They rode hard back through the woods, pushing their horses to go as fast as they were able, and meeting no resistance on the way. Such a speed of course, removed the opportunity for talk, and so none of them had a chance to ask Arthur more about what had happened during his encounter with Alvarr, or what the sorcerer had said to him when they were alone. They had all seen the look on Arthur's face though, and knew the situation to be deathly serious. And they were knights of Camelot: when Arthur told them to ride, they followed him, and did not question.

Only Merlin was uneasy. He'd seen a look on Arthur's face too, for all that it had been brief. He didn't know what it meant, and his mind played over and over with the possibilities as they rode, the wind whistling past his ears, the reins caught tight in his fingers.

As it grew dark, it was clear that they were still several leagues from Camelot, and that they would need to stop until the sun returned. However eager Arthur was to get back to the castle, even he could not give horses the ability to see in the dark.

"We'll make camp," he announced reluctantly, as they came across a reasonably sized clearing. Already the shadows had lengthened around them, and simple tasks such as finding firewood, were going to be all the more challenging in the darkness.

They threw themselves from their horses, chafed and sore after the hard ride, but none of them complaining, a fact Arthur would have noticed with pride, had he not been so distracted. He set himself the task of removing his horse's saddle, happy that the leather straps gave him something tangible on which to focus his mind.

"Sire," Leon said at his elbow.

He turned angrily, expecting a question about Alvarr, or why they were riding to the point of exhaustion.

"We are almost out of water, sire," Leon said.

"Oh," Arthur looked around, calming his temper instantly. He saw Merlin standing nearby stroking his horse and looking at him anxiously.

"Merlin, go and find water," he commanded. "And be quick about it. I don't want you getting lost in the woods."

"Yes sire," Merlin said compliantly, though Arthur saw him glancing at Gwaine, before crossing to where the knights were piling their water skins. He picked up as many as he could carry, slinging them over his shoulders.

Gwaine took a step forward to help him, but Arthur stopped him with a shout. "Gwaine, I want to talk to you about the defences of the outlying villages. You probably know them better than any man here."

Gwaine turned to face him, somewhat surprised. Arthur did not normally ask him to discuss such things. "Yes sire," he replied, and glanced at Merlin once more, as the servant disappeared out of the clearing and into the growing darkness of the woods beyond.

Merlin stumbled about in the gloom, tripping every tree root, and sticking his foot in every burrow, until he was so frustrated with nature that he wanted to scream. He knew these woods well enough, having been on patrol here with Arthur dozens of times, and sent by Gaius to pick some of the more specialist herbs that grew here about. There was as stream not far from where Arthur had chosen to camp, a small stream it was true, but he remembered the water to be pure and sweet. If he could only find the thing.

Mostly, however, he was being troubled not by the darkness and the trip hazards presented by the forest, but by his continuing distraction with what had happened with Arthur.

The sudden re-appearance of Alvarr in their lives had shocked him more deeply than he would have expected. Of course, he had known that the sorcerer was likely to still be out there looking for him. A desire to know the future was not something that easily went away, and Merlin was beginning to have the uneasy sense that, absent the dragon, he was one of the few beings alive who carried such powerful knowledge.

Morgana of course, had the power of sight, if she but knew how to use it. But her dreams were erratic, uncontrollable. They would have been all but useless to Alvarr. And yet, the sorcerer had allied himself with her again, and who knew what dark purpose they were cooking up between them with a new kingdom at their disposal and Camelot all-but inviting attack.

What had Alvarr said to Arthur? It must have been truly terrible indeed for them to be making such haste back to Camelot. Such a ride posed dangers for both horses and riders, and Arthur would not normally take the risk without great need.

Tripping again, Merlin grazed his hand on a rock as he fell, and decided to sit for a while, disgruntled, on the forest floor, sucking his cut hand, and pondering.

This was ridiculous.

He reached out with his magic to see if he could sense the water nearby, closing his eyes as he felt it surge through him, sending shivers along his skin. The stream was not far.

He climbed back to his feet, and made his way again through the trees, this time with more confidence, and then quickened his pace as the sound of water penetrated the night air. He slung the water skins from his shoulders and started to fill them, the icy water splashing about his fingers and numbing them, so that by the time he was on the fourth skin, he'd become clumsy, and found it hard to hold the neck down under the surface of the stream.

When he'd finished, he re-corked them and slung them again around his shoulders, staggering slightly and grimacing under their combined weight, as he started to make his way back to the camp, allowing his magic to guide him subtly, as the darkness around him became even more complete.

