7. A cruel awakening

Arthur stirred in his sleep; something was troubling him, but he did not know what. All of a sudden he darted up, shocked by the memory of the attack and the events in its aftermath.

"Lie still!" Uther's firm hand pressed his son back on his bedding. "The last thing we need right now is you getting hurt again."

"The last thing I remember is you getting hurt" Arthur protested. "I asked Merlin to…." He paled visibly and his voice trailed off. Had he….? Had Merlin….? Dear Gods!

"The boy is fine; he's healing all by himself, now that he's getting the necessary rest. It's a special ability of his kind. His inborn magic can heal either his own body or somebody else's. Let him sleep and he'll be right as rain."

Listening to his father's laconic lesson about a warlock's healing abilities was among the weirdest things Arthur had ever experienced. The expression on his face changed accordingly – blank, and more than a little bit confused.

"Oh, don't stare like that, it's something Gaius told me decades ago, while he was still using his own…. – never mind. That's long ago and best forgotten."

"So you are all right?" Arthur asked "Merlin really healed you?"

"I'm fine, yes." The King rose and busied himself with rummaging through their bags. Carefully he avoided looking at his son.

An awkward silence spread between them. They both hated it but neither wanted to be the one who broke it. Until Arthur got up and went to the other side of the shelter to check on his sorcerer friend.

The moment his son laid a hand on the warlock's shoulder Uther darted around and grabbed his wrist violently. "Don't touch him!"

Arthur resisted for a second; then he gave in to the hard pull and recoiled from his friend, never taking his now wary eyes from his father. "What's the matter, do you think he's poisonous? After what he did for you, you still think he's too dirty to be touched by a Pendragon?"

The King tried to bring his breathing back under control, he was panting as if he had suffered a terrible ordeal. He had had hours to stew over what had happened and the first moment's relief and gratitude had soon been ousted by a feeling of betrayal, jealousy and hurt. "He didn't do it for me; he healed me for your sake. And you knew what he is. You. My own son!"

Arthur winced under the accusation. "Not from the very beginning, no, but I started to suspect it when I had a few close calls too many. Merlin…" in spite of the tense mood he shook his head in amusement "he began…hinting at things in a way, he talked about destiny and that it was his task to protect me. At first I thought he was mad or just trying to redeem himself, in his own eyes more than in mine but…; father, stones don't fly on their own accord, fires don't explode into a villain's face time and again without a reason, spears don't come out of nowhere, right into a man's heart, a second before he could cut my heart out – it just didn't make sense anymore. This had nothing to do with my sword skills, or with luck. This was intentional. Someone was protecting me, I had no need to shield my back; someone else was doing that for me. Someone who was not able to wield a sword or a mace but who could make a tree fall or the ground opening up. Someone who was always with me, always at my side, no matter where or when or against whom I went. There was only one."

Uther blinked; and finally he was the first to look away. "Why should he do it? If he's as powerful as you say…"

"You have seen how powerful he is" Arthur interrupted him. "This wound was lethal, and you know it."

"Then why should he play the servant?" his father exploded. "Why be at your beck and call when he could put the world out of joint, just for the fun of it? He could make you his slave, anytime he wanted to, why let you be the master?"

Uther kept his worst suspicions to himself. Indeed, why should a powerful warlock play the humble servant? Why, if not for turning the future King's heart away from the present one. And apparently the innocent looking boy had already succeeded.

Arthur knew nothing of his father's fears. He was too busy trying to explain what – to him, after a long time of brooding – was abundantly clear and beyond all doubt. "Because that's how he is. He can stand almost anything, as long as he can be with the people he…, with the people who mean something to him. He doesn't crave power, he craves…. affection." Arthur shied away from the word 'love', it seemed unnecessary big for the occasion. Yet suddenly his anger got the better of him. "He won't pay the price for power; even if he could be almighty, it would mean to be alone and that's the one thing he can't endure. He's not Morgana. He's not like you!"

Uther winced as if he had been slapped in the face. He ached as if he had and he swallowed hard. "So that's what you think. That Morgana is like me. Craving for power more than for anything else."

Arthur shrugged and looked down, embarrassed now. "I'm sorry, father, I didn't mean to…"

"What about you then?" the King cut him short. "How far would you go? To take the Crown?" Only inwardly Uther added "and for whom?"

It was the one thought the King had been pondering ever since he had come to and carried the two unconscious young men into the tent. For a long time he had wanted to end the warlock's life while he was still sleeping, quickly and painlessly. It had been the thought of what was to happen to his son when this trip came to its end that had kept his hand away from the knife or the pillow.

