Sarah's Swan Song

 This is the final story of the semi-autobiographical character 'Sasha Jordan Scott'. Who most of the time is simply known as 'Sarah. Arrow's Star City is a place she visited once or twice and found a surrogate home...unitl she finally decided to go home to her rather isolated, perfectly normal life.

“It's been a long time.” Quentin Lance told me in a voice from which I could take no meaning.

“Do you accept I was honest in my explanation of leaving?” I told him curtly.

“Which was what exactly?”

“I wouldn't be believed if I spoke directly to either of you and I didn't really expect to be able to return. Or more accurately I wouldn't be able to finish...stick around to explain whatever warning or advice I would have given...so I didn't give any.”

“Yeah, that part I accept.” He told me gruffly. “It's the rest of it I'm having trouble with.”

“What that Oliver actually thought he was helping and didn't want you getting any more buried in things than you already were? That it was your choice to believe the Arrow when you were facing down Slade and Waller together and it was the right choice?”

“That vigilante..” The police captain began.

“That MAN has a deeper and darker past that anyone except his team have ever given him credit for. A lot of what this city has dealt with and overcome since his return from Lian-Yu, came from what happened there in one sense of the word or another. As such he thinks it's his responsibility to fix ev-ery-thing going wrong in this city. Speaking of the Arrow though, how did you find this place at all?”

“I don't understand.” Quentin replied, seeming sincere enough.

“I gave both of you directions to get here but they were meant to require the sharing of information to actually successfully guide either of you here. I thought it was the equal to telling one person 'go 10 blocks north and six blocks west' and giving the other person the starting coordinates.”

“It wasn't that hard to work out once I pieced together the only places you and I have ever met up.”

“You were about to ask me why Queen ran away if he cared so much for this city?”

“Yeah, that was pretty high on the list.”

“It's because his method for finally taking Rashe out didn't sit well with the rest of his team. That kid has some serious trust issues, I mean more serious than what I called you out on. Your original reason for not liking the Arrow, that he takes matters into his own hands, came to full flower that day. What led to the dam and the final battle was his lack of trust and lack of responsibility. And it cost him his team. But you hated him already because of gigantically bad timing. From my own personal life I don't like any history being thrown out because of one single event...past or present tense. Reconsidering what you've experienced over time in light of new evidence is usually beneficial, no matter who you are. INGORING everything you've experienced over time in light of what you've 'discovered'...is just weird.”

“I have to admit you have a point.” Quentin Lance told me in a steady voice. “Is he coming back?”

“He has no way of knowing how bad things are here. Even if he did, I don't know if the rest of his team can put their own grudges and burning coals aside long enough to work on something more pressing. His perception of not being needed isn't the issue. He no longer feels wanted. If they can't acknowledge that they need him in spite of that crap...they'll never have a chance to repair that damage.” Quentin looked at me as though trying to figure out the source of my opinion. “Yeah, I take it yours is a similar issue. But I really am referring exclusively to the rest of his team this time.”

“Changing the subject completely...I never asked you what you live on while you're here.” I couldn't figure out what he was getting at and I promptly told him so. “I've never seen you eat at any restaurant, you never invite me to your apartment. How do you live and where?”

“I'm a transient. I don't have a steady job, never really needed one, so I just travel around. I show up when and where I can, which usually is the same as when and where I can help. People would get sick of me too quickly If I stayed around and committed to just one cause or mission. What makes my adventures and thus my life unique is I pay attention to both sides of any equation, both cells of any conflict.” I could tell he was having trouble wrapping his head around that, so I changed the direction of my soliloquy. “I left when I did so I could repair the damage in my own head. I've had mental issues for a hell of a long time but my emotional numbness mixed with over-sensitivity had more to do with how I was 'trained'...people trying to bring me up as a logical adult who could see and judge things clearly...assuming what they were trying to teach me to be like was better than the thought process and perspectives I already had. I eventually figured out they were acting under the assumption that my oddities were exclusively the result of a crewed up brain...and therefore making me normal was the same thing as healing my mind.”

“Okay for once I'm not being sarcastic...how so?”

“I tend to choose my words way too carefully for most adults comfort. I mean I've done that since I was in middle school. I'd rather not get into that because it's not something that's very briefly understood. In your case it's a little more directly explainable. To avoid getting distracted or derailed by your responses to my words, I write up general points of what I'm actually trying to say.” He glared at me. “Is it really that surprising? I mean I don't write a script or anything. It's more like a 'this is what I'm here to get across, this is what might be a problem, this is how far not to go.' But something else is a little closer to the point here. As far as I could see, you and the Arrow were on the same side since he got back. I mean since he decided not to drop bodies as a solution to the crime problem. Which is one reason I never took either of your sides in your personal conflict with each-other. Not only was it almost superficial and a little beyond my understanding...I am famous for reading both interpretations of a conflict or argument and not 'drinking in' only one version or perception of a problem. And to hopefully permanently clear the air... When we met last time in the office, when Laurel was handing you a paper that basically said 'choose a suspect'? If I hadn't overheard that conversation and seen a chance there to cut straight to the point without added words or emotional language, the conversation would have gone quite differently.”

“Can you give me an example of what you would have said instead?”

“Actually yes. The conversation would have ended with this insistence: How do you justify so holding on to old prejudice and bitterness? You got thrown in jail at least one for trusting the Arrow's information. And he was right. You were promoted to Captain at all because you worked with that vigilante to save the city from Slade and from Waller. And now, because the Arrow is Oliver, the Arrow himself must be a prick? That's a level of selective memory that...that would baffle almost...”

“What is it?” Quentin Lance asked me, sincerely puzzled.

“I would have interrupted myself at that point; reeling myself in because such impassioned speech is not constructive unless it's inspirational. Before you ask, I don't have such clear memories of conversations that never would have happened. I don't plan these encounters out that well. But I've gone over it a bunch of times in my mind since that day. It's hard to forget or fix such a deep rut in mental pathways.”

“I would think...” Lance began. I glared. It wasn't hard to guess he was about to excuse his twisted perceptions of Oliver-Arrow, as they had been last time, by explaining how long he had been comfortable distrusting the vigilante. I knew well enough that was his next course of action. Then a light seemed to dawn in his face. “You were upset that I unlearned my realizations and open-mindedness, that I ignored the growth and acceptance I'd taught myself, because the revelation came at what was insanely bad timing.”

“Well, there's that.” I told him easily. “I think the rest of it is slightly more personal though. I never said a permanent goodbye to you or Oliver, because I hoped I could come back. The thing is, I didn't expect to come back. Contrary to what either of you believe, it was never the conflict between you that pushed me off. I've been willing myself to live beyond my time until the time came that I was willing to die.”

“Okay, I hope you can tell me more about that.” Quentin stated with sincerity in his voice and face.