He realised that he'd come further than he'd thought, and began to hurry, cursing himself for being so distracted with thoughts of Alvarr. Even the name of the man still sent shivers through him, and as he trotted along, his mind filled with the memory of his cold fingers hard on his arms as he threw him through the doorway of the crystal cave.

Merlin blinked at the thought, trying to drive it out. But as he did, a sudden and familiar pain began to work its way across his forehead.

He stopped dead. No no no no no!

The pain turned into a glow, and Merlin's breathing deepened as he dropped the water skins and put his hands to the side of his head, squeezing. "Not now!" he pleaded. "Please not now."

But the spread of the sensation was relentless, and it surged through him, driving out all thoughts of Alvarr or water or Arthur. He thought he maybe fell to his knees, and thought perhaps that he heard the faint sound of someone calling his name. But all these things disappeared into a great maw of darkness that reached up and swallowed him whole.

When Merlin was next aware, he felt himself being placed onto a hard surface. Probably the ground, his mind reasoned condescendingly. He felt heavy, unable to move or even open his eyes. Something warm was at his back. Probably a camp fire, his mind said with equal condescension. Great. Even his own brain was treating him like an idiot.

As the world faded out again, he heard the murmur of voices around him. Someone saying: "…said he'd been ill." "…probably just exhaustion." "…sleep until morning."

When he woke again, he opened his eyes wide. It was daylight, or at least, the grey light of morning that covers the land before the sun has risen. Birds were singing loudly in the trees all around him, and a very light rain was falling on his upturned face.

"Good morning," said a quiet voice.

Merlin looked up quickly. Arthur was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, a fire that was by now smoking and burning low in the cold morning air.

"Arthur," he acknowledged, struggling to sit up. He realised that he had about two extra blankets covering him, and he'd become tangled in them as he slept. He extricated himself as quickly as he could.

The prince watched him with sharp eyes. "How are you feeling?" he asked eventually.

"Fine," Merlin said truthfully. Then he met Arthur's gaze, awkward. "What happened last night?"

"You passed out," Arthur said, tossing a small twig he'd been holding into the fire, and watching it smoke with the rest. "Gwaine found you in the woods after you'd gone looking for water and brought you back. You've been asleep since then."

"Oh," Merlin looked around, embarrassed, and saw the knights spread out around them on the ground. Gwaine he could see was missing his blanket, and was sleeping wrapped in his cloak. He presumed the other blanket had come from Arthur.

"Have you any idea what happened?" the prince went on.

"Uh, no," Merlin said, hearing something dangerous in Arthur's tone. "I don't – I don't even remember it."

Arthur continued to stare at him with piercing eyes. "This sickness that Gaius talked about, the one that is afflicting you, does he know what it is?"

Merlin shook his head quickly, rolling the blankets up beside him for lack of anything better to do. "No, it's just a – he doesn't know."

"But it makes you pass out?"

Merlin nodded, feeling extremely self-conscious under his scrutiny. "It would seem so."

"Then perhaps you should not have come on this mission. In such a state you are a liability to my men."

Merlin looked at him then, surprised by the coldness of what he had said. Indeed, Arthur seemed a little surprised by it himself, and a flash of barely disguised embarrassment crossed his face. But then it passed.

He put his hands on his knees and levered himself upwards. "We must return to Camelot," he said, and turned away, leaving Merlin staring at his back, curious and feeling very much ill at ease.

They rode hard again, their faces into the wind. The other knights had been pleased to see Merlin returned to normal health when they awoke, but he'd only been able to quickly express his gratitude towards Gwaine before Arthur had bullied and badgered them back onto their horses. This was no time for idle chatter, he had said. They were on a vital mission.

By the time they returned to the palace, the gentle rain had steadily increased, soaking them all, and plastering their clothes and hair to their skin. Arthur still leapt from his horse with all the energy of a child, and looked about at his men, bedraggled on their horses.

"A council meeting will be held in one hour," he called, as he watched them dismount. As Merlin made to go past him with both their horses, returning them to the stables, he stopped him. "Not you Merlin."

"Sire?"

"At the council meeting. I don't want to see you there."

"Why?"

"I want you to remain in your chambers and recover from whatever this – sickness is. I mean it." And he strode away, determinedly.

"Yes sire," Merlin said looking after him, struggling between feelings of exclusion and concern at Arthur's behaviour.

Unhappily, he trudged to the stables, and with assistance from one of the other servants, un-tacked the horses, brushed them down, and made sure they had an ample supply of oats to recover from their arduous journey. He did the job thoroughly, paying attention to every detail, as though his hard work could somehow fill the hole of inadequacy that Arthur had dug in his soul.

