Welcome to the next chapter of TFR!

I apologize for the long wait. You can stone me after the chapter.

CAPTAIN OZONE is the amazing beta.

In this chapter, Colin is Merlin. Richard is Gaius. Bradley is Arthur. Angel is Gwen. Katie is Morgana.

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

Chapter Fifteen
"This could be perfect,
But we won't know until we try.
I know you're nervous,
So just sit back and let me drive."
-"The Other Side" by Jason Derulo

"Arthur… In sibbe gerest."

Colin gasped, and as air entered his lungs in great gulps, his shoulders heaved forward, nearly causing him fall off the stool in the process. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked blearily as he attempted to form some semblance of awareness in reality after being pulled roughly from his light slumber. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the counter as he placed his head in his hands, staring absentmindedly out the front window of Richard's clinic. The sun was peering over the New York skyline, beams of light stretching out over the city.

"About time you woke up." Richard's voice pulled him from his reverie, and Colin swiveled around to face his current guardian… father. The thought made Colin grin brightly, overcome with the sudden emotion that usually accompanied it.

He had been adopted. Richard had adopted him. Richard had wanted him.

Meeting Richard's stern gaze, Colin had the decency to flash him a sheepish smile. "Sorry… It was a long night."

Richard's expression sobered. "More nightmares?" he questioned, ambling towards his adoptive son. He placed his clipboard and pen down on the counter before shrugging off his white medical coat and slinging it over the top of Colin's stool. Without waiting for Colin's response, he continued. "Take tomorrow off. I can have Marian take over at the desk—"

"No," Colin pressed, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. "I need to keep busy."

Richard sighed and shot the warlock a wry smile. "What you need is sleep."

"Just what the doctor ordered," Colin muttered under his breath, ignoring Richard's clinical stare. The older man was constantly analyzing his condition even after the hospital had released him nearly a month ago with nothing more than a prescription for pain killers and an order for bed rest; needless to say, Colin had been doing everything but resting since then.

When Richard had first broken the news that he had gained custody of Colin, happy couldn't describe his waterfall of emotions. He felt as though he would have to build a dam against the raging white rapids threatening to overcome him and pull him under. The first night in Richard's apartment had proven to be the first of many obstacles awaiting Colin during his recuperation from that traumatic incident. Physically, his stab wound was healing exceptionally well, and, more than once, the hospital personal had noted the oddity in his recovery speed, especially for someone who was malnourished and rarely slept. When sleep finally did claim the teenager, it was only in snatches because the nightmares followed shortly after.

Nightmares had been a permanent fixture in Colin's life since he had been in Tom's care. Once, long ago, back when he had been a part of Michelle's household, he had sought serenity in the dreams that night brought. He had been afraid of the light, which welcomed him back into reality where he was forced to face his foster mother and all her magical horrors. Colin had always wished for nothing but the dark, a sweet reprieve from the sufferings of everyday life, where the shadows had offered an ignorance he had gladly embraced. However, even though he was free of Michelle, Tom had been no better. His foster father had singlehandedly made him afraid of everything.

Now, nightmares not only haunted his dreams but his waking hours as well. Adjusting to a life with Richard as his father had taken its toll on Colin in the very beginning. That first night in the second bedroom of Richard's apartment had been one of the most terrifying eight hours Colin had ever faced. Even though Richard had opened the window a crack, just to show Colin that he wasn't a prisoner and that he could leave at any given time (not that Richard would let him), the seventeen-year-old had been troubled with visions of his foster father scaling the building and coming through his window just to finish the job he started the night Joe died.

Colin was mortified, more than anything, when he would wake abruptly in the middle of night, Richard hovering over his pale and sweaty form with concern as he tried to reassure the younger man that he was alright, that he was fine, and that everything would get better. However, things went downhill from there—he was lucky to get four hours of sleep a night, and even then, it wasn't sound. Colin's frustration would carry out into his daily life, and often times, Richard found himself a victim of his adopted son's temper. The doctor knew to take it easy with his reactions, especially due to Colin's abusive background, but after a particular incident in which Colin's magic acted out, Richard knew he had to intervene.

