UNSTEADY GROUND

The king slept soundly in his bed, his face clean of worries, at peace while his chest moved up and down with each fresh spur of life. Her feet moved on their own, bare against the cold, spreading goose bumps all over her flesh as she finally stood over him, her hands holding the ornate blade in a deadly grip.

He must pay.

When she looked down, it was only to softly touch the pad of her fingers to the bleeding gash that run through the middle her chest, the blood itself was dark and crusted, old.

His doing.

With the tears burning tracks down her face, she raised the dagger and, with a mighty thrust, she brought it down, through the furs, skin and muscle, sinking it deep into his gut. It felt easy. It was just like when she had to gut chickens for a meal, or maybe a pig. His reaction was immediate. The king woke up, gasping, his eyes solid blue as they found her there, almost as if he was begging, but she had no mercy to spare. She brought the blade down again, and again, until the blood stained the bed, running over her legs, to her knees, and still she kept on, until her arms screamed from the strain and the blood flooded over her head, drowning her scream.

In the dream, if felt like she had torn her throat, but as she woke up, it was nothing but a gasp that escaped her lips, cold under the light of morning.

Panting, Gwen blinked at the room around her, clutching the sheets over her shoulders as the reality slowly settled in. Her hands, desperate, sought out her own chest, to find her flesh intact. Good. Gulping, Gwen had no problem lying back down to stare at ceiling, becoming aware of the whispered curses that came from the kitchen and grasped at her curiosity. With the cold biting at her skin, she stood on her feet, wrapping the furs around her shoulders as she brushed aside the drapes that separated her bedroom from the rest of the house. Sure enough, Elyan was struggling to pull his armor together, uselessly reaching behind his back to fit the gorget.

Letting out a sigh, Gwen quickly brushed his hands away. Now that he was a knight, the armor he wore was not held together by leather straps as in the past, no, this fine work used springs that she locked together, fitting the metal around his body, before stepping back. "You know you can wake me up to help out, don't you?"

"You needed the sleep."

A weary chuckle was her answer. "Everyone is in need of sleep, Elyan, it's what happens when a kingdom fights a war right before winter."

"Well, everyone is not my sister"

And there it was. Elyan might not be home all that often, but when he was, she felt this need of his to be a good brother, as if to make up for all those years of absence. Shaking her head, Gwen moved to the table. There was a recently cut piece of cheese there, and bread from two days ago, although the nightmare was fresh enough in her mind to make her stomach churn at the idea of food. Finally, she studied Elyan, the travel bag at his feet, and the scabbard he was tying around his waist. "Arthur is taking you with him."

"Yes."

"You barely got back"

He paused only briefly. "Well, this is very important, you know? I'm defending the Prince Regent himself, seeing to the safety of the kingdom."

"I know that." Gwen rebuked, feeling annoyed. They needed to move fast, while the storms were gone and the days were clear, while the tracks were fresh, Arthur said. "I just think you should rest for a while, going after a dangerous man so soon, I just…"

Her brother finished with the sword, and picked up the cloak, a beautiful thing, warm and waxed to keep the wearer dry even in rough weather. The golden dragon stitched to it seemed to almost shine, even under the dim light of her house.

"This is supposed to be a secret mission."

"And you should know better." He narrowed his eyes at her, not in accusation, but in a clear insinuation that she shouldn't know about it. "Arthur told me."

"Of course he did."

"I know you're gonna do something dangerous." Gwen brushed a hand over her hair. It was too early to be this annoyed. "I know there was a patrol that was attacked on the border, I know three men died, I know and I've heard the rumors about druids and sorcerers traveling in numbers. People are scared Elyan."

"They shouldn't be, Lord Cygnus reported his men defeated a whole camp of sorcerers just the other day." His assurance was not good, and he noticed and he seemed annoyed. "What do you want from me?"

"I just want you to be safe."

Seeming to understand something, Elyan offered her a smile, a reassuring thing, something their father wore often. It hurt to see it now. "Don't worry, soon enough I'll be here bothering you like always."

He leaned down and, on a whim, she kissed his cheek. Elyan seemed surprised, but perhaps that was just another symptom of them still trying to patch things up after years apart.

The truth was that the mere mention of sorcery made Gwen's heart start beating a little faster. Although she often shared Morgana's distaste with executions in the past, her own experiences had been far too unpleasant for it not to be so, already she was almost burned because Uther thought her a witch.

