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Read on~
[ Chapter Two ]
Vice
"Gather the horses, Merlin. Provisions as well. I want to leave as soon as possible,"
Merlin unfurled the rich fabric of the king's comforter. His face crinkled with expressive irascibility.
He cleared his throat rather pointedly, and made a blatant, swiping hand gesture toward the erratic covers - that which Arthur had previously ordered him to disperse across his bed,
"Do you want to do this yourself?"
"No," Arthur's nose wrinkled in distaste, "go on."
"Thank you,"
The comforter - a luxuriant, noble, red - was sized vertically to parallel the shape of the bed, lest Arthur nag him about his covers brushing the floor.
"And what will you be doing?"
"I'll be here, waiting. You can fetch me when you're finished," Arthur smiled.
"Oh, yes, sir," Merlin said sardonically. He eyed the creases in the blanket critically. With a single, expeditious motion, he whisked it into the air, and the covers drifted gently back to the bed, free of rumples.
Arthur scowled.
"Will I find you with Gwen?"
"Why?"
"Because you have to tell her we're leaving," Merlin quirked an eyebrow.
"If it's really nothing - just as you said - we should be returning fairly quickly,"
"Arthur…" Merlin groaned. "There's this thing about being married, you see, -"
"You're married?!" Arthur said incredulously.
"No. But you are. And I think, at some point throughout the day, your wife will wonder where her husband has gone off to," Merlin circled around to the right side of Arthur's bed and reached across to tug the top of the comforter beneath the pillows. He drew the bottom down to touch the bed skirt, but not without certifying that it didn't touch the floor.
"Of course you'd know, being a woman yourself," Arthur muttered.
Merlin amused himself with thoughts of hexing his master. He fancied Arthur would appreciate transfiguration into an actual donkey this time. It fit him perfectly.
"Oh, hush, Arthur. What would you do if Gwen disappeared?"
Arthur's eyebrows knit together in concern.
"Myself and the kingdom would be searching high and low for her," He said seriously.
"Exactly. Now, how do you anticipate she might have reacted if you set off without a word, intentionally?"
Arthur blanched.
Merlin nodded, pleasantly gratified. He found that, should he give Arthur a nudge in the right direction, he could arrive at these conclusions himself.
"Alright, then, off you go," Merlin waved a dismissive hand at the king. "Be a good husband and fulfill your husbandly duties to your wife."
"Merlin? We've talked about this. Which of us gives the orders?"
"The king, I suppose?"
"And who's the king?"
"I don't think you want to meet him. He isn't the nicest bloke around,"
"I'd say otherwise!" Arthur snorted. "He will be needing a new manservant though. It seems the other one tripped and fell through a sword. He was always terribly clumsy."
Thus, Arthur patted his sword meaningfully.
"Really? Are you sure he tripped?"
"Yes," Arthur said - although his impish expression implied otherwise, " it was a complete accident."
"An accident? You don't say…"
"Shut up, Merlin. Do as you're told. Those supplies should be ready by the time I'm done speaking with Guinevere,"
"Oh, fine,"
"And, Merlin?"
"Hm?"
"Find me as soon as you're done. You have an irritating tendency to wander at inconvenient times, and, I couldn't say how, but you're never found."
Merlin rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Arthur,"
The warlock left the king's chambers in favor of the kitchens. There was a meticulously concealed stain of guilt lacing his features. He wouldn't disappear before their journey, but it was an inevitability somewhere along their foreboding path to the truth.
"Merlin?"
Merlin started at Arthur's voice. Eyes widening, and one leg thrusting itself in front of the other, he stumbled over his feet. He lost his grip on the ancient text and then scrambled to catch it.
Should Arthur not have invested himself in a stupefied torpor, he might have scoffed at the ridiculous display. While magic could accomplish much, apparently, clumsiness was incurable.
"Oh. Oh, hell. Um. Ah, I mean - hello, A-Arthur,"'
"You're stuttering," Arthur noted distantly.
Daunted color rose in Merlin's cheeks, and dwindled just as quickly. The moonlight stealing over his pale features colored him a ghastly white.
White as a ghost.
