. chapter! I've finished up my finals and my graduate assistantship for this year and I am now home. Quite exciting stuff. Bought a new phone because my other one died spectacularly, and have been working on a professional wardrobe. I remember posting that I thought I had the month off, this is not true. I have one more week at home and then I move to Atlanta. That blows, a lot. I was hoping to see family and friends, after being away for the better part of a decade. I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and I am not sure if I am doing this episode in two or three parts yet. If you cannot tell this is Morte De Arthur, or the season finale of season one with the Questing Beast. I hope that you enjoy it!

Hermione stepped into Hunith's home and started to clean up the place. Hunith had been slightly ill these past few days and Hermione was determined to help the woman. It had been six months since William's death and Hermione grieved horribly. This being said, Hermione was also stronger than others expected her to be. She was able to attribute it to being used to the loss of war, however her heart refused to mend.

She missed William with an ferocity that she could not equivocate to any loss she had ever suffered, and that was saying a lot. She had allowed her heart to open to that wonderful man, the village's baker, however it was not meant to last. She had hoped, in her grief, that their one time of fornication had left her with child, however that was not the case and she was left with only memories of Will, that and small personal trinkets. Hunith had been helping her, first with the general upkeep of the infirmary, and then again with Hermione's mental well-being. She was now repaying the favor by nursing the poor sick woman, who had been dealing with a mild case of pneumonia.

"Hunith" she called the woman softly as she approached the bed, she hoped that the woman was sleeping soundly having put cushioning charms on the straw mattress yesterday. She pulled back the curtains to see Hunith in the worst state that Hermione had ever seen someone in.

She screamed. She screamed so loudly, in fact, that she attracted the attention of those standing on the street. They burst into the home only to have Hermione come to her senses and usher them out before they saw what lay in their beloved Hunith's bed. She was unsure how the village would react to Hunith's disfigured form, and wasn't going to chance a bad meeting.

A sense of urgency swept over her and she immediately ran back to the infirmary and grabbed every major healing potion she had. It looked as though Hunith had been cursed. A jar slipped out of Hermione's suddenly strengthless fingers. Hunith had been battling a chest cold, pneumonia at most. This looked like someone had cast thousands of boil hexes on her

This was no sickness: it had developed over night. And she knew exactly why Hunith would be targeted for a curse. "Merlin." She whispered.

Her course of action changed and she put back most of the positions and only grabbed strengthening ones and others that would keep Hunith alive through their journey as well as a few odds and ends. She had to take the woman to Camelot, it was the only way. On her way out, on a whim, Hermione grabbed her trusted beaded bag from the chest that she kept it in. She had not thought of her adventures with Harry and Ron in quite a long time, however, she felt as though this might come in handy- something in her gut told her so.

She prepared the villagers for having both their main healers gone, though Matthew was a good step in, and then packed her things to leave that very night. She bartered a decently sized pull cart and set to filling it with cloth and hay. The point was to make it as comfortable as possible. With a final thought, she grabbed a sword and a crossbow and hid them among the rabble.

She always carried a few daggers on her person, it was medieval times after all, and this was only as a precaution. She doubted she would have to use any of the weapons that she was bringing with her. She would rather have them than not have them, however, because she dared not use magic where others might see.

Hermione covered Hunith in a cloak and had the men place the woman in the cart, taking extra care not to show Hunith's drastically changed appearance. The village had no horses to spare, so she had to pull the woman herself. Not ideal, but she would make it happen. Her villagers offered to come with her, to help bear the burden, however Hermione declined. Should she have to resort to magic, it was best not to let anyone see.

Taking one last look at the village Hermione set off as the sun closed down and touched the horizon. Once dark had hit and no village was close by Hermione employed magic to pull the cart, though such a massive spell drained her. The trip usually took two days, however that included stopping to water horses, eat, and sleep. Pouring her power into the wagon Hermione urged it to go faster, hopefully they would be able to make it by dawn. Hopefully.

Hermione cast a lightening charm on the cart as they reached more populated areas, and slowing the cart to a stop, she got out. Something gripped her shirt and Hermione turned around to see Hunith's eyes peeking open. The woman desperately formed the beginning letter of Hermione's name, but she was too weak to speak.

