AN: Well folks... It was my brother's last day home on leave, and I won't see him again till Christmas... so I may or may not have temporarily forgotten that I was supposed to post. Sorry!

To the Guest who reviewed both Legacies and Destinies this week, thank you so much for reading and for all your astute comments! I had to laugh at myself for your observation about Gwen. You'd be a great beta reader! :)

And without further delay, here is your overdue chapter.

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"Cab's here!" Morgana called from the window and flicked the blinds shut. The wheels of a heavy trunk rumbled on the flat's wooden floors. "Can I carry anything for you?" she asked, hovering by the door.

"I've got it, thanks." Morgana's flatmate set her trunk upright and smiled at her. "You're going to be brilliant. They'll love you," she said resolutely. Morgana steeled herself against the weird fluttering, squirming feeling in her stomach and smiled back.

"Thanks, Sefa." She gave her flatmate a hug. "I'll let you know how it goes. You go on. Don't keep the cabbie waiting."

"Good luck. I'll see you in October!"

"Be safe!" Morgana called after her. She lingered by the doorway while Sefa's things were loaded into the boot and waved when the car pulled out, but the tension didn't leave her figure until her flatmate vanished down the street in the cab. She exhaled shakily and turned on her heel to hurry back into the main room.

The morning had been utterly surreal thus far, and Sefa leaving was just one thing on the lift of changes and unusual events today. She'd woken to a veritable onslaught of texts and calls from which she gathered a number of things. For one, Merlin was missing, judging from the 'Have you seen my idiot flatmate' text from Arthur. That was at 1AM. Strange. Merlin wasn't usually one to be out late. No further information had been provided on Merlin's whereabouts. In addition to the texts, there were three missed calls: one from Gwen and two from Arthur, and both of them had sent her messages about the attack on Camelot. Images of Uther's burning street were plastered across the internet and stories ran on every channel from radio to television.

Amidst all of this, there was no contact from Merlin, and that worried Morgana. She'd communicated with him fairly regularly over the last months. She wondered if Arthur had ever found him… and if he was alright.

And yet, here in the silence of her flat, it was easy to feel that the burning neighborhood was no more than digital images playing across her phone screen; that her lost friend was only words in a message… that none of it was really happening. Because right now, Morgana's reality consisted of more pressing things—things that were happening here, now, today: her interview for the position at the law-firm here in Cambridge—the one that might help her pay her rent for the summer and stay out of Uther's home… and Morgause.

The ex-MP had been extremely vague about her reasons for calling—only saying that she needed to come speak with Morgana in person and as soon as possible. Hence, why Sefa's cab being late had nearly driven Morgana to distraction.

She's gone, Morgana projected, cautiously as she collected stray items from the living room—books and papers from the finals she'd recently finished. The answer startled her with its alacrity:

I'm here. Morgana took a breath and turned around. It sent a shiver of mixed fear and excitement through her. One day, Morgause promised, she would teach Morgana all of it. The young woman put the books she'd been tidying down on the coffee table beside her.

"What are you doing here?" The question had been on the tip of Morgana's tongue ever since Morgause contacted her early that morning. "Sefa could've seen you, or the cab driver. Someone could come visiting… We can't—" Morgause took her hands with a soothing smile.

"No one but you will see me, Morgana. Don't worry." Morgause shifted her hands to Morgana's arms. "I'm afraid this isn't a social visit."

"Something's happening," Morgana inferred shrewdly. Morgause's smile returned.

"You promised me you'd be ready when this time came," she reminded her. Morgana's heart fluttered. She nodded.

"I'm ready," she replied confidently. A lot of things had changed in the last term, especially now that she knew who she was… and what she was. The knowledge burned deep inside her fueled by the built up frustrations of many years.

"You're sure?"

"Of course I am." Morgana's eyes glowed with fierce determination. " I want Uther out of power. I want us to be free."

