As with all my stories, this is finished but the individual chapters need editing. It is an expansion of the two drabbles I wrote, for my drabble series but it is not necessary to have read them first. It is set sometime after season 4 but before season 5.

Merlin belongs to shine and I don't own him.

A big thank you to Caldera32 who is my tireless beta and supplied the beautiful cover art. I hope you enjoy this story, feedback is always welcome.

Chapter 1: Worst Fears:

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I hoped it would never come to this."

Arthur towers above him with grim expression, arms trembling and sword held high above his head.

"I'm so sorry," whispers the king, closing his eyes and bringing the blade down hard and fast.

Merlin jerks, gasping for air as his torso springs forward. His hand flies to his chest trying to stem blood that isn't there. Magic fizzes beneath his skin and it takes a couple of moments for his breathing to calm and his surroundings to come into focus; it's dark and he's alone. His throat burns and he hopes the scream did not wake Gaius but the room remains still and quiet. Merlin's wiry frame is drenched in sweat and his skin quickly chills; he begins to shiver but not just from the cold. Pulling the blanket close around his shoulders he tries and fails to make sense of it all.

It's the third time this week he's awoken in this manner; always the same nightmare, stealing his sleep and challenging his sanity. He's afraid to close his eyes now, frightened of the terrible images burnt on the inside of the lids.

Keeping busy and forcing himself to stay awake only worked for a short time. He's tired; so incredibly weary that his joints ache, he can't think straight and his head constantly bangs.

With a flick of his lashes Merlin lights a candle and reaches for the cup of water by his bed. He catches his own haggard reflection on the surface and for a moment he's sure the image will morph into the agonised face of Arthur attacking him with his sword. Resisting the urge to slam the cup against the wall, he grips it with shaking hands and gulps down the refreshing fluid.

He clutches the empty vessel as if the act will provide all the answers to his problems. It doesn't. The cup shatters, cutting his fingers as pieces of clay fly across the room. Merlin's eyes glow gold and the fragments reform as if nothing had happened. If only it could always be so easy.

The weight of his destiny, all the losses and mistakes; he's close to breaking sometimes but manages to pull himself together and plaster a smile over the cracks. Outwardly he looks the same carefree servant but inside he's not. No one sees that man, the real Merlin, and he can't let them - but neither can he go on like this.

For all his powerful magic, the warlock never had the curse of foresight nor would he want it. On the few occasions the future was revealed it foretold terrible events. Despite his best efforts, the omens always came to fruition. Averting one disaster merely led him to another and any attempts to change the future had been futile. Why should it be any different this time?

A few days ago he saw his own fate; he is to be slain by Arthur.

Merlin would give his life for his king or die at his side but he never expected it to be taken by Arthur's hand. The when and why are unknown; premonitions never tell the whole story. Merlin wants to pretend it will never happen but he can't.

Does Arthur strike when he discovers my magic? Perhaps he already knows and is just biding his time? Should I challenge Arthur or run away; try to change things or let fate run its course? What is the point of knowledge if I do nothing with it?

He bangs his head with the heels of his hands as if this will somehow organise the whirling thoughts and make everything clear. It doesn't. Merlin feels an unfamiliar thread of resentment. If he'd never agreed to help Gwaine on that fateful day then none of this would have happened. If he'd never set foot in that cursed place, he would still be oblivious to the terrors ahead.

Three days ago:

"Come on Merlin; I'll be on my own."

"Are you saying you're frightened? Because I don't believe it, Gwaine; you're a knight of the realm, trained to deal with anything."

"Except boredom," his friend responds with a pout.

"You don't normally have trouble finding entertainment."

"Yes, but I can't take women or ale down there, can I?"

"I suppose not."

"I could take you?" Gwaine waggles his eyebrows.

Merlin sighs.

As if his friend can sense his resolve wavering, Gwaine continues with a grin, "besides, you know about all the other stuff that's down there. Come on, it will be interesting - fun, even."

"Fun! Have you any idea how dangerous some of those artefacts could be in the wrong hands?"

Gwaine lifts his palms up at his friend's outburst. "Which is precisely why I need a guide!"

"What about my own work, Gwaine?" Merlin asks, exasperated.

"Please?" The knight bites his lip and looks expectant.

"Fine! I'll stay for half an hour – but that's all."

Gwaine bounces on his toes and practically hugs Merlin. "You won't regret it."