"There, there Hunith." Hermione whispered gripping the woman's hand in hers. "We've still hours of travel ahead of us, you must keep your strength." Hunith closed her eyes and lay back down in the cart. Hermione took the time to feed the woman bits of wet ground oats and make sure that Hunith drank water, though her swollen lips caused the woman pain. The fever that Hermione had been fighting since the beginning of their journey began to set in and Hermione cursed her bad luck. She moved to get away from the cart and begin pulling it when she felt a tug on her dress. Hunith was holding her in one of her small hands. She refused to let go of Hermione and that caused the younger woman to smile. She leaned back against the cart and allowed them to rest for a time. They stood at the edge of the forest, from here it was all farmland and Hermione would have to pull to cart so as to not arouse suspicion.

"We're going to see your son and brother, Hunith." Hermione murmured to the woman wanting to believe that she could hear and understand the words as the woman had faded into unconsciousness. "They will help you, I know they will. Your illness might be beyond my needs, but Merlin is legendary, if there was ever a person to help you- he's it. And he's your son- there's no one on this earth who he loves more. That boy would move the sun and moons if it meant saving you." Hermione gazed up at the sky as it peeked through the leaf filled limbs of the trees, "it's got to work."

They stayed there in quiet reverence for a while longer before Hermione's skin tickled. She had put alarm spells around the cart, approximately 30 meters on each side and something was setting them off. Slowly she turned as if to check on Hunith, but in reality she made sure her sword was tucked at an angle that she could easily grab it.

She tugged at a crossbow that had been hidden under the cart's load and swung it up with no time to aim. She turned and shot as a man raced out of the woods. He died with a scream and she had no more time to load. Throwing it back into the cart Hermione grabbed her sword and turned around to face out from the cart in a guard position.

Her sword was heavy, and if she hadn't worked to build up her arms, it would have been too heavy. It was a hand and a half broadsword that was meant to bite down and tear into her enemies, as opposed to stabbing them like a fencing sword. Two more men came out of the woods and Hermione waded into them, using her sword to keep them at a distance and to serve as an equalizer for her lacking in size. What she wouldn't have given for a pole arm! Those were meant for smaller attackers to take on bigger ones.

The men, robbers with barely a patched shirt between them, grinned at her and she could spy dirty and rotting yellow teeth. "Put down the sword, dearie. Wouldn't want to get hurt." The larger one said as they circled each other. He was clearly the leader of the group and Hermione looked him over. He was large, very large in fact and Hermione felt trepidation. His size consisted not only of height but also of large muscles, most likely created from pillaging and killing.

The other man, she had to watch him. He moved along quietly and had almost perfect balance. He was the true dangerous one, for all of his slender build. She had to deal with the leader first.

There are a few beliefs about warfare and battle that one must understand. Without the presence of a leader, of a commander, an opposing force might break rank and run. Hermione believed in this vision of warfare. If Hermione took out this man, she hoped the other would become spooked and run, not likely, but she was very good at holding onto hope.

Hermione swung out and in, moving her sword into the move called 'Butterfly's Wing'. The man dodged out of her reach, but now held Hermione in new respect. She wasn't going to make this easy for them. She watched him as they circled looking for a tell. A tell is some hesitance, or preemptive movement that signified an attack. There! Hermione saw the large muscle in his left arm bulge, and when he surged his arm forward, she was ready. Parrying the blow she came in under his guard and tried to strike only to feel pain radiating from her right shoulder. She retreated back quickly and assessed the damage. She had forgotten the other man! Curse him! The wound wasn't incredibly deep, though it bled sluggishly and Hermione shook her head. This would not help her efforts, and if she wasn't careful, the wound might cause her death.

She could not use magic in Uther's kingdom, not when someone might see and report back to him. That would mean more than just her death. It would bring trouble to Hunith and to Merlin, and Hermione could not chance that. Unless.

Hermione backed away from the two men before turning and breaking into a run. The bandits laughed at her cowardice before spinning to view their prize: the cart. That was easy picking.

Hermione grab a large stick and a large dagger out of its sheath. It belonged to William's father, and Hermione dreaded having to use it. She wished it had not come to this, however, she felt as though William and his father would forgive her. She had no choice. Placing the two items together, Hermione transmogrified them into a long and steady pole-arm staff with a blade. The staff itself was a firm five feet in length, and the blade was another eighteen inches.. This would fix things. The weapon itself would work as an equalizer with strength, and have the added benefit of keeping her out of close combat.

Sprinting as fast as she cook back to the scene, Hermione crashed through the trees with her newly created weapon. The two men made a noise in surprise and turned around to face her, weapons raised. With her sword strapped to her belt for easy access, Hermione felt ready, confident even, in a way that she had not when she encountered them previously. She, once again, waded into the two men. She used the stick end to keep the slim man at bay and bore down on the leader with the blade in a series of quick chopping motions that made the man back up.

