"Banshee, giant black dogs, or even ordinary owls... Omens of death appear in all cultures. They are feared by some, disregarded and ridiculed as superstition by others, but one thing is certain; In the months leading up to his death, Arthur experienced things that calling disturbing, would be quite an understatement."

Elanor Wright

"The shadow of the great king"

The grey she wolf - or another herald of the end

A low, menacing murmur, from which the earth seemed to tremble, tore through my consciousness, causing several hundred heavily-armed horsemen to suddenly appear in a rather unspecific dream, a variation on the events of recent weeks. Before I could rouse myself and realise that it was the distant sound of thunder, my hand tightened on the hilt of the sword resting beside me. I moved my fingers over it and took a few deeper breaths. No enemy army was coming, there was no one to fight. I breathed a sigh of relief. Gone irretrievably were those times when I thought it was unbecoming for a man to wish that there were no wars.

I lay for a while, listening to the sounds of my surroundings. Gwaine was snoring as usual, someone moved restlessly, and there was thunder outside again. Expecting a storm, we decided to spend the night in an abandoned hut we came across on the way. We had been touring the border villages for a few days, trying to keep things discreet, mainly to check on rumours of Saxon hordes that were getting bolder and bolder. I wanted to look into the matter myself, as I had long feared that the Saxons would start causing trouble again. Many years ago, they were definitively chased out of Camelot and, it must be said, they remembered the lesson. This was the first battle my father took me to and in which I managed to prove myself, even though I was actually still a boy.

Of course, it would have been foolishness in its purest form to assume that this exceptionally fierce people wouldn't want to fight back sooner or later. I suspected, and the advisers agreed with me, that this might happen in the not-too-distant future, so it was important to keep an eye out for any, worrying signs.

So far, however, we have only run into a sizable band of highwaymen of unknown origin, which we have successfully dealt with. Not a trace of the Saxons. I wasn't sure whether this was good or bad. Leon used to say that the invisible enemy is the worst enemy, and it was hard to disagree, but on the other hand I was still foolishly hoping that the rumours were just rumours and the absence of Saxons just meant... the absence of Saxons.

Another thunder sounded decidedly closer. I decided that, since I was already awake, it would be a good idea to check that the horses were all right and, in the process, take care of another small but pressing matter before the storm raged in earnest. I sat down and looked around the hut; undoubtedly very old and long unoccupied. The chests standing against the walls were spilling out from old age, as Percival found out experimentally by sitting down on one of them. The rest of the furniture was in somewhat better condition; two chairs and a table were even usable. Gwaine tried to prove that the bed was as well, but when he found the faded skeleton of a cat under the musty bedspread, he let it go.

In the middle was a hearth, which we used. The fire was still smouldering, dispersing the darkness somewhat.

I had just put on my shoes when suddenly Mordred, sleeping on my left, began to toss about on the bed. His breathing was fast and shallow, his fingers clenched tightly on the blanket, his face drawn down in horror. I was about to wake him, but when I touched his shoulder, he immediately calmed down. I felt relieved, because fortunately an awkward situation had been avoided. Mordred was still too young and too ambitious to not secretly resent me later for saw… what I saw.

I turned and looked at Merlin huddled on the other side. The fool had thrown off his blanket. It looked like he wasn't sleeping soundly either. Something was definitely wrong with him. He curled up in a ball like some unfortunate creature who wants everyone leave him alone. If he found a burrow, he would probably hide in it. Such a strange thought flashed through my head at the time.

His behaviour worried me more and more. He used to rejoice like a fool, at practically everything, but now it was difficult to get him to even smile. He was unnaturally quiet, constantly thoughtful, more sensitive to the traditional teasing, and he fenced himself off from us with an impenetrable wall. Yes, he had had such episodes more than once, but they usually passed quite quickly. Whenever I noticed this, I tried to find the reason. I didn't want to leave him alone. He stayed by my side even when I didn't think I needed it at the time. He knew practically everything about me, but he didn't let me get too close to him. Sometimes I felt sorry for this. I depended on his complete trust. I didn't understand why, after what we had been through together, I still didn't deserve it. Once I almost asked him about it. I almost told him outright that it was a bit out of character for him to constantly reproach me for my supposed insensitivity, conceit... Well, he generally has a few of his favourite words, but when I reach out to him, he hides behind his bloody wall; either pretending to be stupid or simply ignoring me. I bit my tongue at the last moment and probably did the right thing.

