Welcome! For returning readers, this is a rewritten version of the unfinished story that bore the same title. For new readers - it's what it says on the tin! Action, adventure, dark magic...and shameless, shameless Arthur/Merlin/Knights brotherhood love. Because months in each other's company, fighting for and alongside one another, brings people together. And those five are the closest thing to a family that we see in Camelot.

Also, merely because I LOVE the Merlin/Lancelot brotherhood, this story is set before 4.01. Which means that Lancelot lives!
Sir Leon remains to be one of my favourite characters. He's like the Phil Coulson of the Merlin fandom, for those who enjoyed The Avengers. Leon is everyone's big brother. It's canon. *nods*

Standard Disclaimer: These characters are the property of the BBC and associated filming companies. I own nothing except the occasional junior knight and a bunch of psychedelic horses.

Enjoy!

o~O~o

Dawn had barely broken over the winter-chilled kingdom of Camelot, and few had risen from their beds save the castle servants (who would insist, if questioned, that the new working day began as soon as the previous one had passed) and a dozen or so guards, who were duty-bound to abandon the warmth of the castle barracks to relieve the night-watch. At such an hour, and with the weather so bitter, it was rare for any man to rise of his own volition.

Which is why the presence of four knights, clothed as though for for a journey and huddled in a cluster around a door that was fast shut, drew many a curious glance from passers-by. Indeed, one poor maid was so startled by the sight that she dropped her basket of laundry and spent several minutes apologising profusely as she gathered it back up.

From their serious countenance, all who saw them knew that something was amiss. Perhaps a new enemy threatened the kingdom? The servants spoke in whispers as they passed, slowing as though hoping to catch a snippet of the knights' murmured conversation. None who overheard could make out any discernible topic, and so rumours spread - as ever they do among servants and stablehands - until word reached the castle kitchens, whereupon Maerwynn, a woman of common sense and practical reasoning, clouted the gossipers with her copper ladle and told them to "leave the runnin' of the kingdom to thems' who understand such matters".

On a higher level of the castle, a certain bearded knight looked ready to bestow the same treatment upon his fellow men.

"Gentlemen," Sir Leon said, with perhaps an ounce less patience than the previous three occasions. "It would be prudent to resolve this matter before our company departs. Now come; show your worth. It takes but one man to volunteer and the crisis is at an end."

"I vote we send Elyan. He's the youngest," Percival suggested cheerfully, shooting the youth teasing grin before quickly side-stepping the arm that shot out to thump him.

"I've been in there twice already this past fortnight," the dark-skinned knight protested. "I'm not doing it again unless I'm allowed to carry a weapon."

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a patient sigh. "You're dragging him out of bed, Elyan, not disembowelling him."

"No, no, no," Elyan corrected quickly, firmly, before his fate was sealed, holding his hand up palm-outwards to the older knight. "I'm not doing anything. Not without backup." A new light dawned in his eyes as an idea occurred to him. "Why don't we send Merlin? Gwaine's more likely to try and strike my sister than to lash out at Merlin. He can wake him."

"Merlin has enough on his plate already," Lancelot reasoned on their young friend's behalf. "And given that he has Arthur to contend with every morning, I feel he suffers enough."

Leon nodded. "Agreed. Merlin has his own duties to attend to; Gwaine is our responsibility." He levelled Lancelot with a look. "I still find your excuse somewhat lacking, brother."

Lancelot put a hand to his heart. "My friends, I truly regret that I cannot be of service; but, alas, I have a stubborn horse to attend to, and I've already kept her waiting." He clapped Leon on the shoulder and stepped away, flashing a sly grin back at the trio. "It's been an honour fighting alongside you; I hope that death at Gwaine's hand comes swiftly and painlessly to the poor soul who wakes him."

As the younger knight strode off swiftly down the torch-lit corridor, Leon heaved another sigh and turned back to face his two remaining comrades. "Together?"

With resigned nods and wary looks, they turned towards the closed door in unison, bracing themselves to carry out their duty.

o~O~o

"Arthur? You awake?"