It's such an innocent remark; Merlin has no idea how he will come to curse those words but for now he trails behind the exuberant knight, who all but runs down the corridor in his delight.

Gwaine is holding a chest containing treasures that have to be catalogued and deposited into the vaults. There are several flights of stairs that need to be negotiated and, as they descend, Merlin is aware of the temperature dropping. They're deep underground so it's only to be expected and yet it feels unnaturally cold. Merlin pulls his thin jacket closer and buries his hands in his pockets but it does nothing to protect against the chill.

Gwaine slips the key into the lock. As they open the heavy iron door and enter the vaults, Merlin's senses are assaulted by the magic that radiates from the various artefacts. It is overwhelming and makes Merlin dizzy - like being in a crowded room with too many people vying for his attention.

"Are you alright?"

"What?"

"You look a bit peaky." Gwaine picks up one of the torches from the wall and waves it towards Merlin's face.

"Not eaten yet today, that's all." He mumbles, backing away from the flame.

"Merlin! Why didn't you say?"

Because I never got the chance! Only Merlin is far too aware that hunger is not the reason he feels queasy. Already regretting the decision to come down into the vaults he resolves to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. "Look, it doesn't matter. Let's just get on with it."

Gwaine fishes in his pocket, pulling out an apple and tossing it to the servant.

"Here."

Merlin looks up just in time to catch the flying fruit. The action wrong-foots him and he staggers into one of the shelves, knocking over the contents. He scrabbles in the dirt, picking up the fallen items. He reaches for a velvet bag, dislodging the large crystal inside; as it makes contact with his skin, a spark of magic travels up his arm and he feels his gift swirl in response. It starts out as warmth and comfort, quickly becoming a searing pain. Voices and images invade his mind; angry waves breaking into his consciousness and causing total devastation. He sees Arthur. Terror grabs him at what disaster will befall his king but he can't let go. The fate that's revealed is his own.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I hoped it would never come to this."

Arthur towers above him with grim expression, arms trembling and sword held high above his head.

"I'm so sorry." The king whispers, closing his eyes and bringing the blade down hard and fast.

The scene changes; he sees himself lying on his back crying out in agony, skin pale and dotted in perspiration, hands coated in blood.

"Merlin?"

A firm hand grabs his shoulder. The servant drops the crystal and is suddenly aware that he is frantically wiping his hands on his trousers. He abruptly stills and squeezes his eyes shut, terrified they're burning gold and Gwaine will see.

He did not look directly into the crystal and yet the images were so vivid he still sees them faintly as he blinks at his surroundings.

Gwaine is staring at him with concern and Merlin realises his whole body is shaking.

"Merlin?"

He's being helped up and wobbles on tremulous legs but a strong arm steadies him.

"Let's go back."

"I'm fine," he manages, stumbling.

"The hell you are."

"Just a little light-headed; I'll eat something when we're done."

"We're going back. I can do this later."

Gwaine forces him down onto a chest, then hastily picks up the items from the floor whilst Merlin leans against the wall. When the knight reaches the velvet bag, its contents slip from his grasp and it's only down to the knight's finely-tuned reflexes that he manages to catch the falling crystal.

"That was lucky," Gwaine states, holding up the clear rock. "What is it?"

Merlin turns away. "The crystal of Neahtid."

"The what?"

"The crystal of Neahtid; it's rumoured to predict the future."

Gwaine examines it, turning it over in his hands. The action makes Merlin nauseous and he's doing his best not to look but can't help but be drawn to it. The knight rubs the rock on his chest and brings it closer to a torch. "I can't see anything."

For a moment Merlin is stunned, even now he can make out blurry images on its surfaces and is amazed Gwaine can't see them - even though he knows he shouldn't. "You're not supposed to; only a really powerful magic user can." He chokes, tearing his gaze away.

"I guess it's pretty useless then."

"Not in the wrong hands. It was stolen a few years ago, knights were killed and a druid camp destroyed in the quest to get it back." Merlin grimaces.

"Right." All joviality goes as Gwaine carefully places the crystal back in the bag and onto the shelf.

"Let's go."

Merlin nods. He can't get out quick enough and has to force himself to walk slowly.

No matter how fast the warlock walks he cannot escape what he has just seen or the consequences of it. The die is cast.

TBC

Well, What do you think?