Merlin watched the sunrise. As the first rays of light began to warm him, his gaze shifted inward. There was his magic, bound up in his being, his spirit, his very soul. And there were all the hurts, the bruised places, the burns. He had tried to cover them over with fresh experiences, with moving forward, choosing the right path, but is was as though the Sarrum's sword had cut through his defenses, leaving the old wounds open and raw. Or maybe Arthur learning the truth had done that.

He didn't fully understand what had happened in the last few days. It had been magic, that much he knew for certain. Powerful, vaguely familiar. And it had forced him to confront his greatest losses. It uncovered the past, making him face the pain and shame he'd buried long ago. He had to admit that he felt more settled and solid than he had in a long time. Even his magic seemed stronger, glowing like a beacon in his mind's eye.

But his worst failure was yet to come. Even brushing the memory of it burned, and he recoiled from it, casting it aside. He quickly gathered his things, and stood, whispering to the treacherous air as he set off.

"Some pain you can live with, some you can't. Some memories need to be buried."

Morgana blinked.

—fire, bodies, crows, screams, "Is this really what you wanted Morgana—"

Morgana blinked.

The stream continued to tumble away before her, its gleeful coolness a sharp contrast to the desertous doom of her visions. Behind, she heard voices, the sound of cloth, metal. People. Someone might come looking for her, and she desperately wanted to be alone for a day. She stood and began to walk, following the stream.

Gwaine was be responsible.

At least, he was trying.

He had gotten up early— despite a late night the day before— to do some training. He had dressed, made it all the way to the practice yards, and froze. A reasonable part of his brain told him that if Gwen didn't blame him for his actions in Amata, the knights wouldn't either. That if he reached out, they'd be there for him as always. That they'd welcome him home.

Well, Gwaine wasn't known for his reasonable side.

After hanging about for longer than he should have, staying out of sight, he abandoned his attempt and headed back to his rooms to changed. Somehow, time had flown on as he hemmed and hawed, and now he was in danger of being late to the council. He threw on his more lordly attire, and hurried out of his rooms. Making a quick decision, he headed for the servant stairs, hoping to filch a sweet roll from the kitchens on his way to the council chamber.

As he rounded the doorway of the stair well, he plowed into what felt like a brick wall. Bouncing off and landing unceremoniously on his rear, he looked up into a pair of startled, familiar eyes.

"'Lo, Percival," he said, grimacing.

"Gwai- er- Lord Gwaine," Percival replied. "I apologize. I didn't mean to…"

The larger knight torn between bowing and offering a hand. Gwaine's mouth twisted in a wry smile as some of his own nerves vanished in the face of his friend's awkwardness. Taking pity on the man, he extended his own hand. Percival grasped his hand, hauling him to his feet. The two stood silently for a long moment, not quite meeting each other's eyes.

"Well," said Gwaine. "I'd better—"

"Right," said Percival. "Me too. Sorry."

Both men turned, and continued on their separate ways. Then, Gwaine paused, looking back.

"Percival?"

"Yes?" Percival's head popped back into view with startling alacrity.

"Um… we should… talk.," Gwaine said. "Sometime."

"Yeah," a ghost of a smile tugged at Percival's lips. "Sometime."

Gwaine nodded, and slowly headed down the stairs.

"Gwaine?"

At Percival's voice, Gwaine stopped and turned back so quickly, he almost tumbled down the steps.

"Yes?" He replied, trying to cover his fumble by leaning on the wall as he looked back at the larger knight.

"Would tonight be alright?"

Gwaine' face split into a large grin.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I'd like that."

"Knights' chambers then, to start?" Percival said with an answering smile. "Everyone misses you."

"Do they?" said Gwaine, not covering the uncertainty that colored his voice.

"Yeah," Percival sobered slightly, and sincerity poured from his eyes. "They really do."

The two shared a long look. Then, Gwaine continued on his way, smile still playing on his lips. No matter what the rest of day brought, at least something had gone very right.

Something was wrong.

Merlin could feel it in his bones. His senses were heightened; every moving breeze and snapping twig caused his eyes to dart and his shoulders to tense. The last few days, he had felt a cloak of magic around him, even as he was consumed with the presence of Will, then Freya. That magic now swirled around in a feverish whirl. It itched and pulled his senses in a thousand direction. As if to echo this, the forest before him was full of shadow and bramble. There was no path. Merlin trudged on as best he could, straining for anything that might help him regain his bearings.

As he fought his way through the forest, he grappled with his own thoughts. They kept straying, unbidden, to that dark corner of his soul, to a tangle of pain and shame he had never truly come to terms with. The thoughts clung to him, just as the thorny creepers of the forest clung to his clothes, pulling him back each time he thought he had escaped their grasp.

Leave me alone! he thought, wildly.

You are alone now, the persistent corner of his mind answered. Maybe you'll finally listen.

There's no point! It's done. It's finished.

It will never be finished, because of the choice you made.

I didn't have a choice!

There is always a choice.

I did what I had to do to protect Arthur. To protect Camelot!

To protect yourself?

Merlin stumbled to a halt. Blinking rapidly, he pushed forward, jaw clenched.

I made my choice out of duty. Out of loyalty. Out of—

Fear?

Merlin stood quietly. Around him, the sounds of the forest echoed. The wind in the trees. The rush of a nearby river. The gentle song of birds.

You failed. You let your fear guide you, and you turned your back. You made a mistake, and you've paid for it. Doubtless, you'll be paying for it for years to come.

How do I live with that?

Accept it. You are Emrys, powerful and wise. But you are also Merlin, fallible and afraid. You will not always make the right choice. There will not always be a right choice. But to turn your back on that failure is to pay the price for it and lose the lesson. To burn your hand on the stove and promptly forget that fire is hot.

