Hey guys,

There's not much to say other than I'm not dead, and I most certainly did not abandon this story. I made you all a promise that this would be eventually finished, and it is. We're starting the final leg right now. First, let me thank CaptainOzone for being my beta even though it's been nearly a year since I last updated. I hope you guys can spare a moment to check out her stuff because it's amazing, and I'm not just saying it because she's my friend. Honestly, when the Merlin fever hits, it's her material I head back to. Anyway, thank you for the wonderful people over at The Heart of Camelot (which is a multi-fandom site and is a great place for writers, fans, and graphic artists, and everything else, and you all should check that out) for all your support. And now, to the new readers who have popped up, thank you for giving this story a chance. I swear I haven't abandoned it, but school and work suck balls and I'm trying... I'm really trying, I promise. Now I can butter up the excuses as to why I haven't updated, but I will tell you that this story is not abandoned-ever. For any other updates, check out my profile page or go to my Tumblr, atimelordswife, where I will always respond if you have a question or something. I live over there.

If you have any questions/concerns, feel free to let me know. And without further ado, here's the new chapter!
Erin

In this chapter, Andy is Elyan. Sophie is Sefa. Colin is Merlin.

Chapter Eighteen
"I love you, always forever,
Near and far, closer together.
Everywhere I will be with you.
Everything I will do for you."
-"I Love You Always Forever" by Donna Lewis

When Andy turned eighteen, he became Sir Elyan.

There was never any particular reason for it. One night he drifted off into a fitful slumber, tossing and turning to dreams of knights and swords, magic and dragons, and kings and queens. When he awoke, he fought to regain his bearings, and his world turned slippery. For a moment, he lost his grasp on reality as the persona of Elyan finally joined with that of Andy. He didn't wait around to see if his family remembered, to see if Angel was really Gwen, or if his past in Camelot played any role in his present life. Come morning, he booked a flight to the West Coast and hopped on a plane for southern California, leaving his past behind him.

Running was something Elyan was well accustomed to. Responsibility was what grounded him, kept him in one place for too long. It's what convinced him to stay in Camelot after escaping Cenred's capture, what pushed him to accept Arthur's offer of being a knight, and what gave him the courage to sacrifice his life for his sister. Without it, he was free to roam and travel, discover what was beyond the walls of blacksmithing and poverty, and ultimately find his own place in the world. In this life, the lack of responsibility let him deal with the situation on his own terms, without Gwen's constant pestering or his father's disappointment (should they remember as well).

Roughly four years after he hightailed it to California, he finally managed to move on. He was as much Elyan as he was Andy, and the two incarnations had blended together in a way that made him happier than he'd ever been—in Camelot or New York.

However, at certain times—much like this one—he couldn't help but feel like something was still…missing. A part of him wondered if he'd ever find out what it was, and another part wished it would stay away forever.

But, alas, things never turn out quite the way you'd expect them too.

"Andy!" the sharp voice barked across the bar, startling the twenty-two-year-old from his hazy stupor.

"Coming," he called back, pushing himself to his feet.

Elyan held his drink high above the crowd as he swam through the pulsing and grinding bodies. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost picture the nightclub as one of the pubs Gwaine had visited on a regular basis, full of dirty and desperate drunks—men and women alike. Jostling through the throng of people, he finally succeeded in shimmying under the counter and popping up next to his boss, Sophie Nelson.

Sophie had been an unexpected but definitely desired find in the little town of Milton, California, where Elyan had finally settled. Perhaps it was because she was the easygoing owner of the town bar, the Swordstop, or maybe it had something to do with the striking resemblance she bore to Gwen's old handmaiden, Sefa, who had absolutely no apparent memory of their past lives. Either way, when she offered him a job and a hand of friendship, he accepted, and life had resolved itself to some semblance of an order ever since.

"Round of shots, table twelve," she said, flipping her brown plait over her shoulder. Her eyes flickered to the crowd, a tentative look on her face, before she shook her head. "Just letting you know, the blonde creeps me out, so she's all yours."

Elyan shook his head, grinning brightly. "Is this your way of setting me up?"

"Course not," she said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Everyone knows you're the only man for me."

"Of course, my Queen," he replied in jest. "Your wish is my command."

"You're finally catching on, Mr. Leodegrance." Sophie laughed and handed him a bottle of Jack. "Top it off; she likes the drink, so it's on the house."

