A/N: Hello there, Merlin fandom! Lemme introduce myself - I'm known, in my little corner of the Internet, as Amy. It's nice to finally contribute something to the fan base - I've spent the last few months since the finale (sob) reading all these lovely fanfics, and now I'm ready to post something of my own! :D

The story's set between series 3 and series 4 - canon up to series 3 - and it's going to be about 6 chapters long. I've written most of them already, and I hope to update weekly. I hope you enjoy this first chapter. Remember- reviews are like cake. I like them ;)

Spells are on the way, but don't worry Merlin fans! I've put the English next to them. Don't get too impressed - I don't know Old English. I'm sorry if you speak the language and I failed but all I had to translate was a website which only translated a word at a time. It was a lengthy process.

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

1

He didn't really notice it at first.

There was an alteration – only slight, but an alteration nevertheless – in the aura around him. No-one really noticed it; only his manservant, Merlin, and his… well, he didn't really have a label for Guinevere (not one that he could proclaim openly to his father without being accused of being under an enchantment), but she did seem to note something was different. She didn't think it was bad though – she just thought he seemed… happier. That's what she had said.

Merlin, however, was a little more hesitant and wary, but the Prince put that down to his cowardly nature. The boy was never too fond of change. Well, maybe this change was good. It seemed good. Merlin was just being his stupid, idiotic self.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

Arthur didn't even really understand, or even notice, when it came to his first little trick, if you could call it a 'trick'. Merlin had just left after finishing all of Arthur's assigned chores for the day, and Arthur groaned as he realised his buffoon of a servant had forgotten to close the door. He shook his head in annoyance and, getting up from his desk, he strolled over to the door and reached out to close it. His hand was merely a stretched finger from the door handle, but the door swung closed before he could grab it to shut it himself. His left eyebrow shot up a little, and he assumed that maybe Merlin had remembered to shut the door behind him or come back to do so. His theory, however, was short-lived, and upon opening the door and peering outside, he saw no sign of his manservant: he couldn't even hear the sound of his clumsy footfalls on the castle floors. Merlin was long-gone.

Perplexed, the young Prince looked back over his shoulder, suspecting that his window was still wide open and sending a breeze through the room – this would explain the door slamming by itself, surely. He shut the door and strode over to the window, drawing the curtains open, but his suspicions were yet again cut short as he saw the window, securely shut. He shook his head at the fact that he'd even thought that the window was open – he hadn't opened the window all day, and he didn't expect Merlin would have done it either. In addition, at this time of night he would have at least felt a chill if the window was open and yet he felt none. In fact, he had felt warmer in these last few days than he had in many summer days past, and it was winter.

Arthur sighed, giving in with his investigation. It didn't matter; he had more serious matters to deal with than a door shutting by itself. Maybe he had pushed it shut; maybe he'd just misjudged distance and was too tired to notice. He was, after all, much busier nowadays.

After Morgana's betrayal a few months ago – although Uther denied profoundly, the picture of his life-long friend being revealed as his half-sister and traitor in their midst was too strongly engraved in Arthur's brain for him to pretend it was not true – his father had become less like the headstrong and powerful King he had been for the last twenty-odd years and more like a shell, a shadow of his former self. Because of this, Arthur's princely duties had been increased tenfold, and he was exhausted.

Deciding to retire for the night, Arthur, upon noting that he was not in his bed clothes, let out a long huff, but decided against calling for his manservant and, instead, got changed himself. He'd seen plenty of people change him before, and he wasn't a child – he could do it himself.

Nights didn't turn out to be as suspicion-free and calm as he'd hoped, as he was used to.

A few nights after the door incident, he had a nightmare.

He woke with a startled gasp for air, like he'd been underwater for a very long time, and his eyes darted around the room, just to check the shadow from his mind hadn't escaped and was hiding nearby, wandering the castle.

The room was calm, quiet. He felt stupid as he finally caught his breath and settled back into his sheets.

