Disclaimer: IDOM

Hello, guys! Well, school's been cancelled for the past two days due to record lows thanks to this "Polar Vortex" we're getting. The temperature yesterday was -13 F, and with the windchill, the weather channel said it felt like -40. Naturally, I didn't venture outside. ;) Instead, I sat in my bed surrounded by warm blankets and wrote. I went nuts, actually. *rolls eyes at self*

So, guys, the title for this one is based from "New Divide" by Linkin Park. It's one of my favorite songs. :) Check it out if you have the time?

Enjoy:

Chapter 24: New Divide

A soft sunrise came in through the cracked blinds when the warlock stirred for the first time. His fingers twitched first, and he curled his toes as he inhaled a long, relaxed breath. The scent of sanitizer broke through his drugged senses first, followed closely by the scent of the flowers beside his bed. His fingers flexed weakly, and a distant beeping sound entered his range of hearing. It took a moment for his mind to comprehend that it was-his own heartbeat being measured by machines.

Exhaustion washed over him and his limbs stilled, mind working as a cool numbness flowed through his body. His thoughts were as muddled as leaves in the fall, and it took several seconds before his mind hooked onto a poking thought.

The last thing he remembered... was Arthur speaking to him. Fast words, comforting and desperate at the same time while panic laced every syllable. He... He had been... shot. Merlin took in another sharp breath as his pulse increased. Morgana. He remembered the pain. The agony. The failure of his magic to heal him. But...

They had remembered. All of them. Even Arthur. He knew. He remembered. Everything.

Warmth spread suddenly through his chest, defying the numbness, and joyous tears built against his closed eyelids, one falling down his cheekbone to spatter against the white sheet. Just as suddenly, the drip of the morphine registered his heightened pulse, sending more drugs into his system and lulling him back into a sudden, deep sleep.

It was past midnight on the next day when the warlock began to move again.

First, Merlin's eyes, glazed from hours of sleep and drugs, slowly opened. The world, though, didn't want to stay still, nor wanted to come into focus, so the warlock closed his eyes again, licking his dry lips and swallowing past the dryness of his throat.

As his strength slowly built, he took a quick inventory of himself and his condition. This hadn't been the first time he'd been in a hospital, as a patient, so he was very aware of the standard treatments for gunshot wounds. He carefully leant his wrist sideways a fraction of an inch, not surprised to see two needles inserted through his forearm: one for the painkiller and antibiotic and one for intravenous fluids. He twitched his mouth a little, feeling the plastic tube that assisted his breathing wrapped around his ears and settled against his upper lip. The distant beep was closer now, the gauze around his wrist recording his pulse and heart rate. Warmth covered his body from the thick sheets, and Merlin swallowed again, mind churning sluggishly.

He tried opening his eyes once more and settled his sight on a single object, the end of his bed, and tried to only focus on that while the world stilled. Thankfully, it soon did, and the short bout of nausea he felt disappeared. But something else had come.

Sitting on a chair next to his bed, glided head tucked in his folded arms as he laid against the edge of the wide bed... was Arthur. His Arthur.

A lump suddenly built in his throat, liquid building once more on his lower eyelid, but he forced his pulse to remain steady; he didn't want to be forced to sleep again. His lips parted, but when no sound escaped, Merlin, before his mind could even fully function, found his hand reaching out towards is king, as if to check to see if he was real.

His fingers brushed against golden hair, reordering it as it moved partially, and Merlin's arm, still weak, fell slowly towards his friend's forearm, the sudden touch startling the detective awake before his head suddenly whipped up. His eyes were blurred for a moment but, as in Camelot, his eyes focused with the speed of a warrior on alert, and he inhaled a sharp breath as their eyes met.

It was like a breath of fresh air. No, it was more than that. It was seeing a close brother make it out of a house fire. It was the rush of relief he felt when he embraced him. A rush of love and ultimate gratitude that he was alive; that he was himself.

A blanketed night sky met an early morning light, each holding their own sparkle—stars or sunlight—and they were each frozen at the memories, the knowledge, the emotions that passed behind the other's eyes.

"A-Arthur?" Merlin said, voice no higher than a hoarse whisper.

