A/N: Yowza.

To answer everyone's comments: I am in fact still alive! As evidenced, lol. I have not abandoned this story: in fact, I have a very clear outline of exactly where it goes, which I only sort of had at the time of my last update, which was so long ago that it's crossed the line from kind of embarrassing into like,, I can't really get worse at updating consistently anyway, so whoop-dee-dee I'm not as worried about it as I used to be.

So for anyone wondering, when this story started for me I was in eighth grade. (Which, uhhh,, don't look at the quality of writing at the beginning too hard tbh.) I've loved this show since I was pretty young, and I still love it more, I think, than any other show since. I don't know why it hits so hard and resonates so much with me. Since I started writing this, I've made friends, written hundreds of pages of unpublished fic, grown to desperately love theater the way I've always loved books, found a fashion sense that makes me feel like myself, worked a bunch of different jobs, graduated high school successfully, turned eighteen, and started college. Through all of that, I've loved this show, and I've loved this silly, ridiculous piece of writing that's been able to keep me company through it all. I've stopped and started work on it, picked plotlines apart and put them back together again, even when I didn't update for a month or a year at a time. I love this show and I love each and every one of you who I know love it as much as I do, and no matter how long it takes me, I'm not stopping my work on this. There are a lot of places we still have to go together!

So thank you to everyone who has left me a comment, clicked "kudos", read even a chapter of this thing that I love, or even just clicked on the title. I see it all and I appreciate it all. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

TLDR: I'm abandoning this forever on a cold day in hell. Get reading!

Summary: The soulmate words were seemingly the one form of magic Uther Pendragon could not best. Merlin has never wanted hers; they are sure to be a great deal of trouble on top of being a warlock. After all, soulmarks are a type of magic, and she has eight.

Spoilers for BBC's Merlin, Seasons One-Five

Warnings: Slight Angst, Multiple Canonical/Non-canonical Character Deaths

Chapter 17:

Merlin walks down a dim-lit corridor, the torches flickering. The red banners on the walls are muted, and the light is soft. She can hear the crying, still. The shadows on the walls and floor shift, moving in the corner of her eyes. Fog creeps into the edges of the hall.

She whispers a gentle word, her eyes flaring gold and the fog blowing away as quietly as it came. What she is looking for…it's here somewhere, just trying to hide.

She presses on.

The sound Merlin follows grows quiet, stifled by fear.

"Where are you?" She mutters, turning a corner, descending a flight of stairs. She knows where she is, just not where she's going.

A child's sob, closer.

"Where are you?"

"Merlin!"

Merlin jerks upright and out of her restless sleep as several wooden cups, a few books, and her boots fall to the ground, sprawling across the floor. She scrubs at her eyes, wondering if she can will away the dawn and just close her eyes again.

Gaius is in her doorway, his hand on the doorframe and his brow scrunched up. "Merlin, are you quite alright? You appear to have been levitating half your room in your sleep!"

"Yeah, of course. I'm fine." She feels as if she hadn't slept as all, but the early morning light is already streaming in through her window.

"It's dangerous to be so open with your powers, Merlin," Gaius chides. "You know that. What if you were caught?"

"I didn't mean to," she protests. "I was just…I was dreaming."

Her mentor's eyes narrow in on her. "Oh? What about?"

Merlin hesitates, trying to remember, even as the dream starts to slip away into the shadows of the sleeping realm. "I think I was dreaming about Prince Osmund."

Gaius pushes her porridge across the table to her. She slurps it up, trying to find words to explain the strange feeling from her dream. She was so close to finding something, but it seemed to be hiding from her.

"And I heard a child crying," she adds, scraping the bottom of the bowl with her spoon.

"But even if it were Osmund, how were you able to locate him in your dream? Especially if something was trying to hide him?" Gaius frowns. "It doesn't make any sense, Merlin."

"I don't know." She thinks back to the dream again. "It was almost as if whatever was hiding him was also showing me where he was, you know? Like someone trying to cover a scuff on a black boot with brown polish."

"What could be doing such a thing?"

"It didn't seem malicious," Merlin observes, tapping her spoon on the edge of her bowl thoughtfully. "It seemed…scared."

Gaius passes her an apple contemplatively. "Merlin…could it be possible that Osmund was hiding himself?"

"But that would mean—" Merlin freezes. "Oh. That Osmund has magic."

"He very well might," Gaius says. "That would certainly explain why he ran. And how he got past the guard assigned to protect him."

