AN: Well friends, a late Merry Christmas to you all, and a very happy new year to come! As of this week (early) I finally submitted all of my grad school applications, including one to Harvard and one to Yale. And there was much anxiety on my part. *sigh* So... wish me luck! I really hope that I'll get some good offers. If I'm extra lucky, I get to go back to Greece for a visit to all my old friends there in August! :)

In other news, my lateness in posting this actually has an excuse this time. I wrote most of the chapter, then my computer went haywire and destroyed it. -_- So I rewrote it rather hastily today, because you guys deserved an update. I promised myself I'd post it tonight... and when I think about it 3AM is morning... but we'll ignore that fact for now.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Arthur's clothing was neat and immaculately clean, his collar turned down and golden hair neatly brushed back. Every inch the politician, Morgana thought, watching with downturned mouth. The room was falling quiet as he made his way to the cluster of microphones. There was nothing in his hands—no papers or cards. The stand before him was empty. But Arthur put a hand on the podium, bowing his head, and for a moment the room was silent save for the soft click of cameras about him.

"Yesterday evening, my father was shot by an as of yet unidentified individual—one of a group of men who attacked his temporary headquarters in Cardiff." Arthur's voice and expression were stoic and even, but Morgana could read the body language she'd grown so familiar with over the years: the stiff set of his shoulders and slight upward tilt of his chin. She dug her fingers into her arms. "The bullet caused irreparable damage to internal organs, and despite the best effort of the medical staff, he passed away this morning at 5AM." He blinked and paused. His throat convulsed as he turned his eyes down on the stand before him, looking at the mics. "My father was a strong leader, a brilliant soldier and strategist, and dedicated above all else to the safety and well-being of this country. His death is a loss to all of us, especially in this time of turmoil." Another pause. He caused the turmoil. Morgana bit down on her cheek hard to keep a straight face. Her thumb touched the edge of the touch-pad, but she didn't stop the replay just yet, her attention trained on her brother's face. "The nature of today's conflict unfortunately allows little time for grief. This country is divided, as it has been in years before my birth, and without a leader, we stand in a more precarious situation than before."

"He's playing for sympathy." Morgana's finger twitched over the touch pad as Arthur's small figure on the screen continued speaking.

"He… talks about retracting the war powers," she said, pausing the recording. "He's suggesting that we initiate peace talks. That's not something Uther would have said." She turned her head to look at her half-sister. It was an old video—a news clip released much earlier in the week—shortly after Gwen's disappearance. But it was the only public appearance Arthur had made so far.

"So I've heard." Morgause's eyes narrowed and she reached over her sister's hand to touch play.

"Now may be the time to hand power back to the people, where it belongs, but we cannot do so if the country is divided." Arthur's posture shifted, and for the first time since starting to speak, his gaze leveled on the camera. "The damage done to Camelot and surrounding areas took many lives and left others injured, homeless, without a job or livelihood. As a country already suffering an economic recession due to the conflict of the last century, we cannot afford to stand at odds with one another any longer."

"Perhaps, he is more a businessman than his father." Morgause's voice bore a trace of scorn. She stopped the video again. "Morgana, you were too young to remember much of the Purge. People spoke fine words like his before—words of forgiveness or hope for us. It never came to anything." Morgana's eyes lingered on the video, and she felt her sister's hand on her arm. "I know," she said softly, "You want to believe the best of him, but do you really think that he would welcome magic—welcome you back? Especially after what he knows and what he saw you do?" Morgana bowed her head. It was her fault. Her fault that Uther was dead; her fault that Arthur stood now in the limelight of the press with a grim face like a seasoned politician's, speaking words of comfort to his country. And try as she might, she couldn't feel victorious seeing Uther's downfall. It seemed an empty victory for the price she had paid.

"No," she said at last. "Of course not."

"I'm sorry," Morgause said. "I know this hasn't been easy for you."

"I'll be fine," Morgana promised her, closing the laptop.

"You'll be ready when the reports come in?" Morgana nodded again.

"I will."

"Good." Morgause's hand slid up to her shoulder and rested there a moment before she straightened and turned away.

The laptop's screen lit again as soon as Morgause was out of sight. There were less than thirty seconds left in the clip. It was one she'd seen at least a dozen times before, as if seeing Arthur's face might prove to her that he was still alive and safe somewhere, although the clip had been filmed several days before.

