The tent rippled in the slight breeze that carried the early morning chill with it. The sun was barely beginning to make its way up into the sky, that rare small window of time when Moon and Sun shared the same space. Arthur hoped it was a sign to come, a sign of affirmation that no matter how impossible the task, two could always find a way to be one. He looked around at those gathered here, their friends, their brothers. Some may not see the end of the day and his heart ached for it, even as it hardened in hatred against the Saxons that had forced this, against his twisted Sister and her obsession with his lover, even against Destiny herself, the final twist of that betrayal as sharp as any dagger in his breast.

Memories in the back of his mind stirred then, reminding him of another battle. Of the pain that had been Merlin's while he stood and told his King he wouldn't be with him on this one, knowing he was useless until he got his power back. All too clearly he remembered the rage, the frustration that he had failed in his destiny to protect Arthur, holding him as he died from a shard of sword in his heart. Camlann had been avoided, thankfully, but those memories were still clear. He shook his head. This battle would not turn out the same as Camlann, he vowed. This would be different. They would all greet another sunrise together!

A rustle brought his attention to the entrance as Merlin came into the tent. Arthur glanced at his side, smirking. "A sword, Merlin? I thought you said they were more work than it was worth."

"Well, you went to all the trouble of teaching me to use it," Merlin snarked back. "You're just jealous it looks better on me."

"Excuse me?" Arthur snorted.

"Actually, Princess, he's right," Gwaine threw in from behind them, nodding. "Those long legs look perfectly natural with steel beside them. And it stands out against those fancy black leather pants and velvet shirt," he teased, throwing a grin at the warlock to take the sting out. Everyone in Camelot knew the Queen Regent took personal pride in suitably dressing the Prince Consort, and his manservant, Ian, was always careful to show his rank. A habit that had been formed when several Knights got the mistaken impression that the warlock's titles were empty. Gwaine had taken great personal pleasure in correcting their assumptions.

Arthur reached over and punched the Knight even as Merlin laughed. "You just remember exactly who those legs belong to," he growled. He brought the Knight to him in a hug. "Bring them back safe, you hear? There's no soul on earth I trust more with this task."

Gwaine nodded solemnly, returning the embrace. "You know I won't take my eyes off them," he swore.

Merlin shook his head, moving to shake hands with Sir Leon. "Good luck, my friend."

He was surprised when the Knight pulled him into a tight hug. "Good luck, little brother," Leon answered and would forever deny the crack in his voice.

Elyan came up next, not even bothering to pretend a hand shake, enveloping the boy in a sincere hug. "You make us proud," Elyan commanded. "Give that Witch everything she deserves."

No sooner had Merlin nodded and the former blacksmith moved away did Percival engulf him. The normally reserved Knight held nothing back as he squeezed. "Lancelot would be proud of you," he murmured. "He would give you a speech about you being the bravest of us all." The large man pulled back, keeping his hands on the warlock's shoulders. "I will say only, see you at the victory feast."

Merlin blinked, nodding. "I'll make sure to save you a dance," he teased with a grin. He turned to Gwen, and she ran into his arms, clinging to him. "Hey, it's alright," he soothed. "Everything is going to be alright."

She shook her head. "Morgana is so dangerous, Merlin," she whispered. "I'm afraid. Afraid for Arthur without you by his side."

"I will always protect him, Gwen."

"I know. That's why I'm afraid. I don't want to lose you, either of you. You're my best friends, my brothers."

There was nothing to say to that, so he leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back before you know it," he assured.

He turned then, surprised to see Ian standing with his cloak and circlet in hand. He shook his head. "I don't think-"

"You go to battle, Your Highness, though there is no armor to prove your rank. I will not see you go as less than you are. Allow me, my Lord?" Without waiting, the manservant flung the cloak around Merlin's shoulders, tying it expertly. Merlin stood patiently while the servant carefully placed the circlet. Once he was done, Merlin grinned, and twirled a quick circle.

