AN: And here she is, folks! I tried not to keep you waiting as long as last time, so appreciate the sleep deprivation that went into this installment! :D Thank you for your patience. YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME.

And again, I don't own Merlin.

The title of this chapter comes from an old poem by Wallace Stevens.

Life contracts and death is expected,
As in a season of autumn.
The soldier falls.

Hospitals looked the same, no matter where they were. The pristine medical scene looked much here as in Oxford. It reminded him of a day years ago when he'd thought that Merlin might die in his place—a day when things had seemed simpler. With a boy's idealized sense of right and wrong, he'd boldly set out on a rescue mission that succeeded more by luck than anything else; luck, and the anonymous help of a silver-blue orb of light—perhaps the guardian angel Leon had jokingly referred to. Uther, it seemed, had no such protector. No simple child's solution presented itself. It was many years since right and wrong had been so easily defined as they were to fifteen-year-old Arthur, just as it was many years since he'd been able to look with untroubled eyes on his father's choices regarding the running of the country, but now each of those choices was colored by a new lighting.

He has deceived you, just as he deceived your mother. Arthur swallowed. What of Morgause's words mattered at this point? He wouldn't get an answer from his father now, even if he had the heart to ask a dying man for the truth so harshly.

Uther might have expected his son to be a soldier, but the man had ever set the straight-backed, straight-laced example with immaculacy himself, never hesitating on an order, nor showing fear or grief in the face of the ever-present media. No man is worth your tears. So he'd always said. And perhaps it was true. Arthur had only once seen his stoic composure broken: the day when, for a couple of agonizing hours, Morgana had been held at the hospital while they waited for a prognosis on the head trauma she suffered. It had been the start of many troubles for her and Uther, and the concussion, as it turned out to be, deterred her not at all from returning to join another equally lively demonstration in the months following. And now, for Morgana's actions, Uther's façade had flagged for the second time.

Arthur crossed the room with noiseless steps, trying to ignore the burn in his throat and eyes. The man Merlin and Gwaine had dragged out of the safe-house was a shell of the one who had raised Arthur and Morgana. One more event in the chain-reaction Morgana had, wittingly or unwittingly, set off. The man Arthur saw now, however, was no more soldier or politician than Arthur was himself. Arthur's heart fluttered in his chest when he stopped at the bedside. He swallowed over the lump in his throat, and for a fleeting moment he thought about backing away and slipping out of the room.

"Dad?" His voice broke the rhythmic mechanical sound of the oxygen machine in the otherwise oppressive monotony in the room. Up until the moment he set foot in the dimmed room, he'd kept Morgause's allegations in the back of his mind. Now they slipped out of it before he even had time to wonder. The dark shapes of the machines were like harbingers of doom, standing about the bed, waiting with pale, blinking eyes of electric green and red.

"Arthur." Uther stirred and his eyes opened in a painful, slow process. He lifted his hand and met only with the plastic rail of the bed. "Arthur?" It was like a plea. He seemed lost. Arthur sank into the chair next to him and caught his hand.

"I'm right here." He managed over the growing lump in his throat. Uther's gaze fixed on his face. A pale, drawn smile flitted across his face. It wrung Arthur's heart and the fingers in his grasp convulsed, making his throat close up. "I…" He paused to swallow and regain control of his voice. "I can go fetch Gaius. He might have something stronger for the pain."

"No," Uther rasped. "I have… little enough time as it is." Arthur's breath hitched.

"That's not…" Not true… There must be a chance… another treatment we can try; some cure… something. He swallowed. Hadn't Lance told him he'd made a miraculous recovery? Surely… "There might be something else they can do. Gaius thinks—"

"It's my time, Arthur," Uther said quietly.

"You can't die." Arthur shook his head. Uther no longer seemed to be listening to him. He turned his head weakly, searching in the shadows past his son's hunched form.

"Morgana…" The name alone made Arthur cringe. Did he not remember?