During the second week of Colin's recovery, Richard asked him if he would be interested in working part-time as his assistant in the clinic. It just so happened that Marian, his current receptionist, was seven months pregnant and was due for her maternity leaveat the end of the month. Colin jumped at the chance, eager to be out and about instead of merely dreading the possible outcomes with Tom still on the loose and his magic lashing out. For three weeks since then, the teenager had been working side-by-side with his guardian, and while the nightmares and fear of Tom still lingered, Colin found it easier to adjust to a simple and content life.

Movement pulled Colin from his reverie as Richard gestured for the teenager to stand before reaching across the reception desk and switching the overhead light off. At Colin's word of protest, the doctor turned to face his son, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. Colin immediately seized his complaint and chose to wait until Richard's back was turned, and, with a flash of gold, the light flared before quickly extinguishing itself.

"Colin," Richard snapped, locking the younger man with a steely glare. Colin avoided his gaze, choosing to let his eyes flicker around the room absentmindedly. Richard shook his head and managed a soft huff. "Let's go home before you cause a city-wide power outage," he said as he handed the teenager his brown satchel and headed for the clinic's main entrance.

"That was one time," Colin called after the doctor, a bright smile overtaking his expression. "Besides, last time I checked, you were the one who pronounced the spell wrong."

Richard chuckled as he held the door open for him, digging through his pockets and pulling out a set of keys. They jingled as he locked the doors behind him and twinkled under the disappearing sun as he shoved them back into his coat. "The language of the Old Religion is hard to grasp, at first; it takes years to master."

"Then," Colin began, "how is it that I can pronounce it just fine?"

Richard paused and placed a steady hand on the young man's shoulder, sensing that the innate ability would scare him further. "Like I told you before, Colin, you were born with magic. The Old Religion flows through you as easily as your blood does."

"The way you say that…" The warlock's voice trailed off, the end of the sentence lost as an incoherent thought.

"What?" Richard pressed.

"It makes me feel like I'm not normal…" Colin let his eyes flicker away self-consciously, pretending to rustle through his satchel. "…Like I'm a monster."

The doctor chuckled lowly as he shook his head, having heard it many times before. "And like I've told you before, it doesn't make you a monster." He reached over with his other hand and grasped Colin's shoulder, forcing the teenager's gaze level with his own. "It makes you special."

Colin flashed him a uncertainsmile, and Richard rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore the warlock's antics and continue the long walk home. Colin shuffled behind him as they approached the corner, glancing around at his surroundings. Richard knew it was an instinct Colin had developed over the years, observing his environment and analyzing it for any signs of possible danger. Even though he lived seventeen years, he had seen enough peril to last a lifetime—especially in Tom's care.

During the nights that Colin slept through his nightmares, Richard would often hear him calling out for Joe and Laura; he knew that that his adoptive son still blamed himself for Joe's death and Laura's hospitalization. Joe's funeral had been a few days after Colin's release from the hospital, and Colin had refused to attend, choosing instead to stay in his room until late that very night. However, when Richard heard him sneak out later on, the doctor had followed the seventeen-year-old to the cemetery where his foster brother had been buried; he had allowed Colin to express his sadness and grief before returning home with the teenager under his arm.After his adoption had been settled, Colin had also taken it upon himself to keep Laura company in the hospital. He paid her a visit three times a week, hoping with all his heart that she would wake up that day—she never did.

Losing his foster brother and girlfriend had taken its toll on Colin, and Richard wouldn't deny that even though he was progressing very well a month after, there were still times he would find the teenager lost in thought, drifting back to a happier time.

"Richard?"

The doctor patted his pocket, reassuring himself that his keys were there. "Yes?"

