Hello friends!

Yes, it's been quite a while since I last posted… guilty as charged. I apologize again. But since I'm back, here's your regular dose of unsolicited news about my life. My defense actually went really well—much less scary than expected. My committee of profs was very friendly-and my advisor was there of course, which was very encouraging. They chatted and joked with me before we started. By the time I got up to speak, I felt relaxed and confident! I'm very pleased with the honors I received. It's a good semester for me!

In other news, I will be spending the month of August in Hamburg, Germany in an intensive 4 week language program. If all goes as planned, I will start my first quarter in California by passing my German fluency test! fingers crossed*

Anyway, that's enough about my life. Again, I'm sorry the chapter is late and a bit rushed (seems to be the usual for me by now), but I realized it had been over a month since I posted, so wanted to get something to you guys soon! On the bright side, it's longer than usual. ;)

ENJOY! And thanks for reading!

The pale morning rays that had greeted Hunith's arrival had long since broadened to a golden glow of sunlight spread across the green Dartmoor fields—full noon daylight.

It was an idyllic place he had chosen, Hunith reflected, resting a hand on the doorframe. Neither of them had slept, but her eyes and mind were fully alert. There had been questions—questions about Merlin, his health, past… his magic. They'd spoken. Both of them were restless and anxious. Her mind wandered continually back to the small room down the hall. But for the moment, they had a respite—just this moment. And there were many things she needed to know as well.

She traced the edge of the screen door with her fingers. She pushed the door open quietly and stepped out onto the porch. Balinor turned his head and lowered the cigarette.

"I wasn't going to say anything," she said, watching him crush it out. He lifted his shoulders.

"I know." He leaned forward, resting his hands on the rail, and closed his eyes. She moved forward to stand beside him. It seemed like an eternity ago that their relationship had been something they both understood. So much had changed—not least the person who constituted a common purpose for them now: a common worry. Yet that wasn't why she'd come at first… Perhaps she'd assumed too much to think that he would want her here? That she could help?

"What have they said?" she asked. He opened his eyes just enough to peer sideways at her. "About you," she clarified. His shoulders hunched a little. He turned his face away and shook his head.

"Maybe four months now," he answered at last. She twisted her hands together. That little. "You didn't have to come, Hunith." She consciously relaxed her body and laced her fingers carefully together. Twenty years. It had been more than twenty years. Perhaps he wouldn't want her here any longer. She drew in a breath.

"If there's anything I can do to help—anything at all… I'd like to stay." He looked at her. "Whatever time we have is worthwhile to me." He bowed his head.

"Thank you," he said quietly. She watched him a minute longer, still and pensive. It wasn't an answer one way or the other.

"There are ways we could get treatment for you," she ventured. Hesitant, she stretched out a hand and let her fingers rest lightly on his sleeve. "If we could get you out of England, to America—"

"Hunith," he interrupted. She moved to withdraw her hand, but he covered it with his own. "There's nothing we can do. If I had access to treatment from today on, it might prolong my life another few months, and that's the best-case scenario. You know that." She did. She let the words hang in the air for a moment, then she took his hand between hers.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She raised her head. There was a hint of a smile in his eyes. "I never expected to see you again. I certainly never thought I'd have a son. As you say, whatever time I have left… at least now it will be worth something to me." Hunith's throat tightened. There was nothing more she could say. He turned his hand to cup hers, and his thumb brushed over the back of her hand. "You haven't aged a day." She laughed aloud and tried halfheartedly to retrieve her hand from his grip.

"I don't remember having so many gray hairs at thirty." She pulled back to give him a reproachful look, but he kept a gentle grasp on her hand, smiling back now.

"I don't think the gray hair mars your looks," he replied mildly. "I meant you, Hunith." She stilled to look curiously at him. "It couldn't have been easy—you alone with Merlin. But I knew as soon as I met him, you hadn't let circumstances change you." He released her hand and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"It's not your fault," she said. "You couldn't have known when you left. Even I didn't."

"I know… I'm still sorry for what I missed."

