(AN: Hi there. *sorry* I'm back now, and I've written a lot. *sorry* So, I should be posting new chapters every few days. *i'm SO sorry* I really didn't mean to take so long to post, *sorry sorry* but life's been a bit crazy. *please forgive me* Thanks for sticking with this, *i don't deserve you* and I hope you enjoy Episode 2!)

*sorry*

The sun climbed steadily over the trees, but it brought no warmth to Guinevere. The silence of the forest was unbroken- no birds sang, no friendly voice greeted the day. The queen hugged herself, trying to chase away the cold that had settled in her bones over that terrible night. Her quiet contemplation was broken as a warm, heavy cloak fell around her shoulders, completely enveloping her and gathering on the ground beneath her feet. She looked up, smiling her thanks to Percival as some of the chill melted from her limbs and her heart. The knight said nothing, but stood beside her, looking comfortable in bare arms despite the cold.

"How do you do it, Percival?" Gwen said, burrowing further into the giant cape.

"Well," Percival said, raising a teasing eyebrow. "I'm from the north, so I'm mostly used to weather like this. And, I figure I've got at least twice as much blood keeping me warm-"

"No, that's-" said Gwen, laughing softly. "That's not what I meant. How do you stay so calm? You never seem shaken or worried. You actually slept through the night! You're... immovable. Like an oak. It makes me feel as if the rest of us are just fluttering around, like leaves caught in a storm."

Gwen felt foolish as soon as the words left her mouth, but Percival looked thoughtful.

"The way I see it," he said. "There are things I can do, and I things can't. If waste my strength on what I can't fix, I won't have any left for the problems that land right in front of me. I can't let that happen."

"It's good advice," Gwen said, nodding. "I wish I knew how to follow it."

"Me too," said a voice beside her. She hadn't noticed Gwaine approach. He looked terrible, face pale and pinched with worry. Gwaine always had a certain wildness about him. Usually it involved ale, loud singing, and something catching fire. Now, it was a quiet, dangerous glint in his eye and tension that radiated from him. He was like a hound that preferred to tussle and play with its pack, but strained at the leash menacingly when on the hunt.

"We should have heard something by now," Gwaine growled. "It's not right. We need to go after them. Now."

"We knew they'd likely meet with opposition," said Guinevere, setting her jaw and trying not to squirm. "Either from the Sarrum's guards or the sorcerers. It will take time for them to overcome, even with the odds in their favor. Then, it'll take more time to secure and search the castle."

"That's why we should go now," argued Gwaine. "What if Merlin doesn't have that much time? Sending more troops would end all of this and get us home sooner."

"Or we could blunder in and ruin Elyan's strategy," said Perceval, not looking at Gwaine.

"Worth the risk," Gwaine said, glaring. "At least we'd know what was happening. Gwen?"

Gwen could hear the vulnerability under the harsh anger. It caused her already shaky resolve to crumble further. Still, she straightened her back and cleared her throat.

"Nightfall," she said. "We wait to move till then. We need to give Elyan more time."

She could feel Gwaine's displeasure rolling off him, but she continued to face forward, resolute. She couldn't fall to pieces now. She wouldn't.

"Fine," he said, in a low dangerous voice.

She felt him move away and allowed her shoulders to drop slightly, breathing in and out deeply.

"You did the right thing," Percival said. "Gwaine will see that in time."

Gwen wrapped her arms around herself once more, cold again even under Percival's cape. She could feel in her bones that none of this would end well. Even if it did, she wasn't sure Gwaine would forgive her for keeping him away from battle. In fact, she was having a hard time forgiving herself.

Elyan swiped a wrist across his forehead, catching the sweat before it could drip into his eyes. He kept his breathing shallow and light as he pressed his back into the stone wall of the Sarrum's former stronghold. He held out a hand to still the movements of the restless soldiers around him. Holding his breath, he peered into the hallway ahead.

The world exploded.

