A/N: Hey there, lovely readers! Gratitude goes out, again, to all of you guys who reviewed, added this story to their alerts/favourites, or just read last week's chapter. I hope this chapter will be just as enjoyable. I'm quite excited for this one - very dramatic. Time to catch up with Arthur again, in the lovely world of dreams.

I don't own Merlin. Which is a shame, 'cos, you know, Bradley James and Colin Morgan.

4

Chaos.

Arthur had lived in Camelot all his life, and as a result of that he knew what was considered normal in the kingdom, and, in turn, the signs that chaos was ensuing. The scene in front of him definitely classified as the latter.

People were running around the courtyard of the citadel in clusters of panic, and voices were mashing together clumsily, echoes of screams and yells and protests and terror. Arthur, knowing that he had to do something to help, first took a few moments to get his barings together and then tried to gather what was going on. Was Camelot under attack? He wasn't really sure. Were there any creatures lurking around, ready to attack? No. Was any part of the citadel damaged? He looked around. It didn't seem to be…

He kept looking though, the screams much louder now, filling his ears and urging him, almost like a spell, to join in with the mania.

A spell! This was Arthur's next lead. Were there any sorcerers around? Arthur twirled in a full circle, but he could see no sign of evil spirits or mystical figures, stalking around the courtyard to exact some kind of revenge. At least, if there was one around, they weren't as obvious and outstanding as Arthur sometimes imagined them to be – he remembered that some of the most dangerous sorcerers and enchantresses he had known had been the most inconspicuous of all; Morgause and Morgana being the most obvious examples.

Arthur then started reaching for his sword, but came up short when his sheath was noted to be empty – noted not to be present, even. After blinking in confusion of how he would be out anywhere in public without his sword, he switched his attention to the matter at hand and scoured the courtyard with his eyes once again, studying it carefully, trying to make out a familiar face in the insanity that was occurring.

His eyes finally caught one face and his heart floated for a second. Guinevere. She was running, and running fast, but she stopped in her tracks as she caught sight of a small child sat cowering on the main staircase; alone, scared. Her face, which was at first one of fear, softened in compassion and Arthur felt pride swell through his heart as Guinevere, his lovely Guinevere, sprinted over to the child, who cowered behind the large statue of a knight and horse on the staircase leading into the castle. The child's face was pressed into his hands and he was shuddering violently, but Guinevere approached him and gently put a hand on his shoulder. Arthur couldn't hear her tender voice among the chaos, but he could see her soft lips moving. Arthur thought that perhaps she was soothing that child with calm words of how everything was going to be alright and promising the boy that she would help him find his mother, father, family; whoever she could. The boy's face was still contorted with fear, but he stopped shuddering, stopped cowering away, and let Guinevere take his hand and lead him in the right direction. Arthur advanced towards the exchange, dodging the groups of desperate people who almost ran into him and still wondering exactly what was going on; why Camelot was in such a shamble. He wondered if his father knew; what his father was doing to help; if his knights were helping, too.

He was getting closer to Guinevere, his steps more confident. Guinevere had not yet noticed him – she was still to busy murmuring reassuring words to the boy, and now Arthur was closer, he could hear better.

"…knights will take care of things, don't you worry." She promised softly, giving a warm smile to the child, who nodded trustingly, hugging his hands to his chest, pouting. Gwen smiled again before she seemed to notice the approaching shadow out of the corner of her eye. Slowly, her head turned and her dark eyes rested on Arthur's boots, then waist, and finally, face.

Arthur expected Guinevere to smile, hug the Prince, and explain to him everything that was happening. But, her eyes suddenly darkened in a way that Arthur could not remember seeing before. He thought back, searching through his memories to try and find an occasion when Gwen had acted this way. A faint hint of a memory rang in the back of his mind; a ring that built into a scream as Arthur recalled the disastrous days when the Great Dragon had escaped and terrorised the kingdom, raining down fire and fear into the hearts of everyone in the kingdom. He remembered the look on her face from there. He also remembered the look from when Morgana had betrayed them, or from those few terrible times when she had seen someone close to her on their deathbed. He did recall the expression on his love's face. It was a fear, a deep fear and an anger.

