"Excellent," Merlin says, flashing a grin at all of them before looking right at Snow and David, once again switching from swaggering to deathly serious in a split second. "But first we must eliminate any leverage Arthur might have over us. I believe he has a prisoner?"

Killian's eyes dart over to Snow and David. With some reluctance, they turn away from Emma.

"Lancelot," Snow says. "He was captured, and it's all our fault."

"Mom..." Emma starts, but pulls back, even taking a step backward. The lost, uncertain feeling must be contagious, he thinks, since everyone's gaze settles back on Merlin.

"It won't take long to free him," he assures them in a gentle tone. "A quick demonstration of my magic, which not even Arthur has had a true taste of, and maybe some swordplay here and there, and we'll begin our quest. Driving the Darkness out of Emma, well...if I can help someone before, I would prefer things that way."

"I'll go with you," David volunteers, already drawing his sword and gesturing at the door. "It's nightfall, element of surprise, powerful wizard—I think we're checking off all the boxes here."

"You don't need to put yourself in more danger. I can just clap my hands and poof him wherever he wants to be," Swan argues.

"If it wasn't for Lancelot, we might never have been able to have you in the first place." Marching toward her, David sets his hand on her shoulder. "We owe him his freedom, and we owe you a safe environment so you don't have to use your magic. Besides, knowing a few ways to get in and out of that castle that are off the beaten path might come in handy."

"Then let's be off," Merlin says, his cape swishing as he heads for the door, David taking a few long strides to catch up to him. Killian raises his eyebrow. Something nags at him, an unseen but incessant force tugging him closer to them. He doesn't know this Lancelot, but he knows David, and he doesn't know this Merlin well enough to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he's not just herding a lamb to the slaughter.

"You could use someone to watch your back," he calls out to them, feeling Swan's fingers thrust themselves between his so quickly he would have dismissed it as a phantom sensation. "Muscle memory," she'd called it once.

"Send Regina," she whispers to him, pulling him so they stand face to face, fingers still interlocked. "There's no reason she can't use her magic."

"That leaves you the only one able to start hurling fireballs if things fall apart here," he argues, kissing her forehead. "I know you want to help-"

"I haven't helped anyone since we've been here," she interrupts, a twinge of panic in her voice. "In fact, I've only made things worse. I've already hurt someone. Killian, if you're not here, I don't know what...It will talk me into."

Hurt someone? When? Opening his mouth to let the questions pour out, Belle shouts out a sudden, "Wait!" that clamps it shut. With a massive tome pressed against her chest, she dashes past them up to David, rattling off something about fending off guards and counter-cursing barriers. Blast it all, he can't let David and the woman he'd tried to kill charge off into the unknown with only some dubious Sorcerer for protection. Wiggling his hand free of hers, he sifts through her hair and holds the back of her head to peck her lips.

"Whatever you've done, you can make it right," he promises her in a hushed voice. "Trust me, Swan. I've learned it's never too late to fix one's mistakes."


"You're saying it's all an illusion?" he hisses to Belle as they sneak across dark forest to the back entrance of the castle. According to Merlin, if they weave their way through the kitchens, descend a few staircases, they'll be in the dungeons.

"There are holes here and there for us since we never had the dust in our eyes, but yes," Belle confirms. "Very little of this is actually real."

"So the prison bars...locks..." he trails off, knowing she'll know what he's asking.

"They might all require spells to free Lancelot, not just your standard lock picks and whatever else helps people escape prisons."

"Gods," he murmurs, stopping behind Charming, the kitchens just ahead. They'll have to make a run across a few feet of open field, and while the majority of the archers will be patrolling the front of the castle, a few pacing silhouettes on the turrets above them could make short work of them. And none of it being what it seems. The scents, the books, the cloudiness of people's heads—it all makes sense now.

"Archers. Two of them," he hears David murmuring to Merlin.

"Don't worry."

Killian's not sure he's ever worried more about someone's insistence not to worry.

Waving his arms as he did in the diner, Merlin steps out of the shadows just enough for the moonlight to reflect on his robes, a shimmery force to be reckoned with as the lamps and torches all around the castle go out in puffs of smoke.