A perfectly suitable expression for Merlin. And, ironic it was. Often times, man questioned his sanity in the presence of a ghost - he could never quite confirm that he was actually seeing that which stood before him. This, Arthur felt, was his calming factor. He could imagine himself in a volcanic outburst should he have been sure that Merlin was here. His chambers were located deep within the castle. Penetration to this extent was utterly unthinkable. Though, Arthur knew that Merlin could not be a ghost. He couldn't say how he knew, he just did, and the prospect of Merlin as a ghost was unfathomably disconcerting.
At this point, Arthur was struggling to conjure some semblance of logic to explain the person standing before him. He lie back against his pillows and winced against the curious sound of a crunch beneath him.
"You great prat!" Merlin cried suddenly.
"Excuse me?" Arthur blinked at the sharpness of the latter's expression.
"Those leaves! Who gave you permission to crush those leaves? They belong to me," He said indignantly. "It wasn't easy getting them."
"They're maple leaves," Arthur mumbled.
"So?" Merlin squawked.
"Maple trees are a vastly abundant resource,"
"Well, that just shows how little you know. Honestly - ignorant, as well as supercilious. They aren't ordinary maple leaves. If they were, my journey was a waste of time," Merlin huffed. He stalked back to Arthur's dining table and collected a compact wooden box from the brown surface. He returned to the bedside, knelt, and brushed the shattered remains of leaf from the sheets. Merlin paused a moment to observe the ruined bits on the floor and then met the king's eyes very seriously,
"I am not cleaning that up,"
Arthur frowned. There were still too many unknown variables, so he had not entirely grasped how to go about reacting. Merlin's presence was impossible no matter how he regarded the situation. Magic - he might have wondered, but it would take a certain degree of skill to infiltrate the heart of Camelot. Merlin wasn't that formidable.
Arthur's head throbbed in protest. He hated variables -
His head.
"I'm hallucinating!" Arthur declared.
"Oh, look at you," Merlin said proudly, "figuring it out all on your own. Somebody's maturing. Now tell me, how did you do it?"
"Obviously, it would be the head trauma, Merlin," Arthur smirked.
Merlin choked.
"Did you say head trauma? How did this happen?"
"Morgana," Arthur said airily.
Merlin cursed under his breath. Arthur gazed at him in wonder, having never heard the former swear prior.
"You've had Gaius check you for a concussion, right?"
"I don't need to see Gaius!" Arthur said loudly.
Merlin looked irritated. Arthur thought he might have tried to hide it, but he didn't appear to be at all.
"…Dollophead," He said eventually.
Merlin opened the wooden box; Arthur leaned over the lid to peer at the contents.
"More leaves," He deadpanned.
"Yes," Merlin smiled fondly, "more leaves."
He amassed a spare few and leveled the king with an expectant look
"Lie back and keep still. You've already got prat, dollophead, and clotpole going for you. I wouldn't want to add leaf-crushing twit to the list,"
"Why?"
"What does it matter? This is a hallucination, remember?" Merlin snorted.
Arthur considered the question: What did it matter?
"Go on then - quickly,"
He obliged, albeit reluctantly, and Merlin made to fill in the gap of tree foliage lining Arthur's body.
"Nerian æt láð,"
The leaves radiated a vivid green, divulging a network of thin, intricate veins. The tall, awkwardly shaped oval generated the image of one king, beset of a cluster of glowing green stars. The hues of the leaves merged together, and produced a crystalline shaft of sage green light. The dazzling image flickered, and the leaves absorbed the vivacious color of the ritual.
"Alright. Mission accomplished," Merlin grinned.
Ah. Merlin performing magic in his chambers. That in itself was undeniable proof that this was a hallucination. The sheer audacity of such an action was utterly astounding.
"Are you leaving?"
"I probably should," Merlin admitted with some regret.
"Don't hurry back, now. You've overstayed your welcome,"
"It's your fault. If you really wanted me gone, I wouldn't be speaking to you right now,"
Arthur chuckled.
Clearly, that wasn't the reaction Merlin was hoping for, because he made a face at him,
"I'm leafing now."
"Humor is not your forte, Merlin,"
"And you're a prat,"
A mere few words of low tone were uttered under Merlin's breath, evoking an alteration in the shade of his eye color.
