"You have lost yourself, Emrys." The voice was dripping with pity, and my mouth twisted into a snarl. "Your light is all but gone," it continued, its words drooping with sadness. "Do you not remember what you once were? The person you were once proud to be?" I nearly gagged. The revolting stench of pity was radiating from the voice like the odor of the long dead. I hated pity. I always have.

My darkened eyes cast about the shimmering cave. The light was tricky here; the only illumination came from the sparkles of magic dancing about the pool that flowed in the absolute center of the cave. Stalagmites and stalactites were everywhere, and my enemy could be hiding behind any of them. "Show yourself," I commanded. My voice was filled with rich, overwhelming power. Magic radiated from my every tone, my every syllable. I basked in the glow of my own power; how good it felt to be so strong! "You coward."

"Coward?" The enemy's voice mused. My head whipped from left to right, but I could not seem to track him down. His voice echoed and reverberated off of every patch of earth, every crop of rock, and shimmered across the pool so much that I had no way of identifying his location based solely off his words. "Am I the true coward here, Emrys? I am not the one who hides from himself. I do not run from responsibility, from Destiny."

I roared. That word sent fire flooding through my veins, turning my vision to red. "Screw Destiny!" Greasy fire blossomed from my hands, and I threw them out all around me in waves of poisonous heat. "I am free! Unbound and untethered; I answer only to myself!"

"That much is true. And yet, are you truly free? You follow your instincts and passions like a mad dog, letting your hormones and desires pull you every which way. Are you really free?"

"I am free!" Enraged, I hurled a ball of heated ice at a nearby stalagmite. It shuddered but did not explode as I'd intended. I hissed again, my fingernails digging into my palms as I clenched both hands into tight fists.

"Even your magic feels it," the voice continued sadly. "It is as confused and misguided as you are."

"Shut up!" I reached up both fists and slammed them into the ground. But, instead of the earth quaking and the cavern shaking, a gust of air was released from the impact that sent me flying back.

"You are not well, Emrys," the voice said quietly. "Emotionally, spiritually, even physically. Your hatred has warped your soul- see yourself now, in the pool! Let it reflect your inner form; look upon what you have become!"

"I will not!" I spat. My shoulders trembled, my arms shook, and I knew- just as I knew that I had to stay free- I knew that I would never look. I would never do what this voice said. "I will not give in!"

"Give in to what, though?" The voice asked. I ran from spire of rock to spire of rock, frantically searching for the man to whom the voice belonged. "What is it you fear so?"

"Fear?" I laughed, my hand against a stalagmite. "I fear nothing! It is hatred I feel, not fear. They thought they could control me. They thought they could lead me like a lamb to the slaughter, tied and trussed up by their oh-so-precious Destiny." I laughed again and shook my head. "Not I, not Emrys. I am beyond them; I am beyond Destiny itself."

I summoned my magic to me. Tendrils of twilight wrapped themselves around my biceps and reached down, coiling and uncoiling all about my wrists like snakes.

"Such pride." Heavy and low, the sigh came from all corners of the sparkling cave. I passed by the pool again and again, but my efforts at locating the voice continued to prove themselves in vain. "Such folly. Emrys, you believe freedom to be running away from responsibility and following your immediate desires. But don't you see? You have it upside down: freedom comes by accepting your responsibility and denying your selfishness."

"Lies!" The twilight was pulsing down my arms like veins of tainted light, orbs of shadow gathering in my hands and flickering like oil in the sparkling light of the pool. At my shout, I pointed both hands away from me and began to turn. The magic seared out from my hands and uncurled out into the air, sizzling through rock and earth and stone alike, burning into the walls of the cave and shattering stone pillar after stone pillar. "Such stupidity-" My snarl was cut off by a gasp of pain. I sank to the floor, cradling my hands to my chest. They were burnt as if by an intense fire. The skin was bubbled and red, and as I watched, blisters popped and oozed slowly, stinging the seared flesh the liquid contacted. "What is this?" My voice was strangled, torn between frustration, anger, and desperation.

