3. The Road Not Taken

It feels strange to be free.

My eyes are dull as they move steadily over the bright, peaceful mural of tall, dense trees and rocky inclines that lay before me.

I have taken up residence in a small, lush clearing that I happened upon a little while ago, and here I sit, listening to the birds sing, watching the sunlight stream through the tress and attempting to clear my mind and think on nothing… a task at which I am failing miserably.

I have been gone from Camelot for three days now, yet there's still a tugging on me, a feeling of urgency, to return. Is it destiny? Or rather, my own inability to do anything other than follow Arthur Pendragon around like a dog? Or maybe, it's my inability to live my own life?

I don't know and I don't care. Whatever it is, it is a feeling I will no longer heed.

I close my eyes, allowing my head to fall back against the wood of the tree. I feel so worn, both in body and spirit. I'm just tired, so tired…

Those days after Arthur's betrayal and my return to his service had been the worst hell of my life, second only to the beating two months prior. The pain in my leg and the lingering ache in my back ever reminded me of the actions of the one I had held most dear. Yet the pain in my body was nothing compared to the agony in my heart.

I had loved the golden king so much, much more than Arthur could know and much sooner than the then-Prince ever deserved. I loved Arthur when he was nothing more than a spoiled, selfish prince; when he was nothing more than a misshapen lump of clay waiting to be molded by careful, attentive hands.

My hands.

And shape Arthur, I did. I did it with pride, with a surety that it was exactly what I was supposed to do. It was as though as soon as Kilgarrah spoke those words of destiny in the cave so long ago, everything in my life became crystal clear: The reason for my incredible magic, the strange and the seemingly insane reason Mother would send me to a magic hating country to keep me safe. It all made sense. It wasn't chance, it was destiny.

Or at least, that's what I thought.

Now, I realize that it had only been my own delusions, my own need for purpose, that had made it so.

It was a lie. All of it. And it was such a clever and devious deception that even now, the man that Arthur Pendragon should have been, the man that he was becoming tugs at me, calls to me. And that fact angers and infuriates me more than I can adequately express.

Arthur had me beaten in front of the whole city, had repaid my love and loyalty with suspicion and unjust actions. He had shattered our imperfect friendship, shredded my pride, decimated my heart and destroyed my place in the world. My abuse at Arthur's hands should have broken our bonds because no love should have been able to survive such a trespass.

But mine had.

I despaired in those first days upon returning to Arthur's service, despising every moment that I was near the source of my torment. It was then that I began to feel a dark fury growing within me like burgeoning winds in a gathering storm, my heart furious at the injustice of it all, furious that my link to Arthur Pendragon refused to be broken.

I thought my love for Arthur Pendragon had died an ugly, violent death in the dark, dank of Camelot's dungeon and I thought my fury had too, but when I looked upon that golden head again, I felt that love stir once more but with it came a rage that I'd never known. It rose within me with such swiftness and ferocity and felt so wrong… so unclean, that it frightened me.

I have never felt such rage, such animosity in all my life, not even toward Uther Pendragon. After all, Uther was a madman acting out of pain and ignorance, a man who needed to be put down for the good of all people; sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike, and who was not missed when his unreasonable hatred of magic finally killed him.

But Arthur… Arthur had seemed well on his way to becoming a true prince among men, one who cared for his people, whose heart was good for its own sake. He was firm and confident in his decisions, but willing to admit when he made mistakes and to do what was necessary to fix them. Arthur had an open mind and had shown, on more than one occasion, that he was willing to test and question his own beliefs for the good of his city and his friends.

More than any prophecy or lecture on destiny, it had been those qualities that made me love him, that made me admire him and prompted such willingness to sacrifice all for him.

He had been my life. My reason for waking in the morning, the reason I remained in Camelot and the reason I believed that sorcery would one day be accepted in the five kingdoms again, that I and all my kin, would be free. It would happen by the golden heart and strong will of Camelot's king and with his wisdom, the dawn of a new age would come: The Age of Albion.

