Summary: Here Sentinels protect cities and towns with their heightened senses and improved reflexes, and they are paired with Guides to help them. Sentinel Arthur Pendragon is next in line to lead the city, but cannot do so while unbonded. Merlin works in his family's sweets shop, and is a powerful empath, flying under the government's radar. Something is brewing on the horizon, something sinister.

Warnings: violence, cursing, unbeta'd,

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." - Emily Bronte

It was on days like this that Arthur felt more keenly aware that something was missing in his life. It had absolutely nothing to do with the mind numbing boredom associated with diplomatic dignitaries. Although, the huge allotments of time spent during introductions, tours, and tedious meeting with said politicians always seemed to correspond nicely with the times Arthur couldn't stay busy enough to ignore the feeling.

Sadly, the young Sentinel had reached the point in time where he had two choices: he could either slam his head into the wall repetitively, or be uncharacteristically introspective. Since his father would flay him alive if he disturbed the very important meeting with something so trivial as severe head trauma, Arthur settled for the quieter option.

For all the advantages his heightened senses gave him, Arthur had never been able to identify what exactly was missing. Only that it's left a dull aching need in its absence. Athur was going to avoid another Guide at all costs, despite numerous physicians and specialists telling him he exhibited textbook symptoms of needing to bond. After two failed bonding attempts, he wasn't really interested in trying again. With Sophia, an inherent wrongness had permeated their relationship, and made bonding impossible, but it had been even worse with Elena when the ache had flared to a nearly unbearable level; intense enough to make him physically ill and completely unable to bond. Obviously a bonding with a Guide was not the answer. But what did that leave?

Sighing, Arthur pulled his focus back to the Ministry officials, sensing that the negotiations were beginning to heat up. It was no use contemplating such things when there were more pressing matters at hand, like the possible termination of the House.

"Sir, I don't think you understand," Uther said with a calmness that belied a simmering fury, "The Pendragon House for Guides is essential to the well being of the city."

"Incorrect, Mr. Pendragon," said a small, stuck up official, adjusting his thick square glasses, "You are the one who misunderstands. The government is in full support of the use of Sentinels, but wouldn't it be far more sensible to allocate more resources to the Pendragon Sentinel Institute, instead? Going to such great lengths for what is basically a personal servant is an unnecessary expense, surely you can see that?"

Arthur briefly wondered what suicidal higher-up thought it was a good idea to send this pencil pusher – who clearly knew nothing about Sentinels or Guides – to the Prime Alpha Sentinel of the city to discuss budget cuts. Arthur also briefly entertained the idea of his father ripping the idiot's arms off.

"Mr. Botts, do you know what the role of a Sentinel is?" Uther glared at the man.

"Just so we're clear," Uther continued no longer hiding the menace in his voice, "It is the Sentinel's duty to protect the tribe; to see the enemy before anyone else, to hear them creeping in the dark, and to defend the tribe.

"Now, perhaps tribe is a bit of a stretch to describe a modern day city like Albion, but the principle remains. The Sentinels use their elevated senses to guard the territory and the people within it," Sentinel Pendragon went on, his words hardly more than a growl, "However, if a Sentinel focuses too hard and falls into a fugue state, only a Guide can pull them out of it.

"Do you understand now, Mr. Botts?" Uther said, his voice raising in volume and ire, "Only a Guide is capable of breaking a zone-out and no one else."

Stepping into before his father could actually threaten with bodily harm, Arthur spoke up in placating tones. Uther really was rather intimidating what with the barely concealed hostility pouring off his body throughout the entire speech, even Arthur was a bit unnerved.

"Perhaps, Mr. Botts, you should reconsider before you completely withdraw the government funds for the House," Arthur suggested. Botts flinched, and looked torn between hiding under the table and running very, very far away.

"We want to help you," Arthur said, "It is our biological imperative to protect, but if you jeopardize our Guides, Mr. Botts, … we can get rather defensive." To put it lightly.

"Y-yes. I can see that now," Botts said, valiantly trying to compose himself.

"And my father is correct." Arthur spared a glance at Uther who had a rather smug look on his face, like a predator toying with its prey. "Guides are an essential to Sentinel welfare. Without them, Sentinels are a danger to themselves and others."

"I was – " Botts paused to adjust his tie. "I was unaware of a Guide's significance."

Before Uther contribute his scathing opinion, an uptight board member cleared his throat.

"Surely that can't be all true. Just look at you Arthur. You have no Guide, yet you perform perfectly well." Arthur stiffened as the entire room's focus turned to him. True, h for the majority of his life his control had been impeccable, even without a Guide, but recently that control had begun to slip. Fugues were occurring with a greater frequency, and sensory spikes had become more painful than ever before.

Clearly, the board member was new. How in God's name do you get a new board member? Isn't there some unspoken rule that you must be old and stodgy to join? Arthur thought miserably.

"Surely other Sentinels could function as well as you do," he continued.