"Is Bradley going to start working at the clinic?" The question pulled Richard from his reverie with a start, and he turned on his heel, meeting Colin's gaze with his searching eyes. The younger boy ignored the doctor's reaction and pressed on. "The person you were meeting with today… The one I sort of freaked out on?"

Richard chuckled lightly. "Ah… Yes. Bradley James."

"Is he going to be working with you?"

"Actually, he's going to be working with you."

Colin whipped around to meet Richard's bemused expression. "What?"

"He's going to start working at the front desk with you on Monday," Richard explained. "With Marian leaving, I need someone out there, and while you are covering it for now, you just started. Let's face it: at my age, I don't need any extra stress, and it'll help me sleep at night knowing that the front desk is in capable hands."

"…Seriously?"

"Don't worry," Richard reassured the teenager. "He's a nice boy. I've known his father for ages. In fact, he lives a few blocks down that way—" Richard gestured in the opposite direction of where they were heading. "—with is sister and fiancée."

"Fiancée?"

Richard nodded. "Sweet girl, but you can ask him all about her on Monday."

"Are you kidding me?" Colin said. "He's nineteen." Richard kept walking as if he hadn't heard him, and there was a short pause before Colin asked, "You're just trying to get me a social life, aren't you?"

"You need friends," Richard said, quirking an eyebrow as if it was common knowledge. "Besides, Bradley's a nice boy—"

"You sound like you're trying to set me up."

"May the gods have mercy for whatever poor soul ends up with you." Colin laughed and shook his head, a broad smile stretching across his face.

They walked in silence for a while, the usual sounds of New York's noisy cars and busy footsteps filling the quiet until Colin cleared his throat in an attempt to gain the elder's attention. When Richard turned to face him, the teenager suddenly asked, "Do you know how to translate the language of the Old Religion?"

Richard's brow furrowed as he looked at his foster son, confusion filtering through him as his gaze shifted back to the sidewalk. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Colin licked his lips and sighed, hastily searching for something that would make sense. "Do you know what 'In sibbe gerest' means?" Richard paused and shook his head, the motion piquing Colin's interest and giving him the courage to continue, though nervously, as he tried to understand. "But… But you've heard of it, right?"

"Yes," Richard said, letting his gaze linger on Colin a little bit longer than was necessary, a question on the tip of his tongue. "…Where did you hear of it?"

Colin bit his lip hesitantly before sighing to himself. "Lately… I've been having these dreams—"

Aged and worried eyes glanced at the youth for the barest of a second as their walk slowed. "About Tom?"

"No," he answered flatly, fixing his attention on his shoes and the blurring sidewalk as he strode. "They're more like… Memories, I guess. I've been having them a lot. They started a while back, and once in awhile, I swear that I remember these things… These voices, I guess…" Colin's voice trailed off, and he struggled to find the right words. Finally, he shook his head and flashed the doctor a sheepish smile. "But that's crazy, right? Unless it's possible I'm psychic or something…"

"There are some who are," Richard said.

Colin raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "But I can't be—"

"Don't worry, my boy. I don't think you are."

Richard was lost in thought, and Colin wondered if he would continue or explain himself. When the older man made no move to do so, he turned back to the original question. "So… What does it mean? 'In sibbe gerest?"

Richard stared straight ahead, and Colin wondered if he would answer. After a short beat of silence and a quick bob of white hair, the older man whispered lowly, "It means 'rest in peace.'"

"Is Doctor Wilson here?" a voice questioned from the entrance of the clinic, startling Colin as he scrawled random notes across a notepad. The teenager glanced up from his work, catching a glimpse of blond hair and a pair of bright blue eyes. "I'm supposed to meet him this morning…"

Dressed in a pressed pair of khakis and a black polo matching black dress shoes, Bradley James stepped into the clinic with a hesitant smile. Colin narrowed his eyes as he analyzed his soon-to-be coworker, easily recognizing the modest silver band on his left hand; Richard had told him that Bradley was engaged after all. He held himself with an air of confidence, albeit the way he fidgeted under Colin's scrutinizing gaze, oozing a certain charisma Colin had never possessed.