But it was a dream and a fantasy: It would never be.

I had not seen it before, but I do now. Arthur is too broken, too warped by the wrongs done to him by those he loved—Morgana, Agravaine, Guinevere and even Uther—to recognize right from wrong, to be a man of legend, of prophecy.

And now, because of him, so am I.

With the flood of anger upon returning to his service came a sharp realization: I could not remain in Camelot when my heart had turned against its king.

Incredibly enough, my first thought after my ordeal hadn't been flight. After all, there was still one person in Camelot that I held dear: Gaius. And oh, how I love that old man; much more than I ever had before if that's even possible. Because I had seen his love for me, that his loyalty and devotion to me was second to none.

But the unsettling darkness grasping at me coupled with the stares, the whispers, the pity… had effectively cemented my decision. My former friends hadn't helped the situation either. They had let me down and that, in the most spectacular way possible. It was even hard to be around Gwaine even though I knew that the knight had never doubted me. Because Gwaine, no matter how much he disliked and resented Arthur for his actions toward me, was a Knight of Camelot. And although he has never forgotten our friendship, he is Arthur's man through and through, has been ever since Arthur touched one shoulder and then the other with a sword, declaring him a valued and honored peer of the realm.

But even had my relationship with the core of the roundtable not fractured, they would not have been able to keep me in Camelot.

There really had not been any other choice but to leave.

And now, I'm on the road with no purpose, no direction and no place to go.

With a noiseless sigh, I allow my body to grow limp even as the chill of the evening begins to spread through me. It's going to be cold tonight, but I have not enough intent to even warm myself with a wordless enchantment. The effort to do so seems more trouble than it's worth.

I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself even as a cold breeze wafts through the clearing, rustling the branches of the trees and sending the small animals of the forest fleeing into their burrows.

Perhaps I should simply sit here and allow myself to freeze to death… or starve which, at this point, seems to be more likely. I haven't eaten since leaving Camelot, choosing instead to leave with what I had arrived with and food hadn't been one of those things.

I take a deep breath, slowly lifting my head.

I know I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to just sit here and fade away.

To allow myself to perish now would be admitting defeat and letting everything that has happened to me destroy me. I do not deserve that: I do not deserve to die, to live in hate and anger. I don't deserve to waste away or to give up my life for unachievable causes. I deserve love and loyalty and good things. And by the Old Religion, it is time I received it.

I am living for myself now and knowing that is more freeing, more amazing and much scarier than any challenge I've faced. I will search until I find my place in the world again, until I find myself. And I intend to enjoy every moment of my journey and that, without allowing Arthur Pendragon to invade my thoughts.

My days of following behind him, of allowing the love of him to control my life are over. I'm a new person, a new Merlin and I don't ever intend on going back to how I used to be.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to my feet, the action taking a lot more time and energy than it should have, facts that disturb me.

I need to keep moving. If I do that then everything will be alright. Eventually, I'll arrive somewhere and I know that the place I'm going will be better than the place I left behind.

#*#*#*#*#

I haven't any idea how long I've walked, or to where I'm going. The ache in my legs has returned and is more than a little uncomfortable. My limp is noticeable now, slowing my pace considerably but I continue on, allowing my feet to take me where it will. I am, quite literally, following my feet.

I had heard a weary traveler say that in the market once and had thought it a ridiculous notion. After all, how can you follow your feet?

But as I wearily crest a curiously familiar hill and then stop to stare at the thatched, wooden huts before me, I realize that perhaps, it isn't quite so ridiculous after all.

I gaze upon the tiny village for a moment longer before moving again, faster now despite my limp, a spike of adrenaline shooting through me as my heart soars for the first time in what feels like forever.

Perhaps it had been an unconscious desire for her that led me here, maybe it was the Old Religion leading me to a place of safety and rest. All I know is that my feet hadn't failed me; it had brought me exactly where I needed to be.

It led me home. To Ealdor.

To my mother.

