This chapter is called, "Don't Forget to Wash Behind Your Ears."
One of the things I hope to maintain in this story is holding on to elements of realism in a world full of magic. It's forced me to put myself in Arthur's shoes and think about all the details of what it would be like to be a hostage in a forgein kingdom. A big part of this chapter came out of that thought process, and to be honest, it was pretty fun to write!
So between moving and vacations I won't be updating for a little more than a week starting on Friday. My goal is to post a chapter tomorrow and Wednesday to make up for this.
The next morning Grondin packed his own necessities quickly and then left the camp early with his forty knights, leaving the rest of the foot soldiers behind to clean up and return to the castle at their own pace. He would need to be fast if he was to present himself and the prisoners to the Sarrum before dinner, as he hoped to do. That way the Sarrum would be in his best mood and Grondin would still have time to compose a letter to Morgana before it got too late.
Each of the prisoners was attached to a horse by a long cord encircling their wrists and necks. He had permitted that they be given a little extra food and water that morning so their pace wouldn't slow the group over much. He had also been relieved to see that the youngest knight had woken, although Grondin often looked back to keep an eye on him, ready to order one of his knights to carry him if he looked like he would faint. Grondin still cared about spending the effort to keep all the knights alive while they were his prisoners.
That morning Leon and Gwaine had gently woken Mordred, and, with their bound hands, helped his to stand. Gwaine felt a surge of afronteded anger as the three had been approached by knights holding long strands of cord. It took all Gwiane's self control to keep his burning indignance in check as the knights of Amata had bound a cord around his neck and attached it to his hands. Feeling the coarse rope had reminded him briefly of his time spent as a slave in Ismere. They had escaped from Morgana, and they would escape from the Sarrum. Gwaine saw that Leon and Mordred didn't offer any more resistance than he did, however, he could see their stony faces and Leon's throbbing jaw muscle. When the knights, Arthur, and Merlin had all been brought together that morning and tied to the horses, there had been much mutual relief when they all saw that everyone was unharmed.
Sweat dripped from all the captive's brows as they ran behind the horses, and Gwaine thanked all the days of brutal training he had suffered in Camelot. They had saved his life before, and now it would seem they would do it again. Gwaine glanced worridley at Merlin, and then at Mordred. Merlin seemed to be keeping up with the others despite his leaner frame. Gwaine had always been impressed by the man's resilience, and today was just another example of his perseverance. Mordred was also keeping up, although his face was growing paler and his eyes were squeezed shut against the utter exhaustion he faced. Gwaine grit his teeth, but made his decision.
"Stop! We need to rest." A few knights did reign in their horses, startled by Gwaine's shout. Others growled at him, but surprisingly their captain complied with his demand, ordering a halt. Gwaine felt very satisfied when Mordred shot him a grateful look, and slumped down to sit. It was short lived however. Gwaine's eyes narrowed when the captain strode over, hissing as he towered over him,
"Don't think for a second that you have any control over what happens here, Camelot scum. I do what suits me, and next time it may suit me to teach you a lesson." He left Gwaine and went over to Mordred. Grondin bent down and grasped the young knight's chin, forcing his sagging head up. The captain seemed to come to a mental decision and barked at the knight riding the horse Mordred was attached to,
"Bind his elbows and wrists behind him! This one rides behind you the rest of the way."
The castle was starting to draw near by midmorning. In two hours they would reach the gates. The knights of Amata rode tirelessly onwards, probably eager to return to the soft beds and luxuries of their personal chambers, as well as enjoy the delights of the royal kitchens. Grondin grudgingly admired the strength and tenacity of the king, his servants and his knights as they ran behind his knights, not uttering a word.
The gate opened with a loud klang! LordGrondin and his knights clattered into the walled town that sat at the foot of the castle of Amata. They wound their way through the marketplace towards the door of the castle. Peasants, servants, merchants, lords, and ladies all gawked and pointed, talking excitedly as the commanding war-leader lead his knights to the castle, victorious. They muttered amongst themselves about the prisoners, noting their chain mail and realizing they must be captured knights of another kingdom. Grondin didn't pay any heed to the gossip going on below him. He was purely focused on reaching his destination. Soon the group had left the marketplace and passed the second set of gates that lead into the castle grounds. Ten servant women were waiting for them in the walled courtyard. From here Grondin left the prisoners in the hands of the women and three of his knights. All the others he dismissed to return to their chambers. He ordered the three knights to guard the prisoners while the women made sure they were presentable. Appearing dust-covered and dirty in front of a forgein monarch would not only be an insult to the King of Camelot's pride, but it would also look bad on Lord Grondin. Obviously Grondin cared about his own self image, but he had gathered enough respect for Camelot's king to treat him, and his knights and servant, with dignity. Grondin took his leave to return to his own quarters in the castle. Being alone and able to relax he took some time to change, wash himself, hurriedly shave, and run a comb through his hair.
The captives gazed around them, taking in the sights of the unfamiliar, but very grand castle. Suddenly they were being ushered down a stone path and through a side door by a group of clucking women, followed by three of the knights of Amata. They entered an open room where towels, brushes, buckets, and soap stood stacked against one wall, and five tubs of steaming water filled half the room. The knights of Amata slit the captives' bonds, sure now that they wouldn't try to escape; there was nowhere to go. Silently they receded into the corners of the room. Now that the knight's presence was less noticable the women surged forwards, taking control of the situation. They surrounded the captives, sympathetic gleams in their eyes when they saw the red marks the ropes had left on their wrists and necks. Some of the women whispered and muttered to one another, while others were too shy to say anything in the presence of strange, forgien men. The woman attending to Merlin waved her hand in his face to get his attention.
"Lift up your arms," Merlin complied and she managed to tug off his shirt even though she was shorter than he was. Merlin noticed the other women doing the same to Arthur and the other knights. If the circumstances had been different he would have laughed. Even so, it was still quite funny to watch two ladies wrestle Percival out of his shirt. The woman grabbed Merlin's arm, steering him towards the baths. With a pointed finger she ordered him to climb in and Merlin had a sudden memory of his mother doing the same thing many times throughout his childhood. He got into the tub, yelping at the burn of the hot water. The woman just crossed her hands and raised an unsympathetic eyebrow. He soon adjusted to the temperature, enjoying the soothing water. The woman returned with soap and a brush and set to scrubbing his hair, and thoroughly cleaning his scalp, neck, and every crevice of his ears. She then handed him the soap and Merlin scrubbed his torso under her hawk-eyed gