The next several days after the fatal attack was spent by Merlin in training as hard as he could with Balinor, desperate to forget the faces of the dead he had seen being carried onto the Isle of the Blessed. Fights were now no mere scuffles, innocents were being persecuted, just like in 1999 and he had to do something to prevent it.

He rose before dawn each day, and, as he had done in his youth, he meditated with his magic, sorting through the swirling abyss of his magic and Dragonlord magic, testing his limits, probing his inner most self, bringing the two magics together as seamlessly as he could, determined to bring them into balance.

Lessons were spent with Balinor all day, who seemed more worried than pleased at Merlin's passion. But Merlin pressed onwards, working extra hard to master his new skills. He spent his evenings after dinner in the library reading every book he could on Dragonlords and dragons to learn as much as he could, staying well into the night, so late he felt his energy draining and concentration failing. The others warned him against working so hard, but he tried not to listen. They couldn't understand just what this meant to him.

He lay awake each night, feeling almost sick to his stomach, angry and frustrated with the way the world was. Even here, in this time of peace, the very concept of peace was unknown. How could he hope to bring it to the future when it hadn't even existed here in this centre of the Old Religion?

He was Emrys, the one prophesised about for centuries. He wasn't supposed to wind up like this. He was supposed to bring peace, he and Arthur together. They had briefly succeeded once, but he needed him again, back in 1999. It was his destiny, wasn't it? The one he had believed in for so long. Why then had everything forsaken him?

He had failed. When the Liberators had started causing trouble, he shouldn't have encouraged them, he should have seen their true motives. He should have done something then, before the killing had started. Arthur should have returned then, come back to help him create peace between sorcerers and Muggles the way they had done before. But he hadn't.

Maybe Merlin wasn't the true Emrys after all, or, if he had been, he had long since given up any claim to the title with his actions. He had failed in his destiny. He'd often thought he had throughout his long years, but now more than ever he was certain of it. Working with his father now, it was the only thing keeping him from pure despair. He had to fix this. He had to learn these skills to bring back to the future, maybe then he could redeem himself. It the Old Religion's way of punishing him; sending him back to a past that would hurt him to atone for the mistakes he made.

More than ever, he wanted to go back to Camelot. He needed to see what was going on there, see Uther again, see Nimueh and the beginning of the Purge. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because he needed to see the truth for himself, because deep down, he still thought of Camelot pre-Purge as being a haven for magic. He still clung to that thought. He needed to go back.

None of Merlin's internal struggles went unnoticed by Balinor. He asked no questions of Merlin however, but just kept going with the lessons, making them ever harder and more intricate.

"Let us try Dragonsight again," said Balinor, about a week after the attack. "Tell me which are the lies. Find out as much as you can."

Merlin immediately went into the state of mind required, finding his focus a lot faster than he had been doing previously. He cast the spell inwardly, and looked straight at Balinor, already seeing the subtle aura surrounding him. He looked for the fluctuations that would tell him if he was lying.

Balinor's face went blank. "My mother's name was Miral," he said. "She had auburn hair. She was from a village in the south. She had blue eyes."

Merlin grinned as he deepened the spell, seeing everything as clearly as day.

"They're all lies," he said. "Her name was Senga, and she came from an island in the northern seas. Miral was the name of her sister. Her hair was fair, and her eyes green. She married young, and became a wisewoman of the tribe. She loved to sing and never raised her voice in anger. The strongest memory you have of her is when she took you to see the hatching of a dragon when you were very young. Your father hatched the egg, and she let you hold the hatchling and feed it. It was the first time you ever really felt like a Dragonlord."

Balinor watched him for a moment, face inscrutable. "Impressive," he said, a small smile on his face. "You have come far in a week. Remarkably far."

Merlin didn't even try to hide his pleasure, both at mastering Dragonsight and at learning more of his family. He had previously known absolutely nothing of his grandparents.

Balinor was staring at him intently. "I wonder," he said. "Can you see my destiny?"

Merlin blinked. "I thought Dragonlords were discouraged from seeing people's destinies?"

"They are," said Balinor. "But I give you permission to see what you can."

Merlin obliged, and once again entered the state of Dragonsight, staring intently at his father, feeling the magic flow all around his body. Images flashed before his eyes so fast he could make no sense of them, but more than that, it was feelings that assailed him, a sense of a destiny he could not fully understand.

"Well?" Balinor asked after several minutes. "What is my destiny?"

Merlin stopped the spell, and looked away, filled with grief all of a sudden. "Pain," he said softly. "There is pain, so much of it. And death, and destruction."