My eyes roam over the villagers working hard in the fields, using every second of daylight to support their families, their way of life. But I have eyes for only one person and my heart swells with love when I spot an achingly familiar head of dark hair laboring beside the others.

It doesn't take long for someone to notice my approach and announce my arrival to the villagers. She turns with the others to see who would make such a rare trip to their humble hamlet and even over the distance that separates us, she recognizes me.

My heart stutters as her face breaks into a wide smile—one that is so much like my own—and she drops everything, running frantically to meet me. She crosses the distance in a surprisingly short amount of time, coming to a stop just a few feet from me. Her gaze roams over my body, marking my exhaustion, my weariness, before her brown eyes finally travels up to meet my blue ones.

My mother blinks slowly as she stares into my eyes, and I look away, knowing that she reads my sadness, my pain…

I feel a hand on my face, gently turning my head back to look at her.

Her smile has faded, but the warmth and welcome in her eyes has not.

Closing the minuscule distance between us, she draws me into her arms and as she does, I marvel at how small she is, how fragile and miniature she is to me in that moment. She has always been so strong in my mind; larger than life. But now, dwarfed by my adult form, by the length of my body and the breadth of my broad shoulder, she seems so small.

But no less strong; because her arms… they surround me like a warm blanket on a cold winter's night.

It is enough, if only for the moment.

She pulls back, reaching with a gentle hand to lovingly caress my face once again.

"I am so happy to see you, Merlin," she speaks, her voice deep and firm as she beams up at me.

As I stare down at her, smiling with bright eyes over the great lump of emotion in my throat, I am sure that I have not been so happy to see anyone in the entirety of my life.

And for the first time since leaving Camelot, I feel the ache in my heart ease.

#*#*#*#*#

The sun is just breaking through the trees when I step outside of my Mother's home into the cool of the morn.

The air is crisp and clean and the sky is filled with streaks of gold and purple. The clouds float lazily in the pristine blue of the heavens and all around I can feel the euphonious thrum of awakening life.

Morning time is so beautiful and the sunset is so special and full of magic. With it comes the dawn, the most elemental symbol of rebirth, second chances and new beginnings. If there is anything good I can gather from my time in Arthur's service, it is the appreciation I gained of an early start. Such was necessary in Ealdor too, but it was only upon gazing at the sunset through the window of my new room, that first morning in Camelot, that the majesty of the moment struck me.

I have been in love with it ever since, and it is the reason I was so often late to wake Arthur. I could not pull myself away from its loveliness and I am grateful to yet be able to enjoy this incredible display of magic.

I close my eyes, allowing the wind to brush over my face, through my hair.

Today is the dawn of my own new beginning, for on this day I am leaving Ealdor.

It wasn't a difficult decision to make. I have been home for nearly a week and a half now, and though my time here has been good, the hard physical labor serving to keep my mind off of Camelot and all the problems that lay before me, my heart is restless.

This is not where I'm supposed to be.

Not only is it too easy to find me here, but I just feel… different, more out of place now than I had before leaving.

I have outgrown Ealdor. This simple, cloistered way of life, free of many of the trials faced by the outside world, is no longer for me.

I crave something else, something more and I don't know what. But the answer is out there, I just need to find it.

With another deep breath I turn and reenter the dwelling.

My mother is at the fire pot cooking porridge. She smiles a bright smile tinged with sorrow when I enter, and I return it, unsettled by her dolefulness.

She is delighted that I am home and that makes leaving so much more difficult. I have not seen her nearly as much as I should have in these past ten years and although she would not agree with me, I feel as though I've neglected her. The only time she gets attention from me is when she is in trouble or when my own actions endanger her. Now, so soon after arriving, I'm leaving again.

I haven't spoken to Mother about my intentions yet, but she knows somehow. She always knows.

We are sitting down to eat when she finally speaks.

"You don't have to leave, you know," she says quietly, moving to sit next to me, placing a bowl of porridge before her.

I wince slightly, unable to suppress a pang of guilt and regret at the terrible sadness in her voice. I stare into my bowl, choosing my words carefully.