"So will I suit?" he asked jokingly, a reminder of another time, another place.

Ian inspected him as carefully now as he had then, finally nodding. "If you remember the status these attribute to you, then you will represent us well." He offered his master a smile. "You don't face her as a servant any longer, My Lord. Remember, you are a Prince, and should stand proudly so. Remember there are few any longer to whom you bow." Ian offered him a deep bow, then. "It's an honor and privilege to serve, Prince Merlin. I look forward to many more years under your employ." He frowned. "And I will be most displeased to have to make repairs to your fine velvet tunic. It's difficult to work with." He shook his head. "I told her the linen would be better."

And then he swept out of the tent, having his duties in the infirmary tents to see to.

"He's a strange one," Mithian commented as she moved over to him.

Merlin smiled, nodding. "He is. Reminds me a lot of me when I was in his place." He looked to the Princess. "I wish I had some reassurance to give you, that Nemeth will stand strong even when this battle is done."

Mithian laughed. "I was part of the plan, remember? Stone can be rebuilt, crops replanted." She turned then, throwing her arms around him. "You've been such a dear friend these many years. That, that I can't replace. Come back to us safely, Merlin."

"I will," he promised, hugging her tightly. His smile had a little regret in it as he turned to whisper in her ear. "I have hope still to give you, if you can bear the price."

She drew back, opening her mouth to question him when Eliam ducked into the tent. "Everyone is in place, Sire, your Highness."

Arthur looked to his lover. "Ready?"

Merlin took a deep breath, flashing his usual grin at his King. "Let's give them Hell."

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Merlin closed his eyes, feeling the wind against his face as he stood in front of the walls of Nemeth. He let himself feel the stability of the earth beneath his boots. The wind carried the faintest scent of the sea. The rising sunlight felt warm on his cooled skin. He opened himself to those elements, to the magics sleeping in the trees around them, to the life that moved every living thing around them. As he had before, he followed the ancient lines of his magic, followed it to the source, drinking deeply of it.

"You're sure you can do this?" Arthur asked beside him, a little startled when Merlin opened his eyes to look at him. In those eyes swirled the rainbow of magics the younger man was taking in mixed with the pure molten gold that was his own gift. It reminded him very much of the time Emrys had returned them to their proper timeline. Shivering the King looked deeper and sighed in relief when he still saw his Merlin looking back at him.

"This is the easy part," he smiled sadly. Then he looked up at the battlements. He could see the walls lined with hundreds of men, all shouting and roaring at the two strange men standing alone in the middle of the field, the Allied Army standing unmoving a fair distance behind them. "Surprising how easy to take so many lives. I hope it's worth it, in the end."

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, and- not caring about the several thousand men who could see them- wrapped his hand around the back of the raven head, pulling the younger man into a desperate kiss. The warlock smiled as Arthur reached through their Bond, enveloped both of them in it, swallowing his lovers' gasp when their shared emotions wrapped around them, when the additional powers Merlin was holding merged with their connection. Arthur reached for the gloved hand, entwining his fingers with Merlin's, holding them tightly against his chest as their lips danced. The King finally pulled back, putting his forehead to that of his lover. "Promise me I'll see you again."

"This isn't goodbye," Merlin murmured, shuddering as the power inside him shifted impatiently. He felt Arthur release the power their Bond gave him, unable to bear the shared fear neither would voice, but rippled beneath the surface. "You have to go."

"I love you," Arthur growled out, spinning away to trot toward with place with the Allied Army without waiting for an answer.

Merlin watched him go. Raising a hand toward the departing King, he whispered, "Bewariebewariġe" as his eyes flashed. He felt the protection spell settle on his lover, and sighed, turning back toward his goal. He could see the Saxons on the walls, laughing with each other, pointing at him. He didn't care, and even smiled back at them knowing they couldn't see.