"I can show you," the voice whispered. It sounded as near to me as my own voice, but when I looked round, there was nobody to be seen. Still my enemy hid behind crumbled rock and shining pool. The coward trembled behind his pretty words, but I would find him, and I would unleash my rage upon him. "Look into the pool, Emrys," the voice said. "Look into the pool and understand."

The sparkling body of water was only a few feet to my left. I crawled over to it and peered into its depths. My face shocked me more than my burnt hands. Deep grooves were wound all about my face, digging into my skin and drawing blood, blood that oozed across my tired face. My neck was collared, but my mouth was stretched wide in a ghastly grin, almost as if I enjoyed being collared. My eyes were wide with frenzy, my normally vivid blue irises had dulled to withered slabs of grey, and the whites of my eyes were bloodshot and ragged. As I stared into myself, I wondered: how had this happened? What did this mean?

"It is as I said, Emrys," the voice whispered, "the pool reflects your inner nature. But do not look away, for it is not yet finished."

The image in the sparkling waters rippled and disappeared. Colors steadily grew in areas of the pool, and before I knew what was happening, I was gazing upon a sight I had not seen in some time. A castle upon a hill, surrounded by forests and glades. Bustling townsfolk, crying children, and red-caped knights riding out of the city on horseback. A familiar blonde mop of hair, and an even more familiar mess of black hair.

My breath hissed and I began to pull away.

"No, Emrys!" The voice cut as sharp as a knife, and I stopped in my tracks. "Do not look away from the pool!"

I continued to watch, although why, I could not say. Sounds were beginning to appear, accompanying the images racing across the still waters of the pool. They came from the depths of the cave and surrounded me. If I forgot myself, I could believe that I was really there. There, in the castle. There, riding by Pendragon's side.

The images shifted. The figures were riding to the border between Camelot and another kingdom. Their horses stopped, pulled up short by the king's hand. Arthur's voice bubbled up from all around me, filling my ears and making me tremble with- with what? I wasn't sure.

"We're approaching the border," he said, his voice clear as crystal. "Be on your best behavior- we don't need a reason for them to attack us."

"Hear that, Percival?" Gwaine said, reaching over to push the muscled knight on the arm. "Behave yourself!"

There was a ripple of laughter from the group. Percival cast his eyes to the heavens but didn't say anything. The images shifted again, and when they refocused, I was looking at a younger version of myself. I was a scrawny thing- the power that radiated through my every blood vessel was still hidden inside me. Trapped, trapped by the confines of men and fear. My lips frowned at the memory of those times, those dark times when I had let others rule me.

The horses had stopped. Men dressed in foreign garb and with alien insignias adorning their tunics surrounded the group from Camelot, their swords pointing at the knights in wary preparation.

A low voice came from the biggest of the men. "What business do you have here?"

Arthur was the one to reply. "We seek safe passage through your lands; nothing more. We don't want any trouble."

"King of Camelot," the man said. His helmet draped a black shroud over his face, and his armor was thick and covered all skin. "And an armed guard- this violates the treaty."

"I've already spoken with your king," Arthur said, his voice careful but firm. "He knows I'm coming; he should have sent you some sort of notice."

"I received no notice," the man said. Though his face was veiled, his voice hinted at a wicked smile behind the black fabric. "How do I know you aren't planning something?"

"You don't," Arthur said, still using his diplomatic voice, "but killing me won't end well. Would your king be happy if you started a war between his kingdom and Camelot?"

The man was silent. Behind Arthur, Gwaine's hand drifted ever so casually toward his sword. Then, just as the silence became so thick that it seemed even his sword couldn't have cut it, the man spoke. "Very well." The border patrol lowered their weapons. "We will escort you to his Majesty," the man said, reaching for his helmet. "He can verify your story." The helmet was lifted.

"Good God, it's a girl." That was Gwaine. And indeed it was: the hair was cut short, and the armor was anything but lady-like, but there was no mistaking the cheekbones, the set of the face, or the eyes. Those dark brown eyes and thin lips couldn't have belonged to anyone but a woman.

