Welcome to the next chapter of TFR!

(Just wanted to note that the next few chapters might take a while. I just finished an 8K oneshot for the Merlin fandom, and once I get it back from my beta, I shall post it.

So this chapter is a filler. Just an FYI.

Thank you to my beta CaptainOzone. She's amazing, and I want you all to go over and tell her how wonderful she is! She betas, writes, and goes to school. Seriously, she does anything and everything. *hugs*

In this chapter, Colin is Merlin. Laura is Freya. Richard is Gaius. Santiago is Lancelot. Eoin is Gwaine. Eddie (because I already have a Tom in this story and Edward is Tom Hopper's middle name) is Percival. Bradley is Arthur. Angel is Gwen. Katie is Morgana... (And all the others are listed in the story).

Remember 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.

Enjoy the chapter, and please review. 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.

Onto the chapter,

Erin

Recommended Reading: The Resemblance by Veilwuarrah

After TFR, I have 3 story ideas that I will possibly write next. You guys can vote on whichever one you would like to see. Check on my profile and vote on the poll or leave it in your review if you must.

Arthur's Bane - in which Merlin is Arthur's bane, prophecized to be the one to kill the king he's sworn to protect.
Once and Future - in which Sefa is the serving girl to Queen Guinevere; she has magic and is destined to protect the Queen, but she doesn't know Merlin's duty as Emrys.
One More Miracle - in which, at the end of Season 4, Agravaine kidnaps Merlin and brings him to Morgana when the servant tries to warn Arthur of his uncle's betrayal. Morgana gives Agravaine a potion to make him look like Merlin and convince the king that his friend is the traitor (follows Season 4 finale; AU end to 4x11, 4x12, 4x13)

Chapter Eleven

"When you were standing,
In the wake of devastation.
When you were waiting,
On the edge of the unknown."
-"Iridescent" by Linkin Park

Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.

Have you ever just lay in your room, head burrowed in your pillow, nestled under a mound of blankets, and just paused for a moment, listening to the rain from a passing storm pound on the roof? For once, you would hope for the noise of the rain to continue because you couldn't bear the silence of nature's call. You would want to hear the boom of thunder, the roaring from heaven above because it was better than the chaos life had offered you. You would wish to see the flash of lightning, striking just like it had a thousand years before when the old sorcerer aided in the defeat of the Saxons, because you couldn't stand the ignorance of the dark.

Some people can claim that storms are signs of impending doom, Eoin thought, and he knew they could be true. For him, storms reflected the inner turmoil of his life, and now, it had never been truer.

The moment he had seen the bloodied form of the boy in Santiago's arms, his memories as a Knight of Camelot whispered in his ear. It had only been a few hours since he remembered the past he shared with the boy, and he already knew more than enough to frame a reason for why he was still sitting in the waiting room.

The past twenty-three years he had spent as Eoin seemed to be a figment of his imagination, a hallucination that seemed implausible but real. People couldn't spend their lives trying to rationalize why, he knew, because for them to get anywhere, they needed to accept what happens to them and move on.

It was how he lived in Camelot, and not even the passing of a thousand years could change his mindset.

In life, one lived in the moment, paving the path for the journey they took. They needed to complete and value it. Everyone had an hourglass full of sand, and with each passing moment, a grain dropped to symbolize passing time. Eoin knew that living in the moment would prolong the grain's descent, and to realize now that he had wasted all this time made him feel worthless.

He should have been with Merlin. He should have been protecting him – like Lancelot did.

"Eoin?" Santiago questioned quietly from beside him. Lancelot, Gwaine reminded himself. His roommate was Lancelot's reincarnation. "You alright?"

The next question: how the hell did they end up reincarnated?

"Too much beer," he answered as a gruff reply. He was still trying to comprehend the memories that were returning him a million miles per hour, flooding his mind as a constant presence.

Beside him, their friend, Eddie, (Percival, Gwaine thought. He's Percy.) chuckled lowly. "We didn't even reach the bar when we came across those two."

