This is the sequel to 'Death's Watchful Eye' which has been a long time coming. Initially I wasn't even planning on doing a sequel but several of you claimed to want more in your reviews and I was struck by a sudden plot bunny which would not be quashed so here is the next installment. If you want any more of these near death experiences then please say so in your reviews. I will write more if you really want. :)

Death's Watchful Gaze

The second time Arthur nearly died.

To some children death is an invisible playmate. It's the friend that challenges you to jump off the highest rock; that urges you to ride your stallion as fast as you can until his mouth is frothing and sides heaving; that encourages you to go swimming in the rushing river and see if you can get to the other bank. Death: a provocateur, a groomer…a backstabber.

And the children follow without question; push themselves to the limits, ignoring their parents' words of warning. They are invincible. Or are they?

Broken backs arched over jagged stones, bent and irreparable; split skulls oozing grey liquid onto the ground like spilled eggs; lungs filled and bursting, suffocating under the weight of hundreds of tons of water. There is no escape.

A child's curiosity. A child's bravery. A child's ignorance. That's what death feeds on.

For the second time in his life, head-strong and over-confident, young Arthur Pendragon will experience his second encounter with death. On this occasion he is merely nine years old.

The day was bright. The sun shone fiercely in the sky casting a ferocious glow on the world below it. With its heat it parched the land, robbed the crops of their moisture and in turn stealing precious food from the human inhabitants of the region. Dry soil was no help to the already failing plants, leaving the roots with nothing to draw nutrients from.

Animals lay about in heat-induced comas, their fur drenched with sweat, eyes glassy and dull, with lips arid and cracked. Those who still retained their feet did not move an inch, swaying in an imaginary breeze. One cow managed to move a few paces towards a stone water trough only to find it empty. Lowing with disappointment, the beast collapsed to its knees – defeated.

Whilst their livestock keeled over their owners and other humans did not fare much better. Despite attempting to go about daily chores: weeding the fields, harvesting fruit, chopping wood, melding metal, washing clothes, sewing, cooking; the villagers found they couldn't. The heat was unbearable. It scorched their skin, leaving it red and raw. Any exposed limb was soon the colour of ripe tomatoes. Wearing hats had little effect either; many were overcome with heatstroke and took to their beds.

The shade was a much sort after commodity.

All the fires in dwellings had been put out for they added too much heat to the already insufferably hot world. The blacksmith's fires, especially, had been suffocated because they were the largest and produced the most smoke which would go nowhere in the windless atmosphere.

The only living things that seemed unaffected by the terrible sun were the children. Mothers tried to usher them inside but they adamantly refused, rushing out into the streets and onto the fields in order to play with their friends. Dressed in nothing more than shorts and straw hats, the boys were turning brown in the sun rather than lobster red and the girls – in their thin summer dresses - were too. The only time they ventured inside was for food or drink so they could then return to their fun playing in the strangely empty streets. With no adults willing to brave the sun, they had full run of the place.

And they had a riot: screaming, yelling, playing tag amongst the already dried washing, teasing one poor dog that was unfortunate enough to be lying out in the sun chained to a post. They made it to a trickling stream at the bottom of the cow field and splashed around in there for awhile, cooling their baking bodies. The girls challenged the boys to an impromptu water fight and chaos ensued from there.

Up at the Castle of Camelot one boy gazed longingly out of the window. He could see the village children playing and wished that he could join them in their frolicking. Instead he was confined to the castle. His father had ordered it that he wasn't allowed to leave because he may get burnt by the sun or be struck down by heatstroke.

Therefore, his tutor had set him some writing essays to do and then after that he was expected to work out some maths questions. Arthur hated his tutor. He was a wizened old man with no hair and lots of liver spots. All his teeth were falling out and his eyes were watery and more white than blue. Whenever he spoke he spat all over Arthur and his books. Half the words in the books were smudged because the ink had run.

He believed that he knew everything as well. He thought that because the Prince was young then he was stupid too – ignorant of how the world worked. This was not true; in fact, the youth knew plenty from what he had learnt around the castle. For example, he often went a visited the castle physician Gaius to gain knowledge from him.

Gaius too was getting on in years but he wasn't like this old troll, he was kind and enjoyed teaching Arthur about his work. He took pride in what he did and the young Pendragon wanted to be like that when he was older. The boy learnt all about medicines and monsters.

That was another reason Arthur liked to visit Gaius. He had books – huge volumes – full of pictures of monsters and mythical beasts. Whilst the physician was busy and could not talk to the youngster, Arthur would happily peruse the worn pages and discover what a Harpy was or a Centaur. The boy would trace the outlines of the magical creatures and wonder at their strangeness. He was aware that his father had banished such things but why? Arthur thought they were rather wonderful.

