The response to the first chapter was a huge surprise! Thank you so much to everyone that took the time to review, follow, and favourite, including the guest reviewers. Your feedback means the world to me. I notice a fair few people had a look at Burning Amidst an Ocean too - thanks for all the support.

Here is the next chapter - where the rot begins, I hope you enjoy it. As always, any comments will be appreciated.

Chapter 2 The Break-in

Merlin is a sorcerer, the most powerful ever to walk the earth – or so they say; so why did the mighty one keep finding himself in near-death situations? He was prevented from pondering this troublesome matter further by the distinct lack of oxygen reaching his brain.

The warlock's vision was starting to fade and he clawed at the fat fingers that were locked round his throat, trying to release the pressure on his trachea so he could breathe. He fought and kicked his assailant but the large man was out of reach even for the servant's gangly limbs. He was pinned mercilessly against stone, the unforgiving surface biting into his back and skull. Muscular forearms lifted Merlin off the ground, his feet desperately scrabbling but failing to find purchase.

The king's manservant could feel spittle hit his face, could smell the stench of bad teeth, but was deaf to the evil insults being delivered with glee; everything was obscured by the pounding in his skull. His brain and lungs screamed for air, but it could not get through. His head would surely explode with the build up of pressure that was fighting for release.

"I'm enjoying this," the man sneered.

If Merlin had been in a position to give a retort he would, but as it was he did not even register the words; he was too busy losing the battle to stay conscious.

"I will never have to listen to your stupid prattle ever again."

The warlock's world went black.

"I will squeeze until your eyes turn, you interfering piece of..."

The sentence was left hanging, but his wishes were granted. The ugly man never heard Merlin's voice again and his prey's eyes did change colour – vibrant gold, a split second before the monster was hurled through the air like a wet rag to strike the opposing wall. The limp body bounced off the bricks and fell to the floor with a resounding thud and a small cloud of dust.

The wounded warlock dropped to his knees and fell onto his side. He clutched at his throbbing neck, flailing like a fish out of water, gasping for the sweet oxygen that was his once more. He did not care that the debris from the floor was sucked up into his aching lungs or that his sight was yet to return, being alive was reward enough. The sorcerer barely had time to reflect on how saving Camelot had resulted in him injuring himself yet again before he was overtaken by exhaustion and blacked out.

There was a ringing sound disturbing his sleep and he batted at it feebly, which of course was useless. The noise was so loud it was impossible to get comfortable and the dark-haired man was forced to open his eyes. He was not in his bed, which is where he should be in the middle of the night; instead he lay on the floor in the middle of a cold corridor. It took a moment to remember what had led him to this destination, but his tight throat and the spectacle before him served as a reminder. To his left was the man that had attacked him – the oaf was alive but out cold. Merlin struggled to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.

The sound of pounding footsteps alerted the warlock to the imminent arrival of company. He picked up the metal pitcher that had been largely unsuccessful as the first line of defence against his assailant and muttered a hasty spell aimed at reducing the swelling of his throat. He only just had time to adjust his neckerchief so the damage was hidden before Leon and Gwaine skidded around the corner. The knights ground to a halt, swords drawn as they surveyed the scene with some surprise. After a brief pause Gwaine strides over and grasps his friend's skinny shoulder, giving it two affectionate slaps.

"Well done mate!" He winked, acknowledging the makeshift weapon Merlin brandished in his hands.

Both knights went to the fallen man's prone body and rolled him over, searching his form as if looking for something in addition to checking his vitals.

Arthur materialised moments later, flanked by two guards. Woken by the sound of the warning bell, the royal arrived in the main corridor to find his personal servant and two knights crowded around an inert form on the floor. Merlin looked shaken, leaning against the wall; he hugged himself awkwardly, rubbed his left arm, and could not hide the bruise beginning to bloom on his temple. The dark-haired man's gaze did not leave the crumpled, unconscious male.

