Find Me.

Merlin watched Bayard with mild irritation. While sleeping in a holding cell for two nights in a row wasn't the highlight of his life, it beat being interrogated by an idiot with a god complex.

The Inspector stood behind the chair provided, hands holding onto the back of its frame. 'Did you threaten Morgana La Fey into confessing?'

'No.'

'What were you doing at Edwin Muirden's murder scene?'

Merlin hooked his ankle over the opposite knee and tried to settle into the hard metal chair. 'Investigating.'

Bayard pushed away from his domineering stance to scrape his chair out from under the table. 'Define your relationship with Mordred Leir.'

'Irrelevant,' he said with narrowed eyes. The Inspector sat down. His watery ones were fixed on Merlin as he tapped a pen against the notepad. Small, meaningless, but the way he drove the lid into the paper at the sharp angle seemed remarkably similar to a stabbing motion.

'I know you did it.'

'What?'

'Cut Cenred's throat,' Bayard said. His choice of interrogation room was excellent. Suitably dark, un-renovated and in a distant corner of the Yard people would be unlikely to disturb. The dim lighting left Merlin yearning for proper sleep. For escape.

'Oh, well if that's it-'

'You're a fraud of a police officer,' he snapped and let the pen hit the paper as he leaned back. 'You know that? Not an ounce of duty or dignity in you. The very least you could do is admit it.'

'And if I'm innocent?'

'Impossible.' Bayard was relentless. Convinced. He slid the pen onto the table and lifted the first page, reading some of the notes. 'No parents?'

Merlin resisted the urge to try and decipher his shorthand. 'What of it?'

'I've done my digging, Merlin. You're an orphan. Mother died when you were four. Father disappeared long before that. Did he do it? Kill her?'

Merlin crossed his arms. Bayard knew how to push it. 'How should I know?'

'Also see you went to Oxford,' he went on, glancing at his list of facts. He wanted to stick Merlin on the pyre. 'Got a First in Ancient and Modern History. How did you get into police work from that?'

'With effort and skill,' he bit out. 'How is this relevant?'

'You're an intelligent man, Merlin. Smart enough to lie convincingly.'

He laughed. It was a sharp sound. Insincere. Fed up. 'So, by your logic, anyone with an IQ higher than a hundred and forty is a pathological liar?'

'No attachments and no family. If that isn't a recipe for a skewed psyche, I don't know what is.'

The knock at the door sent a crack through the conversation. Bayard looked to it when Gwaine poked his head in. Merlin could have kissed him.

'Bayard,' the Irishman started, entering with the left open behind him, 'we meet again.'

'Get out,' the Inspector snapped.

'I'm here to see DS Emrys released. Your appeal to hold him for another thirty six hours has been rejected,' Gwaine explained with a sombre expression. The smile shone out behind it regardless. 'In fact, I think the Commissioner's quite offended. No evidence, and with Morgana's confession? Doesn't look good.'

'He's guilty,' Bayard said. 'The nurse saw him.'

'Sure he is.' Gwaine gave him a grin. 'How're you doing Merlin?'

Merlin got up and returned his smile. 'Just peachy.'

'Don't look it.' Gwaine turned to the Inspector with a challenge in his eyes. 'Bayard, you can't hold him. Don't make this embarrassing.'

'I trust my instincts. If Merlin didn't kill Cenred, then fair enough. But he's not a good man. He's a killer. Even if you lot won't acknowledge it.'

'And they're good instincts, are they?'

'Haven't failed me these last twenty years, so yes. Haven't been wrong once.'

'Come on, Merlin,' Gwaine said after a pause. 'Time you got some fresh air.'

He passed Bayard and avoided eye contact. He'd seen enough of the man. Gwaine walked with him as they left the cells and law breakers behind, collecting his personal belongings on the way. Merlin pressed his lips together as he endeavoured to ignore the sickness rolling around in his stomach. The Irishman was telling him about Mordred's time on television, about DC Maclain's continued absence and the rumours of her mental break. How Bayard's involvement was in part thanks to Vivian's refusal to continue her own investigation.

