A/N: Glad to see everyone's liking it thus far. And because someone asked, the story will be seven chapters in total.

Ch. 2

Arthur was leaning with his shoulder against the wall just inside the door, angled enough to stare at the wall of rain since it was impossible to stare through it and not get splashed. Having never been a man who paid much attention to the rain, he couldn't say for sure that he'd never witnessed a storm this heavy, nor this solid. But there was a... the only word that came to mind was presence... a presence about this storm that wouldn't allow Arthur to wave it aside as a freak act of nature that sometimes happened, a presence that provoked him to do a little calculating.

They had left Lord Godfrey's estate well before the sun had come up, having stayed an extra day after helping Lord Godfrey deal with the ruffians stealing crops from his vassals. They had needed the rest. Arthur, not wanting to worry his wife and the other lords, had sent word on ahead of their intended arrival. They knew Arthur and his knights were supposed to return today. Gwen knew that he liked to get an early start when it came to making a journey. Arthur and the knights had reached the valley just as the sky had turned gold, when the sun was barely free of the horizon, and once the valley was reached home would only be a good five hours away on horseback, give or take.

Putting it all together, it was far too soon for Camelot to have a reason to worry and send a search party, and any delay would be blamed on the storm. But that was only if help was actually needed, which it wasn't. It was just a storm, after all, one that would soon be a distant memory of annoyance the moment it stopped and they were able to travel again. Arthur didn't even know why he was even considering the need for help. They were fine, perfectly fine.

Arthur glanced back into the chamber, an involuntary act, one he assured himself was just habit to ascertain everyone's condition and not to make sure they were still all right. But from where Arthur stood the fire was little more than a willow th'wisp suspended in the dark, his knights and manservant flitting shadows darting across the soft ball of light. They had spread out – Arthur and the knights to see what the chamber had to offer. Merlin had remained by the fire, still trying to coax the chill out of his skin while waiting for his clothes to dry.

Lords but this storm must be strange, because rather than find reasons to lay the blame for Merlin's current state on the man himself, he was actually feeling ibad/i for Merlin. He had seemed so abnormally pale, even for him, had kept rubbing his chest as though it pained him, and the last thing they needed trapped as they were by this storm was one of them falling ill. And it would be Merlin who fell ill. The man had a propensity for fainting without cause, for goodness sake.

Soft footfalls alerted Arthur to the fact that he would soon be observing the rain with company, as well as in whose company it would be.

"Do you think it was wise," Leon said, "Not telling them the entire story?"

Arthur shrugged. "Does it really matter?"

Leon glanced back with a slight frown. "Gwaine's taken too much interest in the tomb. Arthur, we don't even know whose tomb it is."

The tightness to Leon's voice made Arthur study him carefully. "If I didn't know any better I would say that's making you nervous," he said, not as an accusation, but for confirmation. Leon was a man prone to wariness, not to discomfiture and especially not over old abandoned tombs and ancient stories.

"I won't deny it," Leon said easily, inciting one of Arthur's eyebrows to curve in a high arch. Those few times Leon was uneasy, neither did he confess to it.

"I've heard the story's details as well as you, sire. I know the tale of the kings as well as you do; what some... what some of them had been iaccused/i of. Perhaps this is merely a tomb of no consequence but if it isn't, perhaps it would be best to prepare the others..."

Arthur shook his head. "It would only inspire unnecessary fear. The moment this storm ends, we leave this place, then it won't matter whose tomb this is because we will never set foot in it again."

Leon dipped his head in acquiescence, then tossed another glance over his shoulder into he darkness. "If we can't leave?" he said.

"They're just stories, Leon," Arthur said shortly. "Tales to frighten children and keep them from wandering off the marked paths through the valley."

Now it was Leon studying him carefully. "Do you believe?" Also not an accusation. Also looking for confirmation.

And since Leon had answered him in all honesty, Arthur was compelled to do the same.

"I don't know."

Leon nodded, moving away to no doubt discourage Gwaine's curiosity in the tomb and leave Arthur to this thoughts, to wonder if, maybe, he should have said more.

No, there was no point, because they were going to leave this place and any further information would only end in his annoyance when Merlin demanded more details. Lords, the idiot could be blindingly superstitious at times and it was difficult enough traveling through the Valley, his manservant's head a perpetual swivel as he searched for dangers that nine times out of ten were never there. If not careful such pointless wariness could prove contagious, encouraging his men to draw their weapons if so much as a leaf clattered across the floor, and a jumpy knight was a dangerous knight, especially where there were so many shadows.