"I was never going to stay here, Mother," I respond gently, "I just… needed to see you."

We fall into silence and I eat my food without really tasting it.

Glancing down at her, I watch her take a piece of bread and nibble on it, the same as I do when my mind is occupied. Her actions make me smile. As a child, I thought nothing of her behavior, but as an adult I can see where many of my mannerisms come from. It is amusing to see that so many of my awkward habits came from her. It makes me wonder exactly what I inherited from Balinor, besides the ability to speak to dragons, of course.

The thought threatens to sadden me, so I push it away. I have more than enough pain to deal with right now to be conjuring pain from losses long past.

Finally after we have both finished eating, my mother speaks again.

"Will you tell me what happened in Camelot? It must have been grievous indeed to pull you away from Arthur's side. You two are like brothers," she says, as she stands to gather the bowls.

"It was," I murmur quietly, "and no… we aren't."

How can two be brothers when one is a king and the other, a servant? No, I was Arthur's drudge, nothing more. And pretty needless to say, a brother would not have done to me what Arthur had.

"So… it was Arthur who drove you away," Mother states softly, sadly, "I was hoping it was not so. Is he also the reason you're limping?" her words are spoken tightly with deliberate control, but I can still hear the barest hint of anger in her voice.

Her ire on my behalf surprises and pleases me. It's rare that I've ever seen my mother show such angry emotions, so sweet and even tempered is she. To hear such for me elicits a warm flood of love and gratitude. Here is unconditional love forever more and I needed to feel it more than I can say. But I don't want her to be like me, to become tainted by enmity like I am. I want her to remain as she is even if I have to bear my burdens alone.

"Mother," I say, forcing a smile onto my face, "do not let it sadden you. I am dealing with it. It is my burden to carry, not yours. Do not take it up."

"Easier said then done, my heart," she says with a low, joyless chuckle.

I shake my head as I move to help her clean up, once again being struck by the difference in our sizes.

"You know," I say hesitantly, finally voicing a thought that has long been in my mind, "you can come with me."

Mother smiles at me, before turning back to slowly and methodically clean our bowls.

This isn't the first time I've asked her, but it's the first time I've seen her seriously consider it.

Finally, after a long moment, she shakes her head slowly. "My place is here, Merlin," Mother says simply.

I gaze down at her, unhappy, but unsurprised with her answer. She's wrong; her place isn't here, it's with me. But I say nothing and not for the first time, I ponder exactly what is keeping her here. Perhaps she'll tell me one day, but for now, our paths remain separate.

Wiping my hands on a clean cloth, I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her, and leaning to the side to kiss her cheek. Her eyes closes as she clutches my arms desperately with wet hands and I can see moisture on the tip of her eyelashes.

"You will find your way, my heart," she murmurs into my arm, her tears dripping on my skin. "And while you are searching, I will be here, ready to comfort you whenever you might need it."

It is then that I close my eyes too, holding her words close to my heart and reveling in my mother's embrace for what will probably be the last time in a very long while.

Taking a deep breath, I release her, pressing one last tender kiss to her cheek.

When I gather my things and leave her cottage, it reeks of permanency, like I'll never again step foot in Ealdor.

She doesn't come out to see me off and I do not look back.

It doesn't make it any easier.

#*#*#*#*#

It is good to be on the road again.

The sun is bright, the air is warm and the path is clear.

It feels full of possibilities, of chances, of opportunities. It can lead me anywhere, everywhere and nowhere.

Fortunately, I have a destination in mind, having finally decided where to go while in Ealdor.

When I sat down to think about who I was, who Merlin was, the only thing that came to mind was Arthur Pendragon. Everything in my life revolved around him.

I had no interests outside of studying my spell books to protect Arthur, I had no real friends outside of Arthur's knights, I had no life outside of Camelot, Arthur's kingdom. And now that Arthur Pendragon is no longer a part of my life, I have no idea who I am.

I arrived in Camelot so young, became wrapped up in Arthur so quickly that I never really had the chance to discover Merlin.

