There were worse places in the world to be than King Arthur's war camp, Gareth decided as he picked his way through the mud. He had been in those worse places, too, all of them with his great-uncle the Sarrum, the now-dead king of Amata. Here, despite the rain and the endless mists, he at least had a hot meal and a warm bed to look forward to at the end of the day.

Now that evening was upon them and he had the horses- Canrith, Altair, and his own Boreas- bedded down for the night, he could declare his own chores to be finished, make sure Arthur had all he needed, and collapse in his own bed.

"Why must you always walk so fast?"

Gareth glanced back, nearly missing Stilicho's dark figure in the gloom. "It's an effect of being tall," he laughed. "If you'd just grow a little, you wouldn't have trouble keeping up." Their height was a point he liked to tease Stilicho about. Gareth had shot up a good six inches or more since last winter, and while he was still gangly and awkward, he was getting closer to being able to look Arthur straight in the eye.

"I could not grow enough to catch up with you, Gareth," Stilicho said. "You Northmen are all giants." Gareth always did when Stilicho said his name, rolling the 'R', and scuttling the 'th' altogether. 'Gar-r-r-ret'. It wasn't the strangest thing the boy's rolling accent did to the common tongue, but it was Gareth's favorite.

"We're not Northmen, Stil," he said. "They come from across the sea, and are even taller than us. More like Percival- or bigger- if you believe the stories people tell." Gareth waited until the other boy had caught up to him, wincing when he heard Stil's teeth chatter. He would have to ask Arthur for a warmer cloak for his friend. It wasn't as though Blaise kept him and Aimery- his other apprentice- in rags, but Stil was from a long way south, where summer never seemed to leave the land and snow was a once-in-a-lifetime curiosity.

"They must be as tall as trees if they are taller than you lot," Stil said.

"We'll have to be on the lookout for giants then, if you believe what Merlin says."

Stil threw a curious glance up at him. "What does Merlin say?"

"I thought you would have heard. You and Blaise spend about as much time with Merlin as I do."

Stil rolled his eyes, as though Gareth had said something terribly foolish. Which was possible. He counted himself as a clever sort of person, but Stil was far beyond him when it came to book learning and the ways of the world. The consequences of being apprenticed to a physician, Gareth supposed, and of having been a slave before that. "When Blaise and Gaius are together, the only talk is medicine, herbs, and healing. That is when I see Merlin. But you? You see him when he is with Arthur. Then, the talk is all politics and the future." He slipped in the mud, but Gareth caught his arm before he could fall.

"What you hear," Stil went on when he had regained his balance, "is not what the rest of the people of Camelot hear. Where you are, is special. In another land, you would be locked away in the dungeons to hold your Lord Father to his word. But Arthur made you a squire, keeps you with him. You could be spying on him for all he knows."

"What would I report back?" Gareth scoffed. "That Arthur had lamb stew the night before we left, and that I had to replace a buckle on his saddle a fortnight ago?"

Stil gave a him a withering glance, though its effect was dulled by the water drops that dripped from the edge of his cloak onto his nose. "There are days when you are clever, Gareth of Amata. This is not one of them. You hear more secrets than is good for you. You should be more careful."

"Now you sound like Merlin," Gareth laughed.

"I shall take that as a compliment," Stil said. His dour look brightened, and the sparkle returned to his eyes. "Merlin is a very wise man."

"Merlin is a very strange man," Gareth said, earning himself another eyeroll from Stil.

"I once read about an ancient philosopher who said that there is no wisdom without a bit of madness. Normal men are normal because their minds run along the same tracks as everyone else's. A wise man takes a path that carries him to great heights and lets him see the lands far beyond. The normal man calls him strange for doing so."

Gareth smiled. "Now you definitely sound like Merlin. But I promise I won't laugh at you, even if you take a path that leads you straight for a cliff."

"And I suppose you would let me fall off this cliff?"

"Never," Gareth grinned wider. "Good friends are in short supply." He ruffled Stil's hair and dodged the blow he aimed at Gareth's gut.

"Gareth!"

They both turned to find the source of the call. It was a page boy, slipping and sliding toward them at what would have been an all-out run if the ground wasn't a vast mudpit. "His Majesty is looking for you! And you, too, Stilicho. Blaise, I mean, is looking for you. Not the king. I mean, His Majesty is looking for Gareth, and Blaise is looking for Stilicho," the boy puffed as he fought to catch his breath."

"Is Arthur in his chambers?" Gareth asked.

"Yes, in his tent. In his chambers in his tent. So is Blaise," the boy said, then shook his head. "The king is in his tent, and Blaise is with Gaius in the healers' tent. Right?"

"If you say so," Gareth shrugged. He looked at Stil over the boy's head, but Stil looked just as baffled. Gareth wouldn't be surprised to discover this particular page working in the kitchens someday soon. "Duty calls, then," he said to Stil. "I would say, 'I'll see you tomorrow', but…"

"If you are to be in battle tomorrow, I don't want to see you. Not in the healers' tent, anyway," Stil agreed. "Stay safe, my friend."

