A/N: Thanks to my beta, DarkAngel2112, as always. Also thanks to PoisoningPigeonsinthePark (did that show up?), who also helped me with this chapter's grammar. I know I abandoned you all for longer than was fair, but finals ate my free time. Now they are over, and so I made it a long(er) chapter as a reward for your patience. Thanks, and please review.

Chapter Five

"You're going to rescue who?" Gaius's eyebrow would be at the height of the castle's towers now if it wasn't attached to his face.

Merlin paused in the midst of his packing, looking over at Gaius, who was in the doorway of the warlock's room. "Xyla," he said.

Gaius's face was blank.

"You probably don't remember her," Merlin said with a shrug, tossing another neckerchief into his small bag. You never knew when an extra would come in handy. "She… uh, she tried to kill Uther about…" – here he stopped and glanced at his dark window, trying to remember – "a year ago."

"And you're going to rescue her."

"Yes," agreed Merlin almost eagerly, giving his guardian a small smile. "I had this dream—"

"A dream?"

"Not exactly a dream… More like a message. Sent through a dream. By magic."

Gaius looked doubtful. "Whose magic, Merlin?"

"Uh… Morgana and Morgause's. From what I could tell…"

"Merlin!" admonished the physician. "This has to be a trap! Any message from Morgause or Morgana..." He stood up as straight as his old back would let him, an alarmed expression on his craggy face.

Merlin gave him a strange look. "Of course it is. But what does it matter? I can't just not go; she needs my help."

Gaius came forward, taking Merlin's shoulders in his hands and forcing him to stop packing so their eyes could meet. Gaius studied his features as though searching for a lie or joke. "Merlin," he said again, slowly. "You could get killed if you do what Morgana wants you to."

Merlin grinned crookedly. "I haven't been yet, have I? Besides, I'll be careful—I promise, Gaius. I'll probably be back in a few days. How long did it take us to get to the Castle of Fyrien last time? Maybe I should ask Elyan if he knows anything…"

He stepped away from Gaius, ignoring the way the old man was eyeing him with concern, and went back to looking around his room for anything else that could be of use on a trip, occasionally tossing things onto his bed.

"What about Arthur?" asked Gaius.

Merlin's eyes flickered in his direction. "I don't think he'll get himself killed if I'm just gone for a few days, do you? I'm sure if he wants to do something too dangerous, Gwaine will ask Percival to sit on him."

"That's not what I meant. He's explicitly forbidden you from going anywhere."

"Since when have I ever listened to him about something this important? Can you cover for me, Gaius? Just… tell him that I'm recovering or something… I'll deal with his temper tantrum when I get back."

Gaius sighed, wishing he didn't feel so nervous about Merlin leaving his sight. The boy was sure to get himself in trouble. He always did, but luckily he was usually powerful enough to get himself back out again. Usually.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Merlin. Be careful."

"Thanks, Gaius. Is that everything? Alright, I'd best be headed to the stables… Maybe I'll pass Gwaine in the tavern on the way there…" With a cheerful, rushed-looking smile in his guardian's direction, Merlin scooped up his small pack and slung it over his shoulder, slipping out of the room and through Gaius's cluttered chambers.

He dwelled on Xyla a bit as he walked out of the door, wondering if she'd changed at all in a year. Surely she had—he knew that he didn't look or act exactly the same.

I wonder if she'll still be the girl I was falling in love with.

Merlin smiled a little, remembering the brown-haired girl who'd "saved" him from a monster, and then lied through her teeth and told him that she was going to get a job. It would be nice to see her again.

Wouldn't it?

He strolled through the dark streets, making sure to avoid anyone he knew, especially the knights or Guinevere. No one that might tell Arthur they saw him.

Maybe it won't be so great, actually, he couldn't help thinking. A small knot of guilt sat in his stomach. A flash of a memory crossed his mind's eye—fire whirling through the air, a scream, dead eyes, burnt brown hair a little like Xyla's…

He shook it off. He wouldn't remember that when he saw Xyla. He just wouldn't let himself.

He checked in the rowdy tavern, the barkeep waving to him when he popped his head in.

"Looking for Sir Gwaine?" the man asked.

Merlin nodded with a smile.

"Sorry, not here. He was by for just a minute this afternoon, but he bought some ale and moved on. If you see him, Merlin, tell him he owes me a lot of money."

"I'll tell him, Tom, thanks."

The barkeep nodded and went back to waiting on customers. Merlin wondered where Gwaine could've gone with that alcohol as he made his way to the stables, finding this train of thought much more pleasant than his previous one. Gwaine was probably getting into trouble this minute… Tomorrow morning would probably find Arthur berating the knight or saving his life from somebody who wanted to commit justified murder.

As it turned out, Gwaine had gone to the stables.

"Gwaine!" Merlin called out in surprise as he opened the door to the stables, finding his friend.

