Mwahahahahaha I AM BACK! Can't get rid of me that easily. I got a severe ear infection a few months back that affected my balance. Couldn't see straight or walk straight for some weeks. The past few months had been tiring, so I'm sorry for the delay. Okay, enough about me. You're still here?! Really? Thank you, seriously! :)

You can re-read the chapters if you don't remember stuff. If you don't wanna, then here's a crude summary: Nobody remembers Arthur because a sorceress wants a friend. Literally mass amnesia. He's transformed into a Forgotten by the sorceress because why not. Also, history is changed to fit the new development. Before the mass amnesia and history renewal, Merlin discovers some hidden cryptic message on the altar of the Isle of the Blest: The living soul you cannot reap, the ghost of shadows you shall keep. Yes, I know, cliche cryptic message, but anyway… Morgana is living her queen dream, and Merlin's magic is not revealed to Camelot but is known to certain people. Our warlock doesn't remember Arthur either (sad). The Forgotten, the sorceress, is stirring up trouble by twisting up stuff by telling the truth… and not saying everything. Basically, Arthur thinks he's helping his case by returning to Camelot as a stranger. Morgana thinks she's helping the bigger picture by ruling Camelot. Merlin thinks he's saving Arthur from his destiny by driving him out of Camelot. Other people think they're helping, but technically, they're not. Alas, all their efforts are just favoring the sorceress's goal (again, sad). Each person has their own agenda and well, some are going in the right direction while others are simply wrecked from the start. Takes place after season 3.

Disclaimer: All I wanted for Christmas was to own BBC Merlin. But I was denied such a request. Ain't that a shame. Maybe for next Christmas, someone can give me good grammar and awesome storytelling skills instead.

Something is breaking. It's going up in smoke, tearing at the seams. Something is crumbling when he replays this morning. It goes like this.

He felt a tugging in his head the moment he saw Arthur's blue eyes. Didn't he have brown eyes before? But the sorceress was there and well… the eye colour was irrelevant, so he gave Arthur his cloak. Sarrum wasn't, isn't, fond of sorcery and he will really hate it if the foreign king ever finds out about Arthur.

Then when Merlin was asking about the prophecy, he could physically hear the tearing. Like parchment ripping in half. But the unlocked door snatched his attention away, and the seams repaired themselves. Not that he could have dug any deeper with the sorceress listening in.

Next came the flying weapons, courtesy of Albin. It was chaotic and all Merlin could think was he had to get Arthur out of there. No hesitation. No delay. The moment when Merlin pulled Arthur away though, the tearing began once again, because saving Arthur felt… natural. Like Merlin was born to save him.

Honestly, he wasn't surprised that Arthur could do that with his magic. Encase a body in stone. Arthur's magic was unusual. But not frightening. He'd seen worse, more deadly. Yet, it didn't stop the draining color from the blonde-haired man's face, and that was something Merlin never wanted to see. Then they ran, which wasn't what he wanted to do, but he needed to get them out of there. Don't look back. Because if they were found at the scene, surely, they would be arrested, even if he and Morgana are friends. Because maybe they could outrun whatever is chasing them, whatever disaster they needed to avoid.

As the ripping got louder, he couldn't ignore that rip rip rip inside his head. They were calling each other names and then… And that. That sparked a round of tearing his mind's seams. Thin strands kept tugging at his consciousness, tantalizing his curiosity and it tickled and twisted. The knot in his head withered, desperately holding itself together, building up pressure between his eyes. He caught the sorceress's gaze. They weren't glowing gold. This wasn't her. This was… This was magic, of course, but from who? From where? This couldn't be of Arthur's so-called doomed destiny, could it?

No. Couldn't be. Or it could.

Merlin had looked at Arthur, saw his pale complexion. This prat could be destined to die. Because this wasn't the sorceress anymore. This was real. He didn't know much about prophecies; all he knew was they came true no matter what.

A surge of cool fear had settled heavily in his stomach. He didn't know actually if the prophecy was true or not though. Didn't know if Arthur was going to get killed. He didn't care. Because Merlin did not, could not, take a chance.