"Good. I knew I could rely on you," Morgause smiled, and the warmth and pride infused in her voice made the young woman's heart soar. "Listen carefully. We don't have much time. Cenred and Alvarr will be here within the day. I'm going to be in the city where we'll occupy the important locations and find Uther's own forces before they can regroup and counter us. But I need you to be elsewhere. I have something far more important you must do for us." Morgana nodded attentively. "You need to find Uther."

"Find Uther?" Morgana stiffened, and her expression fell. Morgana squeezed her arm lightly.

"I know you can do it. He's been lying low ever since the dragon's initial attack, and he'll go to ground the moment he hears there's been an attack. It's essential that we know where he is if we are to succeed. He'll want to keep you safe—close to him. You can be a perfect inside source for us."

"I…" Morgana glanced down at her hands and hesitated. "He won't… I haven't spoken to him for the past… year."

"You're his loving daughter. He'll welcome you back with open arms," Morgause said smoothly. Morgana bit the inside of her cheek and looked down, and Morgause took her hand. "Uther lied to you," she reminded her quietly. "To Arthur, to everyone he knew. You will only be setting things right. It's time someone took the power out of his hands." Morgana nodded again and took a breath. She couldn't hesitate now of all times. This was important.

"I don't know where he is. He's not going to tell me," she added in a last weak attempt at protest.

"You know someone else who does know where he is, and he will tell you," Morgause asserted. Her tone made Morgana falter. For the first time a tiny flicker of fear crept into her heart when she met Morgause's dark eyes. Not him. No… I can't bring him into this.

"Please…" She lifted her head, and her voice was edged with worry. "I don't want Arthur hurt."

"Morgana," Morgause's voice sharpened. "Whose side are you on? Are you with Uther, or are you with me?"

"With you, of course!" Morgana was quick to answer.

"Then you must trust me." Morgause released her hand. "Arthur is far too important to harm. I have other uses for him." Her words still made Morgana's insides twist with uneasiness and a tiny touch of protectiveness.

"Why? What is Arthur important for?"

"He's a voice everyone listens to," Morgause said. "Like you, Morgana. And I believe… he only needs the right touch of persuasion to be brought about."

"Persuasion?" Morgana echoed softly.

"He must know the truth."

"About me?" Morgana paled.

"Arthur has many pressure points, Morgana. You are one of them. Yes, certainly he must be told what you know about yourself—of your true parentage." Morgause smiled. "But most importantly, he must know the truth about his father—and of course about himself. He is not as unfailingly loyal as he would have the world believe. You must have seen the statement that the press has been circulating this morning." Yes… she'd seen that too. Morgana's eyes strayed to the counter where her purse lay. She kept the paper there—the knowledge that only she held now—proof of Uther's lies and hypocrisies. Arthur might have some reservations about his father's policy, but he would take this hard… very hard. And yet… It's for the best. For all of us… What could be better than having her own brother—her brother both in blood and upbringing—stand at her side when they brought about the change that the country so desperately needed? She lifted her chin.

"I'll find Uther."

Merlin didn't recognize the lean, tall figure at first. An elderly, gray haired woman rose to meet them placed a hand on the teenager's arm protectively, but the young Druid seemed entirely unfazed by the appearance of two outsiders, and when he met Merlin's gaze, his eyes sparked a memory poignant enough to remain, as keen as though it were yesterday. It was Arthur who spoke first.

"Mordred?" he asked, his voice rising in disbelief. The smooth, childish curves of the boy's face had sharpened into a young man's fine, chiseled features, his hair was thick, curlier, and as dark as Merlin's own, and he was nearly of a height with the warlock now. His eyes, though, still the same brilliant and inquisitive blue-gray, gleamed with lively curiosity, no longer quiet and subdued as they'd been when Merlin first met him. The boy couldn't have been more than ten—eleven at most—when Merlin and Arthur first met him. Now, he was a teenager, fourteen or fifteen perhaps, with a voice already changed and smooth, and he had the stature and bearing of someone far older than himself. The smile that broke across his face, though, was full of youthful excitement.

"Hello, Arthur."

"Come on another errand for Gaius?" Mordred's apparent guardian enquired, regarding him with a curious if guarded expression. If possible, the blond's eyes widened even further, and for a second, he looked as lost as a fish out of water.

