"Arthur."

He didn't want to wake up. He was having such a lovely dream involving Guinevere, a forest glen, and no responsibilities. But the voice was insistent, dragging him out of sleep whether he wanted it or not.

"Arthur, get up."

"Leave me alone," Arthur mumbled into the blanket. Merlin yanked it away from him, and the cold air shocked him further into wakefulness. "Merlin!" He shivered and sat up, shooting a glare at the sorcerer as he reached for a shirt. "What are you doing? Is it morning?"

"No. It's not even midnight," Merlin said. He folded the blanket into uneven thirds before tossing it at the foot of the bed and picked up Arthur's coat, holding it open for the king to slip his arms into the sleeves. It was a familiar gesture, something Merlin had done a thousand times. It reminded Arthur of days past, when he had been a prince and Merlin had seemed like nothing more than a mere servant. Looking back, those days had been so simple, and his heart ached at their loss. Then he took a breath and set it all aside.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked. "Is Urien mounting some sort of nighttime attack?"

"No. It's Pynell."

Arthur muttered a short string of curses under his breath. "What's he doing now? Blaming our loss on you? Threatening a coup?"

"No to both. He's not so foolish that he'd outright threaten you," Merlin said as he draped the red cloak across Arthur's shoulders. "That would be treasonous, and he's not looking to get his head chopped off. But he implies. He reminds them of the power and prestige Camelot gained during Uther's reign, of how Uther beat back the Saxons and brought ruin to the Isle of the Blessed, and neglects to mention his defeats. And he's insinuating that you're not worthy of Uther's legacy or his crown. He reminds them of how Blackheath fell, how Morgana wrested the throne away from you while Uther was ill, and implies that the destruction of your sword and our defeat today is a sign of your unworthiness."

Arthur sighed. He rolled his shoulders to settle the cloak's heavy weight more comfortably. If only all his burdens were so easily shifted. "Are the men listening to him?"

"Some are. Some aren't. But you can't afford to have such divisions in your own ranks."

"Tell me something I don't know, Merlin!" Arthur snapped, regretting the words as soon as they passed his lips.

If Merlin was bothered by it, it didn't show on his face. He took a step back, and met Arthur's contrite gaze with a neutral look of his own. "They need to see you, Arthur. To see that you're alive and whole, unbent and unbroken by all this. They need their king."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but the words failed him. His gaze flicked away from Merlin's. his own unsteady will was hardly a match for the burning intensity in the sorcerer's eyes, especially not when he saw the hilt of his father's sword and the shards of it that had been recovered from the battlefield. "I'm…" he trailed off without bothering to try to find the right words.

"The sword is a symbol, nothing more," Merlin said gently. He draped a cloth over the broken blade, gloved hands smoothing out the wrinkles and leaving behind the sword's fractured outline. "Your people's faith in you does not begin and end with the trappings of your kingship any more than your love for Guinevere is bound by the ring you gave her on your wedding day."

"But aren't our symbols the outward sign of who and what we are?" Arthur asked. He reached out and tugged at the silver chain around Merlin's neck, freeing the shining tree of life pendant from his collar. "If you'd worn this five years ago, you would have been executed for it."

"That's true," Merlin admitted. "But I don't need it to follow my gods. And you don't need a sword to be a king. But the people need you. They need to see you standing tall, because Pynell is doing his best to tear you down so he can begin to set himself up in your place."

Arthur scowled. "He has enough pride for ten men and a clever way with words, but he's hardly worthy of a throne. Under Pynell's rule, Camelot would fall,"Arthur said. Merlin merely nodded. "Then I suppose I'll just have to pretend that I'm a better man than I think I am."

There were equal measures of sadness and bitterness in Merlin's answering smile. "Sometimes we have to pretend to be other than what we are, in order to survive."

"You know the rules of that game better than anyone else, don't you?" Arthur gave him a rueful smile. "I guess, if you can play it at for years, then I can manage for a few hours." He drew in a long breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped out into the night.

