Those Were Our Times, PG-13
Title: Those Were Our Times
Author:
jane_lane18
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Gaius, Uther, Hunith, Igraine
Length: 5,330
Summary: Pre-series. Gaius works as a healer in the military campaign of Prince Uther.
Notes: Thanks once again to the awesome madtheo for all of her help. Uther's brother being King first is taken from Geoffrey of Monmouth.
Gaius gazes down into the once green valley now overflowing with tents and soldiers scurrying along like worker ants. The wind brings the tang of smoke from the cooking fires and the sound of loud voices calling out to each other. By all reports this should be a short campaign and all the soldiers were in high spirits.
Shouldering his pack higher up on his back, he wonders again what he’s doing here. He is no soldier; he is only a beginner healer, serving his internship in a small village in the middle of nowhere. However Galen, his old teacher, has come as a favor to the king of Camelot and the voice of reason tells Gaius that he should feel privileged that Galen chose to invite him along; he can certainly use the experience.
“You’re not going to get there if you don’t move, old man.” Gaius snorts and turns to regard the source of the voice. Felix, one of his old classmates, stands beside him grinning broadly. “It won’t be that bad. Just a couple of weeks and we can go home.”
“For you, maybe. I still have two more years of training.” The thought of spending two more harvest seasons in that village seems almost too much to bear. Even sleeping on the hard ground and tending soldiers all day and night seems an improvement over the past six months of boredom.
“Ah, I see. Missing Ealdor already, then?” Gaius gives him a sour look in reply while Felix laughs at him.
A commotion below draws their attention. In a cloud of dust and the thunder of hoof beats, a group of knights rides to a halt on the outskirts of the camp. Gaius turns to watch them circling around on skittish horses, the sun glinting off their armor. One of the knights, clad in a scarlet cloak and a tunic emblazoned with a rearing dragon, rides to the front gesturing for the others to follow him further into the camp. The knight seems too young to be a leader, younger than Gaius’ own age, but the others follow him.
“The knights of Camelot. That’s Prince Uther Pendragon in front.” He jerks in surprise at Felix’s voice. His friend shoves against his shoulder playfully before running down the hill. “Come on, old man!” he shouts behind him.
Gaius laughs for the first time since arriving and takes off after him.
*
The camp is full of activity: soldiers sharpening their weapons, pages running around holding armor or leading horses. There’s someone singing a bawdy song and a few others join in on the chorus. The long grass has been flattened beneath too many wagon wheels and marching boots. Tents are going up all around them.
“Come on, Gaius. A military campaign!” Felix says excitedly, gesturing around the camp.
“Hardly. More like a border skirmish. If it was more important the King himself would have come instead of sending his brother.”
“Don’t let the Prince hear you. I heard his temper, which is fearsome by the way, is only outmatched by his pride.” Felix’s eyes twinkle merrily. “But is this not better than dealing with fainting spells or strange rashes or observing another village birth? I’m pretty sure I can deliver a baby half asleep at this point. At least this is new. You can’t say that you aren’t excited, at least a little.”
Gaius looks at Felix, whom he hasn’t seen in too long, then around the bustling camp before ducking his head to hide his smile. “Maybe a little.”
***
Military campaigns, it turns out, are mostly boring for everyone not involved in the actual fighting. Gaius spends most of his time waiting for the injured to be sent back from the frontline or rolling bandages and organizing supplies under Galen’s watchful eye. Felix, taking a break, is throwing his freshly wrapped bandages at some of the younger apprentices. Across from them, the Prince stands surrounded by older generals, glaring at a map; apparently things aren’t going as expected for them either. Three nights later everything will change.
*
Wilfrid wakes him with a hard shove before moving on to the next pallets to wake the remaining apprentices.
“Everybody up! Galen wants us at the tent.”
Gaius rubs the sleep from his eyes as he hurriedly pulls on a clean tunic. They stumble outside; it’s still dark but probably closer to morning. The area around the Medicine tent is in chaos: novices rushing back and forth, injured knights and soldiers limping in, some being dragged or carried by their comrades and somehow above it all, the voice of his master shouting orders. Galen is no stranger to war but Gaius stands hesitantly, unsure of what to do, where to go first. This is beyond all of his experience. He grabs one of the novices carrying a load of bloody bandages, a young girl who turns with a glare.
“Oh, it’s you.” Her face softens a bit. “I thought you were one of the soldiers.”
“Hunith, what happened?”
“Ambush. Father wants you up front.”
He begins making his way towards the tent when a hand locks on his arm. The grip is surprisingly strong considering the man’s prone position and evident blood loss.
“My men-” Gaius looks down, recognizing the Prince in shock. Uther’s voice is reedy and hoarse with pain.
“Someone must see to my men…the injured…See to the dead. Say you’ll do it.” His voice is adamant, his face made even more severe by the pain etching it. Levering himself up, he draws Gaius in.
“Say it--” Uther pauses. Gaius realizes he’s waiting for his name in addition to the promise.
“I’m Gaius. And we’re doing all we can for your men,” Gaius says seriously. The man breathes out a placated sigh before passing out on his cot. Gaius stares at the bloody handprint on his arm and then back at the man.
“Gaius, make yourself useful!” He jumps at the sound of his master’s voice. “Felix, help him get the Prince up and in here.”
Galen holds the tent flap up, beckoning them in with their burden. They set the prince down on a long wooden table and begin removing his armor and chainmail. The blood makes the armor slippery. It seems to be coming from a number of superficial wounds. They finally find the most serious one, a deep gash from his upper thigh running just below his knee. Galen begins closely examining the laceration making disapproving noises as he pulls out cloth and pieces of debris. Felix and Gaius share a look; they’ve seen men die from wounds like this and even if Uther survives, the chances of him keeping the leg are slim.
“What can I do, Master?”
“Nothing yet, Felix. A use of magic now would overwhelm his system. We must get him stable and repair as much of the damage as possible. Gaius, get my kit. You’ll be assisting me.”
Gaius pauses, pride and anxiety wavering in his gut over being given this opportunity.
“Yes, Master.”
*
In what feels like weeks later, Gaius finally stumbles out of the Medical tent. He’s covered in blood and shaking from exhaustion but they have managed to get Uther stable enough for Felix to use a healing spell to fix the worst of the damage. The prince will live and chances are better, though still not great, that he will keep the leg. Ultimately time and continued care will tell. Felix claps him gently on the back before handing him a flagon of cool water.
“Well done, old man. Well done.”
***
Wilfrid wakes him up again a few hours later.