"Hello, Merlin," said Gwaine, who was surprisingly sober. "What are you doing with that pack?"

"Uh…"

"Running away?" asked Gwaine, chipper, looking around the stables for something. Merlin wondered if maybe he wasn't sober after all.

"Rescue mission," said Merlin. "But you can't tell Arthur."

Gwaine shot him a sharp look. Definitely sober. "Dangerous? You need help?"

"Shouldn't be. Just an old friend… Her name's Xyla."

To his surprise, Gwaine laughed, switching the hand with which he was holding a very large bottle of alcohol. "Brown hair, brown eyes? Pretty, speaks in a voice like she has a joke you're missing out on, bubbly kind of woman?"

"You know her?" Gwaine had met everybody!

"Met her in a tavern… Maybe eight months ago. Pretty woman. I offered to buy her a drink… or a few."

Merlin felt a brief flash of jealousy. And as it was Gwaine he was talking to, his worry was not at all unfounded.

"…Not very friendly to me," continued Gwaine with a shrug.

Merlin nearly sagged in relief. "That's the Xyla. She needs a bit of help."

"Hey, weren't you supposed to rest for a few days? Arthur said you were sick." Gwaine gave a small smile and continued to walk around the stables, looking in nooks and crannies. "You don't look sick."

Merlin closed the door to the stables, heading towards the horse he was taking. "Well, what Arthur doesn't know won't hurt him… Gwaine, what are you looking for? All you'll find in those spots is horse dung."

"I'm looking for someplace clean to stash this." Gwaine gestured at the large jug.

Merlin wondered if he would regret asking even as a smile pulled at his face. "Why?"

"For Lancelot's daring escape. I'm bringing the ale."

Xyla chewed on her lip, brushing her hair out of her face with much clanking. Her headaches were easing sooner and sooner… Though perhaps that was just because that last dream was much less exhausting than the others. She'd gotten to use her own personality, if not her own words. Actually, that didn't make much sense. But then, neither did people sending creepy dreams through other people.

Despite the fact that her head didn't hurt, her stomach ached with something that she accurately placed as guilt.

Blast it. Now Merlin's walking right into a trap.

Because of course he was coming. Of course Merlin would drop everything to save someone; if he would tackle an intruder to save a cruel king, then he would be coming after her. Probably alone. Did the dream tell him to come alone?

She couldn't remember, but even if it hadn't, who would he tell? In Camelot, there were only so many people that you could explain this situation to without getting thrown into some dungeon.

So Merlin would be coming alone.

He would get himself killed, she was sure of it. He needed help. But who would he trust enough for that?

Xyla remembered a blond prince that Merlin had seemed so fond of. She hadn't seen Arthur very much; she just remembered brief moments. The man yelling at his manservant, Merlin's face twisting in pain as he thought of Arthur dying, the prince walking in on Merlin and Xyla kissing… Merlin had seemed to trust him, but he was a child of Uther's. He didn't even know about Merlin's magic, so Merlin surely wouldn't ask for his help.

But if he knew that Merlin was going on a dangerous mission alone, would he try to help?

Probably. If he didn't know about the magic. If he just knew about the rescue part. How could anyone not want to help Merlin, really?

Xyla sat on the idea for what felt like hours, pushing it out of her mind time and time again. That was a ridiculous idea.

Yet she couldn't help but grow attached to it. Merlin needed help; she knew that. And a man with a sword and years of training would be the help he needed… Even if Xyla did hate him. It was a shame that Merlin probably wouldn't ask for any help.

If the prince didn't know of his manservant's plan, then he would probably be sleeping now. She judged by the length of time since the last dream was sent, which she assumed was night.

Wait a moment.

No, no, I'm not doing that. That's a very bad idea. Really.

She thought of Merlin, setting off on a dangerous trip all alone.

It probably won't even work. I'm too weak, I haven't even enough power to get out of here—since Morgana and Morgause tied my magic to that stupid neckerchief and took it away.

But she had the magic to send dreams even without the use of most of her powers, right? After all, she could send dreams to Merlin… With the witches' help, sure, but…

The prince of Camelot isn't magic. It probably won't work.

What if they killed Merlin and it was all her fault?

Besides, what if I let too much slip and just land Merlin in trouble for being a warlock?

But in the end, the image in her head of Merlin being killed was too much. The more reckless side of her – she really hated that side – won out.

She prepared herself for a monster headache and possible failure, telling herself to be ready for complete repulsion at being too near the mind of someone she hated.

One vague and ominous dream, coming up.

Xyla sat up straighter against the hard, stone wall, and cleared her throat, keeping her voice low in case Morgana or Morgause was nearby.

"Anfonwch hyn yn freuddwyd i Arthur."

The dream fell over her eyes like a blindfold again.

In his bed, sleeping, Prince Arthur's smooth face suddenly crinkled as though he was listening hard to someone calling his name, and his bare chest rose and fell at a faster rhythm.