The Once and Future King, for that was who he would always be, reached out his hand, folding Merlin's palm against his own and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Merlin weakly squeezed back, swallowing thickly. "It's me, Merlin. I promise you, it's really me."

A tear finally slid down his cheek, and the pressure on his hand increased as Arthur gave him a soft smile. The warlock exhaled sharply, shakily, and nodded slightly, closing his eyes peacefully. "Arthur." Just his name, full of meaning now that he was truly his Arthur, sent a wave of fondness and satisfaction through him. Breath hitching, he fought back more tears of joy as his fingers curled.

"Merlin, it's alright," Arthur reassured, fighting his own tears. "Everything's alright now." The warlock nodded, one hand fisted as if trying to contain his entire joy in one hand, while the other held Arthur's as tightly as he could. Exhaustion suddenly flooded him, and he could feel himself fading once more from the morphine drip. Arthur, too, seemed to notice his sudden drowsiness and rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb. He stood slowly, brushing the ebony hair back from Merlin's forehead and placing a soft, brotherly kiss just below his hairline. "Get some sleep, warlock."

Merlin let out a sudden, quiet laugh as Arthur used the nickname Guinevere had given him all those years ago. He knew about his magic. He knew. He really knew, and he had accepted him. Again.

An unexpected rush of anxiety suddenly raced through him, and his eyes darkened, even more years of experience rushing to the forefront of his mind and sending chills down his spine. He gave Arthur's hand a small squeeze. "Will you still be here..." he swallowed thickly, "when I wake up?"

And Arthur knew a little bit about that too—the thousand and a half years spent alone; without anyone to anchor him. He gave his friend a small smile as Merlin's eyelids unwillingly fluttered. "Of course I will be," he said softly, looking down at him with reassuring eyes as he stroked his brother's hair. "I'll be here as long as you need me. I promise."

Warmth spread through Merlin's chest, and he smiled as he drifted once again towards darkness.

Arthur would be there a long time, then, because Merlin would always need him.

Always.

The next few days, Merlin drifted in and out of consciousness, at varying levels of comprehension, depending on how lacking he was in the sleeping drugs. Sometimes there were voices: Gwen's or one of the knight's, disembodied as he dreamed, sometimes not. But Arthur was always there. He could feel his light pressure on his hand or the presence of the other side of the coin somewhere near him. He was true to his word. As always.

The doctors were in and out, nurses too, each time checking his fluids and changing drips as need be. They took note of his pulse, blood pressure, and blood count, making sure all were up to par and steady, healthy, before they removed the IV four days after his admittance. Slowly they ebbed the warlock off the liquid morphine, and instead he was given tablet painkillers and, therefore, more waking hours.

Hours in which he interacted with his friends.

They were beyond happy to see him awake and, though not moving about, healing. Merlin would smile broadly at them as they visited his room, laugh with them until his side hurt, and listen to them simply talk, which, after a thousand years of not hearing those voices, calmed him to the point where his eyes drifted shut.

They would leave when visiting hours were over, and most times, Merlin would already be asleep as well. Arthur, however, always stayed, using his authority as Detective Inspector to stay by his friend's side, either because he was concerned about his condition or because he simply wanted to be there to make sure his friend wasn't alone.

And it warmed Merlin's heart more than he could possibly express.

Truly, at long last, he was happy.

And he wasn't alone.

He didn't have to pretend that he knew nothing anymore. He didn't have to play the fool, as he had in the other life and this one. He didn't have to suffer through his memories alone; he didn't have to be the brave one or the strong one because they knew, and they would help him, even without his asking.

Gwen had a hand in that.

She told them each pieces of what happened after they had gone, good and bad, and ensured that they knew at least a tiny bit of what Merlin had suffered for them. Even after she had left and didn't know exactly what happened, she made them understand the fear Merlin had expressed at the thought of living without them, and finally, she told them of his bravery and endurance throughout it all and the courage he had to wait for this Once and Future King.

It was truly astounding to hear. Humbling, too. Each of the knights, Arthur especially, found himself, again, seeing Merlin in a whole new light. Pride burned within his heart as he looked on at the warlock, sleeping soundly after a long day, and Arthur rubbed his warlock's lax hand again.