Gwaine grumbled, and Lancelot turned his attention to Percival. "Are you okay as well?"

"Fine," came the brusque response.

More time passed. More time wasted. For Gwaine, time passing always came with a bittersweet aftertaste as he was reminded it was time he didn't have his memories, but now, the bittersweet aftertaste was worth the feeling of being full, of being whole, of being complete. He could make up for the time he didn't remember. He had Lancelot. He had Percival. He had Leon. He had Merlin.

Question was, did they remember?

"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" Lancelot suddenly said, voice raised slightly, eyes flashing wildly. "I know you two well enough to know when there's something going on!"

"Maybe it has to do with the fact that we just dragged in two unconscious kids from the street," Percival retorted, raising his eyebrows, breaking his "silent giant" character. "Or possibly it was the sandwich I ate today. The vendor forgot mayonnaise." His dry humor was met with silence. "Or, I know, it could be the fact that you dragged in a bloodied, unconscious Merl—"

Percival's eyes widened at his mistake. Lancelot fell off his chair. Gwaine threw his head back in surprise.

All three gazed at one another in surprise, disbelief etched across their faces. "You remember?" they accused in chorus. "How long?"

"Just now," Gwaine and Percival answered in sync, turning to Lancelot.

Their friend shrugged sheepishly. "Since January… It's like you said before, Eoin… Gwaine. He's the person who I saved from the storm that night."

Percival's face lit up. "That homeless boy?"

"Yes," Lancelot said.

"Do you think this has anything to do with Merlin's magic?" Percival suddenly asked, lowering his voice in case of unseen ears. Lancelot visibly stiffened at the topic being discussed so freely; Gwaine listened on in confusion. "Don't worry; I've known for a while. Gaius told us all after Merlin died … Well, all of us who were left anyway…"

Percival dropped his gaze, and Lancelot raised his. "What do you mean?"

"Leon and I were the only ones after… after Arthur and Merlin passed on," Percival admitted, closing his eyes as a wave of emotions crossed his features. "In the end, it was just us and Gwen."

"How… How long did they—?" Lancelot began, but Percival interrupted him.

"About five years after you died."

"That short?"

"It's my fault," Gwaine announced, eyes clouded over with sadness. "Morgana tortured me, and I told her where they were going—"

"It wasn't your fault," a voice suddenly sounded from the entrance of the waiting room. Three heads rose to meet the steely gaze of Gaius. "It wasn't your fault, Sir Gwaine. Arthur was dead long before they reached Avalon; nothing Merlin could have done would have saved our king."

"How-How are they?" Lancelot was the first to ask.

Gaius resigned himself to a troubled expression. "Laura fell into a coma…"

Gwaine pushed himself to his feet, his friends following suit. "And Merlin?"

"He lost a lot of blood, but… he should be alright. The ambulance is on its way. You should have taken them straight to the hospital."

Lancelot was at a loss for words. "Colin said that here was the only safe place... I had to do something."

"I understand," Gaius said, ducking his head from view, "But it's going to be a struggle for the next few days."

"So...W-What do we do now?" Gwaine questioned.

"We wait."

Bradley had always been independent.

He rarely sought help in his life, choosing to face challenges and conquer enemies all on his own. He was known to go to great lengths to solve his problems; once, the procedure took him out of the States. He did not confide his troubles to those who would listen – Gwen, almost never, and Morgana, even less. He would muse over possible solutions for days on end, retreating into a deep reverie where almost nothing could draw him back out into reality.

Gwen called him a philosopher; Morgana called him a stubborn ass.

Regardless of the situation, though, Arthur would handle it alone. However, when faced with the task of locating Merlin's reincarnation, the nineteen-year-old was at a loss.