“Time to get up and see to your patient,” he says with far too much relish. While Galen had taught them medicine, Wilfrid had been in charge of keeping the apprentices in line and had never cared for Felix, who hadn’t met an authority he didn’t feel the need to subvert, and thus Gaius, who usually ended up following him.
Gaius groans and pushes himself up from his pallet.
“Which patient?” he asks.
“Galen has assigned you to the prince.” Gaius stops and stares at him. “Everyone else is swamped handling all of the wounded and Galen is performing another surgery. He seems to think you can handle babysitting the prince for a little while,” Wilfrid continues while leading him to Uther’s tent.
Wilfrid leaves him with the unconscious prince and instructions to summon his Master if he takes a turn for the worse. The tent is more spacious than the one Gaius is sharing, with a couple of low chairs and a small table. Gaius settles into one of the seats and prepares for a long night.
Sometime later, Gaius shakes himself awake from a dreamless sleep. Stretching lazily, he rises to check on the prince. Uther is muttering softly, still feverish. Gaius removes the bandages and begins examining the wound for infection. Satisfied, he wraps it up again and looks up into the hazy eyes of the prince. They stare at each other for a moment before Uther starts coughing and Gaius fetches some water from the nearby table.
“My men?” the injured man asks after sipping the water.
“They’re being seen to.”
Uther passes out again with a soft, Thank you, Gaius.
***
The campaign continues to drag on. When it isn’t wet and muddy, it‘s hot and muggy and now he has the added benefit of watching over his patient. Though Uther never makes reference to their initial meeting, he has yet to forget Gaius’ name and continues to shout it in annoyance with what little strength he has.
Uther is shaky and still feverish from the infection that has taken hold of the wound despite their best efforts, but he argues that he can still speak and reason, so he wastes no time in calling his generals and knights for reports and strategy sessions even though he is barely able sit up on his own. Neither his own condition nor the injuries of his men stops him from trying to turn the tide of the battle. Through it all Gaius attempts to monitor Uther’s condition, keep his fever down, force him to drink his medicine and try save his leg, all the while with Uther snapping at him or throwing things.
Uther seems to view his injured state as a personal insult. His temper is like a summer wildfire after a drought: quick to ignite and leaving behind destruction and a fleeing populace. For whenever Uther is in one of his moods, everyone from his knights to his generals seems to find somewhere on the other side of the camp to be, leaving Gaius to maneuver through the broken furniture, torn reports and thrown clothing to make sure the Prince hasn’t ripped out his stitches again. Now Gaius wishes fervently to be out of Camelot, even to be back delivering babies or tending to the occasional livestock. Felix usually laughs at him when he voices that yearning.
A week passes and they slowly grow into an understanding. Though not entirely comfortable with each other, Uther does grudgingly acknowledge that he can’t go anywhere and Gaius doesn’t want to smother him with his own feather-filled pillow, at least some of the time. Presently things are going better for Camelot’s forces which puts the prince in a better disposition. They manage to have a few civil conversations and he even joins Uther in a game of chance one evening. Since then he spends most nights in Uther’s tent playing games or listening to Uther speak of Camelot. Tonight, Gaius reads about the properties of foxglove while in the background, Uther lectures one of his knights on tactics.
A messenger comes in and coughs politely. “A message from the Lady Igraine, sire.”
“Oh.” Uther looks surprised, a faint pink beginning to stain his cheeks. “Yes...um…Thank you.” Uther makes to grab the letter, dropping his sword instead. Thankfully, the knight reaches for the sword first, placing it securely on the table before handing the prince the letter and making his escape.
Gaius snorts, busying himself with his book to hide his smirk. He’s never seen the serious prince so flustered.
“Are you laughing at me?” Uther sounds slightly scandalized and confused but not angry for once.
“No, my lord.”
Gaius watches Uther read the letter, the noble’s face softening with happiness. At times like this, Gaius remembers that Uther is still a young man with a great responsibility resting on his shoulders. He is unused to being confined to a sickbed for so long and only wants to get back to the frontline and command his soldiers. It almost makes Gaius want to forgive his moods but then Uther will usually say or do something unpleasant.
“She wishes me well. We are to be married next spring - an alliance between our two peoples,” Uther whispers softly, rubbing his fingers lightly over the words.
“Yes, my lord.” Uther is entirely capable of moping all night if not distracted. “Care for another game?” he offers. Uther’s wistful look disappears as he scents another opportunity to win.
***
Uther’s good mood lasts until the latest reports reveal the battle moving further east and Camelot’s forces being increasingly outnumbered. Every able-bodied soldier has been sent out to fight, leaving Uther bad-tempered and restless.
He wants to lead the attacks himself and hates sending men to die while he stays behind.
Uther’s mood manifests in snappish comments which Gaius tries to ignore, followed by cold hostility. Finally, Gaius has quite enough. His mouth is bloody from biting his tongue so often. Uther’s next snide comment results in a shouting match that draws spectators from all over the camp and leaves Uther’s coverlet smoldering from Gaius’ impromptu use of magic and the medic banished from the tent. He stalks out, ignoring Wilfrid’s lecture, and spends the rest of the day walking around the outskirts of the camp trying to calm down.
He returns at nightfall. The prince is once again snarling and snapping at anyone who attempts to help him, like a wounded animal, or more a child in a tantrum in Gaius’ opinion. The aides and the few soldiers and knights left are giving the tent a wide birth. Increasingly, they find reasons to pass the Medicine tent and give Gaius wide eyed, imploring looks. In response, Gaius ignores them and when that fails, he glares at them reproachfully. He is neither Uther’s servant nor his subject. If Uther can’t keep a civil tongue in his head, than he doesn’t deserve company.
Felix and Justus, who was sent to replace Gaius, both breeze by the passive means of getting the disgruntled apprentice to take care of the situation and have gone so far as to drag Gaius to the clearing, glaring pointedly at Uther’s tent. Uther is obviously past listening to anyone but Gaius is frankly sick of him.
“I am not going back in there,” Gaius says firmly.
“Gaius, the man thinks he’s invulnerable. He won’t let me help him,” Justus says, clearly frazzled.
“I even tried and he told me he wants to heal naturally. He will lose his leg or die of blood poisoning if he continues like this,” Felix snaps. He isn’t accustomed to having people refuse his offer of magical help.
“Not everyone cares for magic, Felix.”
“And they are fools! He listens to you more than any of us. He needs help!”
Uther had been angry when Gaius left, but not this obstinate and frantic. “What happened after I left?” he asks.
“A report came. The Lady Igraine’s estates have been attacked by mercenaries. His forces are all tied up and can’t be there for another two days.”