“I'm sick.” I told him plainly. “Not like having a physical disease or anything. But my mind is a lot older than my body, because of all these travels and interventions I'm known for. My mentor and teacher stated I could have either one year of life worth living; out in the world and in adventures like this, or five years of life stuck at home. It wasn't something he would enforce or make sure of. He just knew a lot better than me what toll these adventures take on an already fractured mind. I would be pretty safe and calm at home if I stayed there, what some would call 'at peace'. But to my perceptions if I'd chosen that life, I might as well have been dead. I belong in the world, making a difference. More to the point, I found friends and a support network while jumping around like this...I never had that back home. I'd as soon join a shelter or a soup kitchen as a lay person rather than becoming a monk or a nun...to use the catholic metaphor. So I chose to keep traveling. The most poetic and succinct way to put my motivation is this: a horrible death at the end of a good life is preferable to a quiet death and the end of an empty one. If you do the math, you see why I feel now that I'm living on borrowed time.”

“If you were being literal with the chronology I guess so but..”

“..I made that decision before you and I ever even met.” I interrupted him.

“...OH.” he breathed.

Sasha and her Last Adventure; take one

“It's been a long time.” Quentin Lance told me in a voice from which I could take no meaning.

“Do you accept I was honest in my explanation of leaving?” I told him curtly.

“Which was what exactly?”

“I wouldn't be believed if I spoke directly to either of you and I didn't really expect to be able to return. Or more accurately I wouldn't be able to finish...stick around to explain whatever warning or advice I would have given...so I didn't give any.”

“Yeah, that part I accept.” He told me gruffly. “It's the rest of it I'm having trouble with.”

“What that Oliver actually thought he was helping and didn't want you getting any more buried in things than you already were? That it was your choice to believe the Arrow when you were facing down Slade and Waller together and it was the right choice?”

“That vigilante..” The police captain began.

“That MAN has a deeper and darker past that anyone except his team have ever given him credit for. A lot of what this city has dealt with and overcome since his return from Lian-Yu, came from what happened there in one sense of the word or another. As such he thinks it's his responsibility to fix everything wrong in this city. Speaking of the Arrow though, how did you find this place at all?”

“I don't understand.” Quentin replied, seeming sincere enough.

“I gave both of you directions to get here but they were meant to require the sharing of information to actually successfully guide either of you here. I thought it was the equal to telling one person 'go 10 blocks north and six blocks west' and giving the other person the starting coordinates.”

“It wasn't hard to work out once I pieced together the only places you and I have ever met up.”

“You were about to ask me why Queen ran away if he cared so much for this city?”

“Yeah, that was pretty high on the list.”

“It's because his method for finally taking Rashe out didn't sit well with the rest of his team. That kid has some serious trust issues, I mean more serious than what I called you out on. Your original reason for not liking the Arrow, that he takes matters into his own hands, came to full flower that day. What led to the dam and the final battle was his lack of trust and lack of responsibility. And it cost him his team. But you hated him already because of gigantically bad timing. From my own personal life I don't like any history being thrown out because of one single event...past or present tense. Reconsidering what you've experienced over time in light of new evidence is usually beneficial, no matter who you are. INGORING everything you've experienced over time in light of what you've 'discovered'...is just weird.”

“I have to admit you have a point.” Quentin Lance told me in a steady voice. “Is he coming back?”

“He has no way of knowing how bad things are here. Even if he did, I don't know if the rest of his team can put their own grudges and burning coals aside long enough to work on something more pressing. His perception of not being needed isn't the issue. He no longer feels wanted. If they can't acknowledge that they need him in spite of that crap...they'll never have a chance to repair that damage.” Quentin looked at me as though trying to figure out the source of my opinion. “Yeah, I take it yours is a similar issue. But I really am referring exclusively to the rest of his team this time.”

“Changing the subject completely...I never asked you what you live on while you're here.” I couldn't figure out what he was getting at and I promptly told him so. “I've never seen you eat at any restaurant, you never invite me to your apartment. How do you live and where?”

“I'm a transient. I don't have a steady job, never really needed one, so I just travel around. I show up when and where I can, which usually is the same as when and where I can help. People would get sick of me too quickly If I stayed around and committed to just one cause or mission. What makes my adventures and thus my life unique is I pay attention to both sides of any equation, both cells of any conflict.” I could tell he was having trouble wrapping his head around that, so I changed the direction of my soliloquy. “I left when I did so I could repair the damage in my own head. I've had mental issues for a hell of a long time but my emotional numbness mixed with over-sensitivity had more to do with how I was 'trained'...people trying to bring me up as a logical adult who could see and judge things clearly...assuming what they were trying to teach me to be like was better than the thought process and perspectives I already had. I eventually figured out they were acting under the assumption that my oddities were exclusively the result of a crewed up brain...and therefore making me normal was the same thing as healing my mind.”

“Okay for once I'm not being sarcastic...how so?”

“I tend to choose my words way too carefully for most adults comfort. I mean I've done that since I was in middle school. I'd rather not get into that because it's not something that's very briefly understood. In your case it's a little more directly explainable. To avoid getting distracted or derailed by your responses to my words, I write up general points of what I'm actually trying to say.” He glared at me. “Is it really that surprising? I mean I don't write a script or anything. It's more like a 'this is what I'm here to get across, this is what might be a problem, this is how far not to go.' But something else is a little closer to the point here. As far as I could see, you and the Arrow were on the same side since he got back. I mean since he decided not to drop bodies as a solution to the crime problem. Which is one reason I never took either of your sides in your personal conflict with each-other. Not only was it superficial and beyond my understanding; I am famous for reading both interpretations of a conflict or argument and not 'drinking in' only one version or perception of a problem. And to hopefully permanently clear the air... When we met last time in the office, when Laurel was handing you a paper that basically said 'choose a suspect'? If I hadn't overheard that conversation and seen a chance there to cut straight to the point, the conversation would have gone quite differently.”

“Can you give me an example of what you would have said instead?”

“Actually yes. The conversation would have ended with this insistence: How do you justify so holding on to old prejudice and bitterness? You got thrown in jail at least one for trusting the Arrow's information. And he was right. You were promoted to Captain at all because you worked with that vigilante to save the city from Slade and from Waller. And now, because the Arrow is Oliver, the Arrow himself must be a prick? That's a level of selective memory that...that would baffle almost...”

“What is it?” Quentin Lance asked me, sincerely puzzled.

“I would have interrupted myself at that point; reeling myself in because such impassioned speech is not constructive unless it's inspirational. Before you ask, I don't have such clear memories of conversations that never would have happened. I don't plan these encounters out that well. But I've gone over it a bunch of times in my mind since that day. It's hard to forget or fix such a deep rut in mental pathways.”

“I would think...” Lance began. I glared. It wasn't hard to guess he was about to excuse his twisted perceptions of Oliver-Arrow, as they had been last time, by explaining how long he had been comfortable distrusting the vigilante. I knew well enough that was his next course of action. Then a light seemed to dawn in his face. “You were upset that I unlearned my realizations and open-mindedness, that I ignored the growth and acceptance I'd taught myself, because the revelation came at what was insanely bad timing.”

“Well, there's that.” I told him easily. “I think the rest of it is slightly more personal though. I never said a permanent goodbye to you or Oliver, because I hoped I could come back. The thing is, I didn't expect to come back. Contrary to what either of you believe, it was never the conflict between you that pushed me off. I've been willing myself to live beyond my time until the time came that I was willing to die.”