"You, too," Gareth said. He clapped Stil on the shoulder, and then they parted ways. Stil headed for the healers' tent at the back of the camp, while Gareth jogged toward Arthur's tent toward the front.

There was an apology on his lips when he burst through the entrance of the tent, but one stern look and a gesture from Arthur froze him in place and silenced him. He would have stopped anyway, once he saw what Arthur was watching. After all, it wasn't every day that one walked in on a sorcerer casting a spell.

Merlin sat cross-legged on his pallet. His eyes were mostly closed, the eyelids fluttering and eerie with the golden glow of magic shining behind them. A palm-sized silver disk hung in the air between Merlin's hands, suspended by whatever spell the sorcerer was spinning. His lips were moving, whispering quicksilver words Gareth wouldn't have understood, even if he could hear them properly.

It wasn't like he hadn't seen Merlin's magic before, but those had been minor spells- lighting candles or pulling books off high shelves. As for the fire that had destroyed the Sarrum's army at Blackheath, well. Gareth hadn't seen that, hadn't watched it with his own eyes. He'd been too busy finding a place to hide…

He thought he was used to magic and its weirdness, but the hairs on the back of his neck still rose, and his skin felt like it wanted to crawl off his body and go right back outside. But if Arthur could stand there, solid as any rock despite the fact that his eyes were growing ever wider, then Gareth could do the same.

The disk's solid glow turned unsteady. 'No, not unsteady...' It pulsed. Like a heartbeat speeding up. The glow strengthened, flaring higher and higher until it burst, burning bright as the sun before it died, plunging the room into darkness.

When Gareth's eyes adjusted to the dim, Arthur was already at Merlin's side, and hand on the sorcerer's shoulder to keep him from keeling over. "Are you alright?" Arthur asked.

"'m fine," Merlin mumbled. He didn't convince either Arthur or Gareth.

"You always say that. And I never believe you," Arthur said. He gestured for Gareth to bring him a cup of water from the pitcher on the table. "Why is that, do you think?"

"I'm convincing. I'm a good liar." Merlin finally opened his eyes. His gaze was glassy at first, but he blinked them back into focus soon enough, though he missed Arthur's shoulders sag with relief.

"You haven't been a good liar for a long time. Not since I got that promise from you," Arthur said. He pressed the cup of water into Merlin's hands and bade the sorcerer to drink.

Merlin smirked. "I guess there are some extenuating circumstances, then," he said between sips of water. "And before you ask, I didn't See anything. That is, I didn't See anything specific. But I don't think Morgana's here."

"How can that be? Who else is powerful enough to keep you from…" Arthur paused as he searched for the right words, but none were forthcoming. "From doing whatever it was that you were doing?"

"Whatever it was I was doing?" Merlin rolled his eyes. "I was scrying. And I don't think Morgana's here because the spell… it just doesn't feel like her. Not quite." A smile tugged at his lips at Arthur's confused look. "I suppose she could have anchored the spell within a living host. Someone close to her. Probably Accolon, her betrothed. That's how Morgause put everyone in Camelot to sleep when she woke the Knights of Medhir."

"And the only way to end the spell is to kill the host."

Merlin winced, but nodded.

Gareth looked back and forth between them, hoping some explanation for their sudden dour behavior would come along, but none did.

Arthur took a long breath. "Well," he said, forcing a false cheer into his voice. "It wouldn't be very civilised of me to walk into the negotiations tomorrow and behead Urien's son for no apparent reason."

"Not very civilized, no." Merlin raised an eyebrow, as though he couldn't quite figure out if Arthur was joking, or if he was being serious. Gareth wasn't sure either. He chose the 'joking' option. It seemed less damning.

"That option's off the table, then," Arthur said. He gave Merlin a disarming smile and clapped his shoulder. "We'll just have to keep a weather eye out, then. Surely that spell can't last forever. We just need to be prepared. And that is what the knights of Camelot are good at." Arthur's voice softened, "In the meantime, get some rest. Gareth?"

He jumped. He'd thought they'd forgotten about him. "Sire?"

"Come with me. There's still a lot of work to be done before tomorrow. It's going to be a long night."

"Gareth." The urgency in Merlin's voice washed away the last bits of fog from Gareth's mind. He sat up, blinking into the pre-dawn dimness. "Wake Arthur and prepare his armor, then get your own on. Do it now."

"What? Why? What's wrong?" Gareth barely managed to untangle the blankets before he was up and reaching for his boots.

"Something's about to happen. I don't know what yet," Merlin said. He was all in gray again, a forbidding shadow in the gloom. "Go get Arthur. Now!" He snapped his fingers and every candle, lantern, and brazier in the tent burst into light.

It startled Gareth into action. He had a hand on the curtain to Arthur's room before he realized he was moving. "Sire?"

Arthur was still asleep, though from the guttered candle on the bedside table and the sheaf's worth of parchment scattered across the covers, he had probably worked long into the night. It seemed a shame to wake him so soon. But there had been death in Merlin's eyes, and Gareth didn't dare cross him. "Sire?" he said louder.

