A/N: Hello again :) Still don't have much to say, only that I'm really enjoying Season 4 so far. I made my sister watch the first 3 eps with me on Sunday, which was great fun. It's always more fun watching with someone than alone. Other than that, not much is new for me. I caught a cold on Saturday, but I think I killed it fast enough that it didn't get really bad this time (I have a lot of preventative stuff that I take every time I think I'm coming down with a cold. It really helps).

Title: Beyond the Vale
Author: BeyondTheStorm
Rating: T for violence and some bloodshed and maybe some language. Better safe than sorry, ne?
Characters/pairings: Only friendship here, though you can read it however you want :) Lots of Merlin and Arthur as well as Gwaine, Lancelot, and Elyan.
Spoilers: Season 3, including the finale. This is a post S3 fic.
Warnings: Nothing, as far as I know.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, because if I did, I certainly wouldn't be selling my Fretlight Guitar on Craigs List to help pay my medical bills.

Don't know if this chapter went the way many of you were probably hoping it would, but I liked it the way it was. I was also able to throw in a scene that I really wanted to put into a fic, and this one lent itself rather nicely :) It was just something I was thinking about that I thought would be amusing (whether anyone else finds it amusing is another thing, but it made me happy regardless).
This also happens to be the last prewritten chapter, but I still have hopes of being able to write out the rest of this before November. My sister is rather certain I'm going to fail. I think I'm starting to agree with her.

CHAPTER 4

Sometime around the middle of the night, Merlin found himself suddenly jerked into awareness. He sat up quickly, his breathing fast and frantic as he tried to chase the nightmares away and remember where he was. He glanced around the room with wide eyes, and only when his gaze fell upon Arthur did his mind begin to settle. The prince was sleeping rather soundly on the other bed, and thankfully it didn't look like the warlock's panic had been enough to wake him. The last thing he wanted was for Arthur to find out about something like this.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Merlin moved back a bit until he could lean against the wall behind him. He looked out the window and into the night sky beyond it, knowing that it was still well into the night and that he probably hadn't gotten much sleep yet. He wasn't likely to get much more though since he always had a bit of trouble falling back asleep after a nightmare, and he would likely just end up having another one anyway. He had thought they were getting better, and for a while they had been, but now he had something else he was worrying about.

Instead of being hounded by the past, he was being plagued with the unknown. Before he would wake up to images of Camelot being conquered, of Morgause and Morgana winning. He would see the citadel fall and his friends along with it while he was powerless to save them. He had dreamed of what could have been and now he was dreaming of what might be. He only hoped that none of what he saw were premonitions, that they were only manifestations of his own worries and anxieties and had nothing to do with the future. He couldn't bear the thought of any of it coming true.

Unfortunately, the possibility that some of it would was far too great given the nature of their quest. No matter how often he thought about it or tried to plan ahead for potential situations, he couldn't come up with anything. He didn't know enough for any of his ponderings to be helpful. He had no idea what to expect when they got there, and he hoped that maybe once they reached the border and saw it for themselves that Arthur would change his mind and they would all go home.

The chances of that happening were probably about as good as Gwaine suddenly deciding to give up ale or Uther practicing magic.

Heaving a sigh, the warlock very quietly got out of bed and made his way across the room. He needed a bit of fresh air or to just walk around for a while. Maybe then he'd be able to catch a few more hours of sleep before they would have to set off again. With as much care as he could, he opened the door very slowly and then slipped out into the dark hallway. Very carefully he navigated his way down the stairs, but when he reached the bottom, his eyes were immediately drawn to the slight flickering of a single candle.

Sitting there at a table near the far corner was none other than Gwaine, and he looked like he had something in his hand…

Merlin couldn't help but gape at his friend. Was that…was that a cup of ale? It was the middle of the night! There was also a whole pitcher sitting next to the candle!

The warlock wasn't sure whether he should laugh or sigh in exasperation.

