Hello everybody and welcome to my new- and first- Merlin FanFic. You might be wondering what to expect from this story. Well, I hope a well-balanced plot, with a foundation in adventure, some dashes of humour and a couple of side-trips into angst. Story development might be somewhat slow, but I hope it's worth the read. Pairings will be clearly Arthur/Gwen and slightly Merlin/OC. Don't like don't read, but her eyes don't change colour. Give it a try, honestly. I'll be trying my hardest to create a multi-dimensional character and she won't be introduced till at least two more chapters. Besides, canon doesn't really offer any non-evil, non-dead love-interests for Merlin, poor guy.

Before I finish my rambling and move on to the story, here a short summary of the plot:

It's been two months since Morgana and Morgause attacked Camelot with an immortal army. While the town is still ailing from the damages and losses, things are finally beginning to get back to normal. However, a strange illness begins to spread, causing people to fall asleep and die of mysteriously appearing injuries in their sleep. When the plague spreads to the castle, the situation seems hopeless. Merlin decides to seek the Great Dragons council, who sends our favourite heroes on a quest to find and kill a mythical being. However, they have to fight on two fronts and nothing is as it seems. Will Arthur and Merlin succeed in saving Camelot and who is really behind the illness?

Third Person Narration all the way, literary style. R&R.

Chapter 1: Sleep tight...

Stumbling over rocks and branches, Merlin tried to keep his balance while running. Just ahead of him Arthur was crashing through the woodwork. Behind them he heard the voices of the men hunting them.

He was sick of it. How came all of Arthur's hunting trips inevitably ended with them having to outrun bandits, assassins, creatures or other general unpleasantries? Once, just once, he wanted a hunting trip to end with them being the hunters and not the prey.

He tripped over a half-rotten branch and tumbled to the ground. Even though a big bush broke his fall, Merlin just might have preferred it hadn't. He felt thorns cutting his skin. Arthur, who at first hadn't noticed his servant's fall made a sharp turn and grabbed Merlin's arm. "What the hell do you think you're doing. Come on!" He ripped him to his feat and, still holding on to his arm, dragged him along.

The voices and crashing steps drew nearer.

Merlin felt sharp waves of pain shooting through his left foot. He must have twisted it when he fell. He clenched his teeth.

"Merlin! Don't drag your feet! Do you want to die?" Arthur shouted. Under normal circumstances, Arthur would have probably faced their assailants head on. This time however, they were out-numbered by fifteen people. Fighting all of them at once was a feat not even Arthur could accomplish and even Merlin doubted he could take them without revealing his magic to Arthur. Which really wasn't an option.

Merlin tried to pick up his pace, huffing heavily. The bag on his back was weighting him down and he felt like his lungs were about to explode. He wasn't running but rather falling, just managing to put a foot in front of the other before hitting the ground.

Suddenly he felt a sharp tug. He couldn't catch the movement in time. His feet slipped from under him and once again, he went down. Arthur, who hadn't let go of his arm the whole time was pulled down with him. He voiced his extreme dissatisfaction with several very rude curses directed at Merlin, who was scrambling to get back on his feet. It didn't work. Something was pulling him to the ground. He threw his head around so hard, he felt his spine crack. The backpack had been caught in a low tree-branch. Merlin reached behind and tried to free himself with trembling hands. But no matter how hard he tried, his hands kept slipping.

Arthur, who now was back on his feet, grabbed his shoulders and slipped off the straps tying the backpack to Merlin's back, all his attention focused on the task at hand. Seeing how Merlin continued to try and liberate the bag even after he was free, he slapped his hands away. "Just leave it, you idiot. Get your..." He froze in the middle of his movement, staring at a point right above Merlin's head.

"What?" Merlin asked breathlessly.

"Merlin, shut up." The prince hissed "Don't move". He was rising slowly and the arm holding his sword had shot up and was pointing at something behind Merlin.

Oh, he wasn't going to like this, Merlin could tell just by looking at Arthur's face.

He felt something cold pressing against the back of his neck. Something cold and definitely pointy. "Is that..." he started, but one look from Arthur shut him up. It was.

"Drop your weapon." demanded a voice behind him.