He knelt on one knee, closing his eyes, leaning forward to place a hand on the ground. The powers he had been gathering swirled around him, pulled at him, whispered to him. For this, he needed no spell, and he struggled to balance the magics. He didn't want to level the city, after all. He concentrated, cocking his head when he found the difference in the layers of the earth under his hand. With a yell, his eyes flew open and he pushed…

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Leon snorted at some of the remarks from a couple of Lothian men standing next to him at the display of affection between the two men in the field, commenting on the slightness of the stature of the lone man standing before those walls, his cloak shifting in the breeze the only movement. He felt Elyan tense beside him, but shook his head at the young Knight.

"Nothing more than fools, to think him weak because he's small," Leon told him, loud enough to be heard. "I'll wager two gold coins they'll need new britches by the time our Warlock is done," Leon stressed the claim Camelot put on him, that he was very much a part of their ranks and they were proud of it.

The men of Camelot laughed, while those of Lothian snarled at them. But then Arthur was close enough to hear and they all stilled. Nothing in his demeanor showed any room for tolerance. When Arthur took his place next to him, Leon offered his King a dip of his head.

Silently, they stood by and watched when Merlin knelt. Leon instinctively moved forward a step when blue flames burst from around him, but Arthur held him back, shaking his head. "He's just tapering off some power, Leon. He's fine." He'd seen it once before- then an illusion used to convince the King of an evil power. "He's trying to balance what he's taken in."

Leon hesitated, sharing glances with the other Knights of Camelot. It wasn't the first display of power they'd seen from the younger man, but it was the first time he'd burst into flames though they didn't seem to be burning him. For all they'd joked with the Lothian men they knew that asking this of the young warlock was not done lightly and would come with a price.

"Arthur, we'll all be here for him," Leon reassured the King. They had all seen Merlin take the weight of the world onto himself in the past. Had seen how much events had the power to hurt the contradiction that was the strong, powerful warlock, and the fragile, caring young man. They had watched him battle the darkness inside him. "We'll get him back when this is all over, I swear it."

Arthur nodded, accepting his oath, watched Merlin's head shoot up and yelled, "Be ready!" even as he settled his own footing, pleased the shout was carried back, echoing quickly through the ranks. He didn't know exactly what the warlock was going to do but Merlin had warned them all that whatever it was, it would be massive, and there was a chance that a small bit of it may backlash on them.

It started low, like a storm coming from a great distance. The scent of freshly disturbed soil carried to them as the the ground beneath their feet rolled, building itself up. Clouds gathered above the young man, turning dark and grey. Then the earth in front of Merlin shot up, rolling across the field toward the Nemeth walls like a great wave. They watched as the entire city shook, as men tumbled from the walls. As the earth beneath their feet erupted, the sound of the explosions reaching even their ears. Lightning bolts came from those clouds, striking in various points in the city. Murmurs of awe broke up from the men around him, but he ignored them.

Arthur felt his heart in his throat when one of those bolts struck precariously close to the young warlock. He could vaguely sense through their Bond the finite control his lover had over the magics he was wielding. Screams of pain and terror echoed across the field, and he swallowed, knowing how much louder they would be to the man causing them. "Forgive me, Merlin," he whispered brokenly.

They all watched as a tunnel of wind was drawn from those clouds, surrounding the sorcerer as he rose, cloak whipping viciously around him, and walked forward. Arrows were coming in waves now- the Saxons finally understanding the threat- but none penetrated the funnel. Arthur couldn't breathe. Why had he ever thought this would be be worth it? He had fought countless battles in his life, many without the aid of magic. Why had he thought this would be easier? His mind whispered to him of the lives this was saving. That every life the sorcerer took was one less that could raise a sword against his own men. He clung to it as Merlin got closer to the city walls.

Arthur saw wisps of greens, browns, blues come from every direction. Even without the Bond, he could feel the power being drawn from various sources around them. Felt Merlin's Call tug even at his own limited gifts. He heard the gasps from the men around him, knew they could feel it too. The air rippled with it, like the electricity that hung before a severe thunder storm. His lover was a magnificent sight to behold, standing tall in his element. The King shivered as his mind supplied the image of those azure blue eyes swallowed by surging molten gold, bright against the pale skin and raven locks.