The end of March was around the corner, and, after spending the night soothing Morgana after her vision, he knew it was time to take action. Seeing his sister, drenched in sweat, tears glistening in her jade eyes, reaching out for a tangible hold on reality , had made him more desperate to find his friend. Merlin was in danger: that was a concept he couldn't possibly fathom. His mind trailed back years - to the age where he was a King and his servant was a close friend. He remembered the old sorcerer perched on the edge of a cliff, cobalt eyes piercing his very soul, as he summoned lightning, directing the bolts towards the Saxons. He remembered Morgana's furious shriek of, "Emrys!", and a bolt striking her right after.

He remembered his sister's cry of panic when she awoke from her vision, "Merlin!", proceeding to ramble on about the Lady of the Lake and her importance to Emrys.

Merlin was Emrys. Laura was the Lady of the Lake.

It was another clue, another step closer to find his friend.

Arthur needed to find Merlin, and though it pained him to admit it, he couldn't do it on his own this time. Although, when he sought aid, no one was there to offer it.

Gwen was an aspiring artist, and while she managed to draw a portrait of their friend as she remembered him, there was no telling what his appearance was in this life. Needless to say, she gave Arthur the piece and requested that he show it around campus whenever he attended his classes. Meanwhile, she resumed a job as a waitress in the local coffee house near Central Park, dishing out creamers and sweets whenever she could in order to afford her art supplies. If one were to enter her room in their shared apartment, they would discover portraits, paintings, and sketches of their days back in Camelot.

Whenever Arthur walked through the door, he was transported a thousand years back to when he had been King, and he wondered how Gwen had gotten the shadow of the West Wall cast over the open fields before sunset just right.

Morgana, on the other hand, had slowly been increasing her magical potential, relearning spells, incantations, and enchantments – anything that could help locate Merlin and their other friends. Her Sight had been unreliable the past few months, picking up on flashes of shadows in alleyways and frightened screams. Sometimes, she would wake up crying and unable to remember what she had Seen. It frightened Arthur to see one of the strongest people in his life slowly coming apart at the seams.

What scared him the most, however, were the anomalies that Morgana was stumbling upon.

There had been a gradual growth of magic in the very heart of New York, a powerful threat that only the eighteen-year-old could sense. Occasionally, he would find her studying through the night at the kitchen table, newspapers spread about, her eyes glowing a constant gold as they shuffled through the articles, searching for some kind of explanation for her visions and the magical escalation.

The first clue came in the form of a double homicide in upper New York on the outskirts of the city. Steven and Lindsay Duncan – husband and wife. To Arthur, the names had no meaning and had merely cast them away without a second thought, concentrating on searching for Merlin. Morgana, however, placed the article in a file, murmuring how she was building evidence for her case whenever Arthur was ready to hear it.

When news struck of a second double homicide, Morgana came in possession of photographs of the crime scenes: one in a dark alley and another in a cozy loft downtown. Mark and Georgia Lewis – a father and daughter murder. Again, Arthur watched on with a quizzical expression as Morgana worked furiously through the night, once catching her asleep atop a book of runes. He tried to inquire her, but his sister refused to answer, and instead forced him to allow her to enough time to put together a valid argument before she approached him on the matter.

Arthur preferred to do things on his own, and Morgana was no different.

Everything changed, though, the day the fifth murder and an attempted kidnapping hit the papers. Like before, Morgana was hunched over the morning paper, scrawling heatedly across the page, jotting down runes and a language Arthur very much suspected to be Old English in her notebook. James Montgomery was the victim's name, and it had no effect on Arthur – until he caught site of the man's photograph in the corner of the page.

"Is that—?" Arthur questioned, disbelief etched across his face until Morgana interrupted him.

"Rodor, King of Nemeth?" she finished in earnest. "Yes, that is, and check out who his daughter is."

Janet Montgomery, her picture read. Arthur's azure eyes met the chocolate brown ones of the once Princess Mithian, Her Royal Highness of Nemeth. He shook his head, unable to understand what the story was telling him. "What… Morgana, what's going on?"

She brushed off his question with a wave of her hand. "I'm not sure yet, but I'm getting close. I Saw Mithian and Rodor's murder last night and called the police station to leave an anonymous tip."

Arthur blanched in fear. "Did you lead them here? Morgana, they can trace the call."