As her brother left, she stole a glance at her sewing basket, right where she had left, with a wool hat half way done, and its contents the same as they had always been. Chewing at her lower lip, she approached the basket like one might a wild beast, until the dagger was in her hands. She had found it, hidden under Uther's bed, and until now, she had no idea why she kept it.

She couldn't bring herself to give it to Arthur, imagining his mood souring at the mere reminder of the woman they had both known since childhood. Twice she had tried already. It was his present to Morgana after all, his gift, it should be his now, to keep it or throw away, but whenever she saw the toll the kingdom was taking on him, she couldn't bring herself to add more weight on his shoulders and so she denied him. Blinking, she found another gift, a piece of fine velvet that had been done so beautifully she had never found a proper use for it.

If Arthur had given her a gift, Gwen had received one, although looking back, perhaps it had meant nothing at all to the cunning woman that had tricked them for months. Did I ever?

A rooster suddenly sung its morning song, and Gwen brushed her thoughts away as the tasks of the day came back to the front of her mind. She caught her basket, shoved the dagger inside, and quickly washed her face. She was already late. Brushing her teeth, Gwen grabbed her own cloak and gloves, stepping outside into a Camelot covered by a white sheet of snow. Houses and streets seemed to blend together seamlessly, and it was almost hard to tell the difference between the powerful fortress and the small hovels from lower town.

As she walked outside, she met the noise of the horses coming down the street and soon enough, Camelot's banner was seen brushed by the wind, while a line of knights followed in its wake. Immediately, her eyes darted to the first rider, armored head to toe atop of a white gelded, his eyes meeting her for the briefest moments. Riding behind Arthur, Merlin seemed almost a copy of the prince in his apparent determination, although he still spared her a grin when he saw her. When the knights were finally gone, and the sight of her brother also vanished from her sight, Gwen couldn't help but feel the loneliness settling in, guilt from the dream and fear for the future, thinking that perhaps she might see Lancelot later. If there was one thing about the man was that his presence was soothing, no matter what.

The guards of the citadel barely paid her any attention when she walked past, but standing atop of the stairs, Lord Hector spared a bellyful look to where the line of riders had disappeared behind the hill, while by his side, Lord Agravaine seemed completely uninterested. She was careful when watching them, because although she wasn't afraid, Lord Hector seemed to dislike her. With that in mind, she waited until they went back inside to follow suit. In winter, many parts of the castle were as cold as the outside, but the kitchens were always warm. Adjusting her basket to her elbow, she reached a small table in front of the oven where a guard and Fal were watching a young man tasting the food. They waited a moment, and when nothing happened, she was allowed to take the meal, the guard not far behind, until she reached the King's chambers, whose door was also guarded.

Feeling her mouth dry all of the sudden, she moved in, finding that the king was in deep sleep, which for one was a blessing. Sometimes she would arrive and the man would be dead on his feet from spending the night awake. Not that he didn't look dead already. Leaving the breakfast on the table, Gwen pulled at her skirts and attended to the fire as the doors closed behind her back. When roaring flames were alive and heating up the chambers she pulled at the end of the furs and took away the bed warmer where the coals were cold and dead.

Finally, she moved to the chair by his side, but when she reached out to wake him up, her hand hovered.

He was an old man, Gwen realized, as if the thought had never occurred to her before. Uther Pendragon had always seemed such a scary figure in her mind, a source of power that could kill people with a gesture, not unlike a sorcerer from the stories told in the tavern, but lying before her, was an old man, with wrinkled skin and feeble of body, not at all the nightmarish monster her dream-self had so much pleasure in killing, but did that really matter?

Once upon a time she was just a servant, looking after a sweet young girl that was gentle, kind and strong. She had her father and her brother looking after her, she had love from all sides, and moments of gossip where they would watch Arthur and his aids with fun little puns thrown around. Those days were gone now, first her brother, leaving home to seek his own path, and even now he was always away. Then her father, and the hurt of that was suddenly fresh and bleeding. Looking back, losing Morgana to sorcery seemed almost inevitable.

It's all your fault.

The accusation never left her lips, but it lingered in her thoughts even while they darted to the dagger still inside her basket. Secretly, she almost wished Morgana had killed him, secretly, she could phantom a world where Uther didn't exist, when she was whole and even Arthur wouldn't need to beg for approval.

Arthur.