"Shields!" Arthur called out, readying his own as Merlin extended his arms to the side, as the magics swirled faster and faster. They heard the powerful yell from the warlock as he shoved his arms forward, flinging the build up as a massive pulse that moved out of him in a circle. While the greatest force of it was thrown forward, obliterating several feet of Nemeth's thick stone walls, moving forward into the city the backlash washed over their own army like a strong gale, forcing them to duck behind their shields as rocks, dirt, branches and everything it had swept up in its wake was thrown at them. Several were knocked off their feet, but bounced back up quickly enough. The deadly intentions of the wave didn't touch them- though he heard murmurs change from awe to fear from the men.

Arthur looked up as soon as the wave passed him, heard from the cheering coming from behind him that the others had noticed the gaping hole in the walls, the layers of bodies strewn around them. His eyes passed it all, though, looking desperate only for one thing.

There. Merlin stood in the clearing, turned, gave them a wave, then ran off to where Gwaine, Eliam and a thousand Dumnonian lancers would be waiting to escort him into the city.

Leon threw a grin at the stunned and disbelieving faces next to him, and thought he'd won his wager to Elyan. "CHARGE!" he yelled out as Arthur signaled, and eight thousand men and horse took to the field. The Saxons were still stumbling out of the wrecked walls a few at a time, dazed. Lifting his eyes to the sky as he ran, Leon sent a quick prayer of safety his little brother, his King, and his fellow Knights, prayed they would meet again.

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Merlin sighed as he took the reins of his horse from Gwaine, who was shaking his head.

"Did you leave any alive for the rest of them?" the Knight inquired as they swung themselves into their saddles.

"Enough to keep them busy for a bit, even the odds. We should outnumber them two to one now," Merlin answered, turning his horse. "They should consider themselves lucky I know there are Nemeth citizens in that city."

"Could you really have leveled it?" Gwaine asked skeptically.

Merlin shook his head. "No, but I could have wiped out every life in it." He wasn't boasting and took no pleasure in the knowledge. He heeled his horse. "Yah!"

They rode quickly toward the opposite wall he had damaged, where he knew Morgana would be looking for him. Time was short, and it wouldn't take the priestess long to figure out Merlin was no longer with the army. Using such powerful magics would have drawn her attention, and the lack of further demonstrations wouldn't be questioned while she thought he was recovering. She wouldn't have been wrong. Exhaustion was already coursing through him, but he pushed it away viciously. Still, that window was small.

As they approached the city again, Merlin swore, seeing the large numbers still on the walls. Apparently they were so confident in their numbers that they hadn't felt the need to call for reinforcements to his initial attack. That part of the plan had failed. He slowed his horse, thinking, weighing the risks against the outcome they needed to achieve here.

"Mate, if you do anything, it'll draw her eye right to us and we're not close enough," Gwaine pointed out, having long experience with the consideration on his friends face.

"Your Highness, if I may?" Eliam asked on his other side, waiting for his nod. "King Arthur is attacking from one side. If I took my men and attacked this wall, it would merely look like a flank maneuver. Not entirely an unusual tactic in these situations."

Merlin shook his head. "It would be suicide for every man who made that run."

Eliam sent his eyes to the sky, folding his hands in prayer. "Ah, to join the Glorious Dead would be a great blessing indeed, your Highness. However, since the goal is to see you safely to the Citadel, I'm afraid we must wait for our turn. I was thinking if we could build a small catapult, then when it fired and a small section of the wall crumbled, it would not be so obvious." He sighed regretfully. "Though if there are still so many, it may be unlikely we could do more than hold them here while you went on, Your Highness- a solution I sincerely doubt your King would approve of."

Merlin shot a look at Gwaine, who was looking around, then turned back to him. "It could work if you can speed it up with some of your tricks. There's enough wood. And I see some large stones… yeah. It could work." He grinned. "He's right, though, Princess won't like it at all."