"Run," Merlin directs them. One by one, they hurry into the empty kitchens and down a narrow set of stairs leading into blackness. His legs pick up on the pattern quickly, though, keeping him from tripping as they make their descent to a heavy wooden door. Belle has a hand on the back of his coat and his shoulder brushes up next to David's, but they've made no sound a guard would presume to be anything more than mice scuffling about. All but gliding behind them, Merlin lifts his arms and closes his eyes.

"I won't kill the men behind that door," he warns them in firm whisper. "But I can daze them long enough for us to break through. Close your eyes, count to three, and do what you need to do."

He'll follow Merlin's instructions for now. With his eyes closed, he hears surprised, anguished cries on the other side of the door. There are about to be more. Bracing himself, he kicks his way through the door, ramming his arm into the guard closest to him. The door stops short, having slammed into another one's face. David hurries past him, the sounds of punches being thrown and armor clanging against armor echo in the corridor. A shuffling and scraping against the floor... A guard reels David back, attempting to pin him against the wall. With a grunt, Killian rushes back and grabs at the guard's cape, his hook turned so it won't plunge into him, merely tear through the cloth, throwing the guard into the wall. Recovering, David steps to the side as Merlin enters. The Sorcerer only has to lift his hand for another armed guard to fall in a heap at his feet.

"Not bad for a bloke who spent the last thousand years in a tree," Killian notes, needing to shake off the feeling that perhaps they should have asked this man a few more questions before following him into a siege.

"Just like riding a bike," Merlin dismisses, lifting his palm to reignite the fire.

"Well, it won't be long before Arthur knows we're here," David pants, weaving around the two of them to inspect the maze of corridors in front of them. "How do you know what a bike is?"

"Do you really think all my prophecies came true because of luck? This way." Now with Merlin leading them, Killian exhales, but only for a moment. Having an unknown quantity in front has considerably fewer disadvantages than having him behind, but when it's a wizard, all bets are off. Motioning for them to stop again and lean into the wall, all they have to do is wait for guards to pass. Merlin had known they were there.

"Bloody hell, you really can see the future," he blurts. Then...Merlin already knows. He already knew they would come. He knew Emma would become the Dark One before she did. He might have been able to keep Lancelot from being captured in the first place if they'd all found a way to free him sooner. Do they succeed? Three words mounting, building their way from his gut up into his mouth onto the tip of his tongue, but he longs to both ask it and not ask it.

"Bits and pieces, yeah." Merlin gives him a curt nod and turns his back to him, apparently uninterested in discussing the future any further. Just as well, he thinks.

He stops at a hallway full of cells, so Killian ventures forth, stopping at the first one when a glint of something shiny catches his eye. Armor. A knight with large, sad eyes regards him.

"Lancelot," David addresses him.

"Charming?"

"It's okay. Mary Margaret and I are no longer under Arthur's control." He does resemble the man Cora instructed him to bury at the Survivor's Hold, but it had been dark and he'd never met Lancelot, the great Leviathan, before. Perhaps this knight truly had bested that witch.

"How did you break his thrall over you?" Lancelot asks David. There's relief and even some hope in his eyes, but it's all guarded, as if he's thought of countless ways to break through Arthur's power before.

"They didn't, mate," he assures him, moving out of the way for Merlin to come into view. Thousands-year-old tree or not, Merlin and Lancelot look upon each other as old friends.

"Merlin!"

"What about me, now?" he hears a low brogue. "Ye here to free me, too?"

"Merida?" The hair makes it unmistakable. But they hadn't seen here for all these weeks. She'd been on a quest of her own. Surely—he holds his breath—surely Emma hadn't been talking about her as the one she'd hurt, had she? She'd already nearly crushed this woman's heart—would she have kept her prisoner as well?

"How did you end up in there?" David asks her.

"Long story. But after what your daughter did to me, letting me out is the least you can do."

Well then, if Emma had put her in here, the lass wouldn't be shy about letting them know it...which means Arthur imprisoned her. But why? All that can wait until after they've made an uneventful exit, he reminds himself.

"Aye, she's right. Emma would want us to free her."

"Indeed, but much has changed in the past milennia," Merlin notes, staring at the bars with wary eyes. "These bars are enchanted with magic that I've never encountered before."