Gaius rubs a tired hand over his face. He knows how Uther feels about Igraine and not being able to help her must be tearing him apart. He understands Uther’s mood but he doesn’t condone it. Gaius isn’t ready to go back in there yet. He ignores them both until he sees Hunith storm from the tent, eyes angry and suspiciously wet. This is the last straw.
“Fine,” he says as he walks towards the tent.
Uther is leaning heavily on the table, a bowl at his feet and most of its contents on his tunic; Hunith never reacts calmly to insults.
“That girl should be punished.”
“What girl?” Uther glares at him but Gaius calmly meets his gaze and pretends innocence.
Sometimes there is a dangerous twist to Uther’s smile and a look in his eyes, even laid out weak and in pain. He is fearless and uncompromising and honestly he sometimes scares Gaius a little. But this time Gaius is too annoyed to feel anything else. He continues staring, waiting Uther out.
Uther deflates suddenly, dropping the crumpled report.
“I’m the best warrior Camelot has. Who else better to lead an assault?” Uther’s challenges in a rough whisper. His eyes are barely open and glazed with exhaustion.
Gaius gapes at him. Has he lost his mind? “But all of your forces are on the line. Besides, you’re in no fit state to go anywhere. You can’t even stand.”
“Then help me!” Uther says sharply. He breathes out raggedly, clearly just as surprised as Gaius at this plea for help.
“I can take a few men. I can save her, but not alone. There’s no one else I can ask.” Gaius hadn’t thought Uther capable of asking for help from anyone let alone him. That convinces him more than anything.
“All right.”
It takes twenty minutes to convince Felix that he’s not being threatened by Uther and another ten to convince him that Gaius hasn’t lost his mind, but ultimately Felix agrees to the plan and follows him back to the tent. Uther is waiting, visibly uncomfortable at the thought of using magic to speed his healing but too desperate to refuse this time. Felix lays his hands over the wound and begins chanting softly. Grunting in pain, Uther’s eyes dart to Gaius with a questioning look. Gaius nods; Felix is the best at healing magic amongst them. Uther relaxes almost immediately and Gaius is momentarily surprised at Uther’s trust in his opinion.
“Done,” Felix pronounces.
Uther flexes his leg fully for the first time in weeks and immediately takes off out of the tent.
“You’re welcome, your majesty,” Felix says sarcastically.
Gaius claps him on the back and smiles. “Come, I’ll get you a drink.”
***
Gaius thought that once he helped Uther he would be able to relax but the idea of Uther riding out to face a superior force with only a small group of fighters will not leave him and only makes Gaius feel increasingly uneasy. Damn the man for making Gaius care about his well-being. Knowing he either has to act or pace himself to death, Gaius makes a decision and heads for the pen where his horse is being stabled.
“Gaius, are you insane?” Felix whispers furiously. “I did not help you so you could follow him into a slaughter.”
“I can’t just sit here and do nothing. He may die.”
“Then he will die without your help. You’ve done enough; you owe nothing to that man.” Felix grips the pommel his face earnest and his eyes pleading. “Don’t do this.”
“Felix, please. I have to.” Gaius meets his eyes over the leather. Shaking his head in defeat, Felix releases the saddle. He unbuckles his sword from his hip and hands it to Gaius. “At least take this.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Gaius gingerly wraps the belt around his waist and mounts.
“Safe return, old man,” Felix whispers softly as he rides away.
***
The trip is unwise and will probably end with them captured or killed yet Gaius nudges his horse faster to catch up with Uther. Working from a hasty study of Uther’s map, it should have been a relatively short trip to the estates of Igraine’s father but it is made longer by the darkness and the unknown terrain and he arrives with the attack already underway. The shapes of the fallen litter the ground. Gaius can hear the clang of swords and shouts in the distance so the actual fighting must have moved further in.
Dismounting, Gaius secures the horse to a nearby tree. He cautiously unsheathes the sword and begins walking towards the keep. A noise to his left causes him to stop short and turn towards the disturbance. He feels his breath quickening and his heart-rate elevating as he turns to face the source-he knows what the fear is doing to his body and how it will affect his reflexes but none of that helps him remember the correct way to use a sword. He regrets now not paying more attention in those lessons.
A woman emerges from the trees holding a long dagger in a white knuckled grip. Her fair hair is beginning to escape from its bindings and her simple dress is torn at the hem and bloody. She freezes upon seeing him and immediately brings up the dagger in a defensive posture.
“Lady Igraine?” He hopes he isn’t wrong and holds his hands up in a non-threatening manner. “I’m with Prince Uther.”
“Uther? He’s here?” she asks in relief.
“Yes, my lady. Now if you would take my horse, we can get you back to his camp. I’m sure he would want you safe,” he tries to say calmly. She hasn’t made any move to lower her weapon.
The hiss of a sword unsheathing behind her draws both their attentions. Gaius moves to stand in front of Igraine.
“He’s one of them. They killed my guards,” she whispers harshly. The panic is still in her voice but there is more anger now. He can almost feel the tension radiating from her.
“Igraine, run and take the horse!”
“If she tries to runs, I’ll kill you and stab her in the back.” The mercenary smiles cruelly at them.
“I can hold him off. Run!” He tries to push her back towards the horse.
“You’re not even holding your sword correctly,” she whispers frantically, clearly ready to attack with her own weapon.
Gaius looks down and hastily tries to adjust his grip but the man lunges at him; before Gaius can even bring the blade up, the man stops short. They all stare, Gaius and Lady Igraine in shock, the would-be murderer in confusion. The mercenary pitches forward, a feathered arrow piercing his chest.
“Gaius?” Someone yells. A figure comes out of the forest holding a bow. It’s one of Uther’s knights-Sigbert or Sighere. Igraine is still holding her dagger in a defensive position, eyes darting from the dead man to the approaching knight.
“My lady, he is one of Uther’s knights.” She neither relinquishes her hold on her knife nor takes her eyes off of them for too long. “Will you be all right here? I have to find Uther and we’ll come back for you.” She nods hesitantly and he runs towards the sounds of fighting.
It doesn’t take long to find Uther, even in the dark; the red of his tunic stands out. Gaius sees him on the ground leaning against a tree, still gripping his sword.
“Gaius, what you doing here?” Uther’s voice is tight with pain.
“I couldn’t let you run off and throw away all the work I’ve done to keep you alive.” Gaius tries to keep his voice light but Uther is deathly pale and there’s a spreading bloodstain on his chest.