"Merlin," the knight said in greeting, a smile on his face. "What brings you here?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm the one who should be asking you that," he said as he walked over, standing next to the table and eying the pitcher of what had to be either ale or mead. He couldn't tell which it was, but it didn't really matter.

"Fair point."

"Where did you even get that? The tavern's been closed for hours."

"It's amazing what a little flattery and a lot of charm can do," Gwaine told him with a sly grin. "It didn't take much."

This time the warlock couldn't help himself and began to laugh. He kept his voice down as much as he could, not wanting to wake anyone, and once he'd settled down a bit, he pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table. He had no intention of drinking with his friend, but he could use the company. Gwaine was someone he could be himself around even though the knight didn't know about his magic. His presence was just relaxing in a way. His somewhat unconcerned and amused attitude was refreshing. No matter what they were doing or what they might be facing, Gwaine never seemed bothered in the least. He always took things as they came instead of fretting over the possible outcomes. Some people would call it carelessness or recklessness, perhaps even indifference, but it wasn't, not really.

Actually, he wasn't entirely sure what it was. He couldn't really think of a word for it. Gwaine was in a class all his own with his own strange brand of confidence. Despite what Merlin knew about his past and his life, none of it seemed to weigh the man down. There were times, like now for example, where he wished he could borrow whatever kind of strength it was that allowed the knight to relax so easily.

"Merlin," Gwaine called, pulling him out of his musing and earning his attention. "You look troubled. Something on your mind?"

"A lot of things, actually."

"Sometimes talking helps."

Merlin couldn't help but smile, grateful for the offer even though he knew he'd be turning it down.

"Thanks. I appreciate it, but this is something I have to work through on my own."

For a long moment, Gwaine remained silent, just watching him over the rim of his cup as if he were something strange or foreign…and at the same time it felt like he was looking right through him.

"…You don't have to be here, you know," he finally said, setting his cup down and pouring himself another. "No one would think poorly of you if you left. I know you didn't want to come in the first place."

"I can't."

His answer was immediate and without hesitation, and the sheer certainty in it had Gwaine pausing for a moment so that he could see the look on Merlin's face. He was half expecting resignation or exasperation, or perhaps even some annoyance, but what he found was both unexpected and yet entirely unsurprising. He knew the boy well, after all, and this wasn't the first time he had seen that look on his face—such pure determination and certainty, dedicated belief and stubbornness. It was the look of someone whose mind was made up and probably had been long before now. There had probably never even been a decision to make. His answer was stated as nothing more or less than a simple fact.

In all his travels, he could honestly say that he had never met anyone quite like Merlin.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a difficult person to figure out?" he asked, taking a sip of his ale but still watching his friend. That question earned him a grin, and a mirthful one this time.

"Yes. Repeatedly."

He couldn't help but laugh at that, shaking his head a bit as he took a long drink before once more setting down his cup. It seemed that no matter what he was facing or what internal struggle he was dealing with, Merlin would always be Merlin—quick to offer a smile and able to make most people offer one in return. He liked to joke around and would give just as good as he got, and although he was good at making himself look like a fool, he was quick witted and wise when it mattered. The servant was brave too, even if he didn't always act like it. Some people would call it recklessness, but Merlin always seemed to know what he was doing, or at the very least he seemed to know why he was doing it.

Someday he would figure him out. Someday he would learn what could drive a person to trek miles from home, no plan and no weapons, in order to find a prince who may or may not have needed help—who hadn't even wanted or appreciated it—without a second thought. What made him so fiercely loyal, selfless, and unwavering even when all the odds were against them?

Where did strength like that come from?

"Well, Merlin," he began jovially, "if nothing else, you certainly know how to keep a person guessing."

The grin he got in response wasn't as bright as the one before, tinged with something that looked a great deal like regret, but he didn't bring it up. Instead he launched into a story, hoping to ease whatever was troubling his friend, and soon he had the boy in stitches, trying to stifle his laughter so he didn't wake any of the other patrons. They continued like that until his ale ran dry and Merlin didn't look quite so burdened by whatever was on his mind.

