A/N – This is a sequel to If My Memory Serves Me Well, and it'll make more sense if you read that first. Sorry it's taken so long to come out, but it's a bit epic, so if you're looking for a drabble, this isn't one for you! It's set somewhere after season three, but goes AU. I've not paid much attention to spoilers for season 4.

Themes - bit of everything, some adventure, angst, romance, H/C, drama

Pairings - all canon, bit of Gwen/Arthur and lots of bromance! No slash.

Warnings - some violence and a bit of death and blood. But nothing too graphic. Gets a bit scary towards the end!

Disclaimer – Merlin and all its lovely characters belong to the BBC. No infringement is intended, and certainly no financial benefit is being made.

It was one of the greatest gifts in the world, Merlin decided, to be able to share your secrets with good friends. It was an even greater gift to be able to share with your friends a really momentously huge secret and have them accept it and move on in a heartbeat as though nothing had changed. It was rare too, for so many people, when admitted into a clandestine fact, found it fractured their friendships. It was only human after all. People seldom welcome change, and when something – or someone – that they have looked upon every day proves to be other than it appears, then the damage can sometimes be irreparable.

But Gwaine, on hearing of Merlin's really momentously huge secret (that he had magic), had carried on as though Merlin had told him his favourite colour was purple. It never came up in conversation, never prompted probing questions, and seemed to alter nothing about the way Gwaine treated him.

It was, in fact, rather nice.

And Merlin knew he wasn't faking. He knew, because Gwen was. On the surface, their friendship seemed the same, and she spoke to him the same way she always had done, smiling when she passed him in the corridors or saw him in Arthur's chambers. But something was missing. It was something in her eyes, something about the way she would look at him when she thought his gaze was elsewhere. It was something that said she didn't trust him any more.

Merlin was more grateful than he could say for what Gwen had done for him; for the way she'd defied Arthur, taken on the dragon, and even entered his nightmares to bring him back to reality. But whatever she'd done, there was a part of him that would give anything to have their relationship back the way it had been before. Before Alvarr. Before the cave. Before he knew everything that was to come.

But it was a big thing, his secret. And it wasn't like he could blame Gwen for treating him differently. It was one of the reasons why he feared to tell anyone else, particularly Arthur. Not that he'd tell Arthur at the moment anyway. The prince regent had enough on his plate.

Uther Pendragon after all wasn't dead.

There were some who wished him that way. Still more who assumed he was, given that he was rarely seen in public these days, and all orders for the running of the kingdom were coming from his son. But he was still clinging on to some semblance of life and closeted in his chambers from dawn until dusk, making only occasional forays into the rest of the castle.

Arthur was coping – well enough – with his father's condition and with the additional responsibilities it had dropped in his lap. He was the crowned prince and had been raised with the certainty that one day his father would no longer be there, leaving him in command of his not inconsiderable kingdom. He'd accepted the fact that being in charge meant that not everyone was going to like you. He'd faced with gusto the challenge of ordering Camelot, protecting her borders, negotiating with her neighbours, leading her army and facing her enemies. He'd even learnt to ignore the things that were said, in not too hushed voices, about his new knights who were of less than noble birth; the servant who had once worked clearing stables and who was now sitting on his council table; and the maid who not so long ago was serving the traitorous Lady Morgana, and who many now gossiped was sharing his bed.

He ignored these whispers, but he still heard them.

Merlin for his part had learnt to deal with his new position in court. The way people were treating him (like he wasn't worthy of his position) actually bothered him much less than it did Arthur. He'd been a servant for years, after all, and a peasant before that. And although he'd had those rather tempestuous teenage years where he'd considered his magic more than enough of an excuse to think himself better than those around him, living with Gaius had quickly dulled those feelings to a background hum, and then faded them to nothing. He knew his destiny and found himself content with what fate had handed him so far, and was happy to just let things happen at their own pace.

It was another one of the reasons why he liked Gwaine's reaction to his magic. It grounded him and reminded him that, while he wasn't what other people might consider normal, he was still Merlin, still the person he'd always been.

Or as close to it as he could be.

