Past and Present Danger

A/N: Thank you muchly for the reviews. They're lovely to read as always! Just to let you know that I might have to change my updates to weekly, so if no new chapter appears on Wednesday, don't worry: there'll be one at the weekend, I haven't disappeared! Anyway, enjoy, and please let me know what you thinK!

Chapter 9

'Arthur,' Guinevere called after him as he all but ran into their room. He heard her close the door behind them, but he didn't look round. Instead he walked from one side of the room to the other, turning and pacing, looking around for inspiration, searching through his mind for some small hint of what he was missing. 'Arthur,' she repeated more firmly.

'I should know that, shouldn't I?' he began. He felt panicked; Merlin had told him that their memories might continue to go, but this seemed quick and he had the impression that this wasn't just one small incident he was forgetting. Somewhere inside him he knew that he had met Merlin's mother and been to Ealdor on more than one occasion. This was a large piece of memory that had gone.

'What do you remember, tell me everything you know about Ealdor and Hunith,' Gwen told him. She seemed calm, but he knew it was just a front.

'I don't remember anything,' he said shaking his head. 'I don't remember ever meeting Merlin's mother, let alone what she's like.'

'But you've met her several times; she's been to Camelot three or four times.'

'I don't remember.'

'And we've been to Ealdor. Not long after you met Merlin, his village was attacked and he went back to help. You went after him, you helped fight of the invaders.'

'I don't remember.'

'We all went; Morgana and I as well.'

'Gwen,' Arthur said quietly. 'I don't remember anything about it.' He sat down at the table and rested his head on his hand. Gwen knelt down beside him, her hand on his arm.

'Arthur, it's alright. It's going to be fine. You'll find Merlin and he'll put things right. It's just one more memory, that's all.'

'But it's not one more, Gwen; it's lots of memories,' he said, trying not to appear desperate, although he felt it. Where was Merlin when he needed someone to reassure him and tell him it would all be alright? 'You say I've met Hunith many times. I don't remember any of them. And Ealdor, you say we've been twice? Why were we there the second time? Was it all of us?'

At his side, Gwen suddenly went very still. Her hand, which had been gently stroking his arm, stopped and her grip tightened slightly.

'You don't remember?' she asked.

'No,' Arthur replied, trying to hide his annoyance. Wasn't it obvious that he didn't remember? 'I told you I-'

'No,' she interrupted. 'I mean. Don't you remember why I was in Ealdor the second time?' She suddenly seemed to have paled and she looked frightened…no, not frightened, more anguished. There was something upsetting her.

'Guinevere?' he asked, turning and standing up, pulling her with him. He wanted to help; he hated seeing her sad. 'What happened? Are you alright?'

'Do you remember?'

'Remember what?'

'Why I was in Ealdor when you and Merlin arrived?' She was close to tears and Arthur wanted to stop them. He looked at her searchingly, and then tried desperately to answer her question, but nothing came to mind.

'When was it? How long ago?'

'When Morgana took the throne with Helios. After Agravaine betrayed you.'

'I remember that,' he nodded.

'Merlin took you to Ealdor, but I wasn't in Camelot at the time,' she continued hesitantly.

'What?' Arthur asked. He shook his head at her, trying to sort through his confusion. When had Gwen ever been away from Camelot? Gwen closed her eyes and he saw crystal tears fall from them. Gently he cupped her face and wiped them away. Whatever it was was hurting her. Something had happened, something serious, something that had affected Guinevere deeply and possibly him as well. But if it was so awful, did he even want to remember it? Especially when it was causing his wife so much pain. 'Guinevere,' he said, lifting her chin. 'It's alright. I don't need to know anything. I trust you.'

'Arthur,' she whispered, shaking her head.

'It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter.' She looked up at him. She didn't look happy; she looked sad, but a different kind of sadness, an old sadness, that Arthur didn't want to push onto her. He pulled her into and embrace and kissed the top of her head. 'I've forgotten more than I realise, haven't I?' he said after a moment. She nodded into his shoulder. 'When I find Merlin, we can put this alright.'