"I… no," he stammered at last. "I don't really run errands for Gaius… you know that." The skin around the woman's eyes crinkled with amusement, and Merlin blinked. Arthur knew her? Was he supposed to believe that his friend, the son of magic's greatest persecutor and detractor, had been consorting with not one but two Druids? More than that… Arthur looked guilty. "I'm sorry… it's my fault you're here." The woman smiled.
"I can think of worse places, Pendragon. You meant me no harm," she replied. She extended a hand to Merlin. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Brigid Fyr." Merlin opened his mouth and faltered for a split second. Oh. He took her hand, recovering himself quickly.

"I'm Merlin Astur—Gaius' nephew. Arthur tells me you saved my life." Her smile broadened.

"It was my pleasure." Her face and tone both radiated interest and something else: something akin to respect which made Merlin stare in bewilderment.

"It's him! I told you it was him!" Mordred cut in enthusiastically. The boy was fairly bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning with barely restrained excitement. Merlin felt a spike of panic. He absolutely couldn't afford for Mordred or Brigid to call him 'Emrys' in front of Arthur. He released her hand and fumbled desperately for something to direct their attention away from himself;

"We're here looking for—"

"I know why you're here," the woman interrupted. "We've heard of the dragon's attack as well."

"You know Balinor?" Arthur asked, voice rising hopefully.

"Yes. And Iseldir might have saved you the trip."

"Why?" Merlin tensed.

"Balinor doesn't live among us. He prefers to be alone… and he certainly won't help you." Her gaze shifted to Arthur.

"We won't know until we try," Arthur replied stubbornly. "Can you at least show us where he lives?"

"I can show you." Mordred offered instantly. "It's only a ten minute drive from here. Maybe if you talk to him—"

"Mordred," Brigid's voice was edged with warning. Mordred pulled free of her grip.

"Arthur saved my life. I want to help him."

"Great!" Arthur already had his keys in hand and was turning to go with Mordred at his side. Merlin could feel the Druid woman's gaze heavy on him.

I trust Mordred will be safe with you, Emrys. Merlin tried to ignore the use of the prophecy name.

He is safe with Arthur. I would pledge my life on that. He had half turned to go when he stopped abruptly to avoid running straight into a small boy with curly blond hair whose head was tipped back as he looked up at the warlock with lively curiosity. Suddenly Merlin became keenly aware of countless eyes on him. He hadn't realized there were half a dozen other Druids who had stopped to look at him—old and young, one white haired man looking at him from the porch of an adjacent house, a tall blond woman kneeling in a garden patch, but most appearing from around the corner of a house or standing in a doorway… as if they'd come merely for the purpose of seeing him. A movement in the window of the nearest house turned Merlin's head, though, and he looked in time to spot a young face and a cascade of dark hair before she was gone.

"Merlin!" Arthur's call almost didn't register. Merlin stopped, rooted in place, staring at the now vacant window. He heard the blond's footsteps returning, then a hand was waving in front of his face. "Merlin?" Arthur flicked him on the ear. "Anyone in there?" Merlin shied away from Arthur's hand. "Did one of the Druids scare you? You look like you've seen a ghost," Arthur observed with a smirk.

"I think I did," Merlin said slowly. Arthur snorted.

"Don't tell me you're getting superstitious now," he scoffed. "Let's go. We've got a dragon lord to find." Merlin shook himself almost angrily and turned to go, and he saw the curtain twitch. He let out an impatient breath. Arthur was right. He was being ridiculous.

"Balinor lives up here, just beyond the edge of the trees." Merlin leaned forward between the two front seats and looked where Mordred was pointing. The house looked more worn and unkempt than the rest of the Druids' homes, its siding faded in color and its windows dark and unwashed. Arthur pulled onto the shabby road amidst the trees close to the old house. "You shouldn't mind what he says too much," Mordred said, pausing with his hand on handle of the car door. "He's not used to visitors—especially not ones from… from outside," he said slowly.

