AN: HELLO AGAIN EVERYONE! Did you guys forget I existed? I'm still here!

So, March 20th at 5PM, I finished writing my senior honors thesis. And yeah, I'm pretty damn proud of it. 59 pages, and the culmination of TWO YEARS worth of research! Following this weekend, my advisor will send me comments, I will polish it one last time, then I will defend my work on April 3rd! And yes… I'm very scared. I hope the assessment committee likes it!

In other news, I have accepted the generous grad school offer I received in January! I had a chance to visit my new school a week ago, and it was brilliant. I'm going to get my own office and start teaching in 2016. I can't imagine anything more exciting than having the chance to impart my love and passion for my field to the future generations of Classicists! I can still hardly believe that I'm graduating in scarce over a month from now—never mind looking towards a funded grad school program and a salaried position working my dream job!

But enough about me! I promised you a chapter in March, and now I shall deliver! This chapter is a game-changer, and maybe not in the way you expect.

SO… proceed to the reading, and tell me what you think!

"Got him?" Gwaine nodded. Arthur shifted his grip, grunting as he lowered Merlin's shivering form onto the back seat. Gwaine supported Merlin's head and shoulders carefully, and they settled him stretched out in the back. Merlin's eyes were half closed, but he blinked up at Arthur, his expression a mixture of pain and confusion. Arthur leaned forward to squeeze Merlin's shoulder.

"Stay with us," Arthur urged. "We're going to get you help." He wished he knew better what to do or say. He wasn't even sure Merlin registered his assurance. The man shivered again. After giving his shoulder a last squeeze, Arthur ducked out of the car and turned to Gaius.

"Arthur, you shouldn't be here." The elderly man's face was still grim. "You're not safe with Merlin. I can take him from here. There's a hospital nearby—"

"A hospital isn't what he needs," Arthur cut in. "We both know that. Gaius, what was he talking about?" Gaius shook his head.

"I don't know," he said. Magic… Why was it always magic? Arthur gritted his teeth and took a breath.

"Look, I realize that you and Merlin both expect me to flip out the moment someone breathes the word 'magic', but I'm not my father. Can you please just tell me? I need to know what's going on." Gaius' eyes strayed to the car.

"I don't know what Morgause did to him, Arthur. It would take someone far more knowledgeable about magic than I to help him," the physician said heavily. Arthur clenched his fists. Merlin was laid out in the back seat, still shivering as Gwaine and Percival tucked every scrap of clothing—sweaters, jackets, a blanket from the back of the car—around him in a futile attempt to warm him up. If anything, Merlin looked paler than before. The words came to him slowly—hesitant but firm.

"You spoke to the Druids," he said. "Years ago—when Mordred was in the neighborhood. I know. I saw the man who came to pick Mordred up."

"Yes… but I have no way of contacting them right now," he said. There, finally, was the raw edge Arthur recognized—the pain reflected in his darkened gray eyes. It reminded him of Gaius as he had been years ago when Merlin had been poisoned in Camelot… poisoned and dying… like now. Stabbed by a man who had intended to assassinate Arthur. The irony struck him keenly. Now, just as at that time, the problem had been one of magic… and the solution appeared to be in magic as well.

Arthur took a breath. How many times had he violated his every teaching about magic this month? How many of his father's rules had he callously broken… And yet… His eyes strayed to the car—to Percival and Gwaine speaking together in an undertone. He'd done it before. He'd allowed magical people to help him. He'd helped them. Mordred, Balinor, Brigid… and Iseldir. All four of them had proven safe, trustworthy people who had offered him help in the direst of times. But then… he'd also trusted Morgana—believed that she was a trustworthy person. He'd never seen through his father's deceptions about his birth… What did that say about his judgment? Arthur turned and paced a few steps, turned back, looked restlessly from the car to Gaius.

"What will happen," he asked, "If we don't do anything for Merlin?" The look in Gaius' eyes told him his answer before the physician spoke.