"Like I would do that in this kind of situation. What's to tell me you wont run your sword right through him as soon as I lower mine?" Arthur replied stoically.

"You'll have to take your chances, boy, because if you don't, your companion will definitely die." The same gruff voice answered. Arthur's nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. The cold pressure in Merlin's neck increased and he felt how metal ripped through skin. His eyes widened and he held his breath. He felt like even the slightest movement could be his last.

Arthur was still towering in front of him, eyes narrowed to slits. When he saw the movement of the sword in Merlin's neck, his entire body instantly tensed up, ready to strike immediately. But Merlin knew that the distance was to great. No matter how fast Arthur attacked, his head would be rolling over the ground before he could even come close to land a blow. The prince seemed to realise this as well. Still glaring at the assailant he slowly dropped his arm. The sword clattered to the ground.

"It's down. Now let him...No!" Arthur's face distorted with mad anger and panic. It was funny, how everything seemed to slow down around Merlin. Arthur, who was leaping forward. The small bunny roused from the woodwork by the princes scream. The rocking branches in the wind. The dead brown autumn leaves gliding to the ground. Everything just suddenly went slow-motion. The sounds of birds an insects intensified to a deafening roar.

Everything was floating around Merlin like viscous syrup- with a dash of thunder.

And then came the pain. Sharp, hot, terrifying pain between his shoulder-blades. Ravaging through his body, all the way to his head. Merlin opened his mouth, frantically trying to draw a breath. Breathing had always seemed like a good idea, what with it being essential to staying alive. Turns out, it's not so much when your lungs have been pierced by a blade. The air seemed to slice through his airways even further, choking him and forcing him to cough. He tasted salty liquid in his mouth.

Something behind him dropped with a thump. More crashes, more screams. He didn't care. It didn't matter any more. The world around him was speeding up, swirling colours sinking into nothingness.

A voice was shouting his name. Arthur's voice. An unusual tinge of panic in it. He vaguely felt hands on his body, pressing on his chest where the sword had pierced right through his body. Arthur was talking to him, but Merlin couldn't make out the words. He coughed again, but this time it wouldn't stop. Liquid filled his mouth, he felt like he was drowning in it. All that he could think about was the pain tearing up every fibre of his being. He wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop, the noise, the swirling, the shouting...

Merlin jolted up with a gasp. His hands frantically shot to his chest, running over the shirt. No dampness, no holes. Everything was in perfect order. Unharmed. Merlin drew a hard and shaky breath. Just a dream. Thank goodness.

Still out of breath he looked around the dim chamber, somewhat disoriented. Somehow the room seemed to be off. It took Merlin a while to realize that he owed this unusual perspective to the fact that he was lying on the ground. He must have fallen out of bed when he woke up. Which would also offer a wonderful explanation to why his body was aching all over. Merlin groaned. This was the third night in one week he had found himself on the floor. He threw a look out the window. It was still dark outside, only a thin stripe of light grey on the horizon foreshadowed the dawning day. If he got back into bed he could probably salvage another two hours of sleep or so.

His breath was back to being steady and he felt calmer. Merlin decided that some more shut-eye would most definitely do no harm and stood up, ready to crawl back into bed. His left ankle ached when he put weight on it. Just great. He must have twisted it when he fell out of bed. Now that would make tomorrows work just one big pleasure, he thought sarcastically. Hunting trips, he mused just before falling back into a comfortable slumber, never brought any good. Not in reality and most certainly not in his dreams.

When he woke up for the second time in the morning, the bright sunshine tickling his nose, the nights terror was all but gone. He felt a little tired, but still refreshed as he jumped out of bed and threw on his clothes. Thinking about it now, it had been a really ridiculous dream, probably caused by the general anxiety and tense atmosphere in the castle ever since Morgana had been publicly revealed to be in cahoots with Morgouse. Uther, still recovering from the mental damage, had retreated to his chambers for almost two weeks, leaving anything and everything up to Arthur to deal with. Who in turn, had left Merlin with way more work than he could possibly handle on his own. Fortunately his little secret had allowed him to do two or three chores at the same time, even though he had to practice his magic with even more care than ever before. But now, two months after the dreadful attack by the immortal army, things were slowly falling back into place. While still visibly affected by the events, Uther had pulled himself together and once more taken reign over the country. No matter how much Merlin loathed the man for his blind hatred of things he did not comprehend, he could not help himself but admire the strength of spirit it must have taken him to deal with the betrayal of the person most precious to him.

