Darkness had fallen over Camelot. Not just nightfall which fell over the land, regular as breathing. That would have been tolerable. The night, with its secrets and hidden evils was bearable. One merely had to wait for the dawn. This current darkness, this self-inflicted shadow, was one that Lord Barden Pynell had thought was long past, but it seemed that he was wrong.

Magic had returned to Camelot.

The men on the council swore the young sorcerer had had nothing to do with it, that he had been too sick to stand when Arthur began talking of rescinding his father's laws. But that didn't account for the years the boy had been at the King's side, whispering his poison into Arthur's ear, pretending that sorcery wasn't a plague on the land and that it didn't drive its practitioners mad with power. Didn't he see what it had done to the Lady Morgana? But then, Arthur hadn't been alive when the witches of the Isle of the Blessed had held their sway over the land. He didn't know.

Uther had been so desperate for an heir in those days. His youth was a memory even then, and he was growing no younger. Then Nimueh had whispered in his ear, made her suggestions, and told the King he could have his longed-for son. She never told him the price they would pay, never told them that Ygraine would bleed to death giving birth to that squalling infant. She never said how the Queen's death would drive Uther half-mad.

Pynell narrowed his eyes as he strode down the corridor, lost in memory. He'd been half in love with Ygraine, even after her marriage to Uther. Half the court had, in truth. It was hard not to. She had been so beautiful, so lively- a bright songbird next to the dour crow that Uther had been. Pynell had made this observation often. Especially to Uther. How it had made the old King laugh. Ygraine, too. She had stayed that way, too, bright and beautiful until the day she died. How black the court had been after that, even with the newborn prince's shrieks echoing through the halls, Everything changed. Then the Purge came, and for a while, there had been peace.

He stopped short. A thin figure stood with his back to him, silhouetted against a window. He didn't need to see the face to recognize him. He'd seen the boy running after Arthur long enough to recognize Merlin on sight.

He's heard rumors about the sorcerer since he'd come back from Tintagel. They said he'd been sent to the pyre at Blackheath, that he'd been burned alive, that he'd died and come back from the dead. They said he was blind, but could see despite it. Rumor said many things, though, and little of it was truth. "Come back from the dead, indeed. He's as mortal as any other. I could prove that well enough. " He could, Pynell realized. He could do it, finish off the job he'd started the previous autumn. It was a bare ten paces to where the boy stood, defenceless save for whatever showy magics he could throw around. All he needed to do was mark ten, quiet paces and take out his throat. Simple enough, and no one would ever know who had done it, not down a lonely corridor in the dead of night. Anyone could have done it. Pynell's breath quickened. His hand tightened on the hilt of his dagger.

"I've heard it said that a man should only draw the blade he intends to use," the sorcerer said without turning. "So what's it to be, My Lord Pynell? Will you draw your blade or not?"

Pynell let go of the dagger, drawing himself up to his full height. He watched the boy, waiting for his next move. The slightest provocation was all he needed.

Merlin was still, save for a tilting of his head as he listened. "I am not your enemy, My Lord," he said quietly.

"You are my bitterest enemy. You and all your kind, boy," Pynell rumbled, "I have spent more than twenty years of my life ridding the lands of the cancer that is magic. I don't know what tales you've been whispering into the King's ear, but I know better than he what you and your kind are. Unnatural. Freaks of nature. Uther did a great thing when he began the Great Purge, but he didn't go far enough. Whatever you did to twist Arthur into legalizing magic once more, I will make it my life's work to undo it, and to see you ended, sorcerer."

"You seem to think that Arthur doesn't have a mind of his own. I'd like to see you accuse him of that at court one day. The privy council could laugh about it," the boy smirked. "But I wonder, My Lord, when you say you'll make this matter your life's work, just how far will you go to accomplish it? Will you argue about it in council until you run out of breath? Or, when you fail to sway the King's mind with words, will you rise up and rebel against him?"

"I am no traitor, boy," Pynell spat out the last, "My allegiance is to Camelot and to the Pendragon line, and it runs deeper and truer than anything a freak of nature like you could understand."

The boy smiled sadly, turning so his face was in profile. "It's true, I am a freak. Something nature never tried before, and likely never will again. But you're wrong, My Lord, when you say I don't understand loyalty. I understand it too well." He ran his fingertips along the windowsill. "When you've set aside your own wants, ignored your own needs, when you've denied yourself your heart's desire for the sake of another, for the sake of your country, then you can tell me about loyalty. All I've seen from you is a man driven by his own fears, his own small-mindedness. My Lord."

"You dare-" Pynell grabbed for his dagger. "You dare to call me fearful! I have fought battles you couldn't imagine, boy, and all of them in the name of Camelot." He stepped a pace forward before controlling himself. 'Never strike in anger', he had been taught once. He took a long breath. "You arrogant little snipe. I don't know how you managed to worm your way into Arthur's good graces, but I swear on everything that is holy that I will end you," he hissed the last.

Merlin turned then, one hand on the wall for support. Bleached by the moonlight, his eyes were colorless, lucent in the darkness. Glassy as those eyes were, the sorcerer seemed to be looking at him and through him, examining Pynell to the core. He struggled not to back away, cowed by a sudden sense of power that radiated off the man. "There is nothing in the world I would not do to protect Arthur- and Camelot- from those who threaten them. In any way. Fear not for what I might do, My Lord. Look to your own fortunes. A day will come when your true colors will be revealed to all, and on that day you will stand alone."

"Your fine words will not save you, sorcerer," Pynell growled. He made a rude gesture as he spun on a heel and stalked away, unwilling or unable to counter Merlin's words. Perhaps, if he had paused to look back he would have seen the sorcerer's moment of weakness, watched him nearly collapse against the wall, a hand to his brow and a pained expression on his face. Had he turned to see that, he might have carried out his threat before even he expected to. But Pynell was too angry to stop. And if he had stopped lying to himself, he might have admitted that he was too afraid to turn back.