He had been sure he was ready to accept that these two days would have been the last moments of trust and love between him and Arthur and yet the thought of how much additional grief the servant's death would mean to his son had been enough to let his courage falter.

"Obviously not far enough" Arthur now said hoarsely, disappointment and shame bringing a red heat to his face; not for a fault of his own, but for his father and his misplaced distrust. He thought of the many occasions in which people had put pressure on him to take the Crown, to oust the "mad" King, the "old, spent force" for good. All these arduous, torturing discussions about whether or not Uther would ever recover.

The King, unaware of his son's trail of thoughts, felt the oppressive silence come back to haunt his already tormented conscience and suddenly he decided to get it over with, to end this abominable charade of a family outing, here and now. Surely Bodmin was already on his way. It wasn't long now before he and the others would be here. No risk in having his final confrontation with his son in private.

"Arthur, please, there are some documents in my bag. Would you fetch them for me."

Incredulously the Prince stared at his father. Documents? Now? Arthur was used to his father changing the subject at will if a conversation became awkward or unpleasant to him but this one took the biscuit.

"Father, I don't think…."

"Please, Arthur. It's important."

Arthur raised his hands in angry surrender and did as he was told.

Uther didn't turn. He heard the rustling of the parchment when Arthur found the heap of documents and pulled them out. "Father, why on earth did you bring this stuff on a trip like….."

When Arthur broke off, the King knew that he had read the headlines and at least a part of the papers. Biting his lower lip he allowed his son a few minutes more of reading before he turned to look at him.

The young man was as white as chalk. Uther saw from the torment in his face that the blow had hit home exactly as intended, even if the full shock would need more time to really sink in.

"No, you have not gone far enough" the King conceded, picking up the essence of their former conversation. "Obviously it wasn't important to you. Like your mother, you favour other things more than Camelot or the Crown. Or me. And you see, this will not do."

"What…" Arthur said but he broke off again, not knowing what to say.

"The Earl of Bodmin will be here soon. He is coming for you. As my son and as my subject you owe me your obedience and I will have it, here and now." Uther cleared is throat nervously and hated himself for being weak enough to be nervous at all. "The Earl will arrest you by my order. You will follow him to a place of my choosing to stay there at my pleasure; do you understand?"

It took a moment but finally real understanding began to dawn on Arthur's face. He shuddered lightly and his vision blurred before he was able to raise his head. Memories of the last two days stumbled through his mind; the banter, the laughter, the companionship. His relief, his joy – his unconditional trust. And it had all been a lie.

"I love you, my son. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing you or I will do in the future will ever change that."

And it had all been a lie.

Fleetingly Arthur thought of his sister once more. She at least had known what to make of their father's promises and assertions and she had hated Uther for it. Obviously she had always been smarter than her brother, the trusting idiot.

Arthur shuddered again and the King tensed, fearing some kind of an outburst, some violent action, but such things were far from Arthur's mind. This was way too important for some boyish games of trading insulting remarks and a few hits before he would be subdued.

Not for a minute he doubted his father's words about the henchmen being already on their way. Surely he would be vastly outnumbered. Uther Pendragon would not leave a thing like this to chance. That was not his kind of mistakes.

Besides, there was a defenceless young man, unconscious and oblivious of what was going on, directly under Uther's foot. And, judging from these papers, Merlin wasn't the only one.

The Prince looked up from the papers, into his father's eyes. "So that's what this trip was about. You feared to have witnesses for this." Something inside him was torn apart and yet his outward composure was perfectly calm. He might have been talking about the weather.

"There would have been no one left to intervene; I've made sure of that" Uther said. "Every single one of your so called friends has been arrested five minutes after we had left. Their lives depend on your behaviour, so I advice you to think twice before you do something rash, now or after Bodmin has arrived here."

"What friends are you speaking about? Are you so mad at me that you make a fool of yourself by arresting some wretched, meaningless peasants at random?"

Albeit grudgingly, Uther admired his son. Even after he had been hit by what to him must have come as a horrible blow, he tried to use the only defence still available to him, swiftly – and almost convincingly. Unimportant people made bad hostages. One might as well let them go.

"Please be so kind as to have another look at this list of warrants!"