Now off the IV and morphine drip, Merlin slept without the aid of drugs, though there were still traces in his system. His doctor said it would take several weeks for the morphine to be fully expelled from his system and that the warlock would easily become lethargic. It was a game, actually, between the knights about what time Merlin would fall asleep each day. Gwaine usually won.

John, too, came to see him, his wife's arm wrapped around his. Sarah fondled over Merlin, to the surprise of the others, who'd never met the slim woman. The Commissioner was a man who believed in keeping his work and personal life separate, so though he'd spoken of her, none of the visiting group, who consisted of Arthur, Gwen, and Gwaine, had actually met her. Sarah and Gwen seemed to get on well, giggling after she was done fawning over the warlock.

John leaned in close to Merlin while the others were distracted. He smirked, "They know, don't they?"

The warlock couldn't help but laugh, thinking, "You have no idea..." Instead, he answered, "Yes, they do."

They spoke little more of it afterwards, but John's eyes shined a little brighter because he knew that, after he was gone, Merlin would have the friends he needed, people who knew him, people he could be himself around. It might have been a little unorthodox, making him a consultant, but it had worked out as he'd hoped.

The couple had left shortly after that, promising to check up on him again soon.

And it was the same night that Merlin had an unexpected visitor.

Arthur was sleeping in a chair next to his bed, and the others had long since gone home to their own beds. The room was darkened, like it always was after visiting hours were over, and it was a bit cold. At first, Merlin wasn't sure what had woken him, but he soon found out.

Something felt off.

His eyes focused, and he licked his lips, attempting to focus on a dark shadow sitting in a chair on the opposite wall. The blur slimmed and took shape of a woman; she was staring at him with piercing green eyes and with a small smile gracing her lips.

Morgana.

Merlin's heart rate increased, waking him fully, and he was forever grateful that they had removed the heart monitor from him so she couldn't see his pulse hasten. But when she stood, there was no enmity in the air, no ill-will coming from her or her magic, and so, though Merlin kept his magic just below the surface and kept himself cautious, he relaxed just a little.

He glanced at Arthur, who was still sleeping soundly with his arms crossed beneath his head. Merlin reached his hand out and set it on his brother's arm in warning. If Morgana so much as reached out to him…

"Don't worry," she offered tauntingly. "I won't harm him. Or you."

Merlin narrowed his eyes at her, suspicion racing beneath his irises. "Then why are you here?"

Her smirk grew, and she put her hands on her hips. "I just want to talk."

"After you nearly killed me?"

Morgana laughed humorlessly. "Please, Merlin, we both know what I did. Now, if I had fired a second time, then yes, I could have killed you."

"I'm not sure that I understand," Merlin said, cocking his eyebrow.

Snorting, Morgana walked to the empty patient's bed a few feet from Merlin's, her heels clicking on the tile floor. She hoisted herself up onto the soft mattress, tucking her long dark dress underneath her. "You don't, do you?"

"No," he replied with irritation. "The last piece of solid information I know about is that you were looking for Mordred's sword."

"Oh, I found that," Morgana shrugged, confirming Merlin's suspicions. "The other part was a bit harder."

"Other part?"

"Breaking it down, of course." She laughed at the confusion in the warlock's eyes. "You didn't think I would just start swinging a medieval sword around London, did you? My goodness, fifteen hundred years certainly hasn't made you more clever, has it? I had to break the sword down. Get it?"

Merlin bit his lip as the truth suddenly hit him, and he tried his best not to look at the scar he would forever have on his left abdomen. "You broke it down into bullets."

She gave him an oily smile. "Precisely. It was a bit harder than I thought it would be, what with the "indestructibleness" of it and such, but a sword is only as strong as the dragon who burnished it, and thanks to the Sarrum, Aithusa wasn't exactly at her best when she did it. Anyway, you know what happened afterwards. I admit, it didn't play out exactly as I had planned, but then what does?"

"You're sick, Morgana."

"Thanks," she smirked sensuously. "Is this what a lifetime of hiding does to you, then? I've been hiding the truth for so long now, Emrys. It feels... refreshing that everyone knows now."

Merlin's lips thinned as he frowned and clenched his jaw in anger. "You didn't."

"Of course I did," she answered flippantly. "What better way to make the others remember than by hurting the one they love the most? It worked with Gwen, didn't it? Oh, don't give me that look, you already knew I planned that. It was an experiment, and it was successful."