So, he told Arthur about his magic and did a magic act, hoping he could push until something cracked. Until the rip rip rip could untangle. The knot loosened fast. Really fast. Instantaneous reaction. The pressure collapsed like a waterfall; his ears roared.

So here they are. In the servant hallway. One end from the way they came, and the other to the outside world.

Merlin should be surprised at Arthur's reaction, and the funny thing is he's not. In fact, he expected it. Which is, again, strange because it's not like they knew each other well. And Merlin can't figure out why Arthur reacted the way he did. Nothing adds up. Arthur looks like someone ripped the rug from underneath his feet. Someone close to him.

"No." Is all Arthur said before marching away?

No? What do you mean, no? Give him something better than 'no'! The cold numbing fear spreads when he watches Arthur walk away.

"Arthur, wait!" Merlin calls after him, but the sorceress grabs his arm.

"Shut up!" Arthur spins around, face full of rage.

"I- I just want-." Explain himself. Justify why he has powers. But Arthur beats him to it.

"I said shut up!" Then Arthur demands quietly, "Leave me."

Wait, what? "Arth-"

Right at this second, Merlin sees Arthur's change in his posture, slumping slightly. "Right. Fine, I will leave."

Watching Arthur walk away from him is a scene Merlin hopes to never revisit. The only thing that stops him from running is the sorceress. Her touch is like frostbite. "That's enough." She gently and firmly pushes him back, "I'll go talk to him."

"I'm coming with you," he says adamantly.

What happens next is straight out of a tale. An image leaks into his mind's eye, flashing and fluttering. It's a picture of the Isle and the altar. And… some words? There are words on the altar? Woah, what? A pounding begins hammering his head, but Merlin ignores it. There's no time for headaches.

"Someone needs to address the issue of the attempted assassination, keep the eyes off of us, and you are the perfect person for the job. I don't think Arthur wants to see you after… this." She has a reasonable point, yet not enough to deter his stubbornness.

This is what he wants, right? Keep Arthur from becoming king. Keep the target off his back. Make sure Morgana's throne is secured. Bring back the magic. To live a life not conceived by lies. This is what he and the sorceress want, is it not?

"I just want to explain myself." He'll repeat himself hoarse if he has to. But can you really explain yourself to someone if said someone doesn't even want to hear it?

"Your mission was to make Arthur leave. You've fulfilled it. I'm grateful for that. Let me worry about the aftermath."

Despite her convincing and tempting argument, he brushes away the notion of leaving it all in her hands. His ears start ringing with unseen clanging bells. He wants to hit his head against the wall to stop the pounding, but instead, he protests, "I can't just leave him with his conclusions."

"From my knowledge, some things are better left untouched."

Whirls of color and shapes materialize as his memory goes into a frenzy. Merlin doesn't understand them at all, because he doesn't know why he sees himself as… the prince's manservant? Since when did Camelot have a real live breathing heir, other than Morgana?

Her irritating voice interrupts his thoughts. "If all goes well, I hope we never have to see each other again."

"We still have time to figure things out," he grounds out. Sharp pain spikes up his neck. Merlin wonders if he can reattach his head after he cuts it off, and still live. Anatomy has never been his strong subject. Or was it necromancy?

"Prophecies don't take days off." She says, impatience creeping in.

Merlin wishes it does. Sadly, prophecies have their own schedules; they're not considerate at all. "Why won't you tell him? The prophecy, I mean." He can't help but massage his temples forcefully.

She waves him off a little bitterly, "I don't trust his reaction."

With that, she rushes off, going in the same direction as Arthur. Merlin is about to follow her when he regrets ever not learning how to cure headaches with his magic. Hot white pain drowns his senses. He slides down to the ground, his back against the wall, and clutches his head. He catches glimpses of… things and people he doesn't really recognize and… is that a dragon? Lastly, he sees himself sitting, Arthur Pendragon by his side, smiling. He's cleaning Arthur's boots.

How does he know that? Who is Arthur Pendragon? What is that dragon? Are the things he's seeing real? Is it his imagination or memory? Before he can think about them, his mind refuses to go on any further. It's currently in the process of stitching the breaks back up before Merlin is paralyzed with the spiky pain, nausea, and whatever he was seeing. And the loose ends tie themselves back up.