There was no denying that being captured by Alvarr, and the events that followed, had shaken him. The sorcerer's blatant cruelty and self-interest, the ease with which he had over-powered Merlin, and the speed with which his actions had forever altered the young warlock's life had all left their mark. But the true legacy of his experience was the visions he had been forced to endure.

Following his restoration by Gwen, Lancelot and Gwain, Merlin had spent weeks recovering, and during that time, Gaius had tried to help him deal with those things that were now indelibly imprinted on his brain. Time heals all wounds they say, and slowly as the autumn weeks turned to winter, and then the warmer days that followed frost, promised spring, the vivid nature of what he had seen began to fade. Not forgotten, but the memory of his friends' deaths, the pain of watching brief human lives burn bright and then fade into darkness, no longer tormented his every waking moment. Eventually they tormented him not at all. Soon he had to actively work to recollect what he had seen, concentrating as you would to remember a poem. It was all still in his mind, but caged and under control.

It comforted him, and while he knew that the key moments in his life and in Arthur's life would always remain stark in his memory, the fear of it didn't need to rule him. In fact, he felt as though his life was almost – almost – returning to normal.

Apart from anything, despite the gossip and the backbiting, his confidence had been raised by his new position. He learnt how to use his knowledge of the future, not with the careless honesty that he had first displayed, but with subtlety and caution. That had come about through necessity, and followed more than one incident early on when his overly-astute council had raised eyebrows and comments from the nay-sayers in court. There had even been whispers about him being in league with their enemies, or even possessing less than natural powers.

After that, he'd become far more careful, helped by the fact that the details of the visions were becoming more and more like a hazy view on a summers day, rather than the sharp relief of a frosty morning.

He wondered later if this was the reason he hadn't seen it coming, the terrible events of that summer. There were times he wondered what would have happened if he'd only been strong enough to keep the future vivid in his mind rather than packing it away as he had done, like an embarrassing relative you don't want to talk about.

Would he have been able to warn them?

But then, it was never supposed to happen like it did. Out of sequence, the dragon had called it, whatever that meant. And in any case, the visions did their part, forcibly invading his life once more as Arthur's rule as regent entered its ninth month. It had been the moment when everything began to change.

It had been an ordinary sort of day. The sun was shining; Camelot had been at peace. Arthur had taken Merlin and his knights on a hunting mission, nothing unusual, and they'd been successful, bringing down a large stag which they'd brought back triumphantly to the castle. Merlin had been tired, muddy, but after a hot bath to ease his aching muscles, he'd settled himself cheerfully at the dinner table as Gaius dished out their evening meal.

They'd chatted through the soup about this and that, nothing in particular, and Merlin had been in the middle of regaling Gaius as to how Gwaine had been almost thrown from his horse during the pursuit of the stag, when he suddenly just – stopped.

Gaius didn't even notice immediately that something was wrong, and it took him several seconds to register that his nephew had not simply paused in his telling of the story for breath or dramatic effect. He was sitting there with eyes glazed over, a vacant look on his face, so similar to how he had been when they'd first rescued him from Alvarr all that time ago.

Gaius put his spoon down quickly. "Merlin?" he asked, holding up a hand and waving it in front of his nephew's face. "Merlin?" he demanded again, but neither his voice nor his gesture brought any response. Merlin sat frozen to the spot, his breath faint and slow.

Gaius got to his feet and moved round the table. "Merlin?" he said, again getting no answer. He took a step back, fear clutching him that the boy might have returned to his former state.

But then Merlin blinked, and took in a breath. His face crinkled in confusion as his eyes took in the empty chair in front of him where his uncle had been sitting.

"Merlin?" Gaius said again, and the boy actually jumped, and turned to him quickly, his face breaking into a smile of relief.

"Gaius!" he exclaimed, putting a hand to his heart. "You gave me a fright." Then he looked confused again. "How did you get there?"

"You don't remember what happened?" Gaius asked him.

Merlin's face slipped into deeper confusion. "We were just talking," he said slowly. "You were sitting there, and now you're here. Obviously you've been learning vanishing tricks or something." He saw Gaius frown. "What is it?"

Gaius was looking at Merlin intently. "I don't know," he said. "We were talking, but then you just stopped. You were looking at me, but not looking. It was like you were asleep."

