AN: Hey everybody! The new sequel's out, and I wanted to make sure all the story followers were informed. Hence the new chapter. So that this wasn't too much a waste of time, here's the first half of the sequel, Warpath. Read the rest of the chapter at the new story! s/8984004/1/Warpath

Shameless self-promotion, I know. But I hope you enjoy the story!

The front of war is never as clean as the bards tell it. All meaning and ideals and hopes are crushed underfoot with each clash of the sword, with each dying breath.

Arthur Pendragon has been in too many battles to ever expect anything else.

The tarnished glory of men felled and loot seized dazzle in the glow of peace, but they become a constant in war. The High King of Albion knows this, just as he knows that this war has already been stripped of its moral trappings to leave only a harsh struggle for survival.

Arthur urges his horse onwards, past the charred remains of the last skirmish. The strange fire called upon by Saxon magicians had devastated the first regiment during the battle, burning bodies past recognition, until Merlin had destroyed them and the fuel they used in turn. There seems to be little movement in the Saxon camps; another detachment has been sighted leaving for other targets, but the majority of the invasion force remains facing the Albion army entrenched in the ancient fortress of Glauchedon. And it is there that Arthur heads to now, returning from his daily reconnaissance of the front lines.

"G'damn weather," Gwaine mutters from behind as they gallop on, "the stench is stinking high."

Arthur doesn't take his eyes off the beaten road. "It's better than if it rains. Our water supplies could be tainted."

"It's sweltering," Leon replies, "Hard to believe it's already July."

The half-hearted talk about the weather continues as the small band of knights continues to Glauchedon. The fortress's beaten walls come into view soon enough, and before long they are all dismounted in the courtyard.

Arthur dismisses the knights to allow them some rest. Even if there is no hint of battle for tomorrow, he wants to make sure tiredness is not an issue on top of everything else. Merlin nods and scurries off to somewhere.

He himself goes to the battlements rising high above the walls. All Albion is a battlefield now, with separate legions of Saxon troops besieging citadels. Most of Cornwall's border fiefs dotted along the coast has already fallen, as have the Cantian citadels. The main force may be pinned down by the full force of the united army, but the Saxons have men enough to slowly conquer more and more territory. As High King, Arthur has been ordering troops of various nations to attend to the defense of separate citadels, an effort that has yielded mixed results.

He leans on the stone walls, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands to take the tension from them. The roads leading to Glauchedon are dusty- he can see them from here, outlined by the cluster of tents of camp followers. The citadel has been built to overlook a key junction of the ancient Roman roads; nobody can approach without being spotted.

A lone rider appears, galloping at full speed along the path. The figure is distant at first, but grows closer and closer until the flowing dark hair and green cloak is visible. Arthur would recognize that hair anywhere. Morgana.

Arthur turns from the battlements and strides down the admittedly numerous stairs. He is not rushing down; he's just a little eager to see her is all. But he is not taking the stairs three at a time just because he wants to be the first one to greet her. No, of course not. Even if it has been three months since he last saw her, deployed to Cornwall, and even if he'd looked forward to the weekly reports just to see her handwriting.

And that's why he's not disappointed, not even a tiny little bit- shut up, little Merlin voice inside his head- when he bursts down the final steps, winded, only to see Morgana already talking to Morgause. Because of course why on earth would he have been looking forward to talking to her alone?

He's always been excellent at being in denial.