"We won't overstay our welcome," Arthur assured him. Mordred looked a little ill at ease still, but he led the way to the door. Mordred didn't need keys to the house, of course. Merlin saw the young Druid's eyes flicker briefly when he put his hand on the door handle. The lock clicked softly. It didn't look like Arthur noticed. Merlin looked at his friend from the corner of his eye, and he saw Arthur list sideways almost imperceptibly. The blond quickly stepped backwards and shifted his weight to re-balance, but Merlin wasn't fooled. He dropped back a step to let Arthur enter before him.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just a bit tired," Arthur muttered and quickened his pace to keep step with Mordred.

The tang of cigarette smoke hung in the air, even back by the doorway. Mordred led the way down a short hall and through a door to the left. The room was lit by a small desk lamp. Beside it a dark figure was seated in the ancient looking armchair. He had his back to the three arrivals, and all that could be made out was the outline of his shoulders and his black hair generously sprinkled with silver-gray strands. A ripple of smoke snaked through the pale halo of the lamp and billowed towards the ceiling, mixing with the haze in the room. Merlin wrinkled his nose against the smell.

"Mr. Lynch?"

"What do you want, Mordred?" Merlin's chest contracted. It shouldn't have mattered; he'd never known the man. He had no real connection to this Balinor except what Gaius had told him mere hours ago, and yet he found himself unable to stop analyzing every tiny detail from the second he heard the man's rough, rasping voice.

"Nothing," Mordred answered. "I only came to check on you. And I've brought some visitors."

"I don't want to meet any more newcomers," Balinor growled. "You and Kara were enough. No one else needs to come here." Merlin stepped forward.

"We're sorry to disturb you, but Iselder told us you could help." The new voice caught Balinor's attention. A weighty pause followed before he rose from his seat and faced Merlin, his movements stiff and slow. Shrouded in shadows though he was, Merlin made out a long face with dark brown, deep set eyes and a thick beard that matched his gray-streaked hair. His dark eyes narrowed in evident displeasure. He lowered his cigarette, pinched tightly between his thumb and forefinger.

"Mordred, what is this?" he demanded.

"Iseldir sent them," Mordred replied patiently.

"Iseldir can go to hell," Balinor snarled. "Can't he let a man die in peace?" Merlin clenched his teeth over a surge of bitter disappointment. He was beginning to understand what Brigid had told them.

"He will. We'll all burn if you don't help us," he said through his teeth. The cryptic comment didn't even pique Balinor's curiosity. He only laughed hoarsely.

"If a sickly old man is your only hope, then you had better accept your fate, boy."

"We understand that you're more than that," Arthur interrupted. "You are the dragon lord, aren't you?" Balinor's heavy brows drew together, and the shadows under his eyes seemed to deepen.

"Mordred, tell me: has Iseldir gone senile early?" Mordred looked neither amused nor perturbed. He was plainly accustomed to Balinor's caustic personality.

"No, sir—"

"I want them out," Balinor growled. Mordred shook his head, a stubborn gleam in his eyes.

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Arthur. He saved my life, even when he knew that I was a Druid. I think you should hear him out." Balinor's scowl deepened. He leveled Arthur with a look of barely sustained tolerance.

"What do you need from a 'dragon lord', then?" His voice contained a trace of poorly veiled mockery. Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"A dragon was sighted attacking Camelot," the blond said. He closed his eyes briefly and took a long breath. Merlin could tell that his patience with the man was worn as thin as his strength. "I realize," he resumed carefully, "You're under no obligation to help, but you may be the only one who can stop him. I doubt I need to tell you what that creature can do if it chooses." Balinor studied him in silence for a long moment.

"His name," he said at length, "Is Kilgarrah. And he does not act blindly. He knows how it feels to lose every member of his kin—everyone and everything he cares about… to be treated worse than the dirt beneath another being's feet. I can't blame him for seeking vengeance." He turned his back, and his hand rose to his lips again. The end of the cigarette glowed softly in the dim room. Hunith hated smoking, Merlin thought hollowly.