Of course, seeing as all of Uthers fears had been once more confirmed by the corruption of Morgana's once gentle spirit by magic, sorcery was being persecuted more rigorously than ever, barring the Great Purge. For two weeks after Uther had come out of his chambers, the pyres had been burning with a dreadful regularity, wrapping the castle in a thick blanket of smoke at times. Seventeen executions in barely just as many days. Arthur, who had been sent out several times to arrest anyone even remotely suspect of having ties to magic had been in an appalling mood for the better part of the days since the attack and Merlin himself had dreamt more than once of knights knocking at his door late at night, of them coming into his small chamber to drag him to his execution. In comparison with dire reality, last night's dream seemed to pale.

Now, yet another month later, the situation seemed to have simmered down a bit. During the past week only one arrest had been made and after days of questioning the prisoner, a young boy of fourteen, had been released back into the custody of his relieved parents.

One good had come out of it all. Being distracted first by grief, then by rage and now by the heavy workload imposed on him by the urgently needed reconstructions, Uther had largely overlooked the impropriety of Arthur raising peasants to knighthood and his now openly displayed feelings for Gwen. He hadn't escaped some half-hearted reproaches and Gwen had told Merlin in confidence that Uther had threatened her with banishment more than once, but no action had ever followed those threats. There had been more pressing issues at hand and even though he seemed to have regained most of his former resolve, Uther didn't seem to be able to muster up the same amount of vigour to opress his son as he had in the past. Maybe he was afraid of alienating the only other person whose regard he had always been certain of after loosing his daughter. As long as Arthur did not display his affection right under his father's nose, the young couple should be safe for a while. Merlin even reluctantly dared to hope that once everything had blown over, Uther might have gotten so used to the idea, that he would continue to ignore his sons so-called misconduct.

His mind occupied with musings such as this he entered Arthur's chambers. The prince, how could it be any different, was fast asleep in his bed. Merlin drew open the curtains and woke him with an enthusiastic "Rise and shine!". Arthur groaned and threw a cushion in Merlin's general direction, which the latter managed to dodge thanks to vast amount of practice in that area.

"Come on, your royal pratiness" he muttered under his breath. Another object, this time a goblet, came flying in his direction. But the words had achieved the desired effect. Arthur was sitting up in his bed, running his fingers through his hair. He shot an unappreciative glance at Merlin.

"Merlin. Do you never get sick of repeating the same line over and over?" he asked. Merlin grinned. "Now that I think about it, I can always change it to 'Wake up, clotpole' if you want me to." he replied, while picking up some stray clothes from the ground and folding them. Seriously, prince or not, how hard could it be to undress in an orderly fashion?

"I dare you to do that and you'll be mucking out my horses every day for years to come." Arthur threatened.

"I'll be mucking out your horses everyday for years to come regardless." Merlin retorted, placing a plate of cheese and ham on the big oak-table in the middle of the room. The sun shone brightly into the room and Arthur blinked when the reflection from the silver plate hit his eyes. He climbed out of bed and disappeared behind the screen next to his wardrobe. Several moments passed. "Merlin." Merlin proceeded to rearrange some random papers on Arthur's desk. "Merlin!" The voice grew impatient. The servant looked up "What is it?".

"Pass me my clothes, will you, you sorry excuse for a servant!" Arthur demanded grudgingly.

"Right." Merlin opened the wardrobe and grabbed the objects of desire. A nightgown landed in his face. "I need you to wash my clothes and dust my chamber. It looks absolutely appalling." Arthur appeared from behind the screen, still tying up the straps of his tunic. With a quick glance at Merlin he added "As do you. What's with the funny walk? Did you finally realize your calling as a jester?" Merlin rolled his eyes. "I fell." he answered hesitantly. Arthur looked at him expectantly. Merlin groaned. He would never hear the end of this. "Out of bed." he added with an exasperated sigh.

This time Arthur was the one to roll his eyes. "You really are one insufferable dingbat. Sometimes I wonder how you manage to stay alive just walking, if you can't even get out of bed without injury."