“What happened?” Gaius falls to his knees beside Uther and pulls at the hole in his tunic to examine the wound. Probably made by a broadsword; it went straight through his chest and judging by the blood on his lips, it pierced his lung. Uther’s chainmail should’ve deflected the worst of the blow but apparently in his haste he left it behind.
“I can hold my own against four but apparently five is my limit.” Uther attempts his trademark smirk but it falls short as he starts to cough.
“My horse is just beyond those trees. If we can get you up and back to camp, I’m sure Galen can heal you.” Gaius says desperately, trying to staunch the blood and lever Uther up at the same time. Uther grunts in pain at the movement and the wound begins bleeding more profusely.
“Gaius,” Uther says in a strangled voice. The prince drops his sword and places his hand on Gaius’ shoulder. “Gaius, stop. Just let me stay here for awhile.”
Gaius shakes his head. “I can save you! Just give me the chance.”
“The Lady Igraine…I can’t leave without her.” Uther’s voice is barely a whisper.
“She’s fine. I left her in the care of one of your knights.” He can feel Uther’s pulse weakening.
“Then she is safe. Thank you, Gaius.” Uther smiles slightly before he slumps against the tree, unconscious.
Igraine makes her way out onto the field followed by the knight leading his horse. She catches his eyes briefly before looking down. With a strangled cry she begins running towards them.
“Is he…” She looks at him. She’s holding herself stiffly, trying to stay composed, but Gaius can see the fine tremors running through her body.
“Not yet, but a wound like this-there’s nothing I can do for him here and he would not survive the journey back to his camp. I’m sorry.”
“No. No!” Her formal mask dissolves, leaving behind fear and panic. She falls to her knees beside him, tearing a strip from her dress and holding it over the wound on Uther’s chest. “We must get him to a healer.”
“My lady-.”
“Help him,” Igraine orders tightly. Gaius can see the anguish in her eyes when she looks back up at him, but her face hardens. “Or I promise you will not leave these lands alive.”
He meets her glare before looking down at Uther again. He isn’t supposed to die, not like this.
“I know a spell but I haven’t attempted anything of this scale before. I don’t know if it will work.”
“I don’t care, just do it.”
Gaius lays Uther flat on the ground. The spell is complicated and requires every bit of skill and strength he has left. He learned it from Felix but never attempted it on more than a surface wound. Focusing all his attention on the trauma he begins whispering the words that will slowly knit the flesh back together. He feels tendrils of his energy being pulled out of him and into Uther and hopes it will be enough.
Sometime later, he’s not sure how long, he wakes from his trance disorientated and sore. Igraine is watching him with wide eyes, her hands still red with Uther’s blood. Gaius reaches out a trembling hand, all the horrible things he said to Uther, the things he thought, were swirling around his head. If only he had handled things differently; better.
Shallow breaths, warm and damp, tickle the back of his hand. Igraine gasps beside him and Gaius looks down into Uther’s barely open eyes.
“Igraine?” Uther whispers roughly.
Her eyes are wet but she is smiling down at him, her fingers hesitantly touching his face.
***
While he is healing Uther, Igraine’s eldest brother returns with reinforcements and with the aid of Uther’s remaining fighters; they manage to capture the rest of the mercenaries. After making sure that Uther will not be harmed too much by being moved, Igraine arranges for a wagon and an escort to take them back to the camp. It’s a relief because Uther is more unconscious than not and Gaius barely has the strength to stand, let alone walk the five feet to his horse.
Gaius doesn’t regret any of it. The prince is alive and well, the spell working better than Gaius had anticipated. Uther’s future wife is safe and the mercenaries captured. Of course, none of that stops Master Galen from giving him a reprimand and a two hour lecture on foolhardiness or an unexpectedly angry Felix yelling at him for performing difficult magic alone. But Gaius can’t help but feel satisfied.
They spend the next few days recuperating while the camp packs up around them. The war is at a stalemate while a treaty is being negotiated in Camelot. The King sends word for Uther to return to the city and handle the negotiations. Galen is taking his apprentices south and Felix is heading back north.
Uther calls him into his tent one last time before he leaves. He is quiet and relaxed for perhaps the first time since they met him.
“My brother is ill.” Uther says softly, looking across the camp.
“Perhaps Master Galen-”
“Master Galen has already seen my brother, quite frequently in fact.” A look of profound sadness flickers across Uther’s face and is gone in an instant. “There is nothing to be done. He grows weaker every year. Soon I will be King.”
Gaius can hear the thread of uncertainty in that last statement and tries to think of a way to ask how Uther feels about being King without seeming too presumptuous. Thankfully, Uther continues before he can botch his way through it.
“I confess that I’ve grown more used to the battlefield than courtly life. I have little patience for the inane chatter or court politics.” Unconsciously his hand goes to the hilt of his sword. “But I would give my life for Camelot and have fought for her these past years. So, if I am meant to be King then I shall be the best king in Albion. Camelot deserves it.”
Gaius nods. For all his faults, and there are many, Uther is a good leader who clearly loves his land. Gaius has developed a grudging respect for the man during their time together.
“I have not been the best patient,” Gaius can’t completely hold back his snort at this but Uther only acknowledges with a slightly embarrassed nod, “but you stayed with me. You helped me and you protected Igraine. I didn’t want to leave without-I needed to convey my gratitude to you.” Uther finishes gruffly. Gaius listens to him in pleased surprise.
“Our time has come to an end. You are no doubt relieved.” And there is his customary smirk teasing at the corner of his mouth. Gaius tries to hide his returning grin and fails as they exit the tent and begin walking towards Uther’s horse.
“You will remember to take it easy, my lord. You’re still recovering.” He tries to sound brusque, but he knows his eyes are twinkling. Uther only barely rolls his eyes this time and mounts carefully. He gazes down at Gaius.
“Denoth, our court physician, is old and looks to retire soon.”
“Yes, sire,” Gaius replies, confused by the non sequitur.
“When I am King, I will need a new court physician.” The smirk transforms into a full grin that softens his face into something boyish. “You have shown bravery and the ability to keep a clear head and still perform your duties. Camelot would appreciate a physician such as this.”
Gaius flushes at the unexpected praise. “Thank you. Then perhaps when I finish my training. ” But he can’t help but add with a smirk of his own, “That is if I don’t receive a better offer.”
Uther barks out a laugh. “Yes, of course. Fare you well, Gaius.” He lifts a hand in parting before riding away.
“Good riddance!” Someone says behind him.
Gaius turns to regard Hunith’s annoyed face. He laughs, putting an arm around her shoulders. “He’s not that bad once you get to know him. Come and help me pack. I need to get back to my village.”
They turn in unison, heading back towards the Medicine tent, a contemplative expression flickering over the physician’s satisfied features.
