"Hello, Arthur. Or should I say, brother."

Arthur spun around quick as he could, his blood turning to ice in his veins. Denial, confusion and a whole lot of other emotions crash over him like a wave. The voice, who she is, what she's saying, nothing is making any sense-

His eyes lock onto a familiar blue-green pair that he would know anywhere. He had watched her grow up, known her almost as long as he had known himself, but even as she changed her eyes had remained the same. Warm, kind, with a little bit of laughter always threatening to break through. The eyes of his friend.

But now they were cold.

Arthur forced himself to keep his composure, to fully understand the situation before jumping to any conclusions. She just kept watching him, unmoving, a small smirk narrowing her eyes.

Finally, he said, "Morgana. What's going on."

A statement, not a question. Arthur was smarter then he was sure some people took him to be; he had a good enough guess as to what had happened, he would just very much like not to believe it. If he was lucky, if he was very, very lucky, he would be wrong.

Her smile grew into something he would never have recognized; gone were the sweet, genuine smiles of friend. Instead the image distorted and twisted her familiar, beautiful face, turning it into something so much darker. Something uglier, that had nothing to do with appearance. She raised a hand, decorated with silver and black lace from the sleeves of her midnight dark dress, and indicated the window with a flick of the wrist.

"I took what was rightfully mine," Morgana said, her eyes reveling in the light, "Took it in the name of justice, to restore magic to these lands and punish those who have opressed it."

Her eyes shifted to meet his.

"Those like our father."

Arthur recoiled at the words, letting their full meaning sink in. Memories flood back to him: meeting Morgana as a child; their similar stuborness and determination getting them into all kinds of fights; years of earning friendship and trust; conversations he would catch his father having, only to be cut off abruptly when he entered the room; a trickle of doubt; years of lies and deceit and -

He shook his head furiously, ashamed that he could not meet Morgana's satisfied eye.

"You realize it now, do you, brother? Everything he hid from us, the false stories and lies," Her eyes flashed dangerously, echoes of fire, "The lives he stole, ruined out of childish fright and fear of the unusual..." Morgana spits the words out like poison, more to herself then to Arthur, who is now watching her carefully as she paces the room.

She spins to face him, a small, hopeful smile growing on her face, "But we could do so much more, Arthur. Think of what Camelot could be if we worked together," Passion seeps into her words, and Arthur can tell that though the words are twisted, she truly believes in what she is saying, "Magic free again, Arthur, could you imagine it? It's not what Uther has said, you must know that - it is so much more. It is kindness and healing and beauty, brother, please. You must see that." She pleads with him, so badly wanting him to understand.

For an instant it's almost as though the old Morgana has come back to him. Arthur watches her sadly as her heaving chest slows, all her excitement and enthusiasm being pulled back inside her where she can mask it with a calm, cold shell.

He chose his words carefully, for he did care for her still, despite what Morgana has done,

"What I see out there is far from beautiful, Morgana. I do believe magic to have the ability to be kind, true, loyal," he paused, "and so beautiful. Of course I do. But what you're doing is simply murder."

Morgana's eyes turn dark, her hopeful expression sinking into one of anger and disgust.

Arthur was careful to look her straight on, hoping she would understand what he was trying to say.

"Perhaps you're not as unlike Uther as you would like to be."

Shock fills her face for a moment, untainted by any baser emotions, and for an almost inpercievable second she looks hurt. But Morgana covers it quickly, the cold and calculating mask replacing what deep true emotion she hid underneath.

She raises her head high as to better look down on her half-brother. Her words come through colder than frigid ice, filled with as much venom as she could muster,

"I see you've made your decision. Guards!" She called, two men in black tunics trotting in promptly, bowing low. She paused a moment before she speaking again.

"Take the prince to a room more suited for a man of his," She sneered,"status. The dungeons ought to do well enough for what purpose we require."

The guards marched over, pulling Arthur up sharply, keeping a strong grasp on his arms as they pull him out. Before they leave, one turns and asks, "What purpose is that, M'lady?"

She smiled, and the expression sent a shiver unbidden down Arthur's spine. But he would not look away. He would not be afraid.

"As he has done to so many of my kind, so many of the innocent, and as his precious Camelot does now - to burn him."

And they dragged him from the room.

Morning turned to noon, then to evening, then to dusk. The cycle continued, repeated.

The woods got dark a whole lot faster than Merlin would like. He had separated from Gwaine almost two days ago, and it still seemed he was no more closer to Camelot even after all this running.

It soon became dark enough that even with his spells, Merlin continuously tripped over his own feet and could barely see his hand in front of his face. Sighing in resignation, he allowed himself to sit and rest.

He hated letting himself rest; everytime he stopped, thoughts of Arthur plagued him. What would Morgana do, what has she done to him upon his arrival? Surely she would keep him reasonably safe - they were half-siblings, after all, that had to mean something? Or maybe it meant too much, perhaps she considered him a threat to her name to the throne, and she had killed him already and Merlin would be alone again -

No. Stop it. He shook his head to empty them of the thoughts, turning back to his task at hand. All the while during his running, the warlock had been going through every spell and incantation he knew that might help him get Arthur back.