"I don't know." The blond clenched his hands into fists. This was his own fault. His fault: because Merlin had once again thrown himself in front of a bullet meant for Arthur. Because he had left Merlin to die. Because Merlin had been at his side since this whole hellish experience started… and he should have sent the man away safe long ago. He drew in a long, deep breath.

"Then we find someone who does know," he decided.

"Arthur—"

"I know where to find the Druids," Arthur cut in. "They'll help us. They told us where to find Balinor—"

"This isn't about the Druids." Gaius' expression turned grim. "Whatever is going on, you can't be here. They left Merlin alive for a reason. It has to be a trap—"

"If it's a trap, then it's too late for all of us. I'll have to take that risk," Arthur said tersely. And if there was any chance—any chance at all—that this was a trap… there was no way he could risk going back to his uncle's to speak with Guinevere. Not if it might risk her safety. He closed his eyes, swallowing down the wave of anxiety that washed over him at the thought. She would be sick with worry over him. And now he had no way to tell her where he'd gone or why… But she would be safe. That was what really mattered. "Just… do whatever you can for him," he said roughly, though he knew in truth he didn't need to tell Gaius that. He steeled himself and turned back to the car. "Percival, I need your phone."

Please let me remember the number right… please… Arthur turned with his back to the car where the other three were huddled, speaking in low voices. He might not answer… The thought left Arthur feeling sick and dizzy. He wouldn't know what to do if he couldn't reach the Professor. But he would. He had to. Sellers had answered his door at an odd hour of the morning after all. Arthur clutched the mobile phone tight, listening to it ring once, twice, three times…

"Hello?" The voice sounded right.

"Professor Sellers?" Arthur breathed. He slouched lower against the car as the headlights came on. Percival was starting the heat inside.

"I'm sorry—who is this?" Arthur chewed his lip, indecisive.

"It's Arthur." A heartbeat of silence followed, and he pressed on quickly. "I'm sorry... need your help. It's my friend Merlin. He's… something's really wrong with him. We ran into a sorceress, and…" He stopped to breathe. He was beginning to shiver himself from the adrenaline still coursing through his body. His free hand was trembling, and he tucked it into his pocket. "Merlin was shot, but I… I don't think that's what's really wrong with him. The wound's not bleeding anymore. He's cold—really cold. He can barely talk, but he kept saying it was cold and talking some nonsense about magic. I think he's… I don't know. I think he's cursed. I don't know what she did to him—"

"Arthur," Iseldir quietly broke into his anxious, rambling explanation. "Are you alright? You weren't hurt?"

"No…" Arthur's throat tightened. No… I ran away. He clenched his teeth. "I'm fine. I got out, but I went back for Merlin…" He faltered. "I don't know what to do," he admitted finally, managing to get his thoughts and breathing under control again. This was not a time to panic.

"Where are you?"

"I can't… I can't tell you that." Arthur bit his lip. He couldn't say that out loud. Not if it was possible for the line to be tapped. After all, Morgause no doubt knew he was with Percival, considering she'd been the one who released him and Lancelot. She might even be able to trace his mobile right now. He shuddered. "Please. I need help." Please understand… Please.

"Alright. We'll find a way to help him." Sellers' voice was quiet but firm. Arthur took a breath. "Can you come to the place I told you of before—where you and Merlin went to find help last time?" Arthur let out a choked breath. Dartmoor. That's at least a four hour drive… At least Iseldir had the discernment to tell him a destination that wasn't plain speech. For that he was grateful. If anyone would understand the need for secrecy, it would be Iseldir—a man who had hidden an entire community of people for years.

"Yeah. Yeah. I can do that," he said tightly. The last thing he wanted to do was drag Iseldir into this mess and get them all killed. At least this way, if he was being watched at this very moment, he would be intercepted on the way, and Iseldir and the rest of the refugee community would be safe. But he had to try. Merlin wouldn't stand a chance if he didn't at least try to do this.

"Will Merlin make it that far?"

"I think so," Arthur whispered. Merlin wasn't dying. He wasn't. He would have to make it that far.