He spent the next hour wandering about the camp, talking to the men, listening to their complaints- mostly about the food and the eerie weather- addressing their concerns about their defeat, and putting to rest the rumors of his dire wounds or untimely death. His injuries had been bad, but Merlin had healed them well enough that he hardly felt a twinge. That enough seemed to bolster many spirits. But there had been other injuries and actual deaths, and it seemed to Arthur that everyone he spoke to had lost someone, be it a friend or brother, son or father.

It only got worse when he reached the healers' tent, when he confronted the blanket-covered bodies of those who hadn't survived the day. Those deaths sat heavily on his conscience, might have weighed him down entirely if Gaius hadn't gently escorted him out. 'The wounded need their rest, Arthur,' he'd said. The following 'And you have business to attend to' was left unsaid.

Through it all Merlin had followed at a distance, silent and ghost-like. Arthur would have rather had the sorcerer at his side to bolster his flagging spirits, but it was probably best that he remain unseen. His presence still set people's nerves on edge on a good day, and this was not a good day.

Then it got worse. He reached Pynell's camp. Arthur hesitated, debating whether he should step into the firelight or not.

"He's meant to be your loyal subject, not the other way around."

Merlin's voice in his ear startled Arthur. On edge, he nearly threw a punch at the sorcerer, but managed to suppress the instinct to attack. Barely. "Merlin," he hissed. "Don't do that."

"What, don't give you advice? I thought that's what you kept me around for?" Merlin asked. Arthur wasn't sure if he liked the mischievous glint in his eyes.

"If I wanted you to jump out of nowhere and surprise me, I'd… Never mind." Arthur raked a hand through his hair, patted it back down again, and did his best to compose himself. "What are you planning, anyway? You have that look on your face."

"I'm not planning anything."

Arthur stared daggers at Merlin, but the fever-bright light never left his eyes, nor did his smile fall away. "Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"If there's any plan at work here, it's due to Fate. A prophecy."

"You normally dread those," Arthur said.

"Not this time," Merlin said, his smile widening. "Go on. You're not alone." He nodded toward the far edge of the firelight, where Leon and Lancelot stood with Elyan behind them. Gwaine was probably there, too, amongst Pynell's lackeys, ready to start a fight or finish it depending on what happened in the next few minutes. They weren't alone, either. The closer Arthur looked, the more friendly faces he saw, leaving the crowd evenly matched between his own supporters and Pynell's.

"You are the King of Camelot," Merlin said. "No one can take that from you."

Arthur gave him a last, searching look, trying to borrow some of Merlin's confidence. He let out a shaky breath, and another until it was steady, then squared his shoulders and stepped into the firelight. "I hear you've been telling war stories again, Lord Pynell," he called out, dredging up a self-assured tone from some forgotten recess of his soul.

There was a sudden, mass shuffle at his arrival, and Arthur would have sworn than at least one man fell over in his attempt to stand up and bow at the same time. He gestured for them all to rise, noting that Pynell barely paid his due respects. "Only tales of past glories, Sire, to remind the men that there have been better days than this one."

"There have been better days. I will agree with you on that account," Arthur said, turning to the assembly and daring to show his back to his enemy as he sought to look as many of the men in the eye as he could. "We came here in good faith to negotiate terms of peace with King Urien. We trusted him to meet us with the same goodwill that we brought with us. He chose to violate that trust and bring battle to a field that should have been sown with peace and friendship for both our realms."

Arthur let his words sink in for a moment as he searched for the next ones. He wasn't sure where the first ones had come from, but his own uncertainties weren't showing and the men seemed to be listening. "We suffered a defeat today. We lost many of our friends and brothers. And while some might say that those deaths are in vain, I say that they are only meaningless if we give up, turn back, and cede to Rheged the lands that have been ours for centuries, knowing full well that Urien is a man who has no qualms about murdering his own people." Perhaps Urien hadn't ordered Hunith's death, but Accolon hadn't been punished for carrying out the deed, no matter who had given the word. It was either a tacit approval of her murder, or a blatant disregard for the lives he should have been protecting.

"Then what does Your Majesty propose that we should do?" Pynell asked.

