*Finally emerges from cave after a 6 year slumber*

I think we've all established by this stage that my track record with updating is appalling, however even by my standards this is a personal best. In all honesty, I am 100% lazy and also a-little-bit forgot about this story, however a couple of very shiny and amazing people out there have persevered over the years in nudging me back to life. If they or anyone out there is still reading this then… hello!

I am officially giving you warning now that updates will likely be at a glacial pace, however I am determined to finish this story even if it kills me. The younger me of 6 years ago had a plot sketched out, and even if it isn't what I would write now, I am going to go with it - for her sake. A quick disclaimer then that the tone/quality/set up/character relationships of the writing may be different to what it has been, but for better or for worse I hope you enjoy!

I do not own Merlin. All rights and ideas belong to the BBC.

Chapter 12

Today there is no anger. There is barely even pain, save for the stinging of his exhausted eyes and the ache in his chest every time he breathes.

My injury. he tells himself, though he knows full well the unlikelihood of a wound on his right side to ache all the way up and on to his left, just behind his heart. The pain is a dull but constant reminder, rippling through him with each pull of his lungs.

Tendons straining between his hands, a pulse fluttering in panic at his fingertips… his mouth – his father's mouth - grinning triumphantly…

Arthur flexes his hands unconsciously, the reins slipping from his grasp for another time that morning. He starts forward, grabbing for them blindly as the sounds and scents of the wood creep back into focus. Blinking the king takes stock of their progress, noting the presence of Gwaine beside him; the leather of his tack creaking steadily with each stride of his mount.

Arthur can feel his friend's eyes on him and the searching questions burning behind them. Gwaine was as close to Merlin as anyone; they were like brothers, and Arthur knows he will be missing the manservant's presence dearly. He cannot, however, bring himself to confide in his knowledge of Merlin's true identity. Better that they not know, he thinks, to save them the pain of his betrayal.

Even as that familiar pain aches through him again, a small voice in Arthur's mind – a voice he desperately wants to ignore – reminds him that a part of his silence is for Merlin's sake too. To preserve his memory in the minds of his friends, and perhaps, just a little, to keep him safe from others who would harm him - who would treat him as Arthur has.

"Sire!"

Elyan's shout pulls Arthur fully from his reverie. His eyes follow the knight's gaze to the smoke trail above them.

"They cannot be more than a mile away, sire" Leon declares as he draws next to Arthur's side.

Surely just a traveller passing through, or small hunting party - no need to be suspicious… Arthur reasoned to himself. However with the recent raids upon his people too numerous to count it would be best to keep on guard, no matter how small the threat may seem. Images of Ealdor flicker through his memory; of golden corn fields, of Merlin hugging his mother tightly, a smile beaming between his oversized ears and eyes warm with love.

No.

Arthur closes his eyes and nods to himself decidedly, spurring his horse back into action and turning his mind towards the task in hand.

"We shall investigate".

They continue on through the wooded trail, the horses' steps muted against the damp earth as they enter into a clearing. The air feels close and still as if before a storm, waiting with bated breath for the sky to break.

Arthur feels his skin begin to prickle as his senses hone into the space around him, as though he can feel the Earth's anticipation, warning him to take shelter. He pauses, turning to seek out Gwaine and move to better cover. Before he can, however, a voice calls to him from the trees. It bites out through the morning air, the familiar Irish lilt filling the king with cold dread.

"Ah, brother dearest!"

The scouting party stops short, Leon's murmured, authoritative commands resulting in a dozen Camelot swords being drawn simultaneously. They glisten in the gloom as they turn towards the figure stepping out on the incline above them. A figure cloaked in black, save for a glinting red ruby around her neck. Her unkempt raven tresses cascade around her pale face as she regards the men fiercely.

Arthur's heart drops at the sight of his sister; she has become so gaunt, her clothes dishevelled and frayed. And yet she looks so assured standing above him, her eyes full of hatred and glee as she glares down upon them. Arthur tenses. He knows what Morgana is capable of, and even with his best knights at his side he understands her confidence; they may prove no match for her magic. It's as though he can almost see it boiling beneath the surface of her skin and between her fingertips, waiting to unleash its evil upon them.

