I'm making up for my short chapter two days ago with a nice long one today. The battle has begun…

myrosedream: Thank you! I agree, he really is too sweet:)

Huuuuggggghhhhhhh! Arthur's and his men's heads all jerked up as one as the drone of Leon's horn washed over the forest like a river. Arthur felt the flavour of dread in his throat.

"Halt!" They all reigned in their horses and the group stood anxiously in the middle of the road. They all knew the meaning of the horn's call. Merlin, Gwaine, Elyan, William, and Dernhelm all glanced at each other, and then at Arthur. It was the king who would determine their next direction. The king, right now, was feeling just as uncertain and nervous as the rest of them. Obviously the first group was in mortal peril, and Leon had judged that if the second group kept riding and joined them they would be too. Was it bandits? The Sarrum's army? Strange, evil creatures twisted by magic? Were his knights captured? Were any of them dead? Were they all dead? Arthur could feel the burden of time pressing on him, but he also knew he needed to think before he made a decision that, either way, could easily mean some of their deaths.

"Follow me!" Arthur abruptly spun his horse off the road, and led the knights and Merlin a few feet into the underbrush. He would take a few minutes to think, but at least they would be hidden.

Sir Elyan gave him a look when Arthur asked for some time alone to think, but he didn't openly contradict his sovereign. Instead Elyan gathered the knights and posted them in pairs creating a wide berth around the king. Arthur finally thought he was alone, but then he realized that Merlin had snuck up silently behind him. Arthur wasn't surprised, but he was still perturbed.

"Merlin, when someone asks for time to think they're usually not asking for a conversation!"

"Arthur I-"

"Would you just shut up Merlin! Why will you never give me a moments peace! I just need time to think, alone-" Arthur's voice broke and Merlin saw through to how distressed his king really was. Merlin tightened his jaw and walked away. He knew Arthur well enough to know that trying to share advice in this situation would only make things worse.

Merlin slipped through the trees. He was sure that the Sarrum was responsible for Leon's warning. He remembered that Mordred was with the other group, and for a moment he hoped that Arthur would decide to return to Camelot and let the Sarrum's men do the dirty work. Then The Once and Future King would finally be safe. Merlin shook his head. How can I think such morbid thoughts! Leon, Gwaine, Percival, my friends are all in deathly peril. And Mordred, does he really deserve a fate such as that? Merlin's mind flashed the image he had seen of Morded stabbing Arthur in the crystal caves, and his throat closed at cold smirk on his face. Is the future truly set in stone? Killgarah seems to think so, but I was once able to thwart Morgana and defy the vision I had seen of her killing Uther. Gaius said that, although difficult, one could change the future… Regardless, we need to rescue them, but how? The Sarrum will be expecting that, there will be guards, and if I'm seen using magic… No. We will rescue them, Arthur will come home to Gwen. As long as that happens, as long as the others are safe, that's all that matters. Merlin felt his steely resolve grip his bones. He would protect his king, his friend, no matter the cost.

When Arthur was sure the other knights couldn't see him he slumped onto a fallen log, head in his hands. As a king he was often faced with difficult decisions, and this one was one of the hardest he had ever had to make. He had no idea if his knights still lived, if they were fighting for their lives, or if they were all prisoners. Really he didn't know much of anything. Arthur knew that his value as a king meant that he should protect himself first and foremost, as well as the knights with him, and ride back to Camelot. He also knew that Elyan, at least, would probably refuse to return to Camelot, and go try to rescue his friends, alone if necessary. Merlin might join Elyan, or he might choose to stay with his king, Arthur wasn't sure. The faces of Sir Leon, Sir Gwaine, Sir Hugo, Sir John, and Sir Modred all flowed through his mind. To what kind of fate would he be willing to condemn his friends? Arthur sighed. He didn't know how he would live with himself if he abandoned his friends and ran away back to Camelot, but then there was also Gwen to think of. If he truly couldn't help the others would he risk needlessly making his wife a widow? And what about his child? Arthur had barely come to terms with the idea of becoming a father, and now would he let his unborn child determine his fate? He wanted to scream, he wanted to curl up and cry, he wanted to hand the crown over to someone else so that he didn't have to be king! Why did he always have to be the one making difficult decisions, and then be the one who had to live with the consequences? Arthur tilted his head back to feel the breeze. He breathed in. he breathed out. He breathed in. he breathed out. He knew what he had to do.