Instinct tells him to sit down and let the pain fade away along with the things he'd seen. Experience tells instinct to shut up and grasp on to something. Anything. He grabs the next thing he feels slipping away.

It's an engraving on an altar on a fairly sunny day: The living soul you cannot reap, the ghost of shadows you shall keep. He repeats it over and over again as a migraine steadily builds. He has no clue what it means. Nonetheless, he holds onto it like a lifeline. Once the agony dissolves to a tolerable level, he finds himself sitting on the floor with his knees up to his chest. No clue as to how much time has passed.

The living soul you cannot reap, the ghost of shadows you shall keep. Merlin repeats it over and over until the rhythm of it steadies the pounding in his head.

What was that? Out of all things, he sees this. An altar with a cryptic message. He suffered a migraine for that? Shouldn't there be a huge a-ha moment? Candle-flame-above-his-head moment where the biggest answer is revealed? But no. He gets a riddle. He doesn't even remember the context of it! There is always something that makes his life harder. Typical day in the life of Merlin.

Calming himself down, he takes a few deep breaths. With each frantic heartbeat, the memory of the other things he saw fade away. The rhyming message stays circulating in his thoughts because one should always put importance on cryptic messages engraved on altars. Especially ones that rhyme.

What were those random images that leaked out? The… uh… what were they again? Arthur P-... Arthur P- What was it? … This is nonsense. Stupid. What is he rambling on about? Oh, he knew an Arthur. Just not an Arthur P.

The hallway spins while, again, Merlin takes slow breaths to clear his thoughts. Insane. Crazy. Uncontrollable. None of it makes sense. What the hell was that migraine?

After a while, suddenly, a voice breaks the silence, "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Ah, Gwen. Not the best timing. She continues, "Sarrum is-"

"Dead. I know." He really should be more bothered about it. Truthfully, he never liked the dead king.

"You know? Were you there?" Gwen's eyebrows crease together. She crouches down beside him, noticing his pinched expression. "Are you alright?"

No. Merlin nods his head instead. Gwen is apparently not impressed with his top-tier lies. "What's wrong, Merlin?"

"Nothing." His tone sounds a bit childish.

Gwen sits down beside him. "Tell me what's wrong. Is it your head?" In another lifetime, Gwen may have been a great physician. Or a seer.

Merlin sighs, "It's just… I… I don't know what's happening. See, um, hypothetically… and it's just hypothetically, I have a friend. He's apparently destined to do great things, as told by, uh, a sorceress." Gwen's eyebrows raise. "But he, uh, dies at the end. So, I kind of, told him something that may have made him abandon his destiny? Unknowingly? I don't know if it's going to work, but nonetheless, he reacted very badly. So… here I am, sitting here."

He omits the part where he's getting a headache so bad, he thought he was going to die and the part where he sees - remembers? - the altar. Gwen must think that he's crazy.

"And you're feeling desperate, and even a little hopeless," Gwen finishes for him. They do not speak for a moment.

Gwen clasps her hands together. "I don't really… Have you asked him if he wants to complete his… destiny?"

Merlin huffs a laugh, "He doesn't know his destiny exists."

"Well, then doesn't he have the right to know? Even though what you did was based on good intentions, your friend should have a say in whether he wants to stay or go."

Arthur does have a say in these matters, but then there's the sorceress and the weird cryptic message and the stomping headache and Merlin is tired. Besides, he's one sorcerer. Merlin's magic isn't up to par, honestly. "But Gwen, I'm only one person."

"One person is all that makes the difference. The Merlin I know doesn't surrender. So, what are you really afraid of?"

Afraid? Afraid of what? How did this conversation become about his personal fears? Gwen smiles gently, "Are you scared of failing? Scared that your 'hypothetical' friend will die?"

Well, of course. Merely mentioning Arthur's death causes a pit to swallow his gut. She bumps his shoulder, "You must believe in yourself, Merlin. You can get your friend out of this mess, and you will. You don't need to be extra special to do great things. Good old regular average Merlin is enough to figure things out. Besides, you have friends who are more than willing to help you."

