IP

[relegate]

For Yuff & Kaye
By: Dolly

Fixed high in the afternoon sky, the sun shone brightly and cast it rays down over the land of the Britons. It warmed the spring air to a temperature that was not at all unpleasant, accompanied wonderfully by the slight breeze the day carried. There wasn’t even a cloud in the sky to mar to vast expanse of blue; it was almost unnaturally perfect from the very start; the sunrise had been beyond description and the morning progressed without incident. Even the guards could find nothing at fault to report.

Pleasant comments were passed back and forth within the markets of Camelot about the fair weather but that was all it would amount to; far more important and noticeable matters were at hand on that day. The visit of the noble house of Brochwel of Powys to Camelot was a much-anticipated event both by the denizens of the Kingdom and the ruler itself.

“It will be a meeting that signifies the introduction of both new friendship and a new trade route between our houses,” Uther explained as he poured over the list of documents before him. He only looked up once as he spoke, for the most part ensured that the dirty blonde-haired prince that stood at attention before him would heed his words. He had no reason to think otherwise after all; Arthur had been well-informed of the importance of the visit so there was no doubt that the boy would follow through.

Even if he didn’t look particularly pleased by the idea. “Lord Brochwel has never been interested in trade with Camelot before. Any emissaries we’ve sent have been refused in the past,” Arthur replied with a slight frown.

“Yes...it is most curious. However perhaps the peace we have arranged between out nations has done something to soften his position. Don’t forget the land he rules over is rich in many minerals due to the mountains nature of the region. The rivers that run through them make the surrounding land especially fertile.” Uther sat back in his chair at the head of the table, looking up as he smoothed his fingertips over the papers spread before him. “Should these talks be successful I have no doubt that it will come as a great benefit to Camelot. It is my understanding that the Lord Brochwel will be bringing one of his sons along--his youngest, Allan. I’d like you to take him on a hunting trip.”

Arthur blinked, lifting a brow. “Hunting trip?”

“Yes. From what I hear both he and his father rather enjoy the sport. It would be an excellent act of goodwill were you to have him accompany you,” Uther nodded, returning to his papers. The request had obviously caught the Prince off-guard for the moment, but really there was very little he would be able to do about it; there was no way for him to disobey his father directly over such a matter and if it really would help along the negotiations then it would be for the best.

“As you wish,” he bowed his head slightly. “I will make the necessary preparations immediately. When shall we be expecting the Lord Brochwel and his son?”

“The Lord is expected to be here within the week’s end. I’d say two days at most, so make sure you have your men prepare. I want to make sure that nothing goes wrong with these talks, Arthur.” The Prince lowered his head again, farther this time as he held his arms behind his back.

“Rest assured I’ll take care of everything father.” Taking two steps backward he eventually turned on heel and headed out of the great hall, past the guards who crossed their spears over the entrance to close it off once again. A hunting trip...of all things. If the Lord Brochwel and his son were avid hunters however he did not doubt that there would be little to worry about. Even if this “Allan” was the youngest of the bunch he should at least be more competent than some of the other nobles he’d had the misfortune of having on his team at different points in time. Hopefully his age would not suggest a lack of experience though even if that were the case there would probably be very little he should become critical of. He was to be their guest, after all...

A familiar silhouette rounding the corner ahead of him pulled the English prince from his thoughts and his expression brightened (albeit with just a hint of smugness). “Ah, Merlin. I have a job for you.”

The brunet stopped in mid-step; immediately recognizing the look on Arthur’s face as his own changed from confusion to slight dread. “Uh...yes Sire?”

The prince approached him and slung an arm around the sorcerer’s shoulders, turning him around from wherever he’d been intending to go and forcing him to walk in step. “I’m sure you’re aware that the Lord Brochwel and his son will soon be guests of Camelot. They arrive at the end of the week.”

“What? No--I mean yes. Course I knew,” he replied quickly, catching himself halfway through denial and looking quickly up at the blonde. “What d’you take me for?”

“You forgot completely, didn’t you?”

“Possibly,” the youngest of the pair answered with just a bit of hesitant meekness, a slight half-grin of wary tilting his lips. It made Arthur let out a sigh.

“Honestly, how you even managed to get out of bed each morning without forgetting your head is truly astounding. Your ability to forget even the most important of events never ceases to amaze.”

Merlin leaned back slightly. “Uh...thanks. Sire.”

“Don’t thank me you idiot. Now come on I’ve got a job for you. And this time don’t mess this up. There’s a lot at stake for these negotiations, and I will not see them ruined because you can’t keep a decent head on your shoulders,” Arthur replied as he pulled back...only to shove a hand forward into Merlin’s back between his shoulder blades to force him around the next corner. It made the teen stumble but he at least kept moving, so that was something.

“What is it you needed?” the brunette questioned--and then at a look from Arthur he quickly added, “uh, Sire.”

“You’d do well to remember your manners when our guests arrive Merlin. For now I need you to go to my stables and make sure that all of my horses are ready and fit to travel by the end of the week. My crossbow and sword need to be checked as well.”

“By the end of the week? But isn’t that when the Kings guests arrive? Shouldn’t you be staying in Camelot--”

“Merlin, I don’t remember asking for your advice on the matter. In fact I believe I told you to go make sure my things are ready because when the Lord Brochwel and his son get here I will be taking the youngest of them out at the request of my father.” Arthur replied in a firm voice, annoyance clearly evident in his tone as well as a faint note of ‘this should be obvious you moron’.

Realization dawned on the younger’s face right away. “...Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh.’ Now why don’t you stop gawking like an idiot and go take care of it?”

“--Right. Yes. I’ll...get on that, then,” Merlin nodded quickly, clapping his hands together almost hesitantly before he took several steps forwards and scratched the back of his head. Arthur watched him with skepticism clearly written on his face.

“And for god’s sake, try not to screw up.”

“I won’t! Don’t worry about a thing,” the brunette called back. It did very little to ease Arthur’s mind, especially when he watched the boy nearly walk into a guard patrol, making him pinch the bridge of his nose. Wonderful. At this rate it would be a small miracle for Merlin not to screw up in some way.

