A/N: My first real epic story! Putting on my brave face :-) Thanks to Beth for beta reading!
Enjoy!

Steps of Destiny – Chapter One

It was so dark he could barely discern the outline of the forest surrounding him. A pine-scented breeze felt cool against his fevered skin. A chorus of crickets hummed nearby. He paid no attention to it, his mind focused only on one thing. He had to keep going. He could not think, eat, or sleep; he could not do anything but this.

His surroundings were nothing but a colorless blur, as he pushed himself onward. All rational thoughts abandoned him days ago. Only the anger and fear kept him going and the threat of nightmares and pain kept him from stopping.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, he pushed his fatigued body beyond its limits. Tightening the hold he had on the small object in his hand. The bottoms of his feet were torn, bruised and bleeding from running so long without boots. Why he didn't have them, he couldn't remember. There wasn't much left of his clothing either, most of it ripped and tattered, from being snagged so many times on the bushes and trees he ran past.

His flesh throbbed painfully from the various cuts and bruises he got from stumbling through the forest for what seemed like days. His bones felt like they were on fire, and his muscles strained from the constant motion. All he knew was that he couldn't stop, couldn't rest. If he did, then the nightmares and agony of what had happened would start all over again. But that's what they had wanted; they had wanted him to suffer for what he had done.

He blinked, trying to clear his watering eyes, struggling to focus his vision. Using the sleeve of his torn shirt he tried to wipe away the water from his eyes, only to succeed in blurring his vision more.

Running seemingly forever with the smell of sweat and fear in one's nose would weary anyone, and it was getting to him too. He was so tired of running and being in a constant state of fear, but he couldn't go home. Not that he even knew which way it was. He just couldn't take the risk of the same fate befalling Camelot and his friends, as it had the others. Enough people had suffered because of the choices he had made. He was bound and determined not to let anymore innocence fall because of him.

So many dead...and all because of me...

He choked back a sob, trying to push the painful memories into the back of his mind. He had woken up in the middle of this god forsaken forest alone. He had laid still for hours, in fear of them still being around. He just lay there listening to the sounds of the forest around him, and noticed they hadn't taken the small object he now gripped tightly in his hand. It was then he finally realized that he was truly alone, that he curled up under a small tree. Pulling his knees up to his chest he buried his head in his arms. Sitting there lost and alone, the full force of what had happened hit him, and he let his emotions go. The tears had the sobs burst from him like a damn. The pain of what he had lost and the agonizing memory of seeing all those people who had suffered.

He couldn't bring himself to look at the thing he carried in his hand, it was given to him as a reminder of what he had lost, and it was all he had left. The tears fell like rain, and eventually exhaustion over took him and he fell asleep. It is when his mind entered the realm of dreams that he began to understand the true nature of the curse, the curse they had placed on him. It was this curse that truly frightened him, and drove him continuously forward.

Shaking his head, he pushes the thoughts away, and tried to focus on just getting one foot in front of the other. In the back of his mind, his magic begins to hum, which shocks him a little, he has been trying to call on his magic for days with no success. An icy chill of foreboding shivers through his body. He knows he isn't thinking clearly, and his sleep deprived mind might be playing tricks on him, but he can't ignore the sensations his magic is sending him. Someone is out there. Following him. Coming after him.

Its them! Their coming back for me! No...no...must keep going. I'm not ready to fight them...not yet. faster faster faster.

Panic begins to set in and he tries to increase his pace. The ground becomes muddy and his steps even more sluggish. What little sense of balance he has, left him now too. His mind is in a state of panic, his heart beats rhythmically and the pain is all he can sense. Trapped in this nightmare, he continues to stumble forward.

As he attempts to run, a new feeling is growing alongside the fear: anger. Anger for what they had been taken from him, and the suffering they had caused. Anger at himself for not doing more...for letting those he cared about down. He squeezed down harder on the small object in his hand, it cut into his palm, blood seeping out from between his fingers.

I'm weak, I'm pitiful. I should have done something; I'm stronger than them, why didn't I stop them!

He let's out his anger in what seemed to be part shout, part scream, and part battle cry. His anger propels him forward; he doesn't even feel his steps, whether he was becoming used to the pain, or his mind was just tuning it out, he didn't care. He would keep going in this half-conscious state as long as he could.

The moment the cloud of anger receded from his mind, the fear came back more powerful than before: his stomach tightens and he bends over as if a powerful force punched him. Leaning against a nearby tree, he tries to catch his breath before continuing on.

The path he has taken leads across a shallow riverbed, where he risks stopping only to gulp down a few handfuls of the icy water. It feels like heaven as it slides down his parched throat, calming some of the aches in his empty stomach. Splashing some of the cold water on his face he hopes that it might wake him up a little.