"I'll meet you there," Iseldir said.

"Thank you," Arthur said weakly before he heard the click of the call ending.

Arthur ducked back into the car and passed the phone back to Percival.

"Take the battery and SIM card out. We can't have anyone tracking the signal," he ordered brusquely. "How is he?" he asked the American in the back seat across from him. Gwaine had managed to prop Merlin between himself and Gaius, though the dark haired man looked as pale as ever, despite the pile of clothing and blankets. Gwaine looked up from his charge and shook his head.

"Nothing new. Shivering. Quiet." Arthur shrugged his own jacket off and stuffed it into Gaius's hands.

"The place we're going belongs to a man who practices magic… He's a Druid. I've spoken with him before, and he's a peaceful man—he and his friends. If you choose to come with me I would swear on my life that he won't hurt any of us. Percival, Gwaine, I don't know your personal feelings on the matter, but this may be the only way to help Merlin. If you're uncomfortable—if either of you has concerns—I completely understand, and you are not obligated to come." Gwaine instantly scoffed.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I'm not going to leave now." Arthur inclined his head slightly with a surge of gratitude towards Gwaine.

"You know this man?" Percival asked, looking thoughtfully at him. Arthur glanced at Gaius. We both do. He nodded, and the words came more naturally than he had expected.

"He's helped me before. I trust him." He caught the questioning look from Gaius, but he really wasn't in the mood to explain right now.

"Whatever you think is best, Arthur," Percival responded. "I trust you." Some of the tension wound up inside his chest loosened. Arthur exhaled a small, shaky breath, and nodded to Percival.

"Thank you."

He put the car in gear and pulled out of the little alley, consciously trying to calm his frayed nerves with each shift he made. He kept the sun-visor down to shield part of his face and began weaving his way through the city streets, heading for the open freeway. He had an almost full tank of petrol. If he put the pedal to the floor, they could make it all the way to Dartmoor without stopping.

Without the mobile phone, Arthur lost track of time long before he reached the winding streets to the tiny neighborhood across from Spinster's Rock. His head was beginning to ache—a combination of sleep deprivation and stress. Perhaps the adrenaline was finally wearing off. The car's tank was nearing empty when he reached the run-down old road that cut across the moorland. But it didn't matter. Arthur slowed down to a cautious pace as he turned onto the final run-down road and scanned the sides, thankful that his memory had served him well once again.

"That's the house," Arthur changed the headlights to low beams and shifted the car into neutral. He couldn't help feeling apprehensive himself with Gaius' warning lingering in the back of his mind. Morgause and Morgana had left both Gaius and Merlin behind after all, and why was anyone's guess. It couldn't mean anything good. Perhaps… perhaps they had thought their curse would kill Merlin. He twisted about to peer into the back seat. Merlin might have been unconscious; he couldn't tell. He didn't stop to check.

"Wait here," he said, reaching for the door handle.

"Arthur," Percival's voice intoned, sharp and wary. Arthur turned in a moment and saw both the approaching figure in the semi-darkness of the morning and also Percival's hand reaching for the small handgun. He'd handed it the former soldier when they got back to the car. A tiny, relieved chuckle escaped Arthur's throat, and he stopped Percival with a touch on the shoulder. "It's alright. He's a friend."

The curly-haired teenager, breathless but wide-eyed and earnest, stopped by the car as Arthur opened the door.

"Iseldir's waiting for you," Mordred said, shuffling back to make room for Arthur to step out. "Can I help?" Arthur exhaled.

"Merlin can't walk. Do we have to—" He gestured towards the other side of the road where the ancient dolmen stood. Mordred shook his head.

"Iseldir's lifted the wards. You can just bring him into the house on this side of the street." Gwaine was already climbing out of the car, and Mordred sucked in a sharp breath. Merlin looked pale and wan, almost completely limp, held up only by Gwaine, Percival, and Gaius as they lifted him out. Merlin's eyes were unfocused, if open, and he was still wrapped clumsily in multiple coats and blankets. Arthur hurriedly turned to help gather Merlin up off the ground. Even the shivering had stopped now. It made Arthur's gut twist again. Mordred didn't need long to see what was needed. He came to Arthur's side in an instant to help support Merlin.

