A/N: Good lord, I suck. It's been six months (or more aaaahhh) but all I can do is apologize to you all! I promise I'm still actively working on this story, I just ran into some problems with the overall plot which took me a LONG time to work out.

Probably most of you noticed my tendency so far to basically ignore Morgana's overall plotline, and there were a few reasons I've done that, but the most prominent was that I never really understood why Season 2 of Merlin ended with 'The Last Dragonlord' instead of 'The Fires of Idirsholas'. It makes more sense for Merlin's character development and storyline, of course, and I loved it as an end episode, but they basically ignored Morgana's disappearance until the beginning of Season 3.

Therefore I have placed 'The Witch's Quickening'/'The Fires of Idirsholas' AFTER the events of 'The Last Dragonlord'. Sorry if this screws with your mental timeline, but I liked it more plotwise and it segues easily into Uther's year-long search for Morgana which takes place in between Seasons 2 and 3.

Thank you all so much for your support, (I could never do it without you!) and the next chapter is already a few paragraphs from completion, so I will make an attempt to post it before the New Year!

Also, a slightly late Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to y'all! Hope you have a wonderful holiday season. :)

Summary: The soulmate words were seemingly the one form of magic Uther Pendragon could not best. Merlin has never wanted hers; they are sure to be a great deal of trouble on top of being a warlock. After all, soulmarks are a type of magic, and she has eight.

Spoilers for BBC's Merlin, Seasons One-Five

Warnings: Slight Angst, Multiple Canonical/Non-canonical Character Deaths

Chapter 11:

Dearest Merlin,

I know we haven't really spoken in quite a while now, but I thought I'd like to try and stay in contact with you although I am still traveling. You are my soulmate, after all. I think I'm doing some good, out here, away from Camelot. I hope so, at least. I can't know for sure, I suppose.

I'm traveling through Essetir at the moment. The king here, Cenred, treats his kingdom even worse than Uther. You would hardly believe it. He is not opposed to magic, but allows slavers to run rampant, and cares not a whit for the wellbeing of his people, but only for money and power. It is truly despicable. I've heard that he is terrorizing a group of towns near the south border. I've visited there before, and that is where I'm headed now.

I've been told that it will take nearly eight days for this letter to reach you, so by then I'll be in the town of Cothromach. If you wish to reply to my letter, take it to the tavern of the Rising Sun and ask for a commissioned messenger. They run a fair message business between most of the taverns of Albion, I have found, and someone should be willing to carry your letter to Cothromach.

I hope you remain well, and I miss you more than I can say. I hope to hear from you.

Best wishes and love.

Lancelot

Merlin finishes the letter for the fourth time and grins. Every U, N, and R tells her that this is indeed her soulmate's letter. She thinks wryly that she would have never thought of so clever a way to stay in contact with her friend, and that she is horribly lucky that he did.

She fingers her own letter, neatly written out on a piece of the best parchment in all of Camelot—she snagged it from Arthur's chambers. All she has to do now is send it.

"Gaius," she calls, taking the stairs down into the main physician's room at a run. "Gaius! D'you know anything about how to get a commissioned messenger? I've got a letter to send."

"Go to the Rising Sun, Merlin," Gaius replies distractedly, tapping a beaker of something vaguely green as he holds it up to the light. "And who on earth is it for?"

"Oh, just Lancelot," she says offhandedly. "We decided we wanted to write since he can't come to visit."

Gaius gives her a long look and sighs. "Be careful, Merlin. Lancelot is still a banished man. You wouldn't wish to be seen consorting with him."

"I know," she says with a hint of exasperation, shrugging on her brown jacket and tucking some absent wavy strands of hair into her bun. "Honestly, though, Gaius, since when am I anything but careful?" She trips on her way out the door and pretends she doesn't hear her mentor's smothered chuckles.

It takes Merlin hardly any time to find a messenger in the Rising Sun tavern and dispatch him cheerfully with a few coins and Lancelot's letter.