The thought made she feel as if something ugly and dark was suddenly seeping into her skin, and Gwen felt it as it was, guilty for taking care of that man while her own father was dead. Guilty because she thought so horribly about Arthur's father. He was always going on about missing the man, and his wisdom. Was such thing even real or was it only the fantasies of a child? Perhaps Uther was a good king if it wasn't for his fear of sorcery, of Magic.

Perhaps is should be for a world without magic that she wished for. Her father had messed with it, her best friend had involved herself in it, Uther had lashed out whenever the word was mentioned and Camelot had suffered again and again, all because magic existed.

She had suffered again and again.

On the bed, Uther stirred, breaking her musings. Eager for a distraction now, Gwen finally shook his shoulder, waiting patiently for the man to wake up. His eyes met hers, without really seeing much, and with a sigh, she followed the routine. "Sire, it's morning, I brought you your breakfast. I know you must be hungry."

The king blinked her way, and under her prompting, finally managed to sit up, his movements sluggish and uncertain. Taking a step back, Gwen turned her back to him, idly listening to him going through the process of using the chamber pot. When he was done she brought his basin along with the soap, and again prompted him to clean up, before guiding him to the chair by the window, a place he seemed to like.

"Where is Arthur?"

The question caught her unawares. Arthur would usually eat with the king in the mornings, but today that was not possible. "He had matters away from the citadel, sire. He will be back soon, I'm sure."

Uther nodded, and she knew right away this would be another day where the plate would remain full unless she grabbed a few bites herself. She was about to sit down and go about some sewing when the bellows came, the voices turning to words as they came closer.

"Lord Hector! I command you to stop!"

There was a halt of feet as Lord Agravaine's voice roared from the hallway. Sparing a glance for the unmoving king, Gwen lifted her skirts and moved to the door, taking a peek outside. She found Lord Hector there, the tall man looking behind his back, while a guard that had clearly been pushed aside was slowly getting to his feet.

"You have no right to command me, Agravaine."

"The prince regent has given me full authority upon his absence." Agravaine pointed out, and now she could see him at the end of the hallway with two guards lingering at his back, clearly under his command. "You would do well to remember that, Hector."

"The king must know what has happened."

"The king is sick and in bed."

"You sniveling worm." Hector accused, his voice carrying the sort of disgust Gwen had seldom bared witness to. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You've hidden behind that castle of yours all those years, ruminating upon your family's graves, waiting for this exact moment." Hector walked until he was standing right in front of Agravaine's face. "I bet you love that our king is sick, I bet you're all right at seeing heathens and heretics taking over this kingdom, but I promise you, I won't allow it."

"Prince Arthur is the regent of this kingdom and he is doing everything in his power to see these matters solved."

"He is uncertain, had it been Uther he would have ridden out, snows or not and hunted those vermin to the end of the earth. Instead, of doing that our prince delays, he grows complacent and weak."

For a long stretch of silence, Agravaine simply stared the man down, his hand twitching by his side. "I would watch your tongue if I were you."

Hector snorted. "Wait until the king hears of this."

"The king is sick, and you're disturbing him. Since it's my responsibility to care for him, you will see yourself away before I throw you into the dungeon."

Lord Hector seemed to finally understand the threat, and even though he followed the command, his laugh was dry and mocking, his eyes angry as he finally disappeared.

"I want you to double the guard in those chambers, the prince ordered only Gaius and the servant enter and you shall follow those orders" Agravaine told the guards. His eyes came to the door, and Gwen realized he had sighted her, that gaze locking her feet on the ground, cold and mocking, but perhaps that was just her imagination as the scene repeated in her mind again and again.

Arthur couldn't return soon enough.

The air around him was cutting as Merlin pulled up his cloak in a pitiful attempt to warm himself as he squatted behind a tree, wishing that he could make use of his magic for once, but alas, the score of knights around him made that a very bad idea.

They had left Camelot two days ago, and already he could feel the frustration growing around the camp at night, as the search for the runaway sorcerer continued, although Arthur himself seemed more eager than tired. When night came along they found shelter in a small village at the edge of the darkling woods, but by morning it was once more time to hunt and Arthur was always ahead, leading the charge, him face hold that same determined grimaced that haunted his features since he heard the reports.

"Osgar vanished for years." Arthur had pointed out, and his eyes held a certain touch of fear. Osgar was famous for the many dead knights under his belt, a socerer that had slipped even Uther in his prime only to show up now of all time. "There has been sightings of magic all over the kingdom for weeks now, and the druids are moving in numbers. You think he might be responsible?"