"Bye, Arthur," He said diplomatically.
"Goodbye, Merlin," Arthur nodded.
And he was gone.
The disappointment simmered mildly. This was a hallucination. The leaves, the magic, the banter, the normality between the two was acceptable.
James lie a noiseless hand on the knob of the door and drew it open very slowly. He poked his head through to scan the room, and, seeing that the king was still asleep, slipped inside. And the king was asleep - he could tell. It was quite simple, really. The breath of a slumbering body was light and leisurely, as opposed to the form of one who was plainly closing their eyes, at which point, the eyelids trembled and the breath was swifter. It was standard, yet tacit knowledge among servants.
Disgust.
Exasperation.
Either described his aversion to the king's chambers. He cleaned every morning. The transition of a clean, orderly room to a pigsty was utterly baffling. James had heard stories about his predecessor - Merlin, his sources called him. Merlin had worked under Arthur Pendragon for years, and he just needed to know how in the hell he'd managed these chambers. It was admirable. James always knew Merlin was an admirable person. They'd never actually spoken, but Merlin had defended his honor once all those years ago…
James considered himself a braver man since.
Though he wouldn't go so far as to constitute sassing the king. His peers claimed that Merlin addressed the king with insulting terms such as prat or dollophead (what was a dollophead?) to his face. TO HIS FACE. James pondered the king's reaction should he call him either of those things, what with him and his moods. He shuddered in horror.
Strangely, there were days throughout the years he would see the two together, and, if he hadn't known Arthur Pendragon to be the king of Camelot and Merlin, his servant, he'd have taken them as mates. James could not truthfully say he wished to befriend the king; indifference was preferable. Unfortunately, the king possessed nothing but disdain for him. James approached a knight whom he knew as Gwaine a while back to investigate the issue - because, when one's master was openly antagonistic toward his manservant, life became more taxing than was strictly necessary. Gwaine's reply had been most unhelpful.
[ "You aren't Merlin." ]
Most unhelpful. Most servants may have taken offense, but James was only displeased because his job wasn't about to become any less burdening.
The king stirred in his sleep, and James was nearly finished tidying the chambers fit for barbarians, rather than an individual of notable status. He started awake and appraised the room with foggy blue eyes. James made for the curtains, but stopped when he spotted something at the foot of the bed.
Withered leaves.
His face twisted into a grimace. If the king happened upon that, he was due for an accusation of negligence and then a day in the stocks. Determined to salvage himself from an undesirable sort of fate, he approached the bed and stamped on the leaves, pushing them underneath with the sole of his shoe. Arthur Pendragon blinked up at him, evidently puzzled with James's peculiar behavior; the king's demeanor was quick to sour.
"What are you doing?"
James tried at a weak smile, but it faltered and died countering the glower. His face fell. He briefly entertained thoughts of resigning his position.
The circus might be nice. I hear acrobatics are a lively trade…
Arthur wasn't entirely coherent until the face of his servant loomed over him from his bedside. The incredulity lasted but a moment; it was quickly replaced with the familiar churn of irritation. James managed a wan smile. Which was ridiculous, because there was absolutely nothing that merited a smile of any sort. Though, Arthur abandoned the harangue when James adopted a detached look. His manservant demoted himself to a basket case, and lecturing a basket case was a lost cause. He'd caught Merlin with that expression more than once over the years and readily understood that raising his voice or cuffing him about the head were the only ways to be heard. He wasn't willing to put that sort of effort in for James.
Merlin.
Arthur shook his head, utterly disgusted with himself. Hallucination or not, that frivolous behavior had not been acceptable. His head clearly malfunctioned last night and turned him traitor to his own morals. Associating so affably with an enemy - even amidst a hallucination, it was treacherous.
A surge of pain assaulted Arthur's head, as if his body too, was responding negatively to the moral transgression.
He removed himself from the bed and waited for James to gather his clothes.
Whilst his manservant helped him dress, Arthur marked there to be no leaves on the floor. None of the proclaimed leaves Merlin refused to clean. He'd hardly doubted the previous night's fiasco to be anything other than a hallucination, but it still satisfied him to have concrete proof.
