Author Notes: So I was FINALLY able to see the movie yesterday, having wanted to see it at the cinema months ago, but unfortunately foiled in my attempt! Anyway, here is a oneshot I hope you'll enjoy, set post-movie, tackling the rather open-ended question of what happened to Drake, and delving more into this fandom's unique brand of magic. Hope you enjoy!

Your Truth, My Illusion

Drake couldn't really explain how he had gotten to be here, standing in the weak winter sunlight as it played over the grounds of the small park. Neither could he fully put into words how he knew that only a few hours previous the founder of his order had stood right in the centre, and nearly brought about the destruction of the world.

What he could say was that one moment he had been touched in the neck by Horvath's parasite spell, so violent that the entire experience was but a searing blue fissure across his memory, and the next he had awoken in complete darkness, surrounded by cold and suffocation, feeling trapped both inside and out.

Drake squeezed his eyes shut as his breath caught, trying to find his centre as he simultaneously shoved the moment from his memory. As a rule, sorcerers, whether they be Merlinian or Morganian, did not like enclosed spaces – it went against everything magic stood for. So waking up in what was essentially a hollowed out torture device was not his idea of fun, especially when his magic, or at least what was left after Horvath's spell, was screaming against a cage inside him, unable to find release without his ring.

Too much yelling and struggling later, and it was the dead eyes of a young girl, eyes he had only seen in painted form, that were his first welcome into the light. No doubt she had looked as drawn as he had, but he could not recall. Her voice, in contrast, was branded into his memory, screaming at him for her pendant, screaming for her magic.

Her screams had not lasted. She had fallen down dead not moments after, blank eyes staring up at him as her lifeless body was sucked into the carpet that was no longer a carpet. Drake had known, more instinctively than through conscious thought, that it was not age that had killed her and spared him, but rather her willingness to follow, to be an apprentice to the caster of the parasite spell. Drake had never been so glad for his latent trust issues – apparently his first Master had been good for something, though he doubted the man had meant the experience to save the life of his useless apprentice when he had left Drake all those years ago.

But still, here he was, somehow, impossibly, pathetically. He stared down at the grass, at the reason why his feet had brought him to this place without neither ask nor cause. Three tiny pieces of metal, one twisted, one dark, one half-buried. The first, the pentagram, was unfamiliar to him, but he knew it as dead – a twisted piece of base metal, useless and ownerless. The second, he was intimately familiar with, and it was this which he crouched down to retrieve, turning the lifeless dark item over between his fingers. Latent energy flickered beneath his skin, but it was not enough, and it too soon died. Drake had never heard of power that could so completely destroy a sorcerer's ring, but he was no idiot, and knew it was connected to the third piece of metal, the one that still shone, its tiny scales glinting in the sun, its inquisitive head poking out of the grass. It was the ring of the Prime Merlinian, a ring that Drake had no desire to touch, and so he rose to his feet slowly.

Loss. It was a concept he was far too familiar with, but it was never meant to be used in reference to his magic. His magic was all he had.

"You're not tempted then?"

Drake whirled around and stumbled slightly, the vertigo-inducing nature of his trapped magic setting him off balance. Even if he had not been involved with Horvath lately, he would still have never been mistaken as to who the man before him was – his face was pasted over more than one page of his own incantus; Balthazar Blake, "What good would it do? It's not mine."

Balthazar's eyes flicked down to Drake's tightly clenched fist, the younger sorcerer unable to drop the ring, so much a part of him, even if it was dead. He made a non-committal noise in his throat, striding confidently up to Drake, the bright jewel on his finger winking in the sunlight. To the boy's credit, he didn't even flinch. Balthazar quirked a small smile, and bent down to retrieve Dave's ring. His failure of an apprentice had apparently been too swept up in his new found command of magic and libido to think of the ring, and Balthazar had apparently held too much faith that he would. Of course, the ring had been known to be rather sneaky, much like its first owner, so maybe there was a reason he was coming back in daylight.

"Your Master didn't really take the same line as you."