He stepped back and was pleased to see that Guinevere looked a little less upset. She nodded at him, but didn't attempt a smile.

'I think you should write down any key memories, Arthur,' she said after a moment.

'Gwen; this will be sorted out soon. You don't need to worry.'

'Arthur, what happens if you lose an important memory, one that you need to make the right decisions?'

'I only need to wait a few more days.'

'But these memories don't seem to be going in any particular order. You could loose any of them at any time.'

'It won't matter. I just need to find Merlin.'

'No, Arthur, listen to me,' she said more forcefully. The seriousness in her tone caught his attention. 'What if you forget about Morgana turning on you? What if you forget about your young selves even coming to Camelot? What if you forget me or your father or your knights? What if you forget the lessons you've learnt?' she looked at him again. 'You are your memories Arthur. You need to protect them.'

'But-'

'What if you forget what Merlin did? What if you forget what he nearly sacrificed? Arthur; that was the moment that changed your mind about the exile, about magic, about Merlin. About everything. What happens if you forget that moment?'

Arthur dropped his eyes from her gaze.

'I need to leave now,' he told her quietly. 'I don't have time to do that.'

'Arthur, please.'

He shook his head.

'I'll remember.' She looked at him again, pleading in her eyes, but he shook his head. He couldn't do that. It made him feel like he had already lost. It felt like writing his funeral speech -all the moments in his life that had shaped him, there for everyone to see. But those weren't stories for public display; those were personal, intimate glimpses into his very soul. Even if he did have time, he couldn't put his feelings and experiences into any words that would truly bring back how those things affected him. 'I'll remember,' he repeated.

She didn't try to dissuade him again. They had been together for long enough that she knew when she would not convince him, but she made no effort to hide her disappointment at the decision.

'I'm going to go and gather supplies and then we'll leave.'

She nodded. 'Be careful.'

'I will.' He kissed her and then made to leave, but turned back as he reached the door. 'And if Arthur gives you any trouble, just throw him in the dungeons.'

'He's just a boy.'

'Yeah, and it's going to be years before you and Merlin show him what a pain he is so he might as well start learning now,' he smiled. The tension between them eased slightly and Gwen smiled at him.

'They'll be fine,' she assured him. Arthur nodded and closed the door behind him. He quickened his step as he headed down to the armoury; they had wasted enough time already; it was time to go and find Merlin.

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief as he finally broke through the edge of the forest to look out on the rocky plains that began the ascent up the Caleron mountains. It wasn't that the landscape was particularly inspiring –thick green grass stretched out from where he stood, dotted occasionally with rocky patches which grew gradually larger and more treacherous, swallowing up the grass, as you got closer to the mountain that blocked the horizon up ahead-, but it was a welcome change from the claustrophobic coverage of the trees in the forest. He had been walking through them for several hours and the longer he spent amongst them, the more he felt like he was gradually being suffocated.

Partly, he knew, it was due to the crushing onslaught of his thoughts that had resumed with even more force than they had the previous night after he left Kilgharrah and his young counterpart in the clearing.

Morgana and how he was going to handle her was foremost in his mind, but it was by no means the only issue that clamoured for his attention as he continued to place one foot in front of the other heading for the Pass of the Old Kingdom.

No, Arthur too, featured heavily in his desperate musings. He should have gone back to Camelot and asked the King to come with him; he realised that now. Why, he had asked himself several times, was he walking as fast as he could towards Morgana with no reinforced wards to fend off her attacks, and with no knights to keep her occupied while he found a way to steal a pendant which, in all likelihood, she would have on her person? Yes, her magic may be weakened, but there was no guarantee that she was physically weakened and he knew that if it came down to a sword fight he might as well impale himself and save her the trouble. He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. He did, after all, possess a weapon much more powerful than a sword; his magic could floor her instantly, but even so, he had known swords to slip through his defences on occasion and he was sure Morgana would give it her best shot.