Uther didn't often talk about magic and sorcery as he put it so forcefully so the Prince accumulated a lot of knowledge in that area from Gaius who seemed to know a lot. Arthur never questioned his extensive wisdom.

"What's this?" The child would ask of a picture that had been drawn but not labelled or "Have you ever seen one of these?" And Gaius would answer without a pause.

Other than spending time with the physician, Arthur enjoyed riding his horse and playing with his sword in the courtyard. He would sometimes even accompany the Knights of Camelot in training practise. They found that the Prince was rather good.

However, what Arthur hated was spending his time with his tutor. The foul man. Glancing to his left, squinting in the shafts of light that passed through the window, the boy spotted him snoozing in the corner. He was leant against a bookcase and was snoring wetly. A trail of dribble was shining on his chin.

Arthur grinned to himself. So much for doing work. If his tutor was going to sleep then he would just leave. There wasn't anything keeping him here.

Excitedly, the Prince jumped off his chair, wincing as the wooden legs scraped on the stone beneath. His teacher didn't stir though. Grabbing a bag from its peg, he gathered a few items and then, after a quick check to see if the coast was clear, he ventured out of his room.

The going to the stables was ropey to say the least but he made it to the low slung building and slipped inside. A smell of sweat and hay assailed his nostrils as he entered and he blinked in the dusty interior. It was boiling in here. He felt seriously sorry for the poor cooped up animals. Why had no one bothered turning them out into the field? Or at least into the paddock?

Deciding to take matters into his own hands, the youngster swiftly tacked up his horse, Dinias, and then proceeded to open up all the stalls of the other horses. They all neighed and whinnied with appreciation; flanks slick and damp with sweat. Then he burst out of the front door with them behind him. As they all scattered into the courtyard, Arthur veered right and out of the castle gates. The guards posted there didn't notice because they were too preoccupied with the escaped horses. Shouts had risen up, competing with the loud neighs.

Arthur smiled. Hopefully they wouldn't notice his absence for a while.

But Arthur wasn't the only one smiling as he sped through the deserted passages of the village, his horse's hooves clattering noisily. Death smiled, satisfied. Things were all going to plan.

He'd found his friends. They weren't all cooped up in their respective manors; not like him. Obviously their fathers weren't so stupidly strict and uptight. As he rode up to them he stripped off his shirt as it was sticking unpleasantly to his back and ran a hand through his golden hair. Damp with sweat it stuck up oddly.

They all laughed when they saw him.

"Aw, has Arty been let out of his house now?" One boy cackled. His name was Rufus. "Ready to come play with the big boys?"

"Shut up," Arthur muttered, feeling his cheeks darken. "I just had to finish some work."

"And did you do it like the good, golden prince you are?" Rufus smirked. He was aware he was pushing his luck with Arthur because he was royalty but that was just his character. He was very annoying and enjoyed being that way.

"Yes," Arthur said, "I did." And then he pushed the other boy firmly in the chest so he sprawled backwards onto the dry, parched ground. There, he'd reasserted his authority. He was the leader of this pack.

Rufus bit his lip and said nothing more.

"Right, so what are we going to do?" The Prince asked his fellows.

"We could play sword fighting!" A youngster of the group piped up. He was seven but allowed in the gang because his brother was there.

"No," Arthur replied. There was no point in him boring himself playing with these boys. They were nothing compared to the Knights of Camelot and his skills far surpassed theirs. Besides, he knew the swords they would use would be sticks and that was ridiculous. Nothing could beat the clang of metal on metal.

"We could ride," a boy called Lorkin suggested. As he spoke he gestured to their horses that were all tethered up to a tree.

"All right," Arthur said, "But where to?"

"Um…."

"Ooh, could we go taunt the village children?" Rufus suddenly asked, his black eyes gleaming with malice. "They're playing at the stream."

The young Pendragon studied his friend for a second, deep in thought. He had crossed his tanned arms across his bare chest. Arthur hadn't forgotten that not that long ago he had been wishing to play with the village children and had envied their fun. It would seem cruel to turn on them now. But how did he explain that to his friends?

"Nah," he grinned widely, "I have a better idea. Instead of messing around with stupid village children in a measly stream we can go to the big river. We can swim and cool off there. And that way we can ride our horses pretty far too." He directed the last statement at Lorkin – always the diplomat. The boy smiled back at him.

"Yes, that's a good idea," one child called Richard nodded, heading for his bay horse and starting to untie it.

Rufus still looked put out. His favourite activity was to taunt those less fortunate to himself. They didn't get to do it that often because it took a lot of persuading on his part to get Arthur to agree. When they did do it, however, it was a lot of fun.

"Come on, Rufus, it will be great. I bet I can beat you across the river," Arthur challenged, clapping his friend on the back and steering him towards their mounts.

