Hello! I'm not gone! Just sidetracked! Enjoy this filler chapter as I prepare myself for the events that come next!

~Ra1n

Previously...

Arthur closed and locked the door behind him.

"Just wait," he said, retreating down the hallway, "I'll be back."

And then he was gone, handing the keys to the guard.

"Prepare him for interrogation," he muttered. And if he had felt any remorse before, it all disappeared as he made his way back up the stairs, the sounds of chains rattling behind him.

Arthur woke suddenly to find that it was morning. He was breathing hard, cold sweat beading across his brow and running down his back as if he had just come out of a nightmare. And it had been a nightmare; it was just a nightmare that had actually happened. He shuddered and pulled the blankets from his body. They were twisted around his torso tightly, the sheets bunched against his lower back; small discomforts that seemed smaller after dreaming of Merlin. He pushed his legs over the side of the bed and stared at his feet, resting his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees.

He needed to get up.

He needed to prepare for Morgana.

He needed Merlin to be okay.

He needed more time.

A loud knock made Arthur jump. He looked at the heavy wooden door and then around his room, his eyes landing on a shirt and trousers. "Just a moment," he mumbled, loud enough for the visitor to hear. The knock came again.

Arthur took a deep breath and opened the door, wiping a hand across his sweaty cheeks, tucking his tunic into a belt. Leon stood in the doorway, his helmet under his elbow, still in full armor.

"We have bad news, sire," he said without pretext. Arthur's blood ran cold. Merlin was dead. He knew it.

"There has been movement in the east. It is believed to be an army."

Arthur didn't comprehend. Merlin had nothing to do with an army, did he?

"Sire?"

Arthur looked up, realizing Leon had continued to speak.

"Hm?"

"The army is thought to belong to Morgana. The plans you overheard seem to be true."

Arthur groaned, things snapping into place. Morgana was on the move.

"It is believed that we have ten days, give or take, before she reaches Camelot." Leon hesitated then, his face looking worried, "Sire, if she strikes, it will be war. There is no stopping that."

Arthur nodded. "I will prepare the knights." He turned to close the door, but Leon stopped him.

"Sire, there is more."

Arthur's heart dropped. "What?"

"The army is believed to be made up of not only armed men, but also sorcerers. Prepare your knights for that."

"...so we have no chance."

Leon's neutral face slipped. "Prepare them."

Arthur nodded, his eyes focused on something far away. "I understand."

Leon gave him a half smile. "Good day, sire."

The door closed, and Arthur sunk onto the edge of his bed, returning his head to his hands.

So this was it.

He pulled his boots on slowly, taking his time with the laces. He kept glancing at the window, at the swaying trees and wispy white clouds running across the blue sky, as if Morgana's army would come crashing over the hillside any moment and rain hellfire over the kingdom. But no, he knew he had time-not much, but some- and he was going to use it.

He stood up to open the door, taking deep breaths as he lay his hand on the handle. Gods, he was so tired. He wanted to crawl back into his bed and curl under the covers and wake up when everything was alright again. Not that anything could ever be right again, at least not really, not with Merlin unconscious in Gaius's chambers and blood on Owain's gloves. Things couldn't be right when Gwaine was off on his own in a desperate search to find a druidian leader and Gwen was no longer speaking to her own husband. Nothing could really be alright when everything was so utterly wrong, when everything had been destroyed by a singular king bent by anger and fear.

But he couldn't think like that. He had a war to prepare for.

With that in mind, Arthur summoned the strength to pull the door open and step out into the hall.

He was immediately overcome with vertigo, as the sunlight of the morning streamed in and illuminated the bustle of servants, moving with laundry and dirty dishes and cleaning rags. The light in the stone hall was impossible compared to the darkness of his room and dreams. Nobody suspected anything was amiss, just as they had for last month.

Steeling himself, he took a few more steps into the hallway and entered the fray.

He arrived at Gaius's chambers more than a little nervous, and stood outside the door, breathing slowly. He could hear Gwen and Gaius inside, and there was no doubt Percival was there as well. It seemed that the most popular spot to be when people were not busy was with Merlin. Even unconscious, people wanted to be in his company.

With not a small amount of effort, Arthur reached out and knocked on the door. Silence immediately fell within.

"May I come in?"

More silence. Then Gaius.

"Enter."

Arthur pushed open the door and took a step inside. Percival sat beside Merlin's cot. Gwen was standing near the fire, a ladle in hand. And Gaius was standing before his table, grinding herbs in a shallow basin.

As Arthur stood in the center of the room, they each surveyed him through cold eyes. Merlin lay very still and very pale in the bed, but he wasn't dirty anymore, or vomiting. At least there was that.

"I came to discuss a matter of high importance," the king said, and he pretended that his voice didn't shake.

Everybody continued to look at him emotionlessly, and Arthur vaguely thought that he was sick of being in this situation before continuing.

"Morgana is on the move," he said, "she will be here within ten days, and I need your help to prepare for the attack."

Gaius set aside his mortar and pestle and wiped his hands with a rag before throwing it down on the table.