After all, just because he didn't know what that burden was didn't mean he couldn't help to ease it.

When Arthur awoke the next morning, it was to the sun shining through the window, the sounds of people bustling about outside, and the sight of an empty bed. He sat up rather quickly and looked around the room, but sure enough there was no sign of Merlin. It was impossible to tell how long the boy had been gone, but he was obviously still around somewhere seeing as all his stuff was still stashed away in the corner of the room along with Arthur's.

The prince took a moment to stretch, working out the stiffness in his joints (he wasn't used to sleeping on such a small, uncomfortable bed, although it was still better than sleeping on the ground). He then quickly got up and walked over to the window. It was pretty early seeing as how the sun wasn't far over the horizon, but it was late enough that most of the village was probably awake by now. Peasants, especially farmers, couldn't afford to have a lie in and were often up with the sun. Most servants couldn't either, actually, although his had a tendency to sleep in more often than not which was why the fact that Merlin's bed was empty bothered him a bit.

After two sleepless nights, he should have indulged himself in a late, sleepy morning, but instead he was already up and out doing who knew what. If that idiot still looked tired…well, he just better not, because Arthur really didn't want to have to knock the boy out just so he would get the rest he needed. After all, Merlin would be of no use to anyone if he collapsed from exhaustion.

As soon as he felt like he was ready to face the day, the prince left his temporary room and headed downstairs in search of food. What he found was the sight of Merlin and Lancelot occupying one of the tables and whispering amongst themselves. It was a sight he had seen rather often as of late, ever since the knight had returned to Camelot. He had known that the two of them were friends, but it was a little unnerving nonetheless because as soon as anyone else approached them, they would immediately clam up. It always made him curious, but trying to get an answer out of either of them was a painful process, one that often left him frustrated and more confused than before, so he usually didn't bother.

One day he would figure it out, given enough time. Until then he would just have to deal with it.

Arthur began to make his way over, noticing that both of them had apparently eaten already given the empty plates on the table. Just how long had they been up for?

Lancelot was the first to notice him, offering a smile and a quick bow of his head.

"Sire, good morning," he greeted.

"Good morning," he responded although his attention was on Merlin. While the servant looked better than he had, there were still signs of exhaustion. Clearly he hadn't gotten as much sleep as he should have despite having turned in early. The question though was why. Was it nerves or restlessness, worry, insomnia, or maybe nightmares? There had to be a reason.

"What?" asked Merlin, peering at him a bit suspiciously, and Arthur realized that he had been staring. He quickly dragged his eyes away, shaking his head a bit both to clear it and to dismiss the query.

"Nothing," he said before sitting down next to his servant. "So, where are Gwaine and Elyan?"

"Elyan went to check on the horses," said Lancelot. "Gwaine is still sleeping. He turned in late last night."

Typical. Gwaine had a habit of staying out late and then waking up late too. He was even less punctual than Merlin, and that was saying something. Arthur couldn't even begin to count the number of times that Gwaine had shown up late for training, and the knight had only been in Camelot for two months! Worse yet, there was nothing he could really do to reprimand him, because Gwaine was the type of person who let things just roll right off his back. No amount of threats or insults seemed to deter him, and he always gave as good as he got. In the end, the quirks were just something that Arthur had to deal with. He should have known that knighting Gwaine wouldn't change the man any.

He was reluctant to admit it, but he was actually rather grateful for that.

"If he isn't up in the next hour, go ahead and wake him. We can't afford to sit around and waste time like this. We're only an hour or two from the border, and as long as we don't run into any trouble, we might be able to cut half a day off our journey."

He knew it wasn't likely—trouble had a habit of finding him, whether he invited it or not—but he could dream.

And who knows, he mused quietly to himself as a barmaid wandered over to see if he wanted anything to eat, maybe this time we really will have no trouble.

