Author's note

This was written over a year ago as a script, which I'm now turning into prose. At it's heart is an often used plot device, but, hey, it's a good one so why not? It may already have been used in one or more of the fan fictions, but as I'm quite new to all this, I haven't a clue if that's the case – so I do so with a clear conscience and any seeming plagiarism isn't! It's a bit of a gentler read than the other three I've done, focusing slightly more on characters than on action, although it does (hopefully) have quite a bit of humour as the story goes on and it certainly has a sting in the tail (or is that tale?). It's a bit of a slower burner again, but will definitely pick up when…. Well, wait and see. What I particularly like about this story is the fact that it allows for another bit of the legend – which couldn't be used in its usual way in the series because of how "Merlin" was imagined – to be integrated into the flow of stories told in the TV show. Hopefully it should sit between S3 and S4 without anything – much - being changed.

Chapter 1

The horse and cart bumped along the track at a relatively slow pace, given the uneven nature of the surface over which the wheels were going. The three men in the cart, however, were in no particular hurry and were all in good spirits. The time in the neighbouring town of Berlund had been profitable enough for the villagers: grain had been sold, provisions had been purchased, and there had been enough proceeds from the sale to allow a trip to the local tavern with a relatively clear conscience for the three friends. And the result of all this was that they were chatting and laughing together with glad hearts as the light of the day began to fade and as the cart made its slow progress towards their own small village of Esentor. The two men in the back, Edric and Alain, suddenly looked up at the driver, as he slowed the cart with a puzzled look on his face. It was clear that there was something lying on the track, obstructing their path.

"What is it, Thomas?" asked the slightly older of the two men.

It was just as Edric was asking this question that the nature of the obstruction became clear to Thomas, and he stopped the cart abruptly and said simply as he rose rapidly to his feet, "It's a body."

The three men were on the track in a matter of seconds and hurried over to where the motionless body was lying face down in the dirt, and it was Edric who got down on his knees beside the figure.

Alain was the first to speak, "Is he dead?"

Edric gently and carefully rolled the body over, and they found themselves staring down at a young man, probably in his mid-twenties – unconscious, but quite clearly still alive. "He's breathing, certainly."

They all looked intently at him in the failing light – he was dressed simply in a white tunic, belted around his waist, with plain brown trousers and boots. Thomas was the next to speak, "Any signs of injury?"

Edric cast his eyes over the young man – no blood, no bruises, nothing that made it look like he was doing anything other than sleeping, "None that I can see."

Alain, who by this time had also joined Edric kneeling beside him, offered one explanation. "Maybe he was thrown by a horse."

"Robbers more likely – he doesn't seem to have anything on him."

Thomas followed Edric's comment with the obvious question, "So what are we going to do with him?"

As they pondered the question and scrutinised the young man once again, what they did not know was that they were looking down into the unconscious face of Arthur Pendragon. Even in his father's kingdom, Arthur's face was not known to huge numbers beyond the walls of Camelot, and many of the kingdom's subjects had never set eyes on him and only knew of his name. And beyond the borders of Camelot, the numbers who knew his face were much smaller, and generally restricted to relatively small numbers of those who lived in the main cities of some of the neighbouring kingdoms. Although his name was known to many, few had seen him for themselves, and there was nothing about his appearance or dress that gave his true identity away. Had they looked closer they might have seen that the cloth of the tunic was of a finer weave than they usually saw, and that the leather of his boots was slightly softer than any in their village, but these small signs were lost in the fading light.

It didn't take Edric long to come to a decision. "We certainly can't leave him here – but he could have come from any number of villages around here, and the day is late. We'll take him back to Esentor – we can give him a bed for the night, and when he comes round he'll be able to tell us himself where he's from. Here, give me a hand with him." And with that the three men lifted Arthur's unconscious form into the back of their cart.

Edric's house was a simple one, and similar to virtually every other dwelling in the village. It was sparsely furnished and was essentially one large room, with one end curtained off as the bedroom space for Edric and his wife, Helma. Helma was sitting near the fire, cradling their daughter, Tilly - who hadn't yet seen four complete years pass - on her lap. The only other person there was a young man who was fiddling with the binding around an axe-head. Kay was in his twentieth year, and although he had been given the option of joining the others on the trip to Berlund that day, he had decided instead to stay with his mother and sister – there was still work to be done in the fields, after all, and if truth were told, the conversation of the older men wasn't always of particular interest to the young man – although had he known that a trip to the tavern was going to be a feature of the day (not to mention the unusual discovery on the journey home) he would undoubtedly have come to a different decision that day.

All three in the room heard the sudden commotion outside the door, and Helma and Kay were both on their feet the moment the door was flung open. Edric and the other two men were struggling slightly to get themselves and the body they were bearing through the narrow door.

Edric looked up and looked over to his son: "Kay – quickly, give us a hand!"

Kay's extra pair of young and strong hands eased the burden considerably, but Helma, with her mother's heart, was already looking with concern upon the body they were carrying. "What's going on?"

Edric's speech was somewhat laboured from the exertion of carrying Arthur as he answered his wife: "We found him unconscious between here and Berlund." He looked at the others helping him, "We'll put him on the bed."

Helma quickly drew back the curtain that separated their sleeping area from the rest of the room, and the men lay Arthur, still not conscious, on the bed.

Edric turned to his two companions. "We'll look after him until he wakes. I let you know what happens."

With that, Alain and Thomas nodded and left the small house to return to their own families, and as the door closed behind them, Helma went over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, looking over Arthur anxiously. "Is he hurt?"

"There's nothing obvious – maybe an injury to the head, but who knows?"

Kay, however, was eyeing Arthur with a certain degree of suspicion. "More to the point, is he safe?"

His father turned his attention momentarily from Arthur to his son, "Well he hasn't got any weapons on him, if that's what you mean."

But any further conversation came to an abrupt halt at that moment, as Arthur finally began to stir. Even Tilly had come slightly closer to the bed by this time, looking curiously and slightly apprehensively at the stranger who had been brought into her house completely out of the blue. She didn't feel ready to come to the bed itself, and stood a little way off as the family waited for their "guest" to regain consciousness.

When Arthur opened his eyes, he was greeted with faces and sights that were utterly unfamiliar to him, and he rapidly pulled himself up into a sitting position on the bed, but backed himself away from them all as he did so. He found himself completely disoriented and overwhelmed with a sense of confusion, and his eyes darted around the room, trying to make sense of where he was. He was breathing rapidly and the look of fear on his face was clear to each of the others.

"Where am I?"

Edric spoke quickly and quietly to reassure him. "You needn't be afraid. You're in Esentor – we found you unconscious out on the road. I'm Edric and this is my wife Helma and son Kay. We mean you no harm – you're safe here. What's your name?"

Arthur looked around at all their faces again, still disoriented, and paused and looked down. His brow furrowed and several moments passed. When he finally looked up at them all again, there was the same look of fear still on his face but it was mixed with a look of total bewilderment, as he uttered just six more words. "I don't know. I can't remember."