From what Richard had told him, Bradley was the son of the lawyer who covered Colin's custody case and was a student at Colombia with an undecided major. Colin had met Tony James only a handful of times where they merely exchanged greetings before taking their leave, and never once had the older man mentioned his son. Richard had confessed that the relationship between Bradley and his father was somewhat strained after Bradley dropped out of Harvard, but like his guardian had told him, it was a private matter that Colin had no business discussing.

The knowledge was weighing heavily in Colin's mind because, even though he knew about the conflicts in Bradley's life, it made him wonder what Tony and Richard had divulged to the teenager about him.

It had become a typical occurrence for people to recognize him whenever they came into the clinic since Tom's attempt on his life had hit the New York Times. Colin absolutely loathed the brief look of pity that would flash across their eyes as they mumbled a word of greeting before retreating into the back room when Richard came out to retrieve them for their appointment. Knowing that Bradley would be working by his side until Marian returned, he hoped that the older man would ignore his past and just concentrate on who Colin was now.

"Hello," Colin greeted with a bright smile, ducking his head as he stepped around the desk to extend a hand in Bradley's direction. "I'm Colin."

"We did this on Friday," Bradley said off-handedly but shook the outstretched hand regardless.

"Don't have to be an ass about it," Colin retorted, watching with a smug smirk as Bradley's eyes widened. "Just be polite and introduce yourself again." Colin chuckled slightly, and a soft whisper echoed through his ears: Yeah. I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass. Unsure of where the voice was coming from, Colin shook his head.

He desperately needed to get more sleep, but the only way to achieve his goal was to find a way to banish his nightmares.

Bradley laughed and came closer. "Bradley James, then. And please, don't call me Brad. I get enough of that from my sister."

Colin pulled away and leaned against the corner of his desk. "You've got a sister?"

"Morgana," he answered, a strange glint forming in his blue eyes. "Her real name's Katie, but we call her Morgana."

"That bad, is she?" Colin inquired.

Bradley snorted as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis. "You have no idea. And, trust me, that's just on her good days."

"Well," Colin drawled out, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "She does have to put up with you as her brother."

A glimmer of amusement flashed across Bradley's face. "…Are you calling me an asshole?"

Colin shrugged helplessly. "You're the one who said it—not me."

"You just met me!"

"Oh please," Colin said, "We met Friday."

"Ah," a voice said, pulling the younger men from their playful banter. "I see Mister James here has managed to arrive on time. Perhaps you can learn something, Colin." Colin shook his head, flashing Richard a sheepish grin as the doctor hinted to their first lives in Camelot—when the knights had to pull Merlin from his slumber in time for Arthur's rising.

Some things never changed.

Bradley sent Richard a lopsided grin. "Of course. I always try to set an example. Don't I, Colin?"

The warlock rolled his eyes and cocked his head down the hall. "I'm going to restock the supplies in the back room," he said.

Richard nodded in understanding and watched as Colin ambled away, leaving him alone with Bradley. Before disappearing completely, Colin turned and cast a glance over his shoulder, catching sight of Bradley's smug smile. A sense of familiarity washed over him, and he bit his lip in confusion as he shook the feeling off.

He had never met Bradley James before, so why did it feel as if he had known him forever?

If there was one thing Gwen was certain about, it was that magic frightened her.

It wasn't so much the potential to cause harm (because the ex-royal had seen it used to heal many more times than used to destroy) but rather the unknown entity that had always surrounded it. She had never been a part of the magical world until after Arthur and Merlin's deaths when she made the decision to legalize sorcery and welcome wizards and witches into Camelot with open arms. Over time, she had learned that magic wasn't a force to be feared but rather a force that should be allowed to thrive… If she had continued Uther's purge, then magic would have suffocated, all its power building up until people were forced to let it be free or else burn at its hands. Sure, it had taken many dear things from her, but it wasn't magic that hurt her; instead, it was the people who wielded it.

