Okay, The Heart of Camelot website is awesome. Plowed through this chapter and half of the next one with help from their writing sessions. Love it! Thank you everyone there! Nothing too interesting to say before the start, so let's do the review responses and get on with the chapter!

Reviewer Responses

M. of the Mountains: Sorry, chopped the chapter off. Lol. But here is new chapter!

flyaway213: Lol wot?

MegamiTenshiHime: Done!

Solar07: What can I say? I can be a cruel person. You should see the things I do to my characters in my original writing. *wince*

Felicity P: Wait no longer!

ebonypol: You're welcome!

Heart of Diamond: Le thank you!

WE-ARE-SHER-LOCKED: See? Not too long. :)

elflife: Hope you like!

IndiaMoore: Aww, thanks!

blackcallalily: Aaaaaand done!

Linnea.E: Yay! Comforting! :)

CaptainOzone: Aww, thank you! And I like Sir Bedivere as well. I remember searching through the characters for the Arthurian legends and I know Sir Bedivere was one of the knights that was rumored to have thrown Excalibur back into the lake (and returning three times, the reluctant plod) and since he would be protecting Dayla, whose tribe is named after the Lady of the Lake, I thought it appropriate. We'll have to see if I get the chance to run with him. I almost didn't put in the part with Dragoon, but when I explained the conversation to my sister, she thought it was funny enough to include, so thank her. Lol

Liv it up 124: I love Freylin, and I always knew I wanted to have a reference to her. I got this image of Arthur just being pounded in the gut with feelings and went with that.

Glacier22: A mean one?

Angeleye87: Not that I don't appreciate PMs, but here tis! Not too long of a wait, I think? XD

Thank you so much for your reviews! They really push me along in this story! 3

Alright, here we go!

Arthur never lost consciousness after the jolt, but he quickly wished he had. Every inch of his body burned and ached. The pain remained under the surface of his skin, like it was set in his very bones. He could feel himself shivering against the cold ground below him. His lungs spasmed; his breath coming in shallow gasps. There was a sound in his ears that sounded like a bell being rung on the other side of a thick pillow, and as it cleared he could hear the cries of his knights, attempting to rush to his aide and then being roughly restrained. When he managed to force his eyes open, even the dim light of the setting sun behind the mountain was enough to make him squint and his head throb.

As the tone in his ears died down, so- thankfully- did the pain in his body. It slowly ebbed out of him like water from a skin. He was even more grateful it did when he felt two pairs of rough hands establish powerful grips on his arms and yank him to his knees, putting pressure on his shoulders and holding his hands out behind him like a convict.

Directly in his sights was the fallen Excalibur. The sword had not a scratch or a blemish on it; as perfect as it had been while it was in his hand. Yet Arthur could easily tell that something within it had broken. His mind felt empty without Merlin's presence and he felt naked without the sword in his hand. He desperately pushed his thoughts into the now-vacated part of his mind as though he could will Merlin back to him, but he met only silence.

The sword was picked up and Arthur followed the foreign hands on the hilt to the face of the robed druid he had seen earlier at the mouth of the cave. He found himself suddenly and outrageously offended at the delicate hands that held the blade up. Arthur's ability to sense the dark waves flooding from the cave opening were now gone, but he had no doubt that this man was staining Excalibur with it.

The druid was a tall and handsome man, not too much older than the king himself. He was very thin, the robes hanging from his small frame looking a little too large for him. His hair was ebony black and dead straight, his large eyes the same color. His high cheekbones reminded mildly reminded the king of his servant, but he pushed the thought away; comparing Merlin to this man disturbed him a little.

"A fine blade," said the druid after examining the sword for a moment. His face was passionless, his mouth schooled into a thin line, and his eyes empty of the hatred that Arthur expected to see in those of his conspirators. In fact, his eyes seemed empty of… anything. It was unnerving.

"There's no need to be apprehensive, Your Highness," continued the druid, glancing to the two knights and back again. "No harm will come to you here."

"I see," grumbled Arthur. "I didn't get that impression." He tugged at his arms, but the hands binding him only pressed on him more.

"I am Rowan, the youngest of the Wylt tribe elders. I am simply here to escort you inside and to your room," said the druid giving a shallow bow. "You have nothing to fear from me, My Lords. It is my brothers about which you should be concerned."

He turned and Arthur was pulled to his feet. He was roughly shoved toward the cave and he could hear his knights being ushered in as well. Glancing over his shoulder, he smirked at the trouble the group was having with the Bear. No fewer than five men were currently attempting to restrain Percival, and though they were successfully shoving him into the cave's mouth, they were sure to be sore the next day. Directly behind Arthur, he heard Gwaine laugh as a smaller man sailed past them and hit a small pile of crates.