There was one, he knew it. Well, he knew it existed, but he could not for the life of him remember how to get the bloody transport spell to work. It had something to do with the person's name, their home, maybe?

Merlin sighed again, propping his back up against a tree trunk, trying to get mildly comfortable enough to get to sleep. He hadn't slept much since - since that day. Sleep didn't feel right without Arthur's arms around him.

He closed his eyes, and all within the darkness were spells and magic, trying to tell him something, trying to help him remember -

His eyes flew open as a memory hit him.

"Gaius, what's this book for?"

The old physician glanced over from above whatever concoction he was working on brewing, pausing a moment to register which book Merlin was indicating.

"Spells for housewives, Merlin," he chuckled, "Little things like cleaning spells, ways to watch over children and get them home for dinner, check on drunk husbands, things like that."

Merlin had shrugged and grinned, pocketing the book - he thought perhaps he would find a more efficent spell to clean Arthur's armour with, or if he was lucky a spell that could muck out stables...

But there had been something else in that book besides cleaning tricks.

A way to bring someone home safely.

Arthur could barely contain the screams anymore - it had just been going on too long. Not much after he had been thrown into the dungeons the day before, Morgana had re-appeared to fufill her promise.

He was burning.

A combination of spells, incantations, and more... brutal methods were used on the former prince. Sometimes, it would be as though he were burning from the inside; as though his very blood had turned to fire and was flowing through him wild, determined to destroy any and everything it met.

Sometimes, when Morgana would grow bored, they went to more 'tried-and-true' methods. More violent. A series of brands now decorated Arthur's back and stomach, each time it touched burning away flesh, leaving a dark odour that permeated every breath. She didn't seem to mind the stench. She almost enjoyed it. His skin, black and red, curled around the brand - a mocking image on the Camelot crest slashed with a large 'X'.

He stood in the dungeons, his arms hung above his head high enough to pull at his joints uncomfortably, forcing him to rise every so often off his heels to relieve the discomfort. He was naked save for his trousers, his bare chest heaving as he panted, uncontrollable pain raging through his system.

Sweat and blood covered his brow, his eyes fogged and dark from the continuous stream of pain and fire that existed all around him until he was sure there was nothing left in the world but sheer agony.

She pressed another brand into his side, watching with eyes like a small child intrigued by something simple, and Arthur forced himself to remain silent. He clenched his hands into tight fists as they hung shackled above his head, nails digging deeper into his palm, drawing blood that trickled down his arm.

But he remained silent.

He would not be afraid.

And he continued to burn.

Merlin wiped his brow, standing back to admire his handiwork. The intricate circle, drawn with the crude instrument of a simple stick, matched the image from the book in his head perfectly, down to the last inch.

He had almost leapt out of his skin once he had finally remembered the proper spell - one mothers used to bring their children home from their wanderings or adventures.

"Draw the circle as shown in the image, careful it stands a meter wide and on flat ground," he muttered to himself, reciting the instructions for the umpteenth time in the past five minutes, "If not at original home, place article from the participant's home into centre of circle and chant incantation."

Merlin groped around under his neckerchief until his hand grasped what he was looking for - his mother's locket. He fumbled a moment with the clasp before it released, dropping into his hand.

Careful not to smudge the dirt circle, Merlin emptied the contents of the locket into the centre of the circle, where it indicated to be.

Soil from Camelot. The dirt he had collected the night he and Arthur had run away; his only reminder of that life. He hoped that it would be enough; that the spell would not mess up what with Arthur currently being in Camelot, but for heaven's sake he had to try.

The warlock took a deep breath, raising his hand and closing his eyes to focus. When he re-opened them, they glowed gold.

"Cymþ, éðel bæcern geþonc heortlufe"

He held the breath after he uttered the words, waiting eagerly and nervously, desparately hoping the spell was successful -

A moment passed.

And another.

And another.

Merlin couldn't help it. Tears of frustration, anger and fear welled up behind his eyes as he dropped his hand to his side. His head dropped until his chin hit his chest, and he could feel the need to collapse threatening to overtake hiim. It was repressed as angry energy flowed through him and he began to pace the forest floor.

Seeing the failed drawn circle pushed his anger to the edge, and the warlock stormed over to kick it into dust. But the moment his foot touched the edge, a great bright light glowed from in front of him. It grew brighter and brighter until it filled his entire vision and there was nothing else -

Then Arthur was there - dishevelled, injured, barely concious Arthur. The prince began to fall forward and Merlin blessed his unusually sharp reflexes as his arms instinctivly reached out to catch him.

The two collapsed to the ground together, Arthur pulling back and glancing at the warlock through half-lidded eyes,

"Merlin?" His voice is a raw, hoarse whisper, barely audible.

Merlin feels the tears falling, but now they're tears of relief. He pulls the prince close to his chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He whispers back, his lips right at Arthur's ear,

"My turn to save you, prat. You knew I would."

Merlin felt the last bits of Arthur's strength leave him as the other man collapsed entirely against the warlock's chest. But before he went under, the prince murmurs quietly,

"Of course I did."

Hullooo.

I use an old english translator for most of my spells; that and the official Merlin site.

Cymþ, éðel bæcern geþonc heortlufe means roughly 'come, home is where the heart is'