Reflexively Arthur's gaze wandered back to the parchment. Names, names, the list seemed to be an endless one. Starting with his own name, it went on and on. With a feeling of inevitability he read the second name on the list. Guinivere, daughter of Thomas the Weapon Smith. Then Gwaine, Elyan, Lancelot and all the others, including the Earl of Ravenclaw. Well, that made sense. Bodmin had envied his life-long rival the chairmanship of the Crown Council for years. The last names on the list made Arthur inhale sharply. Geoffrey, of all people. Gaius. And, as the very last, most insignificant name of all but not to be spared in spite of that – Merlin.

"What are you going to do to them?" Arthur cocked his head towards the young warlock. "Merlin has saved your life and he almost died doing it."

Uther knew that the worst, most dangerous moment was over when he heard Arthur's voice tremble. He sighed with relief inwardly.

"As I said, that depends on you. You show me the respect and the submission you owe me and they will live. You can start by making no fuss when Bodmin comes to take you away!"

Just on cue, as if all of this was nothing more than a piece in a second-rate theatre, hooves beat on the grass outside and the sounds of soldiers dismounting reached them.

Arthur flinched and briefly he thought of escape but the thought vanished before it had really formed. He wouldn't come far but the mere attempt would be his friends' undoing. He thought of asking where he would be taken or for how long, but he knew he would not get an answer. There was only one thing left to say.

"My Lord, please. Some of these people are old or fragile. You can't…."

But this, of all things, Uther would not endure. If Arthur had fought, screamed or even tried to run – he would have had the perfect counter move. But that his son should plead for his own life or that of his friends was something the King had not foreseen. He had ruled it out. His son did not beg, not ever.

Suddenly his plan seemed feeble-minded, and ridiculously so. He knew he was doing the wrong thing but he had no way out.

Determined to save his face, Uther unsheathed his blade and pressed its point at his son's throat. "Not a word more, y' hear me? Not one word!"

Arthur gasped just once, but he did not back down. Instead he held his father's gaze, perhaps more interested in testing Uther's resolve than in saving his own life.

"By the love of the Gods, take him away before I kill him!" the King shouted at Bodmin as soon as the middle-aged noble entered the shelter.

The Earl hurried to carry out that order, terrified almost out of his wits by the thought that the King might live up to his threat and one day shove responsibility for this madness to the man who had come a few decisive seconds too late to prevent it.

Harder than he had planned to do, Bodmin grabbed the Prince's arms, twisted them behind the young man's back and dragged him out of his father's reach and sight.

Arthur did not resist. It was as if he wasn't really there when they tied him up, gagged him and forced him into a covered cart. Camelot had no desire to let the world know what had happened to her Crown Prince.

Once his prisoner – although Bodmin preferred to think of him as his ward – was secured, the Earl wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and gave the man at his side a crooked smile. "We are halfway home, Malcolm" he said.

Malcolm, Lord Saltyre, and Bodmin's younger brother, shrugged angrily. "Halfway, yes. It's the other half of the way that troubles me. But you better go in and finish your report before the mad old beast bites your head off, too. It's enough that he's lunatic enough to lash into his own; I don't need him to cut your hide in stripes."

With a punitive look Bodmin went back to Uther's tent, while Saltyre scrutinized the cart with thoughtful eyes. Finally he shrugged dismissively. Malcolm truly loved his elder brother; who also was Saltyre's liege. As such and as the head of the family he had decided to use Uther's foolishness to their advantage; to get rid of Ravenclaw, to be exact. So what? To out-Herod Herod, one needed to be smarter than Angus Earl of Bodmin was; so it fell to the younger brother to see to it that this would not ruin their future.

Old Uther would never really abandon his last remaining child, no matter how loud the old lion roared and how cruelly his claws would tore at his cub's hide, he'd never give him up, that much was certain. At least to Malcolm of Saltyre.

With an energetic jump, the knight vanished inside the cart. Could do no harm to keep their prisoner company, now, could it? If brother Angus put all his trust in the setting sun, then someone in the family should try to make amends to the rising one.

Meanwhile Angus of Bodmin sputtered through his report; a task that wasn't made easier by Uther's growing impatience and restlessness. Barely ten minutes had past since Arthur's arrest and already the thought of him almost drove his father mad. Uther had had planned it all, had thought of everything – except of how he would feel about it when the moment finally came.

"So all the arrests went smoothly, Sire, the fact that the Cou…. I mean, His Royal Highness Prince Hortensius, was in charge of his men during the procedure helped matters."