When a group of bandits ran into the clearing, swords swinging and voices raised, Arthur cursed that stupid, damning thought for ever having crossed his mind. It was entirely to blame for this, and he wished that he could say that such a turn of events was shocking, but he found that he wasn't the least bit surprised (they had only crossed the border a few hours ago, and already something was going wrong. Nothing good ever seemed to happen to him in Cenred's kingdom). Instead he simply leapt off his horse, pulled his sword free, and began cutting down their attackers.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his knights dismounting and engaging the bandits just as readily as he had, and he wondered if they were at all shocked by this development or if they had already grown accustomed to the bad luck that seemed to follow the prince wherever he went. However, it was probably important to note that no matter how bad or desperate the situation became, he always made it out alive. He and Merlin had survived plenty of things that they shouldn't have, and he hoped that for once some of that good fortune would rub off on the knights. He was so tired of losing people, of losing the men he fought and trained with.

Arthur sincerely hoped that just once, all of them would make it home alive.

As the bandits converged on the clearing, surrounding their little group, Lancelot immediately moved himself closer to Merlin. The servant had only just gotten down from his horse, and although he had brought a sword for himself, it didn't take a genius to realize that he wasn't suited for this type of combat. Normally the warlock would simply stay back, dodge around, or hide, but the first and third weren't options, and the second would be difficult considering how many bandits there were. There was really no way for him to discretely fall back and use his magic to aid them, at least not without help, and so Lancelot had every intention of watching his friend's back and keeping him out of sight while Merlin subtly tipped the odds in their favor.

Although he hadn't spent much time around Merlin when the boy used his magic, he quickly learned in only a matter of moments that "subtle" wasn't exactly a word to associate with Merlin.

The first thing the warlock did was cause a tree root to trip up one of the bandits running up behind Gwaine. It simply lifted off the ground, sending the man sprawling, and then sank back down again. No one (besides him, apparently) noticed, even though it had lifted a full foot off the ground. The next thing he did was wrench a sword out of one of their hands, allowing Elyan to very easily defeat the man who had simply "lost his grip" on his sword. Despite being a bit more discrete, it wasn't at all normal, and yet it still went unnoticed by everyone unaware of the fact that there was a sorcerer in their midst.

Through the entire battle, Merlin just kept doing things—tripping men up, pulling away their weapons, causing their sword hilts to heat up, pushing them over, making their weapons get stuck in trees and the ground, etc—but the most ridiculous, the least subtle of all of his spells was when the fight was nearing its end and one of the men was trying to get behind Arthur. The bandit was just about to strike the prince, a blow aimed for his neck, when a tree branch of all things fell on top of him, sending the man crashing to the ground in an unconscious—possibly even dead—heap just as the prince finished off the last bandit.

Everyone turned to look at it, and for a moment Lancelot was worried about what the reaction would be, if anyone would suspect that something unnatural had just occurred. Elyan was eyeing it a bit warily, and even Gwaine looked the slightest bit suspicious if not thoroughly amused, but Arthur took one look at the branch and then the tree it had fallen from before giving a half shrug and sheathing his sword.

"Well, that was a stroke of luck," he commented—no surprise, no suspicion, nothing.

He simply left it at that.

Lancelot had to fight the urge to gape in disbelief at the way Arthur completely brushed off something that was so obviously not normal. Even Elyan and Gwaine were looking at him a bit strangely after that comment, and if not for the fact that it could potentially get Merlin into trouble, Lancelot would have loved to question the prince about his complete nonchalance—also known as obliviousness in this case—towards the event.

Gwaine, having no such qualms and a penchant for picking on their leader, did it for him.

"A stroke of luck? That's what you call it?" he asked, apparently unconvinced, and Lancelot could practically feel Merlin tense up behind him. He imagined the warlock was probably feeling a bit worried at this sudden turn. He got the feeling that the boy wasn't used to having his "subtle" uses of magic questioned like this, which meant that—and he felt a bit guilty for even thinking it—Arthur really was as oblivious as Merlin claimed him to be.

"Of course. What else would it be?"