It was only a nightmare. He had had plenty as a child, and a small handful after entering adulthood – it didn't mean anything except that his mind was playing tricks with him and, as a knight, it was in his blood to have quick, sharp, instinctual reactions. Nightmares were just another way of training this instinct – the need to stay alert, avoid danger, and keep people safe.

Arthur loved his sleep – it was, after all, important for him to get enough sleep that he was able to fulfil his duties when he awoke – and so, after getting over that nightmare, it didn't take him too long to drift back off to sleep. However, though he expected the nightmare to be a one-off occurrence, like most of his nightmares had been in the last few years, he was sadly mistaken.

In the two nights that followed, his dreams were haunted by that same mysterious black figure that had appeared in the first. The first dream had simply been that the figure was only stalking him, chasing him, and in his dreams he had felt helpless; even though he was carrying a sword, the object he felt most safe and secure with, he felt that he couldn't be more exposed, more in danger.

The second nightmare yet again featured this black figure. It seemed to have grown now, though – in the previous nightmare, the creature had been, Arthur supposed, about a foot shorter than him (why he had feared such a creature, he wasn't really sure) – but this time it was just about Arthur's height, maybe a little taller; Merlin's height, perhaps. Though this surely didn't frighten the Prince – Merlin was hardly a terrifying monster to be feared – the creature seemed to come closer tonight than he had previously. The night before, the creature had kept a wary distance from the Prince, like it was merely observing its prey. But tonight, Arthur could recognise the location – the Darkling Woods just outside of Camelot – and, whenever he turned his back, he could feel the dark figure – feel its aura, like it was resting right there on his shoulder.

But this dream wasn't the one to actually make the Prince worry that something was going on. No, it was the third night, when the creature actually spoke to him, that he started to worry that something was going on.

Arthur clutched onto his sword, so tightly that his nails were digging into his palm. Surely they would leave a temporary mark, but he didn't really care. He was back in the Darkling Woods again tonight, and the trees surrounding him seemed so much taller, so much darker than before; the thick branches hung over his head, blocking out any light from the moon above. He felt enclosed, lost, and very, very alone.

The wind quietly screaming around him didn't help his nerves. He knew that, as a knight, he shouldn't be feeling so weak, but he argued that usually, when in battle, he had his fellow knights at his side. Even when he was in a tournament, fighting alone, he had the support of his subjects and his friends alike, who were watching, smiling, and cheering from the stalls. Right now, his only companions were the harsh wind, the black leaves dangling above his head, and the looming presence of the dark figure, whose body was somewhere nearby but whose aura was resting heavily on Arthur's shoulders.

He didn't remember feeling so alone before. Not once in his life.

The wind stopped. A short pause. Arthur wondered if, perhaps, this dream was coming to an abrupt and premature end. But suddenly a wave of air flew into his face, and he guarded his eyes from the dirt that was charging towards his eyes along with the gust with his arm that was not holding the sword. He slowly turned, lowering his arm from his face to see his stalker only a short distance away. He raised the hand with his sword in, prepared to use any means necessary to stop this man. He didn't know what it was, but something was telling him that this man was a sorcerer. His prejudices, rooted into his mind years ago by his headstrong father, repeated to him multiple times that this man had to be some crazed, evil, magic-driven monster who had climbed into his brain and was trying to haunt the Prince into insanity. Arthur felt himself stand stronger at the thought – he would not let a sorcerer possess and destroy him like that.

Any traces of fear Arthur still felt were buried into the back of his mind as he saw the figure's shoulders jolt up and down, like he was chuckling. He was wearing a dark cloak and his head was bowed to the ground, but something just told the Prince that this figure was laughing, smirking at him. Arthur's face set and he scowled as he took the first step towards his stalker, his steps firm and solid. Fear screamed in the back of his mind but the Prince was used to channelling that fear into fury and using that fury in his battles. His hands were shaking a little but he closed his eyes and tried to convince himself that he was just approaching a knight that he was training with.

A knight that was dressed in a dark cloak and was presumably a sorcerer, that is.