Balinor did not look daunted. "That is my future, not my destiny," he said. "Destinies are often shaped by great pain and suffering. What is the end result?"

"Does it matter?" Merlin asked bitterly. "The pursuit of peace looks more and more like folly to me."

"Folly?" asked Balinor. "The pursuit of peace is never folly. No matter what the world throws at us, it is our duty to never stop thriving for peace."

"And what if that peace is never achievable?" asked Merlin, sitting down by the wall of the courtyard. He looked upwards, unable to see the sky through a mist of swirling clouds surrounding the island. "What's the point?"

Balinor came and sat beside him. "It is hard," he acknowledged, "to find peace. Especially for us."

He sighed softly. "Dragonlords are like the fire of the dragons, Malcolm," he said. "We have a constant fire of emotion within us. We cannot remain still and let it burn us up, we have to fight through us, let it fuel us, not consume us. Dragonlords find it harder to find peace than others precisely because of this internal fire, but when peace comes, it is far more worth it. The fire that drives us, too often burns us instead. You cannot let that fire burn out Malcolm, not can we let it rage out of control. We need this fire to keep us alive, we need to control it. Peace can be found for us."

Merlin couldn't help but scoff. "You can't say that," he said. "It doesn't matter if we find peace within ourselves, it cannot change the way the world is."

"No, but if we are content within ourselves, we can better face the challenges the world throws at us. We all have a path to follow, and follow it we must. We must have faith in the fire within us driving us to where we need to go."

Merlin thought this over later that day, but kept coming to the same conclusion. It couldn't be true, Balinor couldn't really believe it. He'd never found peace after being driven out of Camelot, after having to leave his mother. Instead he'd hidden in a cave for twenty years, running from his problems and hating the world. He hadn't found peace then. How could he advise Merlin to do the same?

He found himself by the main gate looking out across the lake. The light had dimmed, and the shore beyond was not visible in the wreaths of mist that surrounded the island. The water was still as a mill pond, almost like glass. Everywhere was the illusion of calm. There was no sign of the oncoming storm.

It was through these doors the refugees had come, the injured, the dying and the dead. Where was the peace he had heard spoken of so fondly in his youth? Where was the Golden Age of magic? The Druids were not going to take action against their coming doom, that much was obvious. The High Council did not want to admit one of their own had betrayed them. Even now, Nimueh was in Camelot, whispering in the ear of Uther, urging him to turn against sorcerers. But why? Surely she realised what she was doing would lead to the end of her people, her own alienation? Why had she done it?

Dragonsight could tell you, a voice in Merlin's head told him. Use the spell on her, find out why. Go back to Camelot. Know once and for all what happened.

Merlin dismissed this idea at first. He could not go back to Camelot. It was surely impossible to go back and not mess up the timeline. It was a stupid idea.

But was it?

Merlin glanced back at the castle. He was in disguise after all, and Camelot was not that far, especially if he travelled by magic. He could go, find out what he wanted to and return before being noticed. He would be careful. He knew how to go unnoticed, he didn't have to interfere. But could he trust himself?

He would have to. He knew he couldn't go on like this, all this wondering and second guessing would drive him mad. He needed closure. He needed to see Camelot one last time. To see Uther and Nimueh and finally know the truth.

And maybe Gaius would be there as well …

Mind made up, Merlin left the shadows of the castle gates and walked down towards the lake shore where the ferryman was standing. He wouldn't be gone long. He needed this.

He just hoped the others would understand.

"Ron!" yelled Harry, as Ron set fire to the hem of Harry's robes. "How many times? Don't do that spell when you're not looking!"

"I was looking," complained Ron, putting out the fire with a quick flash of his eyes. "I just got a little over-excited."

"What is it with you and fire spells?" Harry asked, shaking his head. "You're great at everything else!"

Ron shrugged. "Merlin says fire is the hardest element to master. You have to admit though, I'm a million times better than I was."

"Not hard," muttered Harry, examining his robes. "Haven't you been practicing with the Druids?"

"Of course, but I've been doing other stuff mainly. More fun stuff."

"You need to master the basics, Ron."

"You sound like Merlin, or worse, McGonagall," said Ron, rolling his eyes.

"Well it's true!" Harry maintained. "The elemental spells are important. They underpin every other spell you cast!"

"Yes, Professor Potter."

Harry sighed, and then smiled a little as they left the classroom on their way to the Great Hall. "Maybe you're right," he said. "You have been getting loads better. We all have. Merlin included, if that's possible."