"Sire?" James motioned toward the small table beside the bed.
Sitting on the very edge of the table was a clear vial containing a honey-colored liquid. Arthur held it under the sun and scrutinized the murky gold with a furrowed brow.
"What is it?"
"I wouldn't know,"
"Did anybody come in here last night?"
James hesitated.
"Gaius… I believe,"
Guinevere must have visited the physician in his stead. It was alright to accept the medicine, Arthur mused, he hadn't actually seen Gaius.
Without further ado, he plucked the leathery cork off, and put the vial to his lips.
"How are they?"
Guinevere was leaning against the door frame of the infirmary, her arms folded into each other and pressed firmly against her middle.
She shook her head.
"Gaius ventures that Morgana's bewitched them,"
"They were already unconscious when I came to. Is there no cure?"
"I'm sure Gaius is doing all he can," Guinevere said patiently. Sad brown eyes looked on to the comatose forms of her brother, and the other three knights of whom she'd grown to fondness over the years. The sight of her husband was grievous. His eyes were the boundless expanse of ocean from the cliff's refuge.
The anguish Arthur was smothering - Guinevere yielded herself to feel it in his stead. The incapacitation of his most faithful knights; the betrayal of his truest friend; the obligation to Camelot - to uphold and secure it in the midst of peril. The crippling damage struck her.
And yet her husband persevered, unscathed by the dagger, and anesthetized to his own emotions.
Arthur rummaged through his pockets and produced a slim vial, long emptied of its contents. He gazed at the glass thoughtfully and pressed it into Guinevere's hands.
"Could you return this to Gaius?"
"This is a medicine flask," She blinked. "You changed your mind?"
"No," Arthur frowned at her. "I thought you spoke with him."
"I'll have a word with Gaius about it," She shook her head, bemused.
Guinevere closed her eyes against the brush of Arthur's lips on her cheek.
"Later, then," He murmured.
"Yes, I'll see you later," Guinevere replied, a soft smile playing at her mouth.
She watched his figure glide away. In that moment, time seemed to slow. With his back so broad, his gait so proud - she felt she was losing him, that they would not see each other again for a very long time.
She bit her lip.
"My Lady?"
Guinevere startled.
"Oh, Gaius," She held a hand to her heart, "you gave me a fright."
The physician closed the door behind him and scrutinized his queen with the raise of an eyebrow.
"My apologies," He paused, "…Are you alright?"
She recognized it to be profoundly insensitive of her to profess to Gaius her quandaries as of late. Especially since a majority of them revolved around the exile of Merlin, which, admittedly, she had yet to form an opinion of her own concerning the matter. Arthur's bearing of that day was all Guinevere had to go off. It would be a grave understatement to say she was crushed to hear Merlin was a traitor. She'd been heart-broken. Guinevere trusted her husband. She'd not have believed it from any but him. Her feelings were null compared to Gaius's pain. Guinevere smiled at the old man whom she'd confided with in her adolescence.
"Of course,"
Gaius returned the gesture and made to examine the bedfast knights, leaving Guinevere to her despairing uncertainty. She shook the grisly thoughts from her mind.
"Arthur asked me to return this to you," She fished the vial from the folds of her elegant dress.
"Thank you," Gaius said.
"… How did you know?" She inquired quietly.
"Pardon?"
"Arthur's head injury. How did you know?"
"Word travels fast around the castle," He replied simply.
Guinevere tilted her head in question.
"I have my sources," Gaius gave a sly smile, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously.
"Gaius…" She said tolerantly, a near tint of fondness creeping into her tone.
His smile turned almost teasing.
"I trust Arthur's head feels better?" He asked conversationally, "This often helped him as a boy. I'd have him drink it before bed and his head would feel normal again by morning…"
Guinevere frowned.
"Would the remedy make a difference if it were consumed at morning?"
"Oh, my…"
"Gaius?"
"I'd administer it before bed because it had him out the whole night,"
The clear harmony of the emergency alarm resounded throughout Camelot in an unfortunate climax of circumstance, yet with an almost impeccably ironic timing. The two exchanged timorous expressions.
"Gaius!" She cried. "You're the Court Physician! He should have been informed!"