Why hadn't he gone and found Arthur? All he would have had to do was go back with young Merlin. Arthur would have organised the quest instantly. It would have set him back by maybe two hours, if that, and then he would have been able to talk strategy with Arthur, or rather have Arthur talk strategy at him, and would now have felt much more confident about what he was doing. He did hope that Arthur had gone easy on his young self. He could only imagine Arthur's annoyance that he had no idea where his Court Sorcerer was heading and therefore couldn't follow. Was he going to be able to do this without the King?

He shook his head and told himself to stop being stupid. Yes, he couldn't remember the last time he had been on a long journey out of Camelot when Arthur wasn't with him, but no, that did not mean that he couldn't manage on his own; he had been completely alone during his self-imposed exile and he had survived just fine. He rolled his eyes; had it really got to that? Had he really got to the point of needing to delude himself to go on? 'Survived just fine' were hardly words he'd use to describe those six months.

Without meaning to, he dropped into reminiscences of that time. He remembered the bone numbing tiredness that had pervaded his existence nearly every day. He had spent those months living in the forests surrounding Camelot, never wanting to wander far from the city, but unable to hide inside it's walls as he had done in the past when Uther had ordered his execution. But Uther's anger had been distant, impersonal, cold. Arthur's anger had been an entirely different thing. Merlin had felt it, even from outside the walls. The warning bell had rung more often than it ever had done. At first Merlin had thought that it was because the city was under attack, but on his return, when Gaius had filled him in on what had been happening while he was away, the much darker truth was revealed to him.

Arthur had retreated into himself -in a rage that no-one had ever seen- after Merlin's magical departure from the castle. According to what Merlin had found out –before he'd decided to stop asking because the answers always served to make him remember what Arthur had thought of him then-, the King had ordered that every home and building, every dark corner and hidden passage way be searched. And the moment the search finished, he began it again, throwing everything into finding Merlin. He had doubled the size of Camelot's army to ensure that the searches could be ruthlessly carried out and, with any left over soldiers, had set up dozens of daily patrols into the outlying areas in an attempt to catch Merlin.

On more than one occasion, Merlin had nearly found himself caught by a patrol and had had to mutter a quick incantation to either distract them or hide himself. When he had disappeared in the throne room, he had re-emerged in his room, and gathered all his belongings, before finally leaving the castle, which meant that he had had his magic books with him. He didn't know how he would have survived the intense searches of the soldiers and the difficult outdoor conditions without them.

And so, Arthur's anger had settled on Camelot like a cloud, affecting everybody. Even Merlin had been able to sense the turbulence within the city from wherever he found himself. In fact the King's darkness had been so intense, that it had taken Merlin a while to sense the underlying darkness that had nothing to do with Arthur's emotions and everything to do with a magical attack.

It had started like a prickling in the back of his mind, as if something was behind him at all times. Every night he would wake up feeling like someone was watching him, only to cast around frantically in the dark and find himself utterly alone. And then it began to get stronger, like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. That's what it was really, it was the only way he could describe it when Arthur had asked much later on. A storm gradually getting closer, but not a storm that could physically be seen, it was a storm of magic; something dark and deadly, like the opposite of who Merlin was. That was what it felt like to him: like the dark to his light; the magic he could sense in it was the exact counter of his own magic. It felt like whatever place his magic came from, this too had arisen there, but to be the other side of it.

Merlin had always said that magic wasn't evil; instead, it was the people who used it that could be evil. It was one of the things that had most frustrated and appalled him when it came to Uther's view on magic. But at that moment, Merlin went back on his principle entirely because the magic that was gradually moving closer was evil. It felt it, completely and utterly, but without even the hint of a creature controlling it, human or other.