As she ruled for decades after her husband and best friend passed onto Avalon, she learned to embrace magic for what it truly was: a neutral force of the Earth.

However, even though Gwen accepted it as Albion flourished, there was still a hint of apprehension because she didn't know its full capabilities. In one second, it could bring life, and in the same breath, take it all away. It was a force to be reckoned with—unpredictable and, at times, uncontrollable.

As she gazed over Morgana's slumbering form, a wave of fear crashed over her, stealing any rational thought from her. Her friend's shoulders heaved forward as she gasped for air, her sweat-tangled hair sticking to her pale and clammy skin. Her eyes flickered rapidly under closed eyelids, and Gwen could see the faint gold through her dark lashes.

All Gwen knew for certain what that Morgana was casting magic—what she was doing with it, Gwen had no idea. She had been awakened before dawn by Morgana's moans and screams. She wondered vaguely if her fiancé's sister was in the middle of a vision, but, typically, she was easily able to rouse Morgana before the vision got the best of either of them.

With shaky movements, Gwen placed a hand against the witch's chest in order to steady her; she could feel Morgana's heart hammering rapidly beneath her fingertips, her pulse thrumming in tune to a hummingbird's wings. "Morgana," she said, her voice sharp and stern.

Gwen had no time to prepare herself as Morgana suddenly bolted up in bed, her own hand grasping Gwen's with an iron grip, as her eyes snapped open. The golden light was a like a beacon from a lighthouse, leading the ships to shore, but all it did was cause Gwen to flinch back in fright, her own heart stuttering and stammering. Darkness came over her, thick and fast like a blindfold, at Morgana's touch. Gwen made an attempt to move away, but in her trance, Morgana's other hand sought Gwen's, rendering the latter's limbs immobile.

Gwen was catapulted into another scene where pain was a dominant feeling, but she could still feel Morgana's comforter under her legs. With her mind working in overdrive, she was quickly able to decipher that she was witnessing the same vision Morgana was suffering from.

In the vision, Gwen was in someone else's body; she couldn't differentiate between herself and the poor soul. She only knew that they were in pain and panicking. They were running down a sidewalk, their Converse pounding against the wet pavement, when an unknown force sent them flying through the air and proceeded to propel them into the windshield of a car. Gwen knew that it had been magic, having been on the receiving end one to many times.

Glass exploded around them, and they settled across the front seat of the car, head cracked against the side door. Blood, already flowing from numerous cuts, gushed from their temple, and the world spun around them. The shards rained down from the windows, mirrors, and windshield. In all actuality, Gwen couldn't be sure; she couldn't even tell which way was up or which way was down. The glass dug into her arms, and she could feel the tangible terror of the other person. They raised their hands as if to protect themselves from future attacks, but they were drowning in the splinters of transparent crystal with no way out.

Suddenly, the car lurched to the side, and they were thrown across the seats. There was a ripping of metal ringing through their ears, and soon, they were sailing through the air until their back made contact with cement; they laid there for a short moment, trying to catch their breath. Their ribs ached, and each breath might as well have been the last from the way pain and misery flowed through their body as easily as the blood pumped through veins. Gwen was counting the seconds until they finally made a conscious effort to move, but the absolute agony paralyzed them, seizing any attempts to save themselves.

Footsteps echoed in the distance, and they struggled to find their voice. They needed help. They were alive, clutching onto an unseen helping hand from some god. They were surviving but barely. Their lungs moved in sync with their hearts; trillions upon billions of thoughts whizzed through their head, but they had no meaning. They were losing time but dazed, searching for an escape. Someone stroked the raw skin of their cheek, and the person let out a cry that was so helpless and vulnerable that Gwen felt tears prick in the corners of her eyes. .

