Sorry for the wait, i've had a really tough first week back and this fic is no longer a priority! Thanks all for reading

CHAPTER SIX: And with that, her Quest begins.

He squinted, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him. There was a woman. Her face was smudged and the world was twisted around her, but he could make out she was talking to him. She was telling him off, he knew she was disappointed but her words twisted with the sky. There was a bowl of gruel. He wondered what that dull thud was echoing in his ears. It was swinging back, repeatedly, like a heart beat. He clutched his head and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the beat away, wishing he knew what was going on. She turned away and he felt a wave of shame. Something ripped and he woke panting.

The dream faded away, the faceless woman dissolving in the bleary outline of his chambers. Arthur dragged a hand through his hair, noting dully it was plastered with sweat. For a moment he tried to remember what had woken him up, but the thought was stolen away as his head hit the pillow once more.

~o~

The next morning seemed to come too fast for Guinevere. She tried to dispel any doubts she had, but try as she might some kept her company all through the night. It was early, not early enough for the castle to be deserted though, as the servants had a duty to herald the day. They went about bringing its welcoming, sizzling meat for the royals' breakfast, collecting the new water from the streams and garnishing the castle in time for the awakening. There was a sociable buzz and comradeship between the early morning workers, something which calmed her nerves greatly.

She stood in the stables, watching the red sun graze the tips of the hills at the very edge of Camelot, and the fleeting shards of light run over the waking city.

"Gwen." A voice came from behind her and Arthur flashed to her mind, but she wasn't surprised to see Merlin when she turned around.

"Ready to go?" He asked, something like regret pinching his tones.

She cast her eyes over the borrowed horse and shifted the pack on her shoulder. "I think so."

"Have you got enough supplies to see you through?" He cast an apprehensive eye over her, taking in her men's trousers and tunic that he swore he recognised. She cast him a steely glance and for a moment, he saw Morgana.

"I have travelled before, Merlin." She says, keeping her voice steady for his sake. Her fingers lightly brushed the sword at her hip and she smiled fleetingly.

He looks troubled, but before he could say any more Gaius rushes in, clutching a sealed roll of parchment. "There you are!" He lightly scolded. "I was worried you'd leave before I could give you this."

She recognised the parchment easily "The letter to Alderfil, of course."

Gaius smiled, placing it in her palm "It should cover anything he needs to know." Her fingers curl around it and took it gently from his hold. "Symptoms, theories and reasoning…"

Gwen nodded, securing it inside her pack. "Thanks for your help." She smiles and acknowledges them, but her voice is cold, determined. She haunches herself up onto the horse and digs her boots into its flank "Oh and Merlin -" She pauses, not looking back as she approached the stable door. "Look after Arthur."

Merlin just looked tired. "Believe me, I'm more than obliged to do so."

~o~

"So what do you think of Princess Rosaline?"

Merlin froze. He knew that tone. He knew it was far too close to the tone Arthur had previously used when enquiring about Sophia. And that was before she had enchanted him to fall in love with her and she had set about drowning him.

"Umm. She's pretty, I suppose." Merlin grimaced, setting his eyes firmly on the boots in front of him. They were in Arthur's chambers, working. Well, Merlin was working and Arthur was 'supervising' him.

"Pretty?" Arthur replies, blankly, pausing for a moment in his pacing to conjure up the image of her face. "Yes, I suppose she is."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. He certainly didn't miss Arthur's girl speculations.

"My father would approve of the match." Arthur started.

"Hang on, hang on. You're not going to marry her!" Merlin shot up, eyes wide. "I mean you can't, just can't. I mean there's Gw-" he caught himself at the sight of Arthur's faintly amused expression.

"So. Why can't I marry her?" He probed, eyes sparkling with malice. "Come on, Merlin, I know your approval makes all the difference."

His servant paused, caught in the headlights. "Well. Umm -"

"Come on, I'm waiting."

"Princess Rosaline, although pretty is -" Merlin started, his best servant voice in play "- Rather secluded and … bookish?" he carried, carefully.

Arthur frowned. "Well, she's a woman, all they do is read and sew anyway."

Merlin's face flashed with annoyance. He hadn't missed the sexism either. "I was just thinking you'd prefer someone more…" he wondered if Gwenish would count as a passable adjective. "Involved?" He tried.

Arthur looked at him. Merlin braced himself. "Involved?" Arthur repeated. "Involved." He mulled it over. "Yes, I suppose that would be nice. Someone who would -"

"-Stop you from being a prat?" Merlin cut across, now really desperate to change the subject.

