I would like to apologise for any spelling or grammar mistakes in advance, this one was written in quite a rush.


"Does anyone else think there is something really familiar about him?"

Merlin and Leon didn't need to ask who Gwaine was talking about and as one they all turned on their horses and glanced at the man walking behind the group, his hands bound with a piece of rope that was tied to Elyan's reins.

"I mean something really, really familiar." Gwaine rambled on. "Like we've seen him before."

"Perhaps in a battle" Merlin suggested stiffly and over his shoulder, his eyes now on Arthur at the front. He had ridden on slightly ahead of the other knights, jaw constantly set and shoulders rigid. He'd been like that for the entire journey back to Camelot; tense and unsociable. But then again, none of the other Knights were really in the mood to talk either Leon noted. Well except for Gwaine.

"But you see, the thing is, I know I have never seen that man before in my life. And none of you have either. And yet I know I have seen him before."

Leon and Merlin rode on without replying. When Leon first met Gwaine, he used to think that the best way to shut him up was to simply not answer him and so the conversation would fade out. Only he'd soon discovered that Gwaine would just simply fill his silence with more talking. Now he didn't reply because he couldn't muster the energy to engage with Gwaine at that time. Not when they had just lost one of their own. Not when his own horse was carrying him and the dead body of Sir Caradoc.

"Is nobody in the least bit bothered by this?" Gwaine cried out, looking at each Knight and Merlin in turn, disbelief etching his voice.

From the back Eylan sighed. "If it's bothering you that much why not next stop take off his gag and ask him?"

"No." And it was now Leon spoke. "The Saxon is to be interrogated in the Court of Camelot where he will answer for his crimes." And he looked down at the dead body placed carefully across his lap and the horse, weighing down his legs.

This silenced the knights as they became solemn once again, many looking up at the back of their King as he rode steadily and purposely in front. Riding home. But then again, Gwaine was rarely silent if not solemn.

"It's the eyes." He said as if that ended the matter. "I know those eyes, and yet I don't"

Leon made a noise in the back of his throat and resisted the urge to throw up his hands. The most annoying part of Gwaine was that he was so annoyingly right. That man- that Saxon, had killed Caradoc, one of their most skilled fighters, without even breaking a sweat, was familiar. And Leon knew that he had seen him before, but at the same time, the Saxon held a strangers face. Features that were so close to being known and yet he had never seen them until that day. It frustrated him to say the least, and Gwaine certainly wasn't helping matter.

"And those markings on his arm" Gwaine carried on, thinking out loud. "I have seen them before as well. Perhaps in a book..."

Leon looked round at this, frowning. He hadn't noticed anything on the Saxons arms when he'd tied his wrists together. But as he was looking now, the strange black runes and swirls stuck out brightly on the Saxons muddy and dust ridden forearms, winding up and out of sight underneath the rolls of his worn blue shirt, like fresh ink on parchment. When Leon saw them then, he became certain that they defiantly hadn't been there that morning- he would have remembered Markings like that. Then Leon looked at the man's face, their eyes connecting for a second and that was when he knew something was wrong.

"Stop."

The ordered came from Merlin who had pulled his horse to a stand and was jumping off it. Gwaine hurried to pull his horse too, so as not to bump into Merlin's. Leon signalled to his own horse and turned in his saddle to stare at Merlin, who was rushing to the Saxon.

"What is it?" Elyan asked, dismounting.

"He's injured." Merlin replied and gestured to the fresh wet stain that was spreading across the man's shirt. Now that defiantly had not been there before Leon thought as he and Gwaine also dismounted.

Merlin reached the Saxon just as he began to fall and caught him, staggering under his weight till Elyan appeared and they slowly lowered the man to the ground. Leon reached them as Merlin was pulling up the man's shirt to reveal as large gash across the Saxons stomach and immediately he went into action calling out instructions for them to get his kit.

The Man's gag had been removed and his mouth was frothing, his eyes moving back and forth all over the place like he was having a fit. All along his chest and shoulder, the intricate dark runes painted his skin that was over wise covered in bruises and battle scars. But it was the chain around his neck that caught Leon's attention. Or rather what was handing from it. He had seen that amulet before. He had seen that symbol before.

And unlike the origins of this Saxon, he knew where he recognised it from; in an old text book of signets and coats of Arms, one which he had been made to study as a child. This Saxon was wearing the Amulet of Airein. The signet of the House of The Storm Lords.

"How did he get injured?" Elyan asked, not noticing the amulet. "He was fine three minutes ago."

Merlin just shook his head grimly. None of them asked the Saxon what had happened, knowing that he was in so state to answer. By the time Arthur had come back to see what was holding them up, the Saxon had fainted from blood loss, but not before they had heard him muttering in Skylan.

"Vaimere tu dreean" He'd repeated over and over. "Vaimere tu dreean. Vaimere tu dreean, mea Rosra" And then the light in his eyes went.

A gust of autumn wind blew over them, strong and harsh, Leon could feel going straight through him, and then the blast of wind was gone.