"I bet you can't."

The rays of the sun were still beating down and even the boys were starting to feel the immense heat. Sweat dribbled down their backs and stuck their hair to their foreheads. Beneath their naked legs their horses' coats were wet and sticky. Arthur was aware of a bead of sweat trickling down his nose and then plopping over the end. He wiped it away.

The group would be very grateful for the relief when they reached the river.

However, Arthur didn't think they were getting there fast enough. He needed more speed. He needed the exhilaration of pumping Dinias to the max. With galloping he was sure he would get a breeze and that's what he needed to cool his burning skin. Squeezing the animal beneath him with his thighs, Arthur clicked his tongue encouragingly and soon his steed had got the message. The two of them lurched forward, separating from the steadily moving bunch. Several of the other horses jerked their heads up as their fellow animal whipped by. They pulled on their own reins, wanting to go as fast, to give chase – it was herd instinct.

Seeing Prince Arthur charging ahead of them, all his friends kicked their horses hurriedly and broke into a gallop too. Wherever the golden haired boy went, they followed.

Hooves churned up the soil beneath them, digging great skidding grooves in the ground. Legs pumped and heads bobbed quickly, wishing they could go faster, pulling on their reins. Tails swished and flicked out behind them, trailing in the slipstream like a billowing flags. The creatures' heavy breathing, accompanied by the riders', could be heard along with the thundering thump of large feet.

Over the booming of metal-clad feet, Arthur was sure he could hear the rushing of the river. Fantastic, they were almost there!

It was then that the boy came into view, clambering over the brow of a hill that must lead into the valley, where the waterway was. He had his head turned over his shoulder as he seemed to talk to someone, over the ridge, that was out of sight. Somehow he had not heard the deafening rumble of horse's hooves so maybe he was deaf or just plain stupid.

In his hand he held a pail of water. That was obviously why he had been at the river, collecting water because it had dried up at other sources.

Arthur had no time to stop. He was going too fast and the boy was too close. With horror he realised that he was going to plough right into him. An image of mashed brains and guts spilled across the grass flitted into the Prince's mind.

They were almost there despite him pulling sharply on the reins. The collision was inevitable.

Just at that moment the boy turned round and his eyes widened with shock. Arthur saw them flashed in the sunlight…

And then he wasn't there.

Dragging Dinias to a shuddering halt, the Prince – with his heart in his mouth – turned round in his saddle. He expected to see a crumpled and broken body on the grass. Instead he saw the boy he had almost trampled picking himself off the ground and dusting himself off. During his run in with death the pail had flown and landed upside-down. It was empty, the water had seeped into the parched earth as quickly as a thirsty man drinks.

The boy stared angrily at it for a moment and then looked up at the stunned Arthur. His blue eyes were bright and irritated, raven hair ruffled.

"What the hell were you doing?" he asked fiercely, "Were you not looking where you were going? What kind of person charges along on their horse at god knows what speed without checking to see if there are people about?"

"I….what?" Arthur found himself angry now, "Well what kind of idiot doesn't hear seven horses thundering towards him? Are you deaf?! Or just dumb?"

"Neither," the boy snapped, "I was minding my own business. In fact I was collecting water and now you've made me spill it."

Just at that moment another boy appeared over the crest of the hill, his grey eyes fraught with worry and his brown hair tousled. He spotted his friend and he looked extremely relieved. This must have been who the raven haired boy was talking to.

"You all right, Will?"

"Am I all right?" Will looked astounded.

"Are you ready to go? We need to leave this prat in peace so he can go plough down some more unsuspecting water collectors."

"But….your pail."

"It doesn't matter." The coal-headed boy grabbed his friend's arm and strode off.

Arthur stared after him, too astonished to do anything. He was sure he had killed that child but there he was walking off without a scratch on him. Amazing. And the lip he'd displayed. Never before had the Prince experienced such back chat. He could have only been about eight. But then, Arthur supposed that maybe somehow the raven haired boy didn't know who he was. Even more amazing.

The others had caught up with him by this point, for the incident which had just happened lasted no more than a minute or two, despite how long it felt to Arthur. They saw the two departing boys but didn't know what to think of it and as their leader didn't elaborate they ignored it.

Wonderfully cool on his heated skin, the water enveloped the boy in its depths and he revelled in its relief. No longer was he damp with sticky, itchy sweat. This was bliss. Arthur was aware he probably could have done this in one of the streams or lakes closer to Camelot but that wouldn't have been half as much fun. If he was going to break his father's rules he may as well do it big and in style. Besides, it was as if some strange force was pulling him to this river: encouraging him, urging him, challenging him.