Sir Leon's horn had now been drowned out by the growing roar of battle. Swords clashed, maces scraped over sheilds, and the mens' roars of fury were punctuated by screams of fear. Whump! The spikes of a mace thudded into the ground inches from Mordred's face. He scrambled to his feet, sword in hand. His shield was gone, carried away by his fear-crazed horse. Mordred started again as the mace whipped through the air, ducking the blow and rolling away from the weapon. Tossing his curls out of his eyes he saw that his opponent was at least a foot taller than him, a broad shouldered man, scars crisscrossing themselves over his biceps. His torso was wrapped in strips of leather, each piece held together by bronze studs. His arms were covered by bronze bracers and five spiked bronze rings encircled each of his fingers. His face was concealed by a tarnished helmet, a plume of dyed-green horse hair spouting out of it's top.

Mordred could feel the fear building in his chest. This wasn't the first time he had faced death at the hands of another who had a distinct advantage over him, but, as always, the spine chilling terror was still there. He raised his sword, fighting the crashing waves of fear. The soldier bore down on him again, his hand raised, mace's spiked ball circling. Mordred was about to duck out of the way again, but suddenly he realized that through his magic he could feel the roots of one of the great trees snaking just below the ground. It was incredibly risky, but Mordred didn't have many options. He ducked away from the mace again, and when his head was lowered his eyes flashed gold and one of the roots heaved itself out of the earth. The soldier's foot caught and he collided with the ground letting out a muffled grunt. Mordred was so shaken from his near escape, and amazed at what he had managed to do, that he didn't hear the heavy footsteps close in on him from behind. Another ringed hand cracked against his skull, leaving bloody gashes through his hair. The soldier bore down on Mordred's fallen, unconscious body, sword raised.

Grondin had stayed behind in the trees during the battle. He did not consider himself to be a coward (no coward could ever manage to climb the ranks into Morgana's favour) however, the sweet promise of his stewardship wasn't a taste easily forgotten. He would never get to see the fall of the Sarrum or the rise of his lady over Camelot and Amata if he died frivolously fighting in a skirmish like this. Besides, his knights far outnumbered those of Camelot. It was only a matter of time before they were defeated. Grondin was feeling rather smug of his flawless plan when he noticed something that made him pause. Where was the king? Although he had never seen the man the Sarrum had given him a thorough description. The Camelot's knights had ridden by encircling a sixth horse, upon whom Grondin assumed King Arthur had been riding. However, now he saw no such man in the fray, and then he noticed the dummy. It was ripped in half, straw stuffing protruding like a million golden spikes, but the blond, woolen wig still clung to it's head. Grondin panicked. It had all been a ruse! The king had never been there, and wherever he was now that horn call the blond, curly-haired knight had sounded probably had him running in the opposite direction. Grondin had hoped to not have to be bothered with prisoners besides Arthur, but now he believed he had no other options. One of the Camelot knights was already dead from their first attack, so there were only four left. He clamoured down to the edge of the battle, adrenaline pumping his voice out and over the fray. "Kill no one! We need prisoners!" Grondin saw, satisfied, that he had been heard when a burly knight who was standing over an unconscious Camelot knight, stopped his killing stroke on mid air. Instead he seized said knight by his hair and dragged him with one hand towards another fight. His other hand groped his belt until he drew out a small knife.

Sir Gwaine was facing off one of the leaner Amata knights, but the speed of this knight's sinewy muscles was evenly matched against Gwaine's greater strength. He was at least a decade older than Gwaine, and his skills boasted years of experience. Gwaine parried the onslaught of blows, but managed to add a few sharp thrusts of his own. The soldier pulled back, circling him like a lion, looking for an opening. Gwaine watched him, blinking from the sweat dripping into his eyes and widened his stance. The soldier took a feigned step to the left and then in a split second charged to the right. He was halfway to Gwaine when another figure barreled into him from the side, knocking the soldier to the ground. Gwaine looked up gratefully to the face of his rescuer, expecting to see Sir Leon or even Sir John. It was neither. Another leather-clad knight rose up in front of him, except he didn't attack like Gwaine expected. Gwaine realized his hands were already occupied. His gaze turned down to see a white-faced Mordred, head jerked back by the hand wrapped through his hair, and a wickedly sharp knife was pressed against his throat. The unspoken ultimatum was obvious. Do you surrender? Sir Gwaine dropped his sword.

Grondin stared at the captive knights. Of the five that had ridden into the ambush one was dead, his body still lying in the road. Another had escaped, only Grondin had no idea how he had managed it. The other three were bound, the youngest lying in the dust, unconscious. He sneered at the two men who had been forced to their knees, and were glaring at him. Grondin stepped within a foot of them.