"Remember that duel between him and Eldron?" Ron said. "When Eldron linked with that dragon and used that Dragon Magic on him … wow. If Merlin could learn that … if only he'd known last year. He could have blasted You-Know-Who and Morgana into dust with or without Excalibur. Why did Kilgharrah never tell him about it?"

"I suppose we'll find out when we get back," Harry replied, though he himself had been wondering the same thing.

"How will we get back though," Ron said, looking somewhat worried. "We haven't exactly figured that out yet."

"It'll be okay," said Harry, knowing this was true. "It'll come to us … somehow. I know it will."

Ron looked reassured. "Good, because Merlin has no idea. Actually," he stopped here to look around, though the corridor they were in was completely empty, "I don't think Merlin has a clue about anything anymore. I don't, well, I don't exactly trust him. He's deluded himself that this Dragonlord magic, or Dragon Magic or whatever is going to work in the future. He won't listen to anyone else."

"I know," said Harry sadly. "But he'll come around. He will. I know that for sure. I think … I think perhaps the reason we came back here wasn't just to get the spell, but to help Merlin see that this is the only option. He didn't believe in it when we arrived, and I think that somehow, he'll see the truth eventually."

"But how? All that coming back here's done has given him an idea to do it differently."

"We have time," said Harry, confidently. "The High Council aren't ready to give us the spell yet. And I don't think they will until they see that all of us truly believe in it."

"But how can they know that if they don't know who we are, or even what we want?"

"I think they do," Harry said. "I think they know a lot more about us than they let on."

Ron shuddered slightly. "That's actually kind of creepy. I don't like them much."

They had now emerged into the Great Hall, which was still full of people who had been at the Gathering the week before. They found the others with little difficulty, they were looking around with worried expressions.

"Have you seen Merlin?" Ginny asked, the second they were close enough.

"No, why?"

"No one has since this afternoon," she said.

"That's not unusual," said Ron. "He's always off wandering by himself."

"Yes, but Cenric said he saw him walking out of the castle gates this afternoon," said Hermione, her hands clasped tightly together. "We've searched down by the lake, and he's not there. The ferryman is gone too. He might just be picking up someone on the other side but … with Merlin missing as well."

"You think he's left the island?" Harry asked, dread settling in his guts. "Why would he do that? Where's he gone?"

They all looked at each other, and each of them knew instinctively what the others thought. But no one seemed to want to voice it out loud.

"He can't have …" said Ron, shaking his head. "He wouldn't be that daft."

"We can't be sure these days," said Luna, hanging her head. "He isn't himself anymore. He's desperate."

"There's only one way to find out for sure," said Ginny firmly, and without another word began crossing the room, everyone following her automatically. She approached the bottom of the table, where the Dragonlords normally sat. They looked up at her in bemusement, probably confused by the sight of a fierce looking red head charging towards them. But one in particular looked intrigued.

"We need your help," Ginny said, ignoring the strange looks she was getting. Balinor stood up slowly, and frowned.

"What is wrong?"

"Malcolm is missing," explained Ginny. "We think he's done something stupid."

Balinor did not look surprised. Instead he stepped out from behind the table and came towards them, gesturing them to follow as he left the room, leaving his fellow Dragonlords sitting in bewilderment.

"This is not a shock to me," Balinor said, as he led them down a small corridor and into an antechamber. He sealed the door with magic as they all filed in and turned towards them. "He was melancholy during our lesson today. Above all, I sensed despair from him. Despair that his destiny, whatever it is, is futile. There was a fear within him, a hopeless fear. He is searching for peace, not just for the world, but for himself. What is it you fear he has done?"

Harry and the others exchanged glances. "We can't tell you, exactly," he said slowly, not wanting to offend the Dragonlord, but Balinor did not look offended.

"You all share the same secret then that he is keeping from me," he stated. "Do not worry, many here on the island have secrets, many have their own quests, and all have a destiny. I will not enquire if you do not wish me to. What do want of me?"

"We need you to find him for us," Ginny said. "To make sure that he's gone where we think he's gone. That's one of those Dragonlord spells, isn't it?"

Balinor nodded, and closed his eyes. He drew his magic to him, and Harry felt it in the air. It was foreign magic to him, seeming wilder than what he was used to. A second later, Balinor opened his eyes. A frown crossed his face.

"He is in Camelot," he said. "But why would he go there?"

Harry sighed, and looked at his friends, seeing their faces reflecting the emotions he was feeling. Merlin had finally broken down.