Although he didn't show it, Balthazar was surprised by the sheer darkness behind the glare the blond gave him – in the brief encounters they had experienced, he had never seen the Morganian look like he did now, "Horvath wasn't my Master. I helped him through duty to my order, and the Lady Morgana, but he was not my Master. I don't have a master."

At his last statement, Balthazar laughed, but not cruelly, "A half-baked apprentice like you? No wonder Horvath managed to take your ring. But if you had a ring, you had to have had a master at one time." He surveyed the younger man, before nodding to his still-clenched fist, "Must have been a cheery partnership to have produced a skull ring. Or maybe that's the modern Morganian style – I wouldn't know."

Drake snorted dryly, "Yeah, he was a right ray of sunshine. Now, if you excuse me, I've got an apartment to clean up and a career to salvage."

Drake shouldered past him, but Balthazar didn't even need to turn to call at his back to get his words to carry, "What career? The remains of your magic lie dead in your hand. I may not be a Morganian, but I know enough of the parasite spell to know that you reek of it, and that your ring's connection to Horvath was only severed in time to by chance save your life, but not your conduit. How do you intend to have a career without the key skills?"

Drake paused, turned to throw Balthazar a cock-sure grin, "I'm a genius."

Balthazar smirked and shook his head, "I'll be sure to have that inscribed on your tombstone when your magic twists you from the inside out for want of release."

Drake shifted, his grin slightly less sure, "What're you trying to pull?"

"You were apprenticed until, what, you were seventeen? Eighteen?"

"Fifteen."He said this with a hint of defiant pride, "Fifteen with his old incantus in my pocket and the clothes on my back. So don't think I need any lies and false help from a Merlinian."

"We're not the order that lies." Balthazar pointed out gently. "My point is that your magic has grown with you. Even your old Master's second rate incantus should have told you that once a sorcerer's magic is apprenticed it grows beyond the mortal shell with the help of the ring. Your magic may be dulled now, but when it starts recovering from the parasite spell, it will scratch at you from the inside out until it finds release. Trust me, that release will not be...neat."

Drake quirked an eyebrow, "That your delicate way of saying I'll explode with blood and guts and gore?"

Balthazar shrugged, "More likely implode, but you'll probably create a memorable crater."

"Will you just get to the point?"

"Become my apprentice. At least then you won't implode."

The ancient man's calm nonchalance was starting to grate at Drake's nerves, and he was not an easy person to rile, but his nerves were frayed and his magic was worse, "You already have an apprentice."

"Really? That's the first issue you have, not my being a Merlinian?" Balthazar smiled, "There's hope for you already. And unless your history lessons escaped your notice, I was raised in a triad of adult apprentices, so I think I can handle you and Dave."

Drake scowled, "What makes you think I'd ever be your apprentice? I'm good solo, thanks mate."

He blinked, and suddenly Balthazar was barely a hair's breadth from his face, a crackle of magic lightly lacing the breeze before it dispersed, "Because your magic likes me. And more importantly – you like your magic. Let's go."

Drake started, bewildered, as Balthazar headed towards a car he hadn't noticed before, the man's strange phrasing ringing at an odd discordance with what he had been taught, but for the life of him, he couldn't guess what it was.

Besides, he had already gotten into the car, not that he remembered doing so.

"But isn't he, like, evil?" Dave gestured as he looked between a too-smug Balthazar and a sulking Drake.

"Oi! I'm not the one living in a secret underground lair! I mean, seriously?" Drake yelled over.

"Oh please, your penthouse practically screamed cliché bad guy." Dave shot back.

"At least it had some style!"

"You call that monstrosity of a portrait style?"

"Children!" Balthazar's voice cut across them both, "Enough! This is how it's going to be."

"But-"

"I didn't even-"

"You can't-"

"Don't think that you-"

The warring voices were cleanly cut across by a rather violent crash of sound that had even Balthazar turning. Becky peeked up from under her arms which she had hurriedly thrown over her head and looked in askance at Veronica, "Did you have to be so loud? My ears have only just recovered from the flight!"

Veronica grinned, "Sorry my dear, but sometimes it's the only way to get through to them." It had been three days since the battle with Morgana; Dave and Becky had just returned from France, and had come to the lab to find quite a lot had changed. Veronica turned to Balthazar, "We'll be gone for many hours – play safe and don't burn everything down while we're gone!" Becky was to take Veronica out to get her everything she would need to adjust to life in the current century, leaving Balthazar to deal with his two apprentices.