She stabbed inward and upward before reversing her grip and running the blade down swiftly at an angle. She ended the 'Broom Sweeps' move with the satisfying crunch of the blade slicing deeply into the big man's calf muscle. He collapsed, trying to stem the flow of blood and Hermione moved out of his range before turning to face her other attacker.

The other man grinned at her in a way that made Hermione uncomfortable.

"Cóm æt me cecga."

Hermione was unprepared for the spell and had no time to block. Her glaive flew from her hands, and the rest of her weapons flew from their respective sheaths. She was weaponless, and he smirked knowing that she felt helpless. No, she was not helpless. She not only had a sharp sword, but a sharp tongue. If she kept him talking long enough, she could figure out a plan.

"Have you lost your senses?" She questioned as they circled one another. "Or, did you not have any to begin with? To study and perform magic is to court death."

The dark featured man raised a single thin eyebrow at her. "Only if you get caught." He smirked at her and then bragged, "And I know on good authority that no patrols are happening right now. Every person is in the capital awaiting the death of their beloved prince." He spat 'prince' out as though the word was poison.

Hermione's heart stopped. Arthur was in trouble. Could it be that he was under the same spell as Hunith? She had to get to him. She had to use magic, despite the risks. Her wand was not near her, it was currently hidden in the cart, and so she had to resort to wandless magic.

"Oh, well. In that case." Hermione replied back, trying to keep his anger up and his attention down, before her eyes flashed gold. The man was blown back into a tree with a hard 'thump'. She checked to make sure that he was unconscious and then robbed him blind of all his valuable possessions. There weren't enough to go around in Ealdor to leave anything behind that could be of use later on. Besides, if she left them with weapons they would only rob the next group of travelers. She placed the items back in her cart and was assured to see that Hunith had slept through the entire encounter. Leaning back from the cart, her shoulder gave a tight pull and her head swam at the blood loss.

With her task done she turned back around to face the man she had injured first and took a few steps towards him. He stared at her with sweat dripping from his form from both fear and pain. Upon taking in his appearance Hermione sighed and walked back to the cart. Routing around until she found a small enough piece of some excess cloth she tucked it under her hurt arm and then moved to her bags. From there she selected an anti-bacterial solution and a muscle mending one. Closing her kits back up, Hermione spells her hands, now with her wand, against disease and then sanitized them. She came back around the cart to where the battle took place and stepped towards the large man.

"If you're going to kill me, than kill me." The man said stonily and stared up at Hermione, determined to meet his end as honorably as a crook could. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I don't kill a man in cold blood. And I won't let you die of leg rot, for that is a fate that I would not wish on anyone." That was not entirely true, however Hermione refused to think of those who she would actually wish it on. She crouched down in front of him and the man feebly tried to push away from the woman, scrambling at the dirt.

"You lie!" Despite his attempt at a cool demeanor Hermione saw the white around his eyes and felt a lick of compassion.

"You have on my honor that I will not harm you. Now, either you let me help, or you'll die."

They stared at each other for a few long moments, neither one backing down, before the man leaned back hesitantly. "Aye."

For good measure Hermione silently 'accioed' all of the man's weapons before setting to work.

"And no funny business or I'll leave you to die of your wounds. And you will die." The man nodded and Hermione briskly opened up the anti-bacterial liquid and soaked a piece of the fabric in it.

She grabbed his leg gently and wrinkled her nose at the awful smell. Even for medieval men, his lack of hygiene was extraordinary. It was at a level that she could barely stand. Her guess, was that they were poor men who didn't have anything. She glanced over their clothes and weapons. These were not highway robbers who were glorious pillagers. They were poor and starving. This solidified Hermione's urge to help. Twisting the limb side to side, she pushed his hands away as they reached out to stop the handling, Hermione sighed. She had done a number on this guy, she had sliced through almost every muscle and tendon on the backside of the calf.

"You'll never walk again if I don't fix this." She murmured more to herself than to him and added a few more drops of the anti-bacterial for good measure- his entire body could use it. Disgusting.

"I'm sorry." She apologized quickly before placing the rag to the deep wound. The road and the surrounding areas as filled with an agonized howl and Hermione winced as the sound exploded into her ears.