Author:
jane_lane18
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Gaius, Uther, Hunith, Igraine
Length: 5,330
Summary: Pre-series. Gaius works as a healer in the military campaign of Prince Uther.
Notes: Thanks once again to the awesome madtheo for all of her help. Uther's brother being King first is taken from Geoffrey of Monmouth.
Gaius gazes down into the once green valley now overflowing with tents and soldiers scurrying along like worker ants. The wind brings the tang of smoke from the cooking fires and the sound of loud voices calling out to each other. By all reports this should be a short campaign and all the soldiers were in high spirits.
Shouldering his pack higher up on his back, he wonders again what he’s doing here. He is no soldier; he is only a beginner healer, serving his internship in a small village in the middle of nowhere. However Galen, his old teacher, has come as a favor to the king of Camelot and the voice of reason tells Gaius that he should feel privileged that Galen chose to invite him along; he can certainly use the experience.
“You’re not going to get there if you don’t move, old man.” Gaius snorts and turns to regard the source of the voice. Felix, one of his old classmates, stands beside him grinning broadly. “It won’t be that bad. Just a couple of weeks and we can go home.”
“For you, maybe. I still have two more years of training.” The thought of spending two more harvest seasons in that village seems almost too much to bear. Even sleeping on the hard ground and tending soldiers all day and night seems an improvement over the past six months of boredom.
“Ah, I see. Missing Ealdor already, then?” Gaius gives him a sour look in reply while Felix laughs at him.
A commotion below draws their attention. In a cloud of dust and the thunder of hoof beats, a group of knights rides to a halt on the outskirts of the camp. Gaius turns to watch them circling around on skittish horses, the sun glinting off their armor. One of the knights, clad in a scarlet cloak and a tunic emblazoned with a rearing dragon, rides to the front gesturing for the others to follow him further into the camp. The knight seems too young to be a leader, younger than Gaius’ own age, but the others follow him.
“The knights of Camelot. That’s Prince Uther Pendragon in front.” He jerks in surprise at Felix’s voice. His friend shoves against his shoulder playfully before running down the hill. “Come on, old man!” he shouts behind him.
Gaius laughs for the first time since arriving and takes off after him.
*
The camp is full of activity: soldiers sharpening their weapons, pages running around holding armor or leading horses. There’s someone singing a bawdy song and a few others join in on the chorus. The long grass has been flattened beneath too many wagon wheels and marching boots. Tents are going up all around them.
“Come on, Gaius. A military campaign!” Felix says excitedly, gesturing around the camp.
“Hardly. More like a border skirmish. If it was more important the King himself would have come instead of sending his brother.”
“Don’t let the Prince hear you. I heard his temper, which is fearsome by the way, is only outmatched by his pride.” Felix’s eyes twinkle merrily. “But is this not better than dealing with fainting spells or strange rashes or observing another village birth? I’m pretty sure I can deliver a baby half asleep at this point. At least this is new. You can’t say that you aren’t excited, at least a little.”
Gaius looks at Felix, whom he hasn’t seen in too long, then around the bustling camp before ducking his head to hide his smile. “Maybe a little.”
***
Military campaigns, it turns out, are mostly boring for everyone not involved in the actual fighting. Gaius spends most of his time waiting for the injured to be sent back from the frontline or rolling bandages and organizing supplies under Galen’s watchful eye. Felix, taking a break, is throwing his freshly wrapped bandages at some of the younger apprentices. Across from them, the Prince stands surrounded by older generals, glaring at a map; apparently things aren’t going as expected for them either. Three nights later everything will change.
*
Wilfrid wakes him with a hard shove before moving on to the next pallets to wake the remaining apprentices.
“Everybody up! Galen wants us at the tent.”
Gaius rubs the sleep from his eyes as he hurriedly pulls on a clean tunic. They stumble outside; it’s still dark but probably closer to morning. The area around the Medicine tent is in chaos: novices rushing back and forth, injured knights and soldiers limping in, some being dragged or carried by their comrades and somehow above it all, the voice of his master shouting orders. Galen is no stranger to war but Gaius stands hesitantly, unsure of what to do, where to go first. This is beyond all of his experience. He grabs one of the novices carrying a load of bloody bandages, a young girl who turns with a glare.
“Oh, it’s you.” Her face softens a bit. “I thought you were one of the soldiers.”
“Hunith, what happened?”
“Ambush. Father wants you up front.”
He begins making his way towards the tent when a hand locks on his arm. The grip is surprisingly strong considering the man’s prone position and evident blood loss.
“My men-” Gaius looks down, recognizing the Prince in shock. Uther’s voice is reedy and hoarse with pain.
“Someone must see to my men…the injured…See to the dead. Say you’ll do it.” His voice is adamant, his face made even more severe by the pain etching it. Levering himself up, he draws Gaius in.
“Say it--” Uther pauses. Gaius realizes he’s waiting for his name in addition to the promise.
“I’m Gaius. And we’re doing all we can for your men,” Gaius says seriously. The man breathes out a placated sigh before passing out on his cot. Gaius stares at the bloody handprint on his arm and then back at the man.
“Gaius, make yourself useful!” He jumps at the sound of his master’s voice. “Felix, help him get the Prince up and in here.”
Galen holds the tent flap up, beckoning them in with their burden. They set the prince down on a long wooden table and begin removing his armor and chainmail. The blood makes the armor slippery. It seems to be coming from a number of superficial wounds. They finally find the most serious one, a deep gash from his upper thigh running just below his knee. Galen begins closely examining the laceration making disapproving noises as he pulls out cloth and pieces of debris. Felix and Gaius share a look; they’ve seen men die from wounds like this and even if Uther survives, the chances of him keeping the leg are slim.
“What can I do, Master?”
“Nothing yet, Felix. A use of magic now would overwhelm his system. We must get him stable and repair as much of the damage as possible. Gaius, get my kit. You’ll be assisting me.”
Gaius pauses, pride and anxiety wavering in his gut over being given this opportunity.
“Yes, Master.”
*
In what feels like weeks later, Gaius finally stumbles out of the Medical tent. He’s covered in blood and shaking from exhaustion but they have managed to get Uther stable enough for Felix to use a healing spell to fix the worst of the damage. The prince will live and chances are better, though still not great, that he will keep the leg. Ultimately time and continued care will tell. Felix claps him gently on the back before handing him a flagon of cool water.
“Well done, old man. Well done.”
***
Wilfrid wakes him up again a few hours later.
