Here's the next chapter! Thanks so much for all the reviews, hope you enjoy! Please leave a review when you're done! Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin
Arthur found it all intensely depressing, the silence of the forest and the silence of his manservant. He had strapped Merlin into his saddle, where he slumped over, still sleeping. He had woken once before out of his tormented dreams, and had blinked blearily at Arthur. Arthur had rushed over to him and nearly force-fed him some bread and water, as Merlin hadn't eaten since the attack of the bandits.
His fever would fluctuate throughout the day; in the morning it would be dangerously high, but by night it would be lowered somewhat. Then, by the next morning it would rise again. Arthur was at a loss as to what to do. He could only tip water down Merlin's throat, wait for it to go down, and then pull him back on to the horse.
It was a lonely ride. Sometimes, he would hear rustling behind him, and he would turn eagerly, thinking it was Merlin waking. But Merlin stayed in his troubled sleep, and Arthur was confined to the solitary thoughts in his head. He tried whistling, but found the complete and utter silence to drown out his near cheerful tune. And then he turned back to Merlin, and the sound died in his throat.
Arthur had only one clue as to where they were headed; the mountains rising in front of him. He was sure that if he could just make it to the foot of the mountain, everything would be okay. He would find the spring from there, and Merlin would be back on his feet in no time.
It was a blessing that the road had not been traveled on recently. Arthur was still wary of bandits, or worse yet, Cenred's men. He knew that if they came, he would have no chance of defeating them, not with Merlin so ill.
Arthur pulled his horses to the side of the path and dismounted, meaning to check on Merlin. He tugged Merlin's shirt up and peeled back the soiled bandages to get to the wound.
The long cut, looking to be virtually harmless when Arthur had first tended to it, was now red and raw, the skin around it was swollen. The wound was clearly infected. Arthur couldn't help but wonder if this was an effect of Merlin's disease, or if Arthur simply didn't treat it properly.
He was a warrior, not a man of medicine. Though he knew the bare essentials to healing, he didn't know enough to heal an infected wound. It was usually Merlin's job to know all that...
And now Merlin was dying. Arthur had never felt so alone, so isolated. The only thing he could do now was forge onward, to the mountains. They were tantalizingly close now, but Arthur knew he needed more than just time to get there. He needed a stroke of luck.
This miraculous stroke of luck came late in the day. Smoke was rising off to the side of the path. Smoke meant people. People who could help.
Arthur urged the horses on, and they sped towards this glimmer of hope, this teasing prospect of salvation.
He came upon a wide clearing where a group of people had structured a temporary camp. There were two old tents crowded around a fire pit in the center of the clearing. Arthur cautiously drew closer, but he saw no one outside the tents.
There was movement inside one of the tents, and an old man stooped through the tent opening. He bent over the crackling fire, stretching his hands out to warm them.
"Care to join me, stranger?" the old man called out in a kind, amiable voice. Arthur bit his lip, and then slowly led his horse and Merlin's out into the clearing. The old man had startling blue eyes and a shock of pure white hair. He smiled at Arthur and waved him forward. "My name is Salus," he added, extending a withered hand to the prince. Arthur shook it steadily.
"My friend is sick. Can you help us at all?" Arthur asked. The old man chuckled, and pulled Merlin's horse over to his side. Arthur hauled Merlin down and settled him on the ground. The old man examined Merlin carefully, lifting up his shirt to view the wound and laying a hand across his feverish forehead. "He was attacked by a harpy. I was trying to get him to the Dryht spring at the foot of the Black mountains, as I was told the water would heal him..."
"He would not survive the journey," Salus said solemnly. "He is too weak from the fever. Yet the spring would heal him, I am certain of it."
Arthur sat on the ground pondering the situation while Salus tended to Merlin's wound and tackled the fever. There was a rustling inside the tent, and a young boy stepped out. His hair was as white blonde as the old man's, and he couldn't have been older than ten years of age.
"Petro," Salus called to the boy. "Go and fetch me some yarrow. Ah, and some willow bark. Herbs that will help bring down the fever," he added to Arthur, who watched the boy dash enthusiastically off into the forest.
"It's getting dark out, though. Aren't you afraid for his safety?" Arthur looked nervously after the boy.
"The boy can hold his own, I assure you," the old man said with a mysterious smile. "Forgive me, but I never asked. What is your name, my friend?"
"My name is..." Arthur considered lying, but the man was helping them. The least he could do was tell the truth. "Arthur Pendragon. And this is my manservant, Merlin." The old man gave a start, and Arthur couldn't be sure, but he thought the old man was reacting to Merlin's name, not his own.
"You are Uther's son?" Salus asked quietly. Arthur nodded. He fell silent for a moment before speaking. "I will not hold this against you, Arthur Pendragon. You have shown kindness and respect to the boy and me. But I think you have a right to know that the boy and I are Druids, and we practice magic." Arthur took a deep breath.
"If you can help Merlin," Arthur said. "I will leave you and the boy in peace. I will not harm you, I swear." The old man smiled, and turned back to Merlin just as the boy returned.
"Here, Salus," the boy trilled, presenting the greenery he had collected. While the old man looked them over, the boy studied Arthur. Arthur stared back, surprised that someone so young could have eyes so old.
"No, no, yarrow, Petro," the old man pointed to the herbs in his hand.
"Oh," the boy said, and with a brilliant grin, he ran back into the trees once more. Arthur looked on after him, his mind at work. What if this boy were to pick up a poisonous plant by mistake, then what would happen? Salus was old, what if his eyes could not tell the difference again? Seeing the worried and startled look on Arthur's face, the old man laughed.
"He means well," Salus said fondly. "He is very eager to learn, very curious. He is more dedicated to his tasks than you think, Arthur Pendragon." Arthur's eyes drifted unconsciously to Merlin's resting form.
"It is not my place to ask," the old man said. "But I am very curious. Why would the prince of Camelot venture into enemy lands for the sake of a simple servant?"
"Merlin," Arthur said, a faint smile on his face. "Is anything but a simple servant."
Petro came back, this time with the right herbs, and sat down next to the old man to watch him work over Merlin. After a while, Salus leaned back and Arthur sat up excitedly.
"I'm afraid he still needs the healing water. As he could not survive the journey, I see only one option," he said, and Arthur nodded.
"I must go alone to the spring," Arthur said. "I will leave immediately." Salus smiled sadly and turned back to Merlin, who was groaning in his sleep.
The sun was just rising over the forest when Arthur mounted his horse and spurred it on towards the looming mountains.
Thanks for reading, please review! Oh, and heads up, I'm thinking two or three more chapters and I'm adding the reveal. But, I'm also starting another Merlin story, so stay tuned for that if you're interested. Thanks!