It's been a week now. A week without Merlin. The king is a wreck, the queen bursts into tears at the mere mention of his name, and the knights are silent.

Gwaine himself has hardly cracked a smile. While others try to drink away their sorrow, he, for once, stays sober. Merlin deserves to be mourned. Not to have his memory dulled by alcohol. The least Gwaine can do is carry this pain. He knows Merlin has had so much worse.

When Arthur called a council on his return the knights were fully prepared for a banquet to be announced in celebration of the men's return, but the sight that greeted them will never leave Gwaine's memory for as long as he lives. The king stood broken by his throne, with tears in his eyes and his fists clenched. He waited there, staring straight ahead as the knight filed into their seats.

He waited for silence, and then, in a voice so hoarse it could hardly be heard, he gave the news; "Merlin, has died." He said simply.

Silence. Never had He heard something so loud. As if the world were screaming, and yet, his ears heard nothing. Silence. So pure, so glass-like, so fragile. Yet stronger than a thousand battlements, so strong, that not even their own thoughts could venture to break it.

That moment hung suspended in eons. It was as if the moment had been isolated, plucked out of time and the rest of the world.

And then it was broken. Broken by the sound of flesh on stone as the king fell beside his throne. Broken by the knights that rushed to his aid and delivered him to the sobbing queen. Broken by the necessity of time and the overwhelming need for a distraction. Anything to forget the kings words. The most humble proclamation that has ever been made.

Broken by a new silence, that clenched it's frozen fist around their hearts.

Rumors spread throughout the kingdom. Whispers of the kings illness, of the knights silence, and of the queens sorrow.

The heart of the kingdom had truly broken.

It's only a matter of time before the news spreads beyond the kingdom's borders. A broken king makes for a weak kingdom. Which is a perfect opportunity for Cenred's men to invade and overthrow Camelot. But no one seems to care. What's Camelot without the king? He's not who he used to be, and if things continue the way they're going new leadership might be necessary.

But Gwaine thinks otherwise.

He's spent every day out in the training fields taking his frustration out on wooden targets and chain-mailed dummies. If anyone wants to mess with Camelot then they're going to have to go through him, and, by god, he's not going to make it easy for them.

He burries the axe in the wood and splinters fly. He pays them no mind and and swings again. Harder. The axe cuts through the target and out the other side. A crater has formed in the center without Gwaine even noticing. Oh well, it's not like anyone else was going to use it.

He packs up his weapons and armour and lugs it back into the castle. The armory is, once again, deserted. Medline polishing rags lay discarded by the bench. Every day he thinks to pick them up, and every day he finds a new reason not to. He carefully steps around them. Today they stay there because it reminds gwaine of why he's out there. Merlin loved Camelot and would defend it, and it's king, to his final breath. Rumor has it that he did. Gwaine must carry on his work, otherwise his friend died in vain.

Its still unknown how Merlin met his end. No one has been able to ask the king, and nobody other than Arthur knows. The grief that swallows Arthur is unlike anything Gwaine has ever seen. Even widows have handled their husbands passing better than this. Its as if the kings very soul has been severed, leaving him incomplete. Either way, he's hardly king Arthur anymore.

He jams his sword into the rack angrily. Can the king not see that Merlin gave everything for him? All he does is mope around. He doesn't even try to use the gift that Merlin paid for with his life.

Gwaine wipes the sweet off his face and turns to the door. It would be so easy to just go tell the king. Maybe even shake some sense into him. Well, why not? He's got nothing to lose.

He marches through the corridors with his eyes fixed straight ahead. He gets a few odd looks, but they are to be expected when you March through the castle in full armor, covered in mud, and with a murderous look on your face. But odd looks never stopped a determined man, and they weren't about to.

Gwaine matches right up to the kings chambers before the guards can stop him. A weak "hey-" is stopped short when he throws open the door, simultaneously hitting the guard with it.

"Arthur!" he barks into the room.