Yet, he mustered his servant carefully. He did indeed look somewhat off. His grin was not nearly as goofy as it usually was and he had slight dark circles under his eyes. Arthur pushed his guilty conscience for making the boy working so hard lately to the far back of his mind. None of them had gotten any decent rest lately, why should it be different for Merlin, of all people? Besides, as insolent as he was with complaining at every turn, if he was getting even remotely close to being overworked Arthur was certain Merlin wouldn't hesitate inform him of it in his usual snotty-nosed manner. He was useless enough as it was, really no need to indulge him any further.

On a different matter..."Have you seen Gwen recently?" He asked, hoping to sound as casual as if he was talking about the weather. He failed miserably. He had been so busy sorting through the state's affairs, he hadn't had any time to spare for quality time with her. Rushed conversations about random topics in the hall and fleeing touches were all it had amounted to in the past weeks. He didn't even know what she was doing now, with her main employer, Morgana, gone.

A deep scowl appeared on his face when his thoughts drifted in that direction. His mind understood perfectly well what had happened, but within his heart he could not even remotely grasp her betrayal. Sure, she had been annoying and insufferably overbearing at times, but he had always felt nothing but the deepest brotherly affection for her. Even not knowing that they were indeed related. He could not fathom how her feelings towards him could have been of such deep hatred. In a twisted way, he understood how she had come to hate the king. He had, after all, relentlessly persecuted everyone of her kin, he had kept her true identity from her. But even so, why had she turned to sorcery? In a desperate attempt to understand, he had asked Gaius, the trusted advisor whom he never had known at a loss for an explanation. When the court physician had explained to him that magic wasn't always a choice, that some people were just born with it and that Morgana might have been one of those cases, he had been dumbfounded. He could only imagine the terror she must have felt when she realised what she was, that her very being was punishable by death in Camelot. But he himself had never expressed such harsh opinions, he had even helped her to get that druid boy to safety, risking his standing with his father in the process. How had Morgana come to consider him her enemy? Maybe his father had been right all along. Maybe magic was really a force leading to the inevitable corruption of even the gentlest of souls, something Arthur had never quite as ardently believed as the king. Certainly he had dreaded it as a tool capable of inflicting great pain and suffering, but so was a sword or an arrow. Yet they didn't burn all swords and arrows and they certainly did not assume that anybody carrying them was inherently evil. Recent events though had sent his mind down a different road.

His brooding was interrupted by Merlin's answer. "I saw her a couple of days ago. She's doing fine, considering everything. They employ her in the kitchen now mostly and Gaius asked her to help out as a makeshift nurse. There are many still ailing from injuries received in the attack, so there is much to be done."

"I see." Arthur replied, still trying to sound nonchalantly. Merlin grinned. "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure she hasn't forgotten all about you. Might be that her thoughts are somewhat distracted, but deep within I am certain she thinks of you just as much as you are pining after her."

"I am not pining!" He wasn't. Princes don't pine. They are vaguely interested.

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, Sire." Merlin stated with a mischievous smile. That comment alone warranted an object, preferably a hard one, directed at his head. Arthur grabbed a random piece of dinnerware, ready for the throw, but his servant had already ducked out of the room. At least he knew what was coming to him, even though that didn't stop him from making snotty remarks. "Don't forget my laundry and the dusting or I swear to god, I'll have you in the stocks for a week!" Arthur shouted before the door fell shut. The people needed something to brighten their mood, after all.