Two hundred leagues to the North, a knight in a leather jerkin sat alone deep in the middle of a forest. The rest of his hunting party had long moved on, chasing the silver stag leagues away by now, completely oblivious to his absence, all caught up in the thrill of the chase. He was almost inconspicuous, wrapped up in his thick green cloak amongst the roots of the large oak tree which were larger than his own limbs. Leaning against the tree next to him was his shield, white with a red cross.

He looked as if he were sleeping, eyes closed and breathing deeply. His handsome face was almost peaceful as he breathed in and out and with each breathe he seemed to melt backwards into the tree becoming more and more invisible. Unseen to the eyes of the forest, his large tattooed hands were spread across his stomach, applying pressure to the bleeding wound.

The trees around him began to rustle within the wind, their branches creaking as the wind whistled by them. The Knight opened his eyes slowly, and looked to the skies.

"I'm alright" He murmured, his words slurring. "Just didn't see it coming." With each word the knight was sinking further and further back into the tree, his hair no longer distinguishable from the trunk and his skin darkening and roughening up like the bark. "Go check on the others" And then he fainted for real, his mind giving up on consciousness and the tree consumed him.

The wind blew on.


North again, along the stormy mountain range and down into a hidden valley and across an ancient castle. In the centre of a cobbled courtyard, veiled women in dark robes knelt in a large circle, chanting. Holding each other's hands, their eyes were half closed as they spoke together in the same foreign tongue. In the centre of their circle, on a stone table with ancient runes etched along the side, lay a beautiful woman, her long silver hair and white dress spread out beneath her. Across her pale bared skin, black symbols, similar to those craved into the table, glowed, emitting a golden light. From the woman's stomach, blood seeped, spreading across her dress and staining it.

The wind whistled through the Haven of Sorceresses who raised their voices to meet it, and the seemingly dead woman on the table smiled faintly.

Gendra's here.

Tell her to stop wasting energy.

Can't. Not strong enough.

She never heard the reply.

And thousands of leagues away, Florien felt her presence leave him. The light had been extinguished and he was left to the shadows, but he didn't mind. He sat back in his chair and smoked his pipe, trying to ignore the waves of pain that came from his heavily bandaged chest. The shadows in his cellar room began to grow and form shapes but he took no notice and a draft came in through the shut door but he ignored that too. Instead he focussed his mind back on to the white sorceress, as whenever he thought of her the pain lessened.


Across eastern ocean, in a small fishing town off the coast of Gallica, lay a sailor slumped unconscious in an alleyway next to an inn. He was shirtless, the rough woollen waistcoat he usually wore had been pressed against his stomach in an attempt to stop the blood flow. His tanned, sea worn skin was covered in black tattoos that seemed to almost glow. The stench of ale, sea salt and vomit emanated off him as well as something that the elders of the Town would have called death. Those who saw him assumed him dead, and so assumed that someone else would deal with his body, as none wanted get involved for it looked like someone had gutted the bugger and made off with his coin, for he had no shoes or belt and wasn't breathing.

The constant breeze off the sea rustled down that alleyway, rustling his plain, colourless hair. And quite suddenly he took a large, gasping breath.


Back in the five Kingdoms, high up in a Tower, hidden from sight, the female prisoner slumped forwards in relief and exhaustion dark hair falling across her face. Though she collapsed, she never hit the floor as the heavy metal cuffs round her wrists that chained her arms high above her head stopped her. She rolled her head back up to look at the woman before her, eyes carefully cool.

Morgana smirked. In her hand she held a small doll made of straw with a long lock of dark curly hair wrapped around it, the straw had been cut along the stomach by the stake in her other hand. Blood dripped onto the floor beneath the chained woman.

The women locked gazes and Morgana raised the knife back to the doll and held it poised, smiling with amusement that did not reach her eyes.

"How about I stab you in the heart?"

"How about you loosen these chains and we settle this the old fashioned way." Her prisoner replied, her face and voice a careful mask of bravado and cockiness. "No magic, no tricks. Just you and me. One on one. Woman to woman. Sexy to psychotic."

Morgana continued to smile. "But where would be the fun in that?"

And she stabbed the stake right through the dolls stomach.

Her prisoner screamed.


Over in Camelot, Gaius sat calmly in his quarters, reading over one of his books. A heavy silence shrouded him: a combination of Merlin's absence, his own worry and the cause that had led him to read this book. An ancient book it was, large and fully of spiralling text with elaborate swishes and flicks with beautiful and delicate drawings of the most intricate detail. The book was not of sorcery, nor of magic, and one that Gaius had not read in a very long time.

But the silence was broken, shattered quite suddenly as the heavy wooden door to his chamber was burst open to reveal the Queen standing there, panting, hair askew and hands covered in blood.

"It's Rory," She gasped. "Gaius it's happening again."


Wow okay, quite a bit in this chapter. I don't cant tell if I've revealed to much or not. Or if it's even worked... You guys tell me what you think.

Thanks for the reviews. Love Elle x