"Got it, boss," he called over his shoulder and began the long trek to the back of the bar.

The atmosphere of the nightclub was normally bristling with activity. The chatter and cheers from the crowd drowned out all the sound, the strong smell of alcohol and sweat overwhelmed his senses, and the thumping of the bass in the background jolted his heart with every beat. The entire scene had become commonplace to him, so nothing seemed to faze the young man anymore.

But as he walked closer towards the "creepy blonde," as Sophia had dubbed her, the air turned hot and heavy. It was almost like a tangible fog had settled over him, sinking into his chest, and closing off his throat. A sickening feeling squirmed under his skin like a leech in the water, only worsening as he grew closer.

And then he saw her.

The woman sat rigidly in the metal chair, dark stains adjourning her shirt, hair a sweat-tangled mess. She looked every bit the broken-down woman from Camelot, who didn't know the grooming secrets of the 21st century and walked around with the burden of life sitting high on her shoulders. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, face pinched into a cold and frightening expression, and she looked all the picture of deadly perfection.

"Good evening, ma'am." Elyan dipped his head in greeting as she raised her gaze, brown eyes flashing wildly. "May I—"

"Astyre us thanonweard."

The world blurred around him. Everything disappeared. It was dark and cold.

He sucked in a sharp gasp, panic seizing his limbs and locking them in place. He couldn't run, couldn't leave, couldn't escape. A large weight settled over him, digging into his hips, and no matter how hard he struggled, it didn't let up. If anything, the pressure grew, and a sharp pain flared across his chest. Elyan pressed his head back into the ground, breathing heavily, and let out a shaky moan.

"Sir Elyan," a soprano voice rang out, tinkling like the bells in Lucifer's covenant. "It has been some time, hasn't it?"

"Morgause," he bit out.

The weight lifted, and no. He wanted it back. It hurt.

Elyan swallowed a thick lump and pushed himself onto trembling hands and knees, ignoring the pulsing pain that radiating through his upper body. "So who do I have the pleasure of killing for bringing you back as well?"

"Oh, you haven't heard? It was the great and powerful Emrys," she taunted and stepped into the light of a flickering streetlight. It was then Elyan finally realized that they weren't at Sophie's bar anymore; in fact, he wasn't quite sure where they were. All he knew was that he was lying on concrete, there was a night sky above him, and he was in a fuckton of trouble.

"E-Emrys? Who is Emrys?"

"Yes, indeed," Morgause continued, as if he had never spoken. "The legendary Emrys, the great sorcerer of the Druid lore, the Savior, the Righteous Man, destined to return magic to all of Albion…" She was lost in her own thoughts, and Elyan wasn't even sure if she remembered his presence. "All that power, wasted on a pathetic serving boy. He was Emrys, the great Emrys, the eventual slayer of all magic."

"He a friend of yours or something?" he asked, shifting back on his haunches. If he could stall her, distract her… There was a chance he could run.

"Emrys? A friend?"

"Yeah. Don't you sorcerers tend to band together?"

She threw her head back, shaking it in amusement. Cruel laughter spilled from her lips. "He is no friend of mine, I assure you. He brought you back to life and sacrificed—"

Elyan gritted his teeth, preparing to flee.

"—all of magic to do so. His gift was wasted—"

His hands were on his knees, his weight on his toes.

"—just to save his precious King."

Wait…

"I will bring him down screaming for what he's done—"

…Now!

There wasn't a moment to use.

He was running, black Converse pounding against the rain-slick concrete, and his pulse thundered in unison. His heart leapt in his throat, fear thrumming through him as easily as his blood did. He was scared, and he didn't know where he was going. The world passed by in a blur of black and white, brilliant shades of light leading the way through the darkness of the alleyway, but he kept his eyes forward at all times. He couldn't afford to jump at shadows and cower at loud noises. He needed to concentrate and get away from Morgause. He had no sword, no shield, nothing to stand against her magic.

"Wáce ierlic!"

A force sent him flying forward, and his stomach wrenched in fear. He was airborne, freefalling with no hopes of stopping, and there was no time to react, and he couldn't even think with the world at a standstill and—thumck!

His head cracked against the windshield of a car as the world exploded in a bright array of colors. Glass shattered beneath him, and as he settled across the front seat, he could feel the shards digging into his back through the thin material of his shift. Blood gushed from his temple, soaking into his hairline and dripping down his neck, pooling in a small puddle across the leather beneath him.