"Vengeance?" Arthur echoed, and a spark of anger lit in his eyes, and Merlin didn't even try to stop him as he launched into an angry response. "Camelot is burning to the ground as we speak," Arthur said. "Homes are being destroyed. Innocent people are dying. Vengeance solves nothing. It's wrong enough on its own, but blind vengeance is pure madness!"

"What would you understand of vengeance, Pendragon?" Balinor turned about sharply, eyes flashing in the pale lamplight. "You who were raised to be privileged, protected, taught what to think and see and do from the moment you were born?" He fixed a burning gaze on Arthur. "I had a home in Ireland—a woman I loved. I worked a quiet job, minded my own business. I was doing no harm. It was men like me whom your father killed." The scorn in his voice was nearly palpable. "Tell me, did your father ever speak of the Purge to you—of the hundreds upon hundreds of people he rounded up and slaughtered like animals? Did he tell you how he lured the dragons and their sorcerers to him with false promises of protection, tales of peace and safety—how he murdered the sorcerers when they were at his mercy then hunted the defenseless dragons down one by one? Did he tell you how he hunted us—the men who escaped, and how he had each of us murdered along with our families and all those we loved, to ensure that the dragon lords did not pass on their legacies? God knows it was fortunate for the poor girl I loved that I didn't marry her or she'd be dead too." That was why. Merlin shuddered. Hunith hadn't dared to breathe the name Balinor for fear of seeing her son murdered… Balinor's face twisted in a sneer. "I don't know if you're truly blind or you choose not to see it. Perhaps it's a Pendragon trait. Keeps you sane as you step through the streams of blood that have stained your hands."

"This has nothing to do with Arthur!" Merlin interrupted angrily. "You don't know anything about him."

"I think I know enough," Balinor returned. "He's asking me to help Uther—to protect the sick, twisted country his father built." Merlin's mouth went dry.

"He's asking you to help the people who live there—innocent people who are suffering for another man's crimes," he said. "If you don't, you are damning them all to death."

"So be it," Balinor replied. "Let Uther know what it feels like to watch his people suffer." Balinor crushed out the red glow of his cigarette amidst a small collection of other stubs in the tray. "I've heard them out. Mordred, they can leave now."

"You're content to let innocent people die to settle an old score?" Arthur's voice was thick with disgust. "Have you no conscience?"

"You should ask that question," Balinor replied in a low voice, "Of your father." Arthur turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Merlin didn't budge. He felt hollow inside. He didn't know what he'd expected to find when Gaius told him this man was his father… but the person he faced right now was far from anything he'd imagined.

"And you are no better than him," he said quietly. Balinor stilled.

"Don't waste your time, Merlin!" Arthur shouted back, and the door clicked shut behind him. Merlin ignored his friend. He knew he had Balinor's attention, at least for a second or two. He took a breath.

"My mother works as a nurse in Armagh." He saw Balinor's shoulders tense. No doubt the name was familiar. "She always taught me that life is precious—that it would be wrong even to stand back and watch a man die when you knew could help."

"Don't preach to me of morals," Balinor warned, his previous attentiveness now dissolving into anger again.

"I'm not," Merlin said. "I only thought…" He shifted. "You spoke of a home—a life in Ireland that you had before the purge…" He hesitated. There was no point. The man didn't seem to care about the innocents involved—the lives that could be lost… but he had nothing to lose. "My mother spoke of you too… when it was safe. I was hoping you'd be like her. I know she admired you as much as she loved you." Balinor didn't say anything. Merlin ran one of his scarf tassels between his fingers and looked down. "I wish I understood why," he finished, letting a trace of bitterness creep into his voice. He turned, unable to look the man in the eye any longer. The atmosphere of the dark room and smell of the smoke were suffocating him.

"I'm sorry…" Mordred was waiting by the door and followed Merlin out to the car with his eyes on the ground. "I thought we might be able to persuade him."

"It's alright. You did everything you could." Merlin said heavily. Arthur was sitting in the back seat of the car with the door open, and his head rested on the seat back. He shifted his head just enough to look up at Merlin from the corner of his eye.