"I left a note beneath the vial. He couldn't have missed it…" Gaius trailed off, perplexed.
"We have to stop him!" Guinevere tugged on Gaius's sleeve fearfully. "He'll be killed!"
It would save time to armor himself, Arthur decided. There was a crisis at hand and he could be endangering his people in the duration of summoning James. Knights were likely scoping out the scene and he needed to mount a horse and get there - now.
The armor was on as quickly as he could manage. He already felt he'd wasted too much time. The padding, the chain mail, the shin guards - how did servants do it all so impetuously? Arthur slipped his sword through the hook on his belt. His fist curled around the hilt.
There was a passageway near the armory that led to the stables. The passageway was a tunnel - more precisely - comprised of stone, and with a path of dirt. It had been built for the knights' convenience; and Arthur was really quite irritated because it wasn't at all convenient. Time was of the essence and he was wasting it. Wasting it with this - with this infernal tripping! Stumbling! Blundering!
Where in the hell had all these roots come from?
Arthur thought he might have been having a bit of bad luck when the torches in the tunnel blew, or perhaps when he happened over his first root. Then he landed in a heap of mud and things got frustrating.
It was every other step and he was on the ground again. He must have been imagining it - or perhaps Gaius's medicine was losing its touch - because it seemed as though these roots were omitting the entire cultivating process undergone by plants and unearthing themselves before his very eyes. There must have been some force elsewhere determined to impede him from aiding his comrades, Arthur concluded, and cursed them vehemently, because he needed something to blame.
Arthur growled.
He would make it out of this tunnel, damn it!
Arthur stood again and a root encircled his ankles. The forward shift of his body disagreed with his knotted ankles; his arms flailed helplessly and the momentum balanced him for an instant. He alighted in an ungraceful tangle of limbs.
Sod it.
He would crawl, dignity besmirched! He mounted himself onto all fours. Left arm, right knee, right arm, left knee. Left arm, right knee, right arm - Arthur contended forward, but to no avail. He peered behind him.
Another thick cord of dark vine bound his waist.
Arthur twitched.
"The situation?" Arthur grunted.
"The situation…?" The guard blinked.
"The situation. What is it?" Arthur ground out. He'd finally succeeded in attaining a horse. He could already be on his way if this fool would only cooperate…
"The witch was sighted in the forest. A horde of knights was sent to check out the area, but I've not heard back from them,"
Arthur nodded briskly. He lightly whipped his horse with the reins. The rush of scenery flying past him was a tad disorienting. He shook his head and pushed onward.
Little time was spent riding into the forest. A sense of foreboding mixed with the wind and ruffled his hair. Somewhere within these trees, was Morgana. Her ominous whisper teased his ear, promising to return. A harmless trail of miasma braved its first steps on the forest border. The shadow of pollution obfuscated the clean air into a black fog. But the darkest, most somber expanse - that was where he would find Morgana.
The heart of the forest.
It was straight ahead. He urged the horse to run faster, but noises of protest from the horse told him that it would not go any farther, as, it too could sense the danger. He tugged on the reins, and the horse progressively came to a stop. The king gave his horse a final pat on the side.
Arthur ambled into the defoliated glade.
Guinevere nearly barreled over Arthur's servant in her haste. He looked appropriately startled, and justifiably wary. She apologized profusely.
"Have you seen Arthur?" Gaius interjected.
"Not since this morning," James frowned.
"We'll have to stop him ourselves. There shouldn't be any knights left in the court and the guards aren't to be moved from the castle," She said.
"Might I suggest that you remain here?" Gaius grasped his hands together and let them dangle tolerantly.
"Gaius, Arthur is my husband," Guinevere said seriously.
"Arthur is also a knight, Your Highness; the queen should protect the kingdom in the king's absence,"
Guinevere bit her lip,
"You can't go by yourself - it's too dangerous."
"Of course not," Gaius said pleasantly, "James will accompany me."
"I will?" James puzzled, sounding genuinely intrigued by the prospect.
"Oh, won't you?" Guinevere implored.
James stiffened, visibly mollified at a direct request from the queen.
"Y-Yes, Your Highness,"
Guinevere smiled. She placed a companionable hand on Gaius and James's shoulders.