What defines me the most? What is the one thing I hold most dear above and apart from Arthur Pendragon?

My magic.

It has always been with me, always been a part of me, has always been me, now I want to learn more about it and in doing so, learn more about myself.

But where to go to learn about my magic? Such a place must exist. When I first arrived in Camelot, Gaius asked me where I had studied, implying that there are places to study magic.

So, where to go to find more information?

I need to find someone who knows magic, in a place where magic is practiced freely, where it is understood and revered.

I need to find the Druids.

#*#*#*#*#*#

As I begin my search for the Druids, it becomes ridiculously obvious how lacking my knowledge is of my kin.

I have no idea where to find them, how to contact them, or how to go about getting more information about them. I can hardly go up to a random stranger and ask if they've seen any Druids lately. I might as well paint 'sorcerer' on my clothes and then offer to build a pyre myself before willingly and happily throwing myself on the flames.

I considered using my magic to find them but discarded that notion almost immediately. I don't know if my magic will identify me as Emrys, and I don't want to be treated as a savior. I want to concentrate on learning who I am, of learning who Emrys and what he is to the magical community without anyone knowing that he is me. More than that, I've never earned or felt like I deserved the reverence they've given me. In all of my years since hearing that name and understanding that the Druids consider me their liberator, I have never made any effort to contact them, to know them, to help them in any way.

I don't deserve their devotion or their trust.

It's something that has crossed my mind many times since deciding to find the Druids and something I'm determined to change. In all the bloodshed towards sorcerers and despite all the maltreatment they've faced, the Druidic people have remained blameless, holding to the tenets of peace even in the midst of incredible and severe persecution. They have waited silently in the shadows for me to move, for me to make good on the prophecies and save them from their oppression.

And I ignored them, placing Arthur Pendragon above the needs of an entire people.

But no longer.

I will earntheir trust in the time I'm among them. Then, when they find out that I am Emrys, they will love me for what I've done and who I am, not for who they hope I will be, what they hope I will do. After I've proven myself, I pray they forgive me my apathy and neglect toward them.

But first, I need to find them.

I decide to settle in the small, isolated town of Laithe between the the Isle of the Blessed and the Valley of the Fallen Kings, arriving ten days after leaving Ealdor. Despite its location, I have never been there. Any ventures to either the Isle of the Blessed or the Valley of the Fallen Kings have been urgent, requiring speed and no stops.

It lies in the center of what used to be a small mountain, one that does a marvelous job of boxing it in on all sides. It is an eerie town, a sense of danger and magic lingering in the air like wisps of smoke from a dying candle. It is surprising to feel such blatant sorcery in the air and would explain why Arthur and the knights of Camelot never ventured here, but with it being between two of the most sacred sites of the Old Religion, it's not a surprise that magic would hang heavy here.

It is for that very reason that I picked it: If my guess is right, a Druid should pass through eventually just by virtue of Laithe being between two places of magical importance, if only a quick stop for food.

I hope I'm right.

I take up residence in Laithe's extremely small inn, trying quite futility to blend in and escape notice. I realize my mistake as soon as I enter: I should have brought new clothes, or rather, old clothes. Being in Camelot so long has made me forget the ways of the outside world. In the citadel, moving amongst the royalty of the kingdom, my clothes were poor, but here, they are fine and make me look like a nobleman… or the servant of a nobleman and draw considerable attention, making the denizens stop and stare at me as I pass.

It's a problem I need to remedy immediately.

After securing all of my things in my room with a simple spell, I move to the small market to procure some less noticeable attire. I don't want to give up my clothes, especially my scarves. Instead, I need something to cover them up… something like a cloak.

I find it in the third shop I go to. I nearly walk past it when a small voice inside of me speaks.

'Here,' it whispers.I pause and, looking to my right, I see it.

The shop, like most things in the town, is small and quaint. There are various strange items adorning the wooden walls outside of it and there's an air of something hovering just outside the scope of human perception; something special and inscrutable and old.

