A/N: Thanks to my reviewers and sorry that this was a little late. Your support keeps me going on this story! Sorry for the lack of Merlin/Arthur interaction so far; I promise that they'll actually start talking to each other at some point. Just… not right now.

I don't own Merlin. Obviously. The plot would be a whole lot stranger if I did.

Chapter 4

Merlin panted as he sprinted to his room, panic and horror flooding his mind and momentarily driving out Sigan's influence. He had to get away from Camelot, and quickly. While his mind was tainted by Sigan's memories, he was a danger to his friends, to Arthur. He had lost control too easily. By the gods, it was a minor snub, and he had almost drove that sword…. He recoiled from that sickening thought and his morbid imaginings of what could have been.

He felt so utterly helpless. It had become almost routine to fight against an external enemy to save Arthur. However powerful, they at least were corporeal, and their defeat was rather straightforward with the proper knowledge. Sigan, though, seemed to walk in Merlin's shadow, a frail, powerless thing until Merlin's control slipped for just a moment. It was vigilance against himself, and it frightened him deeply.

He had to get away, and quickly. Grabbing a rucksack from under his bed, he threw his flint and tinder, knife, waterskin, and blanket into it. He briefly entertained the idea of nicking some food from the kitchens, but the panic was steadily rising and he decided to simply forage for food on the road. He couldn't afford to waste any time, and Gaius' instruction meant that he would recognize at least a few plants that were good to eat.

He couldn't let anyone see him, talk to him, detain him, because he knew with a soul-deep dread that interactions with him could lead to the whistle of a sword as it bit through the air, diving for his friend. He couldn't say goodbye to Gaius or give Gwen one last smile. Perhaps he would be able to return to the castle someday, if he ever drove out the taint of Sigan from his mind, but he pushed these hopeful thoughts away. He had to concentrate on the present, because, currently, he had no idea what the future would bring.

Getting out of the castle was remarkably easy. Merlin wondered if Arthur was still kneeling there, expressing the vicious shock that was clawing at Merlin's stomach. Perhaps he was pacing in his room, his anger building steadily higher without a convenient manservant on which to release his frustrations. Incongruous laughter bubbled in Merlin's throat, but he pursed his lips together to keep it from escaping.

At least Arthur hadn't told Uther about this fiasco yet. If he had, the grounds would be crawling with guards to escort him to his execution. Merlin hadn't landed that final blow, but there were enough military-type witnesses who would have recognized the intent to kill that had surely bled from his pores. There hadn't been a jot of playfulness in his duel with Arthur, and Merlin purposely didn't question how he could expertly see emotion in a wordless fight. The answer was obvious and he didn't have the time to worry about Sigan's influence on his thoughts.

The sharp panic that had kept his thoughts clear and separate was fading now, though, and the hazy darkness was dancing at the edges of his vision. A twisting, wrenching fear spread through his body, causing him to shiver briefly. Could he even keep Sigan's memories suppressed long enough to get away from Camelot?

He had begun to sympathize with the man. It was hard not to, not when he could feel the utter grief and despair, the burning anger, the stung pride. He understood Sigan, just from the few memories that had slipped through his defenses.

Now he hated the sorcerer with a burning, terrible passion, because he had caused Arthur to look at him with those eyes, with fear that never should have been directed at Merlin. Sigan's attack on Camelot was nothing compared to this, the threatening of Merlin's prince and the assault on Merlin and Arthur's fragile bond.

As Merlin neared the marketplace, he could feel the spindly coils of Sigan's influence twisting further through his thoughts. He hurried his pace, breaking into a run, weaving through throngs of people. Never the most graceful of people, his rush to the main gates left a trail of chaos in his wake. Women staggered back from him, tripping over baskets of produce as shopkeepers yelled angrily at his quickly retreating back.

He dodged around buildings mindlessly, his own knowledge of the city blending with the warm hum of Camelot beneath his feet. Within minutes, he had arrived at the gates, slightly breathless. He surveyed his potential exit from Camelot and cursed under his breath, a frustrated habit that he had picked up from Gaius, whose language tended to be colorful whenever he was dealing with a particularly difficult injury.

He had forgotten about the guards! Obviously, they wouldn't stop him from leaving the city, but they would remember that he had left and would inform Arthur, who would go haring after Merlin, and then Sigan would twist through his mind and he would spew hurtful words and there would be blood on the sword, red blood, and screams…. Merlin cut off his panicked thoughts with an effort. He needed to be clearheaded. He had to leave, now, but not by the main gates.

His eyes darted about, searching for an idea. As he racked his brains for a plan, he carefully backed away from the gate to avoid being seen by anyone who would recognize him. He settled behind some crates, his back to the stone wall that surrounded the perimeter of Camelot.

What he needed, in the great tradition of his and Arthur's plans, was a distraction. Sadly, it was still light out, so a mere noise wouldn't cause the guards to leave their post to investigate. It was a cool autumn day, midway between noon and sunset, and the lazy traffic was too sparse for him to blend it with, unless….

His eyes alighted on a wagon by the side of the street. An elderly farmer, his skin wrinkled and tanned, was meticulously checking the tack of his two feeble oxen. A pile of straw occupied the back half of the wagon, and Merlin realized, his eyes scanning the area, that if he ran quickly, he could conceal himself in the hay without anyone the wiser. A feeling of triumph rose in him. Escape was within his reach.

However, as he primed himself to sprint to the farmer's wagon, the steady hum of Camelot beneath his feet suddenly shifted to a staccato beat. Agitation thrummed through the city, if Merlin could apply human terms to a sentient city's feelings. Within his mind, Sigan's influence became much sharper, as if responding to the anxiety in Camelot's vibrations. Merlin shook his head, once, twice, and then began to move.

His motion was arrested by the tendril of stone that had wrapped around his foot, however. For a moment, he stared down at the living rock, frozen in disbelief. Of all possible obstacles to him leaving the city, the last one he would ever expect was the city herself.

His disbelief quickly morphed into fear, as he realized that he was trapped. His primal instincts recognized that his captor was impossibly powerful and dangerous in its supremacy, and he began to struggle frantically, mindlessly.

A small corner of his mind registered that the city's humming had changed to a soothing, gentle rhythm, as if attempting to calm Merlin. However, the greater part of his mind was awash with terror, especially as his other foot, which was flush against the wall, began to be sucked into it.

He couldn't scream, his need to protect others, like the guards who would surely come running and be attacked, still intact through the waves of panic that assaulted him. As he felt his calf sink into the cold stone of the wall, he frantically recalled a spell for breaking rocks that was designed for extricating people from rockslides. He laid one hand flat on the stone and murmured: "Ábrecan carr."

Or, at least, he tried. As he opened his mouth and his eyes bled to a gold-black, Sigan's memories wrenched violently at his consciousness. Pain flooded his mind as their fear mingled, Merlin's for his life and Sigan's for the city that he cared for like a child. As Merlin's precarious mental structure broke down, he could feel the familiar blackness of unconsciousness engulfing him, like the stone that had already crept past his knee.