"This is not the time to cast blame or take sides. There will be room enough for petty conflicts when we are more stable. Now, for the sake of the country my father spent his life protecting, we need a unified people and a common goal to support and protect those whom this disaster has hit the hardest. My father's first and foremost policy was to protect his people. I ask nothing more of all of you." No one spoke as Arthur stepped down from the stand. The camera angle followed him, blank faced and stiff backed. General Rodor, Uther's old right hand man was waiting for him at the bottom, but beside him in the last five seconds of the video, Morgana saw a head of dark hair and familiar blue eyes. A thousand things had gone wrong they day Morgause set her initial plan in motion, and there was one common factor in all of them. The one person Arthur seemed to trust above all others. Merlin.

"They're here? All three of them? Where?" Merlin stumbled into the hall after Arthur abandoning the paperwork, and Gaius followed on their heels.

"All three," Gwaine answered brightly. "Or such is the word from on high. C'mon, princess. There's someone here you'll want to see."

"What… Where were they found? I thought Gwen said—"

"Elyan?" Gaius cut in. Past Arthur's shoulder the young soldier Merlin had spotted earlier looked up, and beside him, Merlin's breath caught when Gwen turned around and froze lips parted as if in mid-sentence.

"Arthur!" Gwen's voice was at once a sob and a laugh. Arthur barely had time to move before she had crossed the space between them and flung her arms around his neck, and Arthur caught her and wrapped his arms tightly around her. For a moment neither one spoke, and Arthur buried his face in the crook of her neck. Gwen lifted her head from Arthur's shoulder and caught sight of Merlin beside him, and she drew back, smiling as Arthur brushed back a couple of stray curls of hair about her face. "Merlin." She firmly extricated herself from Arthur's embrace to pull Merlin into a hug as well. "You're… both of you are here. I was so worried…" Gwen let him go blinking rapidly and let out a tiny, shaky laugh when she spotted Gaius standing next to Elyan.

"So were we," he said and wrapped her in a hug as well, smiling warmly. Arthur's fingers brushed the line of her jaw, and he leaned forward to peer at her face, persistently anxious and entirely unaware of Elyan's scrutinizing gaze.

"You're alright? You weren't hurt?" he asked. She shook her head. "Your message… you said you were—"

"I'm fine." Gwen caught his hand with hers. "I'm sorry I couldn't contact you sooner. I had to shut the mobile I stole off in case they could track me, and I had no other way to reach you traveling from Oxford to London."

"Alone… without any money?"

"Arthur, I was fine," Gwen insisted gently. To her left, Elyan laughed.

"Gwen nicked your sister's mobile and still walked almost thirty kilometers to get well out of Oxford before she called me from a courtesy phone at some god-forsaken rest area by the interstate."

"Elyan!" Gwen's voice was reproachful. "It was fine. Everything was fine. I was only held for a few hours before I got out, and I got to London safely." A line formed between her eyes. "Elyan told me yesterday about what happened. Are you alright?" Arthur's lips thinned to a line and he dropped his gaze for a moment. Morgause had played her card well after Arthur's press release. It was a calculated move to defuse the impact of Uther's dying wishes—destroying his credibility.

"I'll be alright," he promised.

"You're sure?" she said quietly. Arthur's free hand wrapped around her waist and he leaned forward so his face was close to hers.

"I am now." A hand clapped Merlin on the shoulder, startling him, and he turned about.

"There are the other two." Gwaine wore an ear-to-ear grin as he directed Merlin's attention towards the door. "Fox must be more bark than bite if she can't keep any of her three prisoners, eh?" Merlin glanced sideways at the American, brows drawing together. Indeed… Gwen would have a tale to tell explaining how she had escaped. But she hadn't mentioned freeing either Lance or Percival. How they were here now remained a mystery, and one that pricked at Merlin's thoughts persistently.

Several voices joined the clamor inside the building as a young female officer escorted two more familiar faces into the room. Merlin felt a hand on his shoulder, and Gaius stepped past him.

"Lance!" Gwaine moved around the preoccupied couple to stand next to Merlin, but in the same heartbeat that both he and Merlin caught a full look of the two, the smile slipped from his face, and Merlin suddenly recognized what had drawn Gaius away from them. "What the hell happened to them?" Gwaine demanded in a sharp tone. Merlin swallowed. He hadn't gotten much of a look at Lance save to note plain tension in his shoulders and the pallor of his face. Percival he could see more clearly, his jaw bruised and one arm cradled in what looked like a makeshift sling.

