Arthur's Note

Welcome my wonderful writers, resourceful readers, and faithful followers! (Totally keeping this introduction).

THANK YOU again for taking the time to read the story. The reviews really centered around the desperation to read this chapter so here it is. So, without further ado, I welcome you to the next chapter of TFR. I hope I replied to all the reviews via PM. Hope everyone got their cookies last time, if not, I brought cupcakes this time.

This is only the first half of my Colin/Merlin chapter. I really wanted to stretch it out, but it became too long... Sorry about that. But I'm almost done with the next chapter so hopefully I'll get that out soon.

Oh! If you need to get a hold of me quickly, your best bet is to check my website whenthestormisthrough which is my TUMBLR url. I post chapter updates and some excerpts as well as all things Merlin on there.

In this chapter, remember. Michelle is Nimueh. Richard is Gaius. Colin is Merlin. And Tom is Cenrad.

Since some people haven't seen all of S5, Spoilers for Season 5 in this chapter.

Enjoy the chapter, and please review. All reviewers get a cookie, and I try to reply to everyone of you :) I like to hear what you thought of the chapter, what you didn't like, any questions or concerns, your favorite parts, and any suggestions/comments about my writing in general. Reviews make me feel so warm and fuzzy inside, and it's amazing. It's like so addicting... Alright, I've kept you long enough, and if you bothered to read this, thank you.

Onto the chapter,

Erin

{Recommended Reading: Fox's Net by Aleithria. It's a stunning story. Go read it.}

Chapter Five
"A fragile frame aged
With misery
And when our eyes meet
I know you see."
-"Cut" by Plumb

Colin had never been afraid of the dark.

The other children in the foster home would tremble in fear the moment the sun disappeared, darkness stretching over their surroundings as night rolled in. They would wait with baited breath every evening, watching as it danced just above the horizon, streaks of pink, purple, and blue painted across the sky, blending together in a complex ad beautiful dance until they were unified into a navy blanket. Dots of bright light littered the dark canvas as the morning star slipped lower and lower until the darkest hour was upon them.

The children would shake and cower in fear, eyes wide with fright as they huddled together under thin and stained sheets, desperately wishing the sun would rise simultaneously on the other side of town, its warm rays seeking to illuminate the shadowed corners and hollowed halls. Eventually, the children would sigh with relief and roll out of bed to greet the blossoming down the very next morning, leaving to enjoy the wonders of daylight.

Except for one small child whose thin frame shook with icy shivers of fear, tremors rocketing down his spine, afraid to leave the safety and serenity that night brought, choosing to prolong the moment between reality and fantasy for just a little while longer.

Daylight meant facing his deranged foster mother, Michelle, who seemed to know everything at once and yet nothing at all. The rest of the children were showered with promises of a home and family someday awaiting them with open arms and smiles of welcome. Michelle made each and every child who entered her house feel loved and accepted with the possibility of a better tomorrow. It reassured the youngsters that all would be well if they survive the darkness, awaking to their Mother Michelle the next day. However, Colin wished for nothing but the dark, a sweet reprieve from the sufferings of everyday life, where the shadows offered an ignorance he gladly embraced.

You see, Colin wasn't a normal child. He was born without any knowledge of who he was or why he had come to be. All he knew was that his earliest memory was standing in front of a mirror, his blue eyes wide and glowing a molten gold. It was the day he realized that it was unleashed whenever he lost control of his emotions and caused all of his foster parents to give him away. Some part of Colin knew, even in the very beginning, that this ability of his caused too many trouble and he had to hide it from everyone. If he didn't, he would be killed or possibly something even worse.

He wanted so dearly to be normal, but ever since he was a baby, he had harnessed a rare ability he could only deem as a demonic power - magic almost. At times, it occurred in states of heightened emotions, but as time dragged on, he had learned to control the ability and nearly put a stop to it. He knew he was a freak, a supernatural psychopath, a man against nature. However, he never had answers as to why he was this way for he had spent his entire life in foster care, never having met his biological parents. But, eventually, he had learned to live with what he was – no matter how much he hated that society exiled him even if they didn't know the truth about him. He had so many questions: why was he never wanted? Why was he never cared for? Why did no one love him? Why was he this way? He questioned all of this, but it didn't change the situation.