It was probably the main reason he was so surprised to find the teen reporting to him that very evening. Sure he’d only asked in passing how things were going but the very last thing he expected was to have Merlin reply with such confidence on the manner.

“...You’re telling me that you’ve already finished everything I’ve asked of you on top of your daily chores,” he asked with a raised brow, disbelief clearly displayed on his features. The younger sorcerer just smiled with just a hint of amusement, bouncing on his feet once as he held his arms behind his back.

“I’m pretty sure that’s what I said sire, yes.” The cheeky grin that crossed his face did very little to alleviate the Prince’s obvious doubt and for good reason. Truth be told he hadn’t exactly gotten it all done by hand. Magic had helped quite a bit in some of the more menial of tasks like shining Arthur’s armor and cleaning his boots, but that was almost a daily occurrence by that point so he just allowed himself to revel in the blonde Prince’s utter disbelief in his abilities.

In fact said Prince was looking at him with an expression akin to being sort of...well, weirded out as he looked the sorcerer over once. “That is utterly unbelievable.”

“Right. But it’s true. I got everything done, just like you asked. You can even check and see if you don’t believe me.”

Arthur made a face almost immediately at the suggesting. “Don’t be an idiot Merlin. I have much better things to do with my time than run around chasing after a servant.”

“Guess that means you believe me then right?” the brunet grinned again.

“What it means,” Arthur corrected, “is that I don’t have time to waste checking up on you. That’s all.”

“So...you do believe me.”

Arthur resisted the urge to do more than glare at the boy--he knew the look alone only amused him further even if he did make a point of pursing his lips together in an attempt to keep his smile from widening. It made the elder male let out a slight sound of exasperation. “Just make sure that nothing is out of place Merlin. Got it?”

“Yes Sire. Definitely got it.”

“Merlin?”

“If I find out that you’ve screwed up in any way, any way at all, I’ll have your head. Do I make myself clear?”

The sorcerer bit down harder on his lips to keep them from spread. “Yes Sire. Definitely. Perfectly clear, got it.”

How far away the events of that day seemed to be. The passage of time between then and now felt like only a brief instant when compared to the present situation facing not only Arthur himself but in fact all of Camelot: The day of Lord Brochwel and his son’s arrival.

The initial sight of such a long procession of knights and servants heading towards the great city was a thing to behold for any within its walls. Even the regular townsfolk has ceased much of their daily activities to watch the arrival of the Lord Brochwel; many within the castle itself mirrored this cessation. The Lord Brochwel was an impressive figure to behold; riding tall on his steed with broad shoulders held back and chin high. He wore his age on his face in the form of whitening hair but he was no less imposing for it, and in fact it seemed to give him an almost grizzly edge.

Even his step carried an air of strength to it as he dismounted within the castle courtyard and strode forward to meet his host with a crooked sort of half-smile on his face; the result of a scar in the corner of one side.

“Uther.” His voice was deep and almost booming as he greeted the King, standing at least an inch taller. His hand swung out to grasp Uther’s forearm in a firm grip that the latter returned.

“My Lord Brochwel,” he nodded. “It is an honor to have you in my court.”

“It is an honor to be welcomed in it after so many years,” the taller man nodded in return, withdrawing his hand curtly. He cast a glance at the dirty blonde haired Prince beside him; Arthur gave him a brief nod of respect. “Prince Arthur then, is it?”

“My Lord.”

“You’ve raised a formal one here, Sire,” Brochwel chuckled gruffly as he leaned back. “A bit older than my own youngest.”

“We heard word that you had brought him with you,” Uther commented as he allowed his eyes to glance over the Lord’s massive frame to his entourage of guards and servants.

“Yes,” Brochwel puffed out his chest. “Bit of a runt of the bunch--Allan! Don’t keep the King waiting, come on then!” he called back over his shoulder. Attention was finally drawn to a much shorter figure within the myriad of newcomers, a cloaked figure that seemed just a bit on the skinny side for a son of such an imposing man.

“My apologies my King,” answered an indisputably male tone as the hooded figure bowed before them. Brochwel watched approvingly as the youth lifted his hands to draw back the hood of his cloak to reveal a head of hair so bleach-blonde it was almost white. Even his skin was a bit on the pale side, making the striking brown color of his eyes stand out.

“This is my youngest son, Allan,” Brochwel said with pride as he placed a hand on the boy’s much smaller shoulders. “Takes after his mother the Lady Arddun more so than me.” This was almost blatantly obvious to Arthur as he tried hard not to stare with any sort of gaze that would betray his surprise. The boy was...well, scrawny. At least when compared to his father. He barely reached the man’s chin and was a good inch and a half shorter than Arthur himself. In fact compared to almost any male there the boy was a bit on the delicate side. Just how on earth did someone with such a stature profess to be any sort of hunting adept?

He did not voice these concerns however and merely stood at his father’s side as Uther welcomed them both whole-heartedly to Camelot. “Your arrival has been greatly anticipated Lord Brochwel. I know that these talks will help bring great things for both our lands.”

“Such is my desire,” the taller male nodded firmly. “I believe this meeting has been a long time coming...don’t you agree?”

“Quite,” the King nodded. “Word has travelled that you and your son are quite interested in hunting, and Camelot has some splendid grounds for such an event. Perhaps it would interest your son Allan to join mine on a hunt during your stay?”

Brochwel’s interest was quite obviously peaked at such a suggestion as he looked down at the King, walking in step with him as they ascended the steps towards the castle interior. “A hunt you say?” An intrigued and pensive look crossed his face for a brief instant, but it was readily replaced but a roguish grin as he barked out a laugh. “I like the way you think here in Camelot. A hunt eh... Ha! A good idea as I’ve ever heard. My Allan will give you a run for your money my Prince, I can assure you.”

He clapped Allan on the back roughly and it made the boy skip a half step, but he recovered quickly in a manner that suggested he was already quite used to the action and Arthur allowed himself another slight bow of his head as his lips quirked. He really doubted that the boy could measure up in any way that would challenge him, but out of politeness he nodded his head. “I would look forward to such a challenge quite readily.”