The motionless figure was a servant who had been in the castle's employ for over six months. Arthur did not know his name but he recognised the face, his work had been exemplary. The reason the king was so familiar with this man was because Merlin had pointed him out a few days previously. His friend had come to him warning that something was going on, that the other servant could not be trusted. Unfortunately, Merlin had no proof other than a 'feeling', leaving the king powerless to act. So he had dismissed his manservant's claims. The rebuke had produced a look of hurt on the dark-haired man's face that had not gone unnoticed by the monarch.

"What happened?" The king barked.

Leon answered, "The vaults have been broken into and two guards were killed."

Arthur rubbed his brow; there were all manner of dangerous artefacts, precious metals, gems and weapons down there.

"What was taken?" He asked gravely.

"Small items of high value, mainly jewels from what we can tell," Gwaine retrieved the precious items that had been stuffed into the unconscious man's pockets and held aloft a silver amulet which swung hypnotically from his cupped hands.

"Are these all the missing items?"

Leon nodded, "We think so Sire."

The king sighed in relief, and shook his head, "Well, your actions seem to have averted a potential disaster."

"Thank you, Sire," Leon nods.

The warlock let out the breath he'd been holding. Arthur is about to wrap everything up – soon it will all be over and he can go back to his bed. His assailant is still unconscious, but if later he makes an accusation of sorcery who would believe him? He's an established liar and a thief.

"Hang on, what about our man Merlin?" Gwaine says enthusiastically, shooting the curly-haired knight a dirty look and motioning towards Merlin with a big grin, "He's the one who stopped the guy." It annoys Gwaine that his young friend never gets any recognition for the things he does.

The knight saunters over to the servant, placing an arm around his shoulders and giving an affectionate squeeze, "You dark horse, I didn't know you had it in you," he chuckles.

The thin man looked up for the first time, "eh..., erm...," he gave up on speaking and just smiled, slightly bewildered. Merlin inwardly cursed Gwaine; he means well, but the secret sorcerer would've been quite happy for the knights to take the credit – now all the attention is on him.

Arthur studied the large oaf out cold on the floor and glanced back to his slender servant. Ever since the king first saw those hideous scars on Merlin's lithe frame he had vowed to stop any more being added to the porcelain skin. The royal had started giving the notoriously clumsy servant lessons on how to defend himself. Merlin had shown some improvement, but still, this traitor had dispatched two guards in a gruesome manner and was twice the size of the lanky man.

"How?" The monarch was incredulous. Merlin never ceased to amaze.

All eyes turn towards the king's manservant, who had been unusually quite during the exchanges. Merlin jerked himself aware and took in the questioning look of his king. He bit his lip and hesitated before extricating himself from Gwaine's grip with a wince. He then produced a metal water pitcher from behind his back, one with a head-shaped dent in the side. He waved the jug nonchalantly with a twitch of the lips and small shoulder shrug.

"Merlin, are you mad?" Arthur screeched, "He's a giant, why didn't you get one of the knights?"

The servant looked exasperated, but was saved from speaking by Gaius' fortuitous arrival. The white-haired man's creaking joints announced his presence shortly before the hobbling physician came into view, breathless and escorted by Percival.

"What's this?" Exclaimed Gwaine, having gone back to the body. He rose to his feet, flicking a long fringe of wavy hair from his bearded face with a deft jerk of his chin. The rugged knight pulled out a leather package triumphantly and unravelled the bundle with some fanfare - it contained several glass vials, each with clear liquid in them.

"Gaius?" The king queried.

The physician held out a gnarled hand and the knight dropped the little bottles into his palm. Gaius grasped one and put the remaining vials in his pocket. The old man held it up to the torch light. He carefully uncorked it and sniffed, then put a drop of liquid onto his forefinger, rubbing it between that digit and his thumb before tasting it. Arthur watched, totally enthralled by the myriad of facial expressions the old man displayed as he worked. After an age and much smacking of lips, grunts, and groans; Gaius raised an eyebrow and addressed his liege – delivering a verdict.

"I cannot be certain Sire, but I believe this to be sodium pentothal," registering the blank expressions, he clarified, "commonly known as truth serum."

"Truth serum?" The king questioned, confused.

"I believe so, Your Highness. It is incredibly difficult to make even for the very skilled."

