I don't own Merlin BBC, or Ranger-s Apprentice.

NOTE: For RA, this is set roughly a year after Horace and Cassandra's wedding. Also is less than two years after Emperor of Nihon-Ja.

For Merlin, this is set a short few months after the finale, with people not dying because I can do that on here. Morgana and Mordred are dead, though. And there might be a one shot coming of how Arthur's not dead.

Read this and like it, if not, I can just frame you for murder and steal your pets. :)

There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known.

Luke 12:2

Chapter One: Allons-Y

A strange figure clothed in a mottled cloak rode along a worn path on a nondescript horse, and the shaggy beast was small enough for some to have considered it nothing more than a pony with high ambitions. The rider did not stand out much more than his mount, but for a few points of interest. An impressive longbow slung over his shoulder, and a full quiver that rested against his back and shoulder. Any other weapons or strange items were not in full view.

If it weren't for the sun high overhead declaring the time of day to be midday, other passersby that happened upon that route would not have even noticed the cloaked man. Any shadows would have swiftly hidden his form and that of his horse.

Although, since it was midday, and all shadows would be at the feet of anything that dared to obstruct the summer sun: a passerby had spotted the cloaked man. Fortunately, this new rider, an apparent knight who was mounted on the back of a black battle horse, was a friend of the cloaked rider. The new man's broad torso and the unique insignia -a simple oakleaf- displayed on the shield attached to the rear of his horse clearly showed he was skilled at his craft. Not to mention the sword at his side, simple in design, but holding a deceptive strength and ingenuity of a genius's work and the art of smithing.

The shaggy horse slowed down, and the knight sped his own steed along to catch up with the man in front of him. Drawing level, the taller man grinned as he turned to face the one person he knew he could trust with anything, his long-time companion and comrade; confidant and military planner. His best friend.

"It's good to see you again, Horace." The cloaked man pulled back his hood, revealing a young face, putting his age close to that of the Knight he was riding alongside. He had disheveled hair and a short beard growing in, but what the Knight noticed most were the slight, dark colored circles under the man's eyes.

Horace knew his friend had been traveling for a good several months on a request from Crowley, the Commandant of the Ranger Corps, but a seed of worry planted itself into his mind. It wasn't so much that the shorter man looked merely tired -in fact, he was exhausted- it was that he had the presence of deep-seated weariness.

To see someone Horace knew as one of the strongest people he had ever met looking so… well, so tired. The discovery fueled that previous seed of worry, and renewed a feeling of panic over the reminder of some recent memories- not memories: dreams, Horace reminded himself. There were just dreams, and dreams had never caused anyone any harm.

Giving another grin, hoping that his friend wouldn't somehow guess what he was thinking -not that Will needed to know about some ridiculous nightmare right then, the two of them hadn't see each other for months and much catching up was in order- he questioned the man beside him good naturedly. "So, how did you know it was me who was riding up behind you?"

Ranger Will Treaty broke into a small, teasing grin, replying back with a raised brow as if the answer was obvious. "Horace, a deaf man could have heard you from a mile away. Only you could be so loud."

And a small part of Horace that couldn't help but doubt sighed with relief as he laughed out loud, because Will was still the same as always. Whatever had happened to the famous Ranger had not changed him, and they were together on another adventure. All was right in the world, and Horace could finally breathe.

"So, if you're done chortling like some kind of sickened mule, I'll just take a guess and say that you're joining me for this next little escapade?" Will let out an exasperated sigh, looking back over as the Oakleaf Knight quieted down.

He tried his best at a serious tone of voice, having to look away into the thick treeline surrounding the road so his friend couldn't see the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Does this escapade come with an almost certain chance of going wrong and an even higher chance of dying in a blaze of glory?"

Will tilted his head as he appeared to consider the query. "Probably," he answered simply, eyeing the man beside him, one brow already having been raised again.

Horace smirked, nothing had ever sounded more appealing to him. "Then let's go have ourselves an adventure."

"Oh, definitely." The Ranger added. The knight glanced at him, knowing the slighter man had more to say. "Camelot has been known to have been the instigator of many adventures, if rumors are to be believed."

A quiet, yet rhythmic tapping sound rang throughout the room. The tempo fast and staccato, and somewhat grating on the ears. Or supremely grating, in the case of a young warlock.