The cave was as unpleasant as he expected. There was an uneasy feeling in his gut as he looked around. The tunnel that made up the entrance was sloped downward and the king felt as though they were walking into the depths of the earth. The cave was carved open from a clearly-natural formation, and from the smoothness of the ceiling and the floor, it was plain that it had been done with magic. The area was largely deserted aside from one or two men they spotted guarding heavy wooden doors that sat here and there. Hallways branched in every direction and Arthur wondered how it was that the mountain above them remained in its place if this much space was open beneath it.

The king and his knights were lead to a door that sat far from the others. Four men were standing at its sides, crossbows in their hands and swords at their hips. The amount of security made Arthur smirk. These men may have the advantage, but clearly they were frightened of him. The door rumbled open to reveal a rather large square room. Against one wall, the king could see all manner of chains and manacles, some attached to the wall and others sitting loose on the ground. Directly above them, a dim light filtered down into a small circle on the floor from a long thin shaft that seemed to lead all the way to the sky above.

Arthur was secured first, his arms being pulled high behind his back until the muscles in his shoulders strained. His forearms were placed flush against the wall, his hands below his elbows, and locked there by thick manacles forcing him to remain on his knees and slightly bent forward. He growled at the discomfort and looked up as best he could at Rowan, who stood against the opposite wall still examining the sword.

He had to smile again as he heard Percival begin to struggle against the group of men that still held to him. Gwaine was quickly pushed against the wall to Arthur's left, forced to sit down, and had his hands pinned just above his head by another set of manacles. Two large man, each only slightly smaller than Percival, managed to pull his arms out to his sides and forced his head down while another two seemed to place all of their strength into holding the Bear's wrists where they were. After much fussing, struggling, and yelling, Percival was chained against the wall again, though his arms were hung high above his head and a few rough kicks to his gut were given out before the men finally vacated the room.

Percival chuckled at the attacks on his abdomen and looked to Rowan. "We do our best to make sure your victory is unpleasant. " Arthur heard Gwaine snort in agreement.

Rowan seemed unaffected by the statement, not even lifting his eyes from the sword he continued to examine. Arthur glared at the druid's hands. "What did you do to my sword?" he demanded.

Finally, Rowan met his eyes. "It was a simple containment spell." He didn't seem too keen to elaborate and the door to the room suddenly burst open. Two more men, each with a robe like Rowan's on, strode into the room.

The first was a middle-aged man, his hair showing flecks of gray, but his thick body and square jaw reflected a man not physically ailed by age. A smirk that matched the wickedness in his blue eyes curved his lips as he looked over the three men. The second man to enter was what Arthur had expected when he heard the term 'elder'. He was an old man with a thin white beard that reached to his collarbone and a head that possessed only a few wisps of short hair. He had a bent body and a scarred face, relying heavily on the gnarled branch he was using as a cane, and he looked at Arthur with green eyes heavy with anger and pain.

"My brothers," said Rowan, pushing off the wall and motioning to the middle-aged man. "Meurig." He gave a bow to the older man and presented the sword to him. Meurig looked to the king- an arrogant smirk on his face- and then began to examine the sword as Rowan had done. Rowan stepped past Meurig and placed a hand on the old man's shoulder. "And Rhodri."

The broad-shouldered Meurig stepped forward, and the chained men could feel his presence suddenly possess the room. He looked the sword up and down, swinging it experimentally a few times. "A fine sword," he said, repeating Rowan's words from earlier. "The finest I've seen." He looked at the golden plates on either side and ran his eyes down the inscriptions. "When I heard that King Arthur of Camelot was using a sword of magic," he said, smiling and tossing Arthur a glance the king figured Merlin would have called 'pompous', "I thought it was a joke." He frowned. "But it seems that hypocrisy runs in the Pendragon blood."

"You should know," chuckled Gwaine defiantly. "Serving Morgana Pendragon as you do."

With speed as fast as any unarmored knight, Meurig was in his face and slammed his broad hand across Gwaine's face. The knight didn't seem bothered by the red mark that began to mar his cheek; he seemed almost pleased. Without another word, Meurig stood and wandered back to the room's center to look at Arthur again, examining the sword once more and his eyes were drawn to the sparkling red gem that sat against the hilt.

Arthur felt his heart drop into his stomach and burst into a flurry of butterflies. Did he know the significance of its place on the sword?

Meurig tapped the stone with his finger, as though attempting to get its attention and Arthur swallowed nervously. After examining it once more, the druid smirked. "This is the Carr Emrys, is it not?" he asked with a chuckle. "Missing your warlock, are you?"

Arthur floundered for something to say. He still didn't know if the sorcerers understood the nature of the golden piece, and if he could avoid it, he wanted to avoid telling them himself. "Something like that," he finally growled.

Meurig's smirk continued for a moment, before a look of realization overtook his face. The butterflies in Arthur's stomach sprang to life again. He held the hilt up, moving forward a bit as though he were displaying it for the king's benefit. "You thought the other half would be here, didn't you?"