Becky grinned, and gave Dave a quick kiss before she jogged up the steps to leave with Veronica. Drake snorted, "You have no idea what monster you're about to unleash."

Dave blinked, "Is he trying to threaten me now?"

"I'm just saying, what kind of morons give their girlfriends their credit cards and tell them to go nuts?" Dave blinked cluelessly before it dawned on him, while Drake noted with interest that Balthazar's perpetual coolness failed to waiver; he had obviously prepared for this eventuality, unlike Drake's new co-apprentice, "Anyway, I'm knackered, gonna catch a couple of hours."

Dave yawned, stretching theatrically as Drake disappeared into the back rooms, "Yeah, me too. Just thought I'd drop by to let you know we're back, but I'm beat so I'll be seeing you-"

Dave didn't get far, as Balthazar had magically glued his feet to the floor, "Sorry, he's suffering magical exhaustion, you're jet-lagged from a romantic city break. Not gonna happen Dave."

Dave let his head drop, "Seriously?" Balthazar, he decided, had perfected his smug look far too well, "I hate you."

"Page 347 in the incantus – correctly matter-arranging inanimate objects so that you don't get you and your Master crushed in a piece of junk car."

"Let it go already!"

"Are you certain this is a wise course of action, Balthazar? He is, after all, a born and raised Morganian." Veronica curled up into her lover's side as they watched the training circle and Dave fall repeatedly on the ground. Drake was asleep again, and Becky was at class, and so Veronica was taking the chance to tackle a rather complex topic.

"Bob, don't weave!" Balthazar yelled out at Dave, who was taken out by a rather violent paper aeroplane as it whirled around for its next assault.

"What part of me not being into sports has passed you by?" Dave shouted back furiously as the plane dive-bombed and wedged itself in his ear, thus distracting Dave with a renewed wrestling match.

Balthazar shook his head, before turning back to Veronica to address her question, "I know this is the right path."

"That may not be enough. Dave is clearly not comfortable with the arrangement, and Drake is sleeping more and more. His magic is recovering much quicker than I think you anticipated. If you have any hope of taking up his training, he will need to be forged a ring tonight."

"I had hoped for more time to get to know the boy." Balthazar agreed, "But I missed out on Dave's training for more of a decade, and he turned out...passable."

Veronica hit him lightly on the arm at the good-natured barb, "Dave is the Prime Merlinian, Drake is not. He's not even of our order."

Balthazar didn't reply, only watched Dave's movement as he finally managed to summon enough water to weight down the plane so that it crashed in a spectacular sodden mess on his shoes. Dave shook his head at his feet, "I think we can safely say that water is not my strong suit."

"It was an epic battle, dear, they will be no doubt singing songs of it." Veronica replied with a soft smile.

Dave scowled good naturedly, "You know, sarcasm doesn't suit you. You should leave it to your broody other half."

"I don't brood!" Balthazar was jerked out of his thoughts

"Whatever, I'm meeting Becky for coffee. Catch you later!"

"What about your-" The door had already crashed shut.

"He can move quite fast when he wants to." Veronica noted.

"Yeah, I need to remember, sticking spell first, talking second."

"So?"

"So what?"

"Don't play ignorance with me, Blake, I know you too well." Veronica grinned.

"I'll talk to him tonight."

Drake shuffled out of the back room and focussed first on getting down the concrete steps before he realised that the rooms was glowing with a cobalt blue fire as it played across the runes in the floor. He suppressed the uncomfortable queasy feeling that often now swept him whenever he was near active magic. It was an odd pressure, building from somewhere that could not be defined in the physical realm, but it was decidedly powerful. He had slept for over eighteen hours that time, and it had only made him feel worse. While before the pressure had been niggling, it was now building to a migraine that just made him feel as if he wanted to go back to sleep. "Morning."

Drake turned to see Balthazar sat with his feet propped up on a little round table, drinking from a tea cup, "What time is it?"