"I don't know," he said slowly. Gwaine's eyes narrowed. But something else was itching at the back of Merlin's thoughts, and as he caught a glimpse of Lance moving back, away from the crowd, a feeling of wrongness flooded his senses like he'd only felt a scant few times before.

"Merlin?" Gwen's voice interrupted his reverie. "Is that…" her voice trailed off. Merlin shook his head.

"I'll… be right back," he said hoarsely and pushed his way past Gwaine, heading for the hallway where Gaius, Lance, and the young officer were going.

Around the corner and out of the increasing press of people inside the clinic waiting room, Merlin drew in a deep breath. He could see the light in the room Gaius had retreated to and hear his uncle's voice. He ignored it, letting his troubled mind probe for the problem he was sensing. Many things had felt off-kilter in the last several weeks, but the feeling of imbalance hadn't hit him so hard since Arthur was sick. This time it wasn't Arthur… not so far as he could tell. And this time it felt more intimate. It wasn't another sorcerer. He knew what that felt like… or at least what it usually felt like. He'd recognized Freya's magic if a little belatedly, and he'd felt Iseldir's and later Morgause's when she confronted them. The feeling reminded him more of the day he'd woken in Freya's flat, before he found out Arthur was sick—or still before that the sharp, keen warning in the air when Freya's magic defended her from Halig.

He leaned his head back against the wall and almost subconsciously searched for the mental presence he had sought out that morning. Nothing. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. Kilgarrah was long gone, flying back to Oxford to speak with Iseldir… as he'd asked the dragon to do. Once again, he felt utterly out of his depth and silently cursed himself and his damned feelings. What was the point of a warning if he didn't know what it was for?

He didn't know how long he stood in the hallway with his back to the wall, listening to the rise and fall of voices in the main room: Arthur, Gwen, Elyan, several unfamiliar voices, Leon, Gwaine, then Rodor—he must have arrived at some point…. He was talking to Gwen—or Percival. Maybe both. Surely… But the door down the hall clicked, and he opened his eyes.

"Lance!" He caught the slight start and the way Lance tensed. "You okay?" The look Lance turned on him made Merlin feel sick from deep in the pit of his stomach.

"I've… been better." The smile was utterly hollow. Lance's eyes slid down and away from Merlin's face, but for a split second Merlin saw a shadowed look in them—almost haunted, and the warlock felt like the breath was being squeezed out of his lungs. It didn't look like they'd escaped. Merlin took a cautious step towards him. Gaius was speaking in a low voice to the young officer.

"Percival looked a bit roughed up." Lance tucked his arms across his chest.

"He's alright. Just a pulled muscle in his arm. If you'll excuse me—" Merlin shifted to place himself in front of Lance.

"Seriously… are you okay? You really don't seem okay. If you need rest or something for anxiety, maybe I can—"

"No, you can't." Lance cut over him. Merlin opened his mouth, then took a step back and fell quiet, stung. Lance was the only person outside of Gaius who knew what he could do, and the flat rejection stung. Clearly, his help wasn't wanted. After all, it had been close on a week since Uther's death and the day Gwen, Lance, and Percival had disappeared, and he hadn't done a damn thing to help in that time. He took a step back, swallowing a wave of nausea. What happened to them…

"Lance, I'm really sorry. I… I should have done something… anything. I thought… I had to make sure Arthur was safe—stay with him, but… I could have found you—gotten you out if I'd tried. I should have looked for you at least." Lance lifted his head, and this time Merlin was the one who avoided his gaze. "Please. I know you're angry, but if there's anything I can do to help—"

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. You're a history student, not a doctor. You can't do anything for me." The response came so sharply that Merlin looked up, and this time, Lance was looking straight at him and there was a spark in his tired eyes. "You couldn't have helped any sooner either. They have magic. They would have killed you." He turned on his heel in the opposite direction of the others, and Merlin regained his voice after a moment's baffled struggle. He jogged a few feet after Lance as his friend turned the corner.

"Lance—"

"I need some air," Lance bit out. Merlin stared silently at the corner, listening to the man's retreating footsteps. I have magic! Merlin's fists clenched, unclenched, and he swallowed over the strange knot in his throat. Lance was gone before he could try to call him back.

"Gaius," he turned and nudged the half-open door further open with his foot to peer in. The officer was gone, and Gaius raised his head from the slim tablet he was reading. "I need to talk to you."

"I have another patient," Gaius said offhandedly.
"There's something wrong with Lance," Merlin blurted out, stepping into the room. Gaius turned around fully, his expression grave, and Merlin pulled the door shut behind him. "I felt it with Arthur before—when he was sick back in Oxford. I… I don't know what it was, but something was… off, and it wasn't just a normal illness."