'Also got the CCTV tapes from that adorable cafe you and Arthur visited,' he continued in the lift. Merlin leaned against the metal wall. Felt how they rose and gravity's irrelevance to the whole process. Watched Gwaine as he spoke, the way he held himself so proudly. The way he seemed duller without that green infusion which clung to him before Merlin's magic waned. 'The waitress remembered you being there too, so you're officially innocent.'

The doors opened and Gwen's neutral face on the other side lit up.

'Merlin,' she said with a smile. 'Did you hear about her confession?'

He walked out towards their section of operations. Everyone was there but one. 'Where's Arthur?'

'Going to talk to her right now,' Gwen answered, repositioning the stack of papers in her arms.

'Is that such a good idea?'

'He insisted.'

'Has Operation Nova started up again?'

'Merlin,' Gwaine interrupted, standing in the way of his irritable stride. 'This is all going to take time, and I don't think the higher ups are in a good mood.'

Merlin perched on his desk. 'Why does that matter?'

Agravaine left Kilgharrah's office and marched towards him. 'DS Emrys. By now you've heard?'

'I have.'

'Not a word to the press, understand? Home Office is cleaning up the mess, and you need to keep out of it,' the DCS instructed. His thick eyebrows were comical. As if drawn on with a fat black marker. Complimented well with that too long hair and ridiculous side burns. 'You'll be questioned about your disappearance as well and this task force will be reprimanded for the dismissal of duties, regardless of any good intent. No hard feelings, I'm sure.'

'Hate to say it but Mordred's publicity is probably our saving grace,' Leon said from his desk. Merlin frowned and sought out Gwaine with a questioning look.

'Mordred's been declared the new face of the Met police as of last night. Quite inspiring really. Coincided perfectly with Morgana's confession,' he supplied. Last night. Merlin still hadn't recovered from it. One second staring at the blank cell wall, the next overcome with something worse than sickness or fear. He'd been paralysed. The shock of it dazed him for hours afterwards, every shadow endless and any movement painful. He'd only stopped shivering when Bayard called on him to be questioned that morning, the fifth bout he'd put Merlin through.

'Mate, you should probably wash up and get some rest,' Gwaine suggested, tugging him out of his thoughts. Reality was dimensionless in comparison. He also felt out of place. Running, hiding, the magic, the threats, the past. All of it pressed onto him but there he was again. Surrounded by the task force. By bureaucracy.

'Probably,' he said before heading for the lift. Last night, that paralysis, it wasn't nothing. It never was. Not with him, or Mordred. Merlin kept his thoughts centred as the lift doors shut again.

He cut out Gwaine's look of confusion, Agravaine's irritation, Gwen's curiosity. None of it mattered. Something cold was crawling beneath his skin. He had to find out what.

Half an hour later Merlin stood in Mordred's flat. A good five minutes had been spent trying to unlock the door, and succeeding had paid a price. Movement was more gruelling than ever.

No life. No warmth. He stepped softly, checking the bedrooms and kitchen before reaching the living room. The cold afternoon wind chased around it carelessly. Soft fabric billowed with the

breeze but everything else was motionless. Wordless. Daylight kept it bearable.

Merlin crouched down to the floorboards and pushed his palm against the cool wood. Traced the fine lines in the grain with his eyes. That feeling which had enveloped him that night must

have been magic. His connection to Mordred was stronger. There were times he could have sworn he felt another heart beating in his chest. At times he grew dizzy with the sound of too much

rushing blood.

Standing back up, Merlin went to close the balcony door. His thoughts skirted along the edge of every possible action he could take. Find Mordred. Find me, Merlin. Aredian. Nimueh still

missing. Nimueh, who had hoodwinked Mordred. Lies within lies. Morgana. Aredian had been watching him. Knew about Old Religion. Wanted to be found by him.