He had known then, known at that moment, that his exile was over, whether his life depended on it or not. He had said to Arthur as he disappeared from the throne room that he couldn't protect him if he was dead. It was the only reason he had left. But as he began to get a more complete picture of the threat that was making its way towards Camelot he realised that he had reached the point where he could only protect Arthur through his own death. That was the truth of his thoughts at that time. He could feel the power of the malignant aura and he knew that if he managed to beat this thing, he wouldn't survive. It was too strong.

Usually, the understanding that he would have to die to protect Arthur was one which he accepted grimly, but with peace and a contentment that he had never understood. But this time when he realised, he found the knowledge crushing. Not because he considered not doing it, but because in the past Arthur had known who he was, he would have grieved for Merlin, he would have remembered him with great affection, whether he admitted it or not. But Merlin knew that this time his death would not stir the same responses in the King. It wasn't that he wanted Arthur to suffer, of course he didn't, but he did want to feel like his death would matter. He was sure it still would this time, but not in the way he wanted it to. Merlin could imagine lying there, breathing his last having saved Arthur and Camelot again, and then looking up to see Arthur's hate-filled face, smug with satisfaction at his once-friend's fate. He hadn't known whether he could do that, but in the end he knew he would have to risk it; he had to stop whatever the entity was.

The next few days had been the most exhausting, and difficult days of his life. He guessed that he had about a week before the magical storm reached the city and he tried to use the time well. He spoke to Kilgharrah, but the dragon could only tell him that it was a magic as deep as the old religion, one that was believed to have been buried and destroyed long ago. The dragon had been scared. That was what terrified Merlin even more. He had never known Kilgharrah to show fear. Anger yes, but fear? Never. Merlin had asked him to join forces, but he had told Merlin that it would be useless. Humans had been the creators of this dark magic and only their magic would work against it. The knowledge did little to help Merlin; it only served to make his task seem even more impossible.

There were no powerful sorcerers in Camelot. He would have sensed it, he would have known. There was him and him alone and he knew that he wouldn't be able to beat this darkness and live. He had turned his attention instead to bettering it by the tinniest amount. If he died, but defeated it, then it would be a victory and that was what he was aiming for.

Kilgharrah tried to help him, tried to give him enchantments. He boosted Merlin's magical understanding to help him deal with the foe he was facing, but he could hear the dragon's doubt in every word. He had ignored it, choosing instead to focus on stopping the darkness regardless of the consequences to himself. The magical knowledge that he gained during those few days was immense, but it took its toll on his body. Kilgharrah explained that a Sorcerer's body adjusted to the power at its disposal, but only when the increments were natural. Kilgharrah's technique had not been. He had provided Merlin with magical precision and depth and power that he had not gained himself and as such his body began to suffer for it. He was weak, his head felt like it would burst with pain on many occasions and every movement took the greatest of concentration. In the end he had to cast spells on himself to be able to ignore these things and let the damage that was being done to his body continue unchecked. He just needed to make sure he couldn't feel it if he was going to have any chance of completing his task.

At last he could wait no longer. The storm had reached them and Camelot was in danger. Merlin had thanked Kilgharrah -who had then flown off faster than Merlin had ever seen him fly before- and then made his short journey to Camelot.

He hadn't had a plan as to how he was going to get into the city, deciding that when he came to it, he might as well just blast through the gates rather than waste magic keeping a shield in place which rendered him invisible, but in the end he hadn't had to do anything. He had walked straight in without anybody noticing him.

The whole town was in uproar. Merlin had assumed that only he could sense the dark magic that was beginning to simmer above the city, but it seemed that everybody could sense it. The terror that pervaded the air was almost as choking as the darkness itself. People ran around screaming, seemingly having no destination. Others were sat down against walls and doors, huddling next to each other, locked in tight embraces, sobbing desperately. The guards and knights were only marginally better. They had enough calm about them to walk around the town in units and ask questions to the fear-stricken citizens, but the fact that Merlin, the most wanted man in Albion, walked right past all of them was testament to their chaotic state of mind.