It was also a determination. One of the many things Arthur loved about Guinevere was that she was no ordinary fearful maiden, no damsel in distress. While she got scared – who didn't? Since meeting Merlin and falling for Guinevere, Arthur had realised that even he had his fears – she wouldn't let them render her useless and pitiful. She would stand up against the injustice or horrors that she faced, and she would readily fight for what she believed was right. She would look a problem in the eye with this exact look of admitted fright, yet an undying purpose.

A look Arthur was on the receiving end of at this very moment.

Snapping back into reality, Guinevere pushed the boy forward a little, telling him to follow the crowd and that she would catch up with him very soon. The boy, clearly also fearing the man towering above him, backed away a few steps, his wide eyes not leaving Arthur, before he turned on his heels and sprinted as rapidly as he could. He tripped a couple of times but he never once gazed back, never once slowed in pace. He ran and ran until he was out of sight among the people streaming out of the courtyard, also running.

But running from what?

Arthur feared he was soon to find out.

Desperate, Arthur went to reach for Guinevere's wrist. He realised that had been a mistake as she yelled out and tugged herself from his grip, her wide eyes wild. Arthur's mouth opened slightly in shock. Guinevere stared at him for a long, hard few moments, but neither could speak, neither dared to.

After finding his voice again, Arthur was the one to break the silence, "Guinevere…" He muttered, "What's going on?"

He made a wrong move again and took a step too close to Guinevere, who backed up, almost in a move of self defence. Arthur realised that being gentle (or gentle for him) was getting him nowhere. He reached for Guinevere's wrists – both of them – and clenched them tightly, not realised that his soft expression faded with the action. Guinevere screamed again.

"Get off of me!" She demanded, struggling, but Arthur was stronger and his grip was sturdy. He wasn't letting go.

"Guinevere!" He yelled over her screaming, trying to calm his love, "Guinevere! Gwen!"

"Just let me go!" Guinevere struggled, not letting herself look Arthur in the eyes, almost like she was afraid of falling for whatever game she believed him to be playing. Arthur, tired of fighting, tightened his grip even more, to which Guinevere yelled out in pain. Arthur's features softened and his face went blank with guilt, before he scolded himself.

"Guinevere, what is going on?"

Guinevere's breathing was uneven, "Don't try to do this to me, Arthur!" She insisted. She was clearly in the middle of an inner battle - a battle between her love and devotion to Arthur and her hatred and anger at what he had supposedly done. "I know what happened, I know what you did!"

"Tell me." Arthur insisted in his own tone of gentle authority. Gwen seemed to recognise the tone in Arthur's voice and softened, stopped fighting, before she gasped in anger, seeming to mentally be reprimanding herself, before she fought again. The burning anger was winning the war.

"Let me go!"

"Guinevere, I-,"

"Gwen!"

The different, familiar voice weakened Arthur further, allowing Guinevere to take her shot at an escape. She violently tugged herself away from Arthur's grip, and ran down the steps, towards a large huddle of red clothing. Arthur turned and watched her, still shocked, and even more so when Guinevere ran straight into the hands of Lancelot, sinking her head onto his shoulder and her body into his arms. Over all the screaming, which was now echoing in Arthur's mind like the voices were screaming at him, the one sound of Guinevere's uneven sobs rang above everything else. It made Arthur feel so hollow, because he had been the one to make Guinevere cry. Guinevere hardly ever cried – again, Arthur could only pinpoint enough times to count on one hand – and to know that he had been the one to cause his love distress was just another knife to his chest.

Arthur then took in the faces of his knights – for they were all there. His most trustworthy, loyal knights – the Knights who had aided him in the battle against Morgana – were at the front, and his heart once again pounded as he noticed the faces of each of the men he had fought with, who would happily die for him. Their faces were a mixture of expressions – some remained emotionless, while others looked pained, angry. Gwaine and Lancelot, especially, glared at Arthur as if he was the traitor in their midst.

The traitor? Arthur swallowed hard. Surely not...

The silent exchange didn't last long, though it felt an eternity for Arthur. Sir Leon stepped forward, his face a stoic picture, though even he was clearly in disbelief at whatever was going on.