"Merlin, no one can sense a spell," Gaius said firmly, putting his tablet down and frowning over his glasses at the warlock.

"I can!" Merlin retorted. "Gaius, I was right last time. Arthur had been cursed. It had to be a curse. Even Doctor Collins said it wasn't acting like any normal disease, and Kilgarrah gave me the counter-spell to it—"

"Kilgarrah?" Gaius interrupted, and his frown deepened.

"The dragon," Merlin supplied. Gaius' eyebrow rose, and Merlin bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing a mounting sense of frustration and urgency.

"That's what you've been out doing—meeting with a dragon whose loyalties are questionable at best?"

"Gaius, I need to talk to him. He knows more about magic than either of us, and I can't be in touch with Iseldir or Balinor—"

"Keep your voice down for God's sake!" Gaius cut in. Merlin stopped and curled his hands into fists.

"Look, that's not the point. I don't know what's going on with Lance, but he's acting strange—"

"Merlin." Gaius set the tablet down. "There is nothing wrong with Lance beyond exhaustion and the fallout of the trauma Cenred and Fox put him through."

"Gaius, haven't you looked at him?" Merlin's voice rose. "He's not… there's something wrong with the way he looked at me—like he was afraid of me—and he didn't respond to his name the first time when Gwaine called to him. He's not himself!"

"You brought a very similar concern to me about Arthur earlier this week," Gaius pointed out quietly. "You were adamant that Morgause Fox must have put some sort of spell on him. I think we can both agree by this point that is not the case."

"That was different. He's not just acting strange. He's… he didn't remember I have magic." A moment of silence followed the statement. Gaius removed his glasses and looked intently at Merlin.

"Lance knows you have magic?" Merlin stopped, twisting his hands anxiously together in the ends of his scarf.

"He saw me… when I healed Arthur in the hospital," he admitted quietly. Already, Gaius' lips were drawn in a line.

"Merlin, you are walking on very thin ice." Merlin wrung ends of his scarf.

"I know, Gaius, but he needs help," he insisted. Gaius shook his head.

"Both Arthur and Lance went through severe trauma this week. They need time to recover."
"This isn't like that. I can sense it!"

"What you're sensing is your own anxiety," Gaius replied firmly. "Merlin, you're tired and you're distressed, understandably so. But there is nothing more you can do for Lance than letting him have some time and space to process what happened." He stepped past the warlock and pulled the door open.

"Gaius—" The physician stopped him with a hand on his arm, steering him out into the hall.

"I need to see to Percival's shoulder," he said in a quiet but firm voice. "If you're still worried tomorrow, we can discuss this again." Merlin gritted his teeth. That was typical Gaius speak for this-conversation-is-over. Merlin turned on his heel,

Arthur looked content for the first time in days. He had an arm wrapped around Gwen as Merlin returned to the waiting room, and she was leaning against him, intent on her conversation with Elyan and Gwaine beside them. Merlin crossed the room quietly, avoiding Leon and Rodor nearby. Perhaps, he reflected, Arthur was inadvertently part of the problem. Watching Gwen tilt her head back and smile at Arthur, he was reminded of the way Lance had looked at the two back at Iseldir's house, before they parted ways. It was no secret to anyone—Gwen included—that Lance's feelings for her extended beyond friendship. Gwen lifted her head from Arthur's shoulder and her smile faded.

"How are they?" Merlin made a conscious effort to smooth the tension in his shoulders and face.

"They're alright. Gaius said they'll just need some time and rest to recover."

"Rodor will want to speak with them as soon as Gaius is finished patching them up," Elyan said. Arthur's eyes narrowed, and Gwen leaned against him, her fingers squeezing his hand in reassurance.

"Merlin, there was something I meant to show you." The anxious crease reappeared between Gwen's brows. "I would have brought it with me, but I didn't know you were here. The girl—the one Gwaine showed me a picture of on your mobile—her name was Freya, wasn't it? Freya Gefn?" Merlin's stomach twisted.

"I…" he blinked at Gwen, utterly blindsided by the question.

"I don't have the picture with me," Gwen said hurriedly, looking fretful.

"It's… fine," Merlin tucked his arms over his chest tensely. This was the last conversation he wanted to be having right now. "Yeah. That w—" he caught himself. "That's her name."

"You know Freya?" Arthur inquired, raising his eyebrows.