“Indeed,” Uther spoke up. “It will be a good way to begin bridging the distance that was so readily between us previously.”

Brochwel chuckled gruffly as he clapped Allan on the back yet again. “So it will! I’ll entrust my son to your care young Prince.”

“I can assure you he’ll be looked after My Lord,” Arthur bowed slightly. “If it would please you I’ll see him to his guest quarters immediately.”

“Yes, that would be good. Your father and I have much to begin discussing,” Brochwel agreed readily.

“A room has been prepared just down the hall from my son’s. Should he need anything Arthur will be only a moment away,” Uther assured the hulking noble as the youngest blonde smiled his thanks and understanding. He was noticeably quiet in the presence of his father (though the man had a booming voice that carried quite well regardless) so it came as a slight surprise to the Prince of Camelot when he suddenly found himself being addressed by the youth as the two noble figures walked on ahead.

“Your hospitality is appreciated my Prince.”

Even his tone was refined and polite; a striking contrast to his father yet again but almost everything about them seemed to be polar opposites. Where his father was the epitome of a warrior Allan was...well. He looked more like a scribe than anything else, and it wouldn’t surprise Arthur if that had been the manner in which he was raised. It made sense with him being the youngest after all. He didn’t possess any of the bulk or muscle his forbearer amassed and to Arthur it seemed even Merlin might be able to give the teen a run for his money in a fight. And that was really saying something.

“It is no trouble at all,” he answered as soon as he found his voice. “A visit from the Lord of Powys and his noble household are always welcome in Camelot.”

“It’s very kind of you.” Allan bowed his head appreciatively. “And I look forward to our hunt. I’ve heard much about the forests of the Kingdom of Camelot. You possess many great creatures here from what I’ve been told.”

The mental image of the various beasts he’d faced in the past immediate surfaced within Arthur’s mind. The Questing Beast, the griffon... “Yes...I suppose we do,” he answered with just the slightest hesitation as he strode on ahead. “There is plenty of game to be found within the boundaries of our land. I hope that a day’s travel or so will suit you? The best game is to be found several hours to the East.” Or more correctly it was one of the few areas around the city he could be confident in there not being any monsters of a dangerous nature. It would also be plenty far enough away from the forests known to house bandits and the like.

Allan didn’t seem to notice the undertones in Arthur’s voice though and agreed to it readily. “A day’s trip will be fine. Truth be told it would be a relief to escape such a busy environment. I’m sure you’ve noticed how...prominent my father’s presence can be.”

Arthur tried hard not to let his lips tilt upwards at the statement he felt he could whole-heartedly understand. Even his own father seemed dwarfed by the man’s size. “The Lord Brochwel is certainly one to be noticed.”

“You don’t need to be so formal. Even his own men are intimidated by him,” Allan replied with a slight laugh. “My brothers are all the same.”

“And how many do you have? I’ve heard very little about them I’m afraid,” the Prince inquired.

“Two. They’re both several years older than me though. I’m sure you’ve already guessed but it’s them who are to carry on as Head of my House,” the youth said with a light grin. “I’m sure he would have rather brought them in my place.” And seeing the slight look of hesitation and wariness on the Prince’s face he continued with another laugh. “You don’t need to worry about offending me or anything.”

“It’s not my place to say anything on the matter,” Arthur shook his head, rounding a corner with the noble youth and continuing to guide him to the floor he would be staying on. “But I can assure you both your father and you are more than welcome in Camelot regardless.”

“You’re very kind My Prince.”

“Think nothing of it. It is my hope that you will enjoy your stay while you are here,” Arthur assured him. “Should you need anything at all you will be attended to without delay.” He came to a stop outside a pair of heavy wood doors reinforced with strips of iron and bolts, folding his arms behind his back once again. “Your quarters. My own lie just down in the hall if there are any pressing matters.”

Allan nodded and brushed back hair from his face. “Thank you. I think I’ll just let myself relax for now, the trip was a bit of a long one.”

“Of course. I’ll have servants sent to attend to you immediately.” The dirty blonde turned to go out into the all but Allan’s words made him pause in the doorway.

“That’s quite alright. I think I’d rather just have the time to myself right now. If I need anything I’ll be sure to send word.” The youth flashed him another polite smile and half-bow of his head, and after a moment Arthur simply nodded.

“As you wish. I’ll send someone to notify you when dinner is to be served. I’m sure my father will have you and the Lord Brochwel dine with him this evening.” Allan nodded his understanding, so with a few more brief words between them the Prince departed and the youth was left to his own devices.

It was honestly one of the few times he ever saw the boy outside of his room following their arrival. He seemed to only emerge for meals or during times when his presence was required, the rest being spent within his chambers reading text after text or simply dozing. Allan’s behavior couldn’t be chalked up to rudeness no matter how one looked at it though. He answered whenever summoned and was all but perfect in his demeanor when in the presence of others. Even the servants had begun to remark how polite and kind the young son of Lord Brochwel was to everyone, and not simply those with noble status.

There was no doubt at all in Arthur’s mind by the second day that the boy had obviously been raised to fulfill the position of a scribe (or at least something resembling that). Not that he terribly minded of course; there was no fault he could find with the youth, which left the only concern he could rightly justify: how well he would fare on the hunting trip. It scarcely seemed as though Allan possessed the great amount stamina Arthur had conditioned both himself and his knights to carry. That concern as the main driving force behind him readily agreeing to have some of Brochwel’s men accompany on the journey. After all should anything happen to the Lord’s son while under Arthur’s care...

Well, he certainly wasn’t about to take the chance. Any help to keep the rather feeble-looking youth from running into any trouble suited Arthur just fine so as the time of their departure rolled around he made sure that each and every one of the riders in the party was adequately equipped with the gear and resources they would need. Crossbows and swords, food and water were all packed onto the horses waiting to be mounted in the courtyard and as Arthur looked over the sight approvingly he beckoned Merlin over, watching as the sorcerer looked up from fastening the harness on one of Arthur’s horses.

“Merlin. I’ve got a job for you.”

“A job?”

