Trigger warning: This update does contain description of someone having a dissociative episode/language dealing with PTSD. Thanks!

Blood.

A flash of light.

Swords clashed around her, though Morgana could hear only the sounds of the battle. It was as if she had become blind to the world.

Except for one man, sitting at the edge of her vision.

He was aging, clearly, as shown by the grey streaks riddled through his mane of dark brown hair. His beard was long as well. Perhaps he was a hermit.

No, she chided herself. The man was carrying too many weapons to be a hermit. That is, the man was carrying weapons in the first place. Morgana studied the man's face for a moment. There was something familiar about how he looked, determination stark in his dark eyes.

Then the realization hit.

This was the man she saw in her dream, before she had left Camelot. This was the one who drove his sword into the earth after enchanting it, who summoned a flying beast with the strength of his spell.

The man turned to her now, eyes now hauntingly white.

"I have been waiting for you, Morgana."

As he spoke, it was clear that his voice was not his own. It came out feminine, echoing throughout the dream-world as if three people were talking. The words swirled around her, awakening the magic deep inside.

She could feel her power react to this being's speech, lying shallow beneath the surface beneath her skin. This was nothing like before - her magic was flowing freely without fear or consequence. Who was powerful enough to trigger something like this?

"Who are you?" she asked. Her voice was soft, hollow. Almost weak.

"I am what created this world," the man rushed towards her, the voices echoing hauntingly. "What keeps it alive," another voice - clearer, this time - came from behind her. She turned, and the man was standing in two places at once. This twin, however, was much younger than the man in her dream. "And what shall destroy it."

Morgana's eyes widened as she realized who was talking to her. Remembering what little of the Old Ways she was taught, she kneeled on the ground and averted her eyes; the true form of a god was dangerous.

"Mín Gydenu, forgive me, I-"

"Hush, my child,"a third voice became clear, forming out of the infinite echo. A third version of the man spoke, this one dressed in finery and riches. "We must keep faith and hang our heads high."

"My Goddess, I... I don't understand."

A hand was extended to her by the first man. Tentatively, she took it. "Time is of the essence, child," the voices warned, "Destiny swirls around us, unclear as the stars on a cloudy night. You must act quickly, for Fate itself lies in the balance…"

And just like that, Morgana awakened.

She didn't remember, at first, what had happened that day in the forest. Her surroundings reached her senses in a blur, as disorienting as the dream that had come before. Everything that happened came back at once, just as she felt the chains around her wrists and ankles.

Freya and Gwen were sitting against a wall, deep in conversation as she awoke. She made eye contact with Gwen as the latter realized she was no longer asleep.

"My lady, are you alright?"

Morgana tried her best to stand, but was met with a sharp, stabbing pain in her thigh.

"You were wounded in the fight," Gwen explained. "We've done the best we can, but Freya would need some supplies, and-"

"It's okay. I appreciate it."

Freya opened her mouth to respond, but was stopped as the sound of soldiers made its way to their ears. A number of men rounded a corner, assembling into a sort of precession as they made their way to the girls' shared cell.

The leader, a foul man with missing teeth and a stench like horse dung, approached the cell first. "Welcome, ladies. I hope the accommodations have been… up to your standards?"

"Go to hell," Morgana spat.

The slaver kneeled down, tipping up her chin with his finger. "Wise words from a girl in chains."

If not for her worries about her friends, Morgana would have cursed his manhood into oblivion right then and there. What a pig. They stared at each other for a moment, likely until the slaver realized she was neither going to talk nor curse him (no matter how much she would have liked to).

Finally, the man stood up again. "You'll all fetch me good prices in the market before long," he warned them. "Or maybe Daddy will pay your ransom and you girlies can go home free."

Morgana scoffed. "My father's dead, you moron. I doubt even the king of Camelot would pay my ransom."

To her surprise, the man simply winked. "That can be arranged."

It was not a moment later that the man left, taking his entourage of guards and mercenaries with him. At last, they were alone.

"Are you two alright?" Morgana asked her companions. The intrusion of the man had cut their conversation short and she worried that Gwen put her lady's health above her own and Freya's.

"Mostly," Gwen replied, voice quiet. She looked over at Freya, who seemed decidedly worse. The druid girl was staring off into the distance, eyes unfocused. Whatever she was thinking, her mind was far from her friends.

"She's been like this since we got here," Gwen explained. "The memories… it's - it's not good for her."