Morgana snorted under her breath. "I'm not stupid, dear brother," she sneered, flashing him an impatient glance. "I know they'd be able to trace the call back to me which is why I used magic to teleport myself into an alley before ringing them from a payphone across the street."

"You what?"

Morgana slammed a fist against the table, standing upright as she leveled her gaze with Arthur's. "Don't question how I handled the situation, Arthur! Because of me, the police were able to arrive to save Mithian! Someone was trying to drag her out the window when they heard the sirens. The police came in with their guns, and the killer fled the scene." She resigned herself to a softer tone. "I saved her, Arthur."

Very few people could understand the predicament his sister was in, Arthur realized. Having been the beloved Lady turned into a vengeful witch by her flesh and blood had framed an entirely new outlook for the brunette. She was left with the memories of her past deeds in Camelot, the result of an enchantment that forced her to switch loyalties, cursing her to develop a certain bloodlust for her friends and family. A thousand years later, the memories sickened her, and she bore the burden of those ancient times each and every day.

She fought to overcome what she became, choosing to continue on a path of good as penance for her earlier sins.

"There's a pattern," Arthur announced hesitantly, prompting Morgana to withdraw from her sorrowful reverie and continue presenting her case.

She nodded. "These people… These murders aren't just random acts. They're part of a killing spree. They're organized. All of the victims had their throat sliced and runes drawn on their forehead with their own blood. It's a ritual – a blood ritual. The police think they've stumbled upon a homicidal psychopath, but they don't see the victims' connection past the murder scenes. These people, Arthur, they're from our past! They're reincarnations too!"

Arthur's mouth went dry. "Someone… Someone's murdering people… like us?"

"Everyone from Camelot," Morgana confirmed, gesturing towards the manilla folder on the counter. "The four murders before Rodor's… They're connected too."

Arthur was afraid to ask. "Who?"

"Queen Annis, King Caerleon, Princess Vivian, and King Olaf," she elaborated, folding her hands in front of her, leaning her forehead on the knuckles. "Add King Rodor to the list and an almost Princess Mithian."

Arthur took a deep breath. "Do you know who is doing this?"

"Morgause." The response was like a whip, quick and painful, leaving a bitter taste in Morgana's mouth.

"You… You think she's doing this?" he asked incredulously.

"Or she's getting someone to do her dirty work," Morgana said.

"Did you guys see the morning paper?" a voice from the entrance of the kitchen said quietly, and the duo turned to see Gwen's pale face looming over the edge of the morning paper. "You… You didn't see it, did you?"

"What is it?" Morgana inquired, sensing an inner turmoil inside her friend.

"There was a murder last night," she announced.

Arthur nodded his head. "King Rodor; we know. Morgana's been—"

"No," his fiancée replied, her voice growing an octave as hysteria set in. "No! Oh god… This… He…" Tears pricked in the corners of her eyes, and Arthur crossed the room in the span of one heartbeat. "It's… Oh god, Arthur!" With a muffled sob, she buried her face in her fiancé's shoulder, saltwater droplets cascading unhindered down her cheeks.

Was her father targeted? Or brother? Panic seized his pounding heart, freezing his entire body. It took effort, but he pushed the musings aside. If Morgause had murdered her family, he needed to be next to her, a rock she could lean on. He hoped, in the end, whatever it was, it would solve itself.

Hearing Morgana step forward, Gwen raised her gaze to meet her friend's cautious ones and wordlessly passed her the morning paper, regardless of the fact that the sorceress had the front page strewn across the kitchen table. Morgana scrunched her face in confusion, and after a while, Arthur began to wonder if the news was physically straining her. At the height of the revelation she had stumbled upon, he hoped that whatever had bothered Gwen wouldn't interrupt it.

Things were progressing, albeit in the wrong direction, but it meant they were closer to finding Merlin.