As I look around, I notice that no one else is looking at the shop or even seems to notice that it's there. It unsettles me and I hesitate outside of it, but my magic is giving no warning of danger so I swallow and proceed inside.

When I enter, there are three old women, wrinkled and bent, sitting on a wooden bench against the wall. A chill goes down my spine as they all turn, in unison, to look at me.

I stare at them and they stare at me. Frowning slightly, I continue to look at them, expecting a greeting or something, but they say nothing. For a moment, I seriously consider backing out of the shop, but disregard it just as quickly. My magic bought me here, so there must be a reason for all this. I won't leave until I get what I came for.

Trying to ignore the strange old ladies, I allow my gaze to wander around the small shop in wonder. Every wall is covered with a strange, wondrous ware. It's filled with various staffs of many different colors, mundane and jeweled stones, robes and—.

My observation comes to a screeching halt as my eyes alight on it and I feel a powerful surge of energy go through me.

There on a chair, set off to the side by itself, lies a dark green cloak.

That's it.

I move to it, completely forgetting about my audience and my uneasiness in this eerie shop. I touch it and almost moan in delight at the feel of it under my fingers. It's heavy and silky soft, with a hood on its back. Looking closer, I squint as I notice symbols of the Old Religion etched into the fabric.

Picking it up, I hold it out, looking it over before tossing it over my shoulders. As it lays around me, closing around my frame, with hood settling over my head, shutting my body from the outside world, a sense of safety and security flows through me. This cloak feels as though it was made for me. I touch the smooth lapel of the covering, marveling at it.

I turn to the old women, "How much for the cloak—?" Only to pause in shock, eyes wide and mouth dropping open.

The shop, the items, the old ladies… they're all gone.

I turn around in a complete circle, drawing strange looks from annoyed villagers, but I am too stunned to care properly.

"What the bloody hell," I murmur, staring at the empty place around me. I am now standing in an alley between two shops and it looks as though nothing was ever here.

Suddenly becoming mindful of the increasing stares, I turn abruptly and move quickly back to the inn.

I would have thought the shop a figment of my imagination if not for the dark green cloak still sitting around my shoulders.

What sort of magic was that? I have never heard of such a thing, never read about such a thing in all the books in Gaius' library that I've poured over.

When I get back to my room, I immediately take off the cloak and throw it on the bed, staring at it as though it were imbued with the plague. Was someone trying to curse me? Kill me? But why would they? No one but a select few know that I'm Emrys, so why? And with a cloak? Death by cloak? It seems unlikely.

But the shop…

Shaking my head, I touch it again, cautiously, once more feeling the sense of safety and security flowing over through.

I gaze at it for a moment longer before taking it and putting it back on. Just as before it settles around me as though my shoulders were home.

Standing there for a moment, I finger my new covering, pondering it.

Maybe this is a gift from the Old Religion, a promise of peace, safety and better things to come. There is no need for all things to require an explanation, at least not at the moment. If it was intended as a bequest I will take it as such and accept the cloak with gratitude.

I close my eyes, reaching for my magic. "Thank you," I murmur, caressing the ever constant force with a light touch from my mind.

I smile slightly as I open my eyes, a renewed sense of wellness filling me, more happy than I can express with the cloak sitting so heavily upon me. My stay here at this town should not be so bad now. I will blend in much better with this cloak, at least, for as much as a stranger in small town can.

Since I've been here, I've noticed that this town doesn't seem to hate magic so much as strangers. If I can keep a low profile, keep to myself, then all should be well.

All there is to do now is wait.

#*#*#*#*#

I have only been in Laithe for a mere four days when the two of them arrive.

I am in the small mess hall of Laithe's inn, my gaze running over the darkened, well-worn wood of a nearby ledge. There are only about six tables scattered around the room and I'm occupying the smallest one by the window. My cloak is covering my body from head to and hood up, shielding my face from all gazes. I admit, I love it and have been preoccupied with nothing but rubbing it for the last few days. It's for this reason that I don't notice the newcomers right away.

