IM NOT DEAD GUYS!

I'm really, really sorry that I haven't updated in, what was it four months? I feel really bad I mean I really wanted to update, but I didn't have the next chapter ready like I thought I did, and I had tons of applications and forms to go through. I'M SO SORRY EVERYONE!

P.S.~ I haven't really updated anything else either. I have a lot more ideas for this story I just finally got time to work on it again.

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or Bones, which is probably good cause there would be longer hiatuses than Sherlock episodes.

Dr. Patrick didn't quite know what to expect when he woke up on the cold, hard lab floor. The neck and back pain was something he was used to, what with his increasing age. As soon as he opened his eyes and saw the unfamiliar ceiling the blinding ache radiating behind his irises exploded with the new stimulus.

He groaned as his eyelids slammed shut, almost trying to squeeze the painful light entering them from existence. It felt like he had drunk far too much. He huffed out as he braced himself for the light once more.

Sure enough, as soon as his eyes opened he felt the warmth and hatred radiating from the overhead bulbs.

His eyes twisted in their sockets as they grew accustomed to the light once more, pain flooding his mind the entire time. Blinking a few times, Patrick came to the frightening decision to attempt moving.

The crack that sounded from each vertebra resonated and told the scientist that he would regret that decision.

What happened? He struggled to remember as he rose into a sitting position, his hand coming up to rub his face but stopping short when he felt a hard bulge press against his temple where it should have been his bare palm.

Swiftly moving the hand back to inspect what it may be culprit his shoulder abruptly protested and an electrical twinge traveled through his back. He gritted his teeth and, forgetting about the strange feeling in his palm, jerked to the right while grabbing at his shoulder with his good arm.

His vision seemed to blur at the corners of his eyes as he found a hard, upright surface to lean against. He sat there clutching his arm against the examination table support structure until the pain seemed to subside, and then lowered his arm to his side. Only then did he hear the mutterings.

It sounded like gibberish, but a language still. It came softly from the distance, growing to a slightly higher volume. Footsteps seemed to be accompanying every syllable. The person, a woman by the tone, was moving around out of his sight.

"Pwy y gwared dod â mi yma? Ble mae hwn? Mae'n certi Nid yw Arthur, uh?" the tantalizing tone of a woman aounded.

What on Earth? was his thought as the voice continued. In another second he considered in an angry focus that it was perhaps Dr. Brennan screwing with his head. But then the thought occurred to him that he was dreaming.

"Efallai ... na! Amhosib! ... Ond ble ydw i? Beth yw'r lle hwn rhyfedd? Mae'n rhaid iddo fod yn rhywbeth gyda Arthur! Mae ganddo rywbeth i'w wneud â hyn," the woman continued to talk to herself somewhere in the distance, not realizing she had an audience close by as her voice rolled over different volumes.

"Ych! Pam na allaf gofio beth ddigwyddodd!?" Suddenly the woman's voice rose to a new level, a small crack of glass breaking sounded as her footsteps continued. She sounded spiteful, acid seemed to be rolling off her tongue as she whispered the next word. "Rwy'n siwr ei fod wedi rywbeth i'w wneud â'r ymyrr rhai Emrys."

He was about to call out, to ask what the heck was going on when the answer came to him from around the corner. Out she emerged, looking off towards the door, seeming to be studying it. Her eyes did not even cross the stunned man's path as he stared at her in what could be described as a form of shock.

Her appearence only enhanced his previous theory of being asleep.

Her pale white skin radiated against the black folds of both her dress and hair, both equally wrapping around her figure, the hair frizzing out at the ends wildly as if she had been running along the shorline on a windy day. One of her emerald eyes shone even in the bright room. He couldn't really make out any finer details due to the fact only half her face was facing him.

What caused him to think this was part of his imagination the most was the fact that he recognized the woman: she was a statue not so long ago.

It was at this point that he was convinced that he had slipped and hit his head long before he had even touched the stone with a chisel and was instead in a hospital bed, waiting to wake up and explain to his superiors why he had taken the remains to be examined without their permission. The woman continued to stare at the door, her face twisted into a mixture of hatred and concentration. Did she realize she could just leave?

He was debating if he should notify the dreamwoman of the obvious solution or instead wallow in the fact that he might soon be in trouble when he would wake up, when his eyes met her frightening, wild pupils his blood went cold.

