Hello everyone :)

Thank you for all the wonderful responses to the first chapter - they made my day! :D

Well, this is a bit of a longer update after the cliffhanger (and yes, Arthur fans, the prince will make an appearance now). I tried to make this as close to the episode as possible with regard to what is actually happening when the Knights are fighting at the beginning.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it! :)


"Pull back! Retreat!"

Arthur struggled, tugging the almost deadweight of his father away from the heart of the battle. His stare fell with a sense of dread upon the approaching wave of soldiers, seemingly never-ending in their assault of Camelot. The lower town was taken; this was something he had accepted. If they regrouped and withdrew now, the citadel could still be spared.

Heaving, the prince wrenched Uther further away from the chaos. The elder man struggled uselessly, before seemingly conceding and pivoting on one foot. In a practised way, Arthur tugged his father's arm over his shoulder, grasping him securely around the waist and proceeding in dragging him away from the battle. He heard the King grunt by his ear and winced in sympathy, but, if anything, increased his pace.

I need him safe. Then I can concentrate on defending his kingdom.

"Arthur," the regal man groaned by his side, causing Arthur to simply hoist him further up against him. "Arthur, enough…"

"You are wounded, Father and not yet recovered from your illness. I cannot allow you to fight. I must protect my King," interrupted the blonde soldier, hauling Uther rapidly towards the courtyard as they passed through the blazing lower town. A pang of regret nestled deep within his chest at the devastation, but he forced it deep within; now was not the time for grief.

Father and son limped tiredly forth, some of the other knights lingering behind to defend their rulers honourably. The King hissed quietly by his side and Arthur murmured a quick apology as they rounded the corner towards the stables.

"Sire!"

Cerulean eyes expanded promptly and Arthur twisted, pitching to the side and wrenching the wounded Uther with him. Hardly even a second had passed when he saw his horse gallop hastily past them, neighing in torment at the horrifying events it had, unfortunately, born witness to.

"Father, are you alright?" he managed breathlessly, already moving regardless of the King's answer. He saw Uther sharply nod out of the corner of his eye and replied in kind, feet darting forward nimbly despite the weariness he could feel stirring within.

The stables, Arthur idly noticed, were all but demolished. Raging flames had swept up the structure until the prince could scarcely recognise what it had previously looked like. The relief that his horse had managed to escape was drastically overwhelmed by the reality that many others had not in some buildings that were similarly ablaze.

As he neared, he imagined that he saw a figure in the smoke, but disregarded the ridiculous notion instantly. There was no chance that any people who had remained in the lower town were still alive. He found himself swallowing past an uncomfortable lump in his throat at such burdening knowledge.

How many have died here today? How many more will die?

Arms aching from the not quite so insubstantial weight of his father leaning against him, the prince headed towards the citadel, the crashing of war still chasing fast upon his heels. And yet, he refused to let it bring him down and defeat him: he was determined not to allow the kingdom that he loved, fall.

"Help me, please!"

Arthur stopped, glancing past the King's hunched frame to locate the source of the scream. An astounded expression coveted his face as he watched a young child stumble through the thick pillar of smoke billowing from the stables, coughing violently. The boy stumbled, sobbing harshly as he crashed to his knees on the hard, unforgiving ground.

The prince spun, hearing Uther curse as he was forced to hobble humiliatingly alongside at the movement. Arthur ignored the impressive language creeping as rather foreboding whispers into his ear and gestured hurriedly for a passing knight to approach. Without hesitation, the man, Sir Bedivere raced over to him, leaning in close so as to better hear his prince's orders.

"I need you to take my father to Gaius. Go, quickly!"

The tall knight bowed his head respectfully, pausing only to allow Arthur to duck out from under Uther's arm before swiftly taking his place. His father's concerned and uncertain stare found his own and, hoping that the air of confidence he portrayed was convincing to everyone but himself, Arthur quirked his lips reassuringly. Dodging around the pair, he raced in the direction of the fallen child.

"Calm down," he spoke softly, dropping expertly into a crouch before the boy. One hand reached out and tenderly rested on a shaking shoulder. The bowed head shot upright in surprise, tear-filled eyes swimming as they studied him. "Are you hurt?"