"Here! Try this!" Belle lifts the opened book up for him to peer into, the dim light, the flourished calligraphy, and time being of the essence barring Killian from making an attempt to decipher the presumed grimoire's contents. Merlin skims it, murmuring sounds of impressed delight.

"Well, aren't you the clever one?" he praises her.

"Glad someone noticed." All right, all right. You two can flirt after we're all home. Merlin steps back and lifts his arm, sucking in and then blowing out as if he's swallowed one of the four winds. Flicking his hands, the bars vanish with only a quick flash of light, as if they'd never been there in the first place. Lancelot and Merida each slide a reluctant foot over the threshold and breathe a sigh of relief to find out that, yes, the bars are actually gone. However, there is an indistinct hollering echoing somewhere in this labyrinth. The guards will be finding their way back to them in no time.

"We best get going," Killian says.

"No, wait! Wait, I can't leave! Arthur took my wisps! They're the only way I can find my brothers!" Merida calls after them frantically. Merlin hangs back to comfort her, so there is no reason to stop. He wishes for her success, truly, as no one understands the pain of losing a sibling as much as he does, but it's time to go. It must be time to go. For the good of all their sanity, it needs to be time to go.


They hurry back to the diner under the cover of darkness without looking back, without uttering a word. If Arthur's knights spot them... He almost snorts, wondering if he's the only one worrying about that scenario. Everyone else might be putting their faith in Merlin, but, while it's inarguable the Sorcerer displays tremendous power, the benevolence of his nature still needs to be determined. If he'd cured Emma of the Darkness first, she could have simply spirited Lancelot and Merida away with her white, untainted magic. He longs to be able to smell the sweet cinnamon and sunshine scent of it again, see the surprised confidence on her face as she can use it without fearing it. Gods know they could use it for this and that, maybe even before they leave Camelot.

"The best of luck to you all," Lancelot says, stopping them. "I'll ride on to the nearest kingdom and inform them of Arthur's treachery now that we know what's going on. I'll return as soon as I can." Wordlessly, he and David grip one another's shoulders in friendship, the latter watching the former disappear into the woods. About to break into another run, Killian halts when he spies David's befuddled expression.

"Where's Belle?" he asks.

Whirling around, Killian scans their path, hearing no footfalls or muffled voices. He can't call out for her, at least not until morning.

"Do you think she was captured?"

"Merida's gone, too," David sighs with his hands on his hips. "What do you want to bet she didn't like our plan and recruited some help executing one of her own? Merlin, can you see her?"

Closing his eyes, Merlin holds his wrist in front of him and nods.

"Is she all right?" Killian asks.

"She and Merida are fine. You will both see Belle before you depart." The Sorcerer's jaw clenches, though, and his eyelashes bat as if he's trying to keep a disturbing image out of his eyes. "Come. There's much to do."


"I've tried to get her to lie down," Snow says, resting her hand on his shoulder as he peers out the window. "She won't."

"Why does she need to see memories?" he whispers into the glass, the cool morning air allowing him to see his breath before his reflection.

"She says she can't explain it, that it's a compulsion. I don't know. If she was able to see Merlin's memories while he was still a tree, the dreamcatchers might be able to do even more for her than we think." Shuddering, Snow turns on her heel and heads back around the counter to scrounge up some morsels. He'll wave it away; he's already decided. If Emma plans on sitting outside weaving dreamcatchers, he can forego a meal.

He continues to watch her through the blinds, watching one dreamcatcher escalate to eight, all sitting in a row on the log next to her. She works quicker than he's ever seen her, like she's running out of time.

"Come on, Hook. Have some breakfast," Granny calls to him, the aroma of eggs and the sizzling sound from the skillet trying so hard to recreate home and the start of an ordinary day.

"No, thank you," he says, watching her wrap. Bend. Tie. Wrap. Bend. Tie.

"Can't have you wasting away," Granny says, clasping his forearm with both hands. "Come on, now. Take a few bites and we can let Merlin take it from here."

Perhaps that's what he's afraid of. Humoring her, he stuffs a few forkfuls of fluffy eggs into his mouth straight from the skillet before heading back to the window, ignoring her muttered profanities as he does so. Swan's so focused, so honed in one her work that the only thing that gives him comfort right now is that fact she's not talking to some unseen demon out there. Whatever's going through her head, it is hers and not the puppet mastery of Rumpelstiltskin.