There was a silent staring exchange between the two of them. He gaped wide eyed and she stared at him with cold, calculating precision as she studied him like she had been doing with the door.

She was the one to break the silence.

"Pwy ydych chi?"

"Uh," was all he could make out. He swallowed hard from his postion on the ground.

"Pwy ydych chi?" she repeated the question more forcefully, her body keeping its rigid stance as she glared down at him.

"I- I really, I'm sorry I don't know what you are saying," he stuttered out. He felt shaken not really by the woman, of course not, most likely it was caused by all of the events that had happened, even if most were part of this crazed dream.

"Betho?"

Did she just say Betho? It was obvious she was speaking some other language. He might have recognized it if it wasn't for his current condition.

"Uh," was his only response as he glanced towards the door. Apparently his answer didn't satisfied her as she seemed to growl at him.

Behind those elmerald eyes, Morgana was raging in a new form of confusion.

Where was she? The last thing she remembered was arriving at the temple. It all went dark after that. One moment she was walking through the entrance and the next she was waking up covered in broken stone and dust, clasping the cloth wrapped relic in her hand.

She had gotten up from the stone 'bed' feeling weak and disoriented. As soon as she had taken a look around she realized something was off.

It was the strangest sight she had ever seen. She had seen bones before, countless of bodies, but these were in window like drawers on the walls surrounding her. Was this a torture chamber? Were these victims? There were more bones on the ground along with their holdings' clear debris.

She steped around the debris and began to asset her surroundings.

The room, besides the skeletal pieces, would have seemed plain to most except everything was bizzare from the woman of another time. The material of the floor. The strange table the rock slab was on. The ceiling. It was all different. She didn't even approach the strange, thin, black box that seemed to be giving off a magic like light.

Soon the bones began to give her an uneasy feeling and she began to pace around, questioning what was exactly happening.

At first Morgana thought it was perhaps Arthur, but what about this room? It looked so... it couldn't be Arthur. Then the thought occured to her. Could it be? No, it couldn't she reasoned. Soon she grew frustrated, wondering what had happened to lead her to this place. In a bit of uncontrolled rage her eyes flashed gold and a large sharde of glass broke on the ground. With a deep breath she admittied that it was most likely him, Emrys, who had put her in here.

At that thought, the thought of her doom, the only thing on her mind was finding a way out of this room.

She looked towards the door and thought of her options.

She could walk out, but what if there were gaurds, what if Emrys was there? Even if she could take him out she didn't want to risk it. She was just trying to think of a way to defeat her enemy on the other side of the door when she noticed the man crouched on the ground next to the table, staring at her.

That was the point they were at. She had asked him who he was, but he only answered in a foreign tongue which grew on her patience.

She was staring at him, trying to figure out what the seemingly scared man was saying when she realized something that caused her brow to relax a bit.

He looked like he belonged here. The clothes were just as bizzare as the room. Dried blood caked the side of his face as he stared wide eyed at her. He seemed frightened, did he know who she was?

Was he her captor or did he work for them?

She turned to look towards the door once more and formatted a plan.

When the woman looked back from the door once more Patrick's head drew backwards from sheer intimindation.

She looked so determined, her brow furrowing once more and lips into a hard line.

He was her best bet of getting out alive. He was the only way she could get out without being detetected. He did seem to fit in with the look of the place.

"Dewch yn ôl yr enaid Dewch yn ôl dy gorff a rhowch ddau eneidiau i un corff," she began to speak the strange words once more. All he could do is stare in amazement as her eyes changed from green to a faded gold. Suddenly a coldness went over him, his head felt so heavy.

The diziness was returning as she continued to speak, "Dewch â'r enaid, rhwymo'r meddwl, rhwymo'r ysbryd ac yn Twist y crwyn. Dewch dy gorff a dy feddwl, yn gwneud y ddau gwirodydd un."

By the time she was finished a knock came from the door.

Within a second it was opened and a man walked in.

"Dr. Patrick?" the man sounded wary when he saw the doctor standing in the middle of the room that had seen better days. The European was staring at the opposite wall, his head seemed to be tilted down, but at the sound of his name he rose to his full height and opened his eyes.

What were once gray irises were now a brilliant green.