The hand of fear wanted to pull Merlin back when he left. He was terrified. He couldn't afford to be. Hiding. Running. It wasn't an option. Not anymore.

He showered, ate food, changed old clothes for fresh ones. It all overlapped and blurred in his mind. Only once he was clean, ready, and had boarded the bus heading for the witch hunter's

borough, did things become clear. He fought against the drowsiness and marched along road after road once disembarked. Ten minutes. The townhouse rose into the evening sky like some

gate leading to a strange new kingdom.

Merlin approached the front door. The upstairs light left a yellow glow on the drawn curtain. An invitation. He tried the handle and the door welcomed him. He paused before the first step

which led up to the second and third floors. There was nothing to hint what Aredian had planned. No void. Just the memory of a fear, a feeling, lodged in his mind, which clogging his

thoughts. Mordred was gone and weak and he didn't know what else to do.

Find me, Merlin. Find me. Merlin took the steps two by two and swallowed down the fear which kept creeping back. The only lit room cast a rectangle of golden light onto the floor. It

stretched down the hallway and almost reached him where he stood on the landing. He stepped out of the shadows. His breathing seemed too loud. Adrenaline dripped into his bloodstream.

The golden light bathed him when he entered the bedroom.

Aredian regarded him with a strange sort of impartiality. 'You took your time.'

The witch hunter reclined in a wooden chair in the far corner of the room, a stout glass of alcohol in hand as he observed the scene and Merlin like a spectator of a personal performance.

Merlin shifted his stare away from the hunter, and his stomach wrenched. Golden hair. It spilled out like waves over the pillows. Everything was terrible and tinged with that same honey

which coated her voice. All except her skin. The light and gold dusting which so painfully matched Arthur had darkened and turned to ash. The blue of death bloomed over her lips and sucked

the blush from her cheeks.

'She came to me. Asked about you. Poor girl tried to maintain her professionalism. One mention of magic and it all came tumbling out. Your magic. You sent her into madness, or close enough

at least,' Aredian said. His controlled, cultured voice danced around the room and touched both characters in his play. Soaked into the gentle light, into Merlin, into her corpse. 'This was the

least I could do.'

Her throat was delicately bruised. Carefully done, the ligature was fine and left a necklace engrained in her skin. Bloodless. A long and shuddering breath rolled out of him, and a shiver

crossed his skin. The cold enveloped him like a cloak. Merlin rested back against the open door and stared at Vivian lying on the bed. Her position was too stiff, too perfect, too motionless.

Too artistic.

Aredian said nothing else until Merlin managed to ask, 'Why?'

'Besides the charity of it? I knew you got my note. Thought it was only fair to make the situation explicitly clear. For both our sake's,' he answered and took an appreciative sip of the amber

fluid. 'I ensured that Muirden's death, as best fits your kind, and as a courtesy to you. I let it remain a mystery to the medics and the people. Cenred, however, was the only intended casualty

meant to cast blame over you.'

Merlin balled his hands into fists and his nails pressed into the skin of his palms. 'But Morgana took the fall instead of me.'

'Which left me in need of another body and another motive. Her timing was excellent, really,' Aredian continued, casting an appreciative look to her dead body on the bed. 'Is this clearer for

you yet, Merlin?'

He pushed the nails into his palms harder. The bones in his hand prevented him from going further.

Aredian admired the scotch, rum, whatever it was, for a minute before growing tired of Merlin's continued silence. 'It won't stop. Cenred Mercid, Vivian Maclain, they're just the first. The next

name on my list is your darling Arthur. You influence so many lives, Merlin, I doubt you even realise just how many. Every single one of them is a bloody finger pointing right at you. If I

make it so. Now, I'm rather enjoying all of this, but as I've said: Your time will come. Fighting me won't work. Hiding won't work. Running won't work. Are we clear?'