Arthur was sure that his enemy was laughing now – he could hear a deep, throaty chuckle. It sounded painful and Arthur winced, but he did not let himself get distracted. This man was an evil sorcerer and he had to deal with him. He swallowed, his throat tight and dry, and tried to force as much authority into his voice as possible.

"Who are you?" He demanded. The figure just continued to chuckle. The anger Arthur felt building in his mind was crushing the fear, pounding it. If this man wasn't going to take him seriously, than he wouldn't let himself fear him. However, the rational part of his brain, which was small and faint in his angry, dream state, questioned that, if this figure was finding something comical, then perhaps he was the one with the upper hand.

"I will ask again," Arthur said, this time a little louder. His grip was still tight against his sword, "Who are you?"

The figure remained looking down, but he finally spoke. "Young Pendragon," He murmured. There was an amusement in his voice; though he spoke in a low and hushed tone, he clearly was not intimidated by his company. This just irked the Prince further. "We meet at last."

Arthur growled, "You did not answer my question. Who are you? I order you to tell me."

A low chuckle. Arthur was sure he heard one this time. "You cannot order me, Pendragon. I am not one of your subjects."

"Yet you are in Camelot and you will do as the Prince of Camelot demands."

Another chuckle. "So much arrogance." He said, circling the Prince like some sort of prey, "I can see you still have much to learn."

Arthur's impatience was growing like a storm in his mind, "To learn about what? What are you talking about?"

"It is of no matter presently." The figure said, pausing on the spot. "You will learn in time. And perhaps that time is coming faster than any of the prophets expected."

"I don't have time for this." Arthur growled, turning on his heels and storming off. He planned to get as far from this madman as possible.

"You are asleep, young Pendragon." The voice shouted after him; a weak shout, but Arthur heard it nonetheless. He stopped suddenly. "You have all the time in the world."

Arthur spun on his heels and came dangerously close to the figure, "Then I'll wake up. Get you out of my head." He threatened, pointing an accusing figure at the man, "We have one of the best physicians there is, and he has an understanding of magic – if that is indeed what you are using – he will get rid of you."

"I am not leaving." The figure said; this time with much more force than Arthur previously believed he could muster. "I am curious to watch this unfold."

"Then watch from afar." Arthur suggested, "I will not allow you to rest in my head any longer."

The figure continued to speak, as if Arthur had not spoken, "After all, this is all happening for you much faster than anyone expected."

This perked Arthur's interest, and his anger. Tightening the grip on his sword, which was previously loosening, he barked, "What is happening? What do you know?"

"You have been feeling different, haven't you, young Pendragon?" The figure began. Arthur lowered his sword, nodded.

"How do you know?"

"I have been watching you. As has been commanded of me." The figure explained.

"By who?"

"That is not important for you to know." The figure dismissed Arthur's question. Arthur huffed, impatient. No-one he knew would dare talk to the Prince like this. Well, maybe Merlin… but he was an idiot. An odd exception.

"But I find it interesting," The figure continued, seemingly oblivious to Arthur's impatience, "how you have not noticed what the prophets are noticing."

Arthur paused. "Noticed…?"

"The change." The figure emphasised. "The change that has been happening to you just recently. Surely you have noticed, correct?"

"I just…" For the first time in their conversation, Arthur felt his throat go dry. "I suppose I have…"

"And what do you suppose it is?" The figure asked, clearly interested to hear Arthur's diagnosis.

"Um…" Arthur stopped to think. What had changed, really? He was happier, wasn't he? Or, he felt so, anyway… "Perhaps, the effect of the betrayal of…" His throat closed, and he chocked out his half-sister's name like a bad taste in his mouth, "…of Morgana… is wearing off. Perhaps I am getting over it." He knew that was nothing to do with it the second he spoke of it. A small part of him feared that he'd never get over Morgana's treachery.

The figure lifted its head slightly, for the first time. Arthur could only see his mouth – his wrinkled, damaged mouth – but that was all he needed to see to know this: the figure was smiling.

"Funny that you should bring up your half-sister." The figure mused. He began circling the Prince again. Arthur gulped. This was clearly a sign that his company had the upper hand here.