Now Lancelot was also fighting the urge to sigh in exasperation as well. Really, there was just no other explanation for it. Perhaps part of it could be equated to the fact that Arthur had grown up without being taught much about magic, but a great deal of it had to do with the prince's own personality. He had a tendency to write a lot of things off and to simply accept what he was told (as long as it didn't sound too ridiculous or farfetched). It was nice that he trusted the people close to him, and it certainly made things easier for Merlin…but it also meant that one day everything was likely to blow up in their faces, and depending on the circumstances, they all stood to lose a great deal.

It was probably best not to dwell on that, at least not yet. That day was hopefully a long, long time away still. Right now he needed to focus on making sure that Gwaine didn't press too hard with this subject.

"Well, princess, I've been in plenty of fights before, but I've never had a perfectly good tree branch suddenly fall on someone who was trying to kill me."

The look Arthur gave Gwaine was one of irritation but also a bit of suspicion. The prince was looking thoughtful, and so Lancelot quickly intervened, wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible.

"Perhaps you're just unlucky," he said to Gwaine. "Considering some of the stories you've regaled us with, it's not surprising."

He held his breath, hoping this would work and also hoping that he didn't anger his friend. However, one of Gwaine's more admirable traits was the fact that he didn't let things get to him, and sure enough, a smile broke out on the knight's face, one that probably would've been referred to as sheepish on anyone else. He was pretty sure Gwaine was incapable of being embarrassed.

"Can't argue with you there," he replied. "I've certainly suffered more than my fair share of misfortune." His comment also drew a smile from Elyan and Arthur, and Lancelot heard Merlin sigh in relief from behind him, thankful to have the attention away from his small display of magic. He was going to have to have a talk with the boy about being a bit more subtle now that there were more people around to notice, and unlike Arthur, they weren't likely to just write everything off as a "stroke of luck."

Although…if they were to notice, he was fairly certain that neither Gwaine nor Elyan would turn against Merlin, especially Gwaine. Like him, he knew that if it came down to it, Gwaine would side with Merlin. It was something the two of them had in common. They stayed in Camelot because they believed in Arthur, but both of them had originally come because of Merlin. No matter what it cost him, his loyalty would first and foremost be to the boy who had been willing to sacrifice everything for the people and the kingdom he loved. Merlin had dedicated every bit of himself to Arthur and to Camelot, sparing almost no consideration for himself, and so even if it meant that he would one day be forced to choose between his dream of being a knight and his friend, he knew what choice he would make.

It didn't even bear thinking about.

His thoughts as well as the tapering conversation were put to a sudden end by the sound of groaning coming from the man who had been felled by the tree branch. The heavy limb was sprawled across his chest, pinning him to the ground, but he would likely be able to push it away once he was fully conscious. His eyelids were fluttering, signaling that he was about to wake, and so Arthur quickly moved to stand next to him, the tip of his sword pointing towards the bandit's chest. He wasn't about to take any chances, even against a seemingly unarmed man. Bandits could be tricky, and it was never a good idea to underestimate one's opponent.

When his eyes blinked open and took in his surroundings before settling on Arthur, the prince wasted no time in beginning his interrogation.

"Who are you?" he demanded, trying to sound intimidating, but he must have fallen short somewhere seeing as how the man only smirked, an amused huff escaping his lips. If not for the tree branch across his chest, he likely would've laughed.

"No one of any consequence, least not to you," he answered, his voice horrible and grating, completely lacking any sort of respect or deference. He didn't even seem scared.

"I'll be the judge of that."

The prince shifted his sword until it was right under the man's chin, the tip resting just above his neck, and despite the confidence in the bandit's voice and expression, he tried to shrink back from the blade and the glaring prince on the other end of it.

"How well do you know these lands?" Arthur asked.

"I know 'em better than you lot, that's for sure, although that probably isn't saying much."

"Then tell me everything you know about the western border."