The stable boy paused, before steadily shaking his head. "Sire, he…" A bout of violent coughing prevented any further words and Arthur edged closer, supporting the small frame gently with both hands. It was clear that this child was beyond a mess; covered from head to toe in soot and trembling violently with what Arthur could only hope to be shock.

"You're alright; breathe through it," he coerced, edging his hands neatly under the boy's armpits and raising him carefully to his feet. The coughing began to subside, but Arthur placed a steadying hand behind the child's back. "Can you walk?"

"Sire," the boy turned, catching the prince off guard as he began clutching desperately at the bloodied chainmail. The tiny fingers scrabbled uselessly over the polished metal, trying to find purchase in his panic, "Sire, please help him! He pushed me out of the way and the rope… i-it just snapped, and he wasn't moving. I was too t-tired and I couldn't pull him out and…"

"Wait, wait. Just slow down…"

With an earnestness that struck the young Pendragon hard, the child clutched at him again, tears flowing steadily down his blackened cheeks. "He saved me, my Lord. Please, save him."

Arthur frowned as the child twisted, glancing back sorrowfully at the burning stables. A cruel sob tore itself from his throat and the prince followed his gaze, his exhausted mind struggling to comprehend what he was being told.

Help him… he pushed me… wasn't moving… I couldn't pull him out… save him.

Solving the riddle that he had been presented with made his heart grow cold, colour draining from his face as he watched the inferno strike out towards them. The wall of flame flickered violently; a fiery beast still intent on consuming what little remained of the stables.

"There's not someone still in there?"

Personally, Arthur was not sure if he should actually phrase his statement as a question. Even if he was right in presuming that he had correctly deciphered what the stable boy had been trying to say, there was little chance that the person inside was still alive. The fire roared again and the child pressed tightly back against him, weeping hysterically at the damage.

The prince swivelled on one foot, calling over a passing knight whilst crouching back down to the boy's eye level. "Listen to me, Sir Geraint," he gestured behind him, "will take you to the castle, okay?"

"B-But, what a-about…?"

"I will help your friend," the prince assured him, softly wiping away his charge's tears with gloved fingers. A small smile of reassurance rose on Arthur's face as he held the child's innocent gaze, appearing decidedly uncertain as to whether or not his words could be trusted. "I promise."

Deep mocha eyes seemed to scrutinise every detail of his face before the crushed looking peasant nodded once. Arthur rose swiftly to his feet, motioning for the knight to approach. The child took Geraint's hand and was promptly swept away, glancing back fearfully at the lone soldier, eclipsed by the growing blaze.

As soon as the boy was pulled away, Arthur found himself glaring intensely at the flames, nearly blinded by the heat from several feet away. There was little chance that anyone still inside was still alive, but there still was one all the same.

I have to try.

Sprinting forward, refusing to slow lest his trepidation get the better of him, Arthur raced through the open stable door. The smoke instantly congested his throat and he hacked harshly, watery eyes darting with rapidity around the room. His arm pressed harshly against his mouth in a poor effort to preserve oxygen – how could anyone still be alive in there?

Arthur ventured deeper into the heart of the fire, cursing his lack of foresight for not removing his armour. As it was, the temperature had begun to compress his entire body, forcing any residual energy from him with each step he took. It felt like he was roasting alive; in retrospect, he probably was.

"Can anybody hear me?"

His cry was almost immediately drowned out by the growling flames as they launched themselves towards him, starving for something new to burn. The prince ducked them, feeling some singe his scalp lightly as they raged overhead.

"Hello!"

Cerulean eyes scanned the floor, despite his sight fading with each passing moment in the suffocating smoke. There is no possible way that anyone can… His trail of thought stopped instantly as he glimpsed the bottom of a boot in the dark, motionless amidst the chaos. Refusing to blink for fear that the image would disappear, Arthur raced forth, overwhelming relief building as more of the tan, buckled footwear was revealed.

Arthur's stomach dropped whilst his eyes simultaneously widened, oblivious to the agony of the stinging smoke. He had seen those boots before, usually in midflight as their owner comically slipped and fell in an assortment of tangled limbs to the floor. It was a clumsiness that honestly at times had impressed the young prince.