"I'll fill you in." She smiled. Tentative, he reached an arm up around her shoulders, and she wordlessly moved closer. It was shy, hesitant, as thought they were getting to know one another for the first time again. Yet they were living on borrowed time. It was fortunate they were here at all, and there were things that had to be said now—to be asked, regardless of what she wished. "I was hoping…" She paused, faltering. "That you might be able to fill me in a little too." She sighed. "Merlin has scared the life out of me a few times before… but I think this trouble found him." She turned to look at him. "Do you know what's happening? What did Merlin get himself involved in?" He shook his head ever so slightly.

"Merlin didn't ask for any of this." He withdrew his arm and leaned on the rail. "Hunith I only know what the Druids have told me—mostly what the boy Mordred tells me. A lot of it is very vague." Hunith folded her hands.

"But?" she prompted. He looked down at his hands.

"The Druids have long held faith in a prophecy passed down through the generations. No one knows quite how old it is any longer. They believe that it is finally coming to pass. Merlin…" He turned towards her. "You are no doubt aware that he is unusual." How often I have wished that he wasn't… Hunith nodded. "He is exceptional, even among those who live here," Balinor clarified. He stopped and looked towards the door—a gesture Hunith knew all too well. They were still alone. "The Druids call him Emrys," he continued quietly. "They believe that he is the most powerful warlock ever to walk the earth." Hunith took a breath. The words made her skin prickle with unease. "The prophecy says that a young leader of the common people will rise together with Emrys. It is said that the two will bring peace at last between common people and sorcerers."

"And the Druids really believe…" Hunith turned a worried look on Balinor. Merlin had the strength and courage. She didn't doubt it. But the thought worried her for Merlin's sake. He had already carried such a burden in his secret and his struggle to hide it, to live safely, to find his place in the world.

"Not only the Druids," he answered. Who else…?

"But they're sure that it's Merlin?"

"So it seems," Balinor said. Her heart sank. Oh, Merlin…

"And the other member of the prophecy?" she asked slowly. His eyes turned towards the house once more, and she followed his gaze.

"The Pendragon." Arthur's blond head was visible at the edge of the window. He was speaking with the American just inside. "He doesn't know a thing about the prophecy, of course," Balinor added quietly. It made her heart heavy nonetheless. As if Merlin and Arthur hadn't faced enough already in the last month—more even than she knew.

"Do you believe it?" she asked. There followed a pause. Balinor's brows drew together in a pensive expression.

"I've never set any stock in those tales. They've done precious little good for sorcerers over the ages."

"Some prophecies are self fulfilling," she observed. He nodded slightly.

"Perhaps… I don't think Merlin believes it though." Another pause. "But there have been many changes since Merlin appeared here. And I do believe there may be something to the Druids' faith in him."

"It's a lot of weight to place on his shoulders… a lot of expectation." Hunith said. She knew her disapproval manifested in her voice. She couldn't help a spark of resentment towards the Druids for letting Merlin hear such a prophecy about him—for expressing such expectations to one so very young.

"Perhaps something they should have kept quiet," Balinor said, as if he'd been listening to her thoughts. "I can't fix that mistake." He shifted. "But whatever the prophecy may symbolize… Merlin certainly has the potential—the strength of character to live up to it. That I can believe." Hunith bit her lip. "What seemed ludicrous to me was the Druids' claims about the Pendragon."

"Arthur," Hunith corrected him quietly.

"Arthur," Balinor acknowledged, inclining his head a little. "But he is Uther's son, Hunith." She raised her head to look at him, a touch of protectiveness springing up in her at the statement—for Arthur who had striven so hard to be his own man: to stand for himself alone. But Balinor stilled her protest with a hand on her wrist: a gentle request for her attention. "Arthur was raised to fear and hate magic. No son of Uther's could grow up differently. You know that. And when Arthur came the first time, he was here to beg for protection against the dragon. It was something I wouldn't have put past Uther. I had little to go on." Hunith shook her head quietly in turn, and his hand moved to rest on her shoulder as his tone changed. "But I saw the way Arthur turned to Merlin each time he questioned me—the way he listened to Merlin's advice. It seems that Arthur was—at least with Merlin—willing to hear the counterarguments. To consider other possibilities from those his father taught him." He turned his head, and Hunith followed his gaze to the blond head of hair still visible over the back of the couch. "It seems that Merlin has done the impossible." He convinced the son of Uther Pendragon to trust sorcery. She nodded quietly. There could be no other explanation. Arthur had brought Merlin here of his own volition, in secrecy, accompanied only by friends. He had placed Merlin's life and the safety of himself and his friends squarely in the hands of known sorcerers. Arthur himself might not have fully realized it, but he had made a choice.