It didn't stop the pain, however. They seemed to be some people who knew what and who he was even when he himself didn't. He supposed it all started with Michelle. He never knew her surname, nor did he ever bother finding out. Out of all the foster parents he had, they never seemed to pick up on his abilities (or whatever it truly was). Instead, they wrote him off as mentally insane or just plain "unfit to civilize with other children"; soon after each placement, he was sent back to the system and he was shuffled into another house. Colin never stayed in the same place for very long. A year was the longest period of time he had spent in a foster home with a lovely lady he couldn't remember the name too; he was three at the time. (He had called her "Mary") She fed him different kinds of stew throughout the winter, when the blistery air attacked his scrawny frame, the icy shivers threatening to send him into convulsions. In the summer, she'd allow him to help make pastries and sticky buns, when the sun danced high in the sky and Colin danced high through life.

However, soon after, she discovered his magic and sent him away. They all did in the end.

He began, even at a young age, to wonder what it would be life if he was ever accepted, what would occur if someone took him in. What would happen if someone cared? Would his life be different? Would his appearance become someone full of life, high on imagination, and facing the benefits of optimism? Often times, he would lay awake at night, and his dreams would start to get the best of him. Each time, however, they would be close to coming true, but then they were snatched away because of his magic, and he was only left with the cloud of desire swirling between lingering fingers.

So as the heartbreak became a permanent fixture in his life, dulled by the pain of rejection in everyday life, and the smiles came less and less, he was granted the brief reprieve of his dreams. Somehow, when his head hit the pillow, he was granted pictures of a young woman who laughed as the wind whistled through the magnolia trees which bordered a small village, when he would suddenly appear and hug her, then she would kiss him on the cheek, regardless of his age, and both would laugh loud with joy emitting from them in huge loads. When it was dark, his subconscious took over, and it made him happy.

Then he met Michelle.

That's when everything changed. You see, Colin could handle the rejection. He could not handle the pain. From the get go, the older woman seemed to know what he could do. His dreams turned into nightmares when he met Michelle, and he was then sentenced to a life of misery, and even though he held onto those first six years of dreams with the woman who he wished he had in life, it was merely a delusion his decreasing mental sanity could conjure up.

Michelle was a young woman, perhaps her mid-thirties, but she seemed to know things well beyond her years. For some reason, even from the moment Colin first stepped across the threshold into his new foster home, she hated him. No, Colin concluded years later, she loathed him, despised him. He never knew why, just that she took it out on him daily. The other children were safe and secure in their beds, and they were given food when wanted, hugs when scared, and love when there was none. Colin, on the other hand, was denied the basic necessities of life: food was sparse, hugs and love were nonexistent, and safety and security could never be found. It wasn't so much physical abuse as mental. The only lasting scares he had from that time were the memories of her cruelty and the malnourishment that followed him for almost the rest of his life.

Of course, there were the occasional slaps Michelle dealt out to "control his naughty behavior" but there was something else that happened there. An event that Colin could never talk about because it would cause him to be thrown into a mental asylum. After all, who would believe anything regarding magic? You see, Michelle seemed to know what he could do from the moment she met him. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Colin could hear her murmuring words that seemed as ancient as time itself and a few times after that, he swore her eyes turned the same brilliant gold his did. After any such happening, his magic would be repressed for days. Colin, if he had a choice, wished that his magic would be repressed for all of eternity. However, when his magic was repressed, he felt ill. He felt empty. It seemed, however much he tried to deny it, magic was a part of him. He couldn't get rid of it no matter how hard he tried. And after every episode, it always came back.

He was sentenced to this life, and there was no way to change it.

Colin stayed in Michelle's care until he was twelve years old. She never sent him away, and he knew if he fought back, it'd end rather badly. By the time the six years had passed, it felt so much longer. It was the worst place he had ever stayed, but the way Colin saw it, he had a roof over his head and (sometimes) food in his belly. He had nightmares of what had occurred, and he doubted they would ever go away, but he wasn't taking anything for granted. He had become used to the day-to-day life here. However, everything changed the day Michelle tried to take his magic. Colin wouldn't have fought her save for the fact that she tried to kill him to do so. Contrary to popular belief, Colin would rather live alone with magic than die without it.

