's ear and hissed, "Merlin."

It still did no good.

A small part of Arthur wondered if Merlin was at all deaf when he looked like this. He certainly acted irritable enough to be bothered by all the aches and pains that came with age even if his senses weren't dulled. It really was quite possible that his body was weaker in this guise.

Arthur glanced at Gwaine, who was listening at the door for any hint that Morgana may have followed them, and then dug back into Merlin's pocket for the potion. He dearly hoped it didn't have to be taken in accompaniment with a spell. Merlin hadn't implied that was necessary, but Merlin had implied a lot of things that weren't true in the past, and Arthur couldn't remember Merlin ever mentioning something specific about this. Then again, Merlin would have had no reason to. Arthur certainly hadn't asked for details about it.

Gwaine abandoned his post by the door and instead took up residence beside Merlin, looking him over with a critical eye while Arthur preoccupied himself with prying off the stopper.

It was on a sight tighter than he was used to.

Or perhaps it was simply because his hands were trembling, even if he didn't want to acknowledge that aloud.

He didn't want to lose Merlin.

Certainly not now.

"He's fading quickly," Gwaine observed quietly. "I'm going to go look for Merlin."

Arthur's fingers finally loosed the stopper, and he set the vial down before he dropped it. "No," he said, his voice stronger than he'd expected. He'd never thought he'd be the one to say this to Gwaine, and he'd never thought he'd be telling this to anyone without Merlin's permission.

Well, perhaps Gwen, but that made this all the stranger, telling Gwaine before he told Guinevere.

But Merlin's secret wasn't worth his life.

Gwaine gave him a look and turned to leave, so Arthur added, "You wouldn't find him."

Gwaine raised his eyebrows. "We don't have time to argue, Arthur. Merlin can help Emrys. End of story."

Arthur glanced at Merlin one more time, assured that the continued muttering meant something vaguely positive, at least for now. "There's more to that story than you know."

Gwaine, who had been moving to the door again anyway, stopped in his tracks. Then, coming back over to face Arthur, he asked, "You know?"

Arthur blinked. "You know? About…about Merlin?" That didn't make sense. Gwaine couldn't know—he wouldn't be claiming Merlin would be able to help Emrys if he did!

"I just found out," Gwaine admitted quietly. "Morgana's probably figured it out, too. It wouldn't take much to put it together when I certainly didn't move on my own."

Gwaine knew Merlin had magic.

Gwaine and Morgana knew Merlin had magic.

But at least Morgana wasn't likely to have made the connection between Merlin and Emrys yet if Gwaine hadn't.

Unless there were a few key incidents between Morgana and Merlin that Arthur didn't know anything about, which was unfortunately all too possible.

Arthur took a slow breath. He'd worry about that later. He had to stay focused. He had to figure out a way to help Merlin.

And restoring his youth fell in line with that, at least in Arthur's books, because he didn't need to be a healer of any sort to know that young adults tended to weather ailments better than seniors. At least, that held true of stabbings, which was Merlin's current predicament.

"But if you know about Merlin, Arthur, why won't you let me see if I can find him? He could help."

Arthur took a split second to appreciate how much better Gwaine was apparently handling the revelation of Merlin having magic than he had before he decided he didn't have any more time and just said, "Because Merlin's already here."

Gwaine looked at him like he'd lost it.

"Hold his head up," Arthur said, gripping the vial. "I don't need him choking on this." He saw the comprehension dawning on Gwaine's face even before he'd tipped the contents of the vial down Merlin's throat.

Merlin swallowed reflexively, and in very little time indeed, they were looking down upon a very familiar (but much too pale) face.

"Merlin's Emrys," said Gwaine quietly, still sounding shocked. "I just thought…. When I found out he had magic, I thought Emrys had been teaching him, and Merlin returned the favour by helping him whenever he needed it. I didn't think…."

"You had no reason to. Merlin wasn't keen on anyone knowing if he could help it."

Gwaine gave him a steady look. "You just found out. That's why you've been like this these past few weeks, isn't it?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Now's not the time for this."

Gwaine sent Arthur another pointed look but didn't press the subject. Instead, he turned his attention back to Merlin. "He's got his magic back," he said, "but doesn't seem to be strong enough to use it."

"He's barely conscious."

"That doesn't matter as much as you think it does," Gwaine pointed out. "Don't forget, I've run into my fair share of sorcerers—ones who weren't intent on killing me, unlike you. I've had a few good conversations."

Silence reigned for a moment, with both of them wondering what to do—neither of them had the skill to save Merlin, and Arthur didn't want to think about where Morgana was right now if the dragon wasn't still keeping her occupied—and then Gwaine asked, "Why keep lying? We were alone, the three of us, in the throne room. You could have told me then."

"I didn't know you knew."

"Merlin did, or at least he would've suspected it."

Arthur snorted. "Suspecting wouldn't have been enough. Not with Merlin. Not after a lifetime of lies."

"I wish he'd trusted me."