"Folge min bebod."

The car lurched to the side, and Elyan found himself thrown across the seats, the handle of the door poking his thigh. There was a ripping of a metal ringing through his ears, and before he could regain his bearings, he was sailing through the air until he landed on the cement with a c(r)unch.

He couldn't stop screaming.

Footsteps echoed in the distance, and Elyan knew Morgause was close behind. His lungs and shoulders heaved forward in time with his hammering heart as trillions upon billions of thoughts whizzed through his head, but he couldn't quite grasp any of it. He was dazed but still alive, looking at the world through a murky haze.

"This could have gone easier," Morgause said, stroking the raw skin of his cheek.

She murmured a spell as cool breeze stroked the burning agony of his body. There was a short beat of silence, and then a certain numbness flooded through him. His head cleared, and he found that he could think again.

She needed him for something, he realized, and all he could think was Gwen.

"I w-won't let you t-touch her," he hissed. "I won't."

Morgause flipped him over, pain erupting over his aching ribs, but he only found himself trying to catch his breath through dry sobs. "All you have to do is call her out here, and we wouldn't have to go through all this. I don't like bloody battles."

"But I do," a voice drawled out, and there was a sharp kick to his side.

Elyan's heart lurched in his throat. That voice had haunted him for years following his stead as King Cenred's prisoner.

"Enough, Cenred!"

"But—"

"There is work to be done."

"S-Still workin' 'ith 'im?" Elyan gasped out. "T-Thought you'd've m-moved on. G-Guess somethin's' n-n'vr change."

"Things have certainly changed, Sir Elyan." She reached forward and touched his cheek again.

The pain subsided.

Elyan spat at her feet, the brilliant red staining the rain-sodden concrete in swirls of clots and carnage. Morgause merely laughed, her voice splitting through his head like a pick in the ice. She stretched her hands out and spun around in a slow circle, surveying the slick sidewalks and blood-stained bricks.

When she turned back to face him, she dropped to her knees and leveled his gaze with her wild eyes. "Do you know what will happen, my knight? What will become of the world when I win?"

"I can think of a few things," he commented wryly.

"Magic." Her voice turned light, like she was walking on air, where one misstep could cause the world to crumble.

She reached towards the puddle of rainwater and blood between them, dipped her fingers under the surface, and whispered a soft spell beneath her breath. Elyan's eyes tracked her slow motion with wide horror while her own, alit with a molten gold, watched in quiet fascination. As she raised her hand, the tips of her fingers brought a curtain of rippling water with them, a soft light bubbling under its small waves. With a flick of her wrist, the water fell back to the puddle, but the light remained. It began to separate, forming small pinpricks of blinding blue light, glowing like the stars in the night sky. The curtain of stars elongated and twisted in a celestial dance, circling her in palm until they formed a small orb, faster and faster until she clenched her hand into a tight fist and snuffed the light out.

"Your life is magic," she said.

Elyan sucked in a sharp breath, the pain fading to the back of his mind, as he finally got it.

"The magic… is in us."

Kill us, he realized, and you bring back magic.

Morgause threw her head back in glee, her laughter echoing off the dark, dank walls, but Elyan didn't hear her. He knew what this meant. He was as good as dead, and Gwen was next. There was nothing he could do… To his knowledge, his sister didn't even remember yet.

Then he realized he was crying.

Elyan could count on one hand the number of times he'd ever genuinely cried: once, when his mother passed during childbirth, and another, when Gwen told him the fate of their father. Perhaps he spared a few tears when Gwen delivered the news of her engagement and when Arthur informed him of her banishment. Regardless, despite all the pain and horror he'd faced in his long life, there had never been a moment of weakness he'd willingly shared with the world, and now he couldn't stop it. After everything, this was the first time he'd ever wept with such unabashed and raw, real sadness.

Curling in on himself, shuddering with sobs and pain, he let the tears overtake him.

It was all over, and there was nothing he could do. No way to save Gwen, to save his family. His second chance was over.

"My knight, my knight," Morgause cooed as she leaned closer. "Be silent, I beg of you—"

"L-Leave her alone!" he cried, reaching out for her face, to claw and scratch and maul—

"Poor boy," she murmured in his ear, stroking his jaw with a soft, tender hand.

"You leave Gwen alone!"