"3 am. Doesn't make it any less of a morning though."

Drake just stared, "Do you ever sleep?"

"Caught up on a whole decade's worth in an urn. It was either that or listen to Horvath whine on about world domination."

"Right... Fair enough." Drake shifted from one foot to the other, unsure where to go now with the conversation.

"So, up for forging your ring tonight?"

"Wait, what? I thought this was for Dave..." Drake gestured to the fire.

"You knew that you would be needing a ring sooner or later to replace the one you lost. Your magic has been recovering this past month, it's why you've been sleeping more and more. It's getting itself on a roll. Both Veronica and I are of the opinion that your magic is strong enough to cope with a forging, and that if we leave it any longer, it will be too late."

Drake shifted, unsure. While admittedly he had spend a lot of the past month sleeping, he had also spent a lot of it watching – specifically, Balthazar. Dave, he could peg easily. Once they had gotten over the evil-versus-good barrier, they had just learnt to cope with each other's presence. But Drake had no control of his magic, and Dave was so neurotic that he had more complicated things to fret about.

But Balthazar? This was the man who he would be bound into an apprenticeship with until he was released. A Merlinian, of all sorcerers, and one of the first. An apprentice can never leave a partnership, it was always at the Master's discretion, or in the case of the Morganians, if a new Master comes along with enough power to overrule. Dave and Balthazar's relationship was made more fluid by Merlin's ring, as it had not been forged in a ceremony, but rather chosen by destiny. If Drake did this, though, it would be a binding, ancient contract. Just like the one he had had with his first Master.

Just like his first Master had torn in two.

But he had no ring, and he had no choice. Death, or an apprenticeship with a Merlinian. He could hear his old Master in his ear now, the voice distorted by the aging of memory and the encroaching of Horvath's cultured tones.

A true Morganian would choose death.

But his magic, his magic didn't want to die. Drake could hardly blame it for doing what it was doing; it couldn't help it, any more than he could have helped being caught by the parasite spell.

And so he did what any self-respecting Morganian would baulk at the thought of doing. He obeyed his magic's want for growth and life, and the words of a Merlinian.

"Okay."

It was strange, Drake reflected. The past month had been decidedly unsettling, to lack a ring where for so many years his own connection to magic had sat. But now, now there was a ring there once more, and it couldn't feel more different. For a start, it wasn't a skull. No, that had been decidedly the manifestation of his first apprenticeship.

Instead, it was actually remarkably unostentatious. Dave had blandly remarked that it must have been Balthazar's personality that had produced it, because there was no way it reflected Drake's flamboyancy. What had followed was an intensely childish exchanging of alternating barbs and firefly-esque plasma bolts, more flashy than anything else, until Balthazar had hung them both upside down a few feet above the ground.

Drake was loath to admit it, but those few moments had actually been fun. His ring felt completely different from his old one. While his first ring had been like a bind around his finger, a way to force his magic out to his command, this new ring was so much more like a conduit, through which his magic danced and played. It was, for want of a better word, easier. So many spells that had drained him came naturally, and as for his command of the distortion of air, which had always been his speciality, be it for illusion or force, what he could do now was beyond effortless.

Drake ducked his head to the side and waved his hand to redirect a bolt of frantic lightning as it shot too near to where he was sitting reading their incantus. Dave cursed, before yelling over, "Sorry!" He had been trying to master lightning bolts for the past week with varying levels of success and destruction. Unlike plasma, which could be held and controlled before release, lightning demanded a constant path of control during movement, constantly until the target was met.

"No worries, shit happens." Drake called back without looking up. His relationship with Dave had become much easier since they had begun training together, and Drake's experience coupled with Dave's raw power had meant that Drake had perfected his ability to pre-empt Dave's clumsiness. He didn't mind. Hell, it hadn't bothered him all that time ago in the bathroom when they had been on opposing sides, let alone now, when they were equals.