“I hope you can tell me more about that.” Quentin stated with sincerity in his voice and face.

“I'm sick.” I told him plainly. “Not like having a physical disease or anything. But my mind is a lot older than my body, because of all these travels and interventions I'm known for. My mentor and teacher stated I could have either one year of life worth living; out in the world and in adventures like this, or five years of life stuck at home. I couldn't have known what toll these adventures take on an already fractured mind. I would be pretty safe and calm at home if I stayed there, what some would call 'at peace'. But to my perceptions if I'd chosen that life, I might as well have been dead. I belong in the world, making a difference. More to the point, I found friends and a support network while jumping around like this...I never had that back home. I'd as soon join a shelter or a soup kitchen as a lay person rather than becoming a monk or a nun...to use the catholic metaphor. So I chose to keep traveling. A horrible death at the end of a good life is preferable to a quiet death and the end of an empty one. If you do the math, you'll see why I now feel I'm living on borrowed time.”

“If you were being literal with the chronology I guess so but..”

“..I made that decision before you and I ever even met.” I interrupted him.

“...OH.” he breathed.

Sasha and her Last adventure take two

“I can't see you but I know you're there.” I told Quentin when he came through the doorway.

“Well your acuity sensors haven't failed you let.” The police Captain told me firmly.

“Ignoring that word choice completely, I made a promise and I gave you a compass. I knew you'd put two and two together eventually.”

“...However...?”

“Either you've been preoccupied and now have room to breathe or you think you've solved everything and are here to confront me on what you consider to be the truth.”

“I take it this is why you wanted to get out of dodge?” Lance told me flatly.

“I got out of dodge for exactly this reason: My mental state was degrading and pretty soon I wouldn't be of any use to anyone. Even letting myself say exactly what I thought, it wouldn't have helped anyone.”

“What the bloody hell do you mean by that?”

“The dark Archer was a mystery solved by the arrow on his own. Slade Wilson was a monster and a shadow that belonged every bit as much to Oliver as to the Arrow. But thanks to my own twisted sense of honor, including knowing it wasn't my fight, I couldn't say anything to anyone. Except the supposedly vague hints I gave both you and Queen that night, right before things blew up in everybody's face.”

“I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific.” The cop prompted me.

“It doesn't matter anymore. At least not for your intent tonight I have a feeling. The point I'm making is that with both of those monsters out of the way, I had the freedom to speak. But either I wouldn't have been believed or I would have been considered to have crossed a line. I didn't want either outcome.”

“No, I got that part.” Captain Quentin Lance told me firmly. “I mean about your 'condition'.”

The sarcasm he put on that last word irked me. But I tried not to let it show too much as I responded. “I do have mental problems. I have done since I was thirteen years old. Which is significantly earlier than we've known each other. But that ain't the problem right now and neither is Oliver...or is he?”

“You've known all along, haven't you?” The former Detective questioned.

“Well, longer than most others yeah. But I'm not stupid enough to assume I know him best...or know what is best. I'll leave that to him.”

“What the heck?”

“He does almost everything he does because he foolishly or at least mistakenly thinks it's actually the best thing for the most number of people...or something along those lines.”

“I hope you're not trying to justify that bastard's actions to me.” The idiot answered gruffly.

“That's almost amusing coming from you!” I shot back. He looked at me as though dumbfounded.

“Okaaaay. What am I missing here?” He finally muttered.

“How do you justify so holding on to old prejudice and bitterness? You got thrown in jail at least once for trusting the Arrow's information. And he was right. You were promoted to Captain at all because you worked with that vigilante to save the city from Slade and from Waller. And now, because the Arrow is Oliver, the Arrow himself must be a prick? That's a level of selective memory...that would baffle almost...”

“What is it?” Lance asked me, apparently sincerely concerned.

“Where are we?”

You're not going to get away that easily. I need to know..”

“Where. Are. We?” I all but demanded of him.

“You gave me a compass point and I followed – Bullshit.” I interrupted him.

He stared at me a moment longer and I explained, speaking as slowly as I would talking to a child. “I gave you a set of directions and the Arrow a set of coordinates. But the directions I gave you when we were out in the cold that night didn't start there. They were to be followed starting from the Arrow's set of coordinates. Unless he's given you the starting point, you shouldn't be here right now. And given your current animosity towards Queen that seems unlikely!”

“That's true but, what could be guiding me what you've already told me?”

“Queen told you the coordinates back when you still trusted him and you are only just now digging it up. Hehe. Apparently even my brain is starting to fry...not just my MIND.”

A NEW Horizon (DEO)

A New Horizon

Superman landed without a sound on the front yard of a very familiar house. He was dressed in his standard uniform, so he had come to think of his costume. Being raised as Clark Kent, he preferred that name to his birth name of Kal-El, preferred normal clothes to his kryptonian suits. But the speed and silence of flying required the non-terrestrial look of his assumed identity. So he came to see his old friend dressed in full superman regalia. Before he'd even gotten to the front door, Jeremiah and his wife Eliza walked out of the house to greet him.

“It's been way too long my friend.” Jeremiah said with a warmth familiar to both of them.

“Jeremiah, can I talk with you a minute?”

“Kal-el of Krypton when have I ever, not wanted to talk with you?”

“Well to be perfectly frank this conversation will end with me asking you to come back to the DEO.” In an instant Jeremiah's warmth hardened.“And what exactly makes you think I'll go with you? I left that place for a reason and they think I'm dead. Which, in case you didn't realize it is the only reason I can stay gone.” It was a sign of the tremendous respect and friendship the two shared that Jeremiah's voice remained calm and firm while expressing his disdain.

“ 'They think you're dead'. Superman repeated, his tone ringing with a thoughtfulness that surprised his friend. “An ironically appropriate choice of words.”

“Okay, you have my attention.”

“I'm not here for the DEO, or even because of them. As an entity I don't understand them. I'm here because the new director of the DEO and one of their former alien prisoners seriously need to hear from you. They are the only people I wasn't raised with that know who I am and they know you. I'm finding myself feeling a little stupid about her. I have been listening to her talk about her hero, a former agent of the DEO for almost six months and I never figured out it was you she was talking about. It wasn't until Mon-el of Daxam showed up that I saw the depth of her feelings about the place. And two weeks later I overheard her reminisce about the good-bad old days.” Kal-el took Jeremiah by the arm in a gentlemanly embrace, holding him enthralled to his next words. Jeremiah sensed the need behind his action and did not resist. “I'm here because J'onn J'onzz and Nikita think you're dead.”

“Eliza, take care of the girls...I have an old friend to visit.”

“You can get me to track them, you cannot get me to hurt them.” Nikita stated firmly, planting her feet solidly in place. “Director, I couldn't tell you if my people are pacifists but I AM one. In case you've forgotten there is no-thing you can do to get me not to be true to myself.”

“Have you any idea what we're facing here, what we're here for?”

“We are here to make contact and meet for the first time an alien you see as a threat.” Jeremiah Danvers said shortly. “Her role here is to find the man and talk to him, and help us know how to deal with him. Fighting him is not in her job description.”

