Shadows.

Merlin kept his pace steady as he left. No running. He wouldn't give Aredian the satisfaction. The throbbing in his temples returned as he stepped out of the house and shut the door, thrumming in harmony with each pulse of his erratic heart. It only calmed once he fell into the passenger's side seat, leaving the fear running cold and heavy in his veins.

Gwaine had the car running already.

'Shit, Merlin,' he exclaimed. 'What happened?'

'He knows the police are investigating him. Silver lining is that he's *definitely* our killer,' Merlin huffed, pulling on the seatbelt and resting his head back. He couldn't separate the scared memory of his Camelot life from the current one, leaving him with two Aredians to feed his paranoia, to make his hairs stand on end.

'You know that because?'

'He's a hunter,' he said, watching the shadows shift in the windows of the townhouse. Aredian was at home in the shadows. Then again, so was he.

Gwaine put on his own seatbelt. 'Hunter? Like those rich government twats wanting to hunt foxes?'

'Not foxes,' Merlin said, looking at Gwaine with a bitter ghost of a grin. 'Witches. People with magic.'

'Does he know-'

'Probably knew the second he opened the door,' he said. He'd been so stupid, using his magic so freely to experience the place. He couldn't be stupid like that again.

'Sorry about running out on you like that. Had to think on my feet,' his friend said, the genuine regret soothing Merlin's nerves. Genuine affection and concern. He cherished it.

'It's okay, Gwaine,' Merlin muttered, then added with a bigger smile, 'I'd have done the same.'

'Have some common sense then? Well, we can't charge him with anything without evidence.'

'With no murder weapon and magic involved it's practically impossible.'

'Old Religion all over again.' Gwaine groaned. 'How do you feel about paying the pub a casual visit? Gwen's out with Lance right now and invited us along.'

'We're in the middle of an investigation,' Merlin said with a disapproving glare.

'Which we apparently can't do anything about. So, we'll drink away our sorrows. Agreed?'

'We have work tomorrow-'

'Merlin,' Gwaine said with a glare of his own. 'You haven't had a night out in months.'

'And tonight's the night, is it? Can't this wait until Friday?'

'If you really don't want to then fine. I'm going though, and I happen to be driving,' he said as he pulled into the street and picked up speed. 'I also refuse to drop you off.'

'I'm your captive, am I?'

'You could walk, but it's dangerous out there, Merlin,' Gwaine informed him with a mocking look of concern. 'I recommend, for safety's sake, that you join me and some friends for a harmless night of fun.'

'I hate to agree with you,' Merlin started, feeling the smile push up into his cheeks.

'I know you do.'

He tired to drown out the fear, the pain, to leave Gwaine's mischievous grin in their place. It didn't work. The fear covered him as totally as his own skin did. 'But you make a good point.'

.

.

.

'What are we doing here?' Mordred asked Nimueh. She'd taken the day to test his powers, demonstrate her own. It had been horribly intimate and unnerving, and he'd struggled to keep his ploy running. Left in the company of a High Priestess of the Old Religion for over twelve hours didn't help any lingering stresses or worries. From abandoned warehouse to empty car park they journeyed and Mordred's mind was groggy with the cement and rubbish polluting it. Now they approached the wrought iron fence lining a road at close to three in the morning.

She glanced back at him. 'Don't you trust me?'

'I don't know you,' he said, joining her by the barrier. Street lamps let orange light saturate the night air and define shadows in the crevices of the bridge held up with thick cement feet. It was a cold, grey beast in the dusky haze of artificial light.

'You trust the people you know?' Nimueh asked him, palms pushing against the metal bars of the fence.

'No.'

'Trust anyone at all?'

He paused. 'Not really.'

'You might survive this then. The only way to trust is to have the same wants and needs. Goals. That's why I trust you, Mordred,' she said, her feral eyes clawing at his features. 'We both want those who would harm our kind gone. Retribution.'

'Why have I only spoken to you, if you trust me?' he questioned, his magic seeping into each pore to protect him from her penetrating gaze. His body ached with weariness and he wanted to sleep, he truly did, but this was too important to give in. He drew in a lungful of the chilled air to wake himself up. 'You're keeping me away from the other members of Old Religion.'

'You're different,' she drawled out. 'You're what will bring them all hope. Bring me hope. There's a plan already at work and we won't suffer much longer.'

'Right,' Mordred murmured. 'You still haven't told me what we're doing here.'
She raised her arm, directing his stare towards the bridge. 'Bring it down. Quietly.'

'The Hammersmith Flyover. You want me to,' his words faltered, alarm stabbing into every sense. They'd played with the elements, conjured shapes from dust and twisted the sunlight into something so much more, but they hadn't done anything harmful. Not once the whole day. 'Thousands of people use it everyday, let alone the roads under it. With the closure this weekend it's even busier than usual. You can't be serious.'

'It's decaying,' Nimueh remarked, arm dropping and a devious smile pulling up in its place. 'They plan to build a tunnel in its place. Why not help them?'