It's the feel of their magic that catches my attention. It hums through the air like strings on a musical instrument, lyrical and sweet. When I look up, I immediately know that they're druids. Even if their magic did not give them away, their dark cloaks, displaying an arcane symbol, certainly does. I sit back in my seat by the window smiling in triumph.

I've found some Druids and it didn't even take that long.

Surreptitiously, I watch them. From what I see, one is a man and the other is a women. They both wear long dark gray cloaks and hold themselves aloft, poised, as though prepared for an attack.

Yes. Definitely Druids.

They sit down to a table, signaling to the serving girl for drinks.

Good, I should have enough time go gather my things and return before they leave. I rise while they're ordering and quickly go to my room, gathering my already packed things.

They seem on edge, so it's best to approach them with care, that is if I do so at all. There's only one true entrance in and out of town, so it would probably be wise for me to wait for them in the woods near the entrance and follow them back to their camp. It'll be harder for them to deny me if I know where they lay their heads at night… or it may make them hostile. Either way, I'm following them. It occurred to me that they may be using horses but I immediately discard the notion: I've rarely seen Druids on horses and I hope they hold true to that today.

My cloak makes it easy to hide in the trees, the dark green color allowing me to blend in with the forest around me.

It doesn't take the Druids long to leave Laithe, obviously wishing to reach their destination as soon as possible. I watch them through hooded eyes, relieved that they are indeed on foot. I wait for a moment, allowing them to put a little distance between us before I start after them.

They head northeast toward the White Mountains, moving swiftly and making little noise. It's something that I'm used to, the Druid's ability to travel through the forest as though they belong to it, much like a squirrel or a wolf. How many times have the Druids approached the knights of Camelot without any knowledge on any of our parts? It's intriguing and I hope they can teach me how to move the same way.

I have been following the pair for two hours when I suddenly realize that their trail has disappeared.

I double back a little ways, searching the ground for it with a frown.

How could they suddenly disappear? It's almost as though they realized they were being—

I feel something terribly solid and cool rest gently against my neck and I immediately halt at the feel of it.

—followed.

"Why are you following us?" a feminine voice asks harshly.

I hold my hands up, turning around slowly, mindful of the small sword hovering dangerously close to my neck. I can't say I'm surprised that they finally realized they were being trailed. Truth be told, I'd be more surprised if they hadn't noticed it.

It is the man holding the weapon to my neck. The only thing I can discern under the heavy darkness of his hood is black hair and green eyes, eyes which are now staring at me with a gaze as cold as a winter storm. I glance at the woman, noting the same dark hair and green eyes; siblings then.

"Answer her," the man says, pressing the blade deeper into my skin, eyes impossibly hard, "or I will separate your head from your shoulders."

I raise an eyebrow at this.

"That's rather bloodthirsty for Druids, isn't it?" I ask, curious, blatantly unafraid. After all, what do I have to fear? I am Emrys after all.

They both tense, the man's next words coming out in a hiss, "What do you know of us? Why are you following us?"

They've reached the end of their patience

I look at each of them in turn and then slowly, non-threateningly, hold out a palm, "Forbærne."

At my command, a small flame appears in my hand, flickering once, twice then dying as I release the magic.

The knife doesn't move from my neck.

"So, you're a sorcerer," the woman says again, her voice only slightly less rigid, "but you still haven't answered our question. Why are you following us?"

"I wish to accompany you to your camp.," I respond seriously, turning to her. "I want to learn how to use my magic and the Druids are the only teachers I know of."

"You want us to lead you, a strange sorcerer, to our camp?" the man asks in disbelief, eyes narrowing in sardonic amusement. "You must be joking."

"I am not," I answer, looking them both in the eyes in turn, "I mean you no harm. I want to learn more about magic and I was hoping that a Druid could teach me."

"Why a Druid?" she asks, staring at me, "there are others who can teach you."

I return her gaze with quiet confidence and sincerity and reply, "Because Druids stand for peace."