“Time to get up and see to your patient,” he says with far too much relish. While Galen had taught them medicine, Wilfrid had been in charge of keeping the apprentices in line and had never cared for Felix, who hadn’t met an authority he didn’t feel the need to subvert, and thus Gaius, who usually ended up following him.
Gaius groans and pushes himself up from his pallet.
“Which patient?” he asks.
“Galen has assigned you to the prince.” Gaius stops and stares at him. “Everyone else is swamped handling all of the wounded and Galen is performing another surgery. He seems to think you can handle babysitting the prince for a little while,” Wilfrid continues while leading him to Uther’s tent.
Wilfrid leaves him with the unconscious prince and instructions to summon his Master if he takes a turn for the worse. The tent is more spacious than the one Gaius is sharing, with a couple of low chairs and a small table. Gaius settles into one of the seats and prepares for a long night.
Sometime later, Gaius shakes himself awake from a dreamless sleep. Stretching lazily, he rises to check on the prince. Uther is muttering softly, still feverish. Gaius removes the bandages and begins examining the wound for infection. Satisfied, he wraps it up again and looks up into the hazy eyes of the prince. They stare at each other for a moment before Uther starts coughing and Gaius fetches some water from the nearby table.
“My men?” the injured man asks after sipping the water.
“They’re being seen to.”
Uther passes out again with a soft, Thank you, Gaius.
***
The campaign continues to drag on. When it isn’t wet and muddy, it‘s hot and muggy and now he has the added benefit of watching over his patient. Though Uther never makes reference to their initial meeting, he has yet to forget Gaius’ name and continues to shout it in annoyance with what little strength he has.
Uther is shaky and still feverish from the infection that has taken hold of the wound despite their best efforts, but he argues that he can still speak and reason, so he wastes no time in calling his generals and knights for reports and strategy sessions even though he is barely able sit up on his own. Neither his own condition nor the injuries of his men stops him from trying to turn the tide of the battle. Through it all Gaius attempts to monitor Uther’s condition, keep his fever down, force him to drink his medicine and try save his leg, all the while with Uther snapping at him or throwing things.
Uther seems to view his injured state as a personal insult. His temper is like a summer wildfire after a drought: quick to ignite and leaving behind destruction and a fleeing populace. For whenever Uther is in one of his moods, everyone from his knights to his generals seems to find somewhere on the other side of the camp to be, leaving Gaius to maneuver through the broken furniture, torn reports and thrown clothing to make sure the Prince hasn’t ripped out his stitches again. Now Gaius wishes fervently to be out of Camelot, even to be back delivering babies or tending to the occasional livestock. Felix usually laughs at him when he voices that yearning.
A week passes and they slowly grow into an understanding. Though not entirely comfortable with each other, Uther does grudgingly acknowledge that he can’t go anywhere and Gaius doesn’t want to smother him with his own feather-filled pillow, at least some of the time. Presently things are going better for Camelot’s forces which puts the prince in a better disposition. They manage to have a few civil conversations and he even joins Uther in a game of chance one evening. Since then he spends most nights in Uther’s tent playing games or listening to Uther speak of Camelot. Tonight, Gaius reads about the properties of foxglove while in the background, Uther lectures one of his knights on tactics.
A messenger comes in and coughs politely. “A message from the Lady Igraine, sire.”
“Oh.” Uther looks surprised, a faint pink beginning to stain his cheeks. “Yes...um…Thank you.” Uther makes to grab the letter, dropping his sword instead. Thankfully, the knight reaches for the sword first, placing it securely on the table before handing the prince the letter and making his escape.
Gaius snorts, busying himself with his book to hide his smirk. He’s never seen the serious prince so flustered.
“Are you laughing at me?” Uther sounds slightly scandalized and confused but not angry for once.
“No, my lord.”
Gaius watches Uther read the letter, the noble’s face softening with happiness. At times like this, Gaius remembers that Uther is still a young man with a great responsibility resting on his shoulders. He is unused to being confined to a sickbed for so long and only wants to get back to the frontline and command his soldiers. It almost makes Gaius want to forgive his moods but then Uther will usually say or do something unpleasant.
“She wishes me well. We are to be married next spring - an alliance between our two peoples,” Uther whispers softly, rubbing his fingers lightly over the words.
“Yes, my lord.” Uther is entirely capable of moping all night if not distracted. “Care for another game?” he offers. Uther’s wistful look disappears as he scents another opportunity to win.
***
Uther’s good mood lasts until the latest reports reveal the battle moving further east and Camelot’s forces being increasingly outnumbered. Every able-bodied soldier has been sent out to fight, leaving Uther bad-tempered and restless.
He wants to lead the attacks himself and hates sending men to die while he stays behind.
Uther’s mood manifests in snappish comments which Gaius tries to ignore, followed by cold hostility. Finally, Gaius has quite enough. His mouth is bloody from biting his tongue so often. Uther’s next snide comment results in a shouting match that draws spectators from all over the camp and leaves Uther’s coverlet smoldering from Gaius’ impromptu use of magic and the medic banished from the tent. He stalks out, ignoring Wilfrid’s lecture, and spends the rest of the day walking around the outskirts of the camp trying to calm down.
He returns at nightfall. The prince is once again snarling and snapping at anyone who attempts to help him, like a wounded animal, or more a child in a tantrum in Gaius’ opinion. The aides and the few soldiers and knights left are giving the tent a wide birth. Increasingly, they find reasons to pass the Medicine tent and give Gaius wide eyed, imploring looks. In response, Gaius ignores them and when that fails, he glares at them reproachfully. He is neither Uther’s servant nor his subject. If Uther can’t keep a civil tongue in his head, than he doesn’t deserve company.
Felix and Justus, who was sent to replace Gaius, both breeze by the passive means of getting the disgruntled apprentice to take care of the situation and have gone so far as to drag Gaius to the clearing, glaring pointedly at Uther’s tent. Uther is obviously past listening to anyone but Gaius is frankly sick of him.
“I am not going back in there,” Gaius says firmly.
“Gaius, the man thinks he’s invulnerable. He won’t let me help him,” Justus says, clearly frazzled.
“I even tried and he told me he wants to heal naturally. He will lose his leg or die of blood poisoning if he continues like this,” Felix snaps. He isn’t accustomed to having people refuse his offer of magical help.
“Not everyone cares for magic, Felix.”
“And they are fools! He listens to you more than any of us. He needs help!”
Uther had been angry when Gaius left, but not this obstinate and frantic. “What happened after I left?” he asks.
“A report came. The Lady Igraine’s estates have been attacked by mercenaries. His forces are all tied up and can’t be there for another two days.”