Dust immediately clouded his vision, reducing the world to a hazy swirls of red and black. His head swam as he tried to get his bearings. His back ached, and there was no air left in his chest. He gasped, only to be choked by smoke and ash. Above his own struggles for breath, he could hear muffled shouts and clashes. Suddenly, the world upended itself around him. There was pressure around his chest, constricting him. Heard another cry, closer, then something sealed over his mouth. He fought, flailing his arms desperately until his hand connected with something soft. There was muffled, "Oomph," and the restrictive arms withdrew.

A new set of hands materialized on his face. He flinched away.

"-lyan... Elyan!" The incoherent sounds finally reorganized themselves into words. Elyan blinked furiously, and the grey splotches withdrew from his vision, revealing one of the younger soldiers of his company. The youth's eyes were wide, almost panicked, but he calmed when he saw Elyan's eyes finally focus on him. A flask appeared in front of him, and Elyan drank gratefully, clearing the grit from his mouth and throat.

He glanced around. He and his men were in a small, dark room, full of barrels and sacks. Everyone from the small scouting party he had brought into the palace were still there, relatively unscathed, if covered with dust and debris from the most recent explosion. To his right, an old, grizzled soldier name Erec was holding his stomach and trying to catch his breath. Elyan winced in sympathy, casting an apologetic look for repaying his rescuer with an elbow to the gut. Smiling, the other man shook his head, showing he understood.

"So," Elyan said, catching his breath. "How many does that make?"

Erec pulled a roll of paper from his shirt. He unfurled the sheet, holding the corners down with small debris from the floor. He used a piece of charcoal to scratch an X onto the rough ink drawing of the fortress.

"Seven," he said sighing. "One at each entrance and major vantage point. They've all been quick to spot us and react, but none of them have given chase. From what I can tell, they're well trained, but there's not more than two at each post. Easy enough to take down."

"Easy enough," Elyan snorted, fishing out a few hunks of shrapnel that had fallen down the back of his shirt during the last assault. "God love you, Erec."

"'Cause we all think you're cracked," muttered Oswin, the youth who still knelt before Elyan. A quiet chuckle went through the men.

"Alright," said Elyan, narrowing his eyes to study the map."I'm not too keen on a frontal assault on any of the guard posts for obvious reasons," He grimaced, running his tongue over the ashy grit that still clung to his teeth. "We know drawing them off doesn't work. We have fifty men against half that number, but we've all seen what our enemies can do. They are brutal and terribly effective."

The men nodded in agreement. Fresh corpses of Sarrum's guards, servants, and courtiers littered the castle. Though Elyan abhorred the Sarrum and those who would follow such a monster, he was chilled by the indiscriminate devastation the sorcerers had wrought.

"So," he continued, thumb worrying his lower lip. "What are our options?"

"Concentrate all our power at the widest entry point?" said Briggs, a stocky knight who was guarding the doorway. "Our advantage is in numbers. We could punch through."

"The main gate's the only entry that's not a bottle neck," said Oswin.

"Never work," Erec said. "It's too exposed. You've got two of them at the gate, then two more looking down from the south tower, another pair within spitting distance on the east wall, not to mention any other devils waiting inside. We want as much cover as we can get."

"I thought we wanted to take the castle for Camelot," said Cole, the last member of their party. "The more we hide behind it, the more they're going to blow it up."

"Maybe that would be enough," an idea sprang like a spark on tinder in Elyan's mind. "We want to claim the castle, the weapons, all of it for Camelot. But we need it out of Mordred's hands."

Erec nodded slowly, "Better destroyed than used against us. There's enough wood throughout the castle to make a strong blaze."

"We wouldn't have to completely destroy it," Cole said, latching onto the idea. "Just make enough to trouble for them to abandon their posts."

"Right," Elyan said, but catching Erec's eye, he could tell the seasoned soldier wasn't convinced. Neither was Elyan. Fire wasn't something they could predict or control. The whole fortress would likely be a burnt out shell by sunset, gutted of its tapestries, furnishings, and all the poor souls trapped within. Which meant...

"I need to stay behind." Elyan said. "If Merlin's still here somewhere, I have to find him."

"I'm with you." Erec said.

"But-" Elyan started.

"I'm with you," the older man repeated firmly, making Elyan wonder just which of them was the knight here. "Oswin's coming too."