In those days I was convinced that I was about to find out something, because whatever was tormenting Merlin was clearly beginning to overwhelm him. At some point there was bound to be an uncontrollable outburst. A few times I intended to try to get him drunk, which I failed to do for various reasons, however, and Gwen insisted that it might be counterproductive. So I gave up on that idea and just waited.

I picked up the blanket lying on the ground, shook the rubbish off it and covered Merlin. I thought fleetingly that if he woke up at that moment, he would have experienced quite a shock - the look on his face when I looked after him once, after he had been injured near the Valley of the Fallen Kings, was priceless.

I lit the torch, put on my belt, strapped my sword to it (the Heaven knows what might be lurking in the surrounding bushes) and left the hut. It wasn't raining yet, but a downpour was literally hanging in the air. Lightning cut through the sky time and again. The thunder, not loud but low and deep, seemed to come from within the earth, which gave an unpleasant impression.

We left the horses in a small shed nearby. In spirit I was grateful to Merlin, who had come up with the idea. Some animals, although used to many things, were afraid of lightning, and there at least they didn't see it and behaved rather calmly. The noise, however, was particularly making anxious Leon's still young mare. There was a risk that one frightened horse would drag the rest with it. Fortunately, two apples and a solid dose of patting, helped. The poor mare apparently decided that since they were giving out apples, nothing scary could be happening.

I closed the shed door and headed back to the hut. Then, with no small amount of astonishment, I noticed that someone was sitting on an old, twisted apple tree; a motionless, dark figure who, in addition, was watching me intently. I would have given my hand that no one had been there a moment ago. I blinked a few times, hoping it was some kind of illusion. She sat still. I didn't like that. Placing my hand on the hilt of my sword, I slowly walked closer. I lifted the torch and stood as if caught off guard.

A girl of fifteen at the most, with long, dark hair and unusually expressive, large eyes, dressed in a simple dress of grey wool, was sitting casually on a branch, her bare feet almost touching the ground. She didn't move, even though I was standing quite close and openly looking at her. She was also looking at me, strangely, penetratingly, until shivers went down my spine. I thought she might be a Druid. There is... something in their gaze.

I didn't want to scare her, so I spoke up as gently as I could.

"It isn't very wise to sit in a tree when a storm is coming. Are you lost?"

"No, my lord," she replied slowly. Her voice was low, deep, as if muffled, completely unsuitable for someone so young and delicate.

"In that case, what are you doing here?" She smiled slightly. She was petite, not tall, but lovely in her own way.

"I need not fear the storm. You see, my lord…" Her voice strangely blended with the next thunder. "I am the storm that inevitably comes. I am war, defeat, death and pain. I am the raven that circles over the corpses of the fallen. I am the grey she-wolf who will one day thrust herself at your throat to take your last breath. I am Morrigan."

I blinked again. The girl was no longer sitting, but standing in front of me, upright, much taller than she first appeared. Although it is difficult to imagine, there was no human emotion on her face, but at the same time, looking at her, one couldn't help feeling that there was something wild in her; some uncontrollable flame, capable of burning anything that got in its way.

I swiftly drew my sword, but she evaded me with feline agility and ran towards the forest. She moved swiftly and silently. The chase was pointless.

I stood for a moment, completely shocked. She must have been out of her mind. I could find no other explanation. If she was a witch and really had evil intentions, she wouldn't have run off like that. A madwoman and that was that. I have seen many lunatics like her. My father sentenced more than one to the stake, although in my opinion, it is difficult to blame someone who is simply out of his head.

Anyway, the whole incident was one of the most unpleasant ones.

Having decided that I had had enough excitement, I opened the door of the hut with considerable momentum and almost collided with Gwaine.

"You see Merlin? I was right," he said with clearly audible relief.

"What's the matter?" I asked, going inside. No one was asleep. Shit! I didn't want to wake them up.

"Merlin was a bit... frightened," Mordred replied uncertainly.