"Sir Leon, what is happening?" Arthur asked, irritated and puzzled as his voice came out less powerful than he had hoped, and more frantic than planned. Leon looked up at him darkly.

"I'm sorry, Arthur." He said, his words not matching his indifferent tone. Arthur was puzzled as he referred to him with his name and not his usual 'Sire'. "But you are under arrest for treason."

Arthur was still, yet everything seemed to move around him. Two guards appeared out of nowhere, firmly hooking his hands behind his back. As if he was planning to move anywhere anyway. The panic around him seemed to calm – if only just – almost as if the people knew that Arthur was the enemy, and knew that they were safer now he was captured. Those that were left in the courtyard seemed to form a circle around the knights, Guinevere, and Arthur, watching with wide, anxious eyes. Waiting.

Waiting for the enemy to make his move.

Arthur, being the trained warrior he was, had been readied for this all his life. Well, not this particular moment, per se, but he had been trained to remain emotionless and indifferent in pressing situations so as to not show his vulnerability.

However, as his eyes darted across the faces of his knights, his friends, and his lover, the dam blocking his emotions seemed to crack under some sort of pressure and then explode. Arthur stumbled forward, his movements more reckless than he'd ever imagined they could be. He tried to keep his nerve, but as what he was being accused of sank in, staying calm was the last thing on his mind.

"Treason?" He echoed, his tone in a state of defiance, "I am the Prince!"

"That didn't stop you from trying to attack the King." Lancelot objected quietly. Arthur's blue, hesitant eyes landed on Lancelot and his heart shattered. Even Lancelot, the noblest of them all; the one who had grown up dreaming of becoming a knight; who had then been granted this wish thanks to the very man stood in front of him, seemed to have turned on his Prince.

If Lancelot believed Arthur to be a traitor, there was no denying it. No-one else believed in him, either.

His lips stumbled on words that didn't even sound as his eyes continuously shifted around, still trying to find an ally in this group of friends. But he found none. Bowing his head, he succumbed to the guard's grip, even if it was only for a few seconds, and sighed.

"My father." Arthur began, "What does he say of this?"

"Your father gave us the order, Arthur." Leon explained. Clearly, as the most detached member of the group despite knowing and serving Arthur for the longest out of all the men present, he had been nominated to speak. He was, after all, the closest knight to Arthur who was a nobleman, and had been trained for moments like these, like Arthur, for much of his life.

"He wouldn't do that." Arthur insisted, forcing as much authority into his tone as he was able in his current confused state. He squeezed his eyes shut, with his head still bowed, waiting for the reply of Leon. But none came.

Opening his eyes in confusion, Arthur was met with wooden floorboards underneath his feet – not the cobblestones from before. His head sprung up and he lashed his head around, his heart sinking at the surrounding scene.

A crowd was gathered in a tight, thick circle around him. They were the same crowd from only a second ago, but their eyes no longer reflected fear or anxiety. Their expressions were that of a satisfied, fury-driven mob, who were watching their greatest enemy take his final plunge.

The knights. They were a few more feet away than they had been only a second ago, but they were still at the front of the crowd, all in sight. Guinevere was still beside Lancelot, and her eyes were red-rimmed, but she stood strong and firm, ready for the events to pass.

The knights displayed different mixtures of anger, sorrow, satisfaction, and indifference, each stood tall as they attempted to watch this event like any other in the history of Camelot – with detachment and with pride. To Arthur's dismay, many of them were finding this task remarkably simple.

The two guards were still stood behind Arthur, holding him in place. But behind them, Arthur saw something that sent his heart into frenzy. A tall pole towered above him, blocking out the morning's sunlight. A rope hung from this stand in a hoop. At his feet, Arthur felt the floor creak as he was forced to his knees. He looked down at the floorboards – it was a trapdoor.

It was an execution. Arthur's execution.

"People of Camelot,"

Arthur swallowed at the sound of the familiar cold voice. His head followed the direction of the sound, and he saw his father atop of the balcony that he always delivered his speeches on during executions. Arthur would know – he'd attended enough of them.

He'd just never attended one like this.

