AN Hi everyone. I'm really sorry, but my laptop screen got smashed. Now I have reduced my update time to three or four days as long as I like the chapter. Be patient with me please, and I will switch to Arthur's POV soon. So long! Farewell! Auf Wiedersehen! Goodbye!

Chapter 3- Merlin

Low hanging tree branches rustled and snapped as five escapees sprinted past. Each stepped lightly through the woods as Peacekeepers passed by with blissful ignorance. Step, step, step, step. Each step echoed off the jutting stones a little too loudly for the parents. Step, step, step, step, step. Puny sticks cracked and broke as the twin five year olds tripped onto the unforgiving floor. Hand in hand, each of the three children yanked each other along after their loving parents. Step, step, step, step. A muffled yelp jumped through the silent forest as Gwen covered her mouth and yanked her swelling ankle out of the rabbit hole. Step, step, step. Loud stomps shook the ground behind the Emrys family. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Little balls of lead, steel, and copper tore through the tree branches around the family, just barely missing the slowest member, Gwen. A pained yelp embedded itself in Merlin's ears as he turned to see her. Gwen's lavender dress stained red with blood and dirt as she fell. Three more yelps scored themselves in the five year old's memory as he lost his only family. As the oldest Emrys fell to the earth, a strong, gloved hand wrapped itself around his upper arm. His eyes glowed a luminous gold, and laying before him were seven dead men, and one healthy man in front of him. As two arms wrapped him in a grotesque version of a hug, a small swatch of cloth was pressed against his face, and all he could see was Little Freya splattered with blood.

A gasp escaped Merlin's mouth in replace of a scream, as he bolted straight up in his bed. No, he shook his fully awake head, not his bed their bed. The monsters that killed Freya. The idiots that had tried to capture Hunith. The murderers who ended Balinor and Gwen's existence. The dull creatures that had captured him in an effort to repress him. But, his stubborn mind supplied, look what you did to them.

Merlin could still remember as if it had just happened. The way the ever present tingle behind his eyes turned to a pleasant warming sensation. A warming sensation that killed seven men. Seven men that never deserved to die. Maybe they had a family. Kids, a wife. Kids that would never see Daddy ever again. Wives who would be forever in denial or sorrow, most likely searching for revenge on a lost child that looked helpless. A child who was isolated in the woods with only the birds for friends because of that warm sensation. A child who be afraid of himself for the next seven years until he just ignored it. He ignored what made him whole until he couldn't take it anymore.

Merlin looked ridiculous. Blood red tights were pulled under a matching button up tunic; a crimson hat was yanked down tight on his thin head. And it had feathers. FEATHERS. Blowing warm air up into the mess of bird fringe, he promptly threw the offending hat out the window. Shrugging, he figured it had so many feathers that it could probably fly away. Turning toward the ugliest closet in the world, he threw the orange and purple doors open to reveal his shabby wardrobe next to the luxurious clothing of the Capitol. Pale fingers tore clothes across the rack. Vibrant blues and reds were thrown across the rack with well worn, threadbare clothes from District 5. Toss, toss, throw. Each article of clothing that he knows he will never ever wear was finally thrown to the rainbow tiles, until a white jumpsuit looking thing was on the hanger in his hand. Covered in soot and coal ashes, Merlin's old powerplant uniform hung limply on the elaborate hanger, but the abused article still brought a smile to his forever unhappy face.

Five minutes later, he stood before the mirror as he had back in his village, Ealdor. A neon orange vest was strapped over his coal dusted white jumpsuit, with a hard hat for good measure. A tear floated down his face as Merlin glanced at his opening outfit. Last time he wore the poor thing, he was probably twelve. The day before the riot. His riot. The day before he was booted out of the district forever. And it still fits, the Emrys boy thought with a smile. How pathetic was that?