Morgana nodded grimly. "I can tell." She looked around, searching for any stray guards. "We need to get out of here."

Someone laughed from the other end of the cell block. It was the laugh of one who had no other pleasure in life; the laugh of a man defeated. The sound bounced off the walls, creating a spiral of sound that would have driven even the most rational of people insane.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

The man simply laughed again. "No one escapes from here, girl. You would have to be an idiot to try."

"Answer my question!" Morgana demanded.

The man laughed again. "I am one who has seen the true nature of this world."

In her frustration, Morgana slammed her fist against the bars of her cell. Her magic, enhanced by her vision of the Goddess, reacted, creating a gust of wind so strong she almost fell over.

The cell block grew eerily quiet.

"A sorceress, then?"

"And?"

Another infuriating chuckle. "Urien's been hunting for sorcerers for months. I'd hide that pretty little talent if I were you."

Urien - their captor - was hunting sorcerers? Why? Was it at Uther's orders? Morgana shivered at the thought of Uther conspiring with such a disgusting man but found that she was not surprised by the idea.

"He's collecting sorcerers, why?"

No answer came from the mysterious man.

She turned back to Gwen, who was still holding Freya in her arms. "If this man - Urien - is collecting sorcerers, then he must be taking them somewhere."

"Or he could just be killing them," Gwen countered. "Plenty of bounty hunters bring druids and sorcerers to the king for money."

"If he was going to turn us over to Uther, wouldn't we be on our way back to Camelot right now?"

"I don't know."

The beats of marching soldiers were once again heard as two patrolling guards made their way through the dungeons, but their leader was nowhere in sight. What little light there was bounced off the metal of their swords, making them glow bronze in the light of the setting sun.

How's Freya? Morgana thought, not wanting to get in trouble with the guards.

I don't know, came Gwen's response. If any of us need to get out of here, it's her.

They nodded at each other, a plan forming in their heads.

Morgana shifted the best she could in her chains, placing one hand on Freya's forehead and the other in her right hand. She formed the incantation in her mind, hoping with all the hope in her heart that she could be able to reach her friend who had trapped herself inside her own mind.

"Belǣdaþ frēode hire bréostgeþance."

She felt the magic flow between them, though Freya's demeanor did not change. The two sat in silence in the following moments, the sounds of the blossoming night emerging around them.

Morgana?

Freya's voice was hoarse, like she had been screaming for hours on end.

I'm here, Freya.

They're coming after me again… I just… I couldn't...

"Everything is fine," Morgana told her, squeezing the other girl's hand tight in comfort. "Gwen and I have a plan, you're safe with us, they can't hurt you."

Freya took a deep breath, holding it in as she closed her eyes. She let it out a moment later, looking to her friends with a newfound passion. "Thank you, both of you."

"We will always stand by you," Gwen told her, grabbing her other hand. "I- I wanted you to know that."

Freya gave her friend's hand a small squeeze. "Of course, as I would do the same for you." She turned to Morgana, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Now, how do you suppose we get out of here?"

Winds howled all around as rain, which had hours past been a barrage of heavy snow, relentlessly pounded the flaps of the tent. Inside, a company of knights waited for their prince to speak, faces painted with quiet apprehension.

Arthur stood at the head of their tiny circle, with all of his knights sitting around him. Leon stood to his right, a gentle guide who had stood by his side for as long as the prince could remember.

"I suppose you all must be wondering why you have been called here today," he began. A couple of them nodded in response - Sir Lanval and Sir Pellias, who had served since Arthur was five-and-ten. "And I am here today to say something that you probably would have been better off knowing, for a time."

Sir Bedivere muttered something to Sir Kay, but he chose to ignore it.

"The truth is that the king gave me orders and information regarding the fate of the noble House of Ambrosius that, up until these last few days, I thought to be absurd." When no one posed any more questions, he continued. "The orders given to me by the king were this: all Ocrisans who have or are suspected to have magic must be killed, in the name of Camelot and Albion. This list, due to recent developments, now includes Prince Merlin. So, now I ask all of you, noble knights of Camelot: What are we to do?"

The knights stared at him in silence for what felt like an eternity.

Sir Gareth was the first to speak up.

"If I may, sire," he began. "I wish to voice my opinion on the matter." Arthur nodded, sitting down and letting Gareth take the floor. Gareth looked around at his peers, as if he were trying to see into their very souls. "We all are knights of Camelot, are we not?"