Uther's impassiveness to the situation was heartbreaking for the Prince. His father was speaking to the people of his kingdom; speaking to them about his own son's upcoming execution. Arthur could do nothing but listen with horror, and wonder. Wonder at exactly what he'd done to cause even his father, who loved him unconditionally, to turn against him. Even his own father was emotionless at the execution of his only son. A tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered one dangerous word menacingly, but Arthur would not let the voice come forward.

"Let this be a lesson to all man," Uther declared, his eyes scanning across the courtyard coldly, before landing on his son below him. Arthur could not see his father's eyes very well, but he knew him well enough to know of the cold, furious look that was being sent his way at that very moment. Uther's face (or what Arthur could make out of it) showed no sign of being upset, no sign of remorse or guilt for what he was about to do. He stared at Arthur the same way he stared at any criminal – as if that was all he saw his son as now; a criminal. A traitor.

"No-one is safe from the evils of this world. No-one is safe from manipulation." He took a pause, "And yet, no-one is safe from having to pay for their crimes." His tone was suddenly filled with disgust as he cast his gaze back on Arthur and concluded with, "Not even the Prince."

Arthur's shoulders slumped at the way his father named him 'the Prince'. He wouldn't call him by his name, and he wouldn't even dare to call him his son. Arthur had betrayed him, and Uther no longer considered the boy as his son – Arthur could tell. What was left of Arthur's shattered confidence faded to dust as he realised that everyone he cared about – Guinevere, his knights, his father – no longer trusted him. Hated him. Even the people of Camelot, who used to look at Arthur with respect, were glaring at him with malice and repugnance.

…Maybe not everyone.

Arthur was pulled back up onto his feet aggressively, and his head jerked at the sudden movement. But that sudden movement allowed his eyes to meet with one more familiar figure. A mixture of red and blue and brown, a face that looked on the execution scene with a more varied emotion than any man present in the courtyard, bar Arthur himself.

Merlin pushed himself closer into the crowd, past a few men who were stood, still as statues; almost as if their souls were no longer present. Arthur felt his body droop just at the sight of Merlin, but his heart fluttered. Merlin gazed at his Master, and Arthur watched his servant, expecting him to immediately understand what was going on and then match his own expression with everyone else's - one of animosity and hostility.

But Arthur knew Merlin, maybe better than he knew most men, and Merlin was not that kind of person. Merlin was a compassionate and calm soul, and Merlin's loyalty to Arthur was higher than that of any knight. In spite of of his inability to hold a weapon and truly fight, Arthur knew that Merlin would be the first in line to die for the Prince – something he had proved on so many occasions that Arthur had lost count. And, despite the hatred the rest of the crowd felt for their Prince at that moment, Merlin did not let his loyalties to his Master falter. As Arthur was shoved towards the rope and gazed hysterically at his manservant for assistance, Merlin gave Arthur a different look to everyone else – a look of trust, of reassurance, of kindness and compassion, a look which gave Arthur hope, determination. Maybe even a little too much for it to be healthy.

There was just something about Merlin. Some kind of connection to the figure in front of him. Arthur couldn't really place it, but what he could say for certain was that it was the reason for his next outburst.

"MERLIN!" He bellowed frantically, struggling against the guards grip. He understood that he was causing a scene; he'd always vowed that, should someone sentence him to death, he would hold his calm until the very end. But now, he didn't really care. He didn't understand what was going on, what was happening. He couldn't let it end now. He needed a way out, and Merlin was currently his only solution. He didn't know what it was, but something inside of him told him that it was Merlin he needed, Merlin's counsel he required, and Merlin who would save him from this mess.

No-one seemed to react to Arthur's outburst, apart from the guards in their efforts to hold him tighter, and Merlin. Merlin's expression was pained, and then, for just a moment, straight – like he was no longer inside his body – before he came back to life, only to look more distressed than before. He closed his eyes tightly, like he was blinking back tears, until he opened them again and mouthed, "I'm sorry," to the Prince.

Arthur's reaction was just to struggle harder, reacting uncharacteristically desperately, "No!" He cried. Merlin stepped back once, twice. "NO!" Arthur yelled.