"I don't know." Was all he could say.

"What do you know, Merlin?"

A lot as it happens. He knew sorcerers had their own ways of braving the weather, he knew spells to tame fire and wind and he could speak to dragons until they obeyed him. He also knew the answers Arthur was seeking in this journey, that the fault for the deaths and conflicts that had already happened over the kingdom fell on the shoulders of two women in the east, but he couldn't tell him anything or else risk his own life, a choice that weighted on him everyday. Already, Arthur had received news of his knights dying when they came across sorcerers, already, the prince was sending more men to secure his people and already the fear was driving the mood of the council. Some days, when he stood by shadows, Merlin almost felt like he was hearing a dozen Uthers trying to speak at the same time. It was an impossible choice.

"If we tell Arthur, what would that accomplish?" Gaius had questioned him." At best, he will know something that will disturb him and that Camelo is in no way ready to face, at worst, he will be force to question me and you in regards to magic."

"But, he know you used to practice magic."

Gaius had deflated. "Tell me, Merlin, do you really think you can explain the difference between been the unwilling receiver of a magical spell and its user? Right now, Morgana and Morgause have hardened Camelot's stance on magic, if the council hears even a whisper of this we might both end on a pyre."

"Arthur wouldn't..."

"Regardless, would you put him in that position?"

"No." He said without a doubt. "What will happen, Gaius?"

"I don't know, Merlin, I don't know."

Closing his eyes, the young warlock could almost hear it again. Morgause's voice, calling to their people in the name of Morgana and forcing this whole situation on the world. She would never rest, Merlin realized. Morgana had no idea what her actions brought. Instead of watching his dreams of freedom come closer, Merlin only saw the conflict rising and now, here he was, hunting one of his own with Arthur by his side. It seemed he and his people were cursed to feel the consequences of Morgana's actions.

A hand suddenly landing on his shoulder made him jump from where he was sitting, only to meet Percival's eyes piercing him from above. "We've got him, Merlin, come on."

Heart jumping to his throat, he quickly got to his feet, walking deep around the naked trees and dark trunks, the snow crunching under his boots until he was once more by Arthur's side. The prince seemed to be waiting for him, because as soon as he arrived, Arthur signaled the men to his left and right, moving forward. The formation spread seamlessly. It was a long chain, where each man would always have two others on sight, and signals would be sent along the chain allowing them to round the prey.

And Osgar was prey, of that Merlin had no doubt, but like a cornered boar, he was dangerous.

Biting his lower lip, he crouched by Arthur's side. Their approach was slow and silent, and soon enough Merlin realized they were all moving towards a thin trail of smoke that he could see right ahead. Suddenly, the knights around him were more like shadows, their breaths smoking angrily, the silence all-encompassing as he stared at Arthur's eyes, blue and pale and steely.

"Are you sure it's him?"

The question was a whisper, but the prince heard. "Elyan said the description matches."

"But…"

"If we're wrong, I'll personally apologize." Arthur grumbled, the naked steel shining in his hands, steel that might soon be drenched in blood, steel he would have to clean later on.

"Be careful."

"I'm always careful." Smirking, Arthur raised his hands and signaled the attack.

Along the line, the knights saw it.

They struck down like a pack of wolves, all together, bared swords and shining armor – their cloaks were gone to better hide their presence – and Merlin, caught glimpses of them like bright spots passing through the woods, he himself running along behind Arthur. Ahead, he felt a sudden spike, an ominous shift in the air that told him magic was being used without restraint, cries of battle and magical words echoes in his ears, only for him to arrive onto a finished battle.

A dozen knights were surrounding the sorcerer, whose gut was pierced and bleeding, but two were down on the ground. Elyan was getting to his feet, but Sir Ranulf was unmoving.

"I wanted him alive! I…" Arthur's voice balked at the sight of the still knight, and then… "Merlin!"

"I'm on it!"

He knelt down, not worried about the sorcerer falling on his knees by his side, at this distance he was even better positioned to stop any attack on Arthur. Quickly, he checked for a pulse, it was faint but it was there. Checking the rest of the man's body, Merlin quietly uncorked his water-skin and poured some over the knight until he was spluttering and coughed back to conscience. "He has a broken arm, but he should be fine."

It was like a storm cloud had suddenly vanished from Arthur's face, pain crawling its way into his eyes only to be reined back in name of his mission. His arm shook when he pointed the sword at Osgar, his voice roaring. "I want answers and you shall give them to me."