"We stand, and we fight. We will defend our borders- our people- to the last man, if need be." Arthur met Pynell's gaze, staring him down, daring him to speak out against his king, accuse Arthur of cowardice, or fling whatever insult he was holding behind his teeth. "Or, if King Urien is willing to hold to his word and negotiate with us, then that is what we will do."

"Do you think the reputation of this kingdom can be maintained if we approach Urien on bended knee, to talk terms of surrender in light of today's defeat?" There was a certain serpentine look in Pynell's eye. Arthur didn't like it anymore than he liked the man or his lackeys, especially the handful closest to him. He marked one of them in his mind, a too-still fellow with dead eyes that roved across the gathering like a hunter searching for prey.

"You forget, Pynell, that my father welcomed the other rulers of the Five Kingdoms, and those from beyond these lands, in order to negotiate peace treaties with them. Did that bring shame upon us?" Arthur asked. He turned to the crowd again as though asking them if they agreed with him or not. There was a quiet rumble of assent. "I think it was a sign of our strength, to show the world that Camelot was willing to extend a hand of friendship to those who had previously tried to tear us down."

Pynell offered him a thin smile. "As noble as those notions are, Sire, there is the problem of Your Majesty's sword and signet ring. Both are symbols of your authority as king. Neither of them are on your person. The ring, Your Majesty left with your wife," Pynell said. Arthur didn't miss the slight against Guinevere, referring to her as wife instead of queen. He let it pass. "And the sword, which has been passed down from one king to the next for generations is broken. These may just be symbols of your strength, but they are powerful ones. Without them, will Urien take you seriously at the negotiating table?"

Arthur took a breath to respond, but it was Merlin who spoke first. "If there is need of a sword worthy of a king, I know where one might be found."

Pynell's lips pulled back from his teeth, but he turned the snarl into a laugh. "And will you conjure one out of the air, then, sorcerer? Take a stick and turn it into a sword, perhaps?" There was laughter at that, and Arthur suppressed a smile at the image of Merlin doing such a thing.

Whatever Merlin thought of the jest, he didn't let it show. He stepped into the ring of light, his mien burning with purpose. "There's no need for such common tricks when a real sword waits nearby, ready for the hand of its rightful bearer." The fire shifted then, its light shining falling onto Merlin and casting Pynell into shadow. "I have heard it said," Merlin raised his voice so it would be heard over the whispers, "that there is a sword buried to its hilt in the heart of a stone. A sword forged by the greatest smith of Camelot, and burnished in a dragon's fire. It was made for a king, and only the hand of the rightwise king of Camelot may draw it forth from the stone."

Pynell laughed. If Arthur didn't know the man so well, he wouldn't have heard the nervous undertones. "And what else will we find with this magical sword? A winged horse the king can fly away on to defeat our enemies single-handedly? Is Pandora's Box there, too, waiting to be opened once more?" This prompted laughter from assembly, and Pynell glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge it with a smirk.

Merlin might have been carved from stone for all the response he gave. The fire flared, sending a flash of golden light across his eyes. "Do you fear what you'll find if you go, My Lord? I'm sure His Majesty isn't afraid." He turned just enough to meet Arthur's gaze, and for a moment, buoyed by the surety he saw in Merlin's eyes, Arthur felt like there was nothing in the world he could possibly have reason to fear.

"I will go," Arthur said. "I'm not afraid. Will you join us?" He looked back at Pynell, saw a glint of fear in the man's eyes, and finally saw the man for what he truly was- an old, small-minded man whose youth and glory days were well behind him. A man clinging to the past by his fingertips because he was too afraid of how quickly things were changing.

Pynell's jaw clenched. Usually, Arthur didn't care to corner a wounded beast, but in this case the beast couldn't fight back without looking like more of a fool. "I will go," Pynell said through gritted teeth.

"It's settled, then," Arthur said. He turned away from Pynell, his gaze sweeping over the crowd and landing on Leon and Lancelot. The former looked as swept up in the moment as all the others, while the latter watched Merlin, a worried crease forming on his brow. "We'll go at dawn and find this sword. Then we will see what Urien brings to the table."