His tentative call was answered with an honest snore. Smiling, Merlin nudged the door closed with his hip and crept softly across the room to set down his burdens. The candelabra he placed upon the nearby dresser that it might provide sufficient light to navigate the cluttered bedchamber without injuring himself. Side-stepping a stray boot, he slid the prince's breakfast tray across the table and winced at the high-pitched screech of wood upon wood. He cast a glance over his shoulder towards the ornately carved four-poster bed, but the Arthur-shaped mound of blankets and furs did not so much as twitch.

Doing his best to make as little noise as possible, thus granting his master another few minutes of undisturbed rest, Merlin set about building a fire in the cold hearth. It was frustrating work; the wood seemed stubbornly unwilling to catch alight and when he dropped his flint, he succeeded only in bumping his head against the low mantle as he groped about for it in the semi-darkness. Reaching the end of his patience - which was never at its best so early in the morning, and even less so when the bitter chill of winter still nipped cruelly at his hands and feet - he eyed the lump of royal blankets cautiously and shifted around so that his body blocked the hearth from the prince's line of sight. He took a deep breath and grew still, eyes trained on the uncooperative logs before him.

"Forebearne."

Fierce flames erupted from the wood, hot and bright, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden glare. Blinking the yellow dots from his vision, he glanced again towards Arthur's bed. A soft snore shattered the tense silence of the chamber and he smiled, relieved. Satisfied that the prince remained blissfully unaware of his manservant's blatant disregard of the law, Merlin sat down on the hearth rug and inched closer to the fire, eager to thaw the chill from his bones.

He was pleasantly surprised at Arthur's continued slumber. The prince was not, by nature, a heavy sleeper. Not unless he had pushed himself to the point of exhaustion, as was his wont in times of hardship and grief. Such had often been the case during those long, unpleasant months when he and Merlin – accompanied by a host of Camelot's finest – had scoured the land in search of Morgana and Morgause. It had been a dark, bitter hunt. The knights, enraged by Morgana's betrayal and the weighty loss of so many loyal townsfolk, had determinedly followed Arthur's leadership through bog and briar for any sign of the two sisters. Weeks spent afield, trailing the roads on horseback or stumbling through the oppressive gloom of an endless forest on weak and weary legs, ever fearful of being ambushed by the enemy, only to return to the city empty-handed time and time again, embittered by their failure.

Arthur had slept little during those cold, uncomfortable nights; waking at the slightest of sounds, volunteering himself for the watch hour after hour, pacing back and forth amid the rows of sleeping men to reassure himself that all in his company fared well. Those who were closest to him knew that grief and guilt weighed heavily on him; guilt for the broken relationship with his only sister, and grief for his father's shattered spirit. Eventually the knights, concerned for Arthur's welfare, had taken to rallying against the young prince until he conceded to take rest.

Merlin shuddered and leaned in closer to the fire, suddenly feeling the dampness of the forest around him, the bite of the wind against his face and that ever-present knot of unease curling tighter in his stomach. The weather had not been kind to them during those long months; summer had passed all too quickly, fading into a cold and merciless Fall. Arthur's mood had darkened with the skies, and the air of unwavering determination that the prince had endeavoured to maintain throughout the process of rebuilding their kingdom had begun to slip. With each passing day he grew more silent, donning a grim countenance that reflected the grey world around them. Too often, Merlin had awakened late at night to find Arthur far from the land of dreams, sitting cross-legged on his bedroll with his red cloak drawn tightly about him; his face haggard and pale in the light of the dying campfire, blue eyes staring unseeingly into the darkness, awash with grief and pain and despair. Uther's eyes. In those moments, Merlin had seen the resemblance between father and son that had previously been lacking. Merlin would watch him silently, fearfully. He had not known this ancient, haunted stranger. He hadn't wanted to know him.

Then Arthur, as if sensing Merlin's presence for the first time, would turn his head to look at him and the turmoil in his gaze would recede, albeit briefly. With the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a half-smile that never quite reached that sombre gaze, the prince would lean across the short gap between their bedrolls to nudge his arm gently.