The young innkeeper, Gordon, laughs quietly from behind the bar, where he was washing out goblets. "You look like you're having a good day, lass."

"I am, thank you," Merlin replies, giving him a warm smile and settling onto a stool to chat. Arthur won't notice her being gone an extra moment, and Gordon and his family are lovely people. "How are little Millie and her mother?"

"Wonderful, thanks to you," Gordon says, abandoning his tidying and leaning on the bar companionably. "I had thought I could handle the birth myself, but with all those complications, I can only be grateful that you and Gaius happened to be available to help."

"It was our pleasure," she insists, a warm feeling tingling at the pit of her stomach at the memory of helping them out. Births were stressful, but usually so happy afterwards. Gordon's wife Laura's birth had been no different. "Send them my best wishes, won't you?"

Gordon grins, and picks up his goblet again. "I certainly shall. Good day t'you, lass!"

Merlin strides out into the street, whistling. She hasn't felt this lighthearted in a long while, and can't even find it in her to drag her feet on her way to attend Arthur for his midday meal with King Uther and Morgana.

Morgana.

Now there is a thought.

The king's ward has been acting strangely distant, and Merlin has been planning to make sure she's okay. The two black-haired girls have never been as close as Morgana and Gwen are, but in the months since the dragon's release and attack, they've barely spoken at all.

Merlin asked Gwen the day before if Morgana would be free in the evening to sit and chat like they used to so much more often, and Merlin's dark-skinned soulmate assured her she would be. Just a few more hours, and everything would be cleared up, Merlin reasons.

Morgana most likely has something on her mind—possibly something to do with the nightmarish, magic-induced visions she's been having for months. Perhaps it's finally time to tell Morgana the truth: that Merlin herself has magic, and that the ward is not alone in her feelings of being an outsider.

The warlock makes her way through the market, which, in the early morning hours, is already bustling. She exchanges a few friendly words with one of the stall-keepers, who is selling hot spiced cider, before gratefully taking a small cup offered free of charge and continuing on her way.

Of course, the noble-born lady's reaction could go either way, she muses; although Merlin doesn't think Morgana capable of actually turning her in. After all, they are in the same boat, what with being magic-users secretly ensconced in the heart of Camelot's court. If anything, she would just be disgusted that it has taken Merlin so long to trust her with her secret.

A sudden strength of resolve fills her. Tonight, Merlin decides, trotting up the stairs to the second level of the palace on her way to Arthur's rooms, she'll do it. She will reveal her deepest secret and it'll all be in the past.

The day goes by quickly, far more quickly than the warlock expects, and soon the sun is sinking into the horizon.

Merlin straightens up with a groan of soreness, observing her work proudly. The stables have never looked so clean. Lovely.

Unfortunately, Merlin seems to have transferred the muck and mire onto her own person in the process.

She puts away her pitch fork, brushes away the worst of the grime, and winces. There is no way she can visit Morgana like this, unofficial as the occasion might be. Merlin will have to stop at Gaius's chambers and clean up.

It doesn't take her that long to get cleaned up and changed with the help of her magic, but Gaius insists on her helping him get a book down from the topmost shelf, citing old age and stiffness. She does so as quickly as possible—which is not very quick; she doesn't want to die by breaking her neck, okay—and groans quietly when he insists that it isn't the one he asked for.

"I'm quite sure I said the History of Herbs and Their Uses, not the History of Horticulture and Its Uses, Merlin. Honestly, do you have somewhere you need to be?" Gaius calls from the floor.

Merlin sighs, inching along the narrow protrusion that can hardly be called a walkway for the second time. She debated telling her mentor about her plans to tell Morgana her true identity as a warlock, but decided that he would only try and convince her otherwise again. She is determined to go through with it for once, and is certain that the revelation will only help Morgana.