Merlin didn't stop grinning until he had reached Gaius' chambers. The embarrassed look on Arthur's face had been just too funny. For a prince who had faced the crowd as a leader for as long as he probably could remember, he was really surprisingly awkward when it came to his personal affairs. Merlin opened the door. "Gaius, I'll have to postpone collecting those herbs for you. Arthur has me doing chores again. He really is a.." he announced while stepping inside. However, the presumably not very nice remark about Arthur's character froze on his lips, when he saw the king and a knight whose name he did not know standing next to the physician, who was bowing over a fourth man spread out on the bed. When he stepped closer, Merlin recognized Sir Leon. The man's face looked unnaturally pale in the flickering light of the candles. His eyes were tightly closed and pearls of sweat covered his forehead. "What happened?" Merlin asked, worried. He had never conversed much with the man but on those rare occasions he had always been very kind to him. He was also, Merlin knew, one of Arthur's most loyal and trusted knights who would lay down his life to protect Camelot without batting an eye. Had there been an attack? He hoped not. Everybody was still recovering from the last one, most knights were in much less than optimal physical condition. Thwarting an attack in this state would be difficult, if not next to impossible. Gaius, who had looked up at his entrance shook his head. "We don't know. He was found like this in his chambers today. It seems to be impossible to wake him." The physician said. "I need you to rush to the herb-store in the lower town and get me these supplies." He added, handing his semi-assistant a list. Merlin glanced over it and swallowed. Some of the ingredients contained very potent components used to treat comatose patients. During some of those very rare discussions of the physician's art, Gaius had warned Merlin to only use them under the most pressing of circumstances. "I'll go right away. However, Arthur needs to..." The king waved his hand dismissively. "I will send somebody to attend to my son. Gaius, what can you tell me?"

Merlin didn't get to hear his mentor's answer, for he was out the door and back in the corridor before he had time to respond. Certainly, this was only a sickness, not caused by an attack. He had not seen any injuries on Sir Leon's body. Yet, he could not suppress an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach while he rushed down the road leading to the lower town.

When he had purchased all the ingredients on his list and stepped out of the store, he heard a familiar voice call his name. It was Gwen, accompanied by her brother Eylan. Sir Eylan, Merlin added mentally. "Merlin. Are you running an errand for Gaius?" She asked him. He replied in the affirmative. "Sir Leon has fallen ill and Gaius needed me to get some supplies." he added. Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Fallen ill? He seemed fine when he was talking to Eylan yesterday, didn't he?" she asked, turning to her brother. "Yes. He seemed somewhat tired, but that's not all that unusual nowadays. Because so many knight are still recovering, all of the remaining ones have to pick up longer shifts for patrol and watch." Merlin nodded. That was true, all knights had been looking exhausted lately. He saw the same exhaustion on Eylan's face. "How is that going anyway? Are you growing accustomed to your duties?" he asked. After all, Gwen's brother had been raised to knighthood pretty much out of the blue. Even though he had a lot of fighting experience- gained doing the gods knows what- he had never gone through any proper military training. Having to jump into full service unprepared had to take its toll on him. "It's going. Not as good as I wish it to, but it suffices. I always seem to step on some kind of landmine with those nobles." Eylan explained with a pained expression on his face. Merlin grinned. Getting familiar with the customs of the court, he knew from past experience, could be exasperating. At least he had the advantage of just being a lowly servant, Sir Eylan was now expected to fit in with the nobles. That could not be easy. "I'm certain you're doing your best. And I bet most of them would rather have a gifted swordsman covering their backs than a clutz who knows which knife to use with fish. Even though they don't admit it." Gwen smiled at that. She was proud of her brother, who for once did something more productive than getting himself into unnecessary trouble. However, her face turned serious right away. "Merlin, that sickness...he wouldn't have fallen asleep without any explanation and now you're not able to wake him up?" she inquired frowning. Merlin stared at her. "As far as I know that is exactly what happened. But how would you know?" he asked. Her frown grew deeper. "If you have five minutes to spare, come with me." she said. Merlin hesitated. Gaius had sounded like he needed the supplies urgently. However, whatever Gwen wanted to show him must be something pertaining to Sir Leon's sickness, otherwise, how could she know about the symptoms? Eylan took the decision off him. "If you worried about getting the herbs to Gaius, I am on my way to practice right now. I can take them to him." he offered. Grateful, Merlin handed the parcel over and thanked him. Refusing to accept his thanks, Eylan kissed his sister goodbye and proceeded in the direction of the castle.

