Author's Notes: As with all my stories, this one takes place in an alternate third series. I adhere to canon up until the end of series two, then diverge. Merlin and Arthur are still in Cameliard; this story is about what's happening meanwhile in Camelot. It's set around the same(ish) time as "The Heir of Cameliard".

XIXIXIXIX

The Hunted

Lancelot heard the footfalls through the underbrush in front of him—three men were stealing through the trees. They wore green and brown and grey—well-suited to blending into the forest. Lancelot tugged the reins of his horse and stole after them.

A woman was watering her horse at a nearby creek. She was forty years old, spry, well-(but not finely) dressed—probably some noblewoman's servant—and clearly traveling alone. Lancelot spurred his horse forward, glancing around to see just how many thieves had surrounded her. She looked up as five men advanced with swords drawn. A strand of graying brown hair fell into her face as she sucked in her breath. Lancelot rushed up, putting himself in front of her.

"Leave now." Lancelot drew his sword; his horse snorted and stamped. One of the men sneered up at him and reached for the knife strapped to his side.

"You're outnumbered," the man said, positioning himself to throw the knife at Lancelot.

"That may be," Lancelot said, but before he could continue, an arrow hit one of the other men in the back, killing him. Lancelot's horse reared as a dozen men rode up. The would-be thieves glanced at each other then raced away through the trees. The newly-arrived posse did not follow.

"Come out, you witch," the leader said, turning his horse in a tight circle to peer in every direction.

Lancelot also looked around, but all he saw of the woman was her horse. He felt a hard grip on his arm and turned to find the leader's face in his, their knees hitting each other as their horses fidgeted.

"Where is she?" the man demanded. He was an older man with young brown eyes, his hair full and white, and each wrinkle on his face a hard line carved by time. He was dangerously fit, but Lancelot didn't flinch beneath the squeezing grip, merely stared back and shrugged. The man narrowed his eyes.

"I followed the thieves," Lancelot said. "She just happened to be the next victim. Who is she?"

"An evil witch." He released Lancelot's arm and stared around at the surrounding foliage as if his eyes could pierce the tree trunks. "Grab her horse—let's see how far she gets without it. You would do well to remember that magic is a darkness that consumes the souls of all those who practice it." Whether he said this to Lancelot or to his men or to himself, Lancelot couldn't tell, but they were parting words and the man trotted off, his men close behind.

"Please help me," a voice said once the last of the group had vanished.

Lancelot turned around. The woman was standing by the creek, exactly where she had been when the thieves approached.

"Neat trick," Lancelot said, sheathing his sword.

The crowd was large as the dark-haired man was brought forth—Samuel, thirty-one years old. The crowd was silent as King Uther recited the charge. Witchcraft. The crowd watched as two guards forced him to his knees. He had no last words. His eyes sought desperately among the faces of the bystanders, but they were all stone—closed-up houses that admitted no guests. His twisting neck made the executioner roll his eyes. Now or five minutes from now, either way your head's coming off, the executioner told the condemned man.

"You don't have to watch this," Lancelot said to Lunette as they blended with the crowd. But the woman he had escorted secretly into town shook her head.

"He shouldn't die surrounded by enemies," she whispered. Her face was hidden beneath a large, dirty grey cloak; nonetheless Lancelot saw that she was biting her lip.

Samuel stopped squirming. His eyes locked on someone in the crowd. Uther raised his hand. The signal fell. Samuel's head rolled slightly as a broken voice cried out—no one could pinpoint the source. Perhaps it had come from the dead man. Perhaps it was just one of many dogs. Lancelot glanced around at the gathered men and women, stopping his attention as he recognized one of them—a young, sandy-haired man, wearing dirty clothes and a black cloak, the hood fallen. The sandy-haired man stared at Samuel's lifeless head, and a tear fell down his cheek.

Lunette pinched Lancelot's arm, and he turned to her. He followed her gaze up to the balcony where Uther stood. Beside him now was the old man from the woods, one of his followers leaning against the wall near the door and picking at his fingernails.

"Let this be a reminder," Uther addressed the crowd, "that the war against magic is never ended. That the walls of Camelot will remain ever-vigilant." Uther's voice was weak, his eyes bloodshot, his face a gaunt parody of its former health. He looked out over the crowd as if awaiting something in the distance, but nothing came. The crowd was quiet, knowing that Uther's dedication to the elimination of magic had lost something, despite his declaration. After a moment he turned, entering the castle.

"That bastard Erbin must've brought the poor man in," Lunette said, watching as the old man from the woods leaned over the balcony to scan the people below him before joining Uther inside.

"No he didn't." Lancelot tilted his head toward another man, bulky, black-haired, with a day's worth of stubble, dressed in leather and joking with several of Camelot's knights.

"Bounty hunters," Lunette sneered. "Uther doesn't even verify whatever story they tell him. Come on, I've seen enough."

As she pulled Lancelot along, he took one last look at the dispersing crowd. The sandy-haired man was nowhere to be seen.