At the thought of his friend, Arthur's heart paused, his shoulders trembling, and tremors traveled up his spine. It wasn't possible… Morgause hadn't found Merlin had she? The image of his manservant lying in a dirty alleyway, his blood pooling around his body, a rune scratched chaotically on his forehead was too much for Arthur to bear.

Nevertheless, he waited with baited breath for Morgana to finish the article.

After a short beat of silence, she raised her gaze to meet Arthur's. "There was a murder last night… His name was Joe Smith. His foster father… Tom Ellis stabbed him in the stomach and fled the scene. He…" She took a shaky breath and continued to read. "He had two other foster kids…" Her eyes grew wide. "Laura! Laura Smith was Joe's sister! Tom tried to kill her too!"

"What does this have to do with anything?" Arthur asked.

"Look who Joe is!" Morgana passed him the paper, and Arthur's eyes narrowed in concentration.

A faint feeling of recognition tugged at the corner of his mind, pulling forth an old memory of Camelot. It was from the early days, back when Merlin had been a part of his life for merely ten months, when they had gone to defend his village in Cenred's land… Ealdor, Arthur remembered. He stared at the picture of the boy, his sandy blonde hair ruffling in the breeze, bright blue eyes dancing with frustration.

He had been Merlin's childhood friend, Arthur recalled, Will… The sorcerer…

"Will?" he asked, facing Morgana with confusion. "The sorcerer who defended—"

"He wasn't a sorcerer," Morgana said, rolling her eyes. "Obviously it was Merlin who conjured the wind; Will just took the fall."

It made sense.

"It's not a coincidence, is it?" Arthur proposed. "He's another reincarnation, which means that Tom probably is the serial killer… He—"

"Look at Tom's picture," Morgana prompted.

"Cenred," Arthur breathed out. "Cenred? Why would he want to murder…?" His thoughts trailed off until the answer hit him. "Morgause. They had an alliance back then… When you took over Camelot… I mean, when they—"

"I know what you mean," Morgana replied quietly, "But I don't understand why they'd be working together. What would Morgause gain from these murders? And why hasn't Cenred turned on her?"

"Why would he?"

"She turned on him, had his own solider kill him before they set out for Camelot," she answered.

"Did… Did you read the rest of the article?" Gwen interjected, speaking aloud for the first time since releasing her sobs on Arthur's shirt. "He… He was there… Oh god!" She resumed her sobs, her sadness grasping the only outlet it could find.

"Laura was there," Morgana continued, a small smile gracing her face. "Laura… She must be a reincarnation as well. She… From my vision, she was the Lady of the Lake! She…" Her smile faltered, her eyes flickering back to the article. "She suffered from head trauma… She's in the hospital… A coma."

Arthur's breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed a thick lump. "No! But she… She was our only lead!" He narrowed his eyes in defiance in Morgana's direction. "She was our only lead to finding Merlin! You said she was important to him! How are we supposed to find him?"

Inhaling through his nose, Arthur pulled away from Gwen, ignoring his fiancée's attempts to halt his actions. He retreated to the living room, footsteps echoing through the apartment as he stalked to the couch. Moisture gathered in his own eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He assumed he'd be used to it, losing hope that is.

He buried his head in his hands, fingers gripping the roots of his hair in frustration. That was all he could do.

Gwen's footsteps were light; it was as though she were tiptoeing across the carpet, like she was trying not to disturb him. He held his breath when he felt her hand join his, softly stroking the golden fringe away from his forehead, but he didn't want to be comforted. He shook her gesture away, digging the heel of his palms further into his eyes until black spots danced across his vision.

They had come so close. They had been so close to finding Merlin. Laura… That had been all they needed, and now it was too late.

Morgana had stood in the doorway for a few more minutes before following her friend to join Arthur's distraught figure on the black leather couch. He heard a faint sniffle from her direction, but he declined to acknowledge it as a form of emotion from his sister. If there was one thing constant about Morgana Pendragon, she kept a mask on at all times, dancing through life's masquerade, never showing her true emotions.