"So, Gwen, what is it you want to show me?" He asked, while following her into the opposite direction. "Lately the townspeople have been falling ill." She answered. "There is no apparent reason and medical expertise would be in order. However, with everything that is going on, Gaius has not yet found the time to make house-calls and the town's physicians are at a loss. But you will understand when you see it." After a while of walking in silence through narrow streets, Merlin suddenly remembered. "Arthur asked about you" he said, smiling sheepishly. Gwen blushed ever so slightly. "That was very kind of him." She said in her usual modest manner. Merlin's smile grew wider. "He's really down, not being able to see you. I think he's afraid you'll forget all about him when you don't see him on a daily basis." He added teasingly. Gwen blushed some more. "I think he knows very well that won't happen, Merlin."

"Of course he lets it all out on me. Please, Gwen, for my sake, if not for his, can't you just go and see him?" he asked, still grinning. Gwen also flashed a little smile. "I am afraid neither him nor I have the time right now. Besides, I am trying to stay out of Uther's sight as much as possible. Who knows when he'll change his mind about me?" She mused.

"I reckon Uther has more pressing issues at hand right now. Besides, you're the sister of one of his knights. Your standing has risen with that." he decidedly added. "A knight he just barely tolerates because he has no choice, Merlin. I doubt it will be that simple."

Merlin knew she was right and it showed on his face. Still, he didn't want her doubting the only thing that was bringin his friend so much happiness. Right now, there was enough doubt going around to last for centuries.

They had arrived at a house at the outskirts of town. It was more of a small hut, surrounded by a broken down fence and some patches of green. The traces of battles past were reflected in the battered appearance of the scrubby garden, which was all but trampled into the ground. All over the wooden walls were scorch marks. Some of the equally wooden stores were smashed to bits and rags formed the only makeshift protection against the harsh autumn wind. This was where the first wave of attack by Morgause's immortal army had hit. Many of the households in this part of towns had been burned to the ground or plundered relentlessly. It wasn't an amount of damage these simple people could repair easily. Gwen knocked at the door. Inside he heard the rustling of cloth and something clattering to the ground. A short silence followed. "It is me, Guinivere" the handmaid said. The door creaked and the terrified face of a child, maybe ten years of age appeared in the opening. Upon recognizing Gwen, a relieved smile cleared up its face and the door opened some more. The child made an inviting gesture which they followed.

If the outside of the hut had looked bad, the inside looked worse. A table and some broken chairs were standing in one corner of the room, which couldn't be much larger than fourteen square-metres. A small fire was glowing in the open fireplace but it was hardly able to sustain some warmth in the room. In another corner some more, even younger, children were sitting on a haystack. The smallest was still a toddler, lying in the arms of what must have be his older sister. A woman in a worn, brown dress was standing over a pot which seemed hardly large enough to contain enough food to feed all children present. The floor had been recently swiped, with a broom standing next to a heap of pottery-shards. The cupboards, for the better part with doors ripped out of their hinges were all but empty. The dim light of the fireplace only added to the bleak atmosphere in the room. These people had also been robbed by Cenred's mercenaries. Merlin felt hot anger rising up in his chest. He understood, no he even sympathised with Morgana's hatred of Uther. But what had these people ever done for her to allow such misery to happen during her short reign?

"This is Merlin." Gwen explained. "He is the court-physicians assistant and might be able to help." Merlin frowned. Gwen knew just as well as he did that he knew next to nothing about medicine. She was probably counting on him telling Gaius about whatever he was going to witness here.

"He 'an't woke up" The woman said turning to Gwen. "I were makin' 'im some soup, like 'e told me. But he wun't swallow't."

Gwen nodded. "May we see him?" she asked politely. The woman shrugged her shoulders and waved her hand towards a curtain at the far end of the room. Gwen drew it aside, revealing a bed with a man on it. Judging from his age he must have been the woman's husband. He had a haggard appearance, with eyes and cheeks deeply sunk in. His ruffled, muddy-blonde hair was wet from sweat. He was asleep so deep, that if Merlin hadn't heard quiet moans from time to time, he could have sworn he was dead. However, even with those life-signs he could not have been far from death. Gwen drew a chair near the bed and signalled Merlin to follow her example when she sat down. Placing a hand on the man's forehead she turned to the child that had let them in. "Aeron, could you get me a wet cloth please? I need to bring his fever down." The child vanished out the door and returned with the cloth shortly after. "T'is frum t'pigbassin. An't gut nuthin else t'spare." The woman commented. Gwen took the cloth and placed it on the man's forehead. "This is Carwyn. He's a pig farmer. And that," she looked in the direction of the woman "is Ffraid, his wife." Merlin acknowledged the introduction with a polite nod. "Carwyn became ill a week ago. He fell asleep one evening and did not wake up in the morning. We have tried all conventional means to rouse him, but nothing will work. They do not have the money to afford a proper physician, so I was hoping Gaius might come by and check on him sometime." She gently brushed the hair from the man's forehead. "It's been happening all over town. At first, it only affected the outlying parts, so I though it must have been the exhaustion or something about the food. But it is progressing further and further into town. Those afflicted all just fall asleep and don't wake up. Four have died already. Mostly because of starvation..." she proceeded to explain "Which is why I have been trying to force-feed them liquids. But they won't keep it down and most people out here do not have any food to waste."

