Author's Note: Hellooooo loyal readers, new readers, and the inbetweeners. This is part of the Trust of the King story arc and in this case I would highly recommend reading that before reading this short little story. Many of you asked for me to write a story telling how Awen chose to leave her home and her farewell to Nan. Well, wait no more folks! It is here! I expect this story to be about three to four chapters long…quite short considering the length of its father story. It will have a great deal of Merlin and Awen cuteness, Nan's dry humor, and even a bit of friendship building for Awen and Arthur. Anyways, here comes Chapter 1 and since today is Labor Day and I have neither work nor school it is probable I will finish this and have a chance to work on Aftershocks today. Anyways, please read and REVIEW!

Choices. Life is full of them and they are often so miniscule that people hardly even realize they have made them. The choice of what to eat for breakfast, what to wear that day, which farmer's eggs to purchase at the market. Humanity makes these decisions on an almost constant basis with little to no effect on their lives.

Some choices, however, hover over our minds like shadowy behemoths, casting doubt and insecurity on the aspects of our lives that had previously been strong and stable. These choices often serve as an encore for some life-changing event and can rarely be looked at with a detached, scientific eye. Human beings are emotional creatures and for this reason fate seems to have taken an uncanny interest in them, taking pity one moment and revenge the next. Such choices are never easy because they hold the possibility of failure and rejection and though possibilities of success and acceptance are equal outcomes of these choices, we have eyes only for that which raises terror in our hearts. We freeze as if remaining motionless will blind fate to our presence and she will move on, seeking other prey.

Life, however, does not bow to the ebb and flow of human fancy and continues on no matter how obdurate we remain. It forces a decision upon us, usually the path we would have been least inclined to travel. Perhaps it attempts to teach us a lesson so that we may react more productively in the future, but even wise teachings can be ignored if wanted. Staying still is not an option in the bustle and grind of the mortal coil, though this does nothing to discourage people from trying. Choices are choices, big or small, and must be made one way or the other.

Awen was facing a choice of her own and no matter which path she chose it left an ache in heart so strong it brought her to tears. There is no other choice as difficult as family and love and Awen knew that no matter what decision she made she would be losing an aspect of her life she loved dearly.

Merlin, the warlock she had somehow fallen in love with, would be leaving with his king to return to the mortal world. The man had not been able to give her an exact date, having been recovering from a near death experience, but could tell her with absolute certainty that their departure from her world would be within a week.

She had begged him to reconsider, of course. She had known, even then, that Merlin's decision would not change but still felt the urge to try.

"You aren't ready," she had told him. "You went through a great deal, Merlin. Rest and recover. I am sure Arthur can get along without you for a while."

"I wish I could," the warlock had replied, shaking his head. "I love being with you Awen, I do, but…my loyalty lies with Arthur. I cannot forsake my oath to him, especially now. So much has changed for him this past week and as the instigator of these changes I can't leave him to face them alone. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she had said quietly. "I understand, but it doesn't make me want you to stay any less."

"I know," the young man whispered, smiling sadly. "Life never works out quite the way we expected to, does it?"

She had not answered afraid she would give in to the tears she felt moistening her eyes. She'd been so damn teary lately and couldn't remember a time in her life when she'd been that prone to weeping. If love delighted in denying her what she felt and made her cry all the time she didn't think she liked it one bit.

The young warlock had a soul-crippling nightmare that night, screaming himself hoarse before Awen could finally rouse him from his terror. She had sat with him, cradling his head on her chest, trying to sooth the man's tortured thoughts. He had shaken uncontrollably within her grasp and for the first time, but certainly not the last, she had sung him back into sleep. She had chosen a lullaby her mother had crooned at her as a child, the language of her people falling silky and comforting from her lips.

She willed her power into the words and felt the young man's erratic, terrorized heart beat as it slowed to a steady rhythm in his chest. His breathing eased and his eyes lost the sheen of pure terror and desperation that Awen often saw on animals when caught by whatever predators hunted them.

She had discovered the third and final gift she had been handed as a priestess of the Blessed Way only a day earlier and found that it came easier to her than any of the others. She had always been able to sense the emotions of others, which could be a blessing or a curse depending on the day. There were moments when an emotion would be so overpowering that she would have to shut her mind to keep from passing out.

Her newfound ability was similar to this gift, but instead of sensing the emotions of others she could influence them to a degree. She discovered that she could sooth and calm with a word, noting that such a gift would be of great use to her as a healer. It had already come in handy a great deal with the warlock she had fallen in love with and it was this moment Awen had first considered accompanying the warlock home.