A fleeting memory of Morgana in the dungeon, her fiery emerald orbs gazing at him through heavy-lidded lashes, made him realize that she occasionally removed her mask. From time to time, she let her passion control her actions and judgment. She was a very determined individual who always strived to reach her goals – it had been what once made her his strongest alley and worst foe.

It was only now, as he sat there, feeling his hopes and dreams slip away for what he assumed was the last time, that he realized that Morgana wanted Merlin back just as much as he did. It had been what drove her to the nightmares every night, suffering those visions just to catch a glimpse of their friend's whereabouts. Merlin had once been Morgana's friend; Emrys had once been her greatest enemy.

The revelation didn't help him, though.

Without Merlin by his side this time, Arthur had never felt emptier. Thousands of emotions erupted around him that could only be calmed once he came face-to-face with his dark-haired, bright-eyed, scrawny servant – his closest friend and greatest advisor. Arthur was faced with a predicament. It was a wall shrouded in shadows but with an entrance as clear as day. In order to continue on with his life, he needed Merlin. However, Merlin wasn't in his life this time.

In Camelot, the boy had entered when Arthur was at his lowest. This time around, Merlin was nowhere to be found, and Arthur couldn't get any lower. Arthur had his face, his words, his advice, his smile, and the memory of his magic – but he didn't have his friend.

He sighed deeply at the realization and clenched his hands into fists. Gwen and Morgana's reassurances barely scratched the surface of his comatic state, flitting past like all other thoughts at the current moment.

Merlin would have been able to get through to him, but again, the younger man was nowhere to be found. They had lost their only chance, and with that, any hopes of finding him were gone with her as well.

"Arthur!" Gwen suddenly yelled, her voice resounding through his head, pulling him from his reverie. "You need to calm down! You're having a panic attack!"

Arthur was vaguely aware of the way his shoulders were heaving forward as his body tried to draw in more oxygen, the air like sweet nectar for his burning lungs. "You… You don't understand!" he gasped out, desperate to make them comprehend how he felt. "He-He means everything to me! He's my friend! I need him! I feel like part of myself is missing!"

He paused, taking a deep breath, before continuing his outburst. "He's… He was always there for me whenever I needed him! He wasn't like anyone I'd ever met before. Even when we first met, he had the nerve to speak his mind, go against my orders, and I needed that! He changed me! He—He was the one who had been with me the longest, the only one, at certain times, that cared. He was with me through every step of the way, and I never got to thank him enough… I… God, I died in his arms!"

Arthur let a single tear drip down his cheek. "I was going to change! I swear I was. I was going to change for him! He was that important to me!" Arthur shook his head. "I didn't care that he had magic! I didn't," he stressed. "I just needed him to stay… I needed him then, and I need him now! I need to find him!"

Gwen through her arms around his shaking shoulders. "It's okay, Arthur. Everything's going to be fine."

"Listen to me." Morgana had broken through. "You have to listen to me. We found him."

Afraid to budge, as if he created any movement he would wake up in his bed and this moment a fleeting dream, he sat motionless and tried to process his sister's words. For a few seconds, the room had seized to exist, and he could picture Merlin in reality, standing by his side.

"My dad said they named him Colin, right?" Gwen interjected, sliding off the couch and onto her kneels and prying Arthur's hands away from his eyes. "Remember?" She managed a small smile, tears still leaking from the corners of her eyes, but instead of sadness, they were of joy. "The attack – Tom's attack – there was a boy named Colin there. Colin survived… He's in the hospital right now, in their care, but we… I-I think it's him, Arthur… I know it's him."

With a hand resting lightly against Gwen's cheek, he tried to regain his bearings on reality. He turned his head to face Morgana, her own eyes swimming with unshed tears. He muttered about the impossibility of the situation under his breath, but he knew it was entirely possible. That was possible.

If they had found Merlin…

"I need it to be hi—" The final word of his plea wedged itself somewhere between his head and his heart, leaving him tongue tied and unable to finish the statement.

He didn't need to, though, because his eyes said it all, and they all say that one's eyes are the windows to one's soul.

They had finally found Merlin.