"We went to the same school," Merlin said tersely.

"Freya?" Gwaine cut in at once. "Your girlfriend?" Merlin gritted his teeth.

"She's not…" He trailed off. They'd never had a chance to talk about what they were. And it didn't matter. Not anymore. "Gwen, what—"

"There's a missing persons ad out for her," Gwen said.

"What?" Merlin's voice broke on the exclamation. His hand fisted in the end of the old scarf and he stared at Gwen.

"I saw it in several public places going out of Oxford. She was in the local news too—hasn't been seen since… since the day the dragon first attacked. I'd thought that maybe she'd been in one of the buildings that collapsed or something—"

"Couldn't have been," Gwaine interrupted. "I saw her working at the café after finals ended—and I'm sure Merlin saw her later than that."

"You haven't been in contact with her?" Arthur asked.

"No." That was as much as Merlin could manage without his voice betraying him. He hadn't been in contact with anyone since setting foot on the God forsaken military base. He tugged his scarf off and crumpled it between his hands, trying to ignore the several pairs of eyes on him.

"Merlin…" Gwen withdrew her arm from Arthur's. "I'm sorry. I thought you might like to know." Merlin responded with a jerky nod.

"No, I… thank you for telling me." Merlin twisted his scarf tassel around his finger. "I… should go find Lance." He turned on his heel, jaw clenched tight and strode out of the room.

"If I'm near people… I hurt them. I'm cursed."

Merlin draped his scarf loosely around his neck and sat down with his back to the wall.

You're not like me. Nobody is like me.

Gwen's arrival was timely. He couldn't think of anything Arthur had needed more at the moment. But why bring up Freya. He buried his fingers in his hair and breathed in and out slowly. If truth be told, Gaius was right. He'd been on edge for longer than he could remember—probably since before he met Freya, starting with the approach of final exams. Now, he'd lost contact with his mother, left three friends behind in Oxford in the hands of a woman he didn't trust as far as he could spit, and he'd spent the week struggling to support his grieving friend. Amidst all of that, no one save Gaius had known about Freya… and he preferred it that way. He didn't want to answer Arthur's questions or see sympathy in anyone else's face. He'd coped with Gaius' support. He would cope now.

He was glad he hadn't found Lance for the moment. Seeing the haunted look in Lance's eyes, hearing Freya's name again—both were reminders of the countless failures of the last month—people he hadn't been able to help. People he'd killed. The three men in Cardiff still haunted him. He wondered if this was how Freya had felt after Halig's death… why she'd chosen to turn herself in rather than live with the guilt.

It was some minutes before a footstep broke the silence. He looked up just enough to determine who the newcomer was.

"You alright?" Merlin wrapped his arms around his knees and shrugged. Next to him, a lighter clicked softly and he looked up again from the corner of his eye. Gwaine looked different with his scruffy beard trimmed, hair cropped a little shorter, and dressed in the same issued clothes as the Merlin and Arthur: groomed for the press. The one thing Rodor hadn't been able to talk him out of was his cigarettes. A pack was still tucked into his jacket pocket, and this wasn't the first time Merlin had seen him behind the building taking a surreptitious smoke break. "You want to talk about it?" Gwaine asked. Merlin braced his shoulders against the wall. He knew he could shake his head and Gwaine would leave it at that. The American knew a thing or two about keeping uncomfortable secrets himself. Perhaps it was Gwaine's unassuming attitude that made him turn his head and hesitate to reject the offer. The last few weeks weighed heavily on him, and Gwaine already knew the half of it. After all, Freya was dead. What harm could it do her any more to tell her story?

"I…" Merlin shifted his feet. Gwaine wasn't watching him. His attention was on the end of his cigarette as he gently coaxed it into life. The words came unbidden before Merlin allowed himself to think twice about his decision. "I know what happened to Freya." Gwaine turned towards him—no judgment, pity or even surprise, merely attention. Merlin clasped his hands tightly together over his knee.

"Is she alright?" Gwaine asked. Merlin swallowed. He shook his head mutely. A long moment followed. Gwaine flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette and waited patiently for Merlin to continue.

"Before we left Camelot, she was…" He chewed his lip. "She'd finished her exams, and we spent the morning together—got breakfast and…" he pulled his knees up against his chest. "I was with her most of the morning. I didn't… didn't realize anything was wrong. She seemed happy. We were down by the river talking like we always did, about home and work and…" magic… always about magic. He had showed her all the little things he used to show his mother when he was younger—games he played with his gifts, the book. And they'd talked about the flight plans. He swallowed then bit down on his cheek. He couldn't say any of that. Not now. Maybe not ever. "It was the day Arthur came back from hospital. I… went back to see her, after Arthur was settled, and her apartment was roped off with police tape, and… she was gone. I think they'd been looking for her at her work place too." There was a pause. Gwaine exhaled slowly.