“True enough, but this creature is the farthest thing from being a man you can imagine. He's a martian, a monster from your worst nightmares.”

'heard that one before'. Jeremiah thought to himself, though he said nothing of the kind.

“I never thought I'd say this,” Nikita began. “but...you have a point. Even so, if I never knowingly hurt YOU Hank, what makes you think I'll sit by while you hurt a complete stranger?”

“You don't have to watch. But you do have to find him for me. That is you're role here after all.”

“I'm doing it!” Nikita cried out with a passion she did not usually display. “I'm here to do a job, to help you succeed. Efficiency is better than its opposite and you need someone like me when you meet those you refer to as 'creeps'. The fact that I haven't moved from this spot should tell you something.”

Jeremiah smiled as he watched realization spread over the director's face. The quarry they'd been hunting came out of the brush and tackled the man named Hank Henshaw. The director lay stunned on the ground. The alien was only slightly taller than Jeremiah himself with lime-green skin and black body armor.

Jeremiah watched the stranger, keeping his hands visible and still. The alien walked up to Jeremiah, silently and steadily. “Please wait.” Nikita whispered urgently. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but please hear me out. My name is Nikita, my people are low-level empaths; a skill director Henshaw used to his advantage. I tracked you here. I didn't have a choice and I will do what I can to keep you safe, and undo whatever damage I have caused. Jeremiah is no threat to you and, despite the uniform, is no more a willing part of this than I am. Tie his hands if it makes sense, if you need to be certain he cannot fight you but Please don't hurt him.”

“Is this true?” The alien spoke, in a gravelly voice, his eyes focused on the man in front of him.

Jeremiah's voice was soft but steady. “I work for an agency called the DEO. Our job is to protect Earth from alien threats. Hank Henshaw was my immediate superior...and a blind fool. I swear I would not hurt a man, woman or child who was no threat, who wasn't trying to hurt others. And the DEO honestly believed you were a threat.”

“Get out of here.” The alien said, to Nikita. “I want nothing from you. You have no reason to listen to them anymore. So, don't.”

“If you take Jeremiah with you,I'm coming too.” Nikita said firmly. “He and I have each-other's backs. Henshaw brought the two of us with him because he saw how unswervingly, almost recklessly we defend each-other. To be clear, I was not assigned to protect him, I do so freely. I made my choice almost seven months ago now: I will not leave his side.”

“Nikita I...” Jeremiah began shakily.

“You have great regard for your...caretakers, here.”

“I have great regard for all sentient life and so does he.” Nikita slowed her speech down and looked sidelong at her friend. “My being an empath is what makes me a good field asset; not that I now general patterns of individual races but that I can sense their intent and what comes naturally, instinctively to them. Whatever he,” she gestured to the alien “thinks of us is, well, not something I could find out if I wanted to. But regardless, he is closer to being a protector than an assassin. We are safe with him.”

“You sound as if this surprises you?” The man said coolly.

“Henshaw said you were a martian. The only martian I ever met, the only kind I ever heard of did not look or act very much like you...AT ALL.”

“He must have been a white.” The alien said, with only the slightest hint of sorrow in his voice.

“And your people—We should get out of here.” Jeremiah looked up sharply. “There was a second Thera...support team. More for protecting us than anything to do with our...Target. We should find some deeper cover. After this creep, this, I'm actually going to use the word Kreec-ta gives up the chase, we can each leave all of this behind.”

“Do I want to know what that means?” Jeremiah inquired.

“I basically just called our boss an ignorant, arrogant asshole.”

“You'll get no argument from me.” Jeremiah said flatly. He walked up to the martian and said his peace. “Nikita trusts you. If for no other reason than that, so do I. I'm Jeremiah Danvers, you can consider me a friend.” He extended his right hand. “It's a greeting, and a sign of trust.” He explained simply.

“I am...J'onn J'onzz.” The warrior replied as he accepted the handshake.

Twenty minutes later Nikita woke up in a strange house with a stranger host. Jeremiah Danvers was no where to be found. And Hank Henshaw, as she knew him, was on his way to retrieve her.

Around 3 pm in the afternoon Jeremiah Danvers rested comfortably in the arms of Superman. Clark was holding him loosely but firmly as they moved through the air toward DEO headquarters. “Are you alright?”

“I never thought I'd be back here again. I'm not sure what to expect.”

“There's nothing I could say that could sufficiently prepare you for this place, so I won't even try.” Kal replied. “If I'm going to help at all I should say that J'onn will probably be the first person you see and you will be welcomed here by him; he's director now.”

“Okay an alien in charge of the DEO when did that happen. More accurately: how?”

“Martians are shape-shifters...he looks human now.”

“That would explain it.”

They touched down on the balcony on the next to highest floor. They clearly were not expected. A young agent, the equivalent in experience to a Air Force lieutenant walked up with his hand on his gun. A dark haired, pale-faced young man standing beside him simply smiled and waved with his left hand. “Superman, good to see you again. Who's your friend?”

“Winn, find director J'onzz have him meet us in the conference room.”

“That won't be necessary.” Came the smooth calm voice that resonated from a man known to most as Director J'onn J'onzz. “I think I...” His gaze met that of Jeremiah Danvers. J'onn did not say anything more for several seconds; neither did anyone else.

“J'onn, is that you?” Jeremiah finally breathed.

“I think we need to go up to the conference room. We have A-Lot to talk about.”

Kal-el, J'onn J'onzz Nikita and Jeremiah Danvers all gathered in the situation room overlooking the main operations center of the building. For a moment no one said anything.

“Someone should say something before even Kal ages.” Nikita prompted.

“Jeremiah...I never thought I'd see you again...I thought you were dead.”

“Apparently you're a little too good at wearing his skin. I let people think I died...so Hank Henshaw wouldn't come after me. I have an apology to make you, Nikita...not sure how to start.”

“For believing I was dead? We're both guilty on that one.”

“For assuming you were better off believing I was dead. For assuming you were out there alone and wandering, better off than you would be with me...for never telling anyone you existed.”

“If you didn't know I was here why come back?” Understanding flickered across her face. “Clark overheard the two of us talking and brought you back here to clear things up. You didn't know where I was until today...and you thought Henshaw was still in charge of this place.”

“I have to admit I'm more than a little confused right now.” J'onn said blankly.

“No less than I am about all this.” Superman quipped.

“I experienced the best and worst of humanity for 11 months the first time I was here.” Nikita said automatically, almost mechanically. “Both of them were with me when I met you, J'onn in the mountains that day. I learned all I needed to know about you to trust you as soon as I saw you shake hands. I knew you were the one picking me up from Clark's house, because you weren't being an ignorant arrogant asshole and still recognized Jeremiah's name. I've never met anyone on Earth like Jeremiah before...no one else who was born here. And now that explanations and easily-remedied mistakes are cleared up, can we get to the actual reunion part? I also never thought I'd see you again...I never thought get a chance to talk with you both at the same time...we need to find a patio bar and a place that serves cuba libre's.”

“I'm sorry, what?” Kal-el said blankly.

J'onn J'onzz stepped up. “Kal, Jeremiah, Nikita and I saved each-other from Hank Henshaw. That's actually how any of us met, including you and her. Until now at least some of us thought the others died that night. THIS meeting of old friends deserves some alcohol.”