"She's not here," he said. He didn't know how else to answer. Uther closed his eyes briefly. Arthur raised his free hand to his face and leaned over the bed a moment.

"I'm sorry… I know I've not ben a good father… to either of you."
"Don't say that." Arthur shook his head again, and his father's hand shifted to curl around his fingers with a weakening grasp. He made no answer to his son's protest.

"I want you to know…" He stopped, eyes drifting shut again. "I'm proud of you…. and I've always loved you." Anything Arthur might have said in answer was lost. His throat was too tight to let him speak. Arthur leaned forward, clenching his teeth against a choked sob. Uther's grip on his hand slackened.

Uther's eyes were closed, and his breathing was no more than a thin inhale and exhale, to Arthur's ears seeming quieter with each cycle, accompanied by the soft, rhythmic machine-sounds about them. Arthur bowed his head over the slim bed. His forehead touched the cool skin of his father's hand, and he closed his burning eyes, letting the hot tears run freely down his face.

The country slept, silent in the early hours of the morning as its prime minister and leader of many years breathed his last with the glimmer of summer sunlight.

Kilometers from where Arthur stood as the time of death was recorded, Gwen lay half curled on her side, alone and restless as she stared at a tiny crack of sunlight that shone through the shuttered window of her room. Gwen twisted a long strand of dark hair around her finger. She'd slept only in snatches, half aware, listening for approaching footsteps. She didn't know where she was or what would happen to her. Even Lance who had accompanied her at first after they were separated from Percival, had been marched from the room before the sun set the previous day.

"He's got Merlin with him." In the face of everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours, those were the words Lance left her with, and they turned over and over in her mind relentlessly: one more inexplicable thing in a chain of disastrous events. Merlin. Somehow, he seemed to be bound up in everything that was happening, even more so than Arthur. He had known something, even back in Iseldir's home, and now… she wondered if Lance did too, and how, whether Arthur had known too, and why none of them had told her.

Whatever was happening, Merlin had been the first to insist that he accompany Arthur—not Morgana. For that alone, Gwen reflected, perhaps Lance was right. If nothing else, Merlin had seen warning signs. Maybe… maybe he would know how to keep Arthur safe.

It might have been all day, or perhaps only hours, since Lance had been walked out of the room, leaving Gwen alone in semi-darkness. She couldn't tell how late in the morning it was from the light outlining the window. It felt like the day had stretched out for an eternity already. The silence was smothering, filled only with her thoughts and the living nightmares that plagued her. That Arthur should be the next to appear in the room with her was one of the kinder fears that danced through her mind. She was afraid to let herself imagine what they might want with him—what they might do if they did found him. Or… if Arthur was the one they really wanted, what they might then do to Gwaine and Merlin or anyone else who tried to protect the younger Pendragon.

Gwen rolled over on the bed the instant she heard the lock clicking and sat up, pulling her knees close against her chest defensively.

"Gwen?" A dark head peered around the door. Gwen sucked in a little breath and turned quickly away. Part of her had hoped they might bring Lance back, unlikely as that was. Instead… she couldn't think of anyone she wanted to see less now. "Gwen, please. I need to talk to you." Gwen clenched her teeth.

"Why? I have nothing to tell that you don't already know," she said. As if I would betray Arthur to you, even if I could. There was a soft rustle. The bed creaked under someone else's weight. Gwen didn't move.

"I'm sorry." Gwen's fingers curled around the ends of her sleeves.

"For what—keeping me locked up here?"

"Gwen, I had to do this." Did you? Gwen stared down at her knees. She didn't want to answer. She didn't want to hear anything Morgana had to say right now. Her insides were tied in knots of anxiety not knowing what had happened to everyone else. She didn't know who or what to believe about anymore. "I know you're upset, but I need your help. Please."

"My help with what? You seem to be doing pretty well," Gwen responded. "Should I be asking you why you're the only one who isn't locked up? Or why you and that Fox woman were chatting like old friends?"