"Lie down, Merlin. You ought to sleep while you can. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

And each time without fail, Merlin would simply nod his head in compliance and obediently close his eyes, feeling sick with guilt and anguish – for still, in his heart of hearts, he had blamed himself for the consequences of Morgana's betrayal. If he had made his suspicions public, at least to Arthur and the knights, would such a bitter fate have befallen Camelot? If Uther had harboured such doubts, even in their smallest measure, would her betrayal have wounded him so brutally? The questions had clouded his thoughts and weighted his every step for those long months of searching. And in the dead of night, when shadows moved between the trees and secrets were passed in whispers along the leafy canopy overhead, there had seemed no end in sight. He had longed for the comfort of his mother's arms like any lost child.

Merlin shuddered again, pulling himself free from the dark memory and wisely scooting back an inch or so before he singed himself on the fire. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he lowered his gaze and frowned at the hearth rug. Why did the painful memories of those terrible months still linger? It had felt this way after his father's death, but life had moved on and he had quickly grown to think fondly of those few hours they had spent together around their small campfire. And if the memories carried with them some residual pain of his passing, it was a good pain; a comforting pain. An assurance that it had all been real. But what was there to gain from reliving those bitter nights in the wild? Little good it ever did him. He often became so lost in memory that he would quite forget what was going on around him, and it wasn't until he had registered the sharp pain of walking into a door or cutting his finger on a sharpened blade that he would return to awareness. Gaius was often less than impressed when such accidents occurred.

"Unless you intend to learn something productive from the experience, kindly remain focused on the present," the physician had grumbled only two weeks ago, deftly binding Merlin's bleeding hand where the knife had bitten into his palm. "Else next time your mind wanders, it may cost you a finger. And if you must reflect needlessly on events that were entirely beyond your control, please have the sense to abstain from doing so when you are chopping vegetables."

Harsh words, perhaps, but never spoken truer. And it wasn't as though his guardian hadn't been truly angry; Merlin knew the man well enough to understand that the gruff, terse words carried nought but concern and paternal affection. Merlin had apologised all the same. For indeed, what did he seek to achieve from wallowing in the feelings of remorse and self-pity stirred by these memories? Not wisdom, surely. Atonement, then? Did he seek to punish himself, somehow; to rid himself of the burdensome weight of guilt that so often lay about his shoulders?

Yes. Yes, perhaps it was so.

The guilt was easing, albeit slowly. Three months had passed since Arthur had called off the search for Morgana and Morgause; three long, glorious months wherein peace had reigned throughout the kingdom. The winter Solstice had come and gone in a blur of music and merriment, the people of Camelot rejoicing as they had not done in many years, thankful to be alive after the horrors of the recent battle. And while seeing his father as the shell of the man he had once known continued to trouble Arthur, the prince had gradually returned to his old self. The only sign that Uther's health still weighed heavily upon him was in the brief moments of silence where Arthur's gaze would grow distant, his expression sombre, and his posture would sag as he bore the weight of the entire kingdom on his shoulders. And, in many ways, this was perhaps true.

As the kingdom and her prince had gained in strength, so had the bonds of friendship between Merlin and the Knights of the Round Table (as Gwaine had taken to calling them). And as for the other knights who had joined the host in the hunt for the two witches, although there still remained a definitive hierarchical barrier between them, Merlin knew that he had gained their respect.

"Arthur is fortunate in you," Sir Dorogaen had once said, glancing across at him as they gathered firewood together in the twilight of the forest. "Few servants would choose to stand by him as you have done, and for that you have our thanks."

Smiling now, his chest filling with sudden warmth at the memory, Merlin pushed himself to his feet and stretched. He had delayed the inevitable long enough. And although he was loath to wake His Royal Grumpiness, he knew the consequences would be worse if he allowed Arthur to sleep late into the morning and thus ruin his schedule for the day. It had happened only once before; Arthur had been livid. In an act of revenge, he had cheerfully volunteered Merlin to be his sparring partner on the training grounds that afternoon – the resulting bruises had left a lasting impression upon the young warlock. In the face of such cool, calculating fury, dealing with the prince's ruffian-like behaviour first thing in the morning had seemed by far the more preferable option.

Moving to the window, he heaved the heavy curtains apart. The sun was just beginning to rise, turning the cloud-speckled sky a light grey. The kingdom lay adorned with a fresh blanket of snow, the training grounds below glistening in the light of the dawn, marred only a little by the footprints of soldiers and stable-hands. Ignoring the urge to throw open the window and breathe in the crisp morning air, he turned to face his still-slumbering future king.