The idea had continued to nag at her all through the night and though she dozed sporadically throughout the early morning hours she woke up as exhausted as Merlin. She watched wearily from the bed as the young man pushed himself and crossed the room, grass shifting shades of color beneath his feet as he walked. He stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment fingering the bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes, grimacing as if their presence angered him. His hair, tousled from sleep, stuck up slightly in the back before splaying out in a crazy mass of shadow black locks. His frown deepened as his fingers disappeared from his face and reappeared on the last remaining patch of intricate black lines in the hollow of his throat. He pushed at it with a single finger, sticking his tongue out at his reflection when it didn't disappear.

"What are you doing," Awen asked, amused.

"I look like a corpse," he said, turning to face her with a disgruntled sigh. "An emaciated, smelly corpse."

"I don't think you're smelly," Awen replied, the tiniest of smiles quirking her lips.

"Awen," Merlin said, pursing his lips. "I haven't had a bath in over a week. I doubt I smell like a bed of roses."

"Well," Awen said, hesitating for a moment. "That isn't entirely true, Merlin."

"What?"

"You had a bath," Awen answered, heat rising in her cheeks.

"Oh, God," the young man stammered, cheeks attempting to pale and blush at the same time. "When was this?"

"When you first arrived," Awen said sheepishly. "You were covered in blood and grime, Merlin. Nan couldn't even tell where your wound was and—"

"Nan," Merlin gasped in horror. "Nan gave me a bath! She saw me—"

"Would you rather it have been Arthur," Awen interrupted, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

Merlin's eyes widened and he shook his head forcefully. He seemed lost for words and Awen couldn't help but be amused. He came and sat back down on the bed and rested his head in his hands.

"At least you are clean," the young woman began, but stopped at the horrified look Merlin had on his face.

"I am so embarrassed," he moaned.

"Just pretend I never told you," Awen whispered, running her fingers down his back, tracing the shiny pink scars that marred his skin, evidence of the griffin's attack sketched into ragged lines as long as her forearm. "But I still maintain my observation that you are in no way smelly."

"Well," he said softly. "That's something I guess."

"Merlin," Awen whispered. "About you leaving—"

"Awen," Merlin said, voice pained. "I already told you that I can't stay. Please don't make this harder than it is."

"I wasn't going to ask you to stay," Awen said irritably.

"Oh," came the young man's soft reply. "What were you going to say then?"

"Are you going to let me speak this time?"

"Yes, I promise to give you my undivided attention."

"Well, I know you have to leave, but…what if I came with you?"

Merlin stared at her, stunned. He looked like he'd had the air knocked out of him and Awen almost felt the need to remind him to breathe, but before she could say the words he took a large breath and turned to study his reflection in the mirror once more. He almost instantly turned back to her, obviously disgusted with what he saw staring back at him. This time he was smiling, though it was a timid thing as if reluctant to make its presence fully known for fear of deceit.

"You would do that," he asked, studying her with unreadable eyes. "You would leave home for me?"

"I haven't quite decided yet," she replied honestly. "It isn't a decision to rush into, is it?"

"No," Merlin whispered. "It isn't. Nor would I ask that of you, Awen."

"Would you like it though?"

"I…I would be very happy, Awen. If that is what you choose, of course."

"Happy? You sound as if you are convincing yourself, Merlin."

"No," Merlin replied, horrified. "No, you misunderstand. Awen, if you were to come back to Camelot with me I would feel complete for the first time in my life. Like all the pieces of my life fit perfectly. My connection with you is…well, it's a power in and of itself."

"That was a bit more believable than happy," Awen smiled. "Why didn't you say that the first time?"

"I didn't want to influence your choice," Merlin shrugged. "I would never forgive myself if I unknowingly forced you into something you didn't really want, Awen."

"I want you," Awen replied. "And you certainly didn't force me into that, Myrddin."

"What did you just call me?"

"Myrddin? It's your name, silly. In our tongue at least."

"Myrddin," the warlock said, testing the feel of it on his tongue. "I like it, though it may have to contend with some of my other more prominent titles. With the way I collect identities I am liable to answer to anything by the end."

"They are just names, Myrddin. They are meaningless without the man behind them. Its you and you alone that gives them power."

"I have half a mind to call you wise," Merlin said, smiling slightly. "But, I have a feeling you heard this before."

"Nan said it to me once," Awen said with a laugh. "I was pitching a fit at everyone calling me Blessed One all the time. They stopped soon after our discussion, but I am sure Nan had something to do with that."

"Would Nan come with you," Merlin asked suddenly.

"No," Awen whispered, sobering immediately. "She has a duty here and she is too old to see the lands beyond."