"I know what it looks like," Morgana said slowly, "But—"

"I don't want to hear it," Gwen interrupted. "I knew something was wrong the last month when you were so quiet, even after you came back to see Arthur, but I never thought you would turn your back on all of us like this—ally yourself with a woman who would see Arthur dead."

"She wouldn't," Morgana answered instantly. "She won't hurt Arthur, or any of you. I'll make sure of it—"

"Don't pretend this is about keeping any of us safe," Gwen said. "Fox, Cenred, all of those people—they're trying to start a war. No one can control who gets hurt in a battle, never mind a full-scale war. If you wanted to protect the country—if you wanted to protect Arthur—you wouldn't be siding with the aggressors." Morgana went quiet. Gwen studied the thin blanket under her feet intently, trying to blink back the moisture in her eyes. Behind her, Morgana shifted, and she strayed a look back at her. She could see Morgana's mobile turning over and over in her hands, occasionally stilling as she ran a finger over its screen. She seemed anxious.

"No. It's about doing the right thing. I thought you would understand. Your father was almost killed for the laws that we're fighting. Gaius was arrested. Merlin was almost shot. People were being abused, harassed, and even murdered—innocent people who only wanted to live their lives in peace in this country. Something had to change."

"Morgana, all of us knew that. You, Arthur, Merlin, even Gaius… none of us wanted to see the Druid boy die back in Camelot. You weren't alone. There were other ways to make a stand for your beliefs."

"Not in Uther Pendragon's country." Morgana shifted again, and from the corner of her eye, Gwen saw her slip the phone into a pocket. "Free speech is a joke in this country, Gwen. Fox was sentenced to death for her association with amnesty rights activists and an accusation—not even proof—that she was related to the riots. People who marched in the protests were arrested, fined, physically assaulted by the officials who call themselves our protectors. The only reason I'm not touched is because it wouldn't look good for Uther's precious media image if I was locked up like the rest." Gwen turned her head, not quite meeting Morgana's eyes.

"An eye for an eye then?" she responded quietly.

"I know you don't understand." Morgana's expression turned gentler, almost contrite. "And I know you don't agree with me. But there's something we still have in common. We both want to protect Arthur." Gwen shook her head.

"You can't be on Fox's side and keep Arthur safe at the same time, Morgana."

"I can if you'll help me." Gwen turned her head towards the little slice of light under the window. Morgana wanted her to talk to him. Perhaps call him and coax him round. What that meant, she couldn't say. She wanted to believe Morgana had Arthur's best interests at heart… but right now she couldn't quite trust anything that her childhood friend told her. Yet right now… the prospect of seeing Arthur—even getting some scrap of news about him or the others—was also tantalizing.

"Where is he?" The tremor in her voice betrayed her. She instantly wished she hadn't spoken. She clenched her teeth and huddled in on herself further. Morgana stilled.

"I don't know." Gwen's heart skipped a beat. She slowly uncurled her arms from round her knees. He got away. "We tried to talk to him… He was supposed to come back with me. He would have been safe here." He would have been another weapon in Fox's arsenal. Like you. Gwen bit her cheek, fighting to keep a neutral face. "But we can find out. If you talked to him… we could bring him back. I'm sure of it."

"Why Arthur? Why not the others?" she asked, stalling helplessly for time. Her eyes flitted from Morgana's hands to her face, just briefly before she looked away again.

"You know why. If he can't be brought around, he'll be come a target."

"Arthur won't change sides." Gwen shook her head. A hand touched her shoulder.

"You love him." Gwen's breath caught in her throat. "I've seen the way you look at him—the way you both are with each other. I know if you speak to him, he'll listen. Please, Gwen." There… It was now or never. With a racing heart, Gwen looked up to meet Morgana's eyes—over bright, anxious, desperate. "Please," Morgana said. "I know you care about him. Help me. I need to know where he is—what's happened to him. He may already be hurt." Morgana's face, pained, frightened even, was a perfect reflection of the week before. "I need to keep him safe." Gwen closed her eyes for a fleeting second. Her heart was still racing, and she silently prayed that Morgana couldn't tell.