"And why no one can seem to find him," Merlin continues, mind racing. "Of course. How could I be so stupid? He was so scared after the thing with those knights at the banquet. And then with the death threat—I have to find him before someone else does."

"If they discover that he has been hiding himself with magic…" Gaius doesn't finish, his voice grim.

"Arthur will feel honor-bound to follow Camelot's laws, and King Omarr would never allow his son to be executed. The treaty will be off at the very least!"

"It could mean war," Gaius concludes.

Merlin scrambles for her jacket. "I have to go!"

"Merlin, wait!"

"What?" She turns, hand on the door.

Gaius stands, making his way over to his bookshelf. "You don't even know where to look, Merlin. If you couldn't find him yesterday, I doubt you will be able to do so today."

"Do you have any better ideas?" She presses. "Because if we don't find him fast, we could end up with a war on our hands, Gaius, and I'm not willing to risk that."

"Actually, yes." He locates a slim volume, pulling it out. "I may have something. Go get your magic book."

"Okay," Merlin decides. "You really think this will work?"

"It had better," Gaius says, folding up the scrap of parchment that was hidden in the book. "You have the spell memorized?"

"Yeah, yeah, I have it." She slides her jacket on again. "If it works, the spell will be the easy part. Getting into Osmund's chambers, to find something of his for the tracking spell? That's what I'm worried about."

"No doubt his rooms will be heavily guarded in case he returns of his own volition," Gaius warns, folding his hands on the table. "Be careful, Merlin."

She grimaces. "Thanks. But I might have an idea or two of my own. I'd be willing to wager Leon needs some eye-opening tea about now anyway."

Sure enough, Leon is more than grateful to down the piping hot herbal tea as soon as Merlin locates him in the upper levels of the town.

"You're a saint, Merlin," he says, clapping her on the shoulder earnestly. They make their way back up toward the palace, walking slowly but with a steady pace. He looks just as exhausted as she predicted, and she grimaces. He's already in his full armor, which, despite being a habitually early riser, means that he almost certainly didn't sleep. "I don't know what I'd do with you."

Merlin shrugs. "Fall asleep in the middle of the search?"

"More likely than not," he admits, draining the lest dregs out of the mug. "If we don't find the boy soon, I'm not sure what the king will do."

"No luck then?" Merlin segues subtly, chewing on her lip. "You know, I was thinking—the last place he was seen was in his own rooms. Are you sure there weren't any hints there about what might have happened?"

"Prince Osmund's rooms have been well-searched, I'm sure of it." Leon handed her the mug with a tired smile, and she takes it thoughtfully as they climb the steps into the palace.

"Oh, I know," she assures him. "It's just that, you know, being a servant, we get used to noticing if something isn't quite in order. There's a certain way that the rooms are set up, and I thought that if something wasn't right, the knights might not notice."

"I suppose you have a good point," he agrees after a moment, his thumb absently tapping his sword hilt as he matches her stride for stride down the corridor. "But I'm not sure that I can get you more than a minute or so inside. King Omarr is distressed, of course, and I don't want his guards to get upset, but there's no harm in being thorough."

"A minute is all I need," Merlin promises. "Thank you, Leon!"

"Well, if you can find anything, it is I who will be thanking you," Leon says, with a tired smile in her direction as they approach the doors to Prince Osmund's room. "The sooner we find the young prince, the sooner the treaty will be signed, the delegation can be on their way, and then maybe we'll have some peace around here for once."

The pair of Forgaian guards have been joined by Camelotian guards, as well as Sir Enten. He steps forward as Merlin and Leon halt.

"Sir Leon." Sir Enten looks terrible. "May I ask your purpose here?"

Merlin supposes that he's taking the whole business as a failure of duty, and has to hide a wince at the bags under his eyes.

"Our servants have near-perfect knowledge of the contents and arrangement of our rooms. I thought it might be worthwhile to have Merlin here check over Prince Osmund's chambers. In case there is some clue that has not yet been uncovered, she may be able to help," Leon explains. "If you will allow us inside—"

"Ah, yes," Sir Enten muses, interrupting. "Merlin. King Regent Arthur's servant. You served as a more than adequate guide yesterday. I…I appreciate your quick action after we encountered the threat yesterday. Perhaps if I had been as efficient in my duties as you are in yours, the prince would still be safe and sound."