All of them gaped at the prince for a moment, surprised at the demand, but their attention soon shifted to the bandit. The man was eyeing Arthur a bit oddly, as if he couldn't quite understand what he was being asked or why. He didn't say anything at first, just kept staring, but eventually his expression shifted back into one of amusement.

"Why do you want to know 'bout something like that?" he asked.

"My reasons don't concern you. Now tell me what you know."

"And why should I? What's in it for me?"

The prince pressed the tip of his sword to a point just under the man's chin, forcing his head to angle back in order to escape the deadly tip.

"If you tell me what you know, I'll let you leave with your life."

The bandit fell quiet for a moment more, probably deciding whether or not he could trust Arthur's words. In the end his response wasn't surprising. As far as information went, this knowledge wasn't life shattering or of much consequence. It wasn't a secret that needed to be kept, and most men would rather keep their lives than their secrets, although Lancelot knew there were exceptions to that. He got the feeling that Merlin was likely one such person, and depending on the secret, Arthur was likely to be another.

"Alright," the man conceded, the smirk having fallen right off his face. "I'll tell you what I know."

Arthur pulled his sword away a scant inch, allowing the man to heave a deep sigh before he began.

"Beyond the western border lies a vale that's shrouded in mist. They say that it never fades, but sometimes if you look closely enough, you can see a castle just a little ways beyond it. As far as I know, it's been like that for ages. The mist has always been there. A lot of people have tried to go beyond it, but not a single one of them has ever come back. Tis a fool's errand, in my opinion."

The man said nothing more, and all of them simply waited, expecting him to continue with his story, but he didn't utter a single word.

"That's it?" Arthur eventually asked.

"Of course it is. What were you expecting, some gallant folk tale? No one who's gone looking has ever returned. It's pretty hard to hear a story when there's no one left to tell it."

They had no choice but to concede that that was true. If no one had ever come back, then obviously no one would know what was hiding in the mist. The man's story lined up with what Danigan had already told them, which left them once more with nothing to go on.

With a disappointed sigh, Arthur withdrew his blade and sheathed it before turning to head back to his horse, leaving the bandit trapped under the tree branch.

For some reason he didn't seem particularly happy with that arrangement.

"Hey, you just going to leave me like this?" he called out.

"I said I'd let you leave with your life. I'm sure you can manage to get out from under there by yourself."

As the prince mounted his horse and the rest of them followed suit, preparing to take off, the bandit craned his neck to look at their small group, a smirk on his face.

"Is that where you're heading then, the vale?" he asked, his words tinged with amused laughter. When Arthur didn't deem his question worth answering, he let out a rough chortle. "Do you wish to die that badly? You one of those types then, the kind that thinks 'it won't be me?' Everyone who's ever crossed the border has gone in thinking like that, and none of them ever came back. It'll be the same for you. Peasants, nobles, knights, thieves—all of us are the same in that regard. You'll wander around lost in the mist until you die, or you'll be killed by whatever lies beyond it. Don't go thinking you're something special. Not even magic could save you."

The prince only glared at the prone man, fighting the urge to go back and run him through if only to shut him up. Instead he turned away and started to head off through the forest once more.

"Let's go," he said, and the rest of them followed, leaving the bandit where he lay. They rode off to the sound of his laughter, chasing after them until it eventually faded into the forest and his words became nothing more than an echo in the back of their minds.

A/N: Well, there you have it :) Another chapter done. I just wanted to say thank you to all who have been reading. Feel free to drop a review, although like I said before, I won't ask or beg, but they do make me rather happy, and I love knowing what you all think :) Oh, and I just wanted to say that if you respond back to my responses but I don't send another back, it's usually because I either don't remember to or that I can't think of anything to say. It's nothing to do with ignoring someone. I'm just a relatively shy person who is crap at holding up conversations.
So, I'm thinking that the real plot will probably come in the next few chapters. I don't intend to draw it out much longer (though I make no guarantees, cause I never know what might crop up while I'm writing)

Anyway, that's all for now! See you all next week :)