"And you? What about your duty, Awen?"

"I have been thinking about that a lot, actually. Nan's duty is to her own people, but mine…well, its universal, isn't it? As long as I am healing somewhere I am fulfilling my calling. Besides, the mortal world could use my gifts far more than my people can. We are known for our healing magic, Merlin. Mine just comes with a few added perks and a slight kick to it."

"It sounds as if you've already made up your mind," Merlin whispered, staring at her from beneath his lashes, expression both hopeful and insecure.

"I am leaning in a certain direction, true enough. But, there are other things to take into consideration before I make the final choice. I just wanted to see what your feelings on the matter are."

"I want you by my side, Awen. I want it more than anything, but I would hate to see you have to sacrifice something so dear to you in the process."

"Sacrifice is a part of life, my Myrddin. You cannot have everything your heart desires all at once, you know."

"I am well versed in that," the young man said, a bittersweet smile curving the edges of his lips.

She kissed the bitterness from his lips and he shuddered slightly, fighting the urge to flinch away from her touch. He pulled back a bit and Awen felt disappointment settle in her belly, but he only tucked a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear and joined her mouth with his once more.

When he pulled back a moment later, he had his eyes closed, but the bittersweet smile had been replaced with his trademark grin.

"I think I finally understand what Arthur meant," he said softly, tracing the sweeping green runes on her arms.

"About?"

"About love," he murmured. "He can be quite the poet when he wants to be, you know. A true deep thinker; maybe even bordering on a philanthropist, but don't tell him that or he's like to run you through with his sword. You know…because you insulted his manly and heroic reputation or something."

"Well, we wouldn't want that, now would we? I'm practically shaking in my boots, Myrddin."

"You don't wear boots," Merlin said sleepily, the day already taking its toll on him though it had just begun. "I don't think you wear shoes at all. Which is silly if you think about it. What happens if you get a splinter or step on a snake? There would be no protection for your toes and you need your toes, Awen. Or maybe you don't, I don't know. You aren't human and maybe you have them for…decoration purposes or something. Though I think it would be odd to not need toes, don't you? They really are very important, which is why you should wear shoes, but you don't. Perhaps no one has taught you to make shoes yet. Do you know how to make shoes, Awen? I am not saying I know how to make shoes because I don't so I guess it doesn't really matter if you know how to or not, does it? Its not like a shoe maker would ever be able to visit and even if he did you have probably gone so long without shoes that you wouldn't even want to wear them and his whole trip would be a wasted effort. But, your toes are still important and snakes can be very clever, you know. They like to bite things and feet are excellent fang candidates. Perhaps you could make a sort of impenetrable sock that keeps your feet safe, but at that point you might as well get shoes which you won't do because—"

God, she loved this man. If she didn't stop him he would ramble himself to sleep and she was half inclined to let him. He was extremely amusing during his semi-conscious state and Awen had the feeling that the man who made an appearance during this time was the Merlin he would be once he healed from his psychological torment. She hoped so because it was moments like this that she felt her love for him grow.

"Merlin," Awen said gently, stopping the man mid rant. "You're babbling, again."

"I know," he sighed, sleep slurring his words. "But, shoes, Awen. You really need to…invest…in…shoes…"

The warlock's breathing slowed and she kissed his forehead. He smiled in his sleep and she felt reasonably sure he would have no visits from the shadow world in his dreams for the time being.

There was another man's opinion that mattered a great deal in her decision, though she suspected the king would not be nearly as shocked as her Myrddin had been. She liked him for reasons she could not discern right away, but the sisterly surge of affection grew every time she spoke with the man.

She had already known Arthur had the capacity to think well beyond the battlefield and she hoped that he would be of help to her in her future path. Either way, Arthur would not deceive her and it was ultimately his decision that would make or break her plans.

After all, she was a creature of magic and she knew that magic and the king had not always gotten along. She knew for a fact that the king was teetering on his beliefs, but the odds hadn't exactly shifted in her favor yet. If Arthur refused to allow her entrance into Camelot the decision would be made for her and that was that. Perhaps if Merlin had not been tortured by a ghostly replica of his friend he might have spoken up against any resistance Arthur might have shown, but as it was the young warlock could barely stand to be in the same room as the man let alone stand up to him with any real gusto.

She severely doubted, however, that Arthur would be unfair in his ruling. She also doubted that the king would deny his servant anything at the moment, unless it caused harm to his people in some way, but both of them knew Merlin would never make such a request.

She cast one more longing look at the slumbering figure of her warlock then closed the door softly behind her and slowly made her way towards the king who could ultimately decide her fate.