I couldn't help it. I grinned. It was amusing to watch the situation deteriorate so suddenly, right when things had been looking up for the King. Gwaine had always had a habit of making things worse. I didn't have enough fingers or toes on me to count how many times he had done stupid things like this. Arthur had always gotten so angry at him, but he had always calmed down eventually. He just couldn't stay mad at Gwaine for very long; no-one could.

I wrenched myself from my thoughts. What was I doing, thinking well about these men? They were the enemy, they were the ones who sought to bind me and chain me by my Destiny. They were the oppressors, the men who forced me to live in secret so I wouldn't be killed just for being who I was.

"So what?" I asked bitterly, angry that the voice had caught me in a moment of weakness. "What does this prove? That they're idiots who don't deserve my protection?"

"Was that so bad? It seemed more funny than anything. They might not have always done the brightest things, but you never cared about that. They always made you laugh- even now, when you have fallen so far, the ghost of a smile still graces your face at their antics." The voice sighed. "Keep watching. The pool has more to show you."

Reluctantly, I looked back at the pool. New images were forming, images that I knew. More memories.

I was standing- that was, my past self was standing- in the King's chambers. The image was wearing clothes that I had once worn: a worn jacket, a red neckerchief, a blue shirt, and a black armband. I- he- was busy folding clean clothes and neatly sorting them into different piles. Shirts went in one pile, pants in another, and so on. It was a simple enough arrangement, one that even Arthur wouldn't get confused by. Not that it mattered; the Prat couldn't dress himself if his life depended on it. It wasn't like he would be the one reaching into his drawers.

I looked on, wondering what memory this was. I had cleaned the Prat's clothes more times than I could count; what was so special about this memory? My eyes narrowed as my image bent down over the clothes. This wasn't normal- what was going on? Something dripped onto a white shirt. Something clear. Tears? Was I crying?

A single word escaped my past self's lips. "Freya." The tears were dropping more heavily now, decorating the flawless white with growing spots of darkness. He said her name again, but the word was twisted and garbled. I felt my own throat go a little hot, just watching my past self's pain. Pain for another. What weakness- I was the only person that mattered. Yet, as I watched my own grief, I realized that that thought rang hollow in the caverns of my mind. The anger, the scorn that I expected to back the words did not come.

The door creaked open, and a blonde mop of hair appeared. "Merlin, I need you to-" the voice stopped. My image was rubbing his- my?- eyes frantically, turning away from the doorway so that Arthur wouldn't see.

"What?" He tried to conceal his voice, make it sound less choked, but the King wasn't fooled.

He crossed the room and stood beside him. "Merlin? What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Obviously, it's something." Arthur grabbed my arm and turned me around to face him.

Watching from the pool, I shook my head frantically. He grabbed my image's arm and forced my image to face him, not me! It was a small point, a mere grammatical technicality, but it was the thought behind it that counted. If I started internally using such pronouns as "myself" and "I," I would believe myself to be the caring weakling that stood beside the King. I was strong- I was different than that coward. That coward who allowed others to define who he was wasn't me. I was strong; I was free.

"Look at me." The command was directed at the image in the pool, but my eyes were irresistibly drawn to the blue eyes of Camelot's King. "What's wrong?" The boy tried to protest, but Arthur wasn't having it. "Tell me," he said, both hands gripping the boy's shoulders. "What?" He lifted his left hand. Underneath it, wound around his servant's arm, was a band of black. "What's this?"

"It's... it's a sign of mourning." The boy's head hung, as if accepting his defeat.

"Mourning?" Arthur's voice was soft. Merlin, the boy whom I once was, looked up with wet eyes. "Merlin, what's wrong?"

Merlin sniffed and turned back to the clothes. He spoke while he folded, and I knew that he was using the chore as an excuse not to look at Arthur. I knew because I had once done the same thing: all too often had I turned my face away in shame, afraid to show what I really felt. Yet it was as before: the anger I expected, the anger that usually surfaced at these thoughts, did not come.

"It's her anniversary," he said, his voice cracked and quiet. "Today's the day..." he sucked in a deep breath, "the day she died."