"He convinced Arthur to trust sorcery," Hunith amended. "Arthur is his own man."

"That he is," Balinor agreed. A pause. Hunith watched Arthur disappear around the corner, following his two companions, with the young Druid Mordred following behind them. "They may not have turned an entire country," Balinor observed, "But they've both done something remarkable."

"A prophecy could mean a number of things. Perhaps they were only meant to set things in motion," Hunith suggested.

"Perhaps." He looked away from her again, out at the silent road. "Or perhaps it was no more than a tale we told our children to give them hope." She curled her fingers around his hand and smiled.

"Would that be such a bad thing?" she asked. He chuckled.

"He's so very like you. Always hopeful."

"There is always something to hope for," she replied.

Close behind them, the porch door opened.

"Hunith." She turned. "Merlin's awake." Gaius looked between them briefly. Hunith released Balinor's hand and nodded to him with a grateful smile.

"I'll be right there." Gaius nodded in return, a faint gleam of amusement appearing in his gray eyes, and shut the door quietly.

"I'll go." Balinor's hand settled on her shoulder again, stopping her. She turned to give him a questioning look. "You've been travelling. You're exhausted. You need food and rest."

"Merlin—"

"Has kept you awake many more nights than he has me," Balinor interrupted. "Get some food and rest. Just for a few minutes. You look like you need it." Hunith opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, and she recognized the sparkle in his dark eyes as he spoke again, steering her back from the door. "Hunith, he's not an infant. He can cope without you for a few hours. I can even probably even manage to feed him without your help." Despite herself, she found her lips twitching upwards. "Get some rest," he insisted, releasing her. She put a hand on his arm.

"If anything is wrong—if anything changes—"

"I'll let you know," he promised. She stood reluctant for a moment, then withdrew her hand.

"Thank you." She somewhat reluctantly let him go and stood quiet as he stepped inside. He stopped to speak with Mordred who reappeared around the corner, then Balinor vanished down the hall after Gaius.

The restless air of the small house seemed to have crept into the Druid boy Mordred as well. He was attentive, offering Hunith whatever food he could find in the kitchen and hovering from time-to-time nearby. He was keeping half an eye on the guests in the living room. Percival and Gwaine had acquired a tablet, and she could hear their voices murmuring quietly. Mordred turned with the mug of tea water he'd heated clasped between both hands and moved to block a newcomer reaching the room.

"Arthur." The blond, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen, gave Mordred a weary and almost exasperated look. "You have to talk to her. She's not… she couldn't have wanted to hurt him. There must be some mistake. She probably needs help—"

"She tried to kill me," Arthur told him. "If that was a mistake, it was a pretty damn spectacular one."

"Maybe she's been enchanted. She might have—"

"She's not enchanted." Arthur's voice was laced with irritation. "She has magic, Mordred." The boy blinked at Arthur, and Hunith's heart ached a little for him. He didn't make a response to the accusation. He put the mug he was holding in front of Hunith and left the room.

"So does Mordred," Hunith said. Arthur didn't look at her. He turned his back to her and stared intently at the kettle on the stove. He was easily as restless as Mordred. She'd seen the beginnings of recognition in Arthur's face as soon as she'd spotted him on arrival. His silent retreat into the house had told her more than she needed to know. "You wanted to ask me something," she prompted gently when Arthur made no sign of moving. He turned his head, though still not looking her in the eye.

"You didn't know Merlin was here." It wasn't framed as a question. But she answered it nonetheless.

"I came to see a friend," she agreed. Arthur's eyes flitted to her face then away again.

"A Druid?" Hunith smiled slightly at the question and the trace of challenge in Arthur's voice.

"I think you know." He looked up again, cautious, almost guilty. "You can ask what you want to know. It's alright." Arthur shifted.

"You already knew Balinor, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"You knew he was a dragon lord too?" She hadn't realized that Arthur knew that too. It caught her off guard for a heartbeat. But Arthur's expression and voice hadn't changed. She nodded.

"I knew that too."