Arthur hesitated. "The army is made of sorcerers and men."

"If it truly is Morgana, then we are already doomed," Gaius said, crossing his arms, "without Merlin there is no one who can defeat her."

"Surely, you don't believe that."

"No, I know that."

Silence stretched. Arthur glanced at the warlock lying beside Percival.

"Then what would you suggest we do?" Arthur said, and his voice grew louder. He was suddenly fed up, "Are we to give up before we've even started? Is that what you want? Morgana is coming, whether Merlin is awake or not, and we can either stand here-"

"Do not raise your voice at me!" Gaius exclaimed, effectively cutting Arthur off mid-sentence. "This is a problem that you created. If you hadn't spent so much time on tormenting Merlin, then maybe you would have noticed the real informant, or, better yet, perhaps you would have an effective army for fighting off a militia of sorcery! Now what would you have us do, sire? Face the army with our swords? With our fists? What solution are you looking for, coming into my quarters? Should you not be preparing your knights? I cannot help you. "

Arthur deflated. Wherever that burst of anger had come from, it was gone. Gaius was right, of course. He had no business being in Gaius's quarters when he had an army to prepare. He was king. He needed to pull himself together and start acting like one. Battles had been fought and won for years before Merlin's existence. He was not Camelot's last hope. Although…

Why did it feel like he was?

Gwaine's horse was agitated.

Tugging on the beast's reins, Gwaine paused in a clearing to gain his bearings. The wind had picked up suddenly in the night, and with it the horse seemed to grow less and less comfortable, slowing their progress. As it was, he was only a few miles into the forest, and he was already at a loss as to where to go next. He'd gone in the vague direction that Arthur had gone the night Merlin had been freed, but there was no trail nor sign that anybody had been there at all, and finding Iseldir seemed to be an impossible task.

His horse huffed and shook its head, stamping the ground in agitation, and Gwaine ran his hand against her neck. If it had been for anybody besides Merlin, he would have given up finding Iseldir hours ago. Or, better yet, not have even gone in the first place. How was he supposed to find a druid who could magic himself to any part of the world with just a thought? It didn't seem plausible. But then, Gwaine had done a lot of impossible things. He was a knight, for goodness sake, and was friends with a warlock and a king, amongst other beasts he'd met in taverns and trails. Those had all been by accident, of course, but the impossibility was the same.

The wind blew harder, and Gwaine kicked his horse into motion once again.

He would not give up.

Owain once again stood on the wall overlooking the town, his mind elsewhere. He kept fingering the gloves in his pocket. The weather was not as mild as it had been in the last few weeks, but he could not bring himself to put them on. A part of him wanted to buy new ones, but another part told him they were a reminder of what he had done. So they stayed in his pocket.

Arthur had called a meeting that afternoon. Morgana was moving in with an army of sorcerers, and they were to prepare, whatever that meant. They all knew the odds were against them.

Owain thought back to Merlin, shivering and flinching on the cot at the sound of the guard's voice. Percival and Gwen had seemed so excited, as if Owain had done something to help the kid. He didn't understand, though. They should be angry at him. Heaven knows he was the one who had put Merlin in such a state, where even flinching was something to be celebrated. He had resolved to help when he helped Arthur bring him out of the dungeons, but the reaction in the physician's quarters the day before proved that maybe he should just stay away. He didn't blame Merlin for being afraid of his voice. He had hoped otherwise, of course, but had never entertained the thought that what he had hoped would truly happen. And it hadn't.

And now things were just worse. Even though the knights and most of Camelot didn't know it, the one person who would have saved them had been languishing in the dungeons for weeks. And Owain truly believed that Merlin could have saved them, if he were conscious. The way he had spoken of his powers in his rare moments of lucidity, during the earlier parts of interrogation, backed that up strongly. Merlin would have helped.

But not now.

Owain sat heavily on the wall and tugged the glove out of his pocket, worrying it between his fingers. It really was getting colder.

Gasping as cold water suddenly hit his cheek, Gwaine looked up at the sky. Grey clouds dimmed the forest until it was nearly as dark as night, and he could sense that it was just the beginning of a full-on downpour. Shivering, he settled more deeply into the saddle, but it did little as the clouds opened up above him.

Shaking his wet hair out of his eyes, he tried to gauge how far he'd traveled, but when he thought about how fruitless all of those miles had been, he stopped trying to count. It only discouraged him.

Glancing at the sky again, he realized that it would soon be impossible to see anything. Halting his horse, he spied a large boulder with a shallow alcove. Not the best camp, he thought, but he'd certainly slept in worse. Dismounting his horse, and tying her to a nearby tree, he settled in for the night, laying his bedroll on the damp earth beneath the alcove and shimmying under it. The rock face was a few inches from his nose, but it was dry enough, and Gwaine found his thoughts wandering to Merlin again.

He wondered if he was alright. He thought that maybe he would feel if he wasn't, but then the only thing worse for Merlin right now would be if he stopped breathing, and Gwaine refused to think about that.

With his mind still turning, Gwaine fell asleep listening to the rain pounding on the rock above him.