"I am?" the young man started, raising an eyebrow. He schooled his features under Erec's glare "Right, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

Elyan just shook his head. It would be nice to have help. Cole crossed to join Briggs at the door.

"We'll go back and get things ready with the rest. We're going to need arrows, oil, maybe wax..." Cole seemed to lose himself in mental preparations for a moment before his eyes sprang back to present. "How long do you need in here?"

Elyan sighed, leaning back and scrubbing a hand over his dust-covered face as he thought. It was midmorning now. It would take time to sneak past the guards and conduct a proper search. If they didn't find Merlin, if he was still in the castle when Elyan went through with his plan...

Well, he wouldn't have to live with the guilt for long. He knew at least a dozen people who would be out for blood if the servant was harmed, including two monarchs and half the round table. And good luck getting help once they found a way to stab him or poison him or throw him off a tower. Gaius would happily watch him writhe if he let anything happened to his ward.

"Sundown," Elyan said. "That will give us time and provide some cover for the attack."

Cole nodded, and together he and Briggs slipped into the hall. Elyan bowed his head, gathering strength and calm for the mission ahead.

"Right," he said, standing once more. "Let's get to it."

The quiet was getting to Leon. After crossing the countryside at a pounding gallop, pushing through the ceaseless noise of the lower city, and sprinting down the echoing corridors of the citadel, the silence of Gauis' chambers felt like a physical weight on his shoulders. It was like being under water, everything muffled and dim.

The physician was currently examining his patient. Leon sat, not pacing or questioning or brooding as another knight would've. He simply watched, knowing he had done all he could, and that Arthur's fate was out of his hands now. Still, he followed Gaius' movements carefully for any hint of emotion- sadness, relief, worry- that would give Leon some clue to how his young king faired. Aside from a tightening around the old man's eyes, Leon could glean nothing.

Fortunately, it seemed as though Gaius could read his thoughts.

"I wish I had more to tell you," the old man sighed, "This wound... it's like nothing I've seen before. And this blade. There's magic here. Ancient, powerful, magic. I doubt the Sarrum knew what he was dealing with."

Leon swallowed past the uncomfortable tightness in his throat.

"What do we do?" He asked.

Gaius pulled down a stack of heavy volumes. Dust rose in a cloud as he dropped them on the table before Leon.

"Start reading."

Merlin sighed. The unchanging grey landscape before him offered nothing to distract his tired eyes. Everything about the place was still and quiet, like the moments before falling asleep, dim and half-remembered.

"AAAAAAARGH!"

Almost everything.

A figure streaked past him, his strides throwing sand into the warlock's face, before crashing into the water. His steps slowed until he was chest deep in the water, doing a floating little run that Merlin would have found quite funny under different circumstances. The water rose no higher, and the figure continued to bob forward with determination.

Merlin was tempted to call out, but after the first, second, and third times his words had been ignored, he had given up. Now, he watched with mild interest as the shadowy form got dimmer and dimmer before finally disappearing into the mist.

For a few moments, there was silence. Nothing moved.

Three, two, one...

Water splashed behind him, from the other side of the island. There was heavy breathing, some shuffling, and then...

"DAMMIT!"

There was more panting, along with a sound he supposed was Arthur throwing rocks, kicking trees, and taking his frustration out on various other inanimate objects. That had been his reaction the first dozen times they'd been through this. At least Merlin wasn't close enough to Arthur to bear the brunt of his anger; though that would mean that Arthur acknowledged his existence, which hadn't happened since the first ten-minutes of their arrival. That had been... hours ago? Days? The unchanging dullness of the sky gave no clue as to the passage of time. He supposed he could keep time by tracking Arthur's escape attempts, but what was the point of any of it?

Merlin was tired. He was tired of giving his all and falling short. He was tired of of his efforts coming to nothing. Tired of struggling, tired of hurting. Tired of caring. Just... tired.

He left himself fall backward onto the soft sand, closing his eyes.

He tried not to hear the footsteps as they drew closer, as the body settled on the shore close by, but not too close. Not as close as he would have before...

Merlin was tired.