"And Merlin?" There, Hunith surmised, was the root of the problem.

"Merlin knew no more about this than you did. I never even told him his father's name. It wasn't safe. Perhaps Balinor recognized Merlin's surname. Or someone else told him. You'll have to ask Merlin that." Arthur didn't respond to that. He ran hand through his hair.

"You always knew? About Balinor… that he's a sorcerer?" he asked. Hunith pursed her lips.

"No. I had known him for some time before he told me."

"It didn't bother you." Arthur's tone implied a statement rather than a question. She lifted her shoulders.

"It shocked me. I took some time to get used to it…" She looked thoughtfully at Arthur's bowed head, his hands tucked in his pockets, his eyes fixed on a scuffmark on the kitchen floor. "It changed things between us," she added at length, "But in a way, it didn't really matter. He was still the same man I'd gotten to know—the same person I came to care about. Nothing changed in who he was."

"You saw nothing wrong in it?"

"No more than you did," Hunith answered. Arthur looked back at her again, eyes narrowing. "There is no evil in sorcery, Arthur. Only in the hearts of men. I think you already believe that. You brought Merlin here for help, didn't you?" she pressed. Arthur's shoulders tensed.

"I didn't have a choice. He was dying," he said roughly.

"You always have a choice," she returned. Arthur didn't meet her eyes this time. He clasped his hands behind his back again, gaze downcast. "Thank you," she added quietly.

"For what?" He flitted a glance up, and she smiled.

"For saving Merlin's life."

Merlin turned on his side and stared hard at the plastic cup on the table beside him. His chest felt hollow, and his stomach was turning nauseating somersaults with every breath.

"It will help with the pain," Balinor said. Merlin's fingers quivered as he spread them, staring at the tablets in his palm. Were his eyes even turning gold, he wondered.

"I don't want them." His voice came out hoarse. He tipped his hand downward and let the pills roll across the little bedside table.

"You're going to need them."

"It's gone," Merlin murmured.

"Gaius told me." Merlin blinked at him. There wasn't even a scrap of surprise or shock in the man's face or tone.

"My magic is gone. I'm crippled," he said through gritted teeth.

"You are not crippled." Balinor's response was firm. "You're suffering the effects of a traumatic injury. Give yourself some time to rest." He took the pills off the table. "And take these. There's no reason for you to be in so much pain right now." Merlin pushed himself up shakily. He stretched out a hand, palm up.

"Look. It's not there!"

"I don't need to see." Balinor caught his hand before he could try anything and pressed the pills into Merlin's palm. "No one can take your magic from you." Merlin jerked his hand back.

"Why? Did Iseldir tell you I'm special? Did he tell that fairy tale about me to you too?" He gritted his teeth over the quiver in his voice.

"No." Balinor remained infuriatingly even-toned and calm. "Kilgarrah told me 'that fairy tale'."

"I'm not Emrys," Merlin said through his teeth.

"I never said you were," Balinor returned.

"I'm not a hero or savior. I'm not an all-powerful sorcerer. Everything—" He stopped to take a breath. "Everything I try to do goes wrong." He curled his hand into a fist round the two smooth pills. Will. Freya. Lancelot. "Everyone I try to help gets hurt." Or killed. "Everything I try to fix gets worse. I'm a nobody. And without my magic, I can't even do anything to help Arthur." He glared down at his fist clenched around the pills. "I'm useless."

"None of that is true," Balinor responded stolidly. "You certainlyare not a nobody." Merlin hunched over, staring miserably at the floor.

"I lost the only thing that made me somebody," he said flatly. "If I can't use my magic… I might as well die."

"That," Balinor said, "Has never been true. Not of you or me or anyone with magic. Your magic does not define you. If it did, Uther might even have been right in his condemnation of sorcery. You mean a great deal to many people. I didn't need to know you long to see that. You have your mother's strength and kindness. That is far more important than any gifts I may have passed to you. You are her son. That would make you important to me, even if you weren't mine." Merlin shook his head wordlessly. "You have friends who brought you here at the risk of their own lives. That ought to tell you something. They didn't bring you because you were useful, or because you had magic."
"They wouldn't have brought me if they had known," Merlin said through his teeth.

Balinor ignored the comment.