Glancing up, he feels the pull of his magic again, this time it's stronger. Knowing he can't stop for very long, he absent-mindedly steps through the shallow river. Ignoring the burning stings in his injured feet as they came into contact with cold water. Climbing up the steep embankment on the other side, exhaustion finally overpowers him. He stumbles a few more steps and puts his hands on his knees to prevent himself from collapsing. His lungs burn with each struggling breath, and with each gasp, the pain of his injuries make themselves known. He's now is all too aware of all the aching muscles in his body. He keeps breathing: in-out-in-out-in-out, until his breathing settles into a more relaxed rhythm.

Believing he is calm enough to continue, he misplaces a step and falls.

He cries out and falls heavily to the ground, rolling over and over down the steep incline. Jagged rocks tare his already abused skin. Thorny bushes scrape him unmercifully. He uses one hand to try and slow his decent, refusing to let go of the object grasped tightly in his other.

Images flashed in his mind. His father's final words, as he lay dying in his arms. His mother's sweet smile. Arthur's look of confusion, when he told him that Morgaouse conjured image of his mother was just an illusion and a lie. Gwen's look of fear, when she was accused of sorcery and sentenced to death. The look of betrayal in Morgana's eyes as she lay dying from the poison.

So many regrets. So many wounds unhealed.

His downward plunge ends with a bone-jarring splash as he lands partly in the stream of icy water. White-hot pain sizzles through him and the blackness starts to engulfed him.

Cannot move. Hurts so much.

He was miles from help. No one knows where he is. He had been taken by magic, stolen out of his room in the middle of the night. How long before anyone realized he was gone. A fortnight? A month? Longer? Would he ever get out of this forest alive?

No! I will not give in! They will not win.

Trying to pull on his magic to give him strength, he feebly lifts his head and tries to will himself to get up. But the fatigue and the pain are too much, and his magic seems to have abandoned him yet again. He closes his eyes, letting his head slump back down and succumbs to the darkness. Knowing that the inevitable was coming, a small part of him just wished for it to end, before the nightmare began.

He stands in the middle of the small cottage and watches as small flames began to dance around him, when suddenly fire engulfs the walls around him. His eyes are watery with smoldering ash that burns. The blackness of the smoke is getting thicker and starts to intertwine with the orange of the flames. He coughs and gasps as he struggles to escape, but the flames have blocked his only escape route.

He narrows his eyes to a squint, searching desperately for the door, but the room is hazy and indistinct through the smoke, and his stinging eyes are streaming, blurring his vision. His throat and lungs ache, seared by the smoke, and no matter how deeply he gasps, he cannot get enough air.

"Somebody please help me!" he rasps. His voice is hoarse. His cry barely more than a croak as the smoke fills his lungs.

He watches as the flames draw closer and hotter. Eventually it is all he can see. The heat is unbearable, scorching his hands as he tries to crawl away from the flames. Black spots dance before his eyes. He struggles dizzily to get away, but there is nowhere to go. The fire is all around him, the flames licking at his clothes, his skin. He can smell the stench of burned flesh and singed hair, and the pain is almost too much to bare. He is dying.

He lays there in a haze of pain and fear, praying for the mercy of death to end his suffering. It doesn't come, it only gets worse. Images began to flash in front of his eyes. Women, men, and children all of them trapped by the same fire that is turning him to ash. There are so many of them, burning...dying. Their pain becoming his own, and his own screams become mingled with theirs.

There is nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide from this unimaginable agony.

Suddenly there is a blinding flash of light and he squeezes his eyes shut from the overwhelming brightness. The light reaches out for him and surrounds him. The pain begins to fade, and a different kind of warmth begins to fill him.

"Merlin...you mustn't..." a woman's voice whispers in his ear. It's hard to make out her words, as his body and mind are becoming overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations he is feeling.

It's too much! Please...just let it end. I can't take anymore!

"I know...feel your pain...take my hand!" He can barely hear her now, his mind was beginning to shut down, it was too much for him to handle anymore.

"Please!" the voice screams.

The desperation in the woman's voice catches his attention, only because he has felt so much of it these past few days. Opening his eyes, he sees a slender hand appear through the blinding light. There is small sliver of hope that starts to grow in his heart, he doesn't hesitate and reaches for it.

Merlin's eyes snap open, and a scream rips out from the back of his throat. A scream that tares at the very fabric of his soul. It is filled with so much pain and suffering that it shakes the very ground he lies on.

R&R please!
It's my first real story! So please tell me what you think! Second chapter coming soon!