"Please be careful. I want you two to return safely," She said earnestly.
Gaius nodded reassuringly. James stifled his discomfort at the undesirable physical contact and gave an almost imperceptible dip of the head.
She escorted the pair to the castle porch. Horses were summoned by a guard; the king's servant and the Court Physician climbed onto their backs. Guinevere sent them off with a auspicious beam, so as to ignore the fiery pit of dread inside her stomach.
Arthur was not prepared for what he saw.
He was hallucinating again. This - this - this nightmare simply couldn't be real. Utterly unconceivable it was, and Arthur did naught but stare and rue that he hadn't arrived sooner.
Morgana stood in the center of the clearing. Before her, were fallen knights. Circles - hauntingly circular alignments of fallen knights. Contemptible miasma breezed about her and the knights like a shroud of death. Arthur couldn't tell if there was movement in their chests.
"I've returned - as promised,"
Arthur registered a voice, and it was articulating - but he couldn't quite hear the words. The sobering picture of his comrades' slack faces entranced him. Numbness permeated his mind, and a pulsating wave of heat intermingled with his blood. Morgana, the knights, and the miasma flickered, the color scales of black polluted magic and the filter of sunlight blurred into one another, and vanished altogether. He was seeing red, the kind of fiery red commonly beheld when one closed their eyes and conducted a direct appraisal of the Sun.
"What have you done to them?" He barked.
The red-hot surge of anger oscillated and then drained from his vision. He found the distance between himself and his half-sister had decreased significantly. His sword was drawn, poised to attack, but his body was rigid and unmoving. Furious blue eyes swiveled toward the witch, who hindered his maneuvers with a single hand.
"Your temper, Arthur," Morgana said, "was always your fatal flaw. Somebody you care about has been harmed, and you lose your head. Your temper overrides your sense, and you recklessly charge the perpetrator like a beast. There was a remote contingency that I might be in Camelot, and you've arrived by yourself. That particular vice in your character, dear brother, cannot hope to stand by itself against a witch."
Arthur snarled.
"And that quality, is also what has brought you here alone,"
Arthur flinched, thrown by that which he hadn't yet considered. The knights of the Round Table flanked him during battle. They fought alongside him; and if they were unable, Merlin -
Arthur swallowed.
He was alone.
"You've no one to protect you this time. He is the only reason you've survived this long. His magic has kept you alive until now, Arthur!"
"I allied myself with a sorcerer once, and I lived to regret it, but I've never engaged in battle beside one," He said steadily.
"You don't know, Arthur, You've never known! Even now…" She hissed.
"I won't be made into a hypocrite twice, Morgana!" Arthur's voice escalated. "There is no such sorcerer with honorable intentions for Camelot!"
There was a long silence. Morgana scrutinized him with an unreadable expression. Her eyes flashed with resentment.
"…Emrys is a fool,"
"Emyrs?" The name tasted peculiar on his tongue, yet stimulated a comfortable sensation of familiarity. She had mentioned it once prior - that he was certain. Though, he lacked a face to match the title.
"Yes, Arthur. Emrys!"
"I don't know a person by that name," Arthur avowed.
"Emrys. Emrys! You don't know who Emrys is, Arthur? You don't, do you? I do! I know Emrys! I know who he is now! Deceitful, lying, Emrys!" Morgana shrieked.
Arthur's body was compelled to tense. Morgana still had him constrained in a magical paralysis. A wild sort of look similar to yesterday's seized her again and the loss of his own faculties left him feeling vulnerable. The adrenaline rush was deserting him, much like the water that trickled from a spilled canteen. Vigor slowly ebbed from his energy pool, and his limbs were beginning to feel rather limp.
The effects of Morgana's binding spell, he deduced.
Morgana exhaled and leveled him with a chilling solemnity.
"Yes, Emrys cannot interfere this time,"
Apprehension arrested Arthur, as it seemed as if she was repeating this to herself instead of him. She approached him, and while Arthur should have been bracing himself, he just felt vastly exhausted.
"What's wrong, Arthur? Tired?" Morgana simpered.