“Yes.” Arthur cross his arms over his chest and looked over in the direction of his guest, watching as the youth pulled himself up onto his steed and prepared for departure. “I need you to stay behind.”

“Wait--stay behind? Why?” The brunet didn’t even bother trying to mask his utter surprise at the order. “I thought I was s’possed to come with you?”

“Yes, well plans have changed,” Arthur replied. “The Lord Brochwel’s supplied plenty of his own able-bodied servants for the trip. And obviously it’d be rude of me to decline... And having to bring my own along just adds more people. Which, I’m sure as you know really doesn’t help with the subtlety of a hunting party.”

“Wh--I can be plenty subtle,” the tallest of the pair argued.

“You’re rubbish on a hunt Merlin,” Arthur replied bluntly. “Besides, you’ll be of more use to be where you won’t be seen making a fool of yourself.” He turned on heel then, heading back to his horse and hoisting himself up onto the saddle. Merlin followed close behind him.

“What am I supposed to do then?”

“Do I have to think of everything? I’m sure there’s plenty of work to be done. As I recall my dogs are due for some exercise. Why don’t you take care of that him?” the Prince called back over his shoulders, making the servant’s arms drop to his sides in exasperation.

“Walk the dogs... Great. You do know last time they tried to take a bite out of me, right??”

“Get it done, Merlin!” was the only thing the blonde would call back as he set his horse on up to take stride with Allan’s, leaving the sorcerer standing awkwardly in his wake. Dogs...perfect. That was going to be swell.

And hopefully it would keep the servant out of trouble, Arthur thought as they made their way out of town and headed towards the series of trails that would lead them out into the Eastern forest. The procession was a good twenty men strong, force split evenly between the two Houses though as they left the grounds of Camelot guards flanked the two young men on either side as usual and they continued on their way, the sound of clacking hooves carrying on long into the distance.

Most of the trip was passed with idle talk between the bleach-blonde teen and the Prince, one topic melding into another. It was admittedly easier to get along with the boy than previous guests (he recalled the Lady Vivian with a faint shudder). He was agreeable and polite despite his more...delicate stature, but he didn’t voice it aloud and Allan didn’t seem to notice Arthur’s concern about the hunt and they made their way deeper into the forest.

The area was covered by a thick blanket of underbrush and the fallen leaves of the surrounding trees, the only clear direction visible set down by the dirt path before them. Scattered beams of sun that escaped the canopy of thick evergreens rained down and illuminated the woods with a golden sort of haze. It warmed the trapped air but not uncomfortably so and made the perfect atmosphere for a ride. Even the escort of guards and knights allowed themselves to relax just a little on their trip and gaze around the woods.

But that proved to be a great mistake.

Things were proceeding smoothly without a soul stirring within the quiet forest when there came a sudden loud thunk! from behind. And not that far, either Arthur realized. In the split-second that it took for the noise to occur his mind was already racing, trying to match it up with anything that would make a matching sound. It took even less than half that split-second to realize what it was as he whirled around to look over his shoulder and saw with dread that thick wooden arrow that had seated itself in one of his men, sticking out of his chest and seeming to have pierced the plates of armor and chainmail protecting him with ease.

The man’s eyes were wide with incomprehension, a striking contrast to the shocked and stunned faces of all those around him. But that brief moment of shocked silence was over almost as soon as it begun and suddenly shouts rang out from all around. Even Arthur himself found words of command leaving his lips as another came sailing through the air with a loud whistle to strike the guard at his left. It had missed Allan and him by mere centimeters.

“Bandits!” cried out one knight, drawing his sword readily as several other followed suit. Brochwel’s men drew their weapons as well as the forest around them suddenly erupted with the cries of hidden foes descending upon them with rapid pace.

“Protect the Prince and Lord Allan!”

“They’re coming from the right!”

“The left, too--!”

The sound of more arrows whistling through the air made the Prince of Camelot curse loudly and turn sharply to his guards. “Retreat My Lord!” the man yelled, urging his horse to ride forwards. It was a hasty action meant to shield the dirty blonde male from harm and it served its purpose as he suddenly jerked, arching his back with a tense expression before falling off his horse to one side. The beast immediately kicked up its front legs and whinnied loudly, trying to take off despite the fact that its rider’s ankle remained hooked in one of the stirrups.

A curse left Arthur’s lips, both in frustration at his own inability to do anything and at the thought of having to retreat. But there was no other choice now--had it been merely his own life at stake he might have remained with his men. Glancing to his right brought Allan’s pale face into view and within half an instant Arthur had made up his mind. Lord Brochwel’s son was the highest priority in that moment so without further delay he snapped at the young boy.

“Allan! Follow me!” he commanded loudly, kicking his heels into the side of his horse and forcing it into a fast canter. His voice seemed to at least bring the youth to his senses enough to copy the action and race after the Prince as the sounds of fighting grew louder. Yells of surprise began to fill the air but still the heir did not look back save to assure himself that Allan was right on his trail behind him.

Wind whipped by his head and created a loud bustling sound that blocked out all others, and it was probably due to that very sound that he was taken by surprise when another arrow came sailing through the air, striking hard and piercing flesh deep. But it was not either male that was struck--it was the animal on which the Prince of Camelot rode that took the hit, and with a loud screech of pain its legs gave out beneath it, and with a terrible stumble he knew would cause irreversible damage to the steed’s legs he found himself throw over its shoulders.

He struck the ground hard enough and with a loud cracking sound he could instantly feel signaled a dislocated shoulder, but he hardly had a moment to think over that as he grit his teeth and forced himself to get to his feet as fast as possible. It was hard and he ached terribly, but he managed to draw his sword with his good arm and looked around wildly for any signs of his foes...but found only a sight that made him stop and double-take, moving a step back and panting heavily as he tried to make sense of it.

Emerging from the forest all around him was not the dirty and tattered-looking silhouettes that usually accompanied a gang of bandits but that of knights. Each of them clad in armor and with their swords drawn...and bearing the tabard of the Lord of Powys: Lord Brochwel.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he demanded, sword arm falling from a partially-raised stance to hang near his side. His hand’s grip on the hilt remained firm as he looked all around but none of the men’s face would offer any sort of explanation for what was going on. “I demand to know what’s going on!” he stressed angrily. “...Someone say something!”