Merlin nodded reluctantly, realizing everyone was waiting on his command. "Let's do it."

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Arthur withdrew his sword from the belly of the man he had just rammed it into, turning to meet another. They were slowly inching their way into the gap that Merlin had created. The Saxons had been stunned just long enough, as had been the plan, but were recovering a little more quickly than they'd anticipated. Not for the first time he wished he knew how Merlin was progressing.

The warlock had expressly forbidden him from using the Bond to track him. He'd made an excellent point that neither of them could afford the potential distraction. Arthur regretted agreeing now. Especially since it was quite obvious that Merlin had placed some kind of a protection spell on him. Weapons that got close enough to his armor seemed to slide off of it, almost always leaving him an opening to take advantage of. He slashed through another defender, taking a moment to glance at the army around him. Swords and lances clashed everywhere, but so far he was gratified to see more Saxon dead than his own. Merlin had done a fair job in decreasing their numbers.

The sight when they'd reached the walls hadn't been pretty. Merlin had done extensive damage, and likely killed thousands not only on the wall, but those gathered behind it as well. His men were forced to climb over layers of crushed, burnt, bloodied bodies. The smell, already, was horrific. He was glad his lover hadn't stayed to inspect it. He didn't think the boy would ever get away from these nightmares. The attacking Saxons didn't seem to be affected at all by it, having little care for the dead they were using as cover or climbing over.

Time had no meaning in battle. There was only parry and attack, move forward. The sound of metal on metal rang in his ears and through to his bones, singing a familiar battle song to him. His blood pulsed with it, his trained muscles never failing him. The Song reminded him that he was alive, that life was precious. It drove him forward meeting one challenge after another as his heart pounded.

Step by step, they moved into the City.

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"No, Mate," Gwaine spoke firmly, throwing an arm across Merlin's chest to stop him from running over to help the two hundred men charging a small gap in the wall, the others holding back, waiting for their chance. "We can't help them." It hadn't taken long to assemble the weapon, and passing the spell along the earth underneath it seemed to be effective. Only a small section of the wall had collapsed, enough to create a bottleneck for those coming out as well as those going in. "If we do that, then this, what they've done, is for nothing."

He jerked as he felt Morgana wielding her own power. How had he not recognized this feeling sooner? Her magic always slicked along his own, dark and evil and making him feel ill. Fireballs and bolts of lightning crashed into the main force, giving him some relief to know that he hadn't yet been noticed on this side. Debris from the walls he destroyed flew through the air, and he felt frustration build in him.

He should be there, with Arthur, protecting them from that onslaught. And now he was here, forced to stand by and watch the men- who had literally fought amongst themselves for the right to escort him- take up an ultimately useless charge. Because he hadn't done enough in his first attacks. Because the Saxons had not weakened their other positions to face what he had done. He should have done more. And yet, how many had he killed? How many lives had he taken? How could he have done it so easily? He swallowed, closing his eyes, trying to resolve the conflict raging through him.

"Merlin, don't do that to yourself," Gwaine growled. "This is war. There isn't a one of us who wouldn't be here anyway, whether you were with us to tip the scales or not. You saved more lives than you'll ever know, Mate. Let's go finish this!"

The warlock nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. He had to place faith in the spell he'd placed on his lover when he'd turned away from him. Arthur would likely kill him for doing it, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. He'd know instantly if his King took any severe wounds, had hopefully done enough to keep the warrior alive. Arthur was never more in his glory than in the pulse of battle and could sometimes be reckless when he moved in the rhythm of it, always pushing forward.

Arrows rained from the undamaged sections, but Eliam was, it appeared, a master strategist. For every man that fell, another took his place, seemingly coming from nowhere. They hadn't taken into account, unfortunately, the men stationed on the other side of the walls when they'd devised their hasty plan- or at least, he hadn't. He had the feeling that the Battle Master had, and had conveniently 'forgotten' to mention it to his Prince. Now that Eliam's men had engaged, it would be victory or defeat. There would be no chance to break away. Merlin tried very hard to convince himself that the Saxons had not done the same on the section he had wantonly destroyed. Tried to convince himself that the only lives lost were those defenders he could see. He was, he decided, an even worse liar when he was trying to lie to himself.