"We need to get there, right away," said Hermione, already beginning to panic. "Who knows the harm he could do?"

"But how?" said Harry. "We don't know the way, and it will take us days to get there anyway."

"Can't we do that Transport thing?" Ginny asked.

"Not from the Isle, we'd have to get outside of its boundaries," said Hermione. "And even then, it only really works for places we know really well, and we've never-"

She trailed off, looking at Balinor who was still watching them, but Harry understood. They'd all been to Camelot, or rather, what remained of it, but they'd never seen it at its height. For Transporting to work, he'd have to visualise a particular spot to reappear, and for all he knew, the spot he thought of which was plain grass in 1999 might be the middle of King Uther's bedroom in this century. Besides, someone may see them appear, and that could hardly be good for the timeline with the magical situation being as precarious as it was. They could cause the Purge to begin earlier than it was meant to.

Just then, was a burst of flame, and Fawkes suddenly appeared on Harry's shoulder, making everyone jump.

"Of course," murmured Harry. He turned around to face everyone. "Grab hold, Fawkes will take us."

"What exactly is it you plan to do?" Balinor asked, as everyone gathered around to grab a feather. "What is so urgent?"

"We can't tell you," said Harry apologetically. "But it's serious. Things could go badly wrong, for everyone."

"Could he be hurt?"

"Maybe," said Harry, looking away. What Balinor didn't need to know was that if Merlin somehow stopped the Purge from happening, he could effectively erase his own existence. He looked back up at Balinor, and saw the Dragonlord looked concerned. "We can't waste a single minute."

A fiery light engulfed them all and Harry felt himself travelling through blank space, whirling around until his feet hit solid earth, and he finally let go of Fawke's strangely warm feathers. His legs collapsed underneath him, and his face slammed into the ground. The smell of grass filled his nostrils, and he shakily pulled himself into a sitting position, looking around for the others, who were also trying to stand.

"I hate travelling by Old Magic," Ron complained. "I don't care if we're Transporting, or going via phoenix or dragon, I always end up on my arse."

"You prefer Splinching do you then?" Ginny shot back. "Be grateful we're here at all."

"Where is here?" Ron asked.

Harry looked around, and saw they were on a wooded path, no different from the ones they'd travelled on to the Isle of the Blessed. There was no sign of a castle.

"Brilliant, bloody brilliant," said Malfoy. "Another abandoned road. Can't that bloody bird get us to the right place? Where are we? Which way is Camelot, left or right? We could go the wrong direction for miles!"

"It's left, actually, and we're only about a mile outside of it."

They all whirled around at the sound of the new voice. Balinor was standing behind them, no sign of having been thrown to the ground. Fawkes was sitting on his shoulder. Harry was immediately on his guard. Had they said anything to betray themselves in the last few minutes? If they had, Balinor gave no sign he had heard it. He just stood, stroking Fawkes' feathers.

"It's remarkable, really," he said, gazing at the phoenix. "I didn't try to follow you, I didn't think I'd be welcome. But I wanted to come, I wanted to help you find Malcolm. It was all that was filling my thoughts as I watched you begin to disappear. It appears the bird heard my silent plea. He brought me of his own accord. Maybe he thinks I'll be needed."

Harry stared at the Dragonlord and the phoenix, and then looked around at the others, all of whom looked slightly alarmed. How were they supposed to proceed with him along with them ensuring they could not speak freely. What was Fawkes thinking?

"Why did you want to come?" Luna asked, the only one who did not look worried.

Balinor frowned, and looked confused. "I'm not sure," he said. "There's this strange feeling I have whenever he's near. Like I recognise him from a distant memory, or even a dream. I feel protective of him somehow, more so than I feel of any other young Dragonlord. There's something special about him, something I can't quite put my finger on. I felt like I needed to help, and when you mentioned he could do himself some harm … It's silly, I know, but I have this need to make sure he's alright. I need to know he's safe, and happy."

"It's not silly at all," said Harry, looking at the man in a new light, feeling a strange surge of emotion. It appeared that the father-son bond between them was even stronger than anyone involved had realised. He shouldn't be surprised; the Old Religion was at play here. It knew Merlin's father needed to be here.

It was sad in a way, Harry thought. Balinor felt a connection to Merlin that he could not understand, and no one was able to explain it to him. It was unfair, desperately unfair that Balinor was being denied the chance to fully know his son.

He said none of this however, despite wanting to, and so just tried to act as if he knew nothing. "You said Camelot is a mile away? We should hurry then."

"There's no point," said Balinor. "By the time you get there, the gates will have closed. No one enters after sundown."