At that Ffraid shot a sharp glance at Merlin to check his reaction. His clothes were, in comparison, well made and expensive, he looked well fed and rested. "Dun't waste 'er breth onn'im, luv. T'is a thing he cun't undr'stand. Prob'ly thinks us barbarians." But Merlin understood. Why feed a person who would probably die anyway and just spit the food back out, instead of those who were healthy and hungry? He remembered this kind of logic from his hometown Ealdor. Peasants were a practical people who, even though they suffered no less emotions, learned to keep them at bay in favour of the most economic decision. It was a stark contrast to the attitude at the castle, a kind of thinking somebody who had grown up wealthy like Arthur could never begin to understand. Not for lack of trying, to be fair. That's just how it was. These people lived in a different world with different rules. When somebody fell ill it was a tragedy and they would try their very best but there was always a point at which they had to move on, even if the person in question was technically still alive.

He shook his head. "You're doing your best, I can see that." he said directed at the woman. Not to justify himself, but rather to make it clear to her that he did not feel any condescension toward her. All people had pride, even when poverty sometimes overshadowed it. The woman acknowledged his gesture by letting it pass without comment and picking up the now screaming toddler.

He turned back to Gwen. "You said they 'mostly' died of starvation. Were there any other causes?"

The handmaid nodded. "Look for yourself." She drew back the blanket. Merlin drew in a sharp breath. The man's stomach was bandaged with bloody stripes of cloth. "What happened?" he asked. An infection could very well be the cause of a coma like this, even with his limited medical knowledge Merlin knew that. If he had been cut with a rusty tool or something along those lines, it would offer an explanation for his condition. Gwen shook her head. "I know what you're thinking, but it isn't the case. He was unhurt when he fell ill." Merlin frowned. "Then- an accident?" Maybe one of the children? Ffraid turned around. "T'were no accsident. I know how t'take care of me husband. T'just weren't there and then t'were."

"She is right. I was here when it happened. He just suddenly started bleeding." Gwen confirmed the woman's account.

"That's impossible. People don't just start bleeding...not if there's no..."

...magic involved, he was going to say, but he bit his tongue just in time. With Uther lashing out at anything remotely magical right now, one had better be more than completely certain before uttering those words. Gwen sighed distraught. "I know."

Suddenly Carwyn moaned again, louder than before. Merlin's eyes widened in disbelief and he jumped up. His chair cluttered to the ground. A long gash was opening up on the man's arm, as if an invisible knife was cutting him.

"What in the gods' name!"

Thanks for reading, everybody! I won't be updating this very regularly and not all chapter will be as long as this one, I'm afraid, what with it being the high-point of uni exams. But one must have one or two distractions for the bad-must-study-conscience to kick in. On a side note, finding good British insults is seriously tough work. One has to understand the subtle contexts for them not to sound out of place. If any of you guys happens to be genuinely British and notices me using words inappropriately, please do tell. A chocolate-chip cookie for anybody kind enough to send me a list of nice sounding insults.

But I had an even tougher time trying to mimic the dialect, considering I only ever heard RP. I'm afraid I jumbled up quite some regional dialects there, sorry bout that.

Any help with plot-holes, grammar mistakes, misrepresented canon, OOCishness and, if you continue reading and meet my OC, dangerous proximity to dreaded Mary-Sue-ishness will be duly noted, pondered and most of all, much appreciated.

Cheers, Chavva