Moving faster, Arthur dropped to his knees beside the familiar figure. His skinny body lay slumped on his side, legs tangled over one another haphazardly and one arm stretching out uselessly towards the exit. The dark head of hair had been flung back, blood trickling from a brutal looking wound across both his brow and closed eyes, carving dark tracks down the pallid face.

"M-Merlin?"

There was no reply, as expected, but Arthur felt his heartbeat increase its pace with each second his servant remained unresponsive. The blood from the wound dripped steadily onto the floor and the prince flinched, wondering how he could somehow hear it over the fury of the inferno around him. Some burns littered the servant's hands, his brown jacket singed cruelly to his back. Merlin looked whiter than he had ever seen him before – practically drained of colour. He looked dead.

Oh please, no.

He coughed violently, the pain in his chest wrenching him back to reality with a jolt. Wasting no time, praying that the head wound was the only injury his servant had acquired, Arthur grabbed the limp arms, tugging the slim boy's upper body towards him. Stooping beneath Merlin's inert frame, he guided the thin torso over his shoulder and straightened immediately with his burden.

Arthur choked again, unable to shield his face this time with both his arms wrapped tightly around the servant's legs. Spinning, trying forlornly to ignore the slapping of Merlin's flaccid hands against his lower back, Arthur strode through the stables with as much haste as his fatigued body would allow. More than once he had to divert his path, dodging the collapsing wooden planks as the building began to yield to the blaze. The ceiling groaned above him, but he refused to spare it any more than a brief glance.

He was running out of time.

His breath wheezed in his chest and he attempted to lessen his inhales, afraid that the smoke would accomplish its task in incapacitating him before they managed to escape. Sweat ran freely from his brow, the chainmail scorching slightly against his exposed skin as he shifted. Another beam keeled before him and he found himself stumbling to avoid it, breathing heavily as he breached the door.

The pillar of shadowy smoke seemed to thrust at his back and he all but sprinted away, clearing the inferno easily until the heat no longer wrapped itself like a vice around him. Steadily, panting with exertion between coughs, Arthur fell back to his knees and tenderly lowered Merlin's body from his shoulder. The ash-covered face remained stoic, the servant's head thumping weakly against the earth where Arthur laid him.

The wound, Arthur realised as he barely withheld a grimace upon viewing it more clearly, was a grave one. It sliced deeply from the corner of his left eye until it finished upon the lower brow of the opposite side of Merlin's head. Raw burns seemed to smoulder along the boy's eyelids, as though inner flames were burning deep within. Studying them with a concerned expression, Arthur forced himself not to ask what that might mean.

"Merlin?" the prince edged closer, eying the unconscious boy for a reaction. There was none; not even the most miniscule twitch to grant a sign of awareness. "Merlin, can you hear me?"

He waited again, not even noticing a slight movement of Merlin's lips that should have been present when he drew breath. Panic flared in the warrior's mind and he swiftly lowered his ear to the boy's chest, waiting for the rise and fall of him breathing, the thump of what he knew to be a courageous heart…

Arthur held his own breath; waiting for the sign of life that just had to be there. Because Merlin: that awkward, defiant, irritating, loyal, gentle idiot, who had the rather frustrating ability to make everyone adore him, just couldn't die like this. Arthur, frankly, refused to let it happen.

Seconds ticked on, encasing the golden prince and suspending him in his grief. All the while, obliviousness to the world around grasped at him, shielding him from the clash of swords as some of his knights fought back approaching soldiers from the citadel. But still, despite everything happening around him, there was nothing.

"No," whispered the prince, pulling back and staring beseechingly at his servant's vacant expression. "No! I am not letting you die today."

Body still trembling from heat exposure and weariness, Arthur lightly tapped the protruding cheekbone to force a reaction. Merlin's head lolled weakly with the touch, but otherwise remained impassive. He tried again, harder this time, but was once more denied.

"Come on!" His other hand rubbed against the boy's chest, trying in some futile way to compel the skinny body to breathe. Hovering fully over Merlin's still frame, Arthur slapped him again, ignoring the painful twinge he felt upon seeing the servant's head flop lifelessly to the side.