"For my own part, the prophecy has nothing to do with what I think of you. It never has. But if you're worried about your magic—if that's what troubles you most, you shouldn't be. It is part of you. You can no more lose it than you could your own heart. You were born with it." Merlin lifted his head enough to squint at the man.

"How do you know that?"

"Your mother told me." Merlin straightened up a little, and Balinor rose stiffly to his feet. "She's here. You may recall that you sent for her. So," Balinor picked up the glass of water on the table beside him. "You haven't quite done everything wrong." Merlin dropped his eyes again, and the cool glass touched the knuckles of his hand. He took it in silence and swallowed the two pills.

"Come on. You've been out for a while. You'll feel better once you're on your feet."

Why he had to move, Merlin didn't understand. But he'd stopped arguing. Balinor seemed determined. Merlin's leg still seared with every clumsy step. He shut his eyes a few steps down the hallway. Damn, damn, damn… He was beginning to wish he'd taken the painkillers several hours ago.

"Merlin!" Gwaine's voice greeted him when he reached the living room. He was quick to rise and take Merlin's weight from Balinor's shoulders. "Feeling better?" Gwaine asked, helping to settle him in an armchair. Merlin shrugged and silently accepted the offered blanket from the American. He shut his eyes, waiting for the pain in his jostled leg to fade down to its usual dull throb.

"I'll bring you something to eat," Balinor said. Merlin bit his lip and responded with a terse nod. He didn't want Gwaine, Arthur, and Percival's full attention for the next five minutes until Balinor and his mother returned with an attempt to coax food into him. He wanted to shrink into himself and disappear.

"Still cold?" Gwaine's voice asked. Merlin shook his head, but pulled his blanket closer round his shoulders nonetheless.

"You okay?" Merlin opened one eye. Gwaine had returned to the table where the tablet sat, but Arthur was on his feet, both arms folded over his chest.

"No," Merlin muttered. Silence followed the pronouncement. A few seconds into the awkward stillness, Merlin lifted his head enough to look back at Arthur's face again, and he suppressed a weary sigh. Arthur's brows were drawn together and his hands were buried deep in his pockets. Evidently he didn't know how to respond. "I got shot," Merlin said finally. "I'm not exactly going to feel okay for a while. I'm… fine."

"You didn't just get shot."

"Let the man rest, Arthur, mate," Gwaine protested. But Merlin's attention was engaged now. He squinted at his friend.

"What?"

"Yesterday," Arthur said. "You were talking about magic. You said it was cold… that the magic was cold." Oh…

"I don't know what I said yesterday, Arthur," Merlin said, turning his head away. Hell… he did not want to talk about magic with Arthur right now. He already felt sick and miserable. "What about the others?" Merlin ventured in a valiant effort to change the subject. "Gwen, Elyan, and Leon?"

"Everyone else is alright. They're back in London with Arthur's uncle." Gwaine supplied. "Rodor's probably caught up with them by now."

"Hmm." Merlin nodded absently to himself. Safe then. Within the room, he heard shuffling. It sounded like Percival, Gwaine, and Arthur were clearing out. They all seemed perturbed, as if worried that Merlin might shatter if they bothered him. The footsteps moved away—towards the kitchen it seemed.

"Merlin." Merlin opened one eye. Scarce a foot from his chair, Arthur shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His lips were drawn in a thin line. He was the only one left. "If anything were to happen to me, you would… You'd make sure Gwen was alright, yeah?" Merlin forced both eyes open and blinked at his friend. Where the hell did that come from?

"'Course I would. She's my friend." He scrubbed a hand over his face. Something was very off about this situation. "Arthur… are you alright?" Arthur straightened a little too abruptly to look relaxed.

"I'm fine," he said. Merlin squinted at him. "I just want her to be safe… and happy in her life. She deserves that." Merlin pushed himself up a little further.

"Nothing's going to happen to you," he said firmly. Arthur was acting just strange enough to stir a touch of energy from him, despite the resurging ache-throb in his leg.

"You don't know that." Arthur's voice acquired an edge. "You almost died." He gestured emphatically at Merlin, and Merlin frowned back. "We could all have been buried in that building. Lance was cursed to get to me. Gwen was captured and held in an attempt to manipulate me. I'm a wanted fugitive as far as Cenred is concerned. There are people who want me dead—who want you dead because you're associated with me."