Merlin was lying on his back, not even pale, but green in the face. Mordred sat beside him, visibly moved.

"What? The storm?" I muttered, trying not to show anxiety.

"I wasn't frightened," growled Merlin and sat up abruptly. At first I didn't recognise his voice, it was so changed by anger. I was taken aback. Merlin rarely got really angry, if at all.

"It's alright." Mordred touched his arm carefully. "You're a bit under the weather. You're burning up. Lie down."

Well, yes. It was to be expected.

"He broke off suddenly, saw you were gone and wanted to run off by himself to look for you," Gwaine explained in a whisper. "Mordred stopped him and he did the right thing, because I think something is wrong with him. He dreamt that you were attacked by a grey wolf. He completely panicked. I'm telling you, if you hadn't come back, we probably wouldn't have been able to stop him."

I was suddenly cold. It must have been a coincidence. Certainly a mere coincidence, nothing more.

"I was just going to see where you were. We suspected you had gone out to check on the horses," continued Gwaine. "But I preferred to make sure. After all, some dreams aren't so completely pointless, are they?"

"Lie down," repeated Mordred. "You should get some rest."

"I'm not a nutter," gulped Merlin through clenched teeth. He looked at me. In that look I saw a shadow of fear and genuine anger.

"Hey!" interjected Gwaine before I had time to react. "Mordred didn't say that at all. He's worried about you, that's all."

For one brief moment, I was convinced that he had made a mistake and that we were about to see a fit of Merlin's fury, for which I wasn't the least bit prepared. I sent him a threatening look, under which he clearly began to regain his composure.

"I'm fine," he muttered. "Sorry," he added after a moment. He stood up and started looking for something in his bag. It thundered and finally poured down rain. For some unspecified reason, I felt relieved.

"It's a good thing we took shelter here," Leon said. I nodded.

"Do you have anything for the fever?" Mordred asked, looking at Merlin with concern. Merlin didn't answer. He was still rummaging through his bag. I was more than sure he had deliberately ignored the question. The relationship between these two, it was just the riddle of the century.

"Merlin!" I said sharply, wanting to know the answer myself. "Someone asked you about something!"

"Yes, sire. I have," he replied, pulling out a small bottle. His hand trembled and he almost dropped it, but Mordred seized it in an instant. Merlin looked at me with resignation, as if he had failed in some important duel.

"Lie down," I ordered. Curiously, he obeyed the command without comment. I went over and covered him additionally with my cloak. He didn't say anything to this either, which already annoyed me a little, because a royal cloak... is a royal cloak and he should appreciate it, and I was ready to swear that I had only aggravated his irritation.

"I'm sorry. I made a fool of myself," he said after a while. As a matter of fact, we thought he was asleep. We laid down ourselves.

"Sometimes it happens," Percival replied softly. Merlin sighed.

"Nothing new," I muttered, poking him lightly in the side and hoping he would catch what he should catch. I had an overwhelming urge to ask about the dream, but this was definitely the wrong time.

The next day I had planned to delay the departure on some trivial pretext to let Merlin rest longer, but it turned out that he had got up before everyone else as if nothing had happened and prepared breakfast. He had a terrible cold, and Leon was also beginning to break in his bones, so we decided it was high time to return to Camelot.

Before we left, I had a thorough look around myself at the apple tree where the confused girl was sitting. I found nothing suspicious. Only a wet raven feather. The traces, even if there were any, were blurred by the rain.

On the way, I decided to discreetly get Merlin to recount the dream. After all, as Gwaine stated, some dreams are not so completely pointless.

"I don't remember much," Merlin said. "I had a fever."

"You don't remember what you dreamt that made you want to look for me immediately?" I deliberately adopted a slightly mocking tone. I didn't want him to guess that I cared. He shook his head. I was in no position to judge whether he was telling the truth.

"Gwaine mentioned a grey wolf attacking me," I tried to go on. Merlin rolled his eyes.

"He's probably right. Everyone has dreamt of wolves at some point." He smiled. I couldn't help but respond with the same. The sun came out and the night's events suddenly seemed extremely ridiculous to me. We had all had a tough night. Simply put. I saw no reason to dwell on it any longer.