Chapter Two

Arthur, contrary to popular belief, was not stupid.

Nor was he always unobservant; if he considered someone important enough to notice, then he had hardly any trouble gauging his or her mood. This was an important characteristic for a future king to have, and the people in his life had allowed him to hone the talent.

After all, when his father was in a sorcerer-killing mood, he didn't want to argue logic as fiercely as Morgana used to. There was a reason that Morgana had found herself pressed up against a chair, an iron hand clasped around her neck, and Arthur never had. Morgana was another reason he'd had plenty of practice with that particular talent; even for a woman she had volatile emotions.

(Don't think of her, he reminded himself, wincing. Morgana didn't live with them anymore; she was a traitor.)

As for Merlin, he was a hard person to read. An open book? Hardly. (But there was always something about Merlin, anyway, which made him different.)

Hard though it was to understand Merlin, Arthur could tell that there was something bothering him this morning. Actually, there had been something on the servant's mind all week, something which slowed down the appearance of that goofy smile when his name was called, something that made him lapse into silence on occasion. It was just worse this morning.

After a few minutes of watching Merlin pick up his room, Arthur finally spoke. "Merlin, what's wrong with you this morning?"

Merlin dropped the fire poker and jumped about a foot.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Jumpy, aren't you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me. I'm just tired. Are you finished with breakfast, Sire?" Merlin turned around, smiling a little. Arthur saw his hunched shoulders and wasn't convinced.

"No, I'm not. Merlin, something's been on your mind all week. You look like you haven't slept in days. Are you sick?"

Actually, it had been two days. (Merlin had dreamed of Xyla again last night.) He just hadn't thought Arthur had noticed yesterday, and hadn't thought he would mention it today either. Merlin wanted to jump on the excuse Arthur offered; he could say he was sick. But then Arthur might drag him off to face Gaius, and he didn't want to see Gaius now.

"No, just tired." He bent down to pick up the poker.

"Merlin," said the prince, standing and walking threateningly towards his servant. "You've been acting off ever since that sorceress attacked Camelot a week ago."

Merlin dropped the poker again, and this time he froze and didn't pick it up.

There was a moment of silence.

Then Merlin recovered. "Finished with breakfast, then, Sire?" He stood up in a swooping motion, putting himself behind Arthur and rushing over to the table at the end of Arthur's bed. "I'll just… go then. I'll be back to help you get ready for training." He grabbed the empty tray, smiled one last Merlin-smile at his master, and went towards the door.

Exasperated, Arthur called after him: "You know you can't avoid this forever, right?"

Another thing about Arthur. He was used to getting what he wanted. He usually got what he wanted, even if it took a long time. And if he didn't, he got very annoyed.

Merlin winced as he scurried down the hall. He could've handled that better.

"Percy," said Gwaine, pausing in his training long enough to look to the side. "Have you noticed something off about Merlin lately?"

"Since the last attack?" asked Percival, a large blond man with a kind smile and frightening muscles, relaxing his own grip on his sword.

Gwaine's handsome face lit up and he flipped his hair out of his face. "You noticed, then?"

Percival shook his head. Of all the newest knights, he knew Merlin the least. He knew the man was the secretive type, of course. And for someone who wasn't overly smart, Percival wasn't particularly dull either; he knew that the reason some men were secretive was that they actually wanted to keep things… secret. So Percy didn't waste a lot of energy trying to puzzle out Merlin, unlike certain other knights.

"No," he said. "Lancelot mentioned it."

Gwaine nodded as he watched Merlin approach the training field behind Arthur. "I'll ask Lance when I visit him, then," he said with a smile.

Lancelot had been injured – burned – in the attack a few days ago. Not fatally, but painfully. Gaius had kept him holed up in bed, recuperating, for the next few weeks.

(Lancelot was presently plotting a jailbreak from the soft prison. Elyan was going to help him. Gwaine was going to bring the alcohol. Percival just shook his head.)

Gwaine and Percival continued sparring before Arthur and Merlin reached them and realized what they were talking about.

That night, the sound of the door opening yanked Xyla out of her daze. Her head came up, and she glared a very annoyed glare at the door. "Excuse me for not standing," she said irritably, gesturing at the shackles that were now around her wrist. Someone had put them there when her headache was distracting her last night. She didn't consider that fair.

Morgana smiled. "Ready?"

"No," retorted Xyla. "I'm tired."

"Come on," said Morgana with a smirk, slinking into the stone dungeon. "You just need to play your part, and pretty soon you'll be seeing that boyfriend of yours."

Xyla wanted to make a comment about overdramatic women and theatrics, but she felt fear closing up her throat. She wasn't sure if she was more terrified of the headache that was sure to be coming back or the thought of Merlin falling for Morgana's trick.

Morgana was getting closer, her red dress scraping against the ground if the dungeon, and Xyla stubbornly refused to back up or shudder at the sound. But she didn't meet Morgana's eyes either.

Her stomach fluttered with nerves as Morgana reached across Xyla and took either side of her head in both delicate hands. They were cold. Xyla didn't shiver.

"Let's contact Merlin again, shall we?" whispered Morgana.

Xyla didn't react.

"Anfonwch hyn yn freuddwyd i Merlin."

It wasn't pain at first. It was like a wild spray of purples, golds, and reds exploded in her head, covering her eyesight, shocking her heart into beating faster, and she instinctively tried to fight back with magic, forgetting, as she had the previous nights, that it wouldn't work.

After the initial shock died down, another scene seemed to come over her vision, like a blindfold that she couldn't see past.

The dream.

There was a foggy gray mist, and she could only see fuzzy shapes through it… But there was someone, a person lying on the floor… Wait, the person looked familiar.

She felt worry that wasn't hers shoot through her as a voice seemed to lift above the fog and then came crashing down with the force of a metal plate dropped from a great height.

"Merlin!"

Was that her speaking? Surely not.

"Merlin, I need you to help me!"

But it was her voice…

"Merlin, come find me, I need you to help me!"

Another voice answered, and this one seemed to come from her body although it wasn't her voice. "Xyla? Xyla, where are you? I'll help you, I just need to find you! Xyla, where are you?"

Was that Merlin's voice? By all things holy, it was!

"Merlin, why aren't you coming? Why aren't you trying to help me?"

The voice that sounded like hers was fading into the mist again, just like it had the nights before… And he responded the same way.

"Xyla, don't go! Stay, so I can find you! Xyla!"

She didn't answer.

"XYLA!"

In Camelot, a strangled cry was torn from Merlin's throat as he sat up in bed, eyes wild, covered in sweat, his chest heaving in panic.

"Xyla, I'm sorry!"

A/N: So sorry I'm late! Easter weekend, you know. Please review this chapter and I'll try to get the next chapter up on time!