"Don't shout," she said, as if speaking to a child.

Cenred grinned. "No, go ahead, Sir Elyan. Let the woman hear you."

"You w-will leave her out of this! I will not—Gah!"

Elyan's body jerked and spasmed as he seized, pain flaring as every nerve and synapse fired off at the same time. Morgause's gold eyes blurred through his tears, and his screams split the night air—shrill and piercing—until their echo was just as loud and terrifying. He was screaming and screaming and screaming. He'd never known a pain like this, even at the time of his own death, when the sword through the gut was a single lick of flame compared to the bonfire currently engulfing him.

"M-MERCY! MERCY!"

"Make the call." Morgause's voice sounded so far away.

The absence of pain left a sudden, horrible weight on his chest—a deep, throbbing pressure that tingled and poked at his battered body. It was gone so quick, snatched away in a heartbeat, and all he could do was gasp and squirm and retch until the world finally righted itself.

"I need you, Sir Elyan," Morgause said, "To call your sister. Let her know of your… predicament. With the proper incentive, I figure we can draw any number of your friends out of their hiding places, perhaps even my sister."

"I-I refuse," he spit out, fury lacing his words.

Morgause merely smiled, flicked her wrist, and the pain began anew.

But it was worth it.

So worth it.

Arthur's apartment overlooked the New York City streets, and while oftentimes it could be the worst view in the world, sometimes Gwen found a certain peace as she stared out across the bustling city below. It reminded her Camelot's courtyard many centuries ago, when the knights' boisterous laughter, the servants' hushed gossip, and the citizens' conversation could be heard at any point during the day. She used to sit on the battlements with Percival and Leon at her sides, and they'd watch over the meandering people with soft smiles.

The early spring day was certainly no different. The sky was gray as low clouds stretched out overhead, and silver sunlight poked through their cracks. It spilled in through the dirt-stained glass of the window in the living room, falling over Morgana and Colin's slumbering forms on the sofa across from her.

The overstuffed black leather couch faced the entrance of the apartment, its back to the windows and the city, and spared its occupants the unfortunate incidence of waking with the dawning sun. Colin laid along the length of the sofa, Morgana resting against his chest, with his feet shoved between the cushions at the end. Their heads were turned away from the morning light, buried beneath dark hair and folded hands. For the first time in a long while, the two were completely at peace.

Gwen and Arthur hadn't been afforded that luxury. She had awakened to the harsh sunlight nearly an hour ago, and she knew Arthur had never fallen asleep. The knights and he had continued their poker game in the early hours of the morning, stopping only when Gwaine had passed out on the kitchen table. Morgana, Gwen, and Colin had disappeared some time before, conversing over mundane topics of food, family, and friends. The entire point of the gathering was to ease Colin back into the familiarity of the nights they'd spent back in Camelot—complete with drunken knights and level-headed knights—in hopes of sparking any of his memories.

Suffice to say, it hadn't worked.

Sure, Gwen reckoned, it was much like the nights they'd used to spend together, with the addition of Morgana, but Colin remained the same teenager Lancelot had met all those months ago in that alleyway. He was still just a boy—a scared young man with a chip on his shoulder and more questions than answers—who desperately sought his place in this world. However, there were moments when she caught the rare glimpses of the Merlin she once knew.

Whenever he traded quips with the knights, that bright smile and wide eyes sent her back to the long nights in the pub with their friends at his side and a cup of ale in his hands. His friendly banter with Arthur, which made the older man erupt in shoulder-shaking laughter, reminded her that no not all hope was lost. She hadn't seen her fiancé so happy since his days as Camelot's king. It was further proof that Colin was Merlin, and he was slowly peeking out from beneath his own skin.

It wouldn't be long now. She couldn't wait for the day Colin finally opened his eyes and accepted the fractured memories from his life before. Only then could he truly join them all in the after.

For now, though, she simply stared at the scene in front of her. Morgana and Colin curled up on the couch, Arthur staring out the window of their apartment, Gwaine passed out over the table, Percival with a feather boa wrapped around his neck, Leon clutching an empty beer bottle to his chest, and Lancelot pacing around the kitchen. In a new time and a new land, they had somehow found a way to call this place home… Even if they weren't all there yet.

"You're awake." Arthur's voice sounded from beside her, and she raised her head to find him holding a thick, wool blanket out to her.

Gwen accepted it and patted the space next to her on the couch. "Been awake for a while actually."