"You know Morgana?" Arthur queried. A shake of the head.

"No. No, not personally. Though the prophets speak of her greatly; some with malice and disgust, some with pride and praise."

Arthur could not understand what the figure was now speaking of. He ignored the subject of prophets, "Why is it interesting that I bring her up, then?"

The figure looked slightly up at Arthur again, his mouth showing, "Do you remember, young Pendragon, your half-sister before her betrayal?"

Something churned sickly in Arthur's stomach. He had fond memories of his father's ward – the kind, considerate girl who grew into a caring, headstrong, brave young woman. Arthur closed his eyes in mourning as he remembered that he had no idea where the truth of Morgana's loyalty ended and the lies began. He had pondered, time and again, that perhaps she had never truly been on their side. That thought scarred the Prince, ever so deeply, like a sword wound.

"She was kind." Arthur said, his voice shaking for only a second, "Loyal. Merciful. Compassionate." He swallowed, "As a child she had no signs of hatred or evil or anger for me or my father. She loved him with all her heart."

The figure smirked, "Surprising how people can change when they're driven too far." He mused, almost like he'd forgotten Arthur was there. "But that is not what I was referring to." Arthur stayed silent, willing the figure to continue explaining. "Your half sister was plagued with nightmares, was she not?"

Arthur felt his heart sink as he began to realise what the man was suggesting, "She… she was, but…"

"And you may have not seen, but she was also able to pull off a few little instinctual tricks, even before Morgause began to teach her magic."

Arthur's eyebrow rose. "…Tricks?"

"She made glass explode when she woke from a nightmare, once." The cloaked figure folded his arms, and Arthur saw it as a sign of disrespect and mockery.

"That is irrelevant."

"Oh, but it isn't." He said, and then continued with his points, "She also shattered a window, and started a fire in her own chambers."

He sighed, shaking his head. No. No, he was going to live in a state of denial for as long as possible. He was no longer listening. He didn't want to listen. Not if this man was suggesting what Arthur thought he was suggesting.

"I have done nothing of the sorts." Arthur said, his voice booming, though the undertones of his voice were riddled with fear and suspicion and worry.

"These things start small, Pendragon." He said, and a sigh accompanied his words. "Sorcerers work for months – years – to get to a point where they can be considered a threat."

Arthur blocked that word out of his head. He still didn't want to consider the possibility.

But there was a miniscule part of him – only small – which thought, very hard, about what the figure had said. Months. Years. If he was a… if he had…

He skipped that bit.

But if he did, if he was, well, he wouldn't be a threat. Not for a long time. And maybe in that long time he could find someone to help him stop it.

But his irrational brain still would not even dare to consider that possibility.

"This is ridiculous." He pointed an accusing finger at the shadow beside him, "You're just trying to trick me. I know you are. I couldn't-"

"Ignorance will not save you in this instance, Arthur Pendragon." The figure said, now grinning, "Though it is a talent of yours – one of your only talents – it will only make things worse for you."

Arthur's eyes widened in shock. Now he was insulting him! Insulting the Prince!

"How dare you!" He yelled. His fists clenched, he raised his sword. He was close to breaking point; close to losing his head and striking down this troublesome creature. "How dare you speak of your Prince in that way!"

A small smile toyed at the edges of the creature's lips, and he did not move or cower from Arthur's sword, which shimmered when it caught the faintest shine of moonlight. "Speaking again of rank." It said, barking out a laugh, like it was no longer talking to the Prince, "Arthur Pendragon; the One who brought back the Round Table, who spoke of equality between all men. Boasting rank!" And he laughed again, like he had heard the funniest of jokes. Arthur's teeth grinded against each other behind his lips and he threatened the figure in front of him, resting his sword just underneath its chin.

"You will be silent!"

"No, Arthur Pendragon." It smirked, showing no fear. It didn't shake or cower like most that Arthur threatened; it was almost victorious in its motions, in its speech. "I will not." And then it took a large breath, preparing for something. It took a deep breath, closed its eyes, and Arthur stood, anticipating, and then it spoke again, "Hætende!"