“You do realize I can't get drunk.”

“You realize I would never try to get myself drunk?”

“And if I become ill, I won't have far to go.”

“You haven't the authority to do this.” Kal-el of Krypton told me curtly, after I unlocked the cell.

“Actually, I do. You don't have the authority to stop me.”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah, even I'm confused.” Mon-el of Daxam said mildly.

“Kal, you are a great ally of the DEO and you are our friend. But you are not a DEO agent, not a part of the organization. The first thing J'onn did for me when I came back was to make me an agent of the DEO. And it actually goes beyond that. When it comes to regulation, I am not expected to comply, J'onn would never do that to me. Winn is his closest compatriot, they understand each-other the best. I am his lefftenant; I have his trust. I actually am allowed to make these decisions. I will not let someone get put in prison until after they have been convicted of a crime or an act of violence. Blame the man who's face J'onn is wearing for that one!” I turned back to the man who still stood in his cell. “I can't let you leave the DEO, but there is no reason on the face of this planet for you to stay here. We're going to my compartments.”

“They know you're an alien?” Mon-el said to me as we walked the corridor.

“I spent 11 months here as an enemy alien. I'm not using an image-inducer or anything, like you I actually look like this. But the people who were in charge before...because I couldn't answer their questions they called me a liar. Because I never told anyone I was an alien they assumed I had a nefarious reason to conceal who and what I am...well with one exception anyway. They have all my files for my question and answer sessions back then. But I see no reason to hide. What Kal thinks of you is because what planet he's from and what planet your from. It has literally NOTHING to do with you not being from Earth. Way back when I lived by the philosophy that if someone trust the real you keep them close...and how can they accept who you really are if you don't tell them? Or more importantly, how can I know who my friends are and who my enemies are if I never speak up, never tell them who I am. The people here are the first people I've met in 35 years who accept me. People who need to know WHO I am and like me AS I am. The what doesn't matter to them. Sorry, I have a tendency to pontificate.”

“Sounds like you haven't had a chance to talk about all this in a while.”

“I live it every day, openly and quietly. It's been a while since I've talked *about my life instead of just living it. Also I'm acting under the assumption that you are fairly newly come to our shores. Any aliens I know have lived here for years.” He looked at me a little lopsidedly. “I'm giving a first impressions of Earth rather than showing you that not all people are alike. I'm better at it.” I typed '4169873' into the keypad of my room and ushered him inside. “And I can see you have a question on the tip of your mental tongue. Ask it.”

“J'onn is your director, you said he was wearing another persons face. Will you explain?”

“Okay you're either nobility or a diplomat and seeing how completely blunt and unrestrained you're being, I'm going with the former. To answer your question, my supervising officer as I refer to him was a man named Hank Henshaw. He took me and another DEO agent to track down a dangerous alien. In his words a 'creature, a monster, the most powerful man in the world, always excepting Kryptonians cause the powers they have on our planet'. Believe me hearing Henshaw call an alien a 'monster' was almost laughably ironic. That alien turned out to be a shape-shifter named J'onn J'onzz. Who upon the death of director Henshaw assumed his identity in order to reform the DEO into what it is today...instead of what it was like when I first got picked up.”

“So when you see something that reminds you of what this place used to be...”

“I actually have the authority to stop it. I'm sensitive when I see it happening again, but I also see it quicker. J'onn knows what 'we' tend to be like and what the DEO will fall into if we don't keep ourselves circumspect...from living out in the world so long...He's 309 years old. Now are you more a red wine person or a flavored vodka person...those are the alcohol's keep around.”

“Flavored vodka...I think.” Mon-el said with a nervous chuckle.

“Vodka's a mild spirit with no flavor of its own most of the time. Mixed with soda or juice it makes a good mixed drink. Wine is milder, sweeter and more like an aperitif...softer on the stomach and the liver.”

“Flavored vodka then.”

“Good choice.”

After a minute or two Nikita handed Mon-el a vodka-lime-soda' and asked him to take a seat.

“Do you mind if I ask, what planet are you from?”

“I'm Xavallen. My home planet is 50 miles past nowhere. While I lived in one of our larger cities I never saw much of the place. Now in Atridian culture, that's the name of a continent and my homeland, we are acknowledged as intelligent, mature and thoughtful people around the age of 16. But we are not accepted as self-determinate, individuals, independent of our families for another 8 years. Family is everything to our people, and until legal adulthood upon our 24^th birthday party we are bound TO our parents' wishes and worldviews to the extent that if my mom is okay with me doing something completely nuts, no one questions my decision. If she objects to or won't allow something, I would ne-ver consider it. Anything from getting drunk one night to joining a peaceful protest. I was 22 years old when I 'wanted to see what else was out there'. What that really means is...”

“You ran away from home.”Winn Schott said from the doorway. “I'm sorry, I wanted to see if you were alright. And to meet our newest alien guest.” He reached out to shake Mon-el's hand. “Hi, my name is Winn Schott; it's a pleasure to meet you.”

“My name is Mon-el.” the stranger said awkwardly. “I'm sorry after meeting your resident superhero, I didn't expect a warm welcome.”

“Did...Superman doesn't like him?” Winn stammered.

Nikita chuckled. “Krypton and Daxam? Think Sparta and Athens in ancient times. Or maybe more accurately, France and England as described in the opening lies of Henry the Fifth?” Mon-el looked confused but said nothing. Nikita looked mildly embarrassed and explained.“ 'Two mighty monarchies whose very shores look pale with envy at each-other's happiness'. The other comparison is of two city-states in Greece whose hatred for each-other lasted generations, but fortunately were not directly neighbors.”

“Yeah, then definitely the Henry the Fifth one.” Mon-el said blandly. “We're a lot alike biologically but their aristocrats and philanthropists while we basically rule over our people by telling them how screwed they would be without us.”

“That is...some next level honesty right there.” Winn observed.

A Freely Given Gift

Superman landed without a sound on the front yard of a very familiar house. He was dressed in his standard uniform, so he had come to think of his costume. Being raised as Clark Kent, he preferred that name to his birth name of Kal-El, preferred normal clothes to his kryptonian suits. But flying required speed and silence. So he came to see his old friend dressed in full superman regalia. Before he'd even gotten to the front door, Jeremiah and his wife Eliza walked out of the house to greet him.

“It's been way, way too long my friend.” Jeremiah said with a warmth familiar to both of them.

“Jeremiah, can I talk with you a minute?”

“Kal-el of Krypton when have I ever, not wanted to talk with you?”

“Well to be perfectly frank this conversation will end with me asking you to come back to the DEO.” In an instant Jeremiah's warmth hardened.“And what exactly makes you think I'll go with you? I left that place for a reason and they think I'm dead. Which, in case you didn't realize it is the only reason I can stay gone.” It was a sign of the tremendous respect and friendship the two shared that Jeremiah's voice remained calm and firm.

“ 'They think you're dead'. Superman repeated, his tone ringing with a thoughtfulness that surprised his friend. “An ironically appropriate choice of words.”

“Okay, you have my attention.”

“I'm not here for the DEO, or even because of them. As an entity I don't understand them. I'm here because the new director of the DEO and one of their former alien prisoners seriously need to hear from you. They are the only people I wasn't raised with that know who I am and they know you. I'm finding myself feeling a little stupid about her. I have been listening to her talk about her hero, a former agent of the DEO for almost six months and I never figured out it was you she was talking about. Until Mon-El of Daxam showed up and I saw the depth of her feelings about the place...and overheard her reminisce about the good-bad old days.” Kal-el took Jeremiah by the arm in an embrace, holding him in place, enthralled to his next words. Jeremiah sensed the urgency, the need behind his action and did not resist. “I'm here because J'onn J'onzz and Nikita think you're dead.”

“Eliza, take care of the girls...I have an old friend to visit.”

“You can get me to track them, you cannot get me to hurt them.” Nikita stated firmly, planting her feet solidly in place. “Director, I couldn't tell you if my people are pacifists but I AM one. In case you've forgotten there is no-thing you can do to get me to not be true to myself.”

“Have you any idea what we're facing here, what we're here for.”

“We are here to make contact and meet for the first time an alien you see as a threat.” Jeremiah Danvers said shortly. “Her role here is to find the man and talk to him, and help us know how to deal with him. Fighting him is not in her job description.”

“True enough, but this creature is the farthest thing from being a man you can imagine. He's a martian, a monster from your worst nightmare.”

'I've heard that one before'. Jeremiah thought to himself,though he said nothing of the kind.

“Actually, I never thought I'd say this, but...you might have a point. Even so, if I never knowingly hurt YOU Hank, what makes you think I'll sit by while you hurt a complete stranger?”

“you don't have to watch. But you do have to find him that is you're role here after all.”

“And I'm doing it!” Nikita cried out with a passion she did not usually display. “I am here to do a job and to help you guys succeed. Efficiency is better than its opposite and you need someone like me when you meet the people you refer to as 'creeps'. The fact that I haven't moved from this spot in tracking an alien fugitive should tell you something.”

Jeremiah smiled slightly as he watched realization spread over his director's face. A moment later the quarry they had been hunting came out of the brush and tackled the man named Hank Henshaw. The director lay stunned on the ground. The alien was only slightly taller than Jeremiah himself with lime-green skin and black body armor. Jeremiah watched the stranger carefully, keeping his hands visible and still.

The alien walked up to Jeremiah, silently and steadily. “Please wait.” Nikita whispered urgently. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I can sense you are a warrior, not a solider. The code of honor you live by is exactly that; something you live by. You understand, I think, being a solider under orders of a superior. I am... My name is Nikita, my people are low-level empaths, that is how I tracked you here. I am in Henshaw's custody, Jeremiah is under his command. But he is not a threat and no more a willing part of this than I am. Please don't hurt him.”

“Is this true?” The alien spoke, in a gravelly voice, his eyes focused on the man in front of him.

Jeremiah looked steadily into the man's eyes as he answered. “I work for an agency called the DEO. Our job is to protect Earth from alien threats. Hank Henshaw was my immediate superior...and a blind fool. I swear I would not hurt a man, woman or child who was no threat, who wasn't trying to hurt others. And the DEO honestly believed you were a threat.”

“Get out of here.” The alien said, speaking to Nikita. “You have no reason to stay. Be safe, be free.”

“Not without Jeremiah.” The young woman said with a kind of forceful calm. “He and I have each-other's backs. Hank brought the two of us out here with him because he saw that we unswervingly, almost recklessly defend each-other. I was not assigned to protect him, I do so freely. It's important that people out on a mission together have each-others backs, simply for tactical safety and success of the mission. But it's fiercer, stronger, harder to break if we actually care, if it's by choice, rather than requirement. I made my choice 7 months ago: I will not leave his side.”

“Nikita I...”

“I AM a low level empath. And that is em-path not tele-path. I can't read his mind to know what he thinks of us, but we are safe with him, he's a good man...like you. Although I must admit...” She blushed deeply. “You do sort of surprise me.”

At that moment they heard a rustling in the leaves. “there is a second team here, sent more to provide safety and cover for our team than to do anything about you.” Nikita said as thought her mouth moved on its own. “we should Really get out of here.”

“Higher ground?” Jeremiah suggested.

“Deeper cover.” Nikita answered. “But introductions first, yes?”

“Nikita trusts you and so do I.” Placing his left hand over his heart the DEO agent identified himself. “I'm Jeremiah Danvers. You can consider me a friend.”

“...I am...J'onn J'onzz.”

Jeremiah rested comfortably in the arms of superman. Clark was holding him loosely but firmly as they moved through the air toward DEO headquarters. “Are you alright?” Clark asked him.

“I never thought I'd be back here again. I'm not sure what to expect.”

“I wish we could take things slow, and look around but that's not going to happen. There's nothing I could say that could sufficiently prepare you.” Kal replied. “I should tell you though, J'onn will probably be the first person you see, he's director now.”

“Okay an alien in charge of the DEO since when?”

“Martians are shape-shifters...he looks human now.”

“That would explain it.”

They touched down on the balcony on the next to highest floor. And they were clearly not expected. A young agent, the equivalent in experience to a Air Force lieutenant walked up with his hand on his gun. A dark haired, pale-faced young man standing beside him simply smiled and waved with his left hand. “Superman, good to see you again. Who's your friend?”

“Winn, find director J'onzz have him meet us in the conference room.”

“That won't be necessary.” Came the smooth calm voice that resonated from a man known to most as Director J'onn J'onzz. “I think I...” His gaze met that of Jeremiah Danvers. J'onn did not say anything more for several seconds; neither did anyone else.

“J'onn, is that you?” Jeremiah finally breathed.

“I think we need to go up to the conference room. We have A-Lot to talk about.”

A Long overdue Revelation (by Merlin)

Merlin trusts Arthur's judgment and character. Eventually even Morganna acknowledged that Merlin has proven himself willing to lay down his life for Arthur. If Merlin's only reason for doing this was because Arthur was the prince, and later the king, it wouldn't have made as much sense. What follows is one chance Merlin might have had to prove both of his deepest conviction at once. I hope he never asks about this:

We were sitting next to the fire I had made. He was crouched over it a little to my left. I didn't want to intrude on his thoughts and I wasn't sure I'd like what he would tell me if he ever did speak them. So I just focused my attention on the skewered vegetables I was cooking. I'd used my power to stoke the fire, and was spending part of my attention turning the sticks anyway. It was a weird feeling, being able to show him the truth of what I was, and not getting any reaction from him about it whatsoever. Then I realized why he was so calm about it. Actually there were two explanations. Either he was so preoccupied with his thoughts he didn't have energy to react, or without knowing magic was against the law, he personally didn't care.

“Why are you helping me, Merlin?”

“Because I am your friend, Arthur. And because I really don't have a choice.”

“I realize I've only known you for a few days.” Arthur began. I gaped at him. “Well for my part I have. No matter how long we knew each-other before, I only remember the passed few days.”

“I cannot disagree. Which raises the question, what DO you think based on these passed days?”

“That you hide too much of yourself.” Was the almost immediate response. “Either that or you have a really messed up view of yourself. What you've told me and what you've shown me don't add up. And if you don't answer me of your own volition I WILL find a way to make you tell me.”

“Arthur I don't understand.” I told him firmly. “If the past few days are all that can inform you..”

“I never said that!” He shouted. He jumped from the campfire over to me in seconds, drawing a dagger as he did so. I held my hands rigidly at my sides as I asked him what he meant. “You say your station is as my servant, yet you call me by my first name and are as bold as brass about your intentions. You act like you've had your mouth sewn shut for months if not years, but you never think anything of stating exactly what's on your mind. You make no sense.”

“If you remembered what has passed between us you wouldn't find anything wrong with the first part of that.” I told him as firmly as I could. “Being your servant does not mean agreeing with everything you say. In fact, you've always told me that my brash honesty and forthright manner is one of the main reasons you like having me around. It was almost like there would be no reason to have someone so close to you if all they did was keep their mouth shut. You usually take just me on your quests. It leaves little room to worry what others think of my...informality. I've never felt it was undesired to call you Arthur.”

He pulled the dagger a bit further from my neck. I sighed with relief and did my best to look him in the face.

“What about the rest of it?” Arthur asked me plainly.

“You are right when you say that I've been hiding too much of myself. At least, you are not wrong. There is a part of myself I've always tried to hide. It wasn't my opinions or perceptions. I've always felt free to share those...Which is one more thing I am grateful for, both to you and to whoever god may be that you accept my opinion and actually consider it at all...one more reason I follow you so devotedly. To dispel an answer you don't have...Am I the king's servant or am I yours?”

“How do you mean?”

“You are the king of Camelot. I became your servant not long at all after coming into the town, a few years before you would come to the throne. But that's not why I'm here. I'm here because of who you are. I wanted to make sure you knew the distinction.”

He tightened his grip on the dagger and his eyes grew cold. “What exactly it the point?”

“Who told you anything else about either of us?” I asked him blankly. “Was it a woman with long, black hair, dressed in black, with a pale face and sallow eyes?”

“What does that matter to you?” Arthur demanded coldly.

“Morganna is your half-sister Arthur. Although neither of you even knew that for most of your lives. She hated your father and she hates your one-sided view of her kind. But she's wrong. Your view is not one-sided, only limited. And I mean from a lack of experience, not personal beliefs or prejudice. If you'd HAD anything else to go on, any other wizards like me, you'd not hate or fear “her kind” like you are known to. As far as her insistence that her rightful place is on the throne of Camelot...You have always been a better leader and a better person than your father ever was or she could ever be. It took me longer than I'd care to admit to see why I follow you so blindly. I suppose that is my point and my question. I tend to prattle on about things like this. I really should ask how you want to proceed here.”

“Be direct and be concise.” Arthur told me through gritted teeth.

“I follow YOU, Arthur.” I told him passionately. “Our enemies have never understood my devotion to you. To them I am the prince's servant nothing more. Now, I suppose they would call me the king's servant. Morganna actually asked me why I follow you so blindly. I don't know what finally made her understand it. But she asked me why I have proved myself willing to lay down my life for you. I was too relieved that she'd finally seen I AM willing, to answer her question very clearly at all. But she's wrong; it isn't blind devotion. And it isn't because you are a king. You and I could be equals by law and I'd still feel honored and privileged to consider you my friend. I would still never leave your side. And it isn't duty or loyalty that keeps me with you. I have faith in you Arthur, and I believe in who you are as a person...no matter the dangers we face together or what the understanding is between us.” I looked at the ground.

“What do you refer to?” Arthur asked me in a slow, deliberate voice.

“There was a sorcerer I met a long time ago. He asked me why I'm so loyal to you when you treat me like a slave. This was early enough in our adventures that you really didn't take much notice of me, compared to the trust and respect you've shown me in the last year or so. But even if you did! Even if we stopped being friends and I was nothing but a servant, in your eyes...For my part it would change nothing. I'd still follow you to the ends of the Earth. And I'd still be trying to save your royal backside.”

He pulled his dagger back and dropped it. He looked stunned. I don't know if it was more to do with what he'd just threatened me with or with what I'd told him. Not that it really changed anything.

He turned from me physically and started pacing. “How could I have been so stupid!” He chastised himself. “How could I have put everything together and come to such a wrong conclusion?”

He seemed to be directly asking me, so I answered him directly. “I doubt you did.” Arthur looked up at me, as though unsure I'd actually told him that. “From what I can tell, Morganna probably observed everything that has happened these past three days, gave you an accurate description of them, which earned acceptance that she knew what she was talking about. She probably told you her conclusion of my motivations, based on everything that has physically happened these passed few days. She'd have presented herself as being more direct and open about her own motives and conclusions than I was. It would have turned your doubts and uncertainties about me into convictions of duplicity. Lacking any other conclusion to draw after our time together, you accepted her interpretation.”

“How can she know me that well?” Arthur stated, in mystified voice.

“She was Uther's ward officially.” I answered. “She grew up along side you, but not AS your sister. However colored her vision is now, she has a lot of...experiences...to tell her how to achieve her goals.”

“Can you fill in the gaps?” Arthur asked me plainly.

“I can restore your memories easily, once we get back to Camelot and I look up the right spell. Also I need to talk to Gaius...my guardian. He'll know better than anyone how and why to get this done...I need to tell him it's by your own request so he doesn't think I'm risking my neck. I'm pretty good at magic, but this seems to need a more...He is the most learned person I know. He'll tell me the risks and all.”

We got to Camelot pretty quickly after that. Gaius wasn't around but I looked through some of his books and found the spell, and the ingredients I would need. I didn't see Arthur again until much later that night. And I can only pray I'll remember it as clearly and accurately as I do now.

“Arthur are you even there?” I told him. He didn't seem to hear me. “Arthur what's happened to you?” I yelled. Nothing seemed to work. He was walking toward me as slowly and deliberately as...anything and nothing at the same time. “Arthur do you know who I am?” I persisted.

“The darkest wizard in the five kingdoms.” He answered me, as though his response was built in. “A sorcerer with more destructive powers than any I have ever faced. I don't imagine a sword would normally be very effective against your kind.” He added easily. “But my friend has dampened your powers by her own arts. You must stoop to defending yourself with metal.” He tossed me a sword. I heard it clank on the stones, just in front of me. I didn't bother looking at it.

“Did you design this to be a duel in the dead of night?” I asked him simply. “No one is around who can help me or hold you accountable. I can't help wondering which part of that you had more in your head. To be perfectly honest, I'm grateful for both considerations.”

“Why exactly is that?”

“Oh let's get to that in a minute...” I began.

“No, now.” Arthur ordered.

“I wouldn't want anyone to see you like this, OR see what I might have to do to stop you.” I answered in a pretty clipped voice. “I tell you, figuratively binding my hands so I'll have to use a sword is the single most useless move she's ever made. If she had a faint notion of what she's seen of us, even these past few days much less the years since I came to Camelot, she'd know it is both useless and pointless.”

“If I were you I would not doubt her skills at magic, or over-estimate your talent at fighting.” Arthur told me coldly. I would have laughed at him if he'd said that in any other situation.

“That's not what I mean.” I told him as clearly as I could. “I know I could never equal much less best you in a fight. I do not doubt for a second that her spells would be as effective on their assigned function as any of my own. But her purpose is not furthered by that function...” I had to take a breath before I threw down the gauntlet, as it were. “...I will not fight you.”

“You think I would not strike an unarmed man?” He told me fiercely.

I smiled at him.“I think if you were alright killing me in cold blood, you wouldn't have bothered offering me a sword. And I'll consider this an execution rather than a murder. But on what charge?”

“Why do you always have to play word games?” Arthur persisted.

“Arthur, you can't be doing this because I have magic!” I yelped. “Your benefactor has those powers. You've said so yourself. I have made no show of my abilities to lead you to think I have such powers as what you're ascribing to me. So that must be her influence as well. I always wanted to tell you the truth. I have hoped if you ever figured this out about me, you would judge how I would use my abilities based on the quality of my heart. What I'm trying to say is: please judge my heart and intentions on more than just the passed three days or what others tell you.” In a flash I saw what he was thinking, as clearly and cleanly as though he'd sent me the pictures and the message with his mind on purpose. “Do you hate me so badly because you believe I've lied to you?”

“Do you deny it?” He hissed.

“I've never lied to you.” I insisted. “I've learned when to shut up and when not to bother talking. But I have never lied to you about who or what I am. Although I see no reason to hide the latter anymore.”

“Enough words!” He shrieked at me. “Enough riddles, no more nonsense no more deceit!” He rushed at me. I felt the hilt of his sword thump against my chest. I fell down, out of breath. “Why don't you pick up the sword and fight?!” He demanded of me. “Or try one of your spells? I said she's dampened you magic, I never said she stole it from you.” He backhanded me. “You might not be able to win, but at least you could defend yourself!”

“Why would I?” I answered blankly. Then I'd be proving myself a liar.”

“What do you mean?” He told me. “And you'd better not play around with me.”

"Arthur, I once said I was willing to die for you. I've actually tried to on occasion. If Morgana hadn't blanked out your mind I wouldn't have to say it; you already knew. From the challenge with the wine goblets...Facing Kilgarrah, going on the run from Morganna's army when she seized the throne. The battle that ensued was one more thing if you learned the complete truth of you'd never question my loyalty, though you might have taken my head off  for other reasons. Morgana claimed hereditary ruler-ship at the head of an immortal army. And you rallied your followers to take the kingdom back. What I'm saying is there's been a lot of times where I've shown you the truth of my soul, what you now see as manipulation and deception. Arthur, This IS who I am. That hasn't changed. Nor has the first promise I ever made you. It seems ages ago...After your battle with the questing beast I told you I was happy to be your servant until the day I died. I will be and I am; even if that's today.”

Arthur crumpled into a mess on the ground. His face looked flushed, as if with tears as well as pain.

“I'm sorry.” He breathed. “I'm so sorry.”

“Arthur, I think we have to share the blame on this one.” I told him as I sat down next to him. He looked up at me, with almost a plea in his eyes. “You told me earlier I wasn't making sense. I should have realized that if you didn't remember our adventures together, you couldn't exactly take them into consideration figuring out who to trust. Without our history together, you have no particular reason to trust me...beyond to be good at my work."

“You are a true friend Merlin. But I need to ask...Have I always known?” 

“That I trust your judgment and would follow you to the ends of the Earth? Yeah. That was kind of hard to ignore. I've gone back and forth in my mind whether you realized my heart and devotion were because of who, not what you are. I mean, becoming your servant in the first place, wasn't really either of our choices. Over time, I think we've both learned to view and accept each other for who we truly are and not anything the world would shape us into or paint us as...Well, for the most part.”

He looked at me as sharply as he could. “What else are either of us hiding?”

“It isn't that.” I answered automatically. “I'm not hiding anything anymore. I suppose that's one more thing I should have seen the importance of. I stoked the fire with my magic and was turning the meat on the sticks without touching them. You saw me do this and didn't react in fear or suspicion. I should have realized then it was safe to tell you...There are laws against any and all use of magic. Your father usually treated magic users as being evil and dangerous...as if we were always as bad as murderers. I loved you enough, and understood you well enough to know you'd never see me that way. I still am a liar, for keeping this from you. To me that is a worse crime; a fate and a label even more fiercely to be avoided. I didn't want your feelings to me and you obligation to your people to get in the way of each other. It is that simple.”

“You weren't just scared for your life?” Arthur asked in a curious tone.

“This is why we have to share the blame Arthur. I was sure you would eventually accept who I am as a person, even in spite of my powers. But I was mortified you wouldn't see that my abilities are as much a part of me as the clothes I wear, the brash honesty I have or my devotion to the ideals we share: equality, justice and...valor I guess is the word. It was revolutionary, the honor you showed knighting our friends around the table of the court of the ancient kings. In one stroke you threw the 'knights are of noble birth' ancient law of Camelot out the proverbial window, and showed everyone there the king you were becoming. But I couldn't convince myself you would ever make magic legal. I didn't want you to have to see me as a good person in spite of my magic or a bad person because I have it. If those were the only conclusions you'd make in light of this discovery, you would be better off in the dark. I was BORN with magic. I live with the responsibility and danger it brings, unto itself. Having the powers that I do is a great burden, treasure and responsibility all in one. Honestly, I think it would be even if magic was suddenly NOT a crime punishable by death. Magic can be used for evil, but it cannot make me better or worse as a person and in my heart than I am. Actually, one thing Morganna told you was right on point.”

“Okay, you have my attention.” Arthur replied weakly.

“Morganna must have realized somehow that I am Emrys.” I replied, admittedly cryptically. “Either that or she was making up a lie that happened to be accurate. I DO have more power in me than most others I've met with magic. Other sorcerers both good and evil have noticed how natural I am with my gifts. I was told long ago that no matter how much I can do with my gifts, what I choose to do with them is who and what I am. It's taken me the better part of six years to realize how true this is. Come to the point? It doesn't matter what I can do with my powers. I never studied magic or taught it to myself; it's in me as though it were my lifeblood. I choose the purpose for my skills, how I use these gifts. I made a choice long ago to use them to save your life and help you become the king so many of our friends saw in you.”

“There are others then, as devoted to me as you are?”

“The knights of the round table were already devoted to you Arthur; before you knighted them. You showed them there is more they can achieve than what your father's law would set for them. More to the point, you have always been a force for justice, freedom and all that's good. They saw that and were inspired by your vision and leadership. I don't know Elyan and Percival that well, but if magic ever was alright by law, the others wouldn't have much of a problem with me on that score...or so I gather.”

“That's nice to know.” Arthur told me. Which part of my statement he was referring to eluded me.

“Slightly more to the point, my magic unto itself, cannot change my character, in either direction. My abilities are just one more thing that make my destiny so special...and make it easier to fulfill.”

At that moment Merlin would have put the back of his hand against his mouth, as though horrified he'd spoken openly. But as I hope the reader has deduced, none of this actually ever happened.