Merlin shook his head incredulously. "But, I'm fine," he insisted. "I… I don't feel… there's nothing wrong."

"You don't feel any different?"

"No."

"Feel dizzy?"

"Gaius, I'm fine. I would tell you if I wasn't. I must have just – I don't know – had one of those moments."

Gaius didn't look convinced. "Well if you're sure."

"Absolutely," he said, then glanced at the table. "Just – hungry. Can we finish our food?"

Gaius consented to sit down, but continued to keep Merlin under his watchful gaze for the rest of the evening, looking for any signs at all that something wasn't right. But Merlin seemed in perfect health. He hummed as he ground up the seeds Gaius had set waiting for him, and his hand was perfectly steady as he helped the physician to write labels for some of his latest potions. The next morning, he rose on time, and again insisted that he was feeling no ill effects from the incident. He said it with the slight tone in his voice that Gaius recognised as a request not to ask again. And he acquiesced, chalking this one up to something inexplicable, one of the many things about Merlin that he would never get to the bottom of.

The next time, neither of them would be able to dismiss it so easily.

It had only been about a week later. Uther had been feeling slightly stronger with the coming of summer, and he'd insisted on coming out into the sunshine to watch Arthur at work training his knights. That of course, had put everyone under pressure to perform, and Arthur, eager to impress his ailing father and bring him what he hoped would be some peace, worked them harder than he had done in months. Everyone suffered in the heat, and Merlin watched with sympathy as his friends would break from the session and rip off their claustrophobic helmets, revealing red faces and hair plastered to their heads with sweat. He quickly ran over and offered Sir Elyan a water skin, which he took gratefully, pouring some over his face before taking a long drink. Merlin handed another to Lancelot, panting nearby.

"He's on a mission today," he commented, glancing at Arthur, who had gone over to speak to Uther.

Lancelot smiled before mirroring Elyan's actions.

"Nothing worse than a father's scrutiny," Gwaine commented, taking the skin that Elyan offered him.

"Still, he can't keep it up for long, surely," Merlin said quietly. "You're not going to be much of an army if you're all lying on the ground suffering from heat stroke."

"Don't be too sure," Elyan said, as Arthur broke away from his father and walked determinedly towards the training ground.

"Merlin!" he yelled.

Merlin rolled his eyes at the knights, but trotted away obediently to where Arthur was waiting. "You hollered sire," he said quietly, so that Uther would not overhear.

Arthur ignored the comment and raised his helmet before ramming it back on his head. "Fetch that shield, will you," he said, indicating a huge shield with his sword. "Father wants me to demonstrate the forward attack again."

Merlin's heart sank. They'd already done this twice, and his arms were still aching. But looking round at the exhausted state of the other knights, and seeing Uther staring intently at the action, he decided against complaining, and went to retrieve the green shield that had been resting against a wooden bench.

Arthur spent the next half an hour demonstrating the forward attack, until Merlin's arms felt like jelly, and he was sweating almost as much as the knights in their armour.

They were all relieved when, after the final demonstration, Uther felt he had seen enough, and retired to the castle for his lunch.

Arthur was grinning as he pulled his helmet from his head one last time, his own hair plastered down and darkened with moisture. "Knights, well done," he shouted to them all. "Take the rest of the day to recover and see to your armour. We ride out tomorrow to the borders of Cenred's kingdom, and I want you and your equipment in top condition. Who knows what we may encounter."

Merlin's heart sank a little at that thought. Rumours had been growing from Cenred's kingdom of a new and crueller king rising to fill the void left by Cenred's murder, of an army being raised that threatened everyone. He had sensed the darkness, could almost feel cruel eyes upon him whenever he cast his mind in that direction. He knew who that new ruler was, the evil it meant for all of them.

Distracted, he turned to go, wanting nothing more than to collapse onto his bed and forget about the dangers lurking beyond Camelot's peaceful borders.

"Not so fast Merlin," Arthur's voice brought him up short, and he turned without enthusiasm towards his prince. "I need you to check my armour for me, sharpen my sword, and make sure my best horse is groomed and tended in preparation for the journey." Changed role or no changed role, Arthur only ever entrusted his armour and weapons to Merlin. And while cleaning out the stables was now only a job he threatened him with as a last resort, caring for his horses, particularly before such an important mission, also fell to Merlin. "Then we have a council meeting. Don't be late."