"What?" said Hermione. "But we need to get there right away! Can't you take us there by magic? Couldn't we sneak in somehow?"

"It would not be advisable," said Balinor. "If the situation truly was as desperate as you say, your phoenix would have taken you directly to your friend. There is time to wait until morning. You see, he's even dropped us off at a perfect location for camp. You must trust that Malcolm does not do anything rash."

"But he's been there for hours already!" said Ginny.

"And do you think he would do this thing you fear immediately? Or do you think he would bide his time?"

Harry thought about it for a moment. He wasn't sure exactly what Merlin was planning; just stop the Purge somehow, perhaps by killing Nimueh or casting some sort of spell on Uther. But would he do it right away? His gut said no. he would wait, he would explore the city he loved, check up discretely on old friends, hang back and judge the situation before doing anything. At least, he hoped he would.

He eyed Fawkes warily. Maybe Balinor was right.

They made camp as Balinor suggested, some of them a little reluctant. As none of them had thought to bring any equipment with them, they were almost entirely reliant on Balinor. Harry built the fire, but he had no idea how to hunt with Old Magic, or what to hunt, and what to do with the catch if they found anything. Balinor had seemed a little surprised at their ineptitude at what must be a common task in this century, but had obligingly crept off and returned with a few rabbits, which he prepared skilfully for them with a few quick spells, and before long they were tucking into a small but tasty meal, using some crude wooden plates that Luna had created from a nearby large log with some deft spells.

The daylight had faded rapidly, and most of them began to lie down on the ground and try to get as comfortable as possible without blankets. Harry however remained sitting, looking into the fire. Was Merlin alright? Had he done anything stupid?

Balinor also sat by the fire. Without looking at Harry, he pulled out a small piece of wood from his pocket along with a little knife, and began carving the wood, focusing intently on his work, nimble fingers dancing rapidly. Harry watched for a while, seeing the wood transform slowly from a lump into a graceful figure, with smooth lines and careful features. It was a small dragon.

Harry stared, recognising the image. He'd once seen something almost identical in Merlin's possession, much more worn and aged looking, unlike the fresh piece before him still smelling of wood shavings. My father carved it for me, he'd said. It's one of the few things I have of his.

Balinor noticed him staring. "I like making them," he said, carving out a few more details. "I don't mind doing it the non-magical way. I always have. I saw my father do it as a child. He gave one to me, and it was my most treasured possession. At least, until my aunt stood on it after I left it on the floor in my room and snapped it in two. She could have repaired it by magic of course, but she threw it on the fire instead. 'That'll teach you to leave things lying' she said, or something like it."

"You must have quite a collection," Harry said.

"I don't keep them," he said, placing the figurine beside him on the ground. "I give them to the children on the Isle, and the children I meet in the Dragonlord tribes, the ones who haven't yet grown into their inheritance. I want to keep my culture going. I need to make sure the dragons are not forgotten. Unfortunately, that seems like a distant dream now."

"Malcolm will make sure of that," Harry said. "He'll keep it going. You don't need to worry about that. The Dragonlords will never be forgotten."

Balinor looked at him, and Harry was suddenly struck, now that he was up close, just how much he resembled Merlin in his expressions and his very demeanour.

"I hope that you are right," he said. "Our very way of life depends on people like him."

Harry looked away. This was exactly the thing that Merlin could not understand. He wanted to recreate the past, the way things had been. He didn't see how important it was to bring this knowledge to the future, not to copy it exactly, but to learn from its mistakes, to forge a new time of peace.

He hoped he would realise it before it was too late.

He was here. He was actually here.

From the moment Merlin had caught sight of Camelot over the ridge he had Transported to after riding out from the island, all thought of Uther, Nimueh and changing the timeline had left his mind. He had stopped and stared for what felt like hours, drinking in every detail. He had thought he had memorised the city entirely, had every window, every tower, every street etched into his memory forever, but now that he was back, it was like discovering the city anew. Things he had forgotten about leaped out at him as soon as he entered the city, the sounds, the smells, the very feel of the street underneath his feet ignited more memories than he thought he had possessed. The streets were crammed with the usual sort of people, all passing by unawares, and Merlin lost himself in them, relishing the anonymity. He paused by the stalls in the marketplace, examining the wares and listening to the conversations of those around him. He had never thought he could find such happiness in such simplicity.