"You really think Uther would recognize me after all these years?" Lunette stirred her tea, watching Gaius take a sip of his as they sat alone in his candlelit chambers.

"I would hope you weren't planning to put it to the test."

"Oh, don't worry about me, Gaius—I have no intention of going anywhere near Uther. I hadn't planned on being in Camelot at all, in fact."

"Lunette . . ." Gaius reached over and clasped her hand. "What have you gotten yourself mixed up in?"

"Living. Keeping my promises. Why do you ask me that as if I've done something wrong?" She pulled away from Gaius's hold, gripping her cup with both hands. "Keep your head down, nose clean; bad things won't happen—that was your outlook, wasn't it?" Her voice had a subtle, keen edge and her jaw grew tight as she stared down into her tea, refusing for the moment to look at Gaius.

"What happened, Lunette?" Gaius said softly.

"Nothing yet. Somehow Erbin found out about the ring," she rubbed a large rectangular red stone on her left index finger. "It's magic, it's in my possession—I'm a scourge upon this earth. Erbin's world is very simple."

"So you ran."

"I was hoping to find Blaise, to get to Cameliard. But Erbin's men blocked the way. They're very efficient, Gaius, and so numerous. And he doesn't give up."

Gaius nodded, bringing his tea to his lips and blowing gently, though it was no longer hot.

"I need your help," Lunette said finally, looking straight at him.

Gaius sighed. "I can help you sneak out of Camelot and get you on the right road. If you really think that's best."

"I don't need help concealing myself."

"Not if you just use the ring all the way to where you want to go." Gaius watched her; Lunette fidgeted, stood, started to wander about his chambers. "But you seem reluctant to do that," he said.

"It's just a trinket," Lunette chided over her shoulder.

"It isn't," Gaius said firmly. "Lunette, that ring isn't a sacred object. It may have been carefully, conscientiously crafted, but for selfish reasons. Its purpose is—"

"Theft?" She turned toward him. "We've argued this before."

"To an impasse as I recall. Lunette—it's not worth it."

"It's too late—Erbin's after me." Lunette sat down again. "I don't know why it was made. I just know that it's one of the few remnants of what used to be. Don't you ever get tired, Gaius, of dying before you die?" She reached her hand tentatively toward him, but then tucked it back under her own arm. "It's bad enough to kill people, but Uther and Erbin want to destroy memory, too—all trace that these things once existed. That we once existed. If protecting a magic trinket—even if it was originally made for stealing—is the only thing I can do, I do it."

"What aren't you telling me?"

Lunette paused, staring into her still-full cup. "Erbin uses magic—he's not obvious about it—and he claims that when he does it, it's not magic."

"And that's why you had to detour here."

"I'm not asking you to keep it yourself—may the gods help the person who asks you to take that risk—I'm just asking you to get it to someone who can keep it safe."

"I'm not sure Blaise is the one to do that."

"Oh come on, Gaius—Blaise didn't turn evil just because you had a disagreement with him. He's the only one who can be trusted with it. He's the only one left. You know that better than anybody." Lunette's face fell, her voice growing quieter as she spoke. After a moment, she looked up at Gaius, her eyes hard. "If you won't help me now, at least tell me whether you would have helped me then—if I hadn't run away on my own. Would you have helped me escape, or would your face have been among the jeering, leering crowd surrounding me as I died?"

Gaius said nothing, his hands clenched around his cup, his jaw tight. He stared back at Lunette as she let her words sink in. Her eyes were wet, desperate.

"Please—help me."

"You've grown soft, Uther, lax. Complacent." Erbin's commanding voice echoed on the stones of the great hall where he dined with Uther and Morgana.

"So I've been told," Uther sighed, impatient. "And yet my kingdom still stands."

"Your son is lucky, from what I hear," Erbin chewed. "Almost too lucky."

"Careful," Uther hissed between his teeth.

"The promises of magic are very seductive," Erbin continued, nonchalant. "It's a very easy trap to fall into—as I'm sure you recall."

Uther's features turned to ice as he glared at Erbin. Morgana laughed.

"Are you suggesting," she said, "that Arthur uses magic?"

Erbin turned to Morgana, as though only at that moment realizing she was there. "You are Rhiannon's daughter?" he eyed her. "Rhiannon and Gorlois?"

"Morgana is my ward." Uther said with a finality that made Erbin drop his inquiry.

"And have you come to Camelot to protect us from shadows?" Morgana sneered.

"Magic is very real, my dear," Erbin said. "And very dangerous. And yes, it lurks in corners, preys upon the ignorant and weak, and has even been known to corrupt kings."

"A victim of magic is a victim," Uther said, "and is hardly responsible for the malevolence practiced upon them by a sorcerer."

"Perhaps," Erbin said quietly into his wine.

"What is it you want here?" Uther said.

"To do my job. And to warn you. A very dangerous woman with a very dangerous object is known to be in Camelot."

"Then she'll be found and executed," Uther said.

"Will she now?" Erbin said. "You and your men didn't even know she'd come to town."

"And how do you know?" Morgana said.

"I'm very good at what I do, my dear."