"You are a diligent and loyal knight, my lord duke," Merlin replies, wishing Arthur could hear Sir Enten call her efficient. "I'm sure you did everything within your power. I'd like to help find the prince, if I can."

Sir Enten eyes her, and sighs. The lines on his face are the deep marks of a sleepless night—he seems older than yesterday by ten years. "Yes. If there is any chance that we've missed anything—go. Do your search."

"Thank you, my lord duke," Merlin says, sketching a quick bow. She starts for the doors, the guards shifting aside willingly.

"Sir Leon—accompany her? In case of any threats," Sir Enten continues, unaware of Merlin's grimace.

"A good idea, my lord duke," Leon agrees. Merlin heaves a mental sigh, and with a glance over her shoulder, slips past the guards and through the door.

Sneaking around behind Leon's back is not her favorite thing to do, especially while he's doing her a favor. Merlin wishes, not for the first time, or the last, that she could tell the truth, but. Well.

It's not the right time. Not yet.

Merlin manages to pocket a handkerchief when Leon isn't looking. She tells herself that it'll be worth it.

The spell fizzles out the first and second times she tries it, tucked away behind a tapestry. The third time, Merlin can feel the magic flare to life. The handkerchief bursts into flames, and she drops it with a soft curse. It crumbles into ash upon impact with the ground, and the ash disperses. A wispy strand of golden fog, like a a magical essence—possibly a magical fingerprint on the fabric?—rises up. Instinctively, she knows that only she, as the spellcaster, can see it.

Merlin slips out from behind the tapestry, sidling into the corridor and following the gold wisp down the hall. The trail takes her around corners, down stairs, and into the lower parts of the castle. She passes the kitchens, the treasury, and finally comes to a stop in front of the doors to the library.

The golden strand leads through the wooden doors. She heaves another sigh, grasps the handles, and pulls them open.

Geoffrey of Monmouth ceases writing. He replaces his quill in his inkpot, fixing Merlin with a stern look over his spectacles.

"May I help you with something, young lady?"

"Oh, no, it's fine," Merlin rushes to assure him, giving the old man her best grin. She surreptitiously side-eyes the gold trail. It leads off into the shelves at the back of the library. "Gaius sent me to look for something."

Appeased, Geoffrey leans back into his wooden chair. "By all means, then. If you need help locating anything, I am here to assist you."

She flashes him another smile and strolls off into the bookshelves. The tracking spell leads her into the deepest part of the library, where no one looks for books anymore. In the corner, an old table is strewn with parchment and someone's long-forgotten research. Stacks of books litter the floor, and the shelves that line the two intersecting walls are a mess.

Merlin brushes through a cobweb, and coughs, waving the dust motes away from her face. There are no windows in this part of the library, and she doesn't like the musty smell. It isn't nearly as pleasant or comforting as the usual smell of old, well-worn parchment.

Her eyes strain to trace out the last wisps of the golden light trail. It is starting to disintegrate, the few remaining sparks leading across the abandoned library corner and underneath the table.

Merlin continues toward the table cautiously. She pulls on the innocent expression she uses on Arthur regularly, the one that she likes to think says I-have-no-ulterior-motive-whatsoever. As she stops to peruse the shelf nearest the table, someone underneath it sniffs.

She pauses. "Hello?"

The only reply is a squeak, which is really more like a muffled breath.

Merlin moves away from the bookshelf and nearer to the table. "Is someone here?"

She crouches to peer underneath the table, and the frightened face of the Forgaian prince is her answer.

"Your highness," Merlin says, as casually as she can, like she's run into him in the stables or kitchen. "What are you doing here?"

Osmund sniffles again, his brown eyes wide with fear. "I—I, uh…"

There are three discarded apple cores and part of a crumbling breadroll on the blanket beside him. His face is pale and grimy, and he hugs his knees cautiously.

"We've been missing you," Merlin continues. She can't help but wonder why he isn't hiding himself with his magic anymore. Maybe he's exhausted his energy, trying to stay hidden for so long.

"I can't go back," Osmund blurts out, looking startled by his own outburst. He hesitates, sniffing, but pushes on. "I can't go back—please, you can't make me!"

Merlin sighs, resting her forearms on her knees. "Why not?"

"They'll...they'll kill me," he mumbles, looking away.

"Why would they do that?" She prods gently.