He seated himself on a small wall near the main market with a meat pie he had bought from one of the vendors, and watched. Each person that passed was examined closely. Had he known that man? What would he look like in another couple of decades? How many of these people would become his acquaintances in the future? He looked in particular at the stall holders. Had he once bought his and Gaius' food from that man? His clothes from that woman? Why couldn't he remember their names? Their faces? He'd been so careful to forget nothing of his time here. Once or twice, a face caught his attention, a spark of recognition flared in his mind, but was soon gone. He had forgotten more than he had realised.

He wandered the city for a long time, forgetting his plan of returning early to the Isle of the Blessed. He found himself lost once or twice, and felt sick to his stomach. How could he have forgotten the city streets he knew so well? Hadn't he once roamed these streets in the dead of night? Had he not once known every nook and cranny of the city?

Occasionally, his feet found a long forgotten familiar path, and brought him to a place that reawakened old memories, things he hadn't realised he had ever known. There was Gwen's old home. Were her parents living there even now? Would he even recognise her father if he saw him now? Had Gwen or Elyan even been born yet? He couldn't remember if either of them were older than Arthur or not. Morgana certainly had been. Was she here in this city now, a small baby with no evil polluting her heart and mind?

His eyes turned to the palace high at the top of the city. Uther was there, and Ygraine, possibly even carrying Arthur at this moment. The thought was a strange one.

He found himself back at the market once more, but a commotion had broken out. Several men were scuffling with each other, slamming into stalls and other people indiscriminately. But, as Merlin pushed his way through the crowd, he saw that it was in actual fact, five men attacking one, a youngish looking man who was huddled on the ground, blood pouring from his nose and his lips, flinching away from the blows of the other men.

"Druid scum!" one of the attackers yelled, kicking the man in the ribs. "We don't want your kind here."

"Take your potions elsewhere!" another shouted.

Merlin looked around the crowd in indignation; wasn't anyone going to stop this? But the crowd just looked on. Some looked upset, some fearful, some even looked approving. No one was going to step in.

He almost interfered himself, but stopped himself in time, forced to watch helplessly as the continued to beat the man senseless. All this for being a Druid?

Eventually, some guards showed up, and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief, but, to his outrage, they stood and watched for a few moments, before eventually reaching into the fray and pulling the attackers away from the injured man.

"On your feet!" they barked at the Druid, and the man stood shakily, his many injuries colouring his face purple and staining his clothes red.

"I wasn't doing anything," the man pleaded tearfully. "I was just trying to sell my goods." He gestured to a pile of broken bottles on the ground beside him.

"You lot have been warned against causing trouble here," one of the guards said. "Clean up that mess and get out."

"But I haven't done anything wrong-"

"Didn't you hear me?" the guard growled. "Do as I say, unless you want to wind up in the dungeons."

The man shook his head quickly, and bent down to retrieve what remained of his possessions. His head hung, and Merlin could see tears mingled with the blood on his face. Once he'd stood once more and began to leave, the crowd parted, some throwing jeering remarks at his retreating back. The guards laughed appreciatively, as did the attackers. The guard in charge turned to them.

"Next time you want to beat up a Druid, don't do it so publicly," he said. "Commotions like this are bad for business. Do it in private. No witnesses."

The attackers nodded, grinning evilly, and soon they too had disappeared. The people in the market began to return as normal, righting their tables and picking up the debris caused by the fight. Before long, business had resumed.

Merlin stood where he was, horrified at what he had just witnessed. He moved away from the market, stumbling over his own feet in his confusion. The Purge had not even started, and the people of Camelot had already turned against magic.

The previous weeks at the Isle of the Blessed should have prepared him for this, the sight of all those refugees should have been enough proof for him, but it wasn't until now that Merlin had fully believed it. The Purge had not been a sudden thing, one man's blind hatred, it had been building up for a long time. It wasn't just Uther that had persecuted magic.

He felt somewhat sick. Where had the peace he had been told about existed? If not here, where? Had there ever been peace between sorcerers and Muggles? The sight of the castle poking between the houses riled something inside of him. If Uther was there, he had to see him.

He moved off in the direction of the castle, his quick pace causing him to bump into people in the busy streets, but he did not care, his eyes were focused solely ahead. The guards that in his time had guarded the entrance to the main courtyard of the palace were not here, obviously extra security had come after the Purge, and so Merlin found no problem accessing the front of the palace. He looked around, memories once more rising to the surface. This was the site of so many executions, funerals, celebrations and so many other occasions. He looked up at the balcony from where Uther had dispensed justice with a cruel hand. There was no one there at present.