Bodmin kept his worries to himself. More than two thirds of the Camelot knights were under arrest, so was the head of the Council and many other Council Members. The Crown Prince, who had ruled the country for more than nine months, was gone, too. The army was almost without ranking officers, castle and town were in turmoil and as soon as word went out, the whole country would come apart.

"Your Majesty might wish to consider either to find a solution for at least some of our knights to be released or to bring in more foreign troops. Otherwise we could run into problems." That far, Bodmin thought, he had to go, in the King's own best interest.

"Leave that to me" Uther snapped. "Have I been informed correctly? Is the wretched girl with child?"

"I had the Court Physician examine her before I had them both locked up. It's true My Lord. The young La…. I mean the wretched girl is pregnant."

"That's all I need" Uther muttered.

Bodmin worked up all the courage he had. "I took the liberty of securing her in one of the guest quarters. After all she is carrying your grandchild, Sire." No use in telling the King that this had actually been Malcolm's idea.

"She's a serf, Bodmin, the likes of her can cast their litters in a stable's corner if needs be."

"Indeed, My Lord. But as Camelot Castle is very spacious, the need will probably not come up. And by the way, the girl Guinivere's father was a yeoman when he came. She has been born free."

"He was executed as a traitor, for conspiring with sorcerers. That makes her a serf. It's the law of the land."

"Whatever you say, My Lord" Bodmin decided to drop the subject. Hopefully the King would have forgotten where his grandchild and the belly that carried had been stowed away before he reached Camelot.

Alas, Uther decided to harp on about this. "Besides, you'd oblige me by not referring to the unborn brat as my grandchild. Heaven may know whose child she's carrying."

"Your Majesty might wish to discuss this point with your son" Bodmin said, at the end of his tether. Before Uther could blow up about this insolent remark, the Earl changed the subject. "What about the serving boy, My Lord. By your original order he was to accompany your son. Where is he?"

Only now Uther remembered the young warlock, who, in his sleep, had buried himself deeply under the bed covers in the corner and become invisible. For all the King knew, sending the boy with his master would be equal to setting Arthur free at once.

"Never mind the boy, he's not important" Uther said angrily. "You better leave now; if you want to make it to the Devil's claw in time, it's almost a two days' ride from here."

To be honest, Bodmin had no desire to see the small frontier stronghold, which had its name from the peculiarly formed cliff on which it stood, earlier than he had to. Admittedly the small fortress was very strong, easy to defend and a perfect prison, well away from any frequently used road or the next settlement. But when it came to the little comforts one got used to when living in Camelot…..

What a man would do to get rid of the Baron of Ravenclaw!

Bodmin pulled himself together and bowed to his King. "I take my leave, My Lord. And may I once more say that my brother and I feel honoured by the trust Your Majesty has put in us."

"Go to hell" Uther replied, hating the man all of a sudden with a hot, fiery rage, as if this whole mess had been Bodmin's idea in the first place.

Gritting his teeth, the Earl bowed once more and turned to leave.

"My Lord Bodmin!" Uther shouted.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" the insulted man pressed out.

"My son is at my mercy and pleasure, not at yours. Forget that, even for a moment, and it will cost you your head. And some other parts of your miserable body. Understood?"

Bodmin nodded curtly and went on. To say something was beyond his power of self-control right now.

Uther waited until he heard the men and cart ride off; actually he did not budge until the sounds of the cavalcade that took his son away had vanished in the distance. Only then the King drew a deep breath and went out.

In front of his tent, as by his orders they should, six of Bodmin's men were waiting, as an escort for the King on his journey back to Camelot. Uther winced at their sight. He had had completely forgotten about them.

"Get lost" he gnarled. "Get out of my sight. Go to your master. Now!"

"But Your Majesty can't possibly… you can't…. not alone." The leading officer was taken aback of the mere thought.

"I said, get lost" the King roared. "I don't need you!"

Quickly the man bowed, they all took to their heels and in an instant, they were gone.

Only afterwards it occurred to Uther that the bodies of last day's attack still were virtually littering the campsite. His eyes fell on Cedric's mutilated body and his conscience jumped on him like an angry animal.

He turned on his heels and went to the servants' tent, to look for a blanket and some ropes. By no means he would leave his servant here; not to the animals and surely not with the bodies of the men who had slaughtered him. While he rummaged through the carefully stowed provisions and equipment, he tried hard not to think about what he had done or what he was going to do the next day. And the next. And the next, until his plan would have been realized to the full extent. Naturally, just as he was trying to avoid these thoughts, he could think of nothing else.