But Merlin was gone.

Arthur couldn't take his eyes from the spot Merlin had been for a good few seconds, before another aggressive tug from the guards brought his gaze up to his father, who nodded at the guards – an order.

Arthur was into his final few seconds.

"No! Father!" Arthur yelled, now trying to reach out for his detached father, who stood tall, no longer looking at his son. "Father, please! Please, just tell me what I did! I demand to know!"

A voice chuckled in his head. It was familiar. "Arrogant and ignorant until the very end."

The sorcerer. Arthur growled, "Get out of my head!" He shouted; an action which probably served to make him seem more like a madman than the people already assumed him to be. He was no longer to die as a valiant hero, like he had expected to all of his life; rather an insane traitor.

"You still think of us with disgust?" The voice cackled. The way it said 'us' frightened Arthur – it was like he was referring to himself and Arthur as one and the same. "Arthur Pendragon, you certainly have much to learn. Emrys has a long road ahead of him if he is to teach you."

Emrys? Arthur did not recognise the name; nor did he care. Not as he neared the rope – time seemed to go in slow-motion, but it was still coming to an end too quickly.

"Emrys is your destiny, as you are his." The voice explained, obviously having noticed Arthur's puzzlement, "A man destined to be at your side. To teach you and to learn from you. To guide and to comfort."

"Stop this!" Arthur demanded aloud. The rope was only a foot or two away. Arthur was atop of the trapdoor. He closed his eyes, no longer able to watch. "Just tell me what is happening to me!" He tripped over his words as he did with his feet, no longer trying to force back tears as he had so much since he was a child, "Tell me."

The voice sounded almost smug, but not in a way that made him seem like an enemy. "I think you should see for yourself." The voice told him.

Arthur opened his eyes, for some instinctual reason overpowered him. He expected to see the rope and so was baffled to see that it had changed. The object in front of him was no longer a rope – rather, a circular hand mirror hanging just at his eye-level, exactly where the rope had been. The same instinct led him closer and closer to the mirror, and he reached out to see why he was being led this way, what he was to see.

The last words he heard were "Do not fear," before he got a glimpse of his own face. Blonde hair, blue eyes… he saw no change. He blinked, and he almost missed it.

But almost was not good enough. He caught something very distinct in the reflection, which he couldn't miss even if he tried.

His irises.

He had to do a double-take, but he was not mistaken, as he'd hoped. Just for a second, his eyes were a flaming, intense gold, before innocently turning back to the cool sea blue he was used to.

The sound of screams came first, and then his father's voice suddenly flooded his mind, and he knew this was not a sorcerer's trick but his own mind playing games.

"Arthur Pendragon, I hereby sentence you to death-,"

Arthur closed his eyes, shaking his head violently, trying to defy what he'd seen. His breaths were harsh and his head was spinning, and as he dared to open his eyes again he noticed that this time, they were gold. Fully gold. And this time the gold did not disappear.

"-for the use of magic and enchantments. For the use of sorcery."

And now the voices were chanting in his head. The voices which had been screaming in fear and terror were now condemning Arthur like some kind of insult. Sorcerer. Sorcerer. SORCERER.

Arthur's scream echoed around the courtyard.

Arthur's scream continued to around his room. A yell of terror reverberated around the Prince's chambers, making the air shudder. Arthur could hear a buzz in his ears; a buzz that flowed with an unexplainable power that he had never felt before. Arthur jerked up in his bed, taking in a sharp gasp to catch his breath and then allow his screams to continue.

But his actions caused something else entirely. In that brief second where he inhaled, the buzzing in Arthur's ear, which had been building in volume like the battle cries of an approaching enemy, screeched to a halt. The room around Arthur, in response, seemed just about ready to topple over, to combust.

Apparently unable to take the strain, Arthur's mirror shattered noisily, the shards of glass scattering across the floor dangerously.

At the event, Arthur's eyes widened. He leapt out of bed and ran to check the damages. He yelled out in pain as he, in his frantic efforts, stood on a shard of glass.

A knock at the door. A guard's voice came from the other side. "Sire?" The guard asked, "Is everything alright?"