"Sorcery?" Arthur guessed, resigned. He missed his servant's flinch at the word, but Leon didn't.

"No, apothecary," the physician huffed. "The practice is often considered similar to that of witchcraft, but there is no magic involved. Unfortunately, many innocent chemists perished needlessly in the purge." He finished solemnly, clasping his hands together in front of his robes, having placed the vial in a pocket.

Gaius' tone was neutral but the statement demonstrated once again the indiscriminate slaughter that took place during Uther's reign. Arthur inwardly cringed. For years the easiest way to dispose of someone would be to suggest they were a magic user. The mere accusation itself was often enough to seal their fate - evidence rarely, if ever, came into it. The king shuddered; Guinevere had twice been moments from a horrific execution over a mere misunderstanding, only being saved by the discovery of the real magic wielder at the last second.

"It is a highly effective weapon; odourless, colourless, and tasteless," Gaius' explanation broke into the king's thoughts. "It produces an effect similar to intoxication, but is much more reliable. The victim answers questions willingly and afterward has no recollection. It is one of the more pleasant ways of extracting information."

The monarch put his hands on his hips and paced. Camelot had many secrets that her enemies would want, such as the layout of the citadel or the timing of patrols. He trusted his men implicitly, but how could they fight such an invisible force? Camelot knights were renowned for their loyalty, courage, and fortitude under pressure. The monarch shook his head, this method was so simple.

Gwaine took umbrage at the accusing glare he was receiving from the king.

"Don't look at me princess, I've not told him anything!" The rugged knight drew himself up defensively.

"You wouldn't know," the royal began, chest puffed, but was interrupted by a cough.

"We have caught the culprit," Leon supplied helpfully. "Hopefully he has been apprehended before he could put the plan into action."

Arthur sighed, he wanted to believe his second-in-command but the facts did not add up.

"If what Gaius says is true, this potion was made by someone who did not want to be noticed. It's a sophisticated form of attack." The king gestured to the lump on the floor, "He stole and killed, which is brutal and crass. It does not make sense."

Gwaine shrugged, "Perhaps he was employed by someone else and got greedy?" Despite the apparent carefree attitude and a penchant for ale, Gwaine was an intelligent and astute man. When it came to people and their motives, he was very perceptive. The thief had indeed been a pawn in a bigger scheme, but like many before him, he had been seduced by the lure of Camelot's treasures.

The king recognised the merit of what the knight had said, and Arthur found himself nodding. "Very well, let us trust that is the extent of it. Either way we will have our answers in the morning - we have the very means of gaining the information if it is not forthcoming."

Merlin felt sick - he'd used his magic on the traitor. Someone with a bloody truth tonic, what were the chances? When the slime-ball woke and was questioned he would delight in telling them. Should it somehow slip his mind, that damned potion would jog it for him and the sorcerer's secret would be a secret no more.

During the exchange the king had noticed Merlin sagging, slowly sliding down the wall. He looked distant as he nursed his arm absently; his eyes were bloodshot, he was far too pale and a little unsteady.

"Are you hurt?" Arthur exclaimed suddenly.

The warlock made a grunting noise and shook his head. Arthur could tell his servant was injured and lying about it. Anger flared. Arthur would have taken Merlin's response at face value not so long ago, but not anymore. The monarch marched over and wrenched the sleeve of his friend's tunic up to reveal a purple hand print over his wrist.

The king seethed. Giving Merlin a disappointed look, he dipped his head and blew hot air through flared nostrils. The injured limb fell gently back to its owner's side when the royal released him.

"Don't lie to me, Merlin; I'm not blind," he said viciously, struggling to keep the hurt out of his voice.

In the past his servant had repeatedly been wounded and covered it up, so the royal had taken it upon himself to pay more attention - especially after skirmishes. He had hoped his servant would be more honest, but it was becoming obvious that was not the case. Arthur did not like being taken for a fool. The marks on Merlin's arm were minor, so why hide them? What else was he concealing? He suspected the injuries were more extensive just by the way the servant had moved, yet his reluctance to admit this remained a mystery. Doubts burrowed into his mind and would not go away.