"We'll find him," she said. Morgana let out a shaky breath, and Gwen closed the distance between them and hugged Morgana tightly.

Morgana's eyes shone when they drew apart. Gwen bit her cheek again. She was all but certain her free hand was shaking when Morgana squeezed it.

"Thank you," Morgana whispered. She stood, releasing Gwen's hand, and her usual energy and confidence returned in a heartbeat. "It might take some time, but I'll talk to Morgause. You won't have to stay here." She took a step back. "I'll be back as soon as possible."

Morgana shut the door softly behind her, and Gwen sat very still on the bed, watching and listening for a long time until Morgana's footsteps became inaudible. She got up, tested the doorknob, then sat down on the end of the bed, and with bated breath and still trembling hands, took out the slim phone she'd hidden under her leg and punched in the passcode she'd watched Morgana dial before so many times.

The phone locator application gave her a cursory idea of where she was. She included that information in her short warning message and sent it out quickly, to Merlin, Arthur, Gwaine, Leon... even Uther; every name she could think of in connection to Arthur which Morgana had on her phone. She tucked the phone into a pocket and stood. Still no sound outside the room. Perhaps she would have time… she had to try at least. She knew where she was now; that alone made her feel safer and more confident. She removed the back from her earring and slid her nails into the crack of the shutters and with a careful ear to the activity of the hall outside, she pried the shutters back and began to work at the window-lock with the slim metal pin.

Full daylight was beginning to slant down through the broad windows on the main floor when Arthur was finally relocated. Something clinked against the table in front of him, and he raised his eyes enough to see a bedraggled red scarf. He let out a breath, more relieved than he cared to admit. The last thing he wanted was another impromptu interview with another official.

Cool plastic nudged at his hands, and he moved them off the table, finding himself now staring down at a tray and tasting the smell of coffee in the air. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, staring at the pale mug and its murky brown contents.

"Are you alright?" Merlin asked. Inside the white ring of ceramic, the dark coffee rippled under Arthur's breath. He shook his head. As if Merlin would believe him if he tried to say he was fine. He wouldn't have had the surplus to pretend, even had he the will to try. "I'm sorry about Rodor," Merlin said. "I tried to keep him away."

"It's fine," Arthur muttered. Rodor would've gotten through eventually, so he'd surrendered, numb in both mind and body, and listened to the general's request, even if he'd given no answer.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Rodor wants me to give a press statement," Arthur said bluntly. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I don't know how… he thinks it will help for people to see me or something."

"That doesn't seem strange," Merlin said. "It's common for a public figure's close relatives to give a statement at times like this." Times like this. That was a remarkably gentle way of putting things. "You don't have to do it now," Merlin added. "Not until you're ready."

"He doesn't just want me because I'm Uther's son," Arthur said tersely. Silence. Merlin was waiting for him to finish. Arthur bit down on his tongue for a moment, fighting to get some remnants of control over his frayed emotions. It didn't work. "He wants me…" He cleared his throat. "He wants me because I'm Morgana's brother." Well… it wasn't as though Merlin hadn't seen him at his best and his worst in the last three years. He still hated the raw emotion in his voice, but he was far too worn to mask it at the moment. Save Gwen, there wasn't anyone else he would have tolerated speaking to right now. "He wants to use me… as a media tool for his side of the war," he finished in a rough voice. He stared at the tray a bit longer before pushing it aside untouched and leaning his forehead against his fingers.

"He found the papers," Merlin inferred. Arthur nodded. Across the table, he heard Merlin's weary sigh. "It doesn't matter, Arthur. Fox will make it public anyways as soon as she gets the chance."