Finally he had found all he needed, after he had thrown the stuff from the left side to the right and back again several times, far too deeply lost in his musings to focus on what he was doing with his hands.

Uther went out, his arms loaded with more blankets and ropes he'd have needed to wrap up half a dozen bodies and went back to Cedric's body, only to recoil from it in mortal fear when he saw into a pair of deep blue eyes that looked at him from the ground. "Heavens!"

With all the remorse, the doubts and the guilty conscience that were nagging at him, Uther felt as if Merlin's gaze penetrated him down to the bottom of his soul. And the King did not much like the picture that the warlock would most probably see there.

"Where's Arthur?" Merlin asked firmly, rising from Cedric's side. "I woke up and couldn't find him!"

"Damn your insolence, you brat" Uther thought. "Shouldn't you at least look fearful?"

"He's not here anymore. I had to send him away. Some urgent business. We had visitors while you were out as a light."

"I could see that much" Merlin answered with a pointed look at the horse dung and the hoof marks on the ground. "Funny that the business was urgent enough for all the men to ride with your son, leaving you stranded. You are the King of Camelot, after all."

"I…. I wanted to talk to you" Uther said lamely. "Surely you understand why I could not have my son being with us right now."

"No!"

Merlin's eyes were cautious now, and very alert. His muscles tensed and his magic rose inside him, like a quarry, wary of the hunter. There was only one reason why Uther Pendragon would wish to be alone with a warlock in a forest clearing, and this reason had nothing to do with saying "thank you". As Arthur would, for exactly that reason, never have left him willingly, something was very, very wrong here. Merlin thought he could smell the lie and the stink of betrayal and false play on his counterpart. It was something he had learned after Morgana had betrayed him.

"What have you done to your son?"

With an effort, the King refrained from running away like a scared child. The change from a young, meaningless peasant boy to a very threatening figure was – remarkable, to say the least. The more so as the boy obviously had no idea he was doing it.

"All right" Uther said curtly. "While you were asleep, healing yourself, our former attackers got some reinforcements. They attacked us and they've got my son. I couldn't hinder it and of that I'm not especially proud, you understand? Now, if you help me with Cedric, we can be on our way. The sooner we get home, the sooner we can send out men to find Arthur."

"Why are we still alive?"

"Oh, to hell with you!" Uther thought. "Because they did not see you under the covers and they need me to pay the ransom. Isn't that obvious?"

Merlin nodded reluctantly. This made some sense but there were still holes in the story. "Where did they go with their prisoner? It would save much time and effort if I could find them now, while they are still under way."

"And when you find them, you do what?" an exasperated King asked. "Defeat them single-handed, blow them all to Kingdom come and bring my son back home?"

"Yes!"

Uther swallowed hard. Yes. Just like that. A bunch of bandits has captured a Prince? So what? Piece of cake. If one was a warlock.

"Tell him!" The thought shot through the King's head like a lightening, painful, frightening, but also shedding light on otherwise dark and scary places. "Tell him to kill Bodmin and his men, to bring Arthur back to Camelot. Tell your son it was all a mistake, that you did not know what you were doing, that you are sorry. Chuck out your bitch of a sister and her idiotic whelp!"

Merlin returned the King's gaze steadily. It was clear that he wanted to know more and that he thought he wouldn't get it by playing this too hard. Perhaps he pondered to run and save himself, but for now, he apparently felt suitably secure to stay and try to learn a bit more about his master's fate.

"He's a warlock" Uther thought. "One word from you and he brings your boy back home. Nobody will be the wiser. Arthur wouldn't talk. Tell him now!"

"You know what I am" Merlin said. "No need to hide from you anymore. Your son is the closest friend I have. I would never give up on him. Tell me where he has been taken and I will bring him back."

"I appreciate your offer, Merlin. But it's just too dangerous. For Arthur, I mean. We have a much better chance when they come to collect the ransom. For now I want you to come back home with me. I'm sure Arthur would want the same, if he were here right now."

"Idiot!" Uther's inner voice screamed at him. "End this while you still can. You do not really want this, you never did. Blast your stupid stubborn pride. End this!"

But he knew that he couldn't. Against all his better judgement, all his instincts as a father, all his love and care for his son - his hurt pride and his invincible will to get his way at any costs would be stronger in the end. He had always been like that. It had brought his Kingdom from its knees. It had made him the victor even against the very heart of magic itself, the Isle of the Blessed. And it would, one day, be the reason for his downfall. And yet, it was the very thing that had made him the man he was. The man he wanted to be. To give it up would be worse than death.