It's the same evil that runs through Merlin's veins. At once Arthur can picture Merlin standing where Morgana is, hair wild and blue eyes glowing gold with malice. They will surely be allies, he thinks to himself, feeling the lost anger seeping back into his chest, a seemingly endless pool of it aching through him.

Perhaps she corrupted him. Turned him against me…. They were close in Camelot…connected by their magic. Were they – could they be - lovers? Did they plot their evil together? Is Merlin here, close by, watching?

Thoughts flood Arthur's mind as he watches his sister bitterly. "Morgana" he growls, his anger coarse and palpable, shaking through his body.

Traitor….sorceress….. my sister the traitor. Did you take him from me?

As though she can sense Arthur's inner turmoil Morgana smirks cruelly.

"So nice of you to drop in".

The sorceress raises her arms towards them, eyes flashing with golden light. Arthur feels his stomach lurch as he is thrown from his horse, his breath gasping out of his chest as he meets with the forest floor.

"We have much to discuss".

Morgana sneers as she watches the men below her. They pant and groan as they struggle back to their feet, their mounts scattered and cumbersome armour weighing them down. Pathetic. As if their swords and shields are any match for her magic. Her eyes flicker around the clearing, searching- wary, but find no other signs of life.

Pulling himself up Arthur growls and starts towards her. She feels the familiar hum beneath her fingertips as ropes conjure from the air to bind him and his knights, relishing in their struggles as she moves down towards them. She welcomes their glares - none more so than those of her brother. She uses her magic to pull him towards her on his knees, separating him from his loyal pack. With a flick of her hand she renders the knights unconscious, she would speak with Arthur alone.

Stopping a few paces away Morgana takes Arthur in. He looks older, his jaw squared and set and his shoulders broad. He has become a man, and also a king – he looks weary. Dark circles ring his eyes and his golden hair sits dull and unkempt on his head.

Heavy hangs the head that bears the crown of a kingdom. Her father's voice echoes in her mind – a line from one of her favourite stories as a girl.

Arthur's eyes are not dull, however, and Morgana can see the anger burning within them.

No doubt Merlin has now informed him of the full story. She muses, bristling at the thought. As if any of them could ever truly understand the choices she has made; the pain she has felt. She feels her own anger surge in response as she crouches down in front of her brother.

"Hello Arthur dear" she purrs, a sickening smile cracking its way onto her face. Arthur glares silently.

"You look…. well, like you're losing your touch", Morgana scoffs, "although it's not as though you could have beaten me, even with your little pet in tow."

Arthur's brow twitches in confusion as Morgana's hand raises to brush against the pendant at her neck, her eyes glancing around keenly. "I am prepared for that now…" Her eyes dart back to Arthur's, piercing, as she studies him. "And just where might dear Emrys be? That simpering little servant is never far from your side."

Arthur's frown deepens as he watches his sister with mistrust. "I should ask you the same question" he growls out.

Morgana recoils, laughing bitterly. "As if that traitor would ever stand by my side"

She laughs again, "I must say Arthur, your wit has improved over the years, if nothing else about you. Now, tell me" she croons, "where is Merlin hmm? Where have you hidden him? With Gaius and his potions? Or in your bedchamber perhaps?" She grins wickedly.

Arthur's expression shutters at her words and he tenses guardedly.

"Merlin is not with us" he declares, words thick with forced indifference.

Morgana blinks, "He is not with you?"

The king shakes his head, "I am afraid, Morgana, that your search today has been in vain". His voice projects through the clearing as though he were an actor on a stage, body straightening as he looks his sister in the eye, the posture almost defensive in its defiance – it is an unconvincing performance.

The sorceress blinks again as she takes new stock of her brother, thoughts clicking into place. He is Uther's son after all. "Or perhaps", she continues contemplatively, "perhaps, you are not with him…"

A pause, "Can you really have been that foolish?" she wonders quietly. Arthur stills before her.