It had been Gwaine who'd grabbed him ushering him flat along the wall, toward a small grate, obviously once a drainage no longer in use. Convinced him that the faster they made it to Morgana, the more lives would be saved. Because he needed to, he'd let himself believe it- at least until this was all over.

Merlin's eyes flashed gold, and the grate crumbled quietly to dust. Without hesitating, Gwaine stuck his head in, then nodded to him. "It's bone dry, and goes for quite a bit before I see light." Merlin issued a growl when the Knight didn't wait, simply crawled inside. The Knight had a tendency to think of himself as Merlin's own personal body guard. The habit had been established many years ago, in the beginning of their friendship. He wished the fighting man would pay more attention to his own safety. Ironic, he thought, considering Arthur often made the same complaint of him.

Crawling inside, Merlin whispered to release the concealing spell he'd been using to keep him and Gwaine invisible. He'd kept it small. They weren't invisible so much as eyes would slide past them, not 'seeing' more than a ripple of air against the stone. He sneezed on the dust that had gathered over the years.

"Just like old times, eh?" Gwaine grinned back at him.

Merlin sneezed again. "Oh yeah."

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"Leon!" Arthur shouted over the din of battle around him. His second in command finished off his opponent, looking up at Arthur's call. The King pointed at the main gate. "Take it!" Leon nodded, beginning to gather the men closest to him.

The King ducked, barely missing having his head lopped off by a battle axe. Those axes were proving to be a challenge. Camelot shields would survive only one blow from them- often still breaking the arm of their bearers. If nothing else came from this, Arthur had to admit he'd learned a respect for the Saxon warriors. They were fierce, strong, and skilled. He didn't doubt they could wield those heavy axes for hours.

His sword flashed again. And they were endless! For every one they cut down, two more seemed to take their place. He risked a glance around, pleased to see his men following his orders to clear out any citizens they came across, sending them to the Catacombs. He didn't know what Merlin's final trick would be, but the warlock had made it clear all innocents needed to be cleared from the city. It was their primary goal for being here at all.

Arthur knew it was close to evening. If Merlin didn't hurry, they'd be fighting in the dark. He'd set up a reinforcement force outside the walls, and was beginning to think it was time to start ordering a rotation. He could see his men were exhausted and were starting to make deadly mistakes.

"Come on, Merlin," he growled.

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Merlin gasped, grabbing his arm as he fell against the wall of the staircase they were climbing as pain shot through it.

"Merlin?" Gwaine whispered, having noticed. He moved his body so he could look up the stairs as well as back at Merlin, planting his feet and ready to defend should anything come from either direction. They'd come across several groups of guards. Merlin had, hours ago, decided it was even more horrifying to take a life with steel than with magic. Gwaine had been insistent that everyone they left alive was one that could alert Morgana.

"I'm fine," Merlin ground out, looking at his glove. Blood glistened on it. Arthur had taken a fairly serious wound. They were in trouble. "We need to go," he insisted, pushing himself off the wall and motioning Gwaine forward. Sighing, he dropped his sword. It was too heavy now for his tired body, and he'd never been skilled with it anyway. Especially after his hands had been so badly damaged. Now, with his arm having absorbed Arthur's wound, he had little hope of doing more than flailing it.

The Knights, and Arthur, had done their best, but he would never be truly proficient with a sword. He shifted his weight subtly, feeling the reassuring weight of the long daggers sheathed at the small of his back. It had been Leon who'd discovered his slight frame wasn't really suited to a heavy sword. With his naturally quick reflexes, however, he'd picked up wielding double daggers quickly. So far as he knew, only Leon and Gwaine knew about them. He'd been immensely grateful to both of them. Leon had even gone so far as to have custom hilts made for them, so Merlin's scarred and often stiff hands could grip it tightly enough to hang onto. Given Arthur's usual derision for close combat weapons, they'd all mutually decided that the King's orders to 'teach him to use a real weapon' were being fulfilled and that details weren't necessary. Given how tired his magic was, he was suddenly grateful Arthur had insisted on him having something else to rely on to defend himself.