Thunk.

Blue eyes widened just a fraction as eyelids fluttered, and for a moment Arthur felt detached from everything around him. For just a moment it felt like he was numb to the world and his stomach had sunk into his feet. The pain in his shoulder vanished and was replaced by a chill that covered his whole body. Slowly, almost as if dreading what he’d see and desperate to find out at the same time he looked down and was greeted by the sight of a long blade of steel protruding from his left side, reddened and glistening by the blood that dripped slowly to the ground below.

A stuttered, choked sort of breath escaped him as he felt it withdrawn without warning, and suddenly all the sensations he’d been dead to before came rushing back as strength drained from his legs and he fell to his knees, sword clattered to the forest below as he stared ahead. Pain raced back into his shoulder and an impossibly painful burning sensation ripped through the area where the sword had once been. But wetness was seeping from the area, and even if he reflexively pressed his one good hand to the wound he knew it would be useless. The red color that stained his leather gloves almost seemed hazy as he brought the appendage up to look at it numbly.

“Leave him.” The voice that spoke was familiar, and yet almost unrecognizable to Arthur’s mind as it cut through the fog of silence that had covered the Prince’s ears and deafened him to the world around. Footsteps registered in the back of his mind before he felt deceptively strong finger grip his hair and shove him forward roughly. He couldn’t even manage the strength to make even the faintest sound to express his pain, shuddering and shaking almost as if hyperventilating.

He looked up as he was rolled onto his back by a foot kicking into his side, clouding orbs staring up with surprise into the very last person he expected to see standing over him. Blood-drenched sword hanging at one side and a wicked half-sneer on his face, brown eyes that had seem so soft before were now devoid of compassion and filled with malice as the silver-blonde youth known as Allan of Powys chuckled darkly, staring down at him without the tiniest bit of sympathy. And when he spoke his tone was dripping with sadism.

“Goodbye, Prince Arthur.”

The utmost satisfaction covered the noble youth’s face as he watched Arthur’s limbs go limp as strength left them, dark eyes swimming with mirth. The blonde’s gaze slowly fell upwards until his eyelids lowered, and only then did Allan turn on heel and head away from the Prince’s body and back to the original site of the scuffle where his own guards were finishing off the last few remaining of Camelot’s guard. Several of his own men lay dead as well, but then that was a sacrifice he’d be willing to accept. Even if they’d been taken by surprise the Knights of Camelot were a force to be reckoned with. And a few casualties on his own side would simply make his explanation of things all the more believable.

“I can just see the look on Dear King Uther’s face when he finds out his only son was killed...defending the poor, frail son of Lord Brochwel,” he barked out a laugh as he swung it sword, sending blood flying off it. He pulled a cloth from within his armor not long after and ran it along the length of the blade to finish the job. “Such a shame. The sole Prince of Camelot...felled by a band of rebels opposing the King. It will make a fitting story, won’t it?”

Allan barked out a laugh as he sheathed his sword, casting one more glance back at the fallen Prince’s body and the blood that was slowly pooling around his form. “How will Camelot fare without an heir now, I wonder? Move out!” He turned to his men suddenly, taking on a powerful stride that was not unlike his father’s. “And someone fetch that blasted horse of mine! We ride back to Camelot tonight. Make sure there is no trace of our involvement. This is an order from my father himself!”

The words sent his men in a bustle of activity that only very dimly reached the Prince’s ears, but even then it was such a distant part of his brain that it registered in that the implications of the words, and even the words themselves made no sense to him. He could not tell when Allan and his men mounted their horses, not when they rode off and left him for dead, not even when the sun’s brightness began to fade and wane as the day wore on. Time had no meaning to him; what happened in the span on mere second or over several hours had no effect on him.

All he knew was a cold, creeping numbness that started in his hands and feet. It spread slowly up his limbs until they felt like lead, far too heavy for him to do anything about. The painful throbbing in his side and shoulder began to feel further and further away and it was only then that the eerie, encroaching feeling slowly overtaking his limbs made any sense to him. But by then he was too far gone to care and allowed the last bits of his consciousness to fade with a slow exhale...

“--Hey! I think this one’s still alive!”

“Alive?? Are you sure?”

“I could have sworn I just saw his chest move!”

There was silence for several long moments in the darkened forest, the shelter created by the trees causing it to lose light much faster. The sound of feet shuffling through fallen leaves came shortly and with it, the yellowish-orange light of a torch and its bearer; a hooded figure cloaked in a deep burgundy material that mirrored the attire of the shorter figure kneeling at Arthur’s side.

“...He’s lost a lot of blood. There probably isn’t much we can do for him now,” they spoke, tone aged but not without strength as they studied the Prince’s fallen form and held the torch out to shed more light over him.

“E-eh? No way! Something like this should be easy to take care of shouldn’t it?” This voice was noticeably younger than the first and belong to the shorter figure as he looked away from the Prince to stare up at their compatriot as they shook their head.

“He has lost far too much blood for there to be much hope. As much as I wish to say otherwise, it would be best to leave him --we need to keep moving.”

“...No. If there’s even a small chance it’s our duty to help him isn’t it?”

A sigh of exasperation. “No good is going to come of this, you should--”

“I’m going to help him. It’s not right to just leave him out here like this,” the younger voice replied firmly as they knelt at the Prince’s side, giving his torso a quick once-over before leaning in and feeling over his forehead. He was cool to the touch, but not with death. Sweat pooled around his brow and though consciousness had left him his eyelids continued to twitch as the figure brushed a thumb over one.

For several moments the elder hooded figure watched quietly as the youth reached over and hastily began undoing whatever clasps he could reach to the Prince’s armor. His breastplate and shoulder guard were pulled almost completely off, but he only work enough so that he could reach the royal’s belt without too much trouble to lift his clothes and expose the wound. It wasn’t pretty, but it was a clean cut and the edges had begun to clot, even if only a little. How he wasn’t already dead was some sort of miracle as far as the older figure was concerned, but after watched for several moments they heaved out a sigh and turned to beckon for others.