It started on a day much like any other. He was sprawled across his cot in his shared bedroom, scrawling aimless answers across a page in his textbook when Michelle's voice rang out from the open door, echoing from her room down the hall. He hesitantly pushed off the bed, stepping into the empty hall. The rest of the children were out and about on the Saturday morning, so unfortunately, it was merely he and Michelle that occupied the premises.

"Michelle?" Colin asked tentatively. "Did you-"

All it took was one quick glance in his direction before the older woman's eyes flashed a bright gold, sending him flying into the opposite wall. The world was spinning as he hurtled into the nightstand beside the dresser, the furniture splintering into pieces, the wood piercing his torso. The wind had been knocked out of him, and he just lay there, gasping for some form of air. His vision began to blur as his head throbbed on endlessly. Pain was all he felt; darkness was all he heard; and it seemed like nonexistent screams was all he heard.

Michelle's soprano voice sang out like wind chimes from across the room. "You're quite different, Colin. How brave you used to be. If only it were true in this life." Her trickling laughter sounded as she crept forward, navy eyes flashing as she brushed her dark hair behind her ear. "Alas, you don't remember anything. It takes some thrill out of the game, I'll admit, but it'll be all so worth it when I win."

"I don't understand!" Colin gasped, fighting to stand on trembling feet.

"We used to be too valuable to be enemies, but it seems you made it so," Michelle said, sending shivers down the boy's spine. "I am going to do what I should have done all those years ago on that god forsaken Isle. I am going to make it so that I will bring about destiny this time."

Colin tried relentlessly to stand as Michelle whipped her hand in his general direction, sending him sprawling across the floor. "You have magic!" Colin cried out as he propped himself on shaky hands and knees.

"Don't act so surprised! You knew all along. You and I are both creatures of the Old Religion with one difference. I remember who I am, what I was. You… You know nothing. You're simply an unwanted child. Your own mother was scared of what you could do. No worries, though, my dear Colin. I shall take what is rightfully mine. It's taken me six years to gather the necessities for this specific ritual, but you should thank me. You won't have to worry about your magic ever again. That's what you always wanted, right?"

Colin tried to do something, anything, but Michelle interrupted his train of thought with a single word. "Ástríce!" Her eyes glowed gold.

Colin once more felt the ground leave from beneath him as he went sailing into the wall. His right ankle was pinned under him as he collapsed to the ground; it twisted in a way it wasn't supposed too and he was sure he heard something snap. The pain was absolutely mind numbing. It traveled up his leg and throughout the rest of his body, stealing away his ability to scream or even breathe as he lost his footing completely and plummeted downward. Another agonizing jolt shot through him as he hit the floor.

Colin did not move for a moment or two, just lying on the ground limply, completely unaware of the world around him. He spent an undeterminable amount of time simply laying there, trying to force some air into his lungs. His vision was suddenly dark around the edges, and he knew he was on his way to passing out from the pain that throbbed through him, originating from his twisted ankle. The rest seemed to happen too quickly. He could hear Michelle's voice murmuring words in the same ancient language as before, but he heard it through a murky curtain. He rose shakily on his hands and knees and attempted to stand. It was the wrong idea. A wave of nausea rolled through him and he gasped, spewing the contents of his stomach out onto the bedroom floor.

He did not know how long he stayed like that, propped up and trembling. It felt like a lifetime honestly. Sweat dripped from his hairline and slide down his face, dropping from his nose and chin to the floor. Pain drummed a rhythm against his skill, and he couldn't even hear Michelle anymore. Misery and exhaustion seemed to flow through his veins as naturally as his blood did. He might have stayed that way forever if it had not been for another voice to emerge from the surrounding air.

It was like a memory.

"Your childish tricks are useless against me, Merlin. I am a priestess of the Old Religion. Forbærne! You, too, are a creature of the Old Religion. You should join me."