Arthur yelled out in pain; his hand was suddenly burning. He dropped his sword in a shocked instinctual reaction and that gave the sorcerer – for he had performed magic now; there was no denying that he was just that – to step a few paces back. Arthur's eyes darted back up to the monster, and his eyes were wild. Now he had seen the sorcerer perform magic, and do it for an evil purpose, he would arrest him. He'd heard enough from the monster, anyway – and, spewing from the mouth of a sorcerer, everything he was saying was all certain to be lies. He picked up his sword, which was still warmer than normal after the enchantment, but no longer burning hot, and stepped dangerously and slowly towards the sorcerer.

"By the laws of Camelot, I hereby arrest you." He scolded, forcing his voice into a state of emotionless authority. The sorcerer did not seem to acknowledge Arthur's words, though. It took in another large breath and Arthur could only imagine it was preparing for another spell, and so he continued speaking hurriedly. "For your uses of sorcery you will be sentenced to death."

But he was too late.

"Byre, fylst mé. Néadhæse mé." (Wind, aid me. Obey me.)

Arthur grimaced. The winds picked up around him and he looked around, alert in case of any attack. He looked back at the sorcerer, whose hood had now flown off of his head to reveal an elderly face. Arthur had had enough experience to know that this didn't matter – aged sorcerers were no less of a danger than young ones. Age meant experience, and any sorcerer who had survived that long and not been captured had to be powerful.

The wind was building up around the sorcerer, like a tornado around him. The woods around them rustled violently and Arthur feared a tree would fall on top of him.

"Stop this!" He yelled, hoping the sorcerer would stop, but his order fell on deaf ears.

"Ic níedriht bæc hine. Sé æðeling níedrihtáwæcnaþ." (I must leave him. The Prince must awaken.)

The sorcerer opened his eyes, and they glowed golden. He ignored the wind building around him and focussed on Arthur, who looked at him with a mixture of fury and distress. The spell continued and Arthur wondered, vaguely, as a feeling in the back of his mind suggested that the sorcerer was now speaking, in this ancient language, of him. He swallowed.

"Hé níedriht áscaþ." His look of mockery suddenly turned to one of respect, though Arthur doubted it was respect for him. "Hé níedriht áscaþ, swá Emrys cwide álæreþ." (He must learn. He must learn, so Emrys will teach.)

And then his feet were off the ground. He closed his eyes again as he rose, further and further with each second.

"Fléam þone andan, Pendragon." His eyes opened and glowed golden again. Arthur tensed at his name. (Flee the mind, Pendragon.)

"What did you to do me?!" He roared.

The sorcerer did not reply. He simply breathed out his last word. "Áwæcnest." (Awaken.)

Arthur swung forward, his eyes bursting open. It only took him a second to realise that he was breathing unnaturally quick. A burst of light came from beside him and he took a defensive stance, worried the sorcerer was attacking again.

Except when he turned, he only saw the tall, lanky figure of his servant with his arms spread out; he had just opened the curtains. Hence the light. His mouth was wide open, as if his usual "Rise and shine!" had died right there on his tongue. He looked confused, shocked.

Arthur looked down at himself and noticed he was lying in his bed, wearing his bed clothes and not the chain mail he had been wearing only a few seconds ago. He looked back up at his manservant, whose eyebrows were now knitted together, a crease of worry on his face, though it was mostly highlighted with confusion, and perhaps even slight amusement.

"Um… Sire?" He walked up to the Prince, standing over him, his hands held together, behind his back. He was clearly trying to cover up a snarky comment about the Prince being so (supposedly) frightened to see him. "Is everything… okay?"

Arthur sighed; almost all memory of his nightmare had disappeared, or at least hidden for the moment, now that he saw his clumsy, useless manservant. It nibbled away at a little part of his brain at the back, but the rest of his mind was far too busy wanting to think of some kind of retort he could use to make his manservant look stupid.