"This way," he directed, steering them in the direction of the first house.

At the porch of the house and inside were several people alert and clearly expecting them—Brigid among them—some faces both younger and older that Arthur didn't know. He remembered the young blond woman from their last visit—the one who had been staring at him and Merlin when they left with Mordred. She wasn't there. Some others were standing in the shadow just outside the pale porch-light. He couldn't see any of them well in the darkness amidst the other gathering Druids.

Iseldir was the only one that mattered. The silver-haired professor was at the doorway when Arthur reached it. He ushered them in to the first bedroom in the hallway of the small house.

"Lay him down on the bed." Percival and Gaius let go and moved aside to let Arthur and Gwaine settle Merlin where Iseldir directed.

"Mordred, go find Balinor," the Druid ordered. Mordred left the room instantly, and Iseldir knelt beside the bed, placing a hand on Merlin's chest. Arthur realized what was happening a split second before the Druid began murmuring quiet, foreign words. He saw the golden gleam of the Druid's eyes and the almost imperceptible response of Merlin's body, shivering again and stirring.

Arthur held himself in place, frozen in mute fear and fascination, until Iseldir rose again and turned to him. Arthur was aware that his own body was drawn taut as a bowstring, but he couldn't help it. He'd never actually willingly stood and watched magic performed like this… He wasn't sure if it felt wrong or not—if it felt like… anything at all out of the usual. That scared him almost as much as everything else he'd experienced in the day.

"What happened? What's wrong with him?" he demanded in a tense voice. The Druid shook his head, and Arthur's heart plummeted.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. You'll have to ask Merlin yourself," he said.What the hell does that mean?

"Can you help him?" Arthur persisted, clenching his fists. I didn't come this far to watch him die.

"Perhaps." It wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. Arthur gritted his teeth.

"He's breathing! A bullet wound to the leg doesn't kill people. There must be something—"

"Arthur," Iseldir interrupted. Arthur stiffened. "I will do everything in my power to help him, but right now I need to speak with some of the others who live here and may know more of this curse than I." Arthur's fingers dug into his palm, and he stared mutely at Merlin. "We're going to take care of him." The reassurance felt a little empty. Arthur's gaze lingered. Merlin looked pathetically small under the bundle of blankets and coats. Small, still, and pale. He nodded jerkily. Iseldir's hand touched his shoulder briefly before the man turned and was gone from the room along with Gaius.

Arthur edged hesitantly forward and sat down in a chair he moved over to the bed, slowly, as if he almost expected either the chair or Merlin to move if he approached.

"Arthur?" The murmur made him start. Merlin's eyes were open again, and he tried to turn on his side and get his arms under him to push himself up. "Wh… where are we?" he rasped. Arthur clamped a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back into the pillows ignoring his question. He didn't know how to explain their trip to Dartmoor.

"Lie still. You're hurt," he said flatly, wishing Gaius hadn't left the room too. Gaius would know what to say so Merlin didn't panic or something ridiculous like that. Arthur himself didn't really know how to deal with an injured person. But at least it seemed that Iseldir's spell had done something. Merlin looked marginally more aware than the last time he spoke. "Wha'… what happened?" Merlin mumbled. "You and Gwen, and… Leon—?"

"I'm fine. Everyone's fine. Quit worrying," Arthur said bluntly. Silence fell. For a moment, Merlin's eyes closed and Arthur thought he'd drifted to sleep again. He heard footsteps in the hall and glanced up to see Gwaine hovering by the doorway. Outside the room, Iseldir's voice was audible speaking to someone else—perhaps Gaius.

"Am I a dead man?" Merlin asked hoarsely. Arthur's head snapped back around.

"You're not going to die, Merlin. Don't be such a coward," he growled. He bit his lip angrily, and his chest felt like it was being clenched in a vice-grip again.