Arthur let out a breath he hoped Meurig didn't catch. Perhaps they didn't know after all, but Arthur refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer. He stared defiantly at the man and after a long moment Meurig burst into chuckles, standing straight and walking a few feet away from the king.

"I'm sure you're well aware that Morgana expected you to come here," he began, swinging the sword blithely, "so why on earth would she leave it here for you to find?" Again, the king and his knights were silent and Meurig eventually went back to examining the weapon, weighing it in his hands as one might weigh fruit or meat. "Either way, the sword seems powerful," he finally muttered.

"You have no idea," said Arthur with a small smirk of his own.

"Oh don't I?" asked Meurig as though daring the man to somehow prove his statement. When Arthur could provide none, the druid shrugged and walked to the wall opposite the prisoners and balanced the blade on its tip, leaning it against the wall. He dug his hand into a pocket within the folds of his robe and produced something that Arthur had to squint to see. One end of a long, thin, and elegant chain fell from his hand until the last link brushed the floor. He draped the chain over the hilt of the sword as though adorning someone with a shroud, twirling it so that it encompassed the blade two or three times. Once finished, he took a step back and aimed an open hand at the weapon.

"Weorc untoworpenlic! (1)"

Suddenly the chains tightened, holding flush against the blade and the hilt until there was not a single bit of it that remained loose. Meurig turned and smiled at Arthur. "Just in case," he said quietly, placing a finger to his lips as though he were sharing a secret.

As Meurig finished, the king couldn't help but notice the old man, Rhodri, hobbling slowly toward him. Also catching sight of the old man, Meurig seemed to give the floor to him and strode over to the heavy door, pounding on it until it opened a crack. "Tell everyone to gather their things. We ride for Camelot at dawn."

If there was a response, Arthur missed it. Rhodri was in his face suddenly, his scarred skin and wild eyes staring deeply into his own and burning them with rage. He felt one of his gnarled hands tangle itself in his short blonde hair for a moment before it was cruelly yanked back, stopped only by the strain on his shoulders.

"In a few days time," began Rhodri, his voice quavering with anger and what sounded to Arthur like grief, "you will kneel before the rightful queen of Camelot. And before she separates that pretty head from your shoulders, you will be made to see your precious Emrys die." His hand clenched tighter and pulled a little harder, forcing a small yelp from Arthur's throat as his shoulders screamed in protest. "Magic will finally return to the land, and you will finally pay for all that has happened." Arthur could feel the old man's hand shaking as it clenched with all the might he possessed. "My granddaughters... my sister... my nieces and nephews." Each word seemed to be a knife twisting in Rhodri's stomach judging by the pain in his eyes, and he did not once take them from Arthur's.

Far behind Rhodri, he saw Rowan take a step toward the old man. "They must be undamaged when they are presented to the Lady Morgana," the young one insisted.

Rhodri didn't seem to hear him and Meurig placed a hand on Rowan's shoulder. "Leave him. He's waited longer than any of us for this."

Arthur's eyes returned to Rhodri. Tears were slowly leaking from his aged green eyes. "I hope their spirits haunt you long after the Lady Morgana displays your head on the gates to the city," he growled in such a dark tone that it might've been less disturbing had the man screamed it at the top of his lungs. With those last words, he shoved Arthur's head forward with enough force to bounce his chin off his chest and hobbled back toward the wooden door. Rowan was quickly at his side, an arm looped under his for support.

Meurig smiled at the three prisoners, his thick arms crossed, but before he could leave, Arthur cried, "Let my knights go. Morgana's grief is with me, not them." Percival and Gwaine began to hiss objections at him, but he ignored them. He stared up at Meurig, whose eyes were filled with a strange and perverted amusement.

"Oh, I don't think so," said the large druid as Rowan opened the door for Rhodri. "The Lady Morgana says they are fantastic entertainment." He followed the other elders out and the three were left in silence.

The silence that filled the room after their exit was deafening. The room was large and filled with absolutely nothing save that small shaft of light that was steadily retreating. The air was musty and just cold enough to burn his lungs. The stone against which Arthur's forearms were shackled seemed to get no warmer as time passed, as though the wall were sucking the warmth from them. He wiggled a little, trying to find a position- any position- that would allow his shoulders some relief. He found none and he soon slumped forward until his forehead was as close to the floor as his biceps would allow. The muscles in his shoulders shook with the odd position and he consciously tried to relax them, though he had little luck.

He heard the heavy chains on his right clink together as Percival leaned toward him. "Are you alright, My Lord?" he asked.

"Of course," groaned Arthur, attempting to put some amount of humor into his voice. Strangled as it was, not much humor reached his knights. "They're just doing this to spite me."

"But what happened?" asked Gwaine. He could hear the man shuffling a little. "With the sword outside?"