The royal was weary and slight irritation crept into his voice, "Take the traitor to the dungeons," he waved his finger at the direction of the thief. "We will question him at first light," the command was directed at his knights. "Merlin, get Gaius to check your arm." Then he added, quietly and with some resignation, "You look tired, get some sleep – I will expect you at normal time in the morning."

"Yes Sire," Merlin nodded submissively. He was relieved Arthur had not pulled down his neckerchief; the faded red material barely hid the marks he'd received when the spy had tried to strangle him. Should the royal have discovered the bruises to his throat his victory over a man twice his size would have been even more unbelievable. The warlock knew the king was angry and he felt slightly ashamed. Arthur had been trying so hard recently; the usually oblivious royal had started applying his sharp hunting skills and had become more observant and, subsequently, more suspicious. The secret sorcerer was terrified of making a slip up and revealing his gift. But if the captive man spoke what did his effort matter? He tried not to think about it.

It was second nature to draw attention away from himself by blending into the background and playing an idiot. That way no one would imagine him a powerful warlock – the very thought would be absurd. Perhaps he should have told Arthur the extent of his injures, but things were getting tricky as it was. Arthur had insisted on giving him private lessons in swordsmanship; the sovereign now watched him intently and if it wasn't the king, then it was Leon. The curly-haired knight kept popping up in all manner of inconvenient places. It made him feel paranoid and was making clandestine trips around the castle very difficult.

These extra precautions seemed to be in place since his near-drowning. He should have been grateful for their concern because it showed that, underneath the insults, they cared. Yet the attention smothered him and he was not worthy of it. He was a fraud. Emrys was a mighty warlock; he did not need looking after. As long as he wasn't taken by surprise he was more than capable of taking care of himself and protecting his king. The knights and Arthur were blinded by his simple persona; it would make it so much worse when they discovered his deception and found out what he really was.

The following morning the king went to question the thief, accompanied by Gwaine and Percival. All hell had broken loose. The prisoner had a knife at the neck of a man, holding him hostage; somehow he'd managed to strangle a guard and escape from the cell. There was an uncomfortable silence; the knights drew their swords and Arthur spoke.

"Put the knife down and release the guard; you're outnumbered."

"No, I don't think I will," he said as he edged towards the corridor. Feeling like he had the upper hand, the large man couldn't resist gloating. "You're such a fool. You don't know what's going on with your own staff," he sneered.

"We still caught you," the guard said through gritted teeth, his gaze darting between the knights and his captor.

"No, the runt got me. I'd never have guessed, sneaky little...," seeing the confusion flick over the royal's face, he added, "Oh, didn't you know, Pendragon? Your personal servant's a...," the thief choked on the words and his eyes suddenly widened in shock. The knife clattered to the floor as he looked down and clasped his chest, red blossoming beneath his fingers. His body pitched forward to hit the ground hard, a sword protruding from his back.

The freed guard fainted, joining the dead man in a heap on the floor. Leon was now revealed as the knight who had put an end to the murderer's rampage. He stood stoically awaiting judgement.

"Leon! What have you done? We needed to question him!"

"I'm sorry Sire," Leon bowed, "he was dangerous. He'd killed three men and was threatening a fourth – it was necessary." The curly-haired knight responded reasonably and with the utmost respect.

The thief was dead and his secrets died with him. Leon did not regret what he'd done; he'd seen the man's body when Gaius had checked him over last night, when the physician had confirmed he would be fine. Leon knew the man's injuries were consistent with being thrown against a wall, not a blow to the head with a tiny water pitcher. The knight had sworn to protect Merlin, even if the servant was not aware of it, and if that meant killing a dangerous and vindictive murderer before he could be questioned then so be it.

As the knights had removed the bodies, the royal lamented over another attack on Camelot - albeit a failed one. He watched everyone depart and sat quietly, absorbed in his own thoughts. As Arthur readied himself to leave something caught his eye. He bent down and picked up a vial – They must have missed it when searching the prisoner earlier. The king stuffed the tiny bottle in his back pocket and returned to his chambers. He would give the potion to Gaius later.