"If I do die…" Arthur turned a scowling expression on Merlin. The man wasn't paying attention, eyes half closed again. "Would you call me a hero then?"

"Probably." Arthur rolled his eyes and quashed the surge of unease.

"But… till then I'm a coward." Arthur shrugged.

"I'm afraid that's how these things go. You get the glory when you're not around to appreciate it," he said, avoiding Merlin's eyes.

"'Cept you. How come you get all the credit?" Merlin's voice trailed off a little. Arthur turned back to look at him.

"There have to be some perks to being me," he said bitterly. As if he'd actually wanted the media attention. It put him and everyone he cared about in danger. And now he had no way of giving any further media statements even if he'd wanted to keep that contact. Merlin's lips twitched in a thin smile.

"You've got me," he offered. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he deadpanned. Merlin shrugged, but his smile faded almost as soon as it appeared, and he closed his eyes and drew in a small, hitching breath. Arthur tucked his arms over his chest, watching the faint rise-and-fall of Merlin's chest. He's not dying. He's not. He ground his teeth and forced the thought away. It was a bullet. Just a bullet. It would heal…

"I do," he said at last, tucking his arms over his chest. "I have a friend who's extremely brave and incredibly loyal… and to be honest, not at all cowardly." He bit down on his cheek. "And… I'd rather not see him take any more bullets for me, okay?"

"Who says I did it for you, prat?" Merlin mumbled. A tiny hint of his familiar cheekiness gleamed in his weary blue eyes before he closed them again. Arthur didn't answer. He reached out to squeeze Merlin's shoulder again.

"Yeah, well Gwen and Leon don't want you to either." Merlin gave a little huff in response. He seemed to be losing consciousness again, turning his face against the pillow, still half-buried under the blankets. Arthur welcomed the silence that followed. He could still fairly hear his heart thumping in his chest. He shut his eyes.

"Arthur." Arthur turned. His memory took a moment to catch up with the voice speaking from the doorway. Gwaine had gone, but in his place another man stood whose footsteps Arthur had heard approaching. He sat up straighter and stared at the newcomer.

Balinor appeared to have aged a decade since Arthur had last seen him. It reminded Arthur of something Merlin had mentioned in passing after their first encounter with the man. He'd said Balinor was ill. Arthur could tell now. Just in the dim lighting, he could see the lines etched into the older man's face, and he noted the tired set of Balinor's shoulders and figure.

"May I have a moment?" the dragon lord asked. Arthur slowly stood up. Iseldir had sent for Balinor, and Arthur remembered what Merlin had said of the man: that he'd healed Arthur some time ago after the encounter with the dragon. Arthur's shoulder, now with full range of motion and recovered skin, was proof of the dragon lord's healing abilities. Arthur nodded and backed away.

"Of course," he said, though his voice betrayed his reluctance. He retreated to the doorway, but hesitated as Balinor crossed the room with stiff, heavy tread and sank into it with a grunt. Merlin stirred beneath the heavy pile of blankets. He might have been unconscious again; Arthur couldn't tell. He'd seemed to drift off time and again ever since they found him at the wrecked building.

Balinor sat in silence looking at the man, then he leaned forward and stretched out a hand, palm down. His hand didn't touch Merlin's chest where Iseldir had cast the first spell. He didn't speak any words. Arthur didn't note any light or glow he'd often come to associate with magic. Instead, Balinor's fingers touched Merlin's forehead gently and brushed his dark, tousled hair back. His hand rested there over Merlin's head, as though in silent benediction. It was tentative, uncertain, but above all, the set of his figure, the movement of his hand… all of it spoke of a gentle concern… affection even, that seemed utterly out of place from the hand of the hardened, bitter man Arthur had met not so long ago.

A pair of tired blue eyes blinked open once again, and as Balinor withdrew his hand Arthur quickly moved back, out of sight of the doorway.