Arthur turned away, pulling off his gauntlets and running his hand through his damp hair before reaching for a goblet left for him on a nearby table, and disappearing inside his tent.

When Merlin finally returned to Gaius' chambers several hours later, the word exhausted seemed inadequate for describing how he felt.

"Tired to my core," he said in response to his uncle's questioning. "Sore. Sunburnt."

Gaius smiled. "I saw Uther was up and about earlier. I'm guessing that might have something to do with Arthur's renewed vigour." He handed Merlin a drink as the warlock slumped onto a bench and put his back to the table.

"You could say that," he groaned. "Oh, I feel like my arms are about to fall off! And we're going out on a patrol tomorrow." He took a drink of what Gaius had given him, surprised to find that it was wine rather than the water he'd been expecting. Surprised, and rather pleased.

"Did Arthur say where you're going?"

"Mm, to Cenred's kingdom," he said. "Well, the border anyway. He's curious about all those rumours that have been flying around. It's all he talked about for the whole of the council meeting, asking if anyone had any ideas about who this new ruler might be."

Gaius looked over at him, faintly concerned to see his hand shaking as he placed the goblet on the table beside him. He watched him sharply as Merlin rubbed both his hands over his sun-scorched face. But he reassured himself that his nephew was probably just tired. A good meal and a night's sleep would set him straight. "Did you suggest anything?"

Merlin shook his head, then rubbed his neck. He felt ill, and berated himself for not insisting on taking a break after the training session. But there was always so much for him to do, and no one else that Arthur trusted to do it.

"I think we both know who's taken over the ruling of Cenred's lands," he said, frowning slightly as his head started to ache and then tendrils of pain spread quickly down his neck.

"Morgana," Gauis suggested, still looking at Merlin with concern.

"Morgana without a shadow of a doubt," Merlin said, trying to continue the conversation, but no longer able to ignore the pain that was surging through him.

He felt his own words dim in his ears over the roar of rushing blood, and his senses expanded outwards in a sudden flash. Inside him, something was growing, something terrifying and awful and wonderful.

Gaius heard the strain in Merlin's voice as he made his last statement, saw him close his eyes and take in a shaky breath. He put down what he was doing. "Are you alright?"

Merlin didn't answer, drawing in another breath, a gasp that sounded somewhere between pleasure and pain.

Gaius crossed the room quickly, arriving in front of his nephew just in time to see his unseeing eyes shoot open, and another small gasp slip from his lips. He crouched down, ignoring the shooting pains in his back and legs. "Merlin."

"It comes!" the words were his, but the voice was from somewhere else. "They wait in the shadows, three crows dancing in the firelight. They bring death from beneath us, death in the darkness. And it shall break our hearts."

As soon as the words were out, Merlin blinked heavily as though his eyelids were a great weight in his face, then he pitched forward.

"I've got you," Gaius leaned up and caught him in his arms before he could fall to the floor, pushing him back up onto the seat. He was conscious, but only just. "You're alright." He held him upright as he became more aware. "Can you hear me?"

Merlin nodded, a slight movement of his head only. "What happened?" he whispered.

"I'm not sure," Gaius admitted. "But I think we worry about that later. Come on, let's get you to bed." He got himself to his feet, with no small effort, and then tugged and badgered Merlin until he did as he was told. Together they staggered up the stairs to Merlin's tiny bedroom, and Gaius pushed him onto the bed, getting off his jacket and boots before lying him down and covering him with a blanket. Merlin was asleep immediately, untroubled and peaceful.

Which is more than could be said for his uncle.

Gaius hadn't realised that his own hands were shaking. After reassuring himself that Merlin was indeed fine, he stumbled from the room, and made his way quickly to a chair, breathing hard.

He knew a prophecy when he saw one, and it seemed not strange at all to him that such a thing should happen to Merlin. But it was still unnerving.

Then a thought struck him, and he turned to his desk, scrabbling for parchment and a quill pen.

"Three crows dancing in the firelight," he said to himself as he scratched the words down as quickly as he could. "They bring death from beneath us, and it shall break our hearts."

TBC