A/N: Thanks so much to Serendipity08, who is a fabulous beta. And thanks to all you reviewers! SpangleyPony, TeganL74, KittyO, LinzPhantom, OceanMintLeaves, MamzelleHermy, Loopstagirl and so many others-thank you!

Chapter 4

Arthur woke with a start, sure that someone had yelled his name.

"Merlin?"

There was a scramble at the door of the tent. Sir Leon appeared, off-balance and shaking his head as if he were trying to wake up. "What was that, Sire? Did you call me?"

"No. Nothing." His voice was husky from disuse and dread. Now he remembered—Merlin, the single combat…Gwen. "Is it time yet?"

"Several hours to go. Try to rest."

Arthur grunted. It felt like his mind had been working all night, feverishly turning over and over his mistakes and fears. He had chosen ill and the future of his kingdom was bucking like a wild stallion no man could tame. Throwing back the covers, Arthur sat up and put his feet down on the floor. He hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees.

The cool morning light made things look differently. His only choice was to keep moving forward, to try to be worthy of the Pendragon name. He must win this combat at all costs. For now, there was nothing else Arthur could do but pray. And so he did, for strength in his body, calm in his mind and quickness in his sword. He could do this. He would do this. For Merlin. For Gwen. And for Camelot.

Annis walked ahead of the litter bearing the king of Camelot's servant. He remained in a state of half-consciousness, which was probably more pleasant for him. The warriors of Caerleon were not kind as he was moved slowly down the path, though none were allowed to raise a hand to him. Mostly it was shouted insults and thrown objects, a few grosser elements among them.

Morgana walked behind the litter, drinking in the hate and the madness around her like an intoxicating wine. Annis found this a little disturbing, but she could put up with it as long as the girl was serving Caerleon's interests as well as her own. As to what would happen after Morgana had proved her usefulness, a quick severance of alliances might be best.

The barbarian horde fell in behind them as they walked to the agreed meeting place. Annis looked upon the grim fierceness of her men and felt power surge into her with every battle cry and every shout for vengeance. This day was theirs. King Arthur would find his path to victory blocked on several fronts. How could he win, with sorcery, guilt and his own kin united against him?

The army from Camelot had not arrived yet, which was all according to plan. Annis wanted time to set up her little…surprise.

Arthur felt slightly off-kilter as he led the way. His armor was in place, fitted to him expertly by Sir Leon. Having someone other than Merlin aid him had been painful, but the knight had tried to ease the moment with a report on Gwaine's ridiculous efforts to escape camp. Late this morning, the knights had been forced to take away his sword and have him sit with Elyan. "His language alone would curdle milk, Sire."

Arthur had appreciated the story, and the sentiment behind Gwaine's actions. They were fighting the same desperation; for Arthur, simply breathing took effort. He gave last-minute instructions to Leon on what to do if he fell in battle, including giving his signet ring to Gwen. Then there was little to do but face the day.

He exited the tent to a loud rallying cry from his knights and began the long walk to the agreed upon neutral territory. Though the loud vocal support was enough to distract Arthur for a time, as friend after friend fell in beside and behind him, the grim march left far too much time to think. It became more and more difficult to banish the rising fear for his friend.

The disquiet in him reached a crescendo at the sight of the opposing army standing fierce and strong, lined up two stone's throws from the cliff's edge. Arthur's gaze swept the line desperately, finding Queen Annis standing among them, her eyes fixed on his. Beside her was—

Merlin. Arthur ceased to breathe. The rest of the world went dark as though the sun had been swallowed by a black cloud. The bruises…and blood…even from here, he could see that Merlin had been battered almost beyond recognition. His lanky frame was half-leaning, half-hung on a crosspiece, arms tied in place like a ghoulish scarecrow. It was—

Arthur didn't even realize his knees had buckled until Leon was there, bracing him under one shoulder. His words sounded faint and strange. "Don't, Sire. The King of Camelot does not kneel before his enemy."

An anguished roar came from his left as Gwaine drove his sword into the ground.

Arthur turned his head away, trying to gather himself. But his eyes were drawn back to Gwaine. The man was hunched over, every muscle clenched, hair strewn across his face. There was death in his eyes.

"Merlin…does he yet live?" Arthur asked hoarsely, not able to look for himself. Leon was concentrating, his gaze fixed below. There was a stir among the knights.

"Yes!" he cried. "Yes, he is alive. He moved his hand, Sire."

Gwaine slumped. Relief spread throughout the crowd and several hands slapped Arthur on the back. The king felt some measure of strength return to him. "He's still alive. Good. Then I will fight."

Leon stepped away and the king straightened. He did not say anything more, and he did not dare to look in Merlin's direction again.

Morgana was thrilled. Why hadn't she thought to torture Merlin before? Arthur's reaction had been extraordinary, pain upon pain upon agony. Beautiful. But now he'd strapped on his battle face and was striding down the path to meet Caerleon's champion. There lay another surprise for him. Seven-foot-nine Derrian made a formidable foe for any man, and Arthur was going to fight him with an enchanted sword that Morgana herself controlled.