"Successful?" he blurted. "She could have been killed!"

"Nah," she said, shaking her head. "I had everything timed perfectly. The phone call I got at dinner? It was Hui telling me she was on her way home. The time from the restaurant to the your flat is the same length as the drive from Scotland Yard, meaning you would arrive at roughly the same time, and I knew you would save her. She was in no real danger."

"Okay, what about the bullets? What about shooting me?"

She smirked, slouching as she folded her arms across her legs. "You're immortal, Emrys. Well, almost. Extended lifetime is more on the mark, but you know how people are; they have to read a little too deeply into everything. Anyway, I couldn't kill you, so to speak, because you are bound to the earth as much as you are bound to your magic. But," she paused, raising her eyebrow, "if you could break that bond, if you could break your hold to this world..."

"I would die," he finished bluntly.

"Yes, well, we didn't need that just yet."

Merlin cocked his eyebrow. "So you only shot me once? That's how you're justifying it?"

"Be happy I didn't shoot you twice, idiot. Once was enough. You of all people should know that one swipe of a dragon-begotten sword and Death will be knocking on your door. But for you, I just had to use one of the sword's bullets to break your hold to the earth and cut your extended life. Now, you'll live your life just like the rest of us, on the edge of Fate everyday. One shot broke the hold, but two would have killed you for sure."

"And you want me to be grateful?" the warlock scoffed.

"No. It's as much for my benefit as it is for yours. You can live a normal life now with Arthur and the rest of your friends, and age just as they do, and die just as they do."

The warlock had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions from overwhelming him. He wasn't sure which feeling to hold on to. They were all rushing by so fast: anger, for everything Morgana was doing, all her deception, relief that everything was being clarified and straightened out and that most, if not all, his theories were being proved right. He was mortal once more.

His heart pounded within his chest, reeling with emotion with the knowledge that, for once, he would be able to live a normal life. He didn't have to leave and create a new identity in fear that someone he knew twenty years back would recognize him. He could live his life.

Merlin looked at her seriously, clenching his fist at his side to hold back his emotions. "And what do you get out of it?"

She put her forefinger against her lips. "That's for me to know."

"Morgana—" He stopped when she glared menacingly at him. "Fine. Then what happened to the bullets if you only used one?"

"Don't know."

"Morgana."

"Really!" she said innocently. "They've all gone missing. Even the one I shot you with is gone. I assume your Lady of the Lake is to blame for that."

"Freya?" he said with alarm. "She's here?"

"Is that her name? In all the legends, it's Nimueh, ironically. But yes, she's here somewhere. Ask Arthur or Gwen. They've spoken to her, though they might not have known it. Did either of them ever meet her?"

The warlock shook his head and opened his mouth to ask another question. A wave of exhaustion crashed down on him, however, and he looked over at Morgana to see her eyes fading from gold to deep brown. Black fringed his vision, and he found his body relaxing despite his inner protests.

"What about Uther and Gaius?" he mumbled, needing more answers.

"Gaius... I don't know. I haven't seen him. I don't even know if he's back or not. I haven't seen Mordred either, come to think of it. I guess that's a good thing for you, all things considered. As for Uther, he'll never remember. Almost as soon as I got my memories back, I weaved a spell in his mind deeper than the dragon's dungeon in Camelot, and I buried his memories so deep that he'll never get them back."

"Why?"

"Shh. Sleep now, Emrys. I don't think we'll be seeing each other for a while. The threads are tightening, and the tapestry is nearly complete. We only await two more strands before the prophecy is fulfilled. There are no more prophecies after that, Emrys. The end of the line, at last. I wonder what will happen after that..."

"No, Mor... Mor..."

Her voice came back, soft and slow. "Sleep..."

And he did.

Okay, so this was a pretty info packed chapter. One of you was actually right on about your theory. I am being very lazy and don't want to scroll through the reviews, but one reviewer actually guessed that Morgana turned the blade into bullets. Very, very nice. ;)

If you're confused about something, feel free to ask a question. I've been really bad at answering reviews, but that's usually because all I can respond with is "Thank you!" and I feel like some of you might get tired of that. ;) If you ask a question, however, I will do my best to get back to you. :)

Thanks for reading! Have a good one.