Gaius rubs a tired hand over his face. He knows how Uther feels about Igraine and not being able to help her must be tearing him apart. He understands Uther’s mood but he doesn’t condone it. Gaius isn’t ready to go back in there yet. He ignores them both until he sees Hunith storm from the tent, eyes angry and suspiciously wet. This is the last straw.
“Fine,” he says as he walks towards the tent.
Uther is leaning heavily on the table, a bowl at his feet and most of its contents on his tunic; Hunith never reacts calmly to insults.
“That girl should be punished.”
“What girl?” Uther glares at him but Gaius calmly meets his gaze and pretends innocence.
Sometimes there is a dangerous twist to Uther’s smile and a look in his eyes, even laid out weak and in pain. He is fearless and uncompromising and honestly he sometimes scares Gaius a little. But this time Gaius is too annoyed to feel anything else. He continues staring, waiting Uther out.
Uther deflates suddenly, dropping the crumpled report.
“I’m the best warrior Camelot has. Who else better to lead an assault?” Uther’s challenges in a rough whisper. His eyes are barely open and glazed with exhaustion.
Gaius gapes at him. Has he lost his mind? “But all of your forces are on the line. Besides, you’re in no fit state to go anywhere. You can’t even stand.”
“Then help me!” Uther says sharply. He breathes out raggedly, clearly just as surprised as Gaius at this plea for help.
“I can take a few men. I can save her, but not alone. There’s no one else I can ask.” Gaius hadn’t thought Uther capable of asking for help from anyone let alone him. That convinces him more than anything.
“All right.”
It takes twenty minutes to convince Felix that he’s not being threatened by Uther and another ten to convince him that Gaius hasn’t lost his mind, but ultimately Felix agrees to the plan and follows him back to the tent. Uther is waiting, visibly uncomfortable at the thought of using magic to speed his healing but too desperate to refuse this time. Felix lays his hands over the wound and begins chanting softly. Grunting in pain, Uther’s eyes dart to Gaius with a questioning look. Gaius nods; Felix is the best at healing magic amongst them. Uther relaxes almost immediately and Gaius is momentarily surprised at Uther’s trust in his opinion.
“Done,” Felix pronounces.
Uther flexes his leg fully for the first time in weeks and immediately takes off out of the tent.
“You’re welcome, your majesty,” Felix says sarcastically.
Gaius claps him on the back and smiles. “Come, I’ll get you a drink.”
***
Gaius thought that once he helped Uther he would be able to relax but the idea of Uther riding out to face a superior force with only a small group of fighters will not leave him and only makes Gaius feel increasingly uneasy. Damn the man for making Gaius care about his well-being. Knowing he either has to act or pace himself to death, Gaius makes a decision and heads for the pen where his horse is being stabled.
“Gaius, are you insane?” Felix whispers furiously. “I did not help you so you could follow him into a slaughter.”
“I can’t just sit here and do nothing. He may die.”
“Then he will die without your help. You’ve done enough; you owe nothing to that man.” Felix grips the pommel his face earnest and his eyes pleading. “Don’t do this.”
“Felix, please. I have to.” Gaius meets his eyes over the leather. Shaking his head in defeat, Felix releases the saddle. He unbuckles his sword from his hip and hands it to Gaius. “At least take this.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Gaius gingerly wraps the belt around his waist and mounts.
“Safe return, old man,” Felix whispers softly as he rides away.
***
The trip is unwise and will probably end with them captured or killed yet Gaius nudges his horse faster to catch up with Uther. Working from a hasty study of Uther’s map, it should have been a relatively short trip to the estates of Igraine’s father but it is made longer by the darkness and the unknown terrain and he arrives with the attack already underway. The shapes of the fallen litter the ground. Gaius can hear the clang of swords and shouts in the distance so the actual fighting must have moved further in.
Dismounting, Gaius secures the horse to a nearby tree. He cautiously unsheathes the sword and begins walking towards the keep. A noise to his left causes him to stop short and turn towards the disturbance. He feels his breath quickening and his heart-rate elevating as he turns to face the source-he knows what the fear is doing to his body and how it will affect his reflexes but none of that helps him remember the correct way to use a sword. He regrets now not paying more attention in those lessons.
A woman emerges from the trees holding a long dagger in a white knuckled grip. Her fair hair is beginning to escape from its bindings and her simple dress is torn at the hem and bloody. She freezes upon seeing him and immediately brings up the dagger in a defensive posture.
“Lady Igraine?” He hopes he isn’t wrong and holds his hands up in a non-threatening manner. “I’m with Prince Uther.”
“Uther? He’s here?” she asks in relief.
“Yes, my lady. Now if you would take my horse, we can get you back to his camp. I’m sure he would want you safe,” he tries to say calmly. She hasn’t made any move to lower her weapon.
The hiss of a sword unsheathing behind her draws both their attentions. Gaius moves to stand in front of Igraine.
“He’s one of them. They killed my guards,” she whispers harshly. The panic is still in her voice but there is more anger now. He can almost feel the tension radiating from her.
“Igraine, run and take the horse!”
“If she tries to runs, I’ll kill you and stab her in the back.” The mercenary smiles cruelly at them.
“I can hold him off. Run!” He tries to push her back towards the horse.
“You’re not even holding your sword correctly,” she whispers frantically, clearly ready to attack with her own weapon.
Gaius looks down and hastily tries to adjust his grip but the man lunges at him; before Gaius can even bring the blade up, the man stops short. They all stare, Gaius and Lady Igraine in shock, the would-be murderer in confusion. The mercenary pitches forward, a feathered arrow piercing his chest.
“Gaius?” Someone yells. A figure comes out of the forest holding a bow. It’s one of Uther’s knights-Sigbert or Sighere. Igraine is still holding her dagger in a defensive position, eyes darting from the dead man to the approaching knight.
“My lady, he is one of Uther’s knights.” She neither relinquishes her hold on her knife nor takes her eyes off of them for too long. “Will you be all right here? I have to find Uther and we’ll come back for you.” She nods hesitantly and he runs towards the sounds of fighting.
It doesn’t take long to find Uther, even in the dark; the red of his tunic stands out. Gaius sees him on the ground leaning against a tree, still gripping his sword.
“Gaius, what you doing here?” Uther’s voice is tight with pain.
“I couldn’t let you run off and throw away all the work I’ve done to keep you alive.” Gaius tries to keep his voice light but Uther is deathly pale and there’s a spreading bloodstain on his chest.
“What happened?” Gaius falls to his knees beside Uther and pulls at the hole in his tunic to examine the wound. Probably made by a broadsword; it went straight through his chest and judging by the blood on his lips, it pierced his lung. Uther’s chainmail should’ve deflected the worst of the blow but apparently in his haste he left it behind.