"I am not your dear," Morgana snapped.

"She has a ring that makes her invisible," said Erbin, ignoring Morgana. "A rather sophisticated bauble—a large red stone overlaid with gold latticework, like an ensnaring net. She wears it on her first finger," he indicated the finger on his own left hand.

"And how would you know if she's invisible?" Morgana said.

"Simply wearing the ring does not create the web of invisibility, my dear. No, no—one must turn it, stone palm ward to clench it in a fist," Erbin made a fist with his left hand.

"Then why does she not do so and disappear from your odious sight for good?"

"I don't' know," Erbin said, as though the question genuinely plagued him. "Perhaps there is a high price to pay for its use. Sorcery always comes at a price, does it not, my lord?" Erbin turned to Uther.

"Hidden prices," Uther sighed heavily. "Sorcerers seek nothing but to create fear and despair."

"Ruin upon the world," Erbin finished.

The table was silent as Uther contemplated and Erbin ate. Morgana watched them, her food untouched.

"Your men may search the city for this woman," Uther said. "And only this woman."

Erbin raised his goblet in salute.

Darkness roamed the streets as Lancelot slowly strode through the town, looking. He stared into shadows and scrutinized what few faces he passed. But whoever he was seeking, he did not find.

"Looking for someone I know?" a familiar voice said from behind him.

Lancelot turned around and Gwen smiled at him. Her white dress and yellow bodice made her seem ethereal against the shadows of the evening. His lackluster chainmail and unshaven chin felt suddenly inappropriate and unworthy.

"What are you looking for," she repeated, moving next to him, her fingers brushing against his at his side.

"A ghost, it seems," he said and took her arm in his as they began to walk along. "The man who was executed," Lancelot continued, "Samuel—I saw the bounty hunter catch him several days ago. There was another man—his brother, I think—who tried to stop it. The bounty hunter just hit him. I don't know why he didn't capture him too, but he left him there. I saw that man in the crowd at the execution."

"Do you think he might do something? Is he dangerous?"

"I don't know. Maybe he went away to mourn in peace."

Gwen drew Lancelot closer as they walked, leaning her head against his arm.

"What happened to Arthur?" Lancelot eventually asked.

"No one knows. He was hunting down a creature and hasn't been seen since," Gwen tightened her grip on Lancelot's arm, anxious.

"How long?"

"Over a month. Some say he might be dead. Uther sends messengers and scouts every day, but . . ." she squeezed his arm again.

Lancelot stopped, turning her to face him. "Do you know which way he went?" he asked, his face more drawn and worried than hers. She shook her head. He smiled weakly. "I'm sure Arthur is fine," he said.

She nodded and resumed her position against his arm. After a while she said "don't go."

Lancelot didn't reply.

"Please," she continued. "This man, Erbin, who seems to know Uther—he scares me. Morgana says he even makes Uther nervous. Nothing good is going to happen while he's here, I can tell. Please, Lancelot, stay—at least until he's gone."

Lancelot nodded into the night.

The bounty hunter's body was wet with dew. Gaius maneuvered around the ax buried in the executioner's block to look at the head abutting the front of the block. The bounty hunter was kneeling, hands tied behind his back, ax blade still smooth against the decapitated torso.

"Well somebody thought he'd committed a crime," Morgana said, stepping onto the platform where Uther waited for Gaius to finish his examination. At the platform's edge, Erbin surveyed the crowd, a general reconnoitering a battlefield. Behind Morgana, at the bottom of the steps, Gwen looked on—she spotted Lancelot on the opposite side of the execution stage, but he was searching for something—or someone—his face turned away from her.

"Morgana," Uther moved towards her, "you shouldn't be here."

"When it's an accused witch you can't beg me enough to watch by your side."

"My dear," Erbin said authoritatively, "these are no trifling matters. Someone has declared a challenge—and he must be met and dealt with before more innocents die."

"You think a bounty hunter is innocent?" Morgana scoffed.

"I think a bounty hunter is well-armed and used to fighting," Erbin said, still assessing the crowd—he saw Lancelot and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"Then how did this one end up bound and executed?" Gaius sighed. In the crowd, Lancelot moved slowly between people, all the while watched by Erbin's unwavering gaze.

"Morgana," Uther beckoned to Gwen, "you should go—I'm sure you have something better to do than—" he looked at the body of the kneeling bounty hunter, "worry about this."

"Am I the one who looks worried?" Morgana said as Gwen touched her arm. "Don't you worry—I'm sure if this—culprit—sought any more justice, he'd have kept the executioner's ax with him."

Gwen escorted Morgana off the platform as Uther approached Erbin. "What have you brought into my city?" he hissed in Erbin's ear.

"I have brought nothing but the tools to defeat evil." Erbin still pursued Lancelot with his eyes. "But I cannot speak for others." He nodded to one of his men stashed among the onlookers, and the man began to tail Lancelot. Lancelot peered over his shoulder, hesitant, discreet—Erbin narrowed his eyes even further and his lips curled in a satisfied smirk.