Then he faced the pelting rain once more, dashing out of the stables and heading for the doorway that would lead him to Gaius' chambers, once again soaked to the skin before he could reach cover. He staggered into his uncle's room, peeling his leather bag from his back, the material darkened by its contact with water. The room was warm, reassuring, clouds of steam rising from Gauis' cauldron set by the roaring fire.

"Merlin!" Gauis was sat in his chair at the desk reading, his glasses perched on his nose.

"Guess what," Merlin said, dropping his bag and trying to find his way out of his sopping coat. "It's raining."

"Are you alright?" Gaius was on his feet in an instant as Merlin, having removed his coat, set himself about the task of removing his mail byrnie. This of course, involved bending forward and jumping up and down to shake it off, hardly an elegant manoeuvre, but the thing eventually slithered from his shoulders before clinking to the ground at his feet. Gaius handed him a sheet, and Merlin smiled gratefully, before using it to dry his hair. "What happened?"

"What happened?" Merlin said, he voice muffled beneath the sheet. "Alvarr happened, that's what!"

"Alvarr!" Gaius gasped.

"Yup," Merlin reappeared, hair sticking up in every direction, then he dropped the sheet beside his mail, and walked past Gaius up to his room to change the remainder of his wet clothes, partially closing the door as he did so for privacy.

"Where did you meet that renegade?" Gaius wondered.

"On the border of Cenred's kingdom." Merlin said, his voice muffled again. But then his face and fingers appeared round the side of the door. "Oh and we were right," he stated. "It's not Cenred's kingdom any more. It's now Morgana's." He disappeared once more.

Gaius looked around, shocked, then he walked in the direction of the fire to stir up the soup he'd been making. It was still early, but the boy would be hungry no doubt, and cold.

"How do you know that Morgana rules there now?" he called.

"Because Alvarr told us," Merlin said, his voice muffled.

"He told you?"

"Yup," Merlin reappeared, wearing dry clothes, and made his way down the steps. "He spoke to Arthur alone for an age. Then the prince had us ride back here at full speed, but has yet to tell us exactly what was said. There's a council meeting in an hour, and I can only guess that it will all come out then."

"We'd better get you something to eat now then," Gaius said, looking for a clean bowl on his table, as Merlin sank tiredly into a chair.

"Yeah," he said. "Except I'm not going."

Gaius stopped what he was doing and stared at his nephew, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Arthur told me not to come to the council meeting. He said I was to stay in my chambers until I was recovered."

"Recovered?" Gaius' eyes narrowed. "Merlin, did something else happen?" Merlin looked down at the table guiltily. "Did you have another vision?"

He nodded unhappily. "But nobody saw me," he insisted, looking back up. "I went to collect water last night and just, passed out. As far as Arthur's concerned I've just got some strange illness. Or at least I hope that's all it is."

Gaius resumed his search for a bowl. "What do you mean?"

Merlin sighed. "I don't know," he said. "Arthur spoke to Alvarr for a long time, Gaius, a long time. And afterwards, we went and found him, and he looked at me with this… strange expression."

"What sort of expression?" Gaius was now ladling soup carefully.

"I don't know," Merlin said. "I can't put my finger on it. But I know Arthur, Gaius, I know him like I know myself. And something just seems – wrong."

Gaius put the bowl of soup down in front of him. "But you're alright?" he asked. "You don't remember the vision?"

Merlin shrugged. "Just like the last one," he said. "Some use these things are going to be to the world if someone has to be there doing dictation every time they happen!"

Gaius smiled. "It is a bit strange," he agreed. "I wonder where Alvarr's been hiding, all this time," he turned away to look for some bread.

"With Morgana, I'll bet" Merlin suggested, digging in to his soup with gusto. Arthur hadn't allowed them time for breakfast that morning, and he was starving. "I wonder if they've been hatching a plot together," he said with his mouth full.

"I don't doubt it," Gaius agreed, bringing him bread and setting it down on the table. "But whatever it was, we'll just have to wait and see."

A loud bang on the door startled them both. "Enter!" Gaius called in irritation.

A guard came in, nodding to them both. "Gaius," he said. "Prince Arthur has requested your presence in the council chambers."

"Has he," Gaius said impassively, sharing a look with Merlin.

"He expects you to attend immediately," the guard finished, then left, as quickly as he had arrived.

Merlin sighed and leaned back. "Go on then," he said. "Maybe you can find out what's going on."

"Mm," Gaius didn't seem happy. "I'll see you later."

TBC