"You've been awfully quiet."

"Just thinking."

"Me too."

She cast him a sideways glance out of the corner of her eye and couldn't help but smile. In this moment, her fiancé looked far less like Arthur Pendragon than Bradley James in his sweats and rumpled hoodie from the university.

"Couldn't sleep?" she dared to ask, but she already knew the answer. He hadn't slept a wink. "Thinking about Merlin?"

Arthur scoffed. "You mean Colin, right?"

"Arthur, you can't honestly hold that against him. It's not his fault."

He sighed and bent down, lifted her legs, and settled beneath them. As he rested his clasped hands on her knee, she sought out an answer for the haunted look on his face, wondering if there was anything she could do. But this wasn't like any horrible political scandal in court or the case of the council making an ill-advised decision during a meeting. This had to do with their friend, who she couldn't even begin to understand the way Arthur did.

"I don't know what else to do, Guinevere," Arthur said. "I've done everything I can, but he doesn't remember."

There was a short beat of silence, filled by the scrape of cutlery from the kitchen as Lancelot did the dishes and Gwaine's soft snores. "You know," she finally spoke. "He's still Merlin. That's never going to change."

"No, he's not." Arthur's voice was choked. "He's Colin… He's not Merlin."

Gwen's heart lurched in her throat. "No, no." She sighed and leaned forward, placing her hands atop his. "They're the same. No matter which way you look at it, Colin is Merlin. He's still the same man you used to know—same magic, same face, same…everything. He just doesn't have the right memories, but that shouldn't matter. He's still the same person. He's still your best friend."

"I wish it were that simple."

"It is."

"Then why haven't you called your brother?"

It was a low blow, and Arthur knew it.

Elyan was an unspoken subject in the Pendragon household unless Gwen brought it up herself. The idea that her brother was out there, perhaps dealing with these memories on his own, caused her more pain than she cared to admit. However, she had to believe that the moment Andy became Elyan, he'd at least spare her a phone call to find out if she had experienced the same. The last time she'd spoken to Elyan had been atop a dark tower with tears in her eyes and her brother's blood staining her hands.

Gwen pushed herself to a seated position, the blanket pooling around her hips, and reached for her phone on the side table. She stared at the black screen in front of her, the overhead light reflected on its blank surface. "Do you think he remembers?" she murmured, staring at the device as if it would magically ring with the answers she so desperately sought. "Or do you think he's like Merlin?"

"If he remembers, he'll come home, Guinevere. You know he will."

She shook her head. "No, Arthur, he won't. I want to have hope, but I don't think he will."

"Why not?"

"He always ran when things got too hard. Perhaps that's why he moved to California so suddenly… Maybe he's remembered all this time." She dropped her gaze to the floor. "I just… I need to talk to my brother. I want him to come home."

Arthur wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her up against his chest. "He'll remember. I promise you."

Gwen chuckled wryly. "How can you have so much hope for his sake and not offer Merlin the same? If Merlin can't remember, what are the chances that Elyan will?"

"There's no set time to remember," he said, but she wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure her or himself. "It happens when it happens."

"Then trust in Merlin to do the same."

"…Fine."

"What causes people to remember anyway?" she asked. It wasn't the first time for the question to come up: it was a frequent statement uttered among the group since Merlin had been found.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know… I just don't know."

"Well, we need to find out," she stressed, narrowing her eyes as she clenched her hands into tight fists. "We need to find out because I don't know if I can take this anymore. With Morgana's visions and the missing people—"

"I know," he said. "Trust me, I know."

She blew out a long breath, and the tension practically rolled off her skin. "'M sorry, Arthur."

"Guinevere," he said as he shifted his body so that he was facing her. He reached out with both hands to grasp her own and brought them towards his lips as he spoke. "I promise you. We'll figure this out—"

"MERCY! MERCY!"

The world exploded in a bright array of colors as all of the occupants of the apartment jumped to their feet at Morgana's scream. Lancelot rushed into the living room with a steak knife while Gwaine followed at his heels with a beer bottle clasped loosely in his hand. Leon cast a dazed look around the room as Percival fumbled with his gun.

Gwen and Arthur, however, could only stare in horror at the youngest Pendragon, who'd shot up from her deep sleep, eyes glowing a molten gold.

"She's killing him, oh God, she's killing him!"

Then the phone rang.