"Only an idiot like you could sit back and die like this, Merlin!" Another harsh slap caused his jaw to open reluctantly, still not able to draw in air. "You really are useless!" This slap hit Merlin's head back the other way, his chest still being grated by the prince's knuckles. "Because there are plenty of other servants who can actually work, you know!" Slap. "I don't need you!"

Arthur breathed heavily, eyes welling with what he would later deny to be an after-effect of his exposure to the smoke. His gaze locked imploringly on Merlin's face, angled backward from the last hit, but still impassive to Arthur's efforts. The prince's fist rested on the servant's thin chest, hovering there in desperate hope of some change in his condition.

"Come on. Come on."

The mantra repeated itself endlessly from Arthur's lips, even when no actual sound accompanied it. His compassionate eyes stared unblinkingly at Merlin, not even daring to close should they miss any response. But, as realisation sunk in, the blonde head began shaking in denial, bunched up fist now a flattened palm over his servant's still chest.

"No Merlin, please…"

Sorrow, so burdening and defeating, fell upon the young Pendragon's shoulders. They hunched under the weight of his grief and he felt the world fall into silence, even the flames and war cries muted in respect. His raised his head wearily, a melancholy so unfitting to his normal radiance shimmering in his gaze. He felt disconnected; so separate from his surroundings and so utterly lost.

He had watched men die before and had killed his fair share. But this… this was Merlin. This was no soldier with a sworn duty, no bandit who had initiated an attack upon others. It was his loyal servant who followed him everywhere without any obligation; his advisor who warned him against danger and told him when he was wrong; his friend who had made each day that little bit richer ever since he had arrived.

The golden head bowed, christened with the unholy glow of the ochre flames. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, feeling the first few tears fighting to squeeze out between his lids, threatening to break him. No, this isn't fair. He can't die - not here, not like this.

As though sensing his torment, Merlin's body convulsed, spine arching as a harsh inhale grated upon the prince's ears. Arthur gasped in unison with his servant, brow furrowing as his eyes struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. For a moment, Merlin struggled, retching and gulping down air, before his body slumped and he settled neatly back into unconsciousness.

Unconscious: not dead.

"Merlin?"

Arthur leant close, ear resting near to the chest and listening to the painful sounding breaths his friend made. His brow furrowed as he heard a hitch in Merlin's breathing before it fell back into a strained rhythm. But he was breathing and Arthur knew that he had to be grateful for that small miracle alone.

The scream of another fallen soldier made his head snap up and he watched as the remaining knights began to initiate his order to retreat to the bridge. A murderous flash of swords forced his drained body into action and he tentatively pulled the lax body up against him. He needed to get Merlin to Gaius now.

His hand slid behind Merlin's back, wincing at the heat emanating from the familiar jacket. The other hand hurriedly slipped under Merlin's knees, the clash of swordplay urging him onward. With incredible ease, reminding Arthur once again how skinny his servant actually was, the prince rose to his feet, Merlin hanging limply from his arms.

Compelling his legs to run, the prince sprinted with impressive speed towards safety. The thin frame jostled horrifically with the movement while the heavy head thumped back over the crook of Arthur's arm. Arthur instantly tightened his hold, a resolute set to his jaw as he moved with purpose. The cerulean orbs hardened, glaring ahead at their destination and resisting, with every possible urge, to glance down at the burden in his arms.

The citadel towered ahead, his feet smacking loudly against the wooden bridge. Elation unfurled in his stomach as the familiar shadow fell upon them: a small attempt to shelter them from the stalking threat. Its presence embraced the pair and Arthur mimicked it by holding Merlin closer, his soothing whisper gliding over the comatose boy.

"Hold on, Merlin."


I wasn't sure if Arthur sounded a bit OOC when he was trying to get Merlin to breathe but then again, Arthur has rarely had to deal with Merlin when severely injured (except The Poisoned Chalice which was pretty early on in their relationship). Plus, carrying him bridal style is an image that has been stuck in my head since Uther carried Arthur like that in 1x13: I could just totally visualise Arthur carrying an injured Merlin like that.

Please review and let me know what you think of this chapter! :)

Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)