"I thought you promised no harm." The man growled out and moved to grab her hands again. She slapped his away with the ease of long practice, and continued to pat the wound with her concoction. She would need to leave some with him, he would never be able to keep the wound clean otherwise.

"I am not attacking you-"

"Says who." The man grumbled and Hermione's eye twitched with both frustration and amusement, it seemed as though the man still had some fire despite the injury.

"I am clearing the wound of bacteria, to prevent the onset of infection. Would you rather your leg rot off?" She snapped at him and the man stared at her, but otherwise kept quiet. She finished her work and tucked away the rags to be burned later. Taking more clothe she wrapped the wound with expertise and passed the man a small wooden container of muscle regrowth potion.

"Take that and you'll heal up nicely." He looked at the potion dubiously, though he did reach for it. "You've trusted me thus far, now drink I haven't the time for this." The man gave her one last final stare before tipping the drink back and taking it with a grimace.

"You could work on the taste a bit."

"And you can work on not robbing people." Hermione replied snippily before gathering up her things, his voice stopped her when she turned away from him.

"You're injured."

"Yes, I believe your friend over there attacked me behind my back." She put things back in their proper places with a sigh and fished out a small corked traveling container. She filled it with the anti-bacterial liquid and wrapped a cloth around it. She tossed it into the air and he caught it with surprise, almost dropping the parcel.

"Twice daily on your leg, and make sure to change the bandages."

With a sarcastic salute to the still unconscious man and the injured leader she began to pull the cart down the road. Thankfully it was magically lightened.

"Milady." The man's voice stopped her a final time. She didn't turn, but dipped her head in indication that she had heard him.

"You're noble. Gods all bless you."

She once again started her cart pulling and did not bother to look back. Hopefully, he would turn over a new leaf. She doubted it, but she could always dream. The skirmish had taken place on the bottom of a large hill. With a whine she stopped and stared up at the incline. Feeling her resolve harden, Hermione gave a grunt and continued to pull. Even with the spell she had difficulty with the big cart and the even bigger hill. Screw hills, useless bloody things- all of them. With their stupid incorrigible inclines and their stupid cheeky bluffs, where it made you think that you had reached the top but- no! There was more! In her bad temper, Hermione grumbled.

She pulled it through villages and towns where people peeked out windows and through the cracks in doors, but otherwise left her alone. They are so fearful, she wondered to herself, wanting to know the reason. It was as though they were expecting some kind of bad omen to come through. The streets were all silent, even the animals refused to make noise at her passing.

She made it to Camelot by dawn and allowed her cart to be searched. For good measure she told the guards about the weapons that she had taken from the bandits and allowed them to be taken into custody for evidence, after all they were barely swords at all. More like thin pieces of metal that had been sharpened too many times. It was with their help that she was able to get Hunith to Gaius' quarters, though they left her there at her insistence.

The castle was a myriad of twists and turns of marble and hard stone. Hermione was unsure that she liked this place- it seemed so filled with gloom and the depression overwhelmed all of her senses. It was as though the city was waiting, holding its baited breath and waiting for the pin to drop.

In a way, she supposed, the pin was about it. If Prince Arthur was indeed ill, than the heir to the throne and thus the kingdom was unassured.

By the time that Hermione and Hunith was through the door to her brother's chambers the wound in her shoulder was one solid ache, and the pain had spread throughout her back and side. She had stopped pulling the cart at one point and wrapped the wound in cloth in order to stem the flow of blood. This was no longer working, and she had bled through the makeshift bandage. It didn't help that she was soaked to the bone by the freak thunder and lightning storm that had started sometime during their travels.

Frankly, Hermione was exhausted both magically and physically, or she would have attempted to fix the wound herself. How she would have aimed her wand at a spot she couldn't see, would have to be solved at another time. Setting Hunith down on the floor she waved the guards away and out of the room before taking a step towards the sleeping areas. The room swam and bowed before her eyes and she stumbled in her step. Tripping on the uneven stone floor Hermione reached out for the table to steady her and in her confusion, missed.

She collapsed to the ground harshly and landed on a few buckets and as well as turning over the table bench. Everything clattered loudly as they hit the floor, but Hermione paid them no notice. She was fighting with every piece of her being to stay awake, for Hunith, for herself. She couldn't and, finally, she slept.

Tell me what you think and how you've been liking this story so far. Pretty please? Help me maintain my good faith in reviewers! I apologize that it is a wee bit short, however I am in the process of moving from Maine to Massachusetts to Georgia all in the span of three short weeks.

Cheers!

iBless!