I watched as Arthur pulled Merlin close to him, holding him to his chest while the servant cried. I watched as the blonde comforted his friend with a hand; I listened as the King whispered soothing words into the crying man's ear; I felt the young man nod and lean into his friend. His friend. Merlin's friend. My friend?

"You see?" The voice whispered all around me. The image did not fade- the scene between my younger self and Arthur Pendragon continued to play out, although their words had faded to murmurs. "Your friends care for you; you caring for them isn't oppression. It is not Destiny holding you down. It is the love between friends, the sense of loyalty you have to one another, that you feel."

"No," I said. My head was beginning to spin; I was having a hard time keeping track. Of what, I wasn't sure. What the voice was saying, my own stance- I found everything blurring together in one big confusing mess. "Loyalty to my friends," I managed, "isn't what I hate. It's Destiny forcing me to be- to be this Savior."

"Destiny?" The voice was lilting, almost as if it were about to laugh. "You believe it to be Destiny that drives you? Look back into the pool."

I did. I wanted to see- it was as if there was a yearning inside me to see, to know.

The images shifted again, but this time I immediately recognized the scene. It was when I had first saved Arthur. Years and years ago, when a singing sorcerer had attempted to take Arthur's life as blood-payment for the death of her son at Uther's hands. Merlin had saved him. I had saved him. The pool wasn't showing me the scene in real-time, as it had with the other images. It was in slow motion, showing my face as I looked between the sorcerer and the endangered Prince. Something clicked in that face, and I began to move. I would save the Prince, I would save Arthur, as I would do time and time again.

"It is not Destiny that makes you do this," the voice said. "It is yourself. Your sense of responsibility to the ones you love: that is what drives you. Cutting yourself off from your friends, ignoring your responsibility, giving in to your immediate desires; this is not strength, Emrys, this is weakness. It is cowardice. Be brave as you once were. Be brave and go back, go back to the friends that anxiously await your return in Camelot."

"But-"

"But what?" For the first time, the voice seemed angry. "You know your friends love you. You yourself still love them in return- don't give me that look, you know it's true. You can feel your shriveled heart swell and begin to beat again when you look upon them in the pool. You know they care, and you care back. You know that Destiny isn't driving you towards anything; everything you've ever done has been to protect your friends- not because Destiny forced you to, but because you chose to. You made your choice because you wanted to help, to keep them safe. You made your choice out of love. Forget your pride; what have you to be proud about? Forget your anger; no-one has done you wrong. Go back to them, Emrys."

My mind was in turmoil. I tried to summon my magic, to wrap myself in its warm light and gather conviction from it, but nothing came. My call went unanswered, and I panicked for a few moments before a memory bubbled up to the surface of my mind. The voice had said that my confusion had a direct impact on my magic, and if that were true, then I wouldn't be able to use magic until I had decided. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rage and storm. I wanted to find that elusive voice and wring it until it died. I wanted to destroy this whole cavern, fill the pool with dirt and the blood of diseased animals, and then finally burn the entire forest all around it and wipe this miserable spot from the earth.

The anger burned inside me like hot wax, but I pushed it aside. It wasn't helping me. In all my time spent away from Camelot, where had the anger gotten me? I had been forced to wander from place to place, with no roots, no friends, and no family. None of the villages I stopped in had accepted me because of my anger. If this decision would affect me forever, I wanted to make it without anger.

Oh, but if only it were that easy! If only anger could be pushed aside by rational thought, by human reason! If it were done so easily as said, I reflected, the world would be a much better place. No, the anger still raged within me. I had to think around it, struggle to keep a lid on it and breathe, breathe, hoping to extinguish the flame that kindled it. Something the voice had said kept returning to me: forget your anger; who has done you wrong? What cause had I to be so angry? What was I so angry about? I had hated being chained by my Destiny, but... the voice was right. It hadn't been some malevolent or neutral force pulling me like an oxen this way and that. I made my choices out of my own free will, and I had always protected my friends and the innocent of Camelot because that was what I had wanted to do. I wanted to keep the people I loved safe. Was that a chain? It didn't seem so, now.