Good old average Merlin is a skinny manservant who is too clumsy to even walk straight. Good old average Merlin is a lying, deceitful warlock. He's nothing without his magic. What can he do? He can always find some magic spell and challenge the sorceress should she ever block his way. Work things out with Arthur. Include the prat into the loop while simultaneously trying hard not to tangle themselves further. Merlin, however, doubts he has enough time to research or do much of anything. He can try, he guesses.

As for friends… Friends… And this. This is when the candle-flame-above-his-head moment occurs. The a-ha moment. No, the solution isn't as clear. At least he has a direction. The rest, he'll figure out.

Merlin asks eagerly, "Where's Morgana?"

The abrupt change of topic catches Gwen off guard. "Uh, she-"

Merlin tentatively pushes himself up, the floor swaying not as violently as before. "Take me to her." Then as an afterthought, "Please."

"She's in the throne room." Gwen steadies Merlin on his feet. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Why wouldn't I be?" They had a philosophical moment that shone his situation in a completely different light. To add on a positive note, the ceiling is spinning slowly to a stop. Things are looking up.

"You look… tired." She says thoughtfully and helps him a few steps further before Merlin tries to shrug her off gently. He's fine but almost falls flat. Huh, not as fine as he thought. Stumbling forward and Gwen worriedly holding him together, they hobble hazardously to the throne room while she pesters about his health condition.

"I'm fine. You shouldn't let Ar-, uh, Lancelot see us like this; he may get jealous," Merlin jokes. His head needs to catch up with his mouth. Why would Arthur court Gwen?

Gwen blushes. "Of you, or me?"

Merlin laughs. It feels nice to kid with friends. It feels nice to have friends. It also feels nice to have a clearer solution for once. Supernatural problems need supernatural solutions. Problems need people, not a person, to solve them. Why do you think warring kingdoms employ armies? So, for magic altar problems, he should find magic altar-related people. People like the High Priestess, like Nimueh. Like Morgana.

They finally reach the throne room and Merlin's vision does not grey out every so often, which is a plus right now. He can stand on his own two feet. When Merlin is about to enter, he can literally feel the frustration roll off of Morgana in waves behind closed doors. Why- Oh right. Sarrum dead. Albin dead. The sorceress killed them. Right. Morgana's probably distressed, agitated. There is no time for that though because living sorceresses are more dangerous than dead kings. Merlin really shouldn't talk to her when her mind is on a one-way track… but Morgana's a High Priestess. She may know something about that stupid rhyme.

The living soul you cannot reap, the ghost of shadows you shall keep. What the hell does that mean? Do people have so much time on their hands that they have to make weird messages rhyme?

She demands the instant Merlin steps into the room, "Did you kill Albin?"

Morgana stands on the opposite side of the Round Table, hands on top of it. Straight to the point. When Morgana is like this, it's better to be frank, because she can see through the crap, he gives her. Should Merlin tell her about Arthur and the sorceress? His eyes assess her agitation and volatility. She's also mad enough to put Arthur into jail as well, but he needs Arthur free and alive. He won't, however, tell her all the details. Someone potentially stealing her throne is not a laughing matter for her. "No, I didn't. I have something to ask you: what do you know about the ghost of shadows?"

"Ghost of shadows? Merlin, what is this about? Sarrum was killed by his own man. It doesn't make sense." She slams her hands on the Round Table, obviously distressed.

But he has bigger problems than treason. "No, it doesn't make sense. So do you know anything about the ghost of shadows?"

Morgana's glare can cut the toughest shield. "Does this have anything to do with Sarrum?"

"No." Merlin winces at his consecutive negative responses. The conversation won't go well if he continues. "Just please, I need your help. Do you know what the ghost of shadows means?"

Please please know something. Unfortunately, Morgana rubs her tired face and shakes her head. Afraid that he'll reveal anything about Arthur or the sorceress, Merlin resorts to wearing a hole in the floor. It's not that he doesn't trust Morgana or even Gwen. It's just… he needs definite answers before bringing the topic to light. This is a secret he alone will keep for now. So, what else can he do?