Thus, there is no reason for her potential hurried exodus from his chambers. "No. I could just swear you said Horticulture. It's a hard word to remember when someone hasn't just specifically told you it three times, Gaius!"

"Well, I didn't want the History of Horticulture because I'm looking for the recipe for the monthly cramp potion! I'm certain it's in the History of Herbs, and you'd think you'd be more grateful for the use of it, what with your habit of gallivanting off with Arthur every other moment!"

Merlin closes her eyes and leans forward, gently hitting her head on the rickety bookshelf. She isn't as uninclined to falling and breaking her neck as she was a few minutes ago. "Thank you. Now where did you say it was?"

Ten minutes and three near-death moments later, Merlin, now covered with cobwebs and a healthy amount of dust, presents the huge volume of the History of Herbs and Their Uses to the physician.

Frowning, he inspects the cover. "Doesn't the cover have a selection of medicinal herbs on it? This is just plain leather."

Merlin points, speechless, at the cover of A History of Horticulture and Its Uses, which is embossed with colorful bunches of herbs.

"Ah. Well, thank you anyway, dear girl."

Merlin is on her way to Morgana's chambers, making her way through the mostly darkened castle, when she hears the voice.

…ake the north door straight ahead. Keep going!

She stops in her tracks. It's in her head. And it sounds familiar. The only time she's heard this voice…but that couldn't be right!

Keep going. Hurry!

Mordred?

Merlin only has a moment to wonder why on earth the Druid boy would be back in Camelot—she and Morgana and Arthur had worked so hard to get him out in the first place—before she takes off running.

Keep going. It's not much further now.

She swallows with difficulty, changing direction to head towards the voice. Definitely Mordred, even if he sounds a little older.

Be careful. At the end of the corridor. Morgana's chamber is next.

Of course. Merlin fights down the urge to curse like a crude farmer she once knew in Ealdor. Morgana. He wants to speak to Morgana.

She rounds the corner, intent on intercepting the boy and whoever his accomplices are—thud.

"Merlin?!"

It's Arthur's arm against her throat pinning her to the wall, and Merlin gives a silent prayer of thanks that, caught off guard, she hadn't inadvertently used her magic against him.

"Morgana's chamber," she chokes out. "Arthur, c'you let…?"

"Oh, sorry." Her soulmate releases her with a scowl. "What are you doing out this late, anyway?"

"On my way to see Morgana and Gwen," she explains. "The intruders! I was almost there, and I heard them heading to Morgana's chambers!"

Arthur dashes off without another word. Merlin follows, the squad of guards on her heels.

By the time they arrive, there appears to be no one in the king's ward's room, and Arthur glares furiously, tells her she's tired, and sends Merlin off to sleep. Not that she's complaining (she is exhausted) but she was sure that Mordred has been guiding someone to Morgana's rooms.

Why weren't they there? And more importantly, what was so important to them that they would risk getting caught? The questions are still swirling around in her brain when she flops into bed, and she sleeps restlessly until morning.

Gaius has even less of an answer that Merlin does the next morning, and the young warlock goes about her duties absentmindedly pulling at her new red neckerchief and wondering why not knowing what is happening is bothering her so much.

She forgets that she was meant to tell Morgana that she had magic.

When Arthur sends her back up to his rooms to fetch his training gloves—which he forgot again, it wasn't her fault—Merlin is not expecting to run into the beautiful witch.

Morgana looks startled. And…maybe a little guilty. "Merlin! I was looking for Arthur."

She was?

"He's out training," Merlin said hesitantly.

"Of course," Morgana says, nodding like she forgot. Why would she forget? Arthur spends literally almost every day out training when nothing disastrous is occurring and there are no special occasions.

"He, er. He trains every day," Merlin adds, confused. "Same time, same place."

Morgana falters. "I…I just wanted to apologize. For last night. Another time, perhaps."

She flees the room like she's done something wrong, and Merlin can't stop frowning, not even when Arthur says she looks like she's been eating live frogs. Who would eat live frogs? Fried, Merlin knows from experience, is the way to go.