While two knights dragged a cursing Ranulf back to his feet, Merlin watched the man's eyes for a hint of golden light, knowing no one was above vengeance and anger even on the brink of death, but Osgar didn't move beyond clutching his wound. Despite his reputation of a killer, he eyed Arthur with something akin to pity.

"Y-you have nothing… Nothing to fear from me, Arthur Pendragon."

"It's prince Arthur" Percival said, grabbing the man's shoulder's, but beyond a moan of pain there was no other reaction, while his clothes turned scarlet red.

"No games." Arthur said, through gritted teeth. "There are hundreds of sorcerers showing up in my kingdom, druids are seen traveling through the woods, you'll tell me why!"

The man blinked, shaking his head. He was losing conscience, and the knight holding him had to shake him awake.

"Tell me!"

"I am sent from the sacred Disir to pass judgement on Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King." Osgar said through his broken breath, and Arthur frowned in confusion.

"What right have you to pass judgement?" Elyan asked.

"No man is above the Disir - however royal. It is my duty to pass their judgement on to you, d-dread King." A hand disappeared inside his robes, and Percival was quick to intercept it, his hold was strong, and Merlin cringed at the pained expression that flashed across Osgar's face. "It's my duty… No harm…"

Percival gave no heed. He sought the item and studied it for a moment, delivering it to Arthur. Merlin saw that it was a small trinket of clay, engraved with runes he couldn't read, much less the prince apparently.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"It is both j-judgement and fate. You have waged war on the people of the Old Religion. Now… Now the ancient gods answer you. T-the Disir have spoken, the circle of fate closes, for as Camelot recovers the seeds of its destruction bloom even faster."

"What nonsense is this?" Arthur screamed. "That is not what I want to know! Tell me why the sorcerers are showing up… tell me…"

But Osgar was already dead, his head lowered down and his last whisper was so low, Merlin barely heard it. "It's … not… too late…"

For a long moment nobody moved in the clearing, and then Percival finally let Osgar fall over the snow, his eyes staring and seeing nothing. Out of habit, Merlin numby checked the man's pulse, taking in his features. He was a man grown, with scars and wrinkles, probably a boy at the of the purge, but overall he seemed nothing like the terrible stories told about him, of a butcher of men and defiler of women, an fanatic and heretic. No, looking at him, still like that, Merlin could almost imagine himself knowing Osgar, being friends with him, but them again, in a better world, he might've been friends with many dead people.

"Are you all right, Sir Ranulf?"

Arthur was asking his friend, who grunted atop of his horse. "The bastard caught me by surprise, my prince, nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure, that is your shield arm."

Merlin approached the two of them carefully, quickly improvising a splint for the man. "Shields are an inconvenience, one might say I fight better without one."

"Merlin will take care of you."

"Aye, he better, or I might break his arm, see if he likes it!" Sir Ranulf laughed out loud, his charming smile making it clear it was a joke, although one Merlin failed to find it funny. "No worries, Arthur, soon enough I'll be out there hunting those dogs for you."

Arthur barely hesitated, although his smiled seemed forced. "I'm glad to hear it, Sir."

Watching his retreating back, Merlin wondered at that hesitation, at the object Osgar fought so hard to deliver. Now that he thought about it, was it really a coincidence that the man was surrounded? By his reputation alone, the sorcerer should've evaded them for days, he could've fought and killed many of them before been brought down, and yet, beyond the broken arm he was currently treating, Osgar hadn't tried to hurt them. As Arthur peered at the piece of clay, he wondered if the prince realized that as well.

"Fuck! Watch what you're doing boy!"

"Sorry" Merlin mumbled, finishing the splint and letting Ranulf go, his gaze traveling back to Osgar's body, still lying on the ground, alone and exposed.

Later, he would return and dig him a grave, the law forbid it, but Osgar didn't seem evil. He had died for something even if he didn't understand what it was. No, Osgar deserved a proper resting place, or as best as Merlin could provide when he returned later on, by himself.

The family that sheltered them for night was formed by a farmer, his wife and three young sons, none of which were old enough to hold a sword, yet helping their father fix the roof when they arrived. In moments, greetings were exchanged, and Arthur offered half of their supplies as payment for their stay so as to not hurt their pride. No matter how afraid he was of offending them, he could bring himself to eat their food, knowing he had ask his allies for supplies in a action he knew his father would never have approved and that half of council had argued against, saying they would seem weak. For Arthur, making sure his people were fed didn't seem like weakness. Perhaps the fact that he had to write three times to some people might have seem like begging in their eyes, but Arthur had learned some things from Gwen, and while his table might not lack much, it wasn't the case for everyone.