He had to assume Morgana was in the tower, as his vision had told him. Her attacks would have to be directed, so she'd need a fair view of the battlefield, which was the reasoning for his 'hunch' that he gave Gwaine. He was glad, honestly, that she was using her magic. She'd be almost as tired as he was. He had no idea how long it had been since this morning. It felt like days, though was likely closer to hours. Their progress had been slow with many skirmishes along the way. They'd taken measures to hide their steps and path. Bodies weren't always easy to hide.

"Guards!" Gwaine hissed at him, and he drew his blades, carefully following the Knight around the corner. He was glad the man had insisted on coming with him, knew without his strength, Merlin would have wasted precious time trying to find an impossible way around so many guards. Foolish, he thought now, twisting expertly. He used the cuffs Arthur had once given him as vambraces to deflect, wincing when a sword struck them, but it never failed to leave his opponent's heart open to his other free hand. Without the lumbering sword to slow him down, they were finished in minutes, though he took no pride in the new efficiency of his killing abilities. At least with the sword they had a chance. With his blades and small size, he had the advantage in the tight quarters.

He closed his eyes, adding the six lives they'd just taken to the running tally in his mind. It was war. He knew that, knew there would be unavoidable casualties. Each one ripped a piece of him away, however, and he couldn't seem to stop adding those numbers together. He pretended not to see the look of mixed respect and sympathy in his companion's expression as he cleaned the blood from his blades on their victims clothes.

They moved forward, quietly but quickly. The patrols were small, but rarely alone. Gwaine was hyper vigilant, but his eyes danced with mirth. Merlin couldn't help but smile. The rogue lived for a good fight, and while the man had confessed he didn't like taking a life, he didn't think of it much when he had to- at least nothing a good ale wouldn't take care of. He so deeply wished he could have been built like that. While he wasn't foolish enough to think battles didn't affect warriors, they had a natural protection in their mindset that the warlock sorely wished he'd been able to develop.

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Gwaine shot a look back at the warlock. The boy was tiring, he could tell. Merlin was impressively efficient with those long daggers, but they made the kill more personal- something his friend didn't need- so when he'd abandoned the sword for them, Gwaine knew time was running out. He'd tried to take out as many as he could, but it wasn't in Merlin to stand still while a friend was in danger. As much as he'd love to force the younger man to stand back, to preserve his energies for the battle to come, he knew it would be a waste of breath.

They were almost to the tower. Vaguely, he wondered how the other battles were doing. He didn't regret insisting on accompanying the warlock. His friend needed his sword- especially where he was limited in the magic he could wield without bringing attention to himself. And it wasn't like he wouldn't have his own stories to share at the victory feast. They'd crawled through tunnels, snuck around Saxons, fought with patrols, hidden in a haystack and more. They were both coated in dust, dirt, and sweat. No, their adventure wouldn't be without its own tales.

He was less than impressed, however, when he'd seen the wound appear on Merlin's arm. He wasn't stupid. He knew what that meant. He'd seen it before. Merlin was still protecting Arthur. The King would be livid when he discovered it- which was only a matter of time. They'd been fools to think the warlock would leave Arthur's side without some kind of assurance in place. For once, he was thankful for the skill of his King. Arthur in the heat of true battle was a thing to behold, the Knight would admit only to himself, a dancing devil of steel few could catch. He hoped for both their sakes that held true.

He saw the door of the tower, and breathed a sigh of relief even as he motioned to Merlin. The boy took out those deadly daggers again, and they moved as one. The bodies of the two guards by the door fell silently to the floor, having no chance at uttering a sound before their throats had opened.