Arthur turned his head to look at the dark-haired knight. "I don't know. All of a sudden there was this... pain." He winced at the thought of it. "And then there was just nothing. It was like Merlin was just pulled from my head."

"Well is he alright?" asked Percival, glancing across the room at the chained sword.

Arthur dared not strain his shoulders anymore and simply shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't heard or felt anything from it."

There was an odd silence that followed as Gwaine and Percival stared at the sword, attempting to come up with some sort of solution or explanation. However, ignorant as they were to magic in general, they could hardly come up with much to combat a containment spell. So Gwaine stuck with the first thing that popped into his head.

"Merlin!" he hissed, glancing to the door to ensure it didn't fly open to permit inquisitive guards. Percival gave him a strange look and Arthur turned his head to him and raised an upside-down eyebrow. Gwaine glanced to them but ignored the expressions and instead hissed again, "Merlin! Can you hear us?" Silence. "Merlin!"

When his voice grew louder, the wooden door suddenly flew open and a heavy-set man with crooked teeth and a straggly beard stuck his head in the door, a crossbow hanging from one hand. He threw a glare at the three of them. "You got somfin' wot needs sayin'?" he demanded.

Gwaine looked to Percival and then back to the guard before saying, with as much confidence as he could muster, "Merlin." The guard stared at him for a long moment. "Merlin," said Gwaine again as though the name alone should have explained everything the guard needed to know. "I like merlins," he continued.

The man raised a shaggy eyebrow. "Wot's a merlin?" he demanded, trying to decide if he should be offended by the term or not.

"Well, it's a hawk!" chipped Percival quickly when he saw Gwaine begin to flounder. "Merlins are birds."

Gwaine glanced to Percival and then nodded quickly. The man took a moment to regard the two of them before giving them an eye roll and pulling the door closed behind him. Gwaine let out a breath and exchanged a look with Percival. They couldn't help but smile as Arthur chuckled beside them.

"You like merlins, eh?" he asked.

Gwaine shrugged. "What? I heard Edlyn mention them."

"-thur!"

Arthur's back straightened, disregarding the strain on his shoulders now, and raised his head until he could see the chained sword. "Merlin?!" he cried.

"Oi!" came the muffled shout of the man outside, accompanied by a few heavy pounds of his thick fist. "Shut up wif your birds!"

Arthur ignored the door and looked to the knights. "Did you hear that?" he asked, dropping his voice to just above a whisper.

Gwaine and Percival shook their heads and looked to the sword. "Nothing," answered the Bear.

"Arthur!" The voice was quieter than a whisper, like a breath in the back of his mind.

Arthur smiled. "Merlin! What happened to you?"

"Containment spell."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I got that. But what did it do?"

"Trapped in... gem," said Merlin, his voice fading into the background a little and then returning.

"Are you alright?" asked Arthur, lowering his voice further. The connection between their minds was weak and quiet, but in that gaping hole that had been left by Merlin's absence there trickled a small bit of magic.

"Yes... -king on undoing the..."

Arthur felt more than heard Merlin's confirmation and he nodded to his knights. "He's alright. He's trying to break the enchantment." He let his back relax and his forehead once again hung just above the floor. "Hopefully he can do it before tomorrow."

~ooOoo~

Another explosion rocked the very stone they stood on and Dayla yelped, burying her face in Gwen's shoulder as dust and small chips of stone rained down on them. Gwen hoisted the druid a little higher on her hip and placed her free hand on her back. At her feet, Frio cooed and squeaked, hopping this way and that as though trying to figure out something to be done.

Sir Bedivere stood at the window, staring unflinchingly down at the chaos that had consumed the large courtyard. He could see Leon's blonde head standing at the entrance to the palace, ushering a throng of women, children, and elderly into the vaults.

"I should be down with Gaius," said the queen suddenly. Bedivere turned to find her looking at him, a pleading look on her face.

"I've sent people to help with the injured, Your Highness," he assured her.

She shook her head. "I've been helping him for years. I'm much better prepared for something like this."

Fighting the normal rules of decorum that screamed from within his head, he placed a hand on the shoulder opposite Dayla. It made him a little uncomfortable to be touching the queen at all, but the woman looked like she needed it. "With the king gone, you must keep yourself safe. We need you to guide us until he returns."

The absolute confidence with which the knight said the last sentence didn't quite ease Gwen's nerves, but she felt something settle in her stomach. Arthur would return, and he would do so soon.

The queen let out a rather un-queenly squeak as the arms around her neck tightened suddenly and then released. Dayla spasmed a little and then pulled back, her brown eyes wide with terror.

"The... the fox," she mumbled. She looked into Guinevere's eyes. "The witch has breached my wall!"

1: Inviolable suffering! From the episode The Tears of Uther Pendragon: Part One

That probably counts as another cliffhanger, eh? Sorreh.