"What?" Colin stammered, trying to make sense of the words. It was in Michelle's voice, but his mind flashed him a picture of a desolate island, his foster mother in a torn dress, her eyes glazed over with arrogance and hatred.

"You think I would join forces with such a selfish and cruel magic? Never."

His chest burned, but Colin couldn't remember ever hearing it. The air seemed to crackle with the amount of magic Michelle was summoning, her voice growing octaves higher, her chanting longer.

"Pity. Together we could've ruled the world."

Colin's own voice thundered back. "You should not have killed my friend."

He could hear the distant screams of the memory Michelle, but he didn't know what was real. In that moment, Colin truly feared for his sanity. It felt like he was under water, unable to breathe or comprehend the situation. He knew of two things: his ankle was severely injured and that Michelle was going to kill him. Summoning the strength he had within him, Colin pushed himself off of the ground and grasped onto the edge of the bed for leverage. He rose unsteadily, but he stood up none the less. The movement caused another roll of nausea to wash over him, but he ignored it and staggered to the closed bedroom door where he knew he could escape into the world - albeit frail, lost, confused, hurt, sick, and all alone.

"Agan mé bealucræft!"

From the second he saw that dagger hurtling toward him, reacting purely on instinct, he sent the weapon flying back. It hit the target and Michelle fell to the ground, fighting to stop the blossoming bloodstain that blanketed her blouse. Colin knew he had to get away from the scene, but it didn't stop him from hobbling around. He couldn't get blamed for her murder. He didn't even have time to think of what he had down, killing a person. It didn't matter if she was going to kill him. He had killed someone with his magic. He was a murderer.

He knew that now. However, he also knew that he would have to survive, and if that meant accepting his fate, then so be it.

He rushed forward, falling beside Michelle's body and scrambled for the phone. If he could make it seem like she staged the first attack, then it'd be alright. He couldn't be sent to the Horror House as the rest of the children called it. The place where foster kids like themselves were thrown into a place where everyone had problems. Colin assumed it would be worse than Michelle's.

"Please," he gasped out when the operator greeted him. "My foster mother… She tried… She tried to kill me!" He didn't need to pretend to portray his fear; the quiver in his hysterical voice would convince them enough.

He had stood, shell-shocked at the scene at hand, as he awaited the arrival of the police. Time continued on as the investigation pressed, but it had no effect on Colin. His thoughts were fading in and out, black and blue and white and gray flooding his mind. He could not pinpoint anything or anyone or anyplace. Everything was so foreign and dull. Eventually, the police dubbed it as an accidental death or whatever they called falling on the knife now a day when attempting to murder someone else. In the end, the case was wrapped up; Michelle was dead; and the children were given to different homes.

However, Colin was always suspected for the crime but never prosecuted.

Instead, he was sent away to a multitude of foster homes. He stayed with the Henson's for two years, the nonchalant Derek Watson for another two, and then, he met Tom. Tom Ellis. He was the type of person who had foster kids for the money. Every month, the state would send him a check to cover the necessities of caring for Colin, but the teenager never saw that money. Tom was just like Michelle. He seemed to know Colin from the very beginning, knew what he was and who he was. The minute the social worker closed that heavy, maple door of the apartment, the poor boy was against the wall, white-knuckled hands wrapped around his neck, words hissing through his ears, revenge at the tip of the man's tongue.

Tom was physically abusive, plan and simple. He had his own brand of discipline, and he exerted it whenever Colin refused to use his magic for his own gain. Colin never settled for it. He refused to stand down like a scared little child. He fought against Tom, eventually running from his care after eight months. It was the first time that Colin faced the horrors of the outside world.

As well as saw the hope of it all.

He had been on the run for two months when he first met Santiago. The older man had taken him into his home one winter night when Colin was at his lowest point, offering him shelter and warmth. It was the first time Colin ever remembered feeling safe other than in his dreams of the lady in the village. He remembered how Santiago had stepped forward while the night club owner prodded at him to leave the protection of the alley way. Colin had merely buried his face in his blanket as Mike pushed at him to move and coolly asked him to leave. He had ignored them in hopes of being awarded silence in surviving. He had been broken and alone, fighting to survive. It hadn't been long, however, when a comforting hand was placed on his numb shoulder. The only way he had felt it was the way the fingers brushed against his soft hair, wet from the snow that clung to his scrawny figure.