He watched the boy, concerned since the loss of life in defense was one thing, but a deliberate cut to the throat was a deeply intimate matter. He saw only hard determination on his face, knew the warlock had shoved his own heart away, walling it up for protection against what was behind that door. They'd come to it, then.

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Arthur leaned against the wall of shields, having rotated out. He needed some water and a quick rest. He was pleased to see his orders had been followed, and the resting soldiers had erected a line of shields driven into the ground to protect them from any further attacks from the walls. Those were far and few between. The Allied Army had managed to become enough of a distraction that most of the Saxons were being sent to ground to deal with the charge. His heart squeezed for the amount of soldiers lying on the ground, wounded, but it wasn't as bad as he had feared. The numbers were fewer than he'd expected, but the injuries far worse. Those axes were made to remove limbs, and had not failed their design.

He somehow wasn't surprised to see Artemis working with them with the other servants and citizens that they'd rescued. Some had gone on to the catacombs while it seemed some had chosen to stay and help. The old druid had been supposed to stay with the tents at the catacombs. Apparently he had disobeyed those orders and joined them directly on the field.

He looked at the setting sun. "So much for that promise, Love," he muttered, shaking his head, gratefully accepting a flask from one of the soldiers as he walked toward his friend. He desperately prayed that Merlin wouldn't break any of the others he'd made. The more time that passed, the more likely it was that the boy had come across his own challenges and obstacles.

Artemis looked up. "Arthur," he greeted calmly.

"Artemis. Long way from the tents," Arthur returned casually.

"I am always where I am needed most, Sire. Ian is efficiently managing the Catacombs."

Arthur sighed tiredly. "As long as you're here, what's the report?"

Artemis stood, giving him a critical eye. "I have no count on the dead, Sire, but the wounded are relatively few, considering. Perhaps one hundred and fifty, many who will never lift a weapon again. Of those, twenty five will not survive the night. I am making them as comfortable as I can. And you? The battle?"

Arthur shook his head. "They just keep coming, Artemis. How they ever got so many in the city I'll never know. Rodor was a fool to let this go on so long! We're holding our own- we've taken the lower town on our side. I've received reports that Eliam's forces are fighting on the west side of the City. For a culture of warriors that consider death the most glorious of adventures, they are holding despite being severely outnumbered."

"And Merlin?" Artemis asked quietly, hearing the frustration in Arthur's voice. He had been part of the plans, knew Eliam's men were supposed to have escorted Merlin all the way to the Citadel. He could see the fear in the King's eyes, see the uncertainty, knowing that plan had been abandoned, worried about why.

Arthur swallowed. He'd been pushing that to the back of his mind. "The last report I had, he and Gwaine took advantage of the distraction of Eliam's forces and slipped away. We've heard nothing since. Fighting all over the city, but no one has seen them."

"Well, let's take a look at that arm while you're here," Artemis sighed, motioning toward a slice in the King's chainmaille.

Confused, Arthur looked down, and blinked. He hadn't even noticed! "It doesn't hurt."

"Battle Blood does strange things to the mind. Let me see anyway." Artemis grabbed hold of his arm, gently peeling away the maille.

"Merlin did something. Weapons seem to slide off my armor whenever they come close. It's saved me a few times."

"It appears, Sire, that he did a good deal more than that," Artemis sighed. He let the arm go. "Any weapon that could sheer chainmaille should have left more than a nasty scratch."

Arthur frowned, immediately looking to his arm. Sure enough, the layers were cut clean through, but on his skin there was merely a long, shallow, red cut, barely deep enough to bleed. "Damnit Merlin!" he cursed. He looked desperately at the druid. "What are the odds that what he's done is healing in nature?"

Artemis shrugged. "I think you and I both know the boy better than that. The good news is that there is a wound at all, which means he's only absorbing half of what you take." He sighed. "I'll clean it to be sure, but I can't spare the bandages for such a thing."

"If he survives this, I'll kill him," Arthur growled.