Morgana is a High Priestess, taught by Morgause. Does Morgause know more than her student? But right now, Morgana is fiercely protective of her sister, and to disturb Morgause unnecessarily is a death wish. So he'll speak to Morgause without Morgana knowing. While he waits for that opportunity, his mind goes round the same circle. Let's start with the basics. The first part is easy. The living soul cannot be reaped. Someone cannot be killed. The question is: who is it? Arthur? The sorceress?

"Stop pacing!" Morgana sounds annoyed.

He continues to pace. "I… I can tell you who killed Sarrum if you can help me with decoding a message."

"What? You know who- Who killed Sarrum?"

"Help me with decoding the-"

"I don't have time for your games, Merlin! So how about, you tell me who the murderer is, and then I'll help you." When Morgana is using her strained reasonable voice, it means her patience is running dangerously low.

Merlin closes his eyes. Should he betray the sorceress? Albin was trying to kill them, after all. Then Morgana is going to ask him why he was even up there, witnessing all of this. So, what should he answer?

The ghost of shadows you shall keep. Alright. What is a ghost and what is a shadow? A ghost is a spirit of the dead. A ghost is something you regret, right? Something that haunts you. A shadow is… a shadow. A shadow is something that'll always follow you around, something that makes a living thing living. So… so, a ghost of shadows is the regret of something living? The regret of something dead? Half living half dead? Or… it can mean a shadow's ghost. If a shadow can have ghosts. Whatever that means. He's confusing himself.

Wait. His feet stop moving. Why is he so adamant that this cryptic engraving has anything to do with Arthur's situation? It could be some random message on the altar, meant for other purposes. He may be wasting time! Merlin groans quietly, buries his head in his hands, and resumes pacing. Paranoia sucks.

"What's going on? And stop pacing. You know something, don't you." Morgana glares at him, her tone softens a fraction, controlling her rage.

Stopping in his tracks (he doesn't even realize he was pacing), Merlin stutters, "I don't know! I…"

If he can't talk to Morgause now, who else can he ask at a moment's notice? Probably Gaius, but his uncle is more knowledgeable in history and herbs and spells. Maybe Gaius knows something he doesn't.

Morgana sighs, "Merlin, please. We can help each other, but my situation is more urgent. Because if I don't give a proper explanation to Amata and Camelot why Sarrum is dead, Amata may declare war and Camelot will never trust me. They won't believe that Albin, Sarrum's most trusted man, will assassinate the king. Please, Merlin. Help me. Can your message wait?"

There is desperation marred on her face and he closes his eyes again. Both situations can't wait. As for which one is more urgent, it's a matter of opinion, action, and a lot of wishful thinking.

The migraine begins stomping mercilessly in his head again. Merlin is silent, but his mind is a whirlwind. He's never been good at asking for help. He can help Morgana by telling her who committed treason. Then what? Morgana's going to find the sorceress and most likely lock her up. What happens to Arthur? How much information should he tell Morgana? Sure, they're friends and they need at least some background information to actually provide an adequate answer, but Merlin doesn't want Morgana in over her head. It can be dangerous, unpredictable. She's rash when a threat comes up. And the message. Hell, what if he's spinning in circles?

Damn, his head is killing him.

Then suddenly, the ground rumbles with a low-pitched shriek accompanied by the sound of splitting stone. The temperature rises. Beside them, a shallow crack starts from the far end of the Round Table and travels across the diameter. It divides the Table exactly in half, but the earthquake is not strong enough to completely break it.

After a beat of stunned silence, the sound of fingernails scratching splintered wood grates his ears, which does nothing to alleviate his headache.

"Do you hear that?" Merlin asks them in a hushed tone.

Gwen's confused expression mirrors Morgana's next words, "Hear what?"

So, um, first time writing after about a 4-month hiatus. How did I do?

And, if you didn't know, Amata is Sarrum's kingdom, according to Merlin Wiki.

Will Merlin see the light at the end of the tunnel? Will Arthur? Will anyone? Yes, yes, they will. Because like Dumbledore once said, happiness can be found in even the darkest of times if one remembers to turn on the light. Or in their case, a candle, or a ball of glowing light. The question is: will they find it? (Cue extreme dramatic music)

I don't know when I'll post again (because I have to catch up on the last few months); therefore, I hope everyone is safe and on their way to whatever goodness lies ahead in their future :)