The knight's remarks were met with a series of nods and mutterings.

"And, as knights of this sacred order, we have taken a vow to protect our citizens from any evils, including the evils of magic and sorcery, and I believe that we must do this, live up to our vows and duty to our kingdom, no matter what the cost."

"But they're of noble birth - royalty!" Sir Moriaen objected.

There was determination in Gareth's eyes as he spoke. "That- that is the most dangerous thing about them. A leader who embraces magic will lead his people towards such evils, and that is something - as protectors of Camelot and scourges of magic - that we cannot allow."

Sir Gareth finished his speech, surveying their small gathering with a look of satisfaction on his face. He nodded to Arthur and took his seat next to Sir Kay.

Arthur stood once more, regarding his brothers-in-arms, all of whom looked deep in thought. He looked to Sir Leon, the ginger knight the only one not seemingly contemplating regicide.

"What say you, Leon?"

"My lord, if I were to be so bold…" Leon led him away from the assembly of knights and out of the tent, where the last drizzles of rain were falling. When he was sure that they could not be overheard, he spoke again. "I don't think this is a good idea, sire."

"Hm?"

"How long has Merlin been your friend, and now you want to kill him because your father said so? It just doesn't add up…sire," he added the last bit hastily, as if he forgot he was speaking to the future king of Camelot.

"This isn't just about Merlin, Leon. This is about doing what's best for the kingdom and helping those we swore to protect."

"By killing more? Sire, forgive me, but do you hear yourself?"

"You were the one who told me that Merlin had magic in the first place!" Arthur had to restrain himself from shouting. "Are you going to tell me that that doesn't matter anymore?"

"I am trying to tell you that this all seems too suspicious!" Leon also seemed to be restraining himself, but with less success. "Don't they all seem a bit too happy about killing a king and his son?"

"They are sorcerers."

"Merlin is your friend."

"He was," Arthur muttered darkly. "Before he lied to me."

"Sire, with all due respect, Merlin's been lying since the day he arrived in Camelot. For his own safety."

"And you question why I'm having trouble trusting him." Arthur let out an exasperated sigh, resisting the urge to pinch his nose like a tired mother.

"Your Highness?" Sir Lanval poked his head through the canvas of the tent. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, everything is fine. Thank you, Lanval." He looked back to Leon. "I think it is time that we return."

Leon nodded and him inside, standing at Arthur's right as he addressed his knights yet again.

"Well?" Arthur asked, speaking to no one in particular. "Have we reached a consensus?"

Sir Bedivere stood. (Out of all of the knights, Arthur did not suspect him.) "Indeed we have, sire."

"And?"

"For the good of Albion, Prince Merlin must die."

Merlin felt like he was dying.

Not that he was drowning, or suffocating, or bleeding out, but that he was alone. All around, people looked to him like they expected something of him, like there was something more he wasn't doing.

Everything was swirling around in his head, spurred on by the haunting voice of Lord Castilian that tormented him for seemingly no reason. His thoughts kept him up late into the nights as they waited out the storm, the winds, rains, and snows his only companions. Merlin felt like he was reaching out for an answer that was just a little too far away.

It was one of these nights that Merlin heard someone cry out in the mountains, a scream that echoed in the deepest parts of his soul.

Though he had disregarded the sound at first, thinking it to be a fox or some other animal of the night, Merlin could no longer deny that there was someone out there, screaming and begging for help.

Grabbing his sword, Merlin climbed out of his tent and looked around the empty camp, seeing nothing but the embers of old campfires and various other tents. Slowly, he strapped his sword belt around his waist, keeping a hand on the weapon's pommel.

He crept forward toward the edge of their camp. Though he was sure that he was being silent, he couldn't help but cringe when a twig broke under his foot, the resonating crack like an explosion in the night.

"Out for a stroll in the moonlight, are we, Merlin?"

Merlin whirled around, his sword half-drawn. In the middle of their campsite he saw Arthur, who looked possibly more tired than he did.

"Arthur?"

The blond prince nodded. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I heard something - a scream."

"You do know what sounds foxes make, right?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes."

Another cry came through the trees, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Merlin turned back towards the forest, exchanging a worried look with Arthur.

"A fox, was it?"

"Shut up, Merlin."