“I can hold my own against four but apparently five is my limit.” Uther attempts his trademark smirk but it falls short as he starts to cough.
“My horse is just beyond those trees. If we can get you up and back to camp, I’m sure Galen can heal you.” Gaius says desperately, trying to staunch the blood and lever Uther up at the same time. Uther grunts in pain at the movement and the wound begins bleeding more profusely.
“Gaius,” Uther says in a strangled voice. The prince drops his sword and places his hand on Gaius’ shoulder. “Gaius, stop. Just let me stay here for awhile.”
Gaius shakes his head. “I can save you! Just give me the chance.”
“The Lady Igraine…I can’t leave without her.” Uther’s voice is barely a whisper.
“She’s fine. I left her in the care of one of your knights.” He can feel Uther’s pulse weakening.
“Then she is safe. Thank you, Gaius.” Uther smiles slightly before he slumps against the tree, unconscious.
Igraine makes her way out onto the field followed by the knight leading his horse. She catches his eyes briefly before looking down. With a strangled cry she begins running towards them.
“Is he…” She looks at him. She’s holding herself stiffly, trying to stay composed, but Gaius can see the fine tremors running through her body.
“Not yet, but a wound like this-there’s nothing I can do for him here and he would not survive the journey back to his camp. I’m sorry.”
“No. No!” Her formal mask dissolves, leaving behind fear and panic. She falls to her knees beside him, tearing a strip from her dress and holding it over the wound on Uther’s chest. “We must get him to a healer.”
“My lady-.”
“Help him,” Igraine orders tightly. Gaius can see the anguish in her eyes when she looks back up at him, but her face hardens. “Or I promise you will not leave these lands alive.”
He meets her glare before looking down at Uther again. He isn’t supposed to die, not like this.
“I know a spell but I haven’t attempted anything of this scale before. I don’t know if it will work.”
“I don’t care, just do it.”
Gaius lays Uther flat on the ground. The spell is complicated and requires every bit of skill and strength he has left. He learned it from Felix but never attempted it on more than a surface wound. Focusing all his attention on the trauma he begins whispering the words that will slowly knit the flesh back together. He feels tendrils of his energy being pulled out of him and into Uther and hopes it will be enough.
Sometime later, he’s not sure how long, he wakes from his trance disorientated and sore. Igraine is watching him with wide eyes, her hands still red with Uther’s blood. Gaius reaches out a trembling hand, all the horrible things he said to Uther, the things he thought, were swirling around his head. If only he had handled things differently; better.
Shallow breaths, warm and damp, tickle the back of his hand. Igraine gasps beside him and Gaius looks down into Uther’s barely open eyes.
“Igraine?” Uther whispers roughly.
Her eyes are wet but she is smiling down at him, her fingers hesitantly touching his face.
***
While he is healing Uther, Igraine’s eldest brother returns with reinforcements and with the aid of Uther’s remaining fighters; they manage to capture the rest of the mercenaries. After making sure that Uther will not be harmed too much by being moved, Igraine arranges for a wagon and an escort to take them back to the camp. It’s a relief because Uther is more unconscious than not and Gaius barely has the strength to stand, let alone walk the five feet to his horse.
Gaius doesn’t regret any of it. The prince is alive and well, the spell working better than Gaius had anticipated. Uther’s future wife is safe and the mercenaries captured. Of course, none of that stops Master Galen from giving him a reprimand and a two hour lecture on foolhardiness or an unexpectedly angry Felix yelling at him for performing difficult magic alone. But Gaius can’t help but feel satisfied.
They spend the next few days recuperating while the camp packs up around them. The war is at a stalemate while a treaty is being negotiated in Camelot. The King sends word for Uther to return to the city and handle the negotiations. Galen is taking his apprentices south and Felix is heading back north.
Uther calls him into his tent one last time before he leaves. He is quiet and relaxed for perhaps the first time since they met him.
“My brother is ill.” Uther says softly, looking across the camp.
“Perhaps Master Galen-”
“Master Galen has already seen my brother, quite frequently in fact.” A look of profound sadness flickers across Uther’s face and is gone in an instant. “There is nothing to be done. He grows weaker every year. Soon I will be King.”
Gaius can hear the thread of uncertainty in that last statement and tries to think of a way to ask how Uther feels about being King without seeming too presumptuous. Thankfully, Uther continues before he can botch his way through it.
“I confess that I’ve grown more used to the battlefield than courtly life. I have little patience for the inane chatter or court politics.” Unconsciously his hand goes to the hilt of his sword. “But I would give my life for Camelot and have fought for her these past years. So, if I am meant to be King then I shall be the best king in Albion. Camelot deserves it.”
Gaius nods. For all his faults, and there are many, Uther is a good leader who clearly loves his land. Gaius has developed a grudging respect for the man during their time together.
“I have not been the best patient,” Gaius can’t completely hold back his snort at this but Uther only acknowledges with a slightly embarrassed nod, “but you stayed with me. You helped me and you protected Igraine. I didn’t want to leave without-I needed to convey my gratitude to you.” Uther finishes gruffly. Gaius listens to him in pleased surprise.
“Our time has come to an end. You are no doubt relieved.” And there is his customary smirk teasing at the corner of his mouth. Gaius tries to hide his returning grin and fails as they exit the tent and begin walking towards Uther’s horse.
“You will remember to take it easy, my lord. You’re still recovering.” He tries to sound brusque, but he knows his eyes are twinkling. Uther only barely rolls his eyes this time and mounts carefully. He gazes down at Gaius.
“Denoth, our court physician, is old and looks to retire soon.”
“Yes, sire,” Gaius replies, confused by the non sequitur.
“When I am King, I will need a new court physician.” The smirk transforms into a full grin that softens his face into something boyish. “You have shown bravery and the ability to keep a clear head and still perform your duties. Camelot would appreciate a physician such as this.”
Gaius flushes at the unexpected praise. “Thank you. Then perhaps when I finish my training. ” But he can’t help but add with a smirk of his own, “That is if I don’t receive a better offer.”
Uther barks out a laugh. “Yes, of course. Fare you well, Gaius.” He lifts a hand in parting before riding away.
“Good riddance!” Someone says behind him.
Gaius turns to regard Hunith’s annoyed face. He laughs, putting an arm around her shoulders. “He’s not that bad once you get to know him. Come and help me pack. I need to get back to my village.”
They turn in unison, heading back towards the Medicine tent, a contemplative expression flickering over the physician’s satisfied features.