Santiago had rescued him.

But the safety and security wasn't guaranteed. The moment Colin's head hit the pillow, he was overwhelmed with more memories. He was in the wooden room, surrounding by mysterious smells and herbs. Santiago was a man named Lancelot and Colin was a man named Merlin, and they knew one another, separated by a single act that defined their friendship. Colin wished it was true, but the memory frightened him. It was like Michelle and a bit of Tom. Each had an alter ego in his head: Nimueh and Cenrad. But he couldn't make sense of it. He feared that he was losing his mind.

When he awoke, he opened his eyes to see a blank slate. There was silence. There was no fear or pain. He was safe for the moment. But if he concentrated enough, the silence which droned on around him was disturbed by his own stutters of breath as well as the nervous pacing of another body in the room, interrupting the serene setting he had been subjected too.

Santiago had startled him, and as he tried to leave the bedroom, the older man wouldn't let him. Colin had had to leave. He had no means of paying the man for his generousity, and what if Santiago discovered his magic? He'd be sent away for good reason! He knew he was sick, which, in addition meant that he could be exposed. The fears were choking him; when he was sick or distressed, his magic went haywire. When Santiago protected, Colin thundered back, and it caused the lamp beside him to burst into flames.

Colin had jumped back in fair, eyes shining with unshed tears at the events while Santiago stood, wide-eyed, as if seeing the sun for the first time. Colin gather his well-worn converses, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process of escaping the scene. Santiago instinctively reached out to grasp Colin's arm and prevent him from taking leave, but Colin fought back. He ripped his limb from the stranger, feeling heat rush to his head suddenly, and in the mirror across the room, noticed his reflection's eyes flashed a deep gold, visible to Santiago. With a startled yelp, Santiago pulled away, shoving Colin away from him in panic, feeling the rush of power tingle at his fingertips. Before he knew it, he was sent flying into the opposite wall. Colin screamed in terror, closing his eyes in alarm, and before he knew it, the sheets on the bed erupting into a bonfire, startling Santiago even further.

"You need to calm down, Colin!" Santiago had bellowed out, only to have the teenager take his distracted state to his advantage and make a bolt for the door, startling the other man with a fire extinguisher as he was leaving his room.

Colin found himself sprinting down the busy New York street, towards the alley way he had been discovered in the night before. He wasn't supposed to seek comfort for himself, because he was just the freak of nature from the foster system who would die on the streets and finally rid of the pain he suffered from daily, good as a stress reliever only.

But, for one moment, he wanted to be the boy in desperate need of a saving grace, and Santiago had offered an once-in-a-lifetime to heal some of the wounds that were scarred over and mottled. He could erase the splotches of blue and purple that adjourned his body. He could stop the pain stemming from reality itself. He could give Colin a purpose. Santiago was the Knight, but Colin was afraid because every once in a while his emotions got a hold of him and ruined any hope he ever held close.

He had expected Santiago to let him leave as he ducked into the alley, but the older man had followed him. He extended his help without asking for anything in return. He knew about Colin's magic and yet promised to keep the secret. Colin didn't know whether to embrace him or run far away. In the end, it didn't matter. Santiago offered Colin the name of someone who could understand his predicament – his magic his mind whispered. In the end, it didn't matter. Mike, the nightclub owner, had reported Colin's whereabouts to the police and Tom had found him. He was sent back to live with Tom, but he kept a firm grasp on the name Santiago had given him.

Richard Wilson.

The events leading up to his capture gave him a new hope. He never said goodbye to Santiago, even though he could somehow read it in the other's eyes. It was a solemn request to escape and come back, a note of finality that he would never give up. He did cry when he met Tom's gleaming gaze; instead, the tears burned at the front of his eyes, and finally spilled when the new bruises throbbed. Eventually, Colin let go of the hope of the possible escape, and the kind stranger was soon a spot of possibility in a sea of shrouded ignorance covering reality.