The Prince scowled at him. "She doesn't think I'm a prat!" He blurted.

Merlin stared at him. Arthur looked confused. A grin slowly trespassed onto Merlin's face. "Who doesn't think you're a prat?" he tested.

Arthur looked even more confused. "I don't know." He replied slowly. "Merlin, is there something I should know?"

His manservant really looked caught out now. But before he could invent something plausible, there was a knock upon the door and a guard entered.

"Sire, you are expected in the great hall for the mid day meal." The nameless man projected.

"Tell my father I will be down in a moment." Arthur cast off, hardly giving the man a double take. The guard bowed and left promptly. Arthur turned back to Merlin. "Well, what are you waiting for?" the boy stared back, mind not caught up. The crowned prince gave an audible sigh. "Get me my jacket!" he explained in his most patronising tone.

Merlin raised an eyebrow as if to say 'really?' walked straight up to him and plucked said jacket from a table literally next to his hand. Arthur growled and snatched it off him before making his way out of the door, servant hot on his trail.

~o~

Rosaline was propped up at the dinner table, her fever was fading but her head was heavy and she was off her food. Her father and King Uther where caught in their own little argument. It was a wonder how they could stand being in the same room as each other, how the whole court hadn't been chucked into the dungeons for a word out of place. She wasn't the only one suspecting their stay was short lived.

Arthur's manservant was staring at her, his suspicion evident. For a moment she panicked, wondering if he suspected her, but she scowled at him instead, her best spoilt scowl. He looked away, expression set in stone.

She didn't know why she had magic. It had always been odd. She would be reading a novel out loud and the words of the sorcerer in the book would flow evenly from her. Her magic was short-lived though, patchy. She had gotten better from playing with the servant's affections, but she was hardly powerful. They were mere tricks of the mind, she couldn't defend herself. She had tried talking to the Court Sorcerer about it, but he had brushed her off. He had always been rude towards her. She shook the thoughts aside and went back to toying with the potato.

~o~

Gwen felt the forest was uninspiring. It was a mass of brown and green, tastelessly clashed together in their fight for sunlight. Only the strong made it through, leaving plants to fade dotted around their feet. She was treading a fairly common path, passing peasants on their way to request an audience with the king, visit relatives or simply flock to the grand city. They pass by without a word or a second glance and she preferred it that way.

Reaching the fork in the road, she turned to the slowly vanishing path, focussing on her route and direction rather than her purpose. Thinking about her purpose only surfaced some previously covered doubts.

Slowly the number of people she passed dwindled, along with the path itself, suffocated under fast spreading weeds. Her breath hitched and she urged the horse on a little further. It was still a way to Ealdor, she had hoped to be a lot closer come nightfall.

She blanched as a cry ricocheted through the trees, followed shortly by a crash of wood splitting. Guinevere reared up on her horse, driving it towards the sound of the battle without a second thought. Her hair broke free from its tie, now flapping with the gait of her horse. She reached a clearing and halted, almost falling over the front at the sight but catching herself in time.

There was a figure, slashing at the beast with a sword, moving too quick for Gwen to register who they were. The creature didn't seem to be getting weaker; it towered over them, head even with the lower branches of the oaks. It was a tank of black fur, punctuated by claws and teeth, far too agile for a beast that size. It brought a paw down on top of the man, who cantered back with fear. Gwen raced forward, sword drawn.

She screamed in anguish, drawing all eyes on her as she stabbed into the beast's flank again and again. For a moment she was the love of the Prince's life, taught to defend herself when he couldn't. For a moment she was Morgana's maid, rallying as they had both snuck away from embroidery. For a moment she was Merlin's best friend, defending a wave of bandits from his home, again and again. For a moment, she was a child, standing in her father's forge as he patiently explained swordsmanship. She was the blacksmith's girl.

She was crying, she realised, crying angry tears as the creature whipped round and threw the other man aside, catching at her arm. Ignoring the pain in her arm and the images of Merlin, Morgana, her father and Arthur flashing through her mind she raised the sword again and felled the beast, blinking furiously as her mind tried to register the massive form falling. It was over too quick, there was blood on her sword but she couldn't work out where it had come from. There was panting, she was panting as she drew herself up, fear and anger ebbing away, replaced by grim acceptance. She didn't turn around, eyes roaming over the shrunken creature. It wasn't as big as it drew its final breath.

"Gwen?" came the voice of the damsel in distress behind her. She recognised it and swore under her breath. Conjuring every last drip of confidence she tightened her hand on the blood soaked sword and turned, her voice brittle.

"Lancelot."