Merlin looked up from the book he was studying and stared balefully at the annoying offender. He kept his unimpressed gaze until the man seated across from him noticed. It took longer than it should have, and a noticeable twitch had started to tick above his right eye.

Finally, King Arthur stopped the infernal rapping of his fingers and looked up, letting out a distracted sigh. The legendary King and powerful Warlock met eyes and Arthur frowned. "What is it?" He asked, slight confusion seeping into his clipped tone.

The two of them were sitting at Gaius's table, in the physician's home. The aged man was off performing his duties and going about his rounds, a circuit that had temporarily become more extensive due to recent events. Merlin had been researching as much as he could on anything related to the upcoming conference. Arthur decided to join in, but had only been staring at the wall blandly while twitching nervously the past hour.

Merlin slid the dusty book of records to the side, giving up reading it in favor of clearing up what it was that put Arthur on edge. "'What is it?' You tell me! Because, Sire- I mean, Arthur," he corrected at his friend's stern look. "There's something bothering you. And since I'm not going to get anything done with you in such a mood, you might as well tell me what it is." He tried to sound commanding, but Merlin's voice came out more worrying. He could sense the other man's trepidation as if it were his own.

Arthur linked gazes with the warlock and bit back another sigh. "Alright," he conceded. "I suppose you might have a point there." He broke eye contact and exhaled a breathy chuckle at his friend's obvious concern. "It's just, the past months have been especially hard for Camelot. The past few years, even."

Merlin nodded, understanding. "And with the Temujai and their coming invasion…" he prompted.

"I don't know how we will manage." Arthur concluded, the reluctant truth hurting him more than any cursed mortal blade. The King swallowed, forging on. "Erak Starfollower, the Oberjarl of Skandia, an alliance or even a meeting with him would help us. At least give us an idea on how to start fighting these men from the Eastern Steppes." The young man sighed, and the warlock in front of the King studied him. Arthur looked much older when he feared for the future of his kingdom. And added to that, there was a depth to his eyes that hadn't been there before Merlin had brought his friend back from his brush with death.

Merlin shook his head, getting those thoughts out of his mind. Arthur was alive, his destiny was alive, and he would not let himself fail either one. "No matter what happens, I will be there, by your side. Never forget that, Arthur." He said in earnest. Arthur's eyes brightened and the aged look in them left.

"I know, Merlin. Gods, I know that." Arthur responded quietly. Using his eyes to convey his gratitude, his love for the man -his brother in all but blood- that had done what many would not be willing to attempt to save him, king or not.

His best friend that had sacrificed a part of his very soul, to save Arthur's life.

The King coughed slightly, and rolled his shoulders to banish the tension that had suddenly sprung up in them. Merlin looked at him with understanding as if he could read what was in Arthur's thoughts. Though, the King thought wryly, the idiot probably could. He definitely wouldn't put it past the warlock.

"So," Arthur commented after a brief silence, all too obvious that he wanted to distract himself from the previous trails his mind was taking him on. "What is it that you've got there?" He motioned to the all but forgotten book Merlin had shrugged aside earlier.

"Oh, this?" The former manservant pulled the heavy tome between the two of them and opened it up. The pages fell immediately to where he had last been reading it, despite there being no sign of a bookmark. "This right here is a record of what went on during the last time an Araluen noble came to Camelot." Merlin showed the book to Arthur with his finger pointing out the first paragraph. The date of the meeting was just a few short years after Arthur had been born, and the man's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"King Duncan." He breathed out, as he read who was at the meeting, the King of Araluen was the only one who stood out. Him and some random noble with the unfortunate name of Arratay. "He was here, but why did Camelot and Araluen never-"

Merlin cut him off with an almost melancholic shake of his head. "Keep reading, Arthur."

The King listened, but he told himself that it was only because Merlin was now an advisor of sorts.

And as he read, Arthur could feel dread filling him. He knew how much his father had, almost to the point of insanity, despised all things magic. How could he not? It was everything when he was growing up. But Arthur had to admit, even this seemed just a little too far to push.

The previous King of Camelot had blatantly antagonized a visiting royal, and went on to insult a group of his loyal supporters. Uther had suggested they were all dark sorcerers merely out to trick the young King into a false sense of security. Even going so far to imply that they had been in league with the Dark Lord Morgarath. The man who had just been driven out not even a year previously to the meet gone wrong after the madman had tried to take over Duncan's kingdom. Arthur's father must have been mad to even propose such an outlandish thing.