He passed the well which he had spent so much of youth around hauling up water, and the stables which he had cleaned top to bottom more times than he could remember. The door to the kitchens was near here …

He ducked into a shadow, and cast a quick spell of invisibility over himself. Disguised he may be, but a stranger couldn't very well just wander into the palace. Once the spell was cast, he entered through the kitchens, smelling the familiar scent in amongst all the old commotion. He stopped as he recognised one of the cooks standing before him, who had so often slapped him around the head for trying to steal some sweet treats when fetching Arthur's meals. What had been her name?

He didn't stop to wonder, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest as he thought of all the others whose names had been lost to him over the centuries. How could he ever had forgotten a single one? He found the staircase and climbed it rapidly into the main part of the castle, meeting no one along the way aside from a few servants, who looked rushed off their feet, as he had so often done. He passed through the corridors quickly, his step not faltering for an instant, tracing the old paths of his youth. He barely even knew where his feet were taking him until they stopped before a partially open door: the audience chamber.

He hesitated for an instant. Something had pulled him here, and he was almost afraid of what he would find on the other side. It was as if he was a servant once more, cautiously moving around the edges of the castle, trying to avoid being. The trepidation was almost too much.

He drew his courage however, and slipped in through the doorway, holding his breath so as not to nudge the door and betray his presence. Once inside, he stopped and surveyed the scene.

It was much as the same as it had always looked. A large throne sat at the head of the room, and one long table sat down the centre, covered in maps and letters. Most of the chairs were empty, the meeting was evidently over, but the throne at the top, and the seat next to it were occupied, and one of the figures that sat there was all too familiar.

Uther was younger, his hair not as grey, face not as lined or scarred, but there was the same firmness of jaw and regal bearing that Merlin knew him for. He was wearing the clothing of a Knight, and a crown which seemed almost too big for him. He was in the prime of his life, formidable and kingly, yet his face was softened in a way Merlin had never seen it before. His eyes were fixed on the woman beside him, and there was such an expression of love in his gaze that he could never have thought possible from the cold-hearted man he had known.

The woman, Queen Ygraine, looked back at him equally as affectionately. She looked exactly like Merlin remembered from the vision Morgause had once conjured for Arthur. Young, fair and lively, her smile seem to radiate across the room. One hand was resting on a large belly.

Merlin found himself frozen on the spot. Arthur.

A pain went through him, more acute than he had thought possible. He was once again in the same room as Arthur, albeit in a manner he had never imagined. Ygraine looked as if she was nearly full-term, and the smile on her face almost broke his heart. He looked at the family before him, soon to be broken, irreparably damaged. Arthur would never remember a happy scene like this. And soon, families all over the kingdom would be facing similar heartache.

He didn't know what he had expected to feel when he came here, what he would accomplish. Why had he come? Had the Old Religion brought him here, or was it his own selfish desires?

He took a deep breath, and drew his Dragonlord magic to him, willing himself to enter the state of Dragonsight, without incantation. For the first time, his magic came into balance almost immediately, and he opened his eyes to see three glowing auras before him, ones that he could read as easily as one of the letters on the table.

He gasped inwardly when he understood what it was he saw. Their destinies, Uther's, Ygraine's and the unborn Arthur's were as clear as day, as were the glimpses of the futures he saw in his mind. He saw every detail, every decision, every choice that would lead to their eventual fates. And for the first time in his long life, he understood it. For the first time, he could understand why their destinies were the way they were. He saw their places in the wider scheme of the world, and now knew, despite the heaviness in his heart and the pain that wracked his body, that he could do nothing to prevent their fate. He saw how the Old Religion worked in their lives, and knew he could do nothing to interfere.

He felt weak all of a sudden, and had to lean against a pillar to support himself. He was breathing heavily and trying to keep the two royals from noticing. But they were entirely too absorbed in each other. They were murmuring softly to each other, too soft for Merlin to hear. Not that he's want to: it was obviously very private, and besides, he'd had enough of Uther's 'romancing' when he'd married that troll …

He couldn't quite believe that this was the same man who had caused so much misery. Yet he saw it clearly there in his aura. His destiny was hate, fear and cruelty. The happy man here would soon become twisted and bitter, with no hope for redemption. And the queen, her destiny was tragically short. As for Arthur, well, Merlin had always known Arthur's destiny. But it was different now. He wasn't being told by Kilgharrah or cryptic Druids what the intentions of the Old Religion were. Now he could see it for himself, and suddenly all of his doubting, all of his criticism and bitterness at magic seemed foolish. This was the way it was meant to be. Whether he liked it or not.