"Because," Osmund pauses, face pale and scared. He summons his courage, and then his eyes flare gold. He uncurls his right fist to reveal a tiny flame, no bigger than that of a candle. "Because I can do magic, and they think—"

"They think magic is evil," Merlin finishes. The tiny light flickers on the Forgaian prince's palm. She closes her eyes and tries not to hate Uther Pendragon. "They're wrong, Osmund."

His eyes widen. "Is that what you think? You live in Camelot too. Everyone in Camelot hates magic."

"I didn't always live here," Merlin says, for lack of a better explanation. She wants to light a matching flame of her own, tell him that she understands better than anyone else, but she can't. A knot rises in her throat, tight and sad on this poor boy's behalf.

"So…are you going to tell anyone?" Osmund gazes up at her, hope warring with fear.

"No, of course not," she assures him. "But everyone is very worried about you. Your father especially."

Osmund winces. "I'm sorry."

"It'll be okay," Merlin tells him. "You just have to come back with me. No one will know about your magic, I promise. If we get you back to your father, you'll be safe."

"Are you sure? What are we going to tell them?"

"The truth," she says, a plan forming in her mind. She grins. "We'll tell them the truth."

"Is this true, Osmund?" King Omarr stands, arms crossed, in front of Osmund. Merlin hovers a slight distance behind the young prince. They are in the visiting king's chambers, with Arthur and Leon in attendance, as well as Sir Enten and the guards.

"Yes, Father," Osmund says, his voice somewhat meek. "I was scared and I hid in the library, and then I was too ashamed to come back. But I recognized Merlin from the other day and I was out of food, so…" he trails off sheepishly.

King Omarr massages his brow. "Do you know how much trouble you've caused? I thought you had been kidnapped, or worse—" he breaks off, noticing his son's trembling chin. "But you are safe and here with me, and that is what counts. Here, my son." He kneels, opening his arms.

Osmund flies into them, obscuring his face in his father's shoulder. The king wraps his arms around him, eyes closing in relief.

Merlin can't help but suppress a grin of relief. Everything seems to have worked out—hopefully the treaty is safe.

Arthur apparently agrees, because he steps forward. "Your Majesty, locating your son is, I'm sure you can imagine, an immense relief. If you'll excuse us, my head knight and I have search parties to call off."

"Of course, of course," King Omarr agrees, straightening up. Merlin notices that he leaves a hand on Osmund's shoulder. "By all means. You have my gratitude, Pendragon."

"It is our honor to aid you in any way while you are guests in my kingdom," Arthur nods graciously. "And if we can we will bring the perpetrators of those threats to justice."

Merlin can't help but grin to herself. Arthur is really easing into his role; the flowery language almost suits him. Sometimes she nearly forgets how noble he can sound when he's on his best behavior.

Arthur and Leon turn to go, and with a smile directed at Osmund, Merlin follows them out the doors and into the hall.

"Oh, thank god Gaius sent you down for that book," Arthur moans quietly, his shoulders dropping now that they're out of sight of the Forgaians. "Who knows how long it would have taken to locate the prince otherwise."

Leon huffs in relieved agreement, offering Merlin an appreciative smile of his own. "We'd have probably been at war before he got hungry enough to venture out."

"It was definitely lucky," Merlin says, hands on her hips with a satisfied sigh. "All I know is that after everything, the treaty had better go smoothly."

"That reminds me," Arthur points at her. "King Omarr may have ripped up the official copy we were discussing, so I'll be needing you to transcribe it from the draft again."

Merlin stares at him. "You're serious? He really ripped it up?"

"I'm afraid so. I couldn't stop him," Leon confirmed, a hint of apology in his voice. "I'd volunteer to rewrite it myself, but I'd better go get the search parties called off."

"Please do," Arthur says, waving him off. "And don't worry, Merlin can handle it."

"Great, thanks," she complains, good-natured. "Don't forget to get some rest, Leon!"

He waves in genial acknowledgment from halfway down the corridor, but she doubts that he actually will. She'll go after him later, when he's been up for even longer and is more susceptible to the strong suggestion that he go to sleep for once, damnit.

"Better get started on that treaty, Merlin, before we reconvene," Arthur says, giving her a hearty buffet on the back as he goes by. "I'll expect it on my desk before dinner!"

"You try and rewrite an entire treaty before dinner," she mutters belligerently. Her wrist almost aches in anticipation of recopying all the tiny lettering. Maybe with a couple of dictation spells and a little bit of magic, she can sort it out a bit faster—not that anyone needs to know.