After dinner, he brought his men into the barn, where they made a fireplace to burn through the night and made beds out of the hay, the sleep falling upon his men quickly even with the wind whistling through the beams in the roof. He himself remained awake, idly aware of Merlin helping Sir Ranulf get comfortable, while he run his bare fingers over the markings that Osgar gave him. The clay felt smooth and clean, the circle polished almost to perfection, and that man had stood through a sword in the guts to give it to him. He hadn't begged for a healer or for help, nothing someone sane would do.

"What are you thinking?" Merlin's eyes had been intense and shy all at once, as if he wanted but didn't dare to hold his gaze for long.

"What do you think of this?" He had finally asked, holding the trinket.

"I think we should ask Gaius about it."

"So you think he was serious?" Arthur probed, feeling the chill of another night not so much like this one.

"Don't you? You haven't stopped playing with that since you got it."

"He was deranged." He concluded. "A mad man."

"If you say so."

And there was that Merlin shrug that told him he disagreed with what he was saying, but that he wouldn't argue about it. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur threw the runemark at him, watching his servant struggling to catch it before it landed on his lap. "What do you think?"

"I…" Merlin observed the rune for a bit, and Arthur waited, for something, he wasn't sure what it was, but it was there, just at the edge of his thoughts, provoking him. "I think, it's dangerous to dismiss other people's beliefs."

And then he had been the one looking away, a derisive snort escaping his lips. "Of course you would say something like that Merlin, but don't worry, there is nothing to be afraid of. Plenty of knights around to keep you safe and, as long as you cooking us good meals, we will."

Smirking, he finally lied down to sleep.

"Don't you want this?"

"Keep it." He briefly considered mounting it on the wall like his father probably would, but that made him remember the staff, and the staff brought him back to Morgana and, suddenly, he didn't want to look at it anymore.

In Arthur's memories, Morgana stood before him with hunched shoulders claiming to be tired, in his memories, Osgar said it wasn't too late while speaking of seeds of destruction. In his mind, he saw sorcerers approaching, shadows from every corner, tearing down at his kingdom and his friends. In his mind he saw Sir Ranulf wasn't hurt, but dead, someone he knew from childhood, and it frightened how easily that could've been a reality. Inwardly, he wondered if this is how it felt like before the purge, walking around afraid to meet a man as powerful as to rule your mind and throw you with a word whispered from his lips. He wondered how it was possible that Camelot survived at all with so much power at the hands of people, power that so easily twisted. That is what magic was, he though, men and women who wanted life to be easy, who wanted to take and take until nothing was left, and used their beliefs to frighten and justify their actions. Merlin might say it was dangerous to dismiss peoples' beliefs, but Arthur saw only superstitions and chaos. He might not have gotten his answers, but Osgar was still dead and as far as Arthur was concerned he was just another dangerous man sent to an unmarked grave. Justice was made and yet, satisfaction felt foreign to him as of lately.

On the next day, he rode in the head of the column with Merlin at his side, wrapped in so many furs he looked like a bear cub as the wind threw snow at their faces. Camelot loomed over him from the hills, a shadow more menacing that a home should be and soon enough he was riding through the lower town feeling heavy and tired, his passage greeted by bows of reverence from those who dared venture outside their homes. The gates were open when he came to the plaza, and he threw the reins towards a stable boy just as George came racing down the stairs to meet him.

"Merlin, do me a favor and go to Gaius, see what he can say about that rune."

His friend blinked, nodded once and then George was there, speaking in a hurried precise tone.

"Sire, your arrival is very timely, and your presence has been requested in the throne room."

Arthur frowned, as far as he remembered, the throne room was still being rebuilt after Morgana's destruction. "What is it, have we received news from Amata?"

"From Essetir, sire, and the king has requested your presence."

Arthur stopped short, by his side, Merlin tripped on nothing, and atop the stairs he saw Gwen coming down, her face strangely stoic under her hood while hope curled around his heart like a warm hug. Not waiting for any of them, Arthur raced into the citadel, taking the steps two at a time, eager for a sight that could finally keep his world steady and solid once again.

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