“Stand back. Come! We will bind his wounds and then take him along.”

“Teidoll...” the younger began, but stopped short at a look from the elder figure.

“We will only do what we can...should his wounds be too grievous that will be the end of it.” The younger figure nodded immediately, standing and moving back as three more hooded figures came over and began working on the wounded Prince, both trying to clean the area and bind the injury to keep it from bleeding out any further. Not exactly an easy task considering the nature of the wound, but somehow they managed it.

But that was only the first step. Whether or not he’d make it through the night was a completely different story and they couldn’t adequately treat his wounds in the middle of the road. He’d need to be moved someplace with more cover and better sheltered so they could work without be interrupted by whatever else that might be lurking in the dark woods. It made for a long trip through the thick woods and underbrush, but oddly enough it didn’t seem to be a problem for the hooded man known as “Teidoll”. The woods seemed to bend around his very form, clearing a way for the procession of followers behind him.

There were five in all including the youth and the man himself, six with their newest charge added. And while normally such a number of people would have caused some sort of commotion or delay in travel speed the small troupe didn’t seem to have any problems in traveling further into the forest, until all but the path they followed seemed to be brush too thick to cross.

Eventually they came to a small passage through the forest where gully seemed to have been hollowed out by excessive rainfall. Rocks had come loose from the soft soil leaving a pipeline-shaped trail that was held up only by the sheer number of massive roots that clung to the dirt from the trees above. The air was more moist there and made a rich environment for the moss that caked almost every surface, but every so often a fern or small flower would break the endless sea of shaggy green. Had it not been the middle of the night it would have certainly been a sight to see.

Soon that path opened up into a small clearing though, a somewhat oval-shaped patch of lowered earth that rested a good five or so foot lower than the surrounding forest. It was protected on most sides by a thick series of bush and rock, but nearby the sound of a small creek could be heard and it was here that they stopped and Teidoll gave the word to set Arthur down; they would begin work on him immediately. A fire was lit somewhere near the middle of the shelter and the Prince lowered beside it as the torches they had carried with them were placed around the camp to help illuminate the area.

Only Teidoll and the youth from before moved readily to Arthur’s side to tend to him, the elder of them slinging the large side bag he held at his shoulder off and placing it delicately on the ground. The insides rattled as he did so, and when a latch on the side was opened a series of glass instruments were revealed, tubes and jars of all sizes. Some were filled with liquid, others power, and some even with what looked like preserved herbs.

“Remove his armor and shirt. I’ll need to clean his wound again before I can begin treatment immediately,” Teidoll instructed as he began selecting several different glass jars from his case, pulling a water skin from somewhere on his person and setting it aside for later use. He drew back his hood and a mess of frizzy, brownish gray hair was revealed along with a pair of heavy spectacles that looked as if they’d been very roughly welded together. A hand came up and brushed slightly at the thick moustache beneath his nose but it in no way slowed him down as he began to prepare to work on the young Prince.

The youth at his side nodded at the instruction and knelt at the blonde’s other side as he reached over and began to properly remove the gear he’d only loosened before, setting them on the ground to the side before taking care of his outer jacket as best he could without moving him: by cutting it. Daggers couldn’t very well slice through chainmail though so he eventually had to move Arthur’s torso, and it honestly put his nerves a bit on edge not to see him make any signs of discomfort at the action. He didn’t even shiver at the lack of any upper attire and honestly looked far too pale to the hooded youth but Teidoll’s instructions kept him from dwelling on it for too long.

‘Elevate his legs, give him some water, pass me my instruments.’ Firm and solemn commands were followed readily by the youth as he watched the gray-haired man begin to work, first undressing the wound and pouring the tiniest bit of water (which he did not doubt had some sort of citrus in it to keep it relatively sterile) onto his abdomen to wash away what blood way left around the wound. A clean cloth was used to dab away at the extras and it was only then that Teidoll began to properly work on the wound.

It took him several hours to treat it and to try and his best to encourage it to close, but with the bleeding stopped early on it at least didn’t look as if the Prince would be getting any paler for the time being. His breathing was still terribly shallow and almost slow enough to be frightening but there was really very little else Teidoll could do for the moment and he informed the youth of this as he gently eased some balm onto the area surrounding the wound before binding it with fresh cloth.

“Whether or not he makes it through the night will be up to his own powers,” the gray-haired man murmured as he settled back, but not before drawing his cloak off of his shoulders and draping it over the blonde’s still form. “The best we can do is keep him watered and warm for now.”

The youth nodded slowly, a small frown creasing his brow as he followed suit and readily pulled his own cloak from his body and placed it overtop of Teidoll’s. Bright, clear gray-colored eyes stood out with striking contrast in the light of the torches compared to the mess of auburn hair atop his head. It stuck out at odd angles at the sides but the top remained flattened thanks to the cloth that had covered it, and he sat back slowly, drawing one knee up and looping his arms around it so that he could rest his chin atop his knee and stare thoughtfully down at the blonde’s body.

“Do you think he’ll make it?”

“...It’s hard to tell,” Teidoll answered honestly. “The bleeding has stopped but he’s lost quite a bit. Things don’t look well for him.”

“But you’ve treated him,” the brunet pointed out. “That should count for something.”

The elder male allowed a faint sigh to escape him at the youth’s confidence, but he did nothing to dissuade it as he pushed himself to his feet. “We’ll see if that’s true in the morning. You should try to get some sleep in the meantime. There’s nothing more that can be done for him for the moment.”

A non-committal nod was the youth’s only answer. He didn’t move from his spot beside the blonde Prince not did he show any signs of moving so with a small upward tilt of his lips the herbalist conceded defeat and left to help the others settle in for the night. It was still several hours from daybreak and they would need to be rested if Arthur took a turn for the worse and they continued their journey. Finding him in the first place had been purely a stroke of luck; seldom did they ever cross paths with a road when they could avoid it.