He tried to return with a bold look of defiancy and failed miserably. Morgana simply smirked and pulled a small piece of paper from a crevice in her dress. She unfolded the parchment, presenting it to him with an infuriating smugness. Arthur's eyes were inhumanly heavy and he was only able to distinguish the words medicine, drowsiness, and Gaius. Somehow, those three words wove an entire story. He was completely at the mercy of the witch. Morgana leaned forward, eliminating such scope, that the only thing he could see was her eyes.
"Camelot will be mine," She whispered softly.
Arthur's stomach flopped. He thought of Guinevere, the knights, his people. Sheer will flared through his veins for a single moment, and gave him the strength to shout,
"I AM THE KING OF CAMELOT! I WILL NOT LET HARM BEFALL MY PEOPLE! YOU WILL FACE ME!"
There was a powerful stillness that followed Arthur's emotional proclamation. Morgana was visibly unfazed. She tilted her head, and a shadow fell over her face. A shuddering breath escaped Arthur's mouth, and the fatigue loomed over him, stronger than ever. Penetrating pale green eyes met blue, and, in that moment, it felt as though she was staring through him to his soul.
"You would not stand a chance in your current state. You've changed - and I won't face you with those eyes,"
She spoke with such a sagely wisdom that he was reminded of another. Bewildering as it was, it was this that made him believe it was true. For the first time in years, Arthur was sincerely afraid.
Morgana stepped away from him. She lowered her hand, breaking the spell. Arthur dropped his sword and fell to his knees, panting.
"Cylcan á æt oferlád bæcern,"
There was a long, thin string of light that gradually lengthened vertically into a wide window of light. An invisible force pressed against his chest, gravitating him toward the opening. Just as he was certain he was to be consumed, another casement of light appeared in front of him. An indescribable feeling apprehended his senses, as he was caught in between two forces - one pulling him forward, and the other dragging him back. His eyes darted to Morgana, who gaped at the second light with a stark terror.
"No. No!" She cried, shaking her head frantically.
The width of the second panel elongated , and the suction hauled him toward it. He shut his eyes to the blinding illumination, and a last heave had him drifting - falling into the shaft of light. The passage was long, and he was rapidly losing touch with reality. A final gravitational force weighed on his being. It was by far the heaviest, and he was sent tumbling from the portal. Arthur rolled onto a soft bed of grass. Above him, was a mass of green trees. Golden rays of sunshine pooled onto his face. He blinked at the curious change of scenery, before the effects of the physician's medicine absorbed him completely.
James and Gaius drew the reins on their horses. The majestic creatures grumbled unhappily, but ceased galloping immediately. James jumped from the horse's back. He circled around to help the elderly physician from his horse.
"Thank you," Gaius murmured distractedly.
James peered ahead of their path. That black residue was most certainly not reassuring. He pursed his lips. The circus was sounding great about now.
"Ready?"
He nodded, but not without reluctance. Together, the two accessed the clearing. James coughed - the miasma was absolutely stifling.
"Alright, Gaius? …Gaius?"
The physician's face had gone white. Concerned, James turned to see the object of Gaius's bane: every knight who had been sent to investigate the witch lie unconscious. A little ways away from the grotesque sight, was the King's sword - but there was no king present. Said witch's profile stood eerily motionless. It was James's first time seeing a witch in close quarters. She was of average height for a grown woman, with pale skin, a slim figure, and a long, tight, black dress that matched her dark curls. The witch might have passed for an ordinary woman, but there was an innate aura about her that contradicted this - an innate quality that told James it was too late for her to be an ordinary woman. His body tensed reflexively, much as it did in the presence of a snake when he wasn't certain it wouldn't strike him. The position of Gaius's body mirrored his own, James noticed.
The witch's movement was sudden, and very much startled the king's servant. She stared at them. Comprehension dawned on him; it was her eyes that made her a witch. He knew no other whose eyes held such unbalance.
"It is time,"
Among the trees, emerged dozens of silhouettes. Figures, James hadn't even seen until now. Their gliding gait was like that of a ghost. James gazed at them in horror. They, who, as they slithered from the trees, shed their invisibility charm, so that the translucency melt from their figures like paint, defining human bodies clad in dark green cloaks.
The witch's lips twisted into a wicked smile,
"Seize them."