The treaty does go well, and the Forgaians depart Camelot after less than another week.

In their absence, the castle is less lively, and the searches for Morgana continue. The ache in Merlin's chest when she thinks of her lost friend is omnipresent, but she's tried everything she could think of to find the king's ward, and everything always fails. Even the spell she used to locates Prince Osmund fizzles out when Merlin attempts it on one of Morgana's hairbrushes.

"It could be that it's simply been too long since she used it," Gaius points out.

"I guess," Merlin gripes, feeling defeated and useless. "What's the point of all my stupid powers if I can't even find her? It's my fault that Morgause got away with her in the first place."

She even calls on Kilgharrah, although she knows that the dragon believes Camelot to be better off if Morgana is dead. It doesn't matter; he can't find her any more than Merlin can.

"What you need, Merlin," Gaius tells her, after she stumbles back in from the woods, "is a break."

"How can I just have a break?" She scoffs, sitting down at the table heavily. "Morgana is still missing—Uther is still grieving, although he seems to be a little better than before. Gwen is running herself ragged taking care of him anyway, Arthur is running himself ragged looking for Morgana and doing all of Uther's duties, and Leon is running himself ragged doing everything that Arthur isn't."

"Actually, when I visited him a little earlier, Uther seemed to be nearly back to normal capacity," Gaius interjects from where he's grinding herbs in his mortar. "I wouldn't be surprised if he takes his normal duties over again starting in a few days."

Merlin blinks in surprise. "Really? You think so?"

"It seems he's begun to decide that he needs to find her himself instead of letting her kidnapping destroy him." Gaius glances at her sideways. "In fact, it may be that we shall see a resurgence of his former vigour once he makes up his mind that he needs to be doing something about it."

"That's…good," she says. Good for Arthur? Absolutely. Good for Gwen and Leon? Almost definitely. Good for Camelot as a whole, and all of the innocent magic-users that Uther will likely try to hunt down in search of Morgause? Not a chance.

"In the meantime, however, you won't be any use to Arthur or myself for that matter, unless you get your head on right for a moment," Gaius continues, crushing his rosemary stalks energetically. "By the way…" he nods pointedly toward the other end of the table. "You have a letter."

"A letter! Lancelot!" Merlin lunges across the table enthusiastically, knocking over a bottle full of freshly ground rosemary powder. "Gestillan!" With a wince, she catches it partway to the floor.

Gaius plucks it from her magical grasp with his free hand and places it gently back on the table, glaring. "That letter has sat here waiting for you for several hours. It can wait a moment longer, for goodness' sake, Merlin."

"Sorry, Gaius," she says, carefully reaching over the various bottles of powdered herbs that are collecting on the table to grab the letter.

Sure enough, it's Lancelot's writing on the front of the envelope, addressing it to her, and the same plain blob of blue wax that's sealed all his letters on the back.

She rips open the envelope eagerly, and settles in to read.

Dear Merlin,

I just got your letter today as I was about to ride out of Eswell, which lies on the border of Nemeth. It was well-timed—any later and I might have missed it! Unfortunately, I have no news of Morgana to report—and none of Morgause, for that matter. I've kept both ears open, but they seem to be lying low. No one in Nemeth has heard a thing.

I'm glad to hear that Gwen and Arthur are doing as well as can be expected. For their sake, and yours, I hope that Morgana is found soon. I'm sorry it's been so taxing on everyone. I heard during my stay in Camelot that Sir Leon in particular was nigh unflappable! If even he is stressed, that must speak to the gravity of the situation. I hope that you are managing to take care of yourself in between taking care of everyone else in the castle, though, Merlin. You say that Sir Leon never thinks of his own well-being, but neither do you, my friend!

As to me listening to your problems, I only wish I could do more to help solve them. I would not mind being banished, except that I feel nearly helpless to aid you in your troubles. So I'm afraid I shall temporarily become a fugitive: even as this letter travels to you, I will be making my way toward Camelot. I intend to stay at an inn outside the city's borders, since chances are low anyone outside the castle might recognize me, but I am hoping to see if perhaps you can ride out and meet me. Can you tell I'm thinking of that picnic you mentioned? I think perhaps you do need a day off.

If you are still too concerned with business at the castle, don't worry. I can sneak through the borders another time soon, I'm sure. Let me know! I miss you too.

Best wishes and love.

Lancelot