"Merlin." It seemed a little more than a greeting. Arthur wasn't sure what the trace of emotion in Balinor's voice was—perhaps teasing almost… In response, Merlin hummed a drowsy acknowledgement of the address. From his place around the corner, Arthur heard Balinor's voice continue, low and soft. "This isn't quite what I had in mind when I said you should come back to visit." Arthur hadn't been aware of any such arrangement. He blinked. Merlin's voice, slurred and drowsy, responded something vaguely resembling 'sorry', and Balinor laughed.

Arthur stepped back, away from the room, and slipped noiselessly out of the hall. There was no question in his mind; that scene was not meant for his eyes. Nonetheless, he couldn't get it out of his head. He'd had no idea Merlin and the dragon lord had fostered such a relationship in the mere two days they'd been acquainted. In truth, he'd found Balinor to be a rough, sharp-tongued, somewhat uncouth man, so very unlike Merlin that he couldn't understand what would draw the two to one another at all… yet here he'd seen proof beyond all doubt that not only was there some tie between them, inexplicable as that seemed… but there was also something more to Balinor that he hadn't seen: something Merlin had drawn out.

Outside, the small refuge community—village or whatever it might be—was still alive with activity. Lights had come on in the next-door houses, and Arthur heard quiet voices conversing nearby. Judging from his and Merlin's reception the first time, he guessed that visitors were none too common here. He dropped into a chair in the living room and pressed his palms against his eyes wearily. Percival had settled on the couch across from him and closed his eyes. His open exhaustion reminded Arthur of the meeting which suddenly seemed an eternity ago—Guinevere's reappearance, then Percival and Lance who had both been abused by Morgause Fox … For a fleeting moment, he'd thought things might be alright again. They'd all been safe and together again… He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a shaky breath. Nothing made sense anymore. His protection at the hands of Rodor had been stripped away. Morgause and Morgana were using people like tools against him at every turn from Lance to Merlin… And Merlin himself—Merlin who was accustomed to skitter out of the room at the first mention of the word 'magic'—had apparently grown comfortable enough to feel safe in the presence of the dragon lord… He'd even fostered some kind of strange friendship with Balinor. Or so it seemed.

Arthur wasn't sure whether he dozed off or not. The floorboards creaked in the hall as people passed the living room. Voices murmured somewhere nearby. They faded into the background. Arthur's eyes were closed, his thoughts wandering from Merlin, sick and pale, to Guinevere left behind in Camelot, no doubt to be both angry and upset when she woke. And he wished fervently that she were here, leaning against him, her breath ticking the hair round his ear, reassuring, comforting… safe. That he hadn't left her so distraught… that he could reach her right now—tell her that Merlin was alive and that they were taking care of him.

"Arthur?" He opened one eye and squinted at the speaker. Mordred was back, standing restlessly before him with a steaming mug in his hands. Arthur sat up to take it, trying to force the image of Gwen's face out of his mind. "What happened?" Mordred's expression was dark with worry. "Your friend Gwaine… he told me Morgana did this." Arthur gripped the mug and shook his head.

"I don't know what happened. I wasn't there," he said through his teeth.

"I saw the media reports about her—that she was…" Mordred paused, looking almost guilty, and didn't finish the thought. "I don't understand. Why would she do something like this—"

"Mordred," Arthur cut over him. "I don't want to talk about her right now." Mordred blinked at him, and Arthur heaved himself wearily to his feet and left the teenager silently staring after him.

Silence dragged out for an eternity in the small home. The murmur of Balinor's voice quieted shortly after Arthur settled in the living room again. Mordred had gone still too, perched on the opposite end of the couch from Percival, asleep perhaps, with his head rested on the arm of the couch, as though watching out the window. Iseldir and Gaius had gone as well, perhaps to speak to Brigid or whoever else lived in the little neighborhood… perhaps another friend of Gaius' or some old acquaintance of Arthur's. Arthur had run into enough familiar faces that he wondered if anything would surprise him at this point. In the back of his mind, he wondered detachedly where Gwaine had gotten off to, but Guinevere, Merlin, Balinor, Gaius… every name and scenario filtered through his thoughts until they faded away into a fitful sleep.