"Truthfully, I'm the exception, not the rule," he said, plastering on a beatific fake smile. "Most Sentinels have bonded with their Guides for several several, at my age."

"Yes, my son is quite exceptional in that sense," Uther added, taking control of the conversation again, and steering them away from his son's unbonded status. "The more prepared an empath is the more efficient they are at guiding Sentinels. It should be apparent that the House for Guides is a requisite expenditure and…"

Yes, Arthur thought as he settled back into his seat, it was on days like these he felt most keenly aware that something was missing in his life.

Merlin stared vacantly out the window past the backwards letters painted on the glass reading 'Emerys Sweets', lost in his thoughts.

A bustling around him brought his attention back to the task at hand. His mum dipped a finger into the pot and stuck it in her mouth.

"Careful, darling," she warned. "Your chocolate tastes wistful."*

"What?" Merlin sampled some to verify her claim, and sure enough, underneath the chocolate and pepper flakes there was a subtle taste of longing and plaintiveness. "Bugger. That's the second batch today."

"Something the matter?" Hunith asked with all the tenderness and care a mother possessed, "It's not like you to be so absent minded."

"No, nothing's the matter." Merlin set aside the bowl, and began to prepare again. These firecracker bonbons were supposed to be lively, vibrant and full of energy, not wistful.

"Come on, out with it," Hunith pressed again. "What's bothering you?" It was no use trying. Merlin might be able to hide the fact that he was Guide from the rest of the world, but there was absolutely nothing he could hide from his mum. The thought brought a smile to Merlin's lips.

"I don't know exactly," he confessed, "It's just this vague sensation that there's something waiting for me out there. Like I can feel it shouting at me." Merlin trailed off, focusing on the feeling again, a yearning pull as if there was something out there crying out, desperately beckoning Merlin. On certain days, Merlin felt nearly helpless against it, barely catching himself before barreling out into the streets to find it.

"Maybe it's just one of those days," Merlin murmured, lost once again to his thoughts.

"One of what days?" Hunith asked, having crossed the room when Merlin wasn't paying attention. Merlin immediately realizes his mistake; he hadn't told his mother about his urge to search for the mysterious thing. Well, there was no putting the cat back into the bag now.

"I can always this… this calling, I suppose, to a certain extent. Some days it's more forceful, and really bay days, well," Merlin admitted sheepishly, "I want to, uh, answer back,"

Hunith's eyebrows shot towards her hairline and her eyes widened. ricocheted against Merlin's mental shields.

"I never do!" Merlin said quickly, hoping to ease her distress. Realizing how loudly her emotions were projecting, Hunith dropped her eyes, and concentrated on her task of refilling drawers with more candy.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. You know how I worry about you. What if it's the House trying to lure you in? I would never get to see you again if they took you away from me."

"I know, Mum, I know," Setting down his bowl, Merlin exited the bar and made his way over to her. "There's no need to worry though," he said embracing her, "I can look out for myself; Gaius taught me well."

"Oh, I know," she said, a small smile formed and Merlin felt anxiousloverelief thrum beneath her skin, "Still, maybe you should talk to him about it. Just to be sure."

Merlin held on to her a moment longer. It was almost poetic, he thought, now that his height now allowed him to cradle her the way she used to do for him.

"I'll ask him next time I see him," he said stepping away.

Then just for the sake of it, he turned and hopped over the bar.

"Merlin!" Hunith said exasperated, "You know better than that!"

Merlin just grinned back at her. She huffed at his foolishness, but Merlin could sense the happy bemusement in her, and she returned to her work with a warm smile on her face.

Merlin returned to his work as well. In a much better mood than before, he was determined to infuse the candy with the right emotion. Melting down the chocolate to just the right temperature, Merlin focused on injecting a fiery enthusiasm, and pushed that nagging sense that there was something waiting for him to the back of his mind.

Somewhere on the North side of the city, three men scanned the crowd on the street, tucked away between two buildings waiting for their target to pass by.

"You sure this is where she'll be?" One asked gruffly, lighting the cigarette clenched between his teeth. The glow cast sharp shadows over his bulldog like features.

The other simply grunted an affirmative. He leaned against the brick wall, while his shorter companion sat on a beat-up old crate, and the third sat curled up on the ground nearly asleep, resting his back against the building with his head on the knees drawn up to his chest; a large duffel bag resting between his feet. His eyes returned to the street. She would pass by eventually, and when she did, they would be ready.

The backroom was quiet. A large fwump resonated in the large storage space. It was relatively quiet as Merlin clambered about knocking over neat stacks of boxes, rummaging about for red paper liners. Ah. There they are sitting atop the highest shelf

Just as he stood on the short stepladder, unbearable agony raced through him. With a loud crash, Merlin fell to the floor, lost to a maelstrom of sorrow and anguish. Oh dear God. Merlin sobbed, he knew these emotions belonged to someone else, but oh dear God, they felt like his own, like his very soul was being ripped to pieces.