Arthur closed his eyes. He knew that line of thinking very well. Unfortunately. "Merlin lies to protect people," he explained, still not bothering to look at Gwaine. "Sometimes he does it to protect himself and sometimes he does it to protect us. He seems to think that whatever is sacrificed by perpetuating the lies he does is worthwhile, that the benefits outweigh the costs." Arthur stopped for a moment, then opened his eyes and added, "I think, at some point over the course of his life, he forgot that the truth can protect us, too. It can keep us from acting on incorrect assumptions or waiting for something that cannot happen."

"Like me, just now." Gwaine blew out a breath. "It's just…hard to picture Merlin as Emrys, even after seeing it. Striding around with that staff of his—" Gwaine broke off, his eyes going wide. "That staff! It would help. I'm sure of it."

Arthur was less sure of it, but he was willing to try anything at this point. "Do you know where it is?"

Gwaine shook his head, already moving and stuffing a pillow under Merlin's head. "No, but I'll find it before Morgana finds us."

Arthur knew what Gwaine left unsaid: or die trying.

"Hurry," Arthur said, because it was all he could say.

Mordred had expected to need to sneak away to get back to Gwen and the rest of them. That wasn't the easiest of tasks, slipping away from Druids—particularly when the pair of Druids you were trying to avoid were well aware that you were liable to try such a thing.

But as it turned out, they didn't even try to stop him.

That unnerved him a bit more than he'd admit to anyone else.

They'd been sure to get him away, to give him enough time to realize that he couldn't just leave. Gwen…. She'd been kind to him, from what he remembered. Arthur…. Arthur had helped him when he'd needed it, and he was making strides now that Mordred had never dared to hope he'd make when he'd first seen the then crown prince of Camelot.

Then there was Morgana, who had taken her magic down paths he'd never thought she'd tread, and there was Emrys, who had become inexplicably distant from him.

Both had been kinder souls when he'd first met them, with Morgana quick to care for him and Emrys willing to risk the king's wrath to protect him. Mordred wasn't sure what had changed.

Morgana's practice of magic was darker than her raven locks, a blackness that Mordred was fairly certain had nearly, if not completely, choked out the light he'd seen in her. But Emrys had put on a different mask long before she had, going so far as to use his own magic in an effort to see Mordred caught by Uther's men.

Mordred had not forgotten that incident, and he had not forgiven it. But he was not the naïve boy he had once been, and he wanted an explanation, if there was one to be had. Emrys's actions had been too inexplicable, the change too sudden, for there to be no reason behind it.

Mordred wasn't sure if he could forgive Emrys, but he could perhaps understand why he had done what he had.

But he'd need to speak to him before the warlock was discovered by Morgana, for her current actions made her intentions all too clear.

And if others had discovered that the one they knew as Merlin was the legendary Emrys, Morgana would not be far behind.

Yet that could not be the reason Arlen and Elowen had studiously ignored him, the reason they had closed their minds to him. They were not allowing him to leave solely to warn the others of what they should already know.

It was quite possible that they knew of his intention to find Emrys, but it was curious they would not remark upon it, were that the case.

If he breached Camelot's citadel now, his presence was unlikely to go unmarked by either Morgana or Emrys. If he found Emrys and not the other way around, then that could be the final piece Morgana would need to see the truth for what it was. Arguably, it was dangerous to go to Camelot now. It threatened the tentative peace Arthur was trying to establish.

Still, Mordred didn't even have to try to cover his tracks, and he knew it simply wasn't because he was retracing his earlier steps in the dim light of the dying day. Not that most of the usual measures would be of any use when his destination was apparent, but there were many tricks to be employed to keep him from reaching that destination. Instead of encountering them, his path was clear.

He was left with the uncomfortable impression that whatever he was doing was not simply a choice of his but something that was necessary, something that would have had to have been done somehow, played out in some way.

It was a terrifying thought.

He had long known that the Elders believed him to have a destiny. His magic was strong, powerful. What had been raw when he'd been young had become refined, sharpened. He was skilled. There was speculation that the only two more powerful than he were the two he would very well meet once he reached the citadel.

The trouble was, Mordred knew not what the fates would use him for.

And he certainly didn't like the thought that this might be part of it, that his destined role was one of which Elowen and Arlen were aware and that it was the reason they had made no move to stop him.

Each step of his away from them could be a step driven by destiny rather than his own desire.

Mordred had tried to discover all he could, of course. He'd diligently sought out every version of every prophecy of which he'd ever heard tell. He'd combed the old stories for a phrase which might have been written in reference to him, as so many had been written in reference to Emrys and—he had long since realized—Morgana. He'd always been driven by a strong thirst for knowledge, but at the same time, he'd always been wary of finding out too much.

Of not liking what was to be.

Of knowing that such things would come to pass, in one way or another—often in much more terrible ways if anything was done in an attempt to stop them.

Mordred had had many years to try to uncover what he was destined to do—if indeed he was one destined to do anything, for the comforting possibility that he wasn't remained—but all he'd ever managed to garner was a disquieting sense that something was being kept from him, that part of the tales were being left unspoken in his presence.

This was not the first time he had wondered if Emrys's choices so long ago had been made because he had known then something Mordred still did not.

It was unlikely to be the last.