The whole Kingdom had seen him weak, defeated, outsmarted by two bloody witches; one of them had been his own daughter. Helplessly he had been forced to wait for his son and a bunch of commoners to stage a gallant rescue and afterwards – afterwards he had been confined to his quarters as an useless imbecile, a senile left-over from ancient times while his son had become the centre of Camelot, only to waste his father's life work on a fool's errand to make peace with the Pendragons' most mortal enemies. It had needed his sister, of all people, to open Uther's eyes to all this.

He would not allow Arthur to get away with that. The Kingdom would learn that Uther Pendragon was still a force to be reckoned with. When he had finished what he had started today, his heir would have no other choice but to continue what Uther had begun – the next King of Camelot would finally see the extinction of magic.

Uther's heart beat stronger when he thought of his intentions and he forgot about the magician who was facing him right now.

"What about me?" Merlin asked, bringing the King's mind back to earth with an uncomfortable, if inaudible, 'thud'. "You know what I am and yet you tell me to go to Camelot with you?"

"Actually, I don't." Only when he had said it, Uther knew it to be true. Surprisingly he had no wish to see the warlock dead, but he also had no wish to see him at all. Not after this day. "You see, once Arthur is back in Camelot, this can't go on. Sooner or later somebody else would find you out and then what? Go back to your village, live your life as you please, but stay away from me and my son from now on."

Surely this would be the best solution. Arthur would not know until after his return to Camelot, which would occur in six or seven months from now, at the very earliest. By then the young peasant boy would be forgotten by everyone, especially by his princely master, who would have other cares to occupy his mind. Sometime, somehow in the years to come, there would be a way to deal with this special sorcerer, one way or the other.

Merlin nodded, and bit his lip. For a second he looked so very crestfallen that Uther had to fight the absurd urge to pat his head or to hug him.

"I'm off, then" the warlock said. "I'll just fetch my things and then I'll go, if you don't mind."

The absurdity of the whole situation suddenly caught up with the King. Here he was, loaded with old blankets to wrap up his servant's carcass, with a possibly almighty sorcerer asking his leave to collect his few meagre possessions and vanish into the mists of Avalon for all he knew. "Go ahead" he said. "Take whatever you want."

The wizard nodded again. "Thank you" he said, very politely. He even gave a little, impeccable bow to the King.

Shaking his head at the enigmatic behaviour, Uther began to finally wrap up Cedric's body and to burden one of the pack horses with it. All the rest of their stuff would have to rot here, together with the bandits' bodies. He had no intention to send someone to the place where a father had lost his son forever, because a King had decided that his heir would do his bidding, no matter what the price would be.

When he had finally finished his work, Uther went to both tents for one last time. It had occurred to him to collect Arthur's sword and knife and some other items he knew his son would want to have back eventually.

For some inexplicable reason he had been sure that Merlin would still be around, but the warlock was gone. No sound, no things or other traces showed that he had ever been there.

With a casual shrug, Uther dismissed the wizard from his mind and searched in the messed up mass of bedding, clothes and weapons for his son's odds and ends. He found the sword and the fighting knife easily, but the search for the smaller hunting knife proved to be more difficult.

Uther searched and searched, but he could not find it. Finally he had to admit to himself that the fine knife, with its intricate carvings, the gold inlays and the splendid jewels, was gone for good.

Angrily the King remembered his own words "take whatever you want". The weapon was extremely valuable. No wonder the boy had taken it. So Arthur's precious so called friend was as greedy as the rest of the lot. Sorcerers! They were all alike.

Damn shame, though. The knife had been very precious to Arthur. He had inherited it from Igraine. It was one of the few items that connected the son to the mother he had never known. Uther had waited until his son's 18th birthday before he had given it to him.

Uther remembered this day now. Late at night, when the feast had ended, he had been looking for his son, only to find him asleep in his bed, the – fortunately sheathed – blade still in his hand.

Come to think of it, Arthur had never been one who set his heart on dead things; his furniture, his clothes, even the weapons he used had been chosen for rational reasons alone and they had been exchanged for others when the necessity came up. One could well say that this knife had been one of the most personal, most private and cherished possessions Arthur had ever had.

Uther was still angry when he mounted his horse and took the pack horse's bridle, especially as he only now realized that he would have to absolve a full day's ride with a corpse as his only company.

After some more angry musings he forgot about the knife. Arthur would have other things to dwell on before this was over.

His father would make sure of that.