"Which of you commands?" Neither man answered. Grondin had been expecting this so he turned away from them and then unexpectedly delivered a swift kick to Mordred's ribs, from where he laid on the ground. "Don't tell me it's this boy?" Grondin saw the men's eyes widen slightly, in concern for their comrade, but they still kept silent. Grondin sighed. He would have to do this the hard way. He brought his foot back to kick Mordred again.

"Stop!" The blond curly-haired knight yelled. Grondin concealed a smile. He knelt down so he was eye level with Sir Leon. "So you're the one who knows the secret of your vanished king." Grondin paused, tapping his chin in an exaggerated show of thoughtfulness. "You may command your men, but they seem to also be your friends. Your care for your knights will not be forgotten." Grondin stood up and turned to the soldier next to him. "We camp here tonight, but don't get too comfortable. We may well yet have a real chase ahead of us. Make sure these three stay guarded at all times, and have someone ride out to the army. I want the dogs here within the hour. Also, tell the army that their Lord has given them the order to march and meet us at this point." The soldier saluted his commander, and left to carry out his orders. Grondin turned to spread the word to his other knights that they would camp here tonight. He thought he had finished everything, but something on the side of the road caught his eye. The body of the dead knight of Camelot had been dragged to the side of the road, while other knights were busy burying their three fallen comrades. He marched over to them.

"Bury this one with ours. He was still a loyal soldier."

Once his tent had been pitched Grondin shooed the soldiers away and sat down on his thin bed. He needed some time to think and plan out his next move. He realized that taking the knights prisoner had been a wise idea on two fronts; they would be a source of information, as well as extra insurance, along with the king, to keep Camelot from attempting a rescue. The King. Grondin knew that Arthur could be riding back to Camelot at this very second, and if he was Grondin should be out chasing him instead of sitting here. But some sort of sixth sense made him pause. Arthur was known for his extraordinary love for his knights. Grondin would be extremely surprised if the king had abandoned his knights to certain death. More likely, he would create some sort of plan to rescue them, or at least try and find out what had happened. Grondin knew that he could probably force Arthur's captain into revealing Arthur's plans, but to do that he would need the young knight, and he was still unconscious. Grondin wasn't sure how bad his concussion was, and he didn't want to risk going too far. It was too important to keep all the knights alive. The other knight, the long haired, muscled one, still had a day's journey ahead of him before they made it to the castle, so beating him was also out of the question. However, the captain would still have no idea what his king had done after he had blown his horn, so in the end he would still only be of limited use. That was where the dogs entered his plan. Grondin hadn't taken them with him initially because his attack had relied on stealth, and the dogs would have not been able to stay still and silent during the hours they had waited in the forest. No, instead he had left them with his army of foot soldiers. Grondin focused on the sounds outside the tent. Yes,he could hear barking now so the dogs must have arrived. Grondin sighed and braced his hands on his knees as he stood up. It was time to make a decision.

It was early afternoon based on the sun, and Grondin squinted at the sudden brightness that greeted him. His captains sat in a circle talking nearby. He came over and sat down among them, sharing his plan.

"King Arthur can't have been too far behind this lot. I may not know the king but I know that he cares for his knights. I'm sure that he was staying near them, probably with some sort of escort. He definitely was a part of this outing, the horn call confirmed that. Arthur would have to have been close enough to hear the horn call, so that puts him at a maximum of two kilometers away." Grondin's captains were nodding, so he continued. "I also believe that Arthur is not the kind of king who would abandon his knights to save himself. Based on his character he will at least try and figure out what happened" Grondin slapped his hand on the log he sat on, "and that is where we'll catch him! Once the army arrives to watch our current prisoners we will take the dogs to go search for him down the road."

"And what if he is not as brave as you seem to think? If Arthur is running back to Camelot, tail between his legs, what will we do then?" One of Grondin's captains challenged him bravely.

"Then we will fail." Grondin growled back. "But I won't rest until I hold Camelot's king in my grasp, and I suggest all of you do the same."

When the army arrived Grondin gave some hurried orders to it's commander regarding the prisoners. No one was to lay a finger on them until he returned, and they were to be given only a little food and water. Then Grondin leapt up on his horse and led his forty mounted warriors barreling down the road, dogs howling at their heels. They hadn't gone far when the dogs stopped following the horses, baying and snuffling at a little ways behind them on the road. Grondin wheeling his mount around and followed the dogs, who wagged their tails as they led the group off the road and into the forest.