"That's it then." The faintest trace of resentment colored his voice. "Camelot will burn." Merlin shook his head.

"We'll find a way. We'll stop him," he insisted. There had to be a way to break the enchantment. If his book didn't have it, perhaps one of the Druids here would. Arthur closed his eyes again, and Merlin crouched next to the car and put a hand on his friend's forehead. No fever or signs of illness, though the fact that Arthur wasn't protesting concerned him. He pursed his lips. "Are you sure you're alright?" he demanded. Arthur grunted noncommittally and lifted his shoulders. "Gaius was right. You shouldn't have come."

"I'm fine." Arthur sat up, fumbling for his keys.

"No you're not. I'll drive," Merlin said firmly. "You can lie down in the back seat. You haven't had enough sleep." He shrugged his coat off and bundled it up.

"You don't have a license," Arthur pointed out.

"Yeah, and I think I'll still do a better job than you right now," Merlin retorted, handing Arthur the makeshift pillow. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Fine." He fished the keys out of his pocket and passed them to Merlin. "Knock yourself out." Merlin gave him a suspicious look when he pulled his legs into the car and stretched out over the back seats with his eyes shut.

"Is he…?" Mordred shifted a step closer.

"He's fine. He just needs rest. Come on. I'll take you back." Merlin shut Arthur's door gently and settled into the driver's seat, crushing a spark of apprehension. He'd had next to no training in driving… but he'd seen Gaius drive places before. He'd figure it out. He put the key in, turned it, and made a face.

"I think," Mordred offered from the passenger seat, "You're supposed to put the clutch in first." From the back seat, Arthur snorted, and Merlin scowled at him. He stopped trying to twist the key into submission and put the clutch down. This time the car hummed into life when he turned it. Okay… clutch off, gas on. This can't be so hard. He jiggled the gearshift experimentally and pushed it up and left, into first gear. So far so good... Then the car shuddered, and the engine went off with a clunk. Arthur's jacket rustled in the back seat, and he opened the door.

"Maybe you should let Mordred drive," he suggested dryly. Merlin turned a withering look on his friend, opening his mouth to deliver an irritable retort, but the words died in his throat.

"Lie back down, Pendragon. You're in no shape to be driving." Arthur stood up so fast, he narrowly missed knocking his head on the roof of the car.

"You're… coming with us?"

"It doesn't look like you'll be getting anywhere without me," Balinor replied. Arthur's brow furrowed. He seemed caught somewhere between hope and disbelief. "You were right. I would be condemning the country if I chose to turn a blind eye to this. The fault does not lie with its people… nor with you." Arthur let out a shaky breath and sank back onto the seat.

"Thank you… I… can't promise you any reward, but I'll do everything I can to ensure your safety."

"I don't do this for payment," Balinor returned. "I've little enough left here to live for. Don't trouble yourself on my account." Merlin stood, keys in hand, and strayed a glance at his half-lucid friend.

"Can you…?"

"Of course." Balinor reached for the keys. "You took your mother's last name?" Merlin paused, and he glanced back at Arthur again, wary, then nodded.

"I'm Merlin. Merlin Astur."

"Well… Merlin," Balinor said quietly as took the keys from him. "I wish I understood why too."

.

AN: Any thoughts on Balinor? I hope I characterized him well. I thought a lot about how to write him here!

On another note, I'd like to give you all a heads up. Next Saturday I am taking the GRE, and I'll be buried in my books studying for it all week. There's a very real possibility that the next chapter will be late again. (Sorry!) The week after THAT school starts up. And of course, my wisdom teeth also picked this convenient time to need removing... So you can all take bets on whether or not I'll write a coherent chapter in the first week of September. ;)

After THAT, school will be in full swing again. My plan is to post every other week, but I can't really promise that, but I'll do my best! Sorry that my life is so busy! :P

Thank you for bearing with me, though. To all of you who have fav'd, followed, and especially those of you who leave reviews, thank you so very much! Your feedback really means a lot to me, and it keeps me writing!

Cheers!

Sandyy