"So you can really do it." David's voice convinces him he'll go mad if he just stands and spies on her all morning long. Heaving a sigh, he returns to the rest of the group. "Take the Dark One dagger and put it together with Arthur's sword to recreate the original Excalibur?"

Bloody hell, how had he missed that point of order?

"I hope so," Merlin answers.

"And we can use it to save Emma?" Snow demands. As Robin sits next to them with a cup of coffee and Killian perches himself halfway on a stool, he chooses to dismiss the way Zelena rolls her eyes.

"Perhaps, but I need two things—the magical means to unite the two blades. That's my and Emma's quest. From you..."

"The two blades," Regina concludes, giving Robin a slight "what next" look.

"We're pretty much in the open-warfare stage. Now getting the partial sword from Arthur won't be easy," Robin notes. One can see the gears in his head turning, probably running through all the mental maps they'd forged when they'd surveyed Camelot, but he'll draw the same conclusion Killian's already drawn—no one solution is going to present itself.

"As long as you're looking at the future, any hints on how?" he asks the Sorcerer. He can give them that, at the very least.

"Well, the future isn't exact. There are many parts," Merlin clarifies. No. Quibbles. That's what it sounds like, one pitiful excuse after another, one vaguely-worded prophecy after another while Emma wastes away outside.

"Of course there are!" he snaps. "You're willing to send us behind enemy lines, but when it comes to specifics, everything's a little fuzzy, isn't it?"

"Hook, Merlin's helping Emma." David throws out his little fatherly arm gesture, but it's not enough.

"Is he? She's sitting out there right now making things to pull memories out of people's heads because that's what she does now instead of sleeping! I'm not quite seeing the helping!" And, bloody hell, no alternative comes to mind. He has no idea what to do if he goes out on his own. He's trying. He's been trying for weeks to calmly meet up with all of them and research and discuss theories and act like this is just some inconvenient setback in their relationship, but he's not sure he can do it for much longer. It's such a helpless feeling, and of all the things he hates feeling, helplessness would be at the top of the list. It brings such nasty memories to the surface, like cowering in dark corners while a man throttles him for not calling him "sir." Memories of loved ones dying all around him.

I can't lose you, too.

She never will, and yet, he might lose himself if something concrete doesn't happen soon.

"I understand. I know what it is to lose someone you love to the Dark One," Merlin says, the dashing younger-than-expected wizard persona dropped. "All I can ask of all of you is that you bring me that sword and that you have patience with Emma. Her kind of power, for good or evil...it's a weight on the soul. And love is a great help, if you can find it."


He's listened in on their conversation, and he's not proud. He just...he can't leave her alone with Merlin just yet, not before he knows what it is Merlin has in store for her. The bloody Sorcerer's terrified her, but then he didn't have a choice. This Promethean flame must be retrieved from the original Dark One or all is lost, including Emma. If she gives in to the Darkness and kills Merlin, she stands to become the greatest Dark One ever, and since they've all possessed immortality and nigh-limitless power, he doesn't want to know what "greatest" means.

Behind the diner, he runs his fingers through his hair and paces around in the dirt. He'll just have to keep doing what he's been doing—being there for her no matter what the cost. She's the strongest person he's ever known, a survivor in her own right, and the good power she wielded as the Savior can't possibly be diminished by the Darkness so easily.

You should tell her about the house.

Aye, and worry the living daylights out of her in a totally different way than facing off with this original Dark One.

It gives her a promise for the future.

His hand clasps one of his necklaces, the one with Liam's ring threaded through it. Sitting down with his back against the exterior of the diner, he grasps it tighter and listens to his own pattern of breathing in and breathing out.

Bad form, little brother, sending your love on a quest without so much as a good luck token? He can hear him say it, chiding him in the gentle way he always had.

"You're saying you want to be tipsy at your own commissioning celebration." The tone's not a question, but the eyebrow is, Liam throwing up his hands and looking ready to both throttle Killian and throw his arms around him at the same time.

"No one's saying anything of the kind. It's just...the last ball..."