Morgana takes a step back, bemused, eyes again taking in the sight of the king's unkempt appearance; of the lines of exhaustion and sorrow on his face.

Heavy weighs the heart that bears the crown of grief. Uther's voice whispers again in her memory. It seems this apple did not fall far from the tree after all.

She takes a silent breath.

"Did you kill him?" The words are hushed and tense with anticipation.

Arthur glares silently, his face an inscrutable mask. Morgana's patience is short, and she starts towards him in frustration. She grabs the front of his armour and shakes him, her jewelled knife glinting in the light as it rises, untouched, from her belt to press its tip into her brother's neck.

"Well!?" she hisses, "Tell me! Is he dead? Is Emrys dead?"

Am I free of him? Of my doom? Have I won?

Arthur's continues to regard his sister sharply, his neck straining as he leans away from the dagger at his throat. Morgana's green eyes flash and the knife presses on insistently.

"Speak up, brother!"

The king feels the stinging at his throat as the blade pierces his skin. Morgana looks almost manic as she waits for his reply.

"If he is dead, it was not by my hand" he responds emptily.

No. Curse the gods!

Morgana releases him, her magic flinging the knife to the floor. "Then where is he?!" she screams, her composure finally cracking to reveal the feverish disquiet beneath. The air charges and crackles with her fury and she starts pacing in unease before her brother, ranting beneath her breath.

"I tear my kingdom apart to find him, but he evades me… not even for his mother... He cannot have moved far, even exiled he would never stray far from you…loyal fool, like a dog licking the hand that beats him."

A faint ripple of magic shivers across Morgana's skin. The sorceress halts her pacing suddenly, turning in full circle as she searches the trees around her silently, like a prey who has caught the scent of its hunter. She looks almost fearful.

Emrys.

"You want him dead." Arthur's voice breaks through the sudden stillness. It is not a question but a statement. He is still studying her from where he kneels, although with new eyes

"I had thought that he might be with you. That it was you who had turned him against me, to your cause against Camelot."

Suddenly Arthur feels an invisible hand gripping his throat, the breath trapped from his lungs as he is pulled into the air. He struggles against the pressure, short gasps grating themselves from throat as he thrashes helplessly.

Morgana strides back towards him, face livid as she leans in close to his own. "It was you who turned him against me" She hisses.

"His love of you - his loyalty. He has denied what he truly is; abandoned his people, his friends. All for the sake of his mighty king"

She scoffs as she takes in the sight of her brother – trussed up and choking above the ground like a useless puppet.

"If you knew even half of what he was capable of", the sorceress continues sneeringly. "If you knew what he has done to protect you; even protect our father and all of his cruelty. Do you have any idea what he has lost? What he has suffered and mourned in silence and secrecy just to stay by your side?"

Arthur continues to jerk against his restraints, though his eyes do not leave his sister's. He begins to splutter with the effort of trying to draw breath, his face crimson and strained.

"I do. I have felt the same pain, suffered the same injustices. Only I had the sense to break free; to embrace what I am and use it as my weapon, my strength. But Merlin… you were his weakness, Arthur."

The discarded knife rises up again to hover next to the sorceress, twisting and glinting in the dull morning light. She bends again to look her brother in the eye, voice softening as she regards him. "I almost pity you, brother. You have no idea what you have truly lost".

She stands sharply, taking a step back to admire her handiwork and the fallen men before her.

"But there is no time left for pity. The deed is done, Merlin is lost to you now. He is alone to be hunted, and you are weak without him here to protect you. You have thrown away your shield, Arthur, see how your heart is exposed?"

The sorceress cocks her head to the side playfully as her knife moves to hover in front of Arthur's chest. Her smile turns malicious as her eyes flash with power, the ruby around her neck glowing crimson in the dull light.

"Let us see how well you can defend it"

The king can only struggle, helpless, as the knife rushes forwards to bury itself in his chest.