But as morning arrived and light broke through the trees once again the band of travelers remained. The blonde was deathly pale and his lips discolored but still he breathed, and still they stayed. One day passed... then two, and then three. Despite how eerily still he remained life did not leave the Prince of Camelot and he continued to survive despite whatever odds Teidoll had been sure were stacked against him. His slow breaths of one of death’s door gained some life to them, deepening to that of one in a heavy slumber and eventually his lips drained of the pale, purple color they’d started to become and filled instead with a faint pink.

To say that the auburn-haired youth was relieved would have been an understatement. The first few days he hardly left the Prince’s side, only agreeing to lie down and rest when Teidoll had assured him that he would watch over the young man. Even then the herbalist was sure the boy kept one eye open and on their charge’s still body. However as the days went on and Arthur showed signs of improving the ashen-eyed youth allowed himself to begin dining once more with his company and even leaving to take regular baths in the stream.

When five days had passed and Arthur still had yet to show any signs of waking (although he did look much better and had finally gained some color back in his face) Teidoll came to the youth and informed him they would need to move on soon. “We’ve lingered here much longer than I anticipated,” he replied honestly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It would be best if we moved on as soon as possible.”

“Eh?” The brunet blinked in surprise, startled. “But what about him? We can’t move him yet can we? I mean he looks a lot better but...”

Teidoll shook his head. “Moving him would do no good, but with the situation as it is continuing to stay here any longer would certainly put the rest of our company as risk.” The youth looked past the elder male at his words to the small gathering around the makeshift fire pit they’d constructed on their first night. A male with long black hair tied in a ponytail, a shorter red head with one ear pierced and a young girl with long blonde hair all start around the flame with their cloaks on but hoods pulls back.

“...What do we do about him then?” the auburn teen asked, pulling his eyes from the sight of his compatriots. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“Search parties will probably be looking for his body,” Teidoll replied somberly. “This area may be enclosed, but I have no doubt that eventually it will be uncovered by those that seek him.”

The youth frowned stubbornly. “Leaving him for dead isn’t doing him any favors. And what if they don’t find him in time?” He crossed his arms over his chest when the elder man sighed again. “I’m not going to just leave him here.”

“You pick the strangest times to be stubborn...”

“You know I’m right. Besides, it’s not right to leave someone in need just to save yourself,” he replied with confidence and a bright expression as he plunked himself down comfortably at the blonde’s side and crossed his legs. “He’s going to need a ton of help when he wakes up anyway.”

Teidoll couldn’t help the wry smile that grew on his lips despite the situation. “Probably. I suppose there’s no way to convince you to come along after you put it like that now is there?”

“Nope,” he grinned. “But you don’t need to worry about me.”

“No? I’m guessing you know how to mix the medicine and herbs correctly then,” Teidoll noted, amusement flickering in his eyes when the brunet realized the obvious flaw in his plan and he paused awkwardly. “Don’t worry. I figured you’d want to make sure he was alright... I’ve prepared an adequate amount.”

“Adequate am’nt...? Of what?”

The drowsy and honestly rather disoriented-sounding voice that spoke up made looks of equal surprise spring across the pair’s face and in unison they both looked down hastily between them only to meet the very dazed-looking face of the blonde Prince himself. For a moment they simply stared at him I complete disbelief, but as soon as he started to shift and try to push himself up into a sitting position his face contorted with pain and he gritted his teeth.

Instantly the auburn-haired youth had two arms on his shoulders to push him back down with a startled sort of expression on his face. “Don’t try to move, you’re injured!” Which apparently wasn’t exactly the best thing to do in the situation since it made Arthur all the more disagreeable as he tried to push at the youth with his hands.

“Un...hand me!” he managed out in a sluggish tone. It probably would have sounded more impressive had he been properly conscious and not trying to move the grey-eyed teen’s arms away with weak movements that did very little other than aggravate his wound.

“Just calm down!” he huffed, taking care to grab both of the Prince’s wrists with gloves hands and shove them down and out of the way. It seemed to work at least for the moment, so he moved his grip the blonde’s upper arms to hold him as Teidoll peered over his shoulder and pushed his spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose.

“This is certainly a surprise... I was sure he would be unconscious for several more days at the very least.”

“It might have been better if he were,” the younger said with a slight frown as he watched Arthur scowl at him incomprehensibly for a moment, the strength seeping from his limbs almost as soon as he acquired it. “He’s just going to make things worse.”

Arthur’s gaze narrowed noticeably at those words but the youth really wasn’t paying attention to that as Teidoll nodded in agreement and pulled a small vial from within his cloak and on corked it. “Plug his nose. This sleeping draught should help ease the pain and allow him to rest a bit longer,” he instructed, and with a quick sound of understanding the auburn-haired teen shifted his gaze and reached over to pinch the Prince’s nose. It obviously pleased Arthur very little to be forced into swallowing something foreign, but as soon as they managed to get him to take it any and all tension drained from his muscles and he settled back down into the makeshift bed they’d prepared for him.

“Finally...” the teen breathed a sigh of relief, moving off of the Prince and running a hand through his hair.

“He was probably delirious from the pain,” Teidoll murmured as he gave the male a quick once-over to make sure he hadn’t started bleeding again. “It looks like he might have a very slight fever too...best give change the dressing and put some Gilead balm on the area to help stave off infection.” He reached for the same box of vials and jars he’d kept at the blonde’s bedside for their stay and pulled out one containing a clear, jellied substance and began to work on him immediately while the brunet at his side just sighed and watched.

“There’s no way he’s fit to go anywhere like this Teidoll.”

“I agree... Honestly I’d like for him to see a proper doctor but I’m not sure that is the best thing overall at this point.”

The brunet just sort of blinked with incomprehension. “Why not? I thought we were going to take him to one as soon as it’s safe to move him.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” the elder man shook his head slowly as he tied off the fresh strip of cloth he’d fastened around the blonde’s midsection. “But it’s clear he’s in no way ready to be moved just yet. He’ll have to stay here until we can get back to him and assure safe passage...” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll take the others on ahead to the meeting point. As soon as they’ve settled in I’ll come back and help you tend to him.”

“But what if he gets worse while you’re gone...? Or tries to get up again.”