The uncertainty drove Mordred forward, however. He disliked the darker implications silence held. He wanted it broken. He wanted to be free of what he dearly hoped were imagined constraints.

But he wasn't sure whether each step took him farther away from an imagined destiny or closer to the very real one about which he knew nothing.

Morgana didn't want to hurt Aithusa.

She was angry at her, yes. But Aithusa had suffered greatly on Morgana's behalf already, and Morgana didn't want to prolong her suffering. This betrayal…. It was misguided, she was sure of it. Something Emrys had managed to convince the dragon was necessary. This wasn't Aithusa's will; it was Emrys's.

Somehow.

Morgana had little doubt how deadly Aithusa could be if she chose, and she knew the dragon well. A killing strike had not been made. The flames had been intended to force her away, to get her to back down, rather than to consume her entirely. Aithusa might be fighting her, but she didn't want to hurt Morgana any more than Morgana wanted to hurt Aithusa.

Morgana used a shield spell to block the latest blast of fire, then dropped her arms and fixed Aithusa with a look. "Why are you fighting me?" she asked gently.

Aithusa chirped a response, head swivelling to look at the place Morgana had once had Emrys bound. He was no longer there—Arthur and Gwaine had removed him a while ago now, though Morgana knew there was little if anything they could do to help him—but Aithusa's meaning was clear enough.

"But why protect him?" Morgana pressed. "He has done nothing for you!"

Aithusa snuffled and snorted, cocked her head to the side, and gave the trill that Morgana had only ever known the dragon to reserve for her.

The realization hit Morgana immediately. "He's family." In the dragon's consideration, at least. She had no idea when Emrys would have established a bond with Aithusa. Surely she'd spent more time with the dragon than he?

Yet Aithusa thought him family, and she defended him as such.

As she saw it, Morgana had been the one to turn on one of their own.

She would have to approach this entire situation differently. Aithusa's torn loyalties…. At least she knew the cause for it. Emrys had not managed to turn her dragon against her; he'd merely disrupted their understanding. It was not enough to break the bond they shared.

"Aithusa," Morgana murmured gently, reaching out to stroke the dragon, "we don't need to fight. I understand. I won't force you to choose between us."

Aithusa chirped and nuzzled Morgana's hand, but Morgana was not feeling as warm as her words.

Aithusa had already chosen between them when she'd decided to defend Emrys. Whatever loyalty Morgana saw now was not as strong as she'd first thought. If she was to finish off Emrys, she'd have to do it out of the dragon's sight or she'd have to battle her again.

And Morgana didn't want to punish Aithusa for being young and misguided, for having her mind poisoned by whatever Emrys had said to her.

Because he wasn't her family. He was her enemy. And if Morgana couldn't get Aithusa to see that, then she'd have to take care of the matter in a more subtle way.

An ordinary sword might not be enough to kill Emrys quite yet, but it would certainly slow him down, and his magic—which she knew had burst through the confines of her curse when he'd managed to collapse the spell binding him in place—would be preoccupied with healing him, with keeping him alive. He was vulnerable now.

If his magic hadn't come back so quickly, then she likely would have killed him. As it was, she still might have. But she preferred being certain.

"Go," Morgana told the dragon. "Rest. You've been using much of your strength. I'll have someone bring something for you to eat." Aithusa chirped once more before turning, and Morgana was relieved. She hadn't lost Aithusa's trust.

She'd need it, if she were to turn this situation back on Emrys.

Assuming he lived long enough for that to be necessary, although Morgana intended to make sure that it wasn't necessary.

Emrys was her destiny, she'd been told. He was her doom. But Morgana wasn't going to blindly fear any longer. She could act against him. She could prevail.

And she would hold her own destiny in her hands.

Arthur might be the Once and Future King of the legends, but if he were, Morgana intended to see his current reign cut short. It wouldn't be difficult once she'd disposed of Emrys.

And if he proved himself to be overly difficult, she'd find a way to incapacitate him if she couldn't rid herself of him forever.

Morgana's confidence faltered, however, when she recalled what Emrys had done.

The worst of it was that she didn't know precisely what he had done, and therefore she had no way to prepare for it or to combat it. The magic he'd used had been unrecognizable.

Well.

That wasn't entirely true.

There had been a moment where she thought she'd recognized it, but the feeling had passed before she'd been able to place it. It felt like an echo, something she remembered from her dreams, but she hadn't thought she'd ever forget a feeling like this. It was raw. It was powerful.

It was stronger than she, in this state.

But Arthur had been stronger than she was as well, and she had found a way to weaken him. She could do the same with Emrys—providing the sword had not already done the trick.

The dying effects of the curse was another boon, for she knew all too well that after an initial burst of power, her magic had been slow to return. She had no reason to think Emrys would be any different, and with all his magic turned inward, he would have little—if any—to use against her.

That other magic….

It had had no seeming effect when Emrys had called upon it, but Morgana did not know his intentions. It may have done something that she had yet to sense. She would have to be on her guard, but she didn't think Emrys was in any state to invoke it again.

Morgana was determined to be sure of that, however.

She would not lose again.