The pair found themselves wandering through the forest, with nothing but the moonlight as their guide, looking for whoever had made the haunting cries. They crept along the base of the mountain, following a stream flowing through the mountain range and eventually seeing a small pond at the base of the tallest of the White Mountains.

Hello? Someone? Anyone? Please, someone help me!

Merlin gave a small start as he heard the voice in his mind.

And another one as he realized who was speaking.

Freya?

Merlin! Thank the gods!

He took a few steps downhill, incanting a spell in his mind to strengthen his eyes. Within seconds, the whole forest was lit up, clear as day, even as the moon shown overhead. There was a strange feeling to the place as the magic changed Merlin's vision, like a weight was being lifted from his stomach.

Where are you?

No answer.

Merlin gripped his ring, twisting it between his fingers. He remembered the moment they shared together in her chambers after his mother appeared. I almost lost you once, he thought solemnly. And I will be damned if I lose you again.

Turning, he watched as Arthur, who was by far the better hunter of the two, surveyed the lakeside with a keen eye.

"There's no tracks."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Even I can see that."

The sound of snapping twigs reached Merlin's ears, making him turn once again and face the valley below the mountain.

Arthur's interest also seemed to be piqued, as the blond appeared at his side, almost like a ghost, silently surveying the ground.

They both seemed to spot the same thing at the same time - a dark figure, staggering through the woods like they had been running all night and all day. Both princes ran into action, making their way down the hill and searching the wood.

It took a little while before Merlin realized that the two had become separated, that he was now all alone. Slowly, he took a deep breath and tried to reach out with his thoughts.

Freya?

Nothing.

A whistle wafted through the trees. Merlin turned towards the sound, seeing Arthur holding up a hand, a single finger at his lips. The gesture likely meant Be quiet! but Merlin imagined Arthur's tone was more along the lines of Be quiet, you blundering fool.

He nodded in return, drawing his sword. Together, they crept downward into the valley.

Merlin?

He couldn't help but flinch as her thoughts reached his own. She was so… close. He could feel it.

Where are you? At least, this time, she'd probably respond, he figured.

At the base of the hill. My ankle - I can't walk on it.

We're almost there, Merlin assured her.

She ended their connection, and he felt her presence leave his mind.

He signaled to Arthur and they convened at the base of the mountain, overlooking a river that flowed through the valley. Merlin scanned the trees again, but there was no sign of his love.

Then, he spotted something in the trees. It looked like an injured animal, limping slowly through the underbrush, trying its best to move in despite its injuries.

Arthur must have spotted the anomaly too, for they moved swiftly through the forest until they were practically on top of the unsuspecting thing, until Merlin had the rather sensible idea (in his mind, anyway) to reach out to Freya yet again.

Arthur protested as he closed his eyes, though he didn't really mind. Freya?

The figure turned, making eye contact with him just as Merlin opened his eyes.

"Freya!" he exclaimed, almost tripping over a stray root as he made his way over to her. When he got there, he realized that she was cradling her leg with both arms, cuts all along her flesh.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," she smiled, though she was not clearly fine. Freya nodded to Arthur as he approached, no doubt almost exploding with questions. "I'll explain everything later, I just need to find something to make a brace for my ankle." She gestured to the limb in question, which was attached to her foot at a decidedly odd angle.

"We can carry you back to our camp," Arthur offered.

Merlin shot him a look along the lines of I'll carry her back to camp.

Nevertheless, the blond nodded, and they set back towards the knight's encampment.

Freya smiled as Merlin picked her up, holding her as if she were his newlywed bride.

Two riders sat on horseback, looking down from the mountains as a campaign of knights went about their business packing up tents and tending to horses.

The one on the left grumbled something in his native tongue, turning to his companion with a bored expression on his face. "He's not there."

"He will be," the other responded. "If I'm right - and I always am - he will be."

"Tòmas-"

"Heard you the first time, northman." Tòmas took the reins of his horse, turning back to the camp in the mountains that the two shared.

"The king will have our heads if we return empty-handed," the other warned, his expression turning grim. "And I still don't think he'll show."

Tòmas sighed, resigning himself to his companion's idiocy as the two rode higher into the White Mountains. Whether or not they would find King Balinor he did not know, but his wife and son seemed to be a pretty good place to start.

A/N:

It has been like, forever, and I am very sorry that I haven't updated in over a month.

The chapter title, translated from Latin, means "between hope and fear."

Stay safe and healthy, everyone!

-Mags