"As soon as she finds out my dad is dead," Arthur said flatly. There was a pause.

"Maybe he's right. Morgana was a powerful speaker for the amnesty movement. She'll be more influential still, now that she has no more restraints on her. Any politician could make an effective show against Fox, but Morgana is the moral and emotional impetus behind their media pitch," Merlin reasoned. "You probably are the only effective media tool they can use to oppose her." The statement left a bitter taste in Arthur's mouth. He gritted his teeth.

"Makes a nice show for the cameras," he growled. "A sibling catfight played out for the whole world to see. Everyone loves a good reality TV drama." Merlin shifted, drawing his hands back from the table, pulling uncomfortably in on himself.

"I didn't mean… God… Arthur, I'm—"

"Don't." Arthur cut him off, scowling down at his hands. "If one more person says 'I'm sorry' I'll bloody well throw myself out the window." Merlin went quiet, and Arthur dropped his head again, feeling a bone-deep exhaustion drag at his body. "I don't understand." His throat convulsed. He pressed his fingers to his temples. "She turned her back on me. On all of us. She turned my father over to his worst enemies—told that woman where I was… I trusted her…" He shook his head. "I've known her all my life. Why would she do this? What did I do?" He heard Merlin's breath across from him, heard him shift, but he didn't answer. Arthur slid forward over the table and buried his face in his arms. The cool edge of the tray pressed against the top of his head.

"It's not your fault, Arthur," Merlin said finally. "None of this is your fault. Morgana has always been impulsive. She was afraid, and she's been misguided by Fox."

"She had friends, family. She could've talked to me… or… you or Guinevere… Gaius. Someone she knew. Why didn't she think we would have helped her—that we wouldn't care?"

"She has magic, Arthur." Merlin's voice acquired a peculiar edge. "She didn't know what to expect from anyone." Arthur couldn't answer that accusation. He closed his eyes.

"I don't want to do it." He pressed his forehead against his wrist, his voice muffled by his sleeve. "I don't want to fight Morgana. Not in the eyes of the media, not in person… I just don't."

"No one can make you do it either. If that's your answer, Rodor will have to accept it," Merlin said firmly. And I might as well hand the media scene over to Fox on a silver platter. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose then straightened his shoulders and lifted his head from his hands, feeling as though the effort cost him far more than it ever should.

"What should I do, Merlin?" He might as well have said help me for all the desperation that crept into his voice, but he couldn't bring himself to care about the raw vulnerability that was showing through his usual reserve.

Merlin took his time in answering, settling his folded hands on the table again. He shook his head.

"It's not a decision I can make for you." Arthur nodded mutely and pressed his palm against his eyes. "But this isn't a black-and-white issue, Arthur," Merlin continued. "It hasn't even been a week since Morgana sat at your bedside when you were sick in the ICU. She was clearly as upset as the rest of us. I don't believe that was a lie. Whatever is going on with her, she still cares about you. I'm not saying I know anything for certain, but… she may not be lost to us." It might be easier to believe that she is… Arthur exhaled heavily. It was hard, not to say impossible, to square Morgana's recent actions with the girl he'd known in Camelot and at Ascetir during college.

"She'll hate me," he said bitterly, "If I start squaring off against her in the public media. Just like she hated my father." Those words too seemed wrong, but he couldn't see it any other way. He wondered how many other blatant truths he had carefully ignored about Morgana and the other people around him—from his father and Morgana, even to Merlin who seemed to know dozens of things it didn't make any sense for him to know.

"You don't have to." Merlin leaned forward intently, and Arthur glanced up at him. "You're right. Rodor needs you. He's a general—a soldier and administrator—but he isn't a media figure the way your father was." Arthur nodded. His throat was beginning to hurt again, and he pressed his palms over his eyes, trying to ignore the salt-sting. "For Rodor—for the media—you're so much more than Morgana's brother. You've been on the radar of the amnesty movement ever since someone leaked information on your involvement with Brigid Fyr back in Camelot. Morgana's involvement will give you another in, since the media doesn't know there's been any break between the two of you yet." Arthur steadied himself cautiously before speaking again.