Who was I angry at? Percival? Gwaine? Arthur? No; they were not the ones responsible for my anger. My hatred screamed that they were the oppressors, that they had bound me, but was that true? My choices were my own, I knew that now. They had forced me into secrecy and hiding, forced me into living a lie... but again, was that their doing... or my own? Was it that they had tied me up and made me hide who I was, or was it that I had always been too afraid of what might happen to speak the truth?

Who was I angry at? Could it be... myself?

"Well, Emrys?"

Hatred surged up at the voice that made me feel so helpless and confused, but I choked it down. My cheeks felt wet, my eyes were hot, and my throat was tight, but somehow I managed to respond. "My choices are my own. They always have been."

"Why did you make them?"

"Because I loved them. Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, Mother- all of them. I wanted to protect them."

"What is Destiny?"

"Destiny is the result of my choices. Not," I shuddered, "not the other way around."

"What is freedom?"

"Freedom... freedom is following my responsibility. To my friends, to Camelot, to Arthur. Freedom is making choices and- and sticking to them. Freedom- God, I don't know."

"Keep going, Emrys."

I swallowed and buried my head between my knees. "Freedom isn't running away."

There was a long, drawn out pause. I felt like my insides had been entirely scooped out, leaving nothing but aching emptiness within my body. All the anger, all the hatred, had leeched out of me. There was nothing left of me now. With no anger, with no rage, I was left empty. What a horrible feeling this was.

I looked back into the pool, but there was nothing that looked back. Only the sparkling lights of the magic. No reflection, no nothing. Did this mean there really was nothing left to me but emptiness? "Why don't I see anything?"

"Because you are at a cross-roads. You know that freedom involves making a decision; well, it's time to make one. You can either continue on as you have been, driven by passion and desire and forsaking all love and responsibility, or you can turn around and head back to Camelot. Apologize to Arthur, to Gwen, to Gaius, and continue your responsibilities as Emrys. The choice is yours to make."

I licked my lips. I didn't want to go back to hiding. I didn't want to face them, because facing them was something I had avoided even thinking about. Facing them, living with them, meant that I would have to live with all the consequences of all of my actions, something that I've been running from for a while. And yet, I knew that even though this wasn't what I wanted to do, it was what I should do.

"Not really a choice, is it?"

"Of course it is." The voice was like a breath of wind against my cheek. "There is a right and a wrong choice, but it is still your choice to make."

And so I did.

"The pool has something to show you," the voice said. "One last time, look into the pool."

I needed no compulsion or coercing to obey. I saw many things. I saw Camelot in all its glory. I saw Gwen and the Knights waving merrily up at me. I saw Gaius and Mother smiling fondly, their eyes shining with pride. I saw him- Arthur. He was standing between two horses, both of which were saddled, and he was looking at me with an expression of exasperation. He climbed onto one horse's back and motioned at the other; he wanted me to join him. He was calling me to him.

For the first time in a long, long while, I smiled. The pictures in the pool faded, but I knew that it wasn't quite finished with me yet. I could sense that it had one more thing to show. The colors swirled and meshed together into a single image, an image I knew all too well.

Its voice was the same voice that had been speaking to me this entire time, but it wasn't until now that I truly recognized it. It was my own voice. Smiling up at me from the depths of the pool was my own face. Gone was the horrible disfiguration of the past vision. I was whole and unblemished. There were no grooves cutting into my skin, no collar around my neck, no tombstones for eyes. The ghastly grimace was gone, and in its place was a wide, happy smile.

My blue eyes twinkled up from the pool into myself. "Welcome back, Merlin."

That was long, eh? I considered splitting this into two chapters, but I don't really think that would have worked. This fic is one body, I think, and there wasn't really a separation point good enough for a chapter-break. A lot happened in this fic, and I hope I didn't gloss over anything important. I had a few people look it over to make sure that I wasn't making any random jumps in development, but I would still really appreciate your feedback on whether or not this worked. Did it make sense, did everything seem to flow together neatly, and was anything really confusing? Thanks for reading, and please drop me a quick sentence in the box below of what you thought. Thanks again, and have a nice day! Ciao!