'You want me to roll over and play dead,' Merlin replied with a hard glare.

Aredian smiled, slowly, and studied him with all the power and experience resting easily behind his grey eyes. 'I want you to think on it. You have until Friday to get your affairs in order. I'm

not unreasonable, Merlin. You have a choice in this. That's one thing I won't take away from you.'

He relaxed his hands and abandoned the door's support. 'Love a good show, don't you?'

'I work in news, Merlin. I hold spectacle with the highest regard, and you're not just anybody,' Aredian said and finished his drink. The hunter got up and rested the glass down on the bureau.

Languid, calm, at home. As if a dead woman wasn't laid out as a threat three feet away.

Merlin breathed in the air polluted by the bitter golden light. 'Let me guess. It had to be extra special.'

'I'm glad we've reached a point of mutual understanding. Depending on what you decide come Friday, Miss Maclain here will be the first body to appear. Oh, and I do hope that Mordred's

alright. I was rather hoping to purge him once I'd finished with you,' he said and walked up to him, the predatory, aristocratic smile now gone. 'Have a good evening, Merlin.'

He wanted to fight. To hide. To run. To do anything, something, but the shock and Mordred's weakness left him brittle. Burned his strength down to the bare bones.

Friday. Three days away. That's one thing he had. The worst thing of all: Time.

Merlin left, heading back into the shadows with his time, his fear, and his anger.

Find me, Merlin.

He'd played right into Aredian's hand.

.

.

.

The gunshot sounded like a thunderclap. Arthur's finger held down the trigger with a wild shine in his eyes. Through the air the bullet left a trail of displaced dust. Carved out a path to find life and take it. Red burst out like a berry's juices, seeping into the fabric slowly before it began to spiral. One vibrant line thickened and connected with the other as it spread.

Dark and thick. It inched out from where Mordred drove the dagger deep into the man's gut. His eyes glowed with magic as he whispered something against the man's ear before he let the body thump to the ground. He stood over the corpse, beaten and bleeding with the weapon at ease in his hand. The hum of machinery deafened the world and it grew louder. Mordred dropped the dagger, its blade smacking against the floor with a clang that echoed outwards. It merged with the drumming beat of mechanical arms pumping in large vats, and the noise ballooned. The ground, the air, the berry blood, Mordred, it all curved and blurred and spilled into dark waves of murky grey.

They rose and fell like swords in battle. Sharp and relentless, the water beat down into itself and snatched at the harsh winds rushing above its surface. The naked cliff side was jagged and worn, from where the water clung at its base to its summit where Merlin stood. The gold power churned around his irises.

It rumbled through the howling winds and the crashing ocean below. A roar which fell down from the skies and shook through Merlin's skin and bones. The magic circling within his eyes darkened and parted for the black irises as they stretched. Tapered above and below they formed gashes in the golden pools. The eyes of a reptile. Of a dragon.

Rain accompanied the next roar that thundered through the fabric of the air. Gentle at first, it soon came down in angry torrents. The slanted icy sheets drenched Merlin as he waited. Waited with the approaching winds carrying a rhythmic beat. Every four seconds a stronger gust cut through the air. Hit the rain off its intended path.

Merlin stared out into the mist across the ocean. Behind him a winged shadow grew, driving towards him steadily.

A small glow in the distance soon spread and barraged out into a fire, bright like the magic in his eyes. Both rain and cloud burned as it lit the sky. Flames consumed him. Merlin breathed it in. Filled his lungs with the heat.

Morgana gasped for air. Pure air. It soaked her skin. The wet mist and rainfall then the dry and crackling air. Her heart echoed the rhythm of the wings, of the machinery, as she stared out into the dark prison cell. Each beat came with a whisper. It faded as she shed the fog of sleep, of dreams, but behind the fire and mist, the waves and clang of the blade, it was unforgettable. One word that scraped through the dreams, thin one moment then guttural, primal, the next.

Dragonlord.