Sure, Arthur had gone throughout his life hearing many a tale and strange rumor about the farther countries. And many of the most interesting had been the ones about the famous King's Rangers of Araluen. People who were fantastically well skilled with longbows and knives, and who could disappear into thin air at will. But they were just rumors. Wives' tales that never truly held any ground.

Apparently his father had a rather contrasting opinion. Seeing as in the transcripts, King Duncan and his entourage left Camelot early the next morning. A footnote with a more recent date stated that the Araluen King had declined immediately any more invitations for talks or an alliance in all the years since.

Arthur Pendragon groaned. "And just how are we going to deal with an advance party from Araluen? Why, Merlin, why, had the Skandians only agreed to speak with us on the condition that we brought in another party?" The situation was too much to bear in that instant, and the young King lowered his head none too gently against the surface of the table. He repeated the action once more before giving up with one more sound of intense agitation bursting out of his throat.

Merlin chuckled at the King, despite the situation. Arthur glared heatedly at him for daring to find amusement in his pain. "Don't give up hope yet, Sire," Merlin added extra emphasis to the title, just to annoy his friend. "I'm certain Araluen wouldn't have agreed to even send out anyone if they didn't at least trust Camelot enough not to kill them on sight."

Arthur, surprisingly enough, didn't look at all encouraged.

"We'll just have to show them how different you are from your father. Show them how great of a king you've become." Merlin faced The Once and Future King with a positive grin. "I have no doubt that you can do this, Arthur."

Appearing more confident than he felt, Arthur smiled back. "Whatever happens, I'm glad you've got my back, Merlin."

Because truly, even amongst all of his knights, his beautiful wife, and the citizens of his kingdom that he loved… Merlin was the one and only person who made Arthur feel like he belonged. They had a bond that would never be broken, and even though that terrified him, the King of Camelot would never give it up for the world.

"Five archers down," the dark haired man panted, quickly glancing around with brown eyes full of suspicion at every shifting shadow hiding in the treeline. "Now, where's the final sixth?" Will's voice came through a haze of panic as the Ranger glanced around the clearing. The panic wasn't coming from him, though, but from his friend. His friend who had heard those same words time and again, to the point where he could do nothing but despise them.

Horace was frozen, his limbs like lead, as once again he watched his best friend die.

The movement came from the left, in the dense forest ahead of the group of foreign knights who had just begun to relax from defeating their foe. The small battle was won, and there hadn't been anything else for them to worry about.

But Horace knew. He knew what came next, and he knew the ensuing pain it would cause him.

Will pivoted, and it was as if time slowed down just to torture the one who was witnessing the display. The Ranger drew back his bow instinctively as he was turning toward the barely noticeable fluctuation in the shadows, and he released smoothly. His aim was true, and his arrow would hit his target dead center.

Oh, how Horace wished that was where this ended. He wished even more that he could somehow find a way to close his eyes to what came next, but he never could.

Because as soon as Will Treaty -the single most bravest man the knight had ever known- released his arrow, the sixth archer had released his own. Will stumbled, and he rotated slightly as he fell, with Horace finally freed from his paralysis and running in time to watch as his friend's form hit the ground. He could now see the distinctive shaft of the Temujai weapon; it had pierced the man's chest, just below the ribcage and slightly to the left side. Luckily, or unluckily, the arrow had not passed through and penetrated out the back.

Horace was sprinting towards Will, but no matter how much he pushed his muscles to greater speeds, extending their limits, his friend was still out of reach. Helplessness seized him as he felt the overwhelming fear that he would not make it in time. That his friend would die because he couldn't save him. That any effort he made to prepare himself for this moment would be in vain.

Everything suddenly went black and Horace found himself awake, beside a familiar campfire and in a cold sweat. The dark of night was thick, and the Oakleaf Knight attempted to quiet his heavy breathing as he rolled over onto his back.

For the past several months, Horace had been plagued intermittently by this single, vivid night terror. The first few times it came he ignored it, setting it aside by saying he just needed to relax more and keep his mind from being so anxious. He believed they would leave eventually, but they didn't. The dreams clung to him, and Horace decided that he had to do something to appease his conscience or he would go insane. So he did. Horace did the only thing that made sense to him, the only thing that struck him as a logical way to deal with his problem.