I pause and close my eyes, thinking on all that has happened to me in the past three months. I give her a wan smile. "And because I have never known the Druids to turn away someone in need."

The knife remains at my throat for a moment longer before it's gone: They believe me.

The man steps back briskly, moving to the woman's side.

"Why should we trust you, stranger?" he asks contemptuously, glaring at me, "you could be in the service of any number of people determined to wipe out our kind. We used to think that no sorcerer would betray his own people but that isn't true. It is a lesson well learned. Sorcerer or not, every man has his price. Why should you be given a chance when we know not what yours is?"

"I can say nothing that will make you trust me," I answer honestly, "but I have nothing and no where to go. I was betrayed by those I trusted and am now living in self-imposed exile. I have been caged too long and now… I simply wish to be free."

They continue to look at me for a long moment before finally, after a long moment of silence, the woman nods.

"We will allow you to come with us, but we will be watching you. If we even think you seek to harm our village we will end you. We have been peaceful for far too long and have only blood, pain and dwindling numbers to show for it. Many of the elders do not approve of our new ways, but we must adjust if we are to survive. We will give you a chance, but you only get one."

I take a step toward her, lowering my hood as I do, "That is all I need."

They study my face before they too lower their hoods, and it is then that I see the incredibly striking resemblance between the two. They are both younger than I thought, more around my age. Both of their faces are lined and serious.

"My name is Elspeth," the woman says, a slight smile gracing her features. She is very pretty with her dark hair and green eyes.

"Graeme," the man mumbles silently, grudgingly, arms crossed in front of him.

I return Elspeth's smile, suddenly cheerful despite Graeme's obvious surliness.

"Merlin," I answer after a moment, "my name is Merlin."

End of Chapter 3: Please review.

Chapter 3: A Multitude of Counsel: Picking up shattered pieces.

***Special thanks to my totally awesome beta sfsf. If you haven't, check out her story Disillusionment. It's truly an amazing fic.

Thoughts on the chapter: My beta asked me why I decided not to change Merlin's name with the Druids and the reason is simple: I cannot remember ever hearing any Druid beside Mordred call him by that name, so I can't assume that any Druid besides Mordred does indeed know it. I am basing my decision off of this fact.

A/N: So, this update took a really long time. I wasn't going to finish this story at first because it came out all wrong and was actually supposed to go in a totally different direction. I didn't even really have a plot for what it came out as. But now, I do have a plot because all the reviewers asking me why I hadn't finished made me feel like a monster so… yeah, I'm updating and plan to continue doing so as long as you guys leave those little comments that send dopamine to my brain. Seriously, though, reviews are addictive and since I'm literally writing three different stories for three different fandoms at once, the most popular fic gets the most attention. (Hint: It's Star Wars right now) Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it. If you do, please review. The next chapter will come as soon as I can manage to write it.

Thank you to the reviewers for the last chapter:

Allalaa, Avid Reider, Totalclutz, RULINGNeranSKY, Freefan1412, Sarah, Alex, StoriesOfTheMind, legion111, freshly caught Cornish pixies, emiliarose357, the Band of Thieves, lifeluver, flyaway213, Kate Nightfox, jasedean, Beatreex, EchoRose480, NoOneKnowsThePhantom, Yasmin, lolello, TheVixxStarr, Nebriniel Peredhil, Sehkmet49, thomaseliot, Talomor, kurgaya, Ruby890, sarach, ziva10, AlphaEmrys, ScarletLeon, AFellowMerlinFan, jayley, Avril, sarajm, readernurse, Jessie237, Lynda-Lee, Mika, Merlinisawesome, BeeTech, Mediatrix, Arwayn-T, Reverie Indigo, sfsf, Anakin-Jaskon-Skywalker-Kenobi and five guests.

All updates are also on my site: Ink Well. You can see my profile for the link. Also, if you want the statuses of my fics please follow me on Twitter. I send out a message ever so often to let you guys know how things are progressing. Thank you guys! Until next time.

Happy reading,

WrittinInStone