"Hmmmm…?"

"Merlin told me to wake you, sire, and to get you into your armor."

That woke Arthur better than any bucket of ice water could have done. "What's happened?" He flipped the covers aside, sending parchments flying.

"I don't know. He didn't know, either. He just told me to wake you."

Arthur sighed and rubbed a hand over his face and through his hairs. "These visions of yours could use some clarification, Merlin," he grumbled as he flipped the covers aside, sending parchment flying.

Gareth didn't wait to be told. He fetched the armor's padding and brought it into Arthur's room and got the king into his armor faster than usual, the anticipation and dread of the unknown lending Gareth an efficiency that was absent from the normal routine.

He was about to leave, to struggle into his armor on his own- surely the King of Camelot had more important things to deal with than a lowly squire's problems- when Arthur stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get you ready. Whatever's about to happen, you need to be prepared. Your safety is well worth a little time."

Gareth wouldn't have known what to say if he could speak at all. A dumbfounded, 'thank you', perhaps, followed by a stream of gibberish. Fortunately, his tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth, and all he did was nod.

His armor was a motley collection compared to Arthur's. There had seemed little point in having a new set forged for him when he was in the midst of a growth spurt, and so they had collected bits and pieces from the armory that fit him well enough. After they were adjusted, cleaned, and polished, he looked almost like a knight himself, save for the Amatan heraldry that marked him as different. Until now, he'd only ever needed on the practice field where it had protected him from Gwaine's speed, Lancelot's relentlessness, or Percival's strength. But now, when he might be facing his first real battle, it felt like it was made of parchment and sticks.

"I would tell you that your first battle is the worst, or that you'll learn not to be afraid when it's all said and done," Arthur said as he tightened the pauldron's straps. "But that would be a lie. Fear always walks with you, telling you that you're unworthy or you'll fail in your endeavors. That never leaves you. We're all afraid to go into battle. Even I fear what will happen. But remember this: no matter what enemy you face, no matter your failures, fear is an enemy you can always defeat as long as you hold true to those values that brought you here in the first place."

"But you brought me here," Gareth said, cursing how small his voice seemed.

"I brought you along. Your loyalty keeps you here." Arthur grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, then. Let's go see what's troubling Merlin."

They found Merlin in the gloom at the edge of the camp, a gray figure no more substantial than the mist around him until they were almost close enough to touch him. He stood perfectly still, his eyes closed, arms at his sides with his fingers stretched wide and his palms facing out. Lancelot stood watch over him.

All around was eerily quiet, the sounds of the camp dampened by the fog. The only sound from without were the occasional screeching of crows and the wind whispering through the trees.

"What's going on?" Arthur whispered needlessly. The air was too thick to let sound travel far.

"I'm not sure," Lancelot whispered back. "I saw him heading this way, so I followed. If he's looking for something, he hasn't found it yet."

"Whatever it is, it's had him twisted up in knots for the past day. He says Morgana's not here, but-" Arthur broke off and shrugged. "What do I know about all this?"

"About as much as I do," Lancelot said. "I'm just trying not to look like a complete idiot, standing here staring at the fog."

"That makes two of us," Arthur said, smirking.

Merlin gasped. His eyes opened, already glowing with magic. He raised a hand as he spoke, uttering harsh words of power as he gestured toward the mountains. A wind rose behind them, strong enough to dispel the mists so they could see to the edge of the forest. Merlin dropped his hand to his side and took a step back. "Something's happening."

"I can see that," Arthur said. "But what?"

Gareth was the first to hear it, his youthful hearing giving him an advantage over the others. From the southern ridgeline, there came a buzzing like the hum of a massive hive of bees. "What's that noise?" he said as he squinted at the mist, trying to figure out what the sound was.

Merlin followed his gaze, his eyes glowing gold again as he used magic to see what the others could not. He cried out suddenly, jerking his hand toward the mist, summoning his power with instinct and desperation as the first arrows came into view, rushing toward them and the camp beyond.

A blast of wind rushed out of nowhere, nearly staggering Gareth as he watched the oncoming arrows- a storm of them, enough to have blotted out the sun, if the sun hadn't already been hidden by clouds. The wind rose fast to meet the arrows, throwing them off course so they fell harmlessly onto the empty ground in front of the forest.

"Fall back!" Arthur shouted. He grabbed the back of Merlin's coat and hauled the sorcerer towards the camp. Lancelot and Gareth were quick to follow. "They never meant to negotiate, only to attack."

'And we're not ready for it.' Gareth wisely kept that remark to himself as they made it into the boundaries of the camp, even as the first battle cries rose from the forest.

"TO ARMS!" Arthur bellowed to a camp that was still half asleep. Answering calls sounded around the camp, rousing the men who were still asleep, summoning the men to meet an enemy that was nearly upon them.

Arthur had come here expecting a battle. Now he was going to get it.