One thing, however, that Drake found rather unsettling about his new arrangement was the complete change in lifestyle. Balthazar had made that perfectly clear – until he was satisfied that Drake could hold his own in case of Horvath's return, he would have to stay out of the public eye. Which in Drake's case, meant live in Dave's lab. The only positive note was that Balthazar and Veronica had moved out to their own place not far away, so Drake could at least rather loosely call the place home. Nevertheless, it was hardly the style he was used to living in; his magic might be having fun, but his hair was looking worse by the day. He was, in fact, at that moment, researching partial illusions, with the hope he could conjure one to sit on his head until he could get to a decent stylist.

He sighed. This was going nowhere. He closed the book and stood, only to have to hurriedly summon up a vacuum in front of him to shield himself from another wayward bolt from Dave. "Oops?"

"Oops?" Drake mimicked, "You're actually getting worse!"

"Yeah? Well if our lord and master would get off his ancient sorcerer's butt and actually give me some help!" Dave snidely directed his words to Balthazar, who was polishing his shoes.

Balthazar grinned, "You're totally in control Dave."

Dave shook his head at Drake, "You know, I am actually beginning to seriously consider that he's an illusion and that the real Balthazar is back at his place with getting it on with Veronica." A low charge plasma bolt hit him in the side of the head, "Hey! That's apprentice abuse!"

Drake cocked an eyebrow, walking over into the circle. Dave was wearing his ring, as he often did when he was trying to learn something new, and Drake couldn't help the nervous habit he had developed whenever he noticed it, as he used his thumb to twist his own new ring around on his finger, in an attempt to dispel the memory of his dead first ring. "Try again. Where you aiming for?"

"Well, it was meant to be that Tesla coil, but it seems to like your head." Dave gestured apologetically.

Drake nodded, feeling his ring warm as the air around his hands seems to contract and release in an anticipating pulse. He let it play up his arm, picturing in his mind's eye the route Dave was trying to create, "Alright, go."

Dave shrugged, and blue static began to leap between his fingers. Anticipating the moment of release, Drake conjured a kind of dense air, creating a tunnel of focus between Dave and the coil. As Dave released, the potential route for the lightening was severely narrowed, allowing the other apprentice to focus on a smaller area as he controlled the route. In a blink, the lightening had connected, "Yes! Finally!"

"Good work, both of you." Balthazar nodded, "All you need to do now is work with a widening tunnel, until you don't need Drake at all."

Dave rolled his eyes, "Don't you love how when he says 'all', you know he means a mountain more of exhausting work?"

Drake snorted, before grinning, "Take out?" Becky was at home for the weekend, while Veronica was on the west coast visiting a coven, so it was just the three of them.

"How about eat out? My shout." Balthazar offered.

Dave shifted, suddenly serious, "But what about...you know."

Drake rolled his eyes, "I ain't gonna scream like a little girl if you say Horvath's name."

Balthazar shrugged, "I think a couple of hours out would be a good thing."

"Okay." Dave agreed, "But I still refuse to venture into Chinatown after the last incident."

"Duly noted." Balthazar smirked.

"What are you doing?" Balthazar asked gently as he sat down next to Drake. Everyone else was out.

"Reading."

"Odd material."

"Not really – they're almost identical. But, really different." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, "That didn't make any sense."

"Actually, it did."

"I can't do any of this." Drake shook his head in confusion, "But I can, because I haven't re-learnt anything. How is that even possible? It doesn't even remember me! It's like I died the day my ring did." He slammed his old incantus shut in frustration.

"Do you know how the two orders came about?" Balthazar asked, the question seeming to Drake as if it had come out of nowhere.

"Of course I do. Everyone does."

"But do you understand?"

Drake frowned, too unsettled after his reading of his old incantus to try and figure out what the ancient sorcerer was trying to get him to say. He shook his head, "It doesn't matter. Whatever, really."

Balthazar stopped him from trying to stand up, "There is no such thing as a Merlinian or a Morganian." Drake stared. Maybe Dave was right and age was getting to their Master, "Not at first at least. An apprentice is a blank slate, a highly strung magical child, who has no more idea of Merlin and Morgana than the story of King Arthur. What they grow to be depends on the Master, and how they are taught. It depends on the nature of their connection with magic, and how this works with their ring. You were right the first time, Drake, both of the books are the same. It is the way they work that differs."