The warning bells sound that night and somehow, Merlin isn't as surprised as she should be.

"Whoever it was knew exactly what they were looking for," Arthur fumes, glaring at the empty case which once held the Crystal of Neahtid.

"Apparently," Merlin says, because Arthur sounds like he thinks she should be saying something.

"Apparently? Tell me, Merlin, whose job is it to ensure that my chambers are locked so that no one can steal my keys? Whose job is it to make sure that something like this never happens?!" The prince practically yells, throwing his hands in the air.

Merlin winces. She doesn't remember forgetting to lock his chambers, but…. "Sorry?"

The king is not happy.

"Arthur?" Merlin is taking twice the amount of steps as Arthur, trying to keep up with him. "Thank you."

"For what?" Her soulmate snaps crossly, turning and stopping on a dime. She nearly runs into him as he glares down at her. "For lying to my father to save your miserable hide?"

She grimaces. "Yes."

"Well, I didn't really have a choice, did I!" Arthur sounds actually upset. "We had better find that stupid crystal. And if you ever put me in that position again, I'll clap you in irons myself, soulmate or not!"

He keeps walking like the floor insulted him, and Merlin falls behind before he even rounds the corner. She remembers her plans to tell Morgana about her magic. She thinks about how if she told Arthur about her magic, he would have to lie to his father on a daily basis. She recalls Morgana's guilty look the day the keys must have been stolen.

She wonders, not for the first time since she came to Camelot, what on earth she is supposed to do. She wonders if, with choices like these, if there is even a right thing to do, and if so, how is she supposed to know?

That night, Merlin reluctantly traipses through the woods to a clearing far enough away from the city that Camelot will not be disturbed. She is incredibly hesitant, with the memory of Camelot burning resting heavily on her mind; but she also remembers Kilgharrah's warnings about Mordred, and roars words in another language to the sky.

"So, you have finally decided to call on me, young warlock."

"I didn't want to. Not after what you did," she says bitterly. "Those knights were good people. Good men. Some of them were my friends."

"I left your soulmates alive, did I not?" The dragon replies lightly. "Arthur, and your other life companion, the knight with the curly hair. Leon, wasn't it?"

"That's no excuse! You shouldn't have killed any of them at all!" Merlin protests. "But that's not why I called you."

It takes her only a few minutes to explain the situation to Kilgharrah, and to ask for advice concerning the powers of the Crystal of Neahtid, and why it was wanted. And whether Mordred was dangerous.

She doesn't like his answer.

She likes what she finds when she follows Morgana the next night even less.

Merlin and Gaius decide to bring the matter of Alvarr's encampment before Uther under the pretense of Gaius being informed of it through an anonymous source.

The young warlock realizes that she isn't sure how only three nights ago, she was going to trust Morgana with her life, and now, she is trying to hinder the same person from working with other magic-users.

Is she really so bad a judge of character that her opinion of the witch had changed so drastically so soon? Morgana is a good person, Merlin believes that with all her heart. She is being misled, she is being duped and manipulated by her bond with Mordred. If Merlin can stop her from going down that path, then all of Kilgharrah's warnings about Morgana and Mordred's dire future won't come to pass.

Lying in bed, Merlin wonders who put so much responsibility on her shoulders. Who is she, to try and change the future? To determine the outcome of events?

After all, look what happened when she tried to save her father. He died anyway. If the outcome will be the same no matter what, then what is the point of it all? Why does she feel such a compulsion to fix things?

Emrys.

A lofty title; a weighty name to bear, and yet, how can she deserve it?

Merlin sighs, shifting onto her back.

How can you live up to something, even when you sometimes don't want it? Like magic, or a powerful destiny, or the promise of eight soulmates?

She drifts off to sleep, restless with unanswered questions.

She does not know, but it is because Merlin does not aspire to be Emrys that she deserves it.