Down the hall, the door opened, and Arthur started awake, his thoughts blurred with a thousand different faces and voices, and blinked rapidly at his surroundings. Pale rays of light were just starting to creep in through the window past the sofa where Percival was still sound asleep, Mordred on the opposite end with his back to Arthur and the rest of the room.

"'Nother car just showed up," Gwaine explained, appearing from the adjoining kitchen, squint eyed in the pale sunrise, his dark hair sticking up as if he'd just woken. Mordred was leaning his forehead listlessly against the windowpane, half-slumped over the back of the couch, but he perked up all at once, sleep-glazed eyes lighting with sudden energy.

"She's here!" he cried, scrambling to his feet.

"What… who?" Arthur stared at him, but before he could ask further, the younger man was out the door in a flash, darting towards the road where the pale headlights were shining.

Arthur padded out onto the porch of the small house with Gwaine close behind him and shielded his eyes with a hand as he turned towards the road, looking into rising sunlight where a car had parked a little ways down the road beyond his uncle's car. Iseldir was outside too, alert and dressed, and Gaius stood at his side—another odd reminder of how closely tied Merlin's uncle was with the Druid community.

Arthur made out Mordred's figure returning shortly with a companion: a woman, shorter than Mordred by a head at least, her hair pulled back in a neat bun. Arthur drew in a breath, eyes opening wide. It can't be. He recognized her almost the moment her face came into the porch-light, and her face lit with a smile when she caught sight of Gaius.

"Hunith." Iseldir extended a hand in greeting. Arthur stood frozen. "Welcome. Thank you for coming." Had Iseldir contacted her about Merlin? Arthur blinked. He didn't think it was even possible to get a flight so quickly. It took at least a day to get an Irish Viaticus approved for travel.

"Thank you for contacting me," Hunith answered quietly. "How is he? Has it gotten any worse?" The gray-haired Druid shook his head.

"No, he's doing well. Hunith, I'm sorry. I tried to contact you while you were traveling. He's with your son. Merlin is unwell." Arthur's thoughts jarred to a halt. His sentiment seemed to register just as sharply with Hunith who stiffened.

"Merlin? Merlin is here too?" She turned to Gaius. "What happened?" Gaius put a hand on her arm, but whatever reassurance he was about to offer was lost. Hunith's eye had caught on Arthur who stood in the shadow of the doorway. "Arthur?" Her voice rose in astonishment. Arthur didn't move.

It had been right before his eyes the whole time, and suddenly dozens of pieces slotted into place with a certainty that startled him: Balinor's own statements about his past; his 'home in Ireland' and the woman he loved there—the woman whom he had never married; Balinor's question to Merlin: 'You took your mother's last name?' Merlin's strange behavior in the dragon incident; his unusual connection with the dragon lord, especially his defensiveness for the man; Balinor's hand on Merlin's forehead; their comfortable banter; Hunith's prompt arrival. He's with your son.

It wasn't just coincidence. It wasn't luck. This was how Merlin had known that they needed to search for a dragon lord. This was why Iseldir had known who Merlin was before Arthur introduced him. This was how Merlin had been able to find their way into the Druid refuge by circling the dolmen. This was why Merlin got so uncomfortable when anyone talked about magic.

Hunith hadn't come to see Merlin; she hadn't even known Merlin was there. Hunith Astur had come to see Balinor: the father of her son.

AN2: It's... not exactly a cliffhanger... right?

I certainly won't provide any chapters between now and April 10th, because I have to defend my thesis and write a term paper for anthropology. But I'll try to provide one soon after that... try being the operative word. *cough*

Anyway... how much of all that did you expect? Arthur going to the Druids, Hunith appearing, and putting the pieces together... I bet didn't expect that one, did you now?

Leave a review to make my day! :) I promise to answer any and all questions! Answers may or may not be very vague though.

Cheers!

Sandyy

PS: Guest, I hope your comps went well!