Arthur took a few deep breaths before replying, "I'm fine." He said, though his attempt at calming himself had been pitiful and his tone in speech was breathless. The guard probably hadn't even heard him.

"Sire?" The voice continued.

"I'm fine!" Arthur responded, louder, though his words shuddered in slight fear. Arthur hoped the guard wouldn't notice.

He looked down at the smashed glass, carefully picking up one of the precarious pieces of glass so he could see his reflection.

His hair was matted, his mouth was curled into a defeated, exhausted frown. The Prince looked worn out, afraid, and his eyes were wild. Blue – no longer golden – but wild.

Curious, the Prince recalled a faint memory of the incident all those nights ago, before his nightmares had begun; where his door had shut on its own accord and Arthur had assumed it had been due to some freak gust of wind through his chambers. He now, with his thoughts circling uncontrollably, wondered… had it really?

Swallowing hard, outstretching his hand like he'd seen many a sorcerer do before, he willed the door to open, closing his eyes for a few seconds before opening them to check the shard of glass he was holding for his reflection.

Only one thing changed. His eyes glowed. And in response, the door slowly and quietly squeaked open.

Arthur dropped the glass in shock, allowing it to shatter into even smaller pieces - some of which flew into his foot. He didn't want to, but he let out a yell in pain as the pieces pricked his skin.

"AGH!"

"Sire?" The guard was desperate now. Arthur hobbled over to the door, as quickly as he could with his now-bleeding foot, and glanced around the door that he had willed open. He somehow found his sense of authority amongst all the chaos inside his brain and commanded the guard.

"There's been an accident. Go find the Court Physician, and tell him to come as quickly as possible."

The guard bowed to the Prince, "Yes, Sire," and walked off.

Arthur turned to the other guard, "You must leave, too." He insisted. The guard was unsure.

"I've been instructed to not leave this post until my shift is over, Sire."

"And now I'm instructing you," Arthur argued, "leave."

The guard, hesitant, nodded his head, not wanting to argue with the Prince, and went down the corridor the opposite way to the first guard.

Arthur shut the door (naturally, this time, not by the invisible force) and hobbled back to his bed, debating whether or not to pick the glass out of his foot.

But now a voice seemed to call at him from right at the back of his mind.

"Sorcerer." It whispered, matter-of-factly, accusingly. Arthur knew it wasn't the sorcerer from his dreams as he didn't feel his presence any longer in his mind. No, this was due to his own mind, his own voice; it was mocking him, appalled. He had acted so childishly when he had first discovered the man in his dreams to be of magic, and so his brain seemed to be retaliating for his own foolishness and small-mindedness. He had been so arrogant, so petty. Arthur willed his eyes closed, to stop any potential onslaught of tears.

"No," he muttered, though he didn't know how long he could keep up the denial. "No, no…"

But then, a soft voice replied. Softer than the previous; kinder.

"Do not be afraid, Arthur." The voice said. "Everything will be okay. I promise you."

And so Arthur relaxed, taking slow, deep breaths to calm himself, because he trusted the voice, for it belonged to Merlin.

He trusted Merlin's voice. He trusted Merlin. He trusted Merlin as a man who never broke a promise, who was always there for his friends, whose council and words he held higher than most other men. He remembered Merlin to be the only one who, when everything was crumbling around Arthur, had dared to show him some kind of compassion, care. Arthur knew that this had only been a dream, but he also worried if, should push come to shove, the fact would still stand.

Just for now, Arthur was at peace with his thoughts. In his calm state he let his thoughts spiral. One seemed to echo over all others;

"Sorcerer."

And yet, it was no longer the harsh voice from his dreams, but the soft voice of Merlin.

The voice that assured him that everything would be alright.

A/N: And there's another chapter over with :) I can tell you now that, from where I'm standing, this story will probably have seven chapters, and an epilogue. I've just kind of gone crazy with it, adding Arwen/Merthur moments and random conversations wherever I could, so it's gonna be way longer than originally planned (note that, when this idea first came to mind, I planned for it to only be a one-shot :P)

I'll see you next week, guys! I'd appreciate if you reviewed :D

~Amy x