But no matter how many times Colin tried to mask him pain, he always remembered. Even though Santiago was gone, Colin never forgot him. He remembered the hospitality the man offered, the acceptance in his eyes, and the name he gave. As small as it was, it was a hope Colin welcomed. He moved through life with the same strong façade he portrayed on a daily basis, but there was a noticeable difference. For the first time in nearly a thousand years, Colin's blue eyes held a sparkle of happiness to them.

A week after his return, Colin tried to flee the foster system once more, to escape from the ghoul who wished to harness his abilities for evil. The idea of power corrupted his foster father, and no one ever paid a span of attention, spared his situation a second glance. He woke up in the middle of the night, screaming as sweat broke out across his brow from the nightmares, phantom pain succumbing to the brutal agony of reality's hands.

He needed to find Richard Wilson.

It was one cruel night when there was a chance.

Tom was angry, beyond actually. Colin had refused to aide him in the latest scheme without so much as hearing the proposition aloud. His foster father had loomed over him before striking. Now, two fists pounded him relentlessly as he peered through the closed slits of his eyes, holding tight against the pain in his stomach. The hits came all too frequently, and he tugged against the bindings that Tom had placed on his wrists. But the hand cuffs were doing their job, preventing Colin from any hopes of surrendering.

His attacked gazed on with a sharp smirk as he laughed another punch towards Colin's shoulder. Colin heard the bone crunch on impact and tears merely rolled harder down his already tear-stained face. He held in the screams. He would not give Tom the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting him.

A kick was forcefully thrust his way, and it clipped his injured shoulder. Colin hissed in absolutely agony. He felt each swift collision to his entire body and each time he struggled to keep in his cries. A particularly painful hit embedded itself between the bones of his rib cage, and the bones cracked.

His voice yelled out in pain; his screams reverberated off of the walls. Tom pulled back his fist once more. All that could be heard were Colin's echoing screams. All he could do was keep on yelling because if he tried to escape, it'd only make maters worse. He wanted it to be over.

"How does it feel?" Tom said, laughter booming deep in his chest. "Did it hurt you little son of a bitch?"

The words twisted and twirled past Colin's ears as the silence settled in. All that was audible were the sounds of Colin's sobs as Tom left the room, chuckling all the while, after untying Colin who was begging for relief from the pain he was enduring and the agony that was currently crippling him. The seventeen-year-old knew he needed to leave; if he stayed then there was a chance he might now make it out alive the next time.

Rocking back on his haunches, biting back the cries of pain, he shimmied over to his bed, gathering his belongings. The next few minutes passed by in a blur as Colin waited until Tom could no longer be heard before ducking out of his window and onto the fire escape below. When he finally hit the ground, he limped away from the apartment building as quickly as possible, the shivers racing down his spine, the blistery air making his breathes come out in clouds. He kept going. Something was pulling him away.

He wasn't sure how long he kept going, but, eventually he collapsed into a deserted alley. For some reason he felt safe there, for the first time in a long while, and he huddled in the corner, closing his eyes and falling into a fitful slumber. Moments later though, something clicked, and he opened them, knowing his magic was kicking in for his protection.

Someone was coming.

An old man toddled out into the alleyway and gazed at him. "Merlin," he whispered, hurrying forward, but Colin didn't recognize him and feared for the worse.

"My name's Colin," he stammered, flinching as the old man's hands came towards him. "Please… P-Please don't t-turn me in. P-P-Please."

"I won't," the old man vowed. He cocked his head to the side, analyzing the boy, before gesturing towards the open door. "It's cold outside. Would you like to come inside?" Colin blanched with fear. "Shh… You can trust me, Colin. My name is Richard, and I want to help you."

It was with hesitation that Colin took the old, weathered hand of the doctor. Something clicked once more and the memory of an aging physician danced at the forefront of his mind. His warm eyes looked on with pride, and he was seated across from Colin in the memory. Colin had no idea who this man was, but something told him it was alright.

For the first time, Colin knew he was safe.

Across the world, a mighty dragon answered with a deafening roar. Her warlock had been found.