He had headed to the courtyard and seen Gaius and Gwen walking across it. Gaius was leading her, although she was protesting, but the physician was firm with her. Even with the crushing weight of the darkness directly above him and the clear knowledge that he was about to die, Merlin had not been able to stop a smile from breaking through his tense demeanour. Without hesitating he had walked over to them.

Gaius had seen him first. The old man had frozen and just stared at him. His expression was one of joy, but underneath it there was a desperate sadness; he knew exactly what Merlin was going to do. Then Gwen had spotted him. Merlin hadn't known what to expect from Gwen. She had been his friend since his first day in Camelot, but she was Arthur's wife, loyal to him above all others and that included Merlin. But to his great relief, she had smiled widely at him, run over and thrown her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, tears streaming down her face.

'I knew you would come back, Merlin,' she told him, her eyes gleaming. She pulled back and looked at him. 'You have my complete trust; you never lost it.' The gratitude that Merlin felt at her words caused his eyes to sting with tears. She must have kept her true feelings from Arthur the entire time; how hard that must have been.

'And Arthur?' he asked, though he knew the answer.

'He will see,' she whispered. 'One day, he will see.' She stepped back and Merlin knew that she believed it. But the fact was that if that did happen, Merlin would not be alive to see it. He didn't say anything, just let her believe whatever she wanted to about why he was here. And then Gaius was hugging him, saying nothing at all, even after six months. He just pulled him close and held him, trying to give him the strength to do what he needed to, as much as it must have torn at the old man's heart to allow Merlin to walk to his death unchallenged.

'Where is he?' Merlin asked Gaius. The physician pointed up to the parapets and Merlin saw Arthur and several knights at the top. By now, the dark magic had collected itself above the castle, shrinking down to a much smaller size to rest only above the area where the King and his knights stood. It seemed to have thickened and deepened in its darkness as well. It swirled like a vortex, drawing people's very thoughts into itself, as if it was trying to pull their souls from their bodies. It was terrifying.

With one final look at Gwen and Gaius, Merlin had headed into the castle, ready to make one last sacrifice for Arthur.

Merlin faltered slightly in his step and admonished himself for allowing such dark recollections to cloud his thoughts. He didn't do it very often, preferring instead to pretend that he had forgotten all about it, but now, with Arthur's words still ringing round his head, still taunting him, he found it difficult not to go back to those times and examine where the rift in their friendship had been created. He had fought so hard for Arthur during his exile; harder, perhaps, than he had ever done before, but nothing he did or said ever seemed to make Arthur understand that.

He kicked at a stone and it tripped along the ground, smashing into the rocky patches that were beginning to thicken. What did he have to do to prove himself? Arthur had let him down more than once and yet Merlin still trusted him completely. He had tried to kill him for goodness sake! And yet Merlin had never once doubted the King that Arthur was and would be. Why, then, did Merlin have to work so much harder to gain his friend's trust?

The truth was that he couldn't put up with the King's mistrust for much longer; he couldn't keep hoping that one day Arthur would really truly believe in him only to keep having the illusion shattered every time a magical issue arose that Merlin struggled with. That was the problem really; it was only ever when difficult magic was involved that Arthur fell back on his misgivings, and it was at those times that Merlin most needed his faith.

Maybe that was why he was on his own heading towards the Pass of the Old Kingdoms, he didn't want to find himself facing something that he couldn't cope with only to have Arthur give him that look of uncertainty, no matter how small it was. Was he trying to protect himself? He sniggered at the irony of protecting himself by leaving himself unprotected.

Whatever his reasons for making this journey alone, Merlin knew he would have to live with the consequences now. He couldn't waste time going back. No, he would face Morgana and he would face her alone.

'Merlin!'

Merlin jumped at the sound of his name being called and turned, squinting back towards the tree line which now lay some distance behind him. As much as he tried to feel annoyed at the fact that he had somehow been found, he could not help but smile when he saw Arthur glaring at him across the distance, the knights just behind.

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