"You're also a national hero according to the rest of the country," Merlin retorted. "And you'll have their protection the moment you go back. This time Rodor will know what he's up against. And so will we. We'll be more careful." He leaned his head back against the chair. "Arthur, if you want Gwen to be happy, you should take care of yourself. She loves you. Do you really think there's anything I could do to console her if you died?" Arthur pursed his lips, hands tucked in his pockets again.

"I don't…" He shook his head, half frowning. "She… she'd be fine. She's got other people in her life."

"You are a moron." Merlin closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. "That is not the point." Arthur's feet scuffed on the hardwood floor, and a pause followed.

"Just…" He shifted. "Take care of her… And yourself," Arthur added hurriedly. And without further explanation, he retreated, following on the heels of Percival and Gwaine, leaving Merlin alone in a quiet room.

"What's going on with Arthur?" A gentle breeze tugged at Merlin's hair as Hunith crouched to help him climb clumsily out of the car. Hunith drew his arm around her shoulders.

"He has a lot on his mind," she told him. It was about as helpful as the answer to 'where are we going'? and 'why?'. He didn't like it. He hadn't had any interest in leaving the house to start with. But at least between the painkillers and a decent meal, he was beginning to feel steady enough to regain his curiosity, and he knew for certain that something was very strange about the way Arthur was behaving.

Hunith steadied him, and Merlin resignedly let Balinor take his other arm. Much as he needed the support, he didn't particularly like feeling as helpless as he did right now.

"I need to talk to him."

"He'll be there when you come back." Balinor braced him. "There's someone you should meet." Merlin blinked.

"Other Druids live here?"

"Not Druids," Balinor answered evasively.

The warm weather and gentle breeze were soothing to Merlin's frayed nerves. He settled gratefully in the soft grass. Why Balinor would insist on this, he didn't know. He'd already met Kilgarrah.

"Alright?" Hunith rubbed his shoulder. He nodded, and her hand stayed on his shoulder as the dragon appeared, shadowing the three with his dark wings as he lit on the grass before them.

"Hunith." Kilgarrah dipped his head. "It is a pleasure to meet you again."

"Likewise," Hunith replied, smiling.

"Arthur did well bringing you here." Kilgarrah turned his attention on Merlin. "You will both be safe under Iseldir's protection for now. But you should have sent for me."

"I… didn't know I could."

"I am always at your service," Kilgarrah answered. Merlin faltered, lost for words, but Kilgarrah carried on. "Where is the young one?"

"Who?" Merlin asked slowly, drawing out the word as he glanced from Kilgarrah to Balinor, His eyes caught on the latter though, and his brows drew together.

"She's here." Balinor was reaching for Hunith's shoulder with one hand. Both Hunith and the dragon shifted closer, but he waved Kilgarrah aside. "I'm fine," he insisted gruffly. The dragon's worry reflected in Hunith's face, but she only moved a touch closer so she could support Balinor. "Kilgarrah was meant to bring you a message," Balinor told Merlin. "But it seems you reached us first." He looked up towards Kilgarrah and smiled. "There's someone you should meet." Merlin raised his head, and his breath caught in the same heartbeat as he heard Hunith gasp. From the air beside Kilgarrah, a small winged figure glided down towards grass, silken-fine snowy wings straining back as she landed. He stared in mute silence for a moment.

"You… going to tell me what was in those painkillers you gave me?" he asked slowly. Balinor laughed and stiffly knelt down in the grass next to Merlin.

"She's real," he promised, reaching out to her. The tiny creature crossed the grass and climbed up onto his knee to nudge inquiringly at his hand.

"But…" Merlin blinked. "I thought…" He trailed off, turning on Kilgarrah. The great dragon's eyes gleamed.

"It seems," he said, "That I am not the last of my kind after all."

"That's… amazing." Merlin stretched out a hand tentatively, and the dragon ducked out from under Balinor's hand to regard the younger man with lively silver-blue eyes.