He heard the door open, and his mother's distressed cry. But still the only thing he could concentrate on was the stifling mournfulness, cloying despair, and an overwhelming scream of pain loss painpainpainlosslossLOSS!

Then as abruptly as it came, it was gone. Shaking, Merlin sat up gradually. Hunith was at his side, searching for an injury, as he tried to piece together what had happened.

"We need to call Gaius," he said unsteadily.

"What?" Hunith said, her heart racing in her chest, "What just happened Merlin?"

"I don't know," he murmured, alarm edging into his eyes. "Someone – it was grief, such heart-wrenching grief…"

"Who's?"

"I don't know," Merlin repeated fearfully.

Arthur knocked and proceeded to enter his father's office. Uther clapped a hand on Arthur's shoulder meeting him halfway in the room, a satisfied smile spread across his face.

"You did well in the conference, today," he acknowledged. A small part of Arthur's brain wondered if he was having him on.

"Thank you, Father," he said instead, deciding that his father had never once told a joke in his life, and he would be damned if the senior Pendragon started now.

"That Mr. Botts will think twice before crossing us again," Uther said, looking pleased, as if scaring the wits out of the man, had been the whole purpose of the meeting.

"That is for sure," muttered Arthur, who had spent the entire afternoon pleading and cajoling with many very unhappy government officials who 'did not want their representatives harassed' by one Uther Pendragon. Needless to say it was very tedious afternoon spent on the phone attempting to pacify them. Again.

He understood that all Sentinels had the Blessed Protector reflex; Arthur himself had experienced the near animal urge to protect the Guides at all costs. But he thought that his father tended to carry that instinct over into non-crisis situations a bit too often for comfort. A boardroom was not the place to defend Guides with feral determination, why couldn't his father see that?

Uther squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, and then dropped his hand. He walked around his desk, taking his seat like a king would on his throne. Arthur followed suit and took a seat in front of the mahogany monstrosity.

"You wanted to discuss something with me?" Arthur inquired.

"Yes," Uther said picking up a set of papers in front of him. "I wanted to go over the latest Sentinel reports on – " Uther paused, cocking his head as if listening. Arthur focused his hearing to see what had caught his father's attention.

Footsteps made their way down the hall, still several meters away but closing the distance to the office fast. There was something agitated in the cadence of the step. Whoever Arthur heard coming was mostly likely not bringing good news.

Moments later, the door burst open abruptly, and Leon skidded to a halt in front of the desk. Father and son looked on blankly as sneaking sense of dread wormed its way into their hearts. If the foreboding look on the Sentinel Institute Director's face was anything to go by, the next words out of his mouth were not going to be good.

"Sir, a Guide was attacked."

In a flash, red clouded his vision; Arthur could feel his consciousness slipping, and a dark, feral, angry thing clawing up to take its place. He scowled in Leon's direction. Training with Sentinels daily must had aided him, because he was not phased by the heated glares he was faced with now.

"What." Uther ground out, barely suppressing a growl. Leon shook his head pitifully. Arthur inhaled sharply; distress was surging off of him, clouding the room like a heady perfume.

"A Guide was attacked in the lower district." Here the normally confident man hesitated. "She's dead."

The words shocked Arthur out of the feral rage that had been building and he stared at Leon speechless. Uther sounded as if his fury had been doused in ice water, leaving nothing but ashes behind. "What of her Sentinel?"

"Dead as well," Leon replied, voice full of remorse.

"Do we know what happened?" Arthur asked hoarsely.

"She was attacked while walking home. There were no witnesses. We know little else." He looked deploringly at Uther, and waited, clearly expecting some violent reaction.

"Sir?" Leon said beseechingly, when none came.

"Arrange a team of Sentinels. Have them examine the crime scene. They should be able to pick up her attackers' scent," Uther said, in a commanding voice; a righteous fire ignited in his eyes. The Sentinel stood and headed for the door, brushing past Leon. "Report back to me the moment you find something. Arthur, retrieve Gaius, I must speak with him immediately." And then he was gone, marching down the hall; looking for blood.

Obviously dismissed, Leon turned to bid Arthur farewell, however before he could step away, Arthur spoke up. "Wait." Leon paused. "What was her name?"

His eyes widened. Leon knew Uther would not care to ask, but he hadn't expected the young Pendragon to. Pride swelled deep within his chest and he answered.

"Maria, Maria Harper." Arthur nodded, committing the name to memory.

"And Eric." Arthur turned, and looked puzzled. Leon smiled knowingly. "Her Sentinel's name was Eric Harper." Arthur half-heartedly smirked in response. He had known Leon too long if the other man could answer questions before he asked them.

"Come on, Leon," Arthur said grimly, standing to leave, "Duty calls."

* A/N: If you ever saw/read Because of Winn-Dixie and you remember the candy that tasted like melancholy/sadness, this is a lot like that.