'No, I-'

He looked at it with wide eyes, with horror. He'd left boys lying dead to maintain his cover, he'd begun to sacrifice his own sanity by persevering through the day's trials with her. Mordred could feel the mangled echoes of his enchanted self who gnashed his teeth at the opportunity to hurt, who relished it. He'd killed him. Killed that Mordred. Now he had to endanger his recovered heart and mind. Was it worth it? Lie, join, destroy. Aglain's stern but understand words from the night before came to him. We need them to trust you. Whatever they have planned is horrific. Five of our people have already died trying to get to where you are now. You need to gain their trust, Mordred. No matter what it costs. It was worth it.

Nimueh stepped back. Mordred studied the bridge, the construction's faults and strengths. The power coiled and grew in his chest, snaked down his arms.

Throwing them outward the magic whipped out and freed itself, white-hot as it flew. It crashed into the cement, rupturing it with millions of fissures and cracks. Rubble and dust rose up as the structure waited, hanging in the air, one whole shattered into countless pieces. The weight of it strained Mordred's muscles, each fracture cutting through the asphalt also cutting into his mind. The deep sound of its breaking that had threatened to escape had been absorbed into a layer of his magic which blanketed the destroyed mass like thin film. It sounded unmuffled in his head, deafening him despite reality's silence.

Lowering his arms the pain lessened and the cement, asphalt, all crumbled down onto the roads below. Lifting the film of magic the dust blew out, the orange light muddied to a greyish brown before that too settled.

Mordred turned his back on the sight. 'Feel like sharing your well intentioned plan?'

'That rather depends on you, Mordred,' she said, eyes almost reflective in the shade of the overhanging tree. They mirrored the ruin he'd created. 'I trust you, but like you said: you don't trust me. Not yet that is.'

.

.

.

The vicious winds rushed against his wet skin, hands breaking free of the chopping waters. Salty water rinsed his mouth as his head rose out and he spluttered, drawing in as much air as he could. Body rocked one way then the next by the currents, he was sealed in a raging ocean. Thunderclouds sagged down from the sky, shards of rain showering the waters and his numbed head. Beaten back under by ruthless waves he kicked and fought back to the surface. Smothered, freed, exchanging one cold horror for the other over and over and over again. Eventually the storm sent one last hammer, one last wave, to slam down onto him. Sparks flew. The dark water pulled him down, another pale face hidden by an ancient and feral nature. Gone. Drowned.

Glass cracked, splintering in at ever angle, the fine lines slicing through any clear picture as blood oozed out of the skin. Merlin's image watched, distorted, face cut up into a mismatched mosaic of what he used to be. A trail of red ran down one of the fissures, filling the blackness with something darker. Broken glass fell onto porcelain.

Shards of it were scattered across the road. Mordred stood motionless in the chaos. Not drowned. Not dead. Half of his face splashed with the red, the thick liquid clinging to his shirt, hair. The yelling, the fires, all seemed distorted like the storm underwater. His knees fell to the ground.

Morgana gasped.

Eyes now open she stared into the gloom of her bedroom, skin sticky with sweat. Sitting up she saw him getting dragged under, the breaking glass, the blood and fire. Her breaths were rapid and worsened by the pressing silence of her room. The aching in her chest called for Mordred, to not be alone. Pulling her knees up to meet her chest she craned her head over to touch them, clasping her hands behind the nape of her neck. Her torso rose and fell beneath the thick covers. She hadn't had a dream for months. Not for months. Not since Morgause. Not since it had all come back.

The tears were hot, and her entire body was boiling in the heat, external, internal. It all hurt and she hated keeping the pretence of that version of herself. So stupidly naive. Lapping up everything the blonde woman had told her, but she'd been so wrong. Two lifetimes she'd royally screwed up and it hurt. It burned. The smoke filled her nostrils, warmth rolling over her in the air. Too hot.

Looking up the bright light flared up, fire catching the corner of her bed, crackling and spitting and growing. It curled up the walls, spreading, consuming the carpet. Morgana threw herself back against the bed's headboard, standing and pressing herself against the wall. No escape. It was everywhere. The tears peeled off her cheeks into vapour as she stared in terror. Inch by inch it blackened and seared, lashing out at her, claws and hands trying to snatch her away.

It caught her. She screamed for Mordred.

The cries tore her awake. No fires, no oceans, no shattered glass. No Merlin. No Mordred. Just herself and the dreams. Scrambling out of the bed, Morgana grabbed her mobile and called him. The answering tone droned at her after the ringing ran its course.

'Mordred, the dreams, visions, they're happening again. Call me. Please, I need to know you're safe,' she rushed out in one breath. She didn't go back to bed. Could't. A shower stripped away the sweat of nightmares, of a terrifying future, and left her in dazed peace to work on an operation for Trident. It wouldn't leave her though. The loss, the endless dark waters and burning chaos. The broken Merlin, the flames. She hoped they were just nightmares. Dreams.

She knew better.