I can't turn my back on the past. I have to let it guide me, as painful as it may be. My future depends on it.

With that, Merlin straighten his back, and changed his direction.

"You're getting off point, again," King Alined scowled. Arthur was ready to wring the man's neck. He'd done nothing but poke holes all day, bringing up countless problems and offering no solutions. "A woodcutter's son may be a fine Headman for a village, but not for a kingdom."

"How many Amatans know anything about ruling?" Sir Boris leaned forward. "Do they know how to lead an army? How to disperse the resources of the crown? How to read and write?"

"That's a fair point," said Caedmon, brow furrowed. "It's well and good to prevent the bloodshed of war, but it will all be for nothing if the people starve next winter through mismanagement."

"Just because they're peasants doesn't mean they're helpless," Gwaine cut in. Arthur was glad to see some spark back in his friend. "They know their land. They know how to defend themselves."

"And as for the rest," Elena said, picking up Gwaine's thought. "We might help establish, I don't know, a place of learning there. To train up the future leaders of Amata."

"And you're doing this, why?" Alined sneered. "From the goodness of your heart? And from your own pocket book?"

"Of course not," Prince Ronald scoffed. Arthur was surprised. He hadn't expected Vivian's husband to speak up. "I'm sure the country can use it's own resources to build the place. The trade possibilities and use of Amata's harbors will more than make up any of our own resources we choose to contribute. Don't pretend this won't be a boon to you, King Alined. Or do you enjoy paying men to hall carts across five kingdoms to do your business?"

"The Sarrum shut us out for years," Prince Bearn said. Bayard's son wasn't particularly bright, but but Arthur had found that the boy had a warrior's clear head. "Not to mention the number of refugees that fled to us from his cruelty. It was a strain. Peace would be a welcome change."

"The details will take time to work out," Mithian said. Arthur envied her easy certainty. "But we should begin work on a plan focused on outcomes, not on the possibilities of failure."

Arthur smiled, hope blossoming in his stomach.

It was going to work.

Merlin had followed the sound of water to a nearby river. The way was easier along the shore, though his heart was still heavy from his inner battle. He was weary. But he was also resolved.

Lost as he was in his own thoughts, he nearly stumbled into the pure, white form that appeared before him. Tall, proud, beautiful, he had encountered one once before.

It was a unicorn.

Merlin approached the creature slowly, one hand extended. The unicorn thrust its nose into his palm, blowing gently and lipping him fingers. Moving closer, Merlin stroked the beast's long white main as he contemplated this incredible creature of beauty. Of healing. The unicorn turned, regarding him with large solemn eye. And finally, Merlin recognized the familiar magic that had haunted him the past three days.

Suddenly the unicorn snorted, dashing away into the forest, leaving him alone by the stream.

Merlin looked across the stream-

And straight into her eyes.

Those cold, piercing, unforgettable blue eyes.

He dropped to his knees.

A long moment of silence passed as the two regarded each other.

Then, the words came.

"I'm so sorry," he said. His voice carried across the river, and seemed to hang in the air. "The first time you told me about your magic, your visions, your fear, I should have taken your hand and said, 'I know. We're the same.' I knew it was the right thing to do, but I didn't do it. I could have shared so much of your burden. I could have learned with you. I could've helped you. But I was afraid. So I lied. I tried to help, but I hurt you."

He paused, swallowing as wetness pooled in his eyes.

"I know that I'm not to blame for the darkness you embraced or the wrongs you've done. You chose to walk that path. But I know what it's like to feel like a monster. To be afraid of your own magic. And I made the choice not to help you. I'm sorry."

Merlin took a deep breath. The figure across the river just stared.

"I will fight you again, as Merlin and as Emyrs, if you attack Camelot. If you try to hurt the people I love. But I won't forget that you were once one of them. I won't forget the woman you were. The woman I failed. And I vow to you, or whatever's left of the person you once were, I next time won't let my fear stand in the way of doing what is right. I swear it."

With that, Merlin turned and walked away.

...

Morgana blinked.

And blinked.

And blinked.

Then she got up and headed up the shoreline toward the camp.

She had a lot to consider.

They were so close. As the sun dipped toward the horizon and candle's were lit, Arthur felt his hope swell. The representatives of Albion began to rise from the Table as scribes gathered the plans and contracts they had drawn up. By tomorrow, there would be an agreement, ready to sign. Arthur shared a smile with Gwen as they began to take their leave.

Then, the chamber door slammed open.

"Stop, in the name of the King!"

"Sorry, Sire, they wouldn't wait—"

Arthur held up his hand, silencing his guards, as he addressed the shadowy figures in the doorway.

"Who are you, to interrupt this council? What is your business here?"

The two men stepped forward, and their faces stirred up distant memories.

"I am Alvarr of the Druids," The man with blonde hair and a proud face stepped forward. He gestured to the dark haired man next to him. "This is Julius Borden. We represent countless people in Camelot, in all of your kingdoms, who are oppressed and powerless. We ask to join the council, that we might be granted the land of Amata. To be a free land for our people. A land set aside for those with magic."

(AN: Soooo... yup. The next episode is not complete yet, but I am working on it. Hopefully, I'll have it done before too long. In case anyone is still confused, Merlin wandered into somewhat of Anhora's domain. Sensing his brokenness of spirit, the Keeper of the Unicorns set three meetings before him, calling on two spirits and creating one meeting of a less spiritual nature. Unicorns are traditionally associated with healing, and I like the idea that Anhora does more than just punish people that kill unicorns. Couldn't really find a non-campy way to slip Anhora himself in, with everything I needed to drop at the end of this chapter, so sorry if that was confusing or unclear. Thanks again for sticking with me! See you soon(ish.))