"Her name is Aithusa. One of the Druids found her by the lake and brought her back. Though it seems that she was looking for us." Balinor brushed a hand over the tiny dragon's wing, and she jumped back to the ground and made her way over to Merlin and Hunith. Aithusa extended her neck to inspect Merlin's fingertips, sniffed, then inched closer, and to his surprise, nuzzled her snout into his hand. He held his breath. Her skin was smooth and warm to the touch, and she seemed to be humming softly. Despite himself, he smiled down at her.

"Hi…" He felt a little foolish greeting the tiny creature, but she seemed to recognize the personal address. She raised her head, then crept closer and touched his leg gingerly with her nose. Merlin sucked in a breath, but rather than pain, he felt a trickle of gentle warmth seep through his body. He ran a cautious hand over her head and down her back to touch her smooth wings. "Where did she come from?" Kilgarrah shook his head slightly.

"There's no way of telling. Her arrival is hardly the first strange thing to have happened lately. The land is changing, Merlin. No dragons have hatched here for decades. I believe the little one is a good sign for everyone." Balinor settled beside Merlin, and Hunith knelt on his other side, and she offered a hand for Aithusa to inspect.

"Magic is far from dying, Merlin," Balinor added quietly. "You can feel Kilgarrah and Aithusa's presence the same as I can. It is as much a part of you as your own thoughts. The sorcerer who attacked you—what she tried to do was unacceptable, and it might have been effective on another sorcerer. But you are far more than that. You are a warlock and the son of a dragon lord." Merlin fixed his eyes on the little dragon.

"You don't think she did any damage?"

"I didn't say that," Balinor answered. Merlin closed his eyes and swallowed. "But I do believe that you are stronger than the curse she tried to put on you. And your magic is with you, as it as always been. Gaius tells me you've been known to use it even when you weren't aware of it yourself." A light. That's what Gaius had told him. Merlin worried his lip with his teeth absently. It was a long time since then… but he'd made a light. And that same light, according to Arthur, had appeared the day Merlin was dying in hospital and guided him to safety. He turned his hand over, palm-up and shook his head.

"It's not…"

"There's no hurry," Hunith told him quietly. He shut his eyes. There was always pressure. All number of things could happen in a moment when he was helpless and weak. Not only to him, but to Arthur, to Gwen—all the others… He closed his eyes, and something brushed against his arm. Almost unthinking, he turned his hand over to rest it on Aithusa's back, and she pressed her head against his hand.

"There." Balinor's hand rested on his shoulder and squeezed. "You'll be alright." Merlin blinked and opened his eyes, and his heart skipped a beat. Just inches from his fingertips, Aithusa had drawn back and was looking at a small, pale sphere of light.

"We're not alone." Kilgarrah broke the moment with a quiet warning. Merlin's tentative smile faded away, and he looked up. In the same moment that he spread his wings, Kilgarrah vanished into thin air, and at a murmured word from Balinor, Aithusa was gone as well. Hunith, already up, reached for Merlin's hand, but he climbed to his feet on his own, his injured leg half-forgotten; the pain had already faded to a dull ache.

"It's alright. That's Iseldir," he said. Beside him, his silver-blue light rose, pulsing brighter than before. He recognized the silver-haired figure stepping out of the car by the road. But he also recognized urgency in the man's brusque step as he approached them—a hasty and unsettled air that he'd never seen in the older man before.

"There's been news from Camelot." Merlin sucked in a breath. Gwen. "The city is under lockdown. Cenred has the city center—"

"I have to talk to Arthur," Merlin interrupted, pulling away from Hunith's steadying hand to head for the cars.

"Emrys." Iseldir's voice stopped him in his tracks. The Druid had never addressed him aloud by that name. He turned slowly, and the look on Iseldir's face made his heart sink before the man spoke. "Arthur has already left."

AN2: Oops…. Another cliffie.

I know. So shoot me. xD But on the bright side, friends, I finish my semester in two weeks, so you shouldn't have to wait so long for chapter 21 (knock on wood)!

Anyway, what did you think? I'm curious to know if you liked how Arthur dealt with his last realization, what you thought of Hunith's POV, and of course... about the new character I just introduced.

In a way, this chapter reflects Arthur's experience in the series.. and Arthur will yet have his moment, but for now, I thought Merlin needed a little love and encouragement. ^^

It's late for me, so I'm off to bed. But do please leave a review. And thank you so much for being patient with my slooooooow updates!

BEST!

Sandyy