"You think I should angle for the parties favoring amnesty?" he asked, propping his head on a hand and squinting at Merlin. The man lifted his shoulders.

"I'm not saying you should do anything. I just mean that you could reach a broad audience. It won't be just your father's followers waiting for your statement. People may not expect you to push for changing the laws as Morgana has, but if nothing else, they've heard you state that no one should be guilty until proven innocent. They'll expect tolerance. There are extremists on both sides of this issue. You've always struck the balance. That's what Rodor needs. He needs the moderates aligned with him. You have the right public image. People love you. They'll listen to you."

"And I could make everything worse," Arthur responded tersely. Merlin shook his head again.

"You won't. I trust you. You're cautious, and you take counsel. But more than that, you know how to see the best in people, as you did with Mordred and with Iseldir. People will see that in you. Morgana will too. She already knows it. Perhas… she just needs to be reminded of it." Arthur shook his head.

"Morgana never listens, least of all to me—never mind the entire rest of the bloody country… Merlin it won't work."

"We don't know," Merlin responded resolutely, "Until we try." Merlin's palms were flat against the table, but he was quiet now, watching, waiting, and Arthur caught a glimpse again of the steady determination he'd come to recognize as characteristic of his inexplicable friend. But it was more than simple determination. Merlin's hands were resting on the table, not fidgeting restlessly or twining in the ends of his scarf as they so often did when something made him uncomfortable. Confidence. He had complete and utter faith in this… and that more than anything baffled Arthur.

"And if I choose not to do this?" he asked, meeting his friend's steady gaze.

"If you want to stay out of the media scene, that's your right. It's your decision. Don't let Rodor pressure you. Whatever you choose, I'll back you up." Arthur exhaled softly and nodded. For a minute, the only sound was that of footsteps in the hallway across the room from them. Sooner or later this moment of peace and respite would end, the eye of the storm would pass, and he would have to make a decision, even in the face of the nightmare he was living through.

The tray slid back across the table and bumped against Arthur's elbow. He looked up.

"No reason you should make it on an empty stomach," Merlin said. Arthur studied the man with a slight frown, noting for the first time the circles under his eyes, his dirty, tousled hair and rumpled clothing.

"Have you been here all night?" he asked.

"I didn't want you to feel that you were alone," Merlin answered unhesitatingly. Somehow, the quiet statement made him feel less so.

Perhaps, Arthur reflected, the prescience and keen observation he had noted earlier was not so out of keeping with the Merlin he knew as he'd thought. Undoubtedly, there was something more to Merlin than he saw. But then, there always had been.

"I'm glad you're here, Merlin," Arthur said quietly. Merlin's eyes narrowed in a subtle ghost of a smile. Nothing more needed to be said. Merlin nudged the tray again.

"Your coffee's getting cold." Arthur picked up the cup and looked down at it again.

"I don't like cream in my coffee."

"Well excuse me for forgetting your coffee preferences, your highness." Merlin's eyebrow rose, and a smile tugged at Arthur's lips. He flicked a crumb across the table at Merlin. He paused, and finally muttered,

"Thanks." Merlin snorted.

"You're welcome, prat."

AN2: OK. It was hard to end this chapter. Hope that ending works...

Thoughts?

I think that Gwen deserved more credit in the show as an all-round awesome character. So... you can all make your bets on whether she and Arthur will be reunited soon or not... either way, she's certainly resourceful.

And Merlin finally gets a bit of well deserved gratitude. :)

The next chapter may be some time in coming, but my fall break comes in two weeks, so hold tight till then. In case I don't post before it, though, Happy soon-to-be-Thanksgiving my fellow Americans!

Please leave a review, and I will thank you profusely!

Cheers!
Sandyy