"Morning, Sire!"

He waited a moment for the usual groan and the mumbled, sleep-slurred "go away, Merlin", but none came. With a sigh, he strode determinedly towards the bed, sat down on the side of the mattress and gave what he guessed to be Arthur's shoulder a harder-than-necessary thump. The blankets stirred with a sharp intake of breath.

"Come on, Arthur," Merlin coaxed cheerfully. "The others will start assembling in the courtyard soon, and you know you're never at your best without breakfast."

Arthur groaned, the noise sounding cracked and hoarse and rather unlike the prince's usual lusty response. There came a soft, dry cough, then:
"You're sitting on my hand, Merlin."

The warlock winced and shot to his feet. "Sorry." He cleared his throat and glanced towards the covered tray on Arthur's small table. "Breakfast?"

"Nngh."

"Cook sent up a plate of sweet rolls..."

"What?" Layers of blankets and furs were clumsily thrown aside as Arthur fought his way to the surface. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he squinted towards his breakfast tray, eyes unused to the dim light, and rasped, "How did you manage that?"

Merlin shrugged, smiling now, and bent down to pick up the stray boot by his foot. "I just told Maerwynn how much you liked them. A compliment goes a long way, you know; especially in the kitchens."

Arthur cocked a weary half-smile, rubbing a hand across his eyes as he yanked the coverlets back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He paused briefly, frowning, before snatching up the topmost blanket and wrapping it about his shoulders.

"It's too cold this morning," he grumbled hoarsely, sliding his feet into the leather-and-sheepskin clogs at his bedside. "I ought to have postponed the outing until the weather had improved, or at least…" He swayed for a moment on his feet, reaching out to press one hand against the bedpost and hold the other to his temple as he closed his eyes, wincing.
"Oh, gods."

Merlin glanced up from where he knelt collecting the loose papers that had fallen from Arthur's desk. He stilled, his brow creasing in concern. "Are you alright?"

"Mm," the prince grunted, passing a hand across his face as he stumbled over to his chair and sat down heavily. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "I didn't sleep well last night."

"Your throat sounds raw," Merlin said softly as he stood to his feet, arms laden with parchment. The crease between his eyebrows remained. "You're aren't falling ill, are you?"

"No."

Setting the papers down in a neat pile beside the inkwell, the young warlock cast a worried glance towards the prince, eyeing the flushed cheeks and pinched look. "If you have a headache, I'm sure Gaius could-"

"I'm fine, Merlin," Arthur interrupted firmly, taking a large gulp of warm milk and averting his gaze. The action seemed to calm him, for the next time he looked up his eyes were apologetic. "Really, it's nothing. I'm just tired." A familiar smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Although your concern is touching."

"Who's concerned?" Merlin replied flippantly. "I just don't want to catch anything from you."

"I'll throw you in the stocks," Arthur warned casually around a mouthful of sweetbread. "Just you wait and see."

"Where are we going?" Merlin asked, pretending he hadn't heard because Arthur, as always, was merely trying to get a rise out of him. "You said we'd be out riding, but you never specified where."

Arthur swallowed his first roll and reached for another. "Just out."

Merlin rolled his eyes at the typically cryptic response and turned towards the door again. "I hear it's lovely there this time of year."

He heard Arthur sniff a grin behind him. "Stop whining. Some of the knights are coming with us, under the pretence of assessing the perimeter patrol. It's an excuse for some fun, that's all. Do you remember fun, Merlin?"

"Oh, yes," the younger man answered lightly, opening the door and scooting out backwards so that only his head was left peeking into the room. "But then I met you."

He pulled his head back just in time, if the tell-tale thud of a cow hide slipper against the door was anything to go by. Deeply pleased with himself, he whistled a merry tune loud enough so that Arthur could hear it and strolled off languidly down the corridor.

.

A short chapter to begin with, but the next one is already topping 4000 words. I love feedback, so please feel free to review or drop me a PM. I hope you enjoyed the first instalment of the reboot.

I intend to update weekly, every Sunday evening to be precise, so unless real life gets in the way (as it is wont to do, on occasion), chapter 2 should be posted a week from now. Stay tuned!

I.G xoxoxox