But nothing sprung to mind. He shook his head uselessly, looking up at his servant, who swayed back and forth on his heels, anticipating. "Yes, Merlin. Everything is fine." Arthur replied, in the usual irritated, impatient tone that was reserved only for Merlin.

"Oh, really?" Merlin raised an eyebrow. A challenge. "So that's why you're up and awake so quickly? When it usually takes you hours to even lift your head after I open the curtains?"

Arthur clenched his teeth together. "Yes." He muttered.

The bumbling servant was persistent. Arthur supposed that, after the last few days Merlin had spent hesitant at Arthur's minor change in aura, the servant was back to doing what he probably did best – annoying Arthur. "You know, Arthur, I thought I heard you mumbling in your sleep when I walked in." He pointed out, folding his arms, giving up his goody-good-servant pose (not that he was too successful with that pose in the first place), "And you kind of… screamed when you woke up."

A smirk played on Merlin's lips, and Arthur found his fists shaking beside him.

"A Prince does not scream, Merlin. Screaming is for cowards." After he said it he couldn't stop himself. He fell into their banter almost naturally. Though, given his current state, it was a little too natural. He felt that, rather than stepping so easily into his normal routine when, really, everything was not quite normal, he should instead be hiding away from the world right now; hiding until he found out what was really going on. "You would know, of all people – your cowardice has been demonstrated more than enough times in the past."

"Really? A servant who goes into battles with no armour – not even a helmet – and you consider him a coward?"

"It's not like you actually fight or do anything useful in those battles, Merlin; let's be honest." Arthur murmured, shoving off his covers as he got up and ruffled Merlin's hair, regardless of the man being a little (and only a little) taller than him. "You probably just hide behind a rock until it's all over, waiting for someone to come and rescue you."

Merlin let out a little moan in defiance, and he shook his head. "I'm more useful in battle than you'd think."

"I don't believe that for a second." Arthur said, before folding his arms, "So, breakfast?"

Arthur hoped this would drive his servant away and give him a few moments to gather his thoughts about his nightmare, but Merlin, being the idiot he was, clearly wasn't taking the hint.

"You had a nightmare, didn't you?" Merlin queried, struggling to shove the grin off of his face. Arthur's heart sank, but he tried to not let his face show it. "Is that why you screamed?"

"I did not scream." Arthur growled, "And only children have nightmares."

Merlin shrugged, "I've had plenty before."

"That's because you have the mind of a child."

Arthur turned away, trying to occupy himself with something and hoping that Merlin would finally leave.

But he didn't.

Instead, he sighed and mumbled under his breath, "When I have them, they're usually all about you."

Arthur didn't know whether to slap his servant for his rudeness to his Master or laugh at his effort. Instead, he just retorted, "I'm not deaf, Merlin – I can hear you."

The Prince turned back to his servant, who was grinning. "That was the idea, Sire." The man chirped, before turning for the door, "I'll go get your breakfast."

Arthur let out a sigh of relief, before he considered that maybe thinking this through alone would not help. He needed someone with knowledge, with understanding.

"Merlin?"

The servant turned back as he was just about to step out of the door. He looked somewhat worried at the unsure, questioning tone of his Master's voice. "Yes, Sire?"

Arthur sighed – he didn't want to bring someone else into this, but after three nights of these dreams, and the incident the other day with the door, he needed counselling.

"Ask Gaius to come up to my chambers as soon as he is able."

Merlin blinked, a little shocked at his Master's orders, but he did not argue. "Right away, Sire."

And then he was gone.

Arthur sat on the edge of his bed. Alone, and yet in the company of too many thoughts, he began to piece together what he could of his dreams so that he could be as much help to Gaius as possible.

And then, as the flood of thoughts poisoned his head, he rested it in his hands, wearily.

A/N: Le end... of chapter one :D So, what do you guys think? I'd love to get your input, so go ahead and review! Yes, remember this is my first Merlin fanfic, so constructive criticism is very much appreciated. Try not to flame though :P

Like I said, I hope to update weekly, so I'll see you guys next week! :D

~Amy x