"The last ball, I spent the night looking for you and found you hungover in your bunk like a disgraced Merchant Marine!" Liam yells, clamping his mouth shut as a few enlisted men walk by, and by their pace and determination not to look at them, it's all too clear they've already overheard everything. "You...y-you don't think you need it, do you?" Liam suddenly looks fearful. "Killian?"

"No," he says, his shoulders slumping.

"Good. Believe me, little brother, nothing is worse than an addiction, believing you're nothing without one little thing. That's a very hard path to turn yourself around in if you get lost down it."

She needs it more than he does. What she goes off to face...he's not sure anyone could come back from it, except her. Still clenching the ring, he nods to himself and sweeps back around to the front of the diner. Emma's at the well, collecting provisions for her journey with Merlin. Making eye contact, she gives him the same half-hearted smile he knows he's giving her, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"You'll return by nightfall, right?" he asks.

"Yes. We go get this spark thing...and then I'm working my way back to you, babe." Coy and referencing something utterly obscure. She's herself.

"I know when you're quoting something."

"And I love that you never know what it is," she says, swaying a little before it all stiffens into her professional Savior mode. "Anyway, with a bit of luck, we can put Excalibur together tomorrow, and then, bam—no more Darkness."

She'll have to forgive him for reading her face this time, ensuring her mind...maybe heart...her soul isn't allowing any trickling Darkness to give her cause for uncertainty. Sensing his nod to be more for himself than for her, she brushes her thumb against his knuckles as she takes his hand, leaning into him when he warns her to be careful. Their lips meet and he leans more into her than usual, hoping she'll understand it as less of a goodbye kiss and more of a trusting one. The way her hand drifts down and presses against his heartbeat conveys the same sentiment, he's sure. Whatever the Darkness has in store for her, she will beat it.

You really think so?

I have yet to see you fail.

Foreheads touching, noses brushing—now's the time. Knowing Swan, she'll turn on her heels and sprint toward Merlin without looking back in order to keep her courage. He needs to actually look at the chain in order to remove the ring, but he can't help glancing up at her and, damn it, it's a little funny watching her whiten and bat her eyelashes at it.

"Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa..." Her hand doesn't even know what it's doing, waving at the ring and demanding he freeze all at once.

"Calm down, Swan. I'm not proposing." Although, judging by the sudden disappointment written across her face, perhaps he should have. All in good time. "You know I'm a survivor. This ring is why. I've had it for many years. It's the reason I'm alive." He's never said it out loud, never consciously thought it, but...yes. It sounds right. Even if that means it overrides his innate adaptability and finesse. "Or it could be. Who knows?"

And he's rambling. Wonderful. So when he does actually propose, he can choose to either rave like a madman or not be able to control his own tongue and stutter something so incoherent he'll be forced to propose twice.

"You know I can't die today. I'm immortal now," she reminds him, gently, but it's the words themselves that disturb him. If she really means to come out of this as herself, she has to sever the connection now. She is not the Dark One, merely its host, and it's the fiendish parasite making her waste away.

"The Dark One is immortal," he argues, pushing the ring into her palm and closing her fingers around it. "Emma isn't. Bring her home to me. At the very least, it's a reminder that you've got a piercing-eyed, smoldering pirate here who loves you."

Her nose crinkles and something of a silent giggle erupts in her as she throws her hand to the back of his head and kisses him, hard, like he's just fed something in her that had been starving. She doesn't pull away when she normally does, just deepens the kiss even further, sighing into him and...gods. He just told her he loved her without even thinking about it. Bloody hell, the things she does to him...how happy he apparently makes her. And she, him.

"Thank you," she murmurs into him, still only inches from him. Breaking away from him just enough to gaze up at him, she adds, "I love you, too."

How did he ever get so lucky? What deity had seen fit to bless him this way, with such an amazing woman's love? He opens his mouth slightly, but he can't even contemplate what he would say—that he'll see her soon, that all this will one day be nothing more than a memory, that he has a house waiting for them once they're home, that, if he's as honest with himself as she's inspired him to be, he knows he loves her more than he's ever loved anyone... Oh no. He's not proposing yet.


A/N: Big 50th chapter coming up. Wonder how I'll mark the occasion... Maybe I'll just kill Hook off.