Arthur thought of the tomb – that quiet, unadorned coffin of heavy stone hidden in the dark. Cold air pressed against his back like a hand trying to get his attention. For a moment, spanning the length of a single heartbeat, Arthur was certain that were he to turn around he would see that tomb even through the thick shadows, as though it were waiting for him. As though it had always been waiting.

He was compelled, in that heartbeat of a moment, to turn, to look, to prove himself wrong. It was stupid, silly, pointless, yet he felt his neck-muscles tense, felt them pull his head to the side despite his resistance.

What did it matter if he turned around? It would only be a glance, confirmation of just how silly he was being.

It mattered. It mattered so much. He didn't know why, he only knew, as if he had always known deep down inside, like an instinct. He imustn't turn around./i

It was at that very moment, as his neck fought against the unseen force pulling his eyes to the dark, that the rain decided to stop.

~oOo~

The bridge was gone, buried under a river that had swelled to the size of a pond. Arthur had Percival take the longest branch he could find and use it to gage the actual depth. He didn't strike anything solid until the water was up to his elbow. Neither did he have hold of the branch for long when the strong currents swept it away.

"As long as there's no further rain then the river should go down," said Gwaine, ever the optimist.

But at its current depth the river wouldn't reach a level in which crossing would be safe until tomorrow, tonight at the earliest, and like hell Arthur was dragging his men through the Valley in pitch black.

He wanted to say this was a good thing, that now they had time to let their clothes continue to dry, which they needed now more than ever with the diminished temperatures. It wasn't cold, but it was cool enough that to endure it in moist garments would leave them susceptible to illness. Even in just their mostly-dry underthings they were shivering, and Merlin – wrapped in a blanket as he was – was chattering his teeth, he was shaking so hard.

Arthur looked up the gentle incline that had led them to the narrow ravine ending at the tomb. From the outside, it look like nothing more than a cliff-face, rough and untouched by man save for the solitary door gaping dark and demanding. Arthur thought he could feel that dark, like cold hands reaching for him, and he was glad he was shivering enough to cover up the chill coursing down his spine.

But there was nothing for it. They were going to have to spend the night there. Arthur and Leon exchanged unsettled looks.

They headed back to the tomb. Arthur passed through the door, and cold tickled down his back like drops of ice water. Then Merlin began coughing – dry, chest-deep hacking that had him momentarily doubled over. Gwaine clapped him hard on the back until Merlin waved him off irritably.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Merlin, you had better not be getting sick."

"Yes, Arthur, because falling ill is a choice, not an act of nature," Merlin said hotly. "I'm not... I think. I was just choking."

"On what, air? Lords, Merlin, if you're not tripping on air you're being strangled by it. It's a miracle you're able to breathe at all."

Arthur didn't need to see Merlin's withering stare, he could feel it burrowing holes into the back of his head. Percival snorted, Gwaine chuckled and in that very moment it was easy to forget their current situation. Gwaine announced, nonchalant, "Fire's out of hand," and rushed over to stomp out those bits of burning leaves and twigs that had escaped the mother pile. It was nothing serious, not in a chamber made of stone and their belongings still damp, but it was a nuisance. Arthur opened his mouth to order Merlin to go out and fetch some rocks to form a fire ring, then he remembered Merlin's current state of dress.

"I'll get some stones," Percival volunteered without prompting, grabbing his cloak to use to carry the rocks. Elyan volunteered to take the horses to the river to drink, Leon set about adding more debris to the dying fire, Merlin began to organize their supplies into a camp only for Gwaine to plunk him down by the fire with a hand on the shoulder and do it himself... albeit according to Merlin's very specific directions.

Arthur searched the dark, suppressing shudder after shudder and suddenly hating the fact that they had separated even if they hadn't separated far.

He then found himself wandering to the tomb – a black box darker than the darkness as if carved from obsidian. He brushed his fingers over its marble surface and rubbed the gritty dust between his fingers. It was thick, the dust; the stone most likely having never felt human touch for centuries, the lid never opened since the day it had been dragged over the coffin.

Arthur.

"Hm?" Arthur said absently. The stone even smelled of dust. He imagined how it must have been when first made, gleaming and glittering like ice and just as cold.

Arthur.

"What!" Arthur snapped. He whirled around.

There was no one there – not within range to whisper in his ear.

Arthur moved quickly away from the tomb, back toward the light of the fire. He wasn't scared – of course not – he simply didn't trust this place. Too dark, too echoing, too many means by which an enemy could use this place against them.

Arthur heard laughter. He forced himself to ignore it.

TBC...