“I’ll leave you the proper ointments and elixirs if his fever worsens,” Teidoll assured him as he turned back to his chest of vials and began rifling through it. “He seems to have passed the worst of his danger for the time being... I do not think anything serious is likely to happen in the time it will take to travel. I’ll leave you plenty of supplies and instructions on how to brew what you need if you’d like though.”

“A-ah...yes, thanks,” the brunet nodded with a slight, meek half-smile.

“Think nothing of it. Just keep him alive and well until I return Allen.”

...Which turned out to be a harder task than the brown-haired youth could have ever imagined. Not only did Arthur shift in his sleep (something that made trying to keep him from disturbing the wound nigh-impossible), whenever Allen tried to change the bandages on his injury the Prince would be downright useless. He’d even tried to touch the wound once or twice, so after a few days of this the youth had simply taken to tying cloth around the elder’s wrists and pinning the leftover part with rocks. Caring for him became much easier after that.

Well, caring for his wounds became much easier. The blonde was still drifting in and out of consciousness. Some days he would sleep peacefully without stirring once, but others he would come round as many as three times before Allen put the sleeping draught to his lips and forced him to take it. It wasn’t exactly how he liked to solve the problem but trying to stay awake in such a state would be far too much for him just yet. Somehow he got the feeling Arthur didn’t seem to agree.

He was really just minding his own business and trying to cook from freshly-caught fish from the nearby stream when he heard the familiar stirring sounds from the blonde: mumbling, the shift of fabric and a grumble of displeasure. The brunet let out a sigh and rubbed the back of his head as he placed the stick he’d skewered the fish with firmly back into the dirt and stood, walking back over to the blonde’s side where he kept the pouch of medicine Teidoll had left for him. He’d only just started to rifle through it for the sleeping draught when he heard the first coherent word spoken by the Prince in days.

“Is’zat you, Merlin?”

His words were terribly slurred and still quite sluggish but it was enough to make the grey-eyes youth blink in surprise. Well, at least before a wry smile curved his lips and he uncorked the small vial. “No Merlins here sorry. Now come on, open up. This’ll take care of your pain for you,” Allen replied as he moved to hold the mixture out to the taller’s lips.

Arthur made a face akin to disgust and...probably insult, he assumed, at the sight of the glass jar before looking up at him. “And who are you supposed to be?” he questioned with a tone that wavered slightly. He blinked several times as if trying to clear his line of sight and Allen sat back just a bit, studying him.

“I’m a friend, don’t worry. You shouldn’t move too much, you’re--”

“Where am I?” the blonde Prince interrupted, leaning his head back as if trying to piece together the answer to that himself. Not that the canopy of trees and branches did much to give him any sort of clue, but Allen did his best to at least try and keep him in one place, holding his free arm to one of Arthur’s shoulders.

“You’re safe, so relax. My name’s Allen. We found you several days ago--hey!” The brunet recoiled backwards in surprise at the sudden movement on the blonde’s part, blue eyes flying open wide at the name as he tried to sit up rapidly--only to be stopped by his wound as he tensed and grit his teeth with a sound of pain. Allen hastily corked the vial and set it to the side so he could push both hand down into the older male’s shoulders in an attempt to get him to lie back. “Calm down! You’re in no shape to be moving right now!”

“Unhand m-me!” Arthur sputtered in an obviously strained tone and he shut his eyes tightly and tried to fight off the brunet’s hold. But Allen remained firm and used his weight to hold him down despite Arthur’s best attempts to free himself (which were hampered by his injury).

“Just calm down!” he urged. “You’re going to cause your wound to open again at this rate!”

Unfortunately the Prince didn’t seem to have any intention of heeding his warnings so with a look of determination he shook him by his shoulder slightly for a brief instant and raised his voice. “Hey!!” If nothing else it at least grabbed the Prince’s attention enough that he got a good look at who was actually kneeling over him. There was no feminine-looking, bleach-blonde young man with a sneer on his face; just some dirty-looking brunet with bright gray eyes and...a red scar along the left side of his face? How odd.

A spasm of pain in his side made him flinch though, and with a startled expression Allen let go and eased himself back. “Sorry...you were just moving so much, so I was worried--”

“If a-anything, you’re the one who’s gone and made it worse...” Arthur muttered sourly through a pained expression, tensely trying to settle back on the mat of blankets he lay upon. Allen tried hard not to frown too heavily.

“Only because you wouldn’t stop moving around. And if it hurts, say so. I’ve got a sleeping draught to help with the pain.”

“No thank-you,” the prince said almost immediately, leering up at him with suspicion.

“Wha-- Why not??” the brunet sputtered. “It’s obviously got to hurt, especially after moving so much!”

“I’m fine,” he stressed around a stubborn look, trying to move one arm so that he could run a hand through his hair...and blinking when he felt resistance. “...You bound my arms.”

“Just to keep you still while I changed your bandages!” Allen held his arms up in defense. “That’s all!”

“Untie me,” the blonde managed out in a cool tone. And of course Allen hesitated which only made him more irate. “Well??”

“I really think you should just try and relax for now...”

“I can’t relax if my hands are bound you idi--ow!” Allen didn’t know whether to feel grateful or worried that a sound of pain cut the blonde off when he tried to shift again and pull his arm free, but either way he was at his side again and placing a hand on his chest to make him lie back down.

“I’ll untie you! Okay?? So just hold still already...”

“Do you have any idea who you’re ordering around?” Arthur grunted, glaring at the brunet as he reached over him and began to untie his wrists. The youth shot him a wry sort of look but continued to work.

“Yeah, I do. Someone very unlucky and who would have probably died if it weren’t for my friend’s help. I didn’t think anyone could be so ungrateful to someone who helped look after them when most people would have just left them for dead.”

“I am most certainly not ungrateful--”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“--I’d be more inclined to show my thanks if I weren’t being assaulted by this so-called ‘rescuer’.”

Allen sat back on his feet with a groan of exasperation and a look of utter disbelief on his face. Had he really rescued this jerk? Really? “Look,” he said with an annoyed expression to mirror the Prince’s own. “It was the best we could do while you were unconscious.”

“And yet now I am clearly not,” Arthur replied back just as coolly.