She glanced over at Merlin, taking in the way he shivered and tried to hold his head up. She wanted to go over and slap him, but Annis had been firm that the abuse was over. Oh well. She'd settle for Arthur's blood instead.

Derrian was striding out from behind the line of Caerleon's warriors, and she saw a ripple of dismay from Camelot's soldiers on the cliff. That's right, she thought, get a good look at the man who will destroy Arthur and take half your kingdom away. Then I'll take the other half, kill Annis and usurp two kingdoms. For a start. Morgana's wicked plan rolled along in front of her eyes until the clanging of sword on sword brought her back to the present.

The fight had begun.

Merlin hung helplessly, his focus on the silver glow inside the darkness of his mind. The glow helped numb the pain, so he fed it and tended it like a small, struggling fire. Dimly, he was aware that his arms were stretched to the side, tied in place and numb almost to the shoulders now. He knew he was damaged and his senses dulled, hardly able to function past the pain. The worst was his eyes—agony every time his eyes moved in their sockets. But focusing on the silver glow inside also kept his eyes still and the pain at bay. It was working for him.

Until he heard Gwaine's ragged cry.

That sound shook Merlin to the core and he was suddenly gasping for breath, fighting wretchedly to keep his eyes from searching for his friend. They were here? Was Arthur ready to fight? Was this almost over? Not able to raise his head, he settled for raising a fist. Such a small gesture, but it was all he could manage.

Finally he stilled his eyes and let the agony of his movements die down. He needed to stay conscious. Arthur was readying to fight Annis's champion and there was some foul plot underpinning the queen's hope of victory. Merlin hadn't figured it out yet, nor had he figured out a way to help if he couldn't see. But he had to do something…

Wincing, holding back a cry, the warlock tried to send out his senses. He knew that in every living thing, there was a bit of magic, whether tree, leaf or blade of grass. Most sorcerers learned to tap into that, to pull it inside themselves and control its release with spell words. Merlin had never had to do that. Magic came from within him. But now, he reached out with singular focus like the clumsiest sorcerer. What was around him? What could he use?

There. Merlin sensed small lights, dim but very much alive. Could it be grass? Many blades of grass, rolling up and down hills like the waves of the ocean. Yes. Even smaller lights beyond and around that…which was moss climbing up something…climbing over something and up…rocks. Those shapes were blank of life, but still possessed a faint hum of magic. As did the path down from the rocks, at least—

A figure on the path, bright with life…was that Arthur coming down the path? With his eyes shut, clenched in sharp, biting pain, Merlin "watched" his king approach the smooth ground at the foot of the cliff. Arthur, he wanted to shout, but didn't. After the horror and humiliating pain of the past few hours, it was Arthur…whose sword seemed to gleam in Merlin's mind even more brightly than anything else around, but with a foul, noisome magic that made the warlock tremble.

Arthur was in his element. There was no room for emotion in combat. There was only strategy. It didn't take Arthur long to realize Derrian's drawbacks as a warrior. He was mind numbingly stupid and slow as an ox. However, he was also as strong as an ox. And fighting someone who towered over you by that much was just…disturbing. But Arthur was used to combat, used to someone else holding the advantage, used to someone wanting him dead. The key was to not give them anything to use against you. Make no mistakes. Don't let emotion cloud your judgment.

Arthur's strategy was simple: be the smaller, quicker opponent. Use quick jabs, quick retreats and draw blood whenever possible. Weaken him and then strike hard.

Unfortunately, the large man struck first, catching Arthur a glancing blow on the cheek. When Arthur took advantage of his momentum to slice out, he drew first blood, which, he thought, was a good thing. All part of his strategy. Except that drawing blood made the towering mountain of flesh rather angry and all of his hard sword swings became impossibly hard—driven by pure rage. Arthur had to jump around like a jackrabbit and block swing after swing to stay alive, which really started to piss him off.

His wall of self-control began to crumble. Memories assaulted him—Merlin's face as they had pierced his shoulder, "Sorry about this," and the last view of him, helpless, as Arthur had left the tent that night. What kind of a hellish nightmare was Queen Annis? How dare she hurt an innocent man? How dare she?

Arthur went on the attack, blade flashing, a roar of rage leaving him without permission. Again and again he struck, faster, harder, in a frenzy of motion. The giant fell back a few steps, slightly off-balance. Instantly, Arthur knew it to be the perfect moment, knew the perfect strike to execute; he was seconds away from claiming victory. He swung his sword back to take the giant's bloody head off.

Then everything started to go wrong.

The fight had been an overload to Merlin's senses from the start. He spent most of it clawing his way back from unconsciousness. But finally, there it was. Merlin stirred as he felt magic, polluted and potent, touch Arthur's sword.

A/N: Yes, this is a terrible place to leave it. I'm so sorry, but it had to be done to keep the next chapter unbroken!