He felt like such an idiot, a naïve, self-absorbed idiot. Why had he turned from the Old Religion, why had he doubted? Luna and the others had been right. He hadn't wanted to listen to what it told him, he believed what he wanted to believe. It was Arthur's destiny to bring peace between sorcerers and Muggles side-by-side with Merlin. Only together could the two of them achieve it, and it wasn't in 1999 that this was supposed to happen. How could he have been so blind? How could he have been so arrogant to think he knew best? The others had told him to appreciate the peace he had created when he had killed Morgana, and he should have listened. The problems in the present had been no excuse to go stirring up trouble and try to dissolve the Statute.

Even though Arthur was not even born, Merlin felt a familiar pull of magic, one he had not experienced in a very long time. He watched the pregnant woman for a few moments, looking at her beaming face as she caressed her belly. She would never know her son.

The world seemed cruel, and in a way it was. But things had happened for a reason. And now Merlin could see that, literally. This was one of the reasons they had come back here. Not just for the spell. But for Merlin to see the truth.

Just as he was preparing to leave, the doors to the chamber opened fully, and in walked another familiar presence. It was Nimueh.

Merlin went cold to see her. His hands shook in anger as she approached the king and queen, who smiled at her and welcomed her, inviting her to sit with them. Nimueh smiled in return, asking after Ygraine's health, reaching out and placing her hand on the woman's stomach. There was no inkling of guilt on her face, no indication that she knew the woman before her would soon be dead.

Merlin glared at her, but knew he could do nothing. The sight of her repulsed him. He could sense her magic, her powerful magic that would one day be turned against himself and Arthur. She caused this. It was her that had started the Purge.

But why?

Merlin now turned his Dragonsight on her, determined to know the truth. What he saw astonished him.

Power. That was all she desired. She wanted to be the most powerful sorcerer in the land, and to do so, she wanted to eliminate the competition, and had been easing her way into Uther's trust, turning him and his people against ordinary magical users. She wanted Ygraine out of the way to pave the road for her to become Queen. She didn't care how many innocents were harmed in the process. He sensed however, she had not anticipated the almost complete genocide that had occurred. She wanted Uther to rid Camelot of sorcerers, she wanted Ygraine dead so she could be queen, but she had not wanted the Purge to happen. She had wanted control of the sorcerers. She had not told Uther Ygraine would be the one to die, she had wanted to blame that on a natural death in childbirth. But, he also saw that Gaius was suspicious of her, and he had told Uther the truth, but Uther had refused to believe him. Nimueh may have succeeded in her plan had not Gaius seen through her plot.

How could she have been so stupid? She was a Seer, how could she have not foreseen the consequences? The answer was she was too blinded by ambition, too power-hungry. The Purge may have been building up for some time, but it had been she who lit the spark. The world had gone up in flames because she wanted to be Queen. It all seemed so futile. Merlin had never hated her more.

At that moment, Nimueh suddenly stood up, her head twisting and turning, suddenly alert and suspicious.

"What is the matter?" Uther asked, also leaping to his feet and placing a hand on the sword at his belt.

"There is a presence here, a magical presence," she said, her eyes scanning the room. "It is watching us."

Uther's sword was in his hand the next second, and he stood before his wife with his weapon raised. Nimueh was still searching the room, a small smile spreading across her face.

"Who are you?" she said. "Have the High Council sent you to spy on me? Come out, won't you? Let me see you."

Merlin longed to show himself, to confront her and kill her now so his younger self wouldn't have to. She had begun roaming the room, and had stopped almost exactly before the spot Merlin stood. She was almost close enough to touch …

"Are we in danger?" the Queen asked, wrapping her hands protectively around herself, a terrified look on her face.

"I will allow no sorcerer to touch you," Uther said fiercely, and Merlin almost snorted. Little did Uther know, magic had already done its damage to his queen.

Nimueh was still smiling, smug and self-satisfied. He had ended the spell, yet he could still see the truth of her motivations surrounding her. She had resented the way the High Council had treated her, the youngest of the group. She had wanted to prove herself, tired of the old rituals and slow pace of life. This was her defining moment, her chance to show the Druids just how powerful she could be.

Merlin shook his head in disgust, and turned to leave. He walked through the doors Nimueh had left open, not stopping to look back at the family and the temporary happiness they were experiencing. He had seen all he needed to. He had seen what the Old Religion wanted him to.

It was time to head back to the Isle of the Blessed and apologise to those he had wronged. For the first time in months, he knew what his destiny was. He believed in it once more.