"She is a foreign student. Could she have been in trouble with immigration or something?"

"The Patroni were there," Merlin said flatly. Gwaine was still. He tapped the stub slowly, and Merlin watched a second sprinkle of ash spatter the ground.

"Freya?" Gwaine said at last. Merlin tilted his head down a little more and stared at the tips of his own shoes. "You're joking. Who the hell would suspect Freya of any kind of harm?" Merlin shook his head mutely. "They thought she had magic?" The question hung between them for an interminably long moment.

"She did," Merlin said. From the corner of his eye, Merlin saw the rest of the cigarette drop to the ground, and Gwaine ground it into the pavement with his shoe.

"In other words, she didn't have to do anything wrong to be executed." Merlin raised his head and blinked at the American. Gwaine's mouth was set in a thin line. "Hell… I'm sorry, Merlin," he said quietly, the disgust fading from his voice in a heartbeat. "It's bloody fucked up, this system."

"It's… it was a while ago," Merlin muttered.

"No. It really wasn't," Gwaine responded.

"Why would they put up a missing persons ad for her?" The American shook his head.

"I don't know, mate… You know how touchy the Scandinavian relations have been recently. Maybe they want her disappearance to look innocent. Sweden wouldn't take kindly to having one of their citizens executed on our soil." Merlin shook his head. It almost felt like the ad was a jibe at him, to remind him of what he'd done wrong.

"England hasn't been apologetic about policies on sorcery in the past. She wouldn't be the only foreign national executed in this country." Gwaine's jacket rustled, and he sat down a foot from Merlin, resting his arms over his knees.

"Or perhaps," he said, "They really don't know where she is." Merlin huffed and shook his head.

"She…" He stared at the ground. "She didn't have many friends. She wouldn't have had anywhere to go."

"Merlin, mate," Gwaine frowned at him. "Freya was shy, but she might've been better connected than you think. She had a job in Oxford, and she was well liked by the professors. Arthur said she was one of Sellers' favorite students." Merlin's fingers, tangled in his scarf again, stilled. That was how Arthur knew her name. He'd forgotten again that the two had been in a class together. He closed his eyes and quietly shook his head half to himself. He would have heard something—seen something. He'd been to Spinster's Rock and Iseldir's home. If she'd had help—if she'd escaped—surely he would have heard from her somehow.

"She could've talked to me. I would have helped her," he said. Gwaine's hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed briefly as the man got to his feet.

"It's not your fault, Merlin." Merlin nodded acknowledgement, and Gwaine offered him a hand. "Come on. The others will be wanting to know where you've gone." Merlin took the hand and climbed to his feet.

It hit him like a blast of icy air. Merlin jerked his hand back and retreated so his heels hit the wall of the building.

"Merlin?" Gwaine was standing close, and one hand was bracing Merlin's shoulder. Merlin whipped his head about, searching. "Hey, what's going on? Are you okay?" Gwaine was asking insistently. Merlin sucked in a breath.

"Arthur," he whispered, moving away from the wall. Arthur, Gwen, Elyan… and Lance.

"I won't tell him." Merlin blinked at the American. No. This Merlin knew, and all at once he felt it, keen and sharp in the air, as plain as the dragon's presence, but darker, deeper, more unpredictable. He pulled away from Gwaine's supporting hand, shaking his head. "We need to find the others. Something's happening."

"What?" Gwaine's eyes widened, and in the same instant, somewhere around the building in another part of the installation, an alarm's wail pierced the air.

AN: Two strange things going on here... first Lance... and then Freya. I'd love to hear what you think is going on with one or both of them! And yes... this is a bit of a nasty cliffhanger. I'm sorry.

I will try to post one more chapter before I go on official hiatus till some-time-in-April-when-my-thesis-is-done. But if I don't manage, cheers to all of you, and I apologize again for the obnoxiously long gap between chapters which is about to ensue!

Yours always,
Sandyy

Edit: Guest, I almost forgot. It's been so long since my last chapter. But thanks for the encouragement. :) I'm sure I will be on here ranting about my thesis again come March. And very best of luck to you with your comps approaching! I know how stressful those are!