That one had been a little different than the usual, Horace thought back on the recent ordeal. All the others had ended with him cradling a cooling body, anguish and sorrow claiming his mind. But this dream, this nightmare, had been missing an ending.

He only hoped that his plan would work, in the case that what he saw would actually happen. Because dreams were only dreams, were they not?

Will's fist gripped tightly the fabric of the mottled cloak near his hand, witnessing as his friend forced himself to calm down from a nightmare. The Ranger only allowed himself to begin to relax when Horace's breathing evened out again nearly half an hour later, showing the signs he was returning to restful unconsciousness.

Shrugging his shoulders lightly, Will reminded himself that he was on watch, and that staring at his friend would not take away his pain. Even though it was the bulkier man's own affair, he wished that Horace would share what was on his mind. Though, the way the knight had tried diligently to stay hushed after awakening, Will knew the man did not want to voice what was troubling him.

Sighing as he made an uncannily noiseless circuit around the small camp, the Ranger made up his own mind about how to handle the situation. Will decided that he would confront Horace in the morning, and would not let himself be distracted. One way or another, Will was going to help Horace put an end to what was tormenting him.

Looking back, Gwaine should not have even been surprised by the situation he currently found himself experiencing. The very stupid and possibly deadly situation, one that he deeply regretted finding himself in. Just who else but him could get themselves into such a predicament? Gwaine couldn't think of anyone. Probably because no one had quite his amount of luck. Or, quite his type of luck.

Gwaine had merely been wandering the lower town, on his way to a tavern for a... light drink. He wasn't even looking to get into a drunken brawl.

But alas, he spotted a completely suspicious character making for the forest, and Gwaine could not deny his curiosity- er, duty. His duty as a Knight of Camelot, that of course involved following strangers creeping in wooded areas.

His mistake, though, had been going alone. As Gwaine had unfortunately found out, from all but stumbling in upon the camp himself, was that he was severely outnumbered.

Pulling uselessly at the stern ropes binding him bodily to a rather large tree, the knight reminded himself to never be so incredibly stupid again. Gwaine promised that if he survived, he would never get drunk again. Of course, he'd made the very same vow many times before to no avail, at least with the getting drunk thing, the whole 'staying alive' part had obviously kept working so far.

He was not wanting to die just yet, not when finding out Merlin had magic could open so many new doors -literally and figuratively- in his halfwit schemes. The thought of all the pranks that he had yet to pull filled Gwaine with a yearning to be free and safe away from these men.

He doubted the Temujai that had abducted him would let him go if he shared his reasons for them to do so. Also, seeing as they sent out scouts and assigned a generous amount of sentries around the camp, the knight guessed he was the least of their worries. It was easy to tell that they didn't want him for any knowledge that he could possess about Camelot. They were waiting for someone else.

The focused and determined men of the enemy camp paid him no notice. He was perturbed by their actions, and knew he had to escape before they merely killed him for being a hindrance. He wasn't a hostage, that he knew, and he wasn't being used as bait either, that he gathered from the busy attitudes of the encampment; the way they all seemed to be concentrating on the roads leading to Camelot, not from.

Gwaine was only there because he followed a scout back to his base, being caught in the process. Caught and injured, he reflected as his leg gave a painful twinge. Grimacing, he frowned at the simply bandaged wound on his left calf. The gash was a bit more than an annoyance, but he knew he could walk -or more likely, run- on it, if he managed to get away.

The knight leaned his head back against the tree behind him, staring at the sky. What he didn't yet understand was why he was still alive. Gwaine had been captured many times before and always for a reason. Just being in the wrong place at the wrong time -without even a wrong drink- made for a pretty sad way to die. Not to mention there was no reason for him to still be there. The Temujai had no reason to keep him alive.

As much as it relieved him to know he wasn't going to be interrogated or tortured by these men, Gwaine had an uneasy feeling about what their plans were for him. After all, the Temujai were most definitely expecting someone.

I hope y'all liked this beauty of mine. :) There will be more, since this is just a prologue. But I'll have you know, updates will be inconsistent.

I'm sorry to anyone reading my other stories, I'll finish them eventually. This really put me in a headlock.