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"Why? The spells are the same, but are made completely different by the caster. You didn't need to relearn spells the second time around because you already knew them, and how you cast them came naturally."

"So I was born a Merlinian and ended up with the wrong Master?" Drake questioned acidly.

"Weren't you just listening? There's no such thing."

"Well stop speaking in riddles then!"

"Okay. Explain to me why your first ring was a skull."

"Because my ex-Master was a first class twat?" Drake muttered.

"Well, probably one of the reasons, yes," Balthazar conceded, "But why else?"

"He always said it was a symbol of power, of fearlessness..."

"Another way to look at it would be the death of the spirit of magic through subjugation."

Drake stared, "Did you swallow a library in your stupidly long life or something?"

Balthazar rolled his eyes, "My point is that every ring has a multitude of reasons behind it, and often the root of that is how you view your relationship with magic."

"So what? I was killing my magic, and now it's all...swirly?"

"We are not born Merlinian or Morganian, and neither can our Masters make us into one. It is us, and the very particles that make our bodies and our choices that determine who and what we are. In simple terms, Horvath could beat you because he truly believed in his right to dominate over his magic, and he found your penchant for playing games with what he viewed as your skills abhorrent. Your ring and your teachings told you to be master of magic, but you weren't commanding it when your magic wanted to have fun with illusions."

"I don't get it."

Balthazar grinned that smug smile that Dave was so fond of, "What does your ring mean?"

"What?"

"I'll see you in the morning, Drake."

Drake frowned, before looking down at his now familiar companion as it sat placidly on his finger. Bright wrought silver, it sat flat, much like a signet ring, with a tiny sea-green gem at its centre. Out from there sprang the triple spiral, twisting gently in the familiar Celtic design. He frowned. He had just presumed it represented his magical prowess with air and wind. Getting up, he sought out the Merlinian incantus, and turned to the page that he knew would represent the day his new ring was forged. There was the sign again, but no explanation.

A quick use of Dave's laptop later, and apparently the sign could represent an interdependence of the sky, earth and sea. He sighed in frustration. Well, that might well be what it meant, but that equally meant nothing to Drake, so he doubted that was what Balthazar had wanted him to realise.

He shut down the laptop and let his mind wander as he allowed coloured smoke to play around his fingers gently, lighting up his ring as it curled.

Three.

Balthazar, Dave and himself? Even as he thought it, the concept felt right. Or even, Master, Apprentice and Magic.

He frowned and shook his head. If a Morganian heard him thinking like this, they would see him to be a failure and a fool. Even in apprenticeships, Morganians were independent; they didn't bow to anyone, even magic. Since before he could remember, he knew the cardinal rule – Morganians did not serve.

But how was letting his magic have fun the same as being its servant? It had seemed to have had pretty good ideas of late, not least taking a new ring and keeping them alive.

Drake ran a hand through his hair. This wasn't him – it never had been. The world should be easy; black and white, good and evil...

He blinked.

No it shouldn't.

It was meant to be about power. That was the Morganian creed.

He looked at his ring again. It could have more than ten million meanings it was so obscure, and maybe that was the point. What were illusions but different ways of seeing the world?

He clenched his fist, and the smoke scattered into tiny puffs of colour that drifted away.

Horvath would have said that symbiosis and independence were nothing more than fancy words to sugar-coat the Merlinian slavery to magic.

Two puffs of blue and green smoke clashed in a brilliant dispersal of colour as they drifted languidly though the air. Drake's eyes flicked back to his ring, and his magic.

He had never been very good at giving orders. Or taking the 'hard line'. Or, in general, any form of responsibility that demanded he had to actually, well, be responsible.

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised his magic had the same outlook on life.

A spluttering and a crash, and Dave fell down the stairs in a cloud of purple smoke, Becky's laughter floating down in his wake.

Drake grinned, his thoughts settled to be revisited at another time as his magic found the whole thing hilarious.

Merlinian or Morganian, between a dank underground lab or a luxurious penthouse, the company had definitely improved, if only for the comedic value.

FIN

Author Notes: So, what did you think? I hope it wasn't too much of an explosion of words! Please review and let me know how you thought it lived up to you interpretation of the film! :)