"This could have gone easier," a voice announced as the person was flipped over, pain screaming through their body, but they only found themselves trying to catch their breath through dry sobs. "All you had to do was call her out here, and we wouldn't have had to go through all this. I don't like bloody battles."

"But I do, so let me have my fun, Morgause," yet another voice drawled out, the same bloodlust for their death evident, and someone kicked them, sending them airborne once more.

Their heart lurched into their throat as their body pitched over a height; hard rock cushioned their fall, and their neck whiplashed as their head hung off the side. There was a fleeting moment where their heart beat in their ears, loud and strong, but the strength inside of them faltered before vanishing completely, taking their life with them.

By then, Gwen no longer felt their presence. She was completely submerged in the darkness, and ribbons seemed to wrap themselves around her wrists, pulling her to the surface. Shadows swirled around her, and a dark strip wrapped its way around her neck, cutting off all her cries for help. Her own voice faded away with everything else as the world flickered into black and white. Time seemed to freeze, yet days, weeks, months, and years could have gone by, passing without her notice. Everything seemed inadequate and undeserving of her attention, void in the pit of silence. All that existed was her and the darkness.

At that moment, a muted thud echoed through the shadows, and Gwen knew it was over. It was that poor person's heart, giving its last beat, until it too became a victim of the silence. It was over; they had lost.

They were dead.

The darkness released her, and Gwen was pulled from the vision with a sob. Tears streamed in rivets down her cheeks as her hands rubbed at them helplessly, but nothing could seize their cascade. She stood up on shaky legs and grasped the comforter for support before finally raising her gaze to meet Morgana's emerald eyes, where the last of her magic was disappearing. The witch was shedding her own tears, and her pale hands were buried in her raven-colored tresses.

"He's dead," she sobbed, and Gwen tried to come to terms with what she witnessed. "He's dead. He's dying. He'll die."

Gwen couldn't understand Morgana's ramblings. "W-What was t-that?" Morgana began to rock back and forth, ignoring her friend's concern. "Morgana." Her voice cut through the room like a whip, but it had no effect.

"She killed him. She's killing him. She'll kill him." Morgana closed her eyes, clenching her hands into tight fists. "She's out there. She's hunting. She's on the prowl."

"Morgana!"

"It's happening again. It's happened before," Morgana said. "They're all connected. She's the Heir of Darkness, the next High Priestess. Screams and blood follow her golden eyes, smiting all with her clever little lies. They had no idea, no defense or warning. Their life is power, and the magic is growing. No escape, no way out..."

Gwen reached out with a tentative hand, shaking Morgana's shoulder. Her friend's eyes snapped open, and she pushed herself to her feel, irises swirling with a molten gold. "She's coming, but she could be me. I was connected, and by blood, we will always be. My choice—I don't have a choice. The only one who can save me is locked away. The key is his destiny, the secrets he hides. There can't be secrets or lies this time. Lost, so lost—that poor little boy with the blue and gold eyes. He has no hope, but he won't die. He did before, and he can again—but it won't be permanent."

Morgana began to whimper, but she kept her hold on her friend's shoulders. Gwen reached over to the nightstand and fumbled with Morgana's cell, tapping the password and clicking the first contact on the list.

"A-Arthur?" Gwen whispered under her breath.

"Angel," came the reply, signaling that her fiancé was in other's company.

"It's Morgana," she said, "She's predict—" She was cut off with a gasp as Morgana grabbed the phone.

"The bells ring, and there's no sword. The stone is gone, but the dragon rests. The legend continues, but there isn't much time. You need to finish before you die." Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she shrieked, golden light filling the room. "Hear me say, the prophets sing. She calls for the death of the… The reincarnated King."

The phone slipped out of her hands and onto the hardwood floor, clattering under the bed. Morgana collapsed into Gwen's arms, dead to the world, with her last declaration ringing through her friend's ears.

The death of the reincarnated King.