A huge wave of water splashed suddenly over his head and the boy spluttered and coughed in surprise. He blinked to try and rid himself of the stinging wetness and then he looked around him – his hair sprayed water droplets everywhere. Then he caught sight of Rufus laughing hysterically on the bank. Embarrassed and angry, Arthur charged over to him and then grabbed his foot and dragged him in too.

Both boys tussled underwater, pushing one another down into the depths before attempting to break the surface themselves. The other would then tug them back down by grabbing an ankle or a hand. Bubbles enveloped the scene as they streamed from each youth's mouth.

And then they were being dragged out by strong hands and Richard and Lorkin pulled them onto the bank. Richard especially looked irate. He couldn't believe they were being so stupid – in a fast flowing river!

"What on earth was that about?" the black haired boy asked, incredulously.

"He started it," Arthur pointed to Rufus, "He splashed me."

"He splashed you so you thought you'd drown him?"

"No, I pulled him in the water and then he just attacked me," Arthur spat, his cerulean eyes hard with fury.

"Did you, Rufus?" Richard turned to the red headed boy with raised eyebrows. He didn't know why he always became the pacifier in these situations. Maybe he shouldn't hang around with such hot-headed boys.

"I might have," Rufus paused, glaring daggers at Arthur, "Or I mightn't have."

"He did." The Prince remained adamant.

"Well, whoever started it doesn't matter. Let's just resolve feuds more peacefully in future. All right?"

"All right." Both boys nodded in unison. Somehow Richard didn't believe them.

As they sat there, drying very quickly in the sun, there was an unspoken agreement that this was far from over. The pair of them had too strong a spirit. Arthur may be Prince but Rufus made up for it in attitude. In the gang there wasn't space enough for two such fierce and bold leaders. One would have to leave sooner of later, whether they left of their own accord or were forced.

It was just as Arthur was contemplating suggesting that they returned home because he was getting hungry that things took a turn for the worse. Death had bored of waiting; he wanted to raise the stakes in the already dangerous game.

"Oh lord! Help! Arthur! Arthur! Harry has fallen in the river! He can't swim that well and the current is sweeping him away. He's going to drown!"

The said boy's older brother was rushing up to them, his face wet either with tears or splashes from the river. He looked desperate.

"Where, Errol? Where did he fall in?" Arthur was already on his feet, swift as an arrow.

"This way!" Errol replied, running towards the river as the rest of the boys followed. "He fell in there and now he'd vanished. I was going to go in but I can't swim either and…." He halted. Arthur was gone.

The Prince was charging down the riverbank, his feet flying across the pebbles as they skidded out from beneath him. As he sprinted the boy was keeping his eyes peeled, trained on the water in the hope of spotting a small blond head. He couldn't see anything however, just the dark raging flow of the river. The current was stronger down here. When they had chosen a place to swim it had been in the gentlest water, here the water was treacherous and lethal. Branches sped along only to be cracked and bent on hidden rocks beneath the surface which were only detectable by slight whirlpools and eddies.

Finally, Arthur spotted him, he was only just keeping his head above the surface, coughing and sputtering.

"Harry!" he yelled, "Hold on, Harry, I'm coming! Keep your head up!"

And then he dived in.

The iciness of the water hit him like a battering ram. Obviously the sun was going in and the water here was deeper and colder. Arthur almost lost all the air in his lungs from the first entrance. Gasping frantically as he broke the surface, the older boy began swimming strongly towards the fast moving Harry.

He reached him fairly quickly. They were both going in the direction of the current after all. The problem was – after Arthur had curled his arm around the small boy's chest – getting the two of them out. Now he too was being dragged along by the river.

Desperately paddling with his free arm, the Prince tried to make it to the bank. It wasn't getting any closer. Grunting and panting with the effort of moving and not letting the cold succumb him, Arthur attempted to swim again.

Crack.

His arm had slammed into a rock…and broken. The sickening sound of bone snapping caused Arthur to flinch and the burning pain which accompanied the noise made him want to cry out. He didn't though because water had just filled his lungs and rendered it impossible.

Harry was a dead weight in his arms as they sunk slowly beneath the surface.

The pebbles and shingles beneath his cheek were rough and sharp. He tried to ignore them but they were persistently irritating. Eventually he had to lift his head slightly and that's when he remembered what had happened. The river. The rock. His arm. Harry.

Arthur sat up immediately and glanced wildly around him – hoping.

"Please god…" he murmured.

A small body lay crumpled to his left. Limbs were bent at strange angles beneath his battered corpse. Despite knowing that Harry was dead just by the sight of his blue pallor and ruined body, Arthur scrambled over. He felt for a pulse. Hoped for a miracle. A miracle he wasn't granted.

You see, once again death had been defeated. The life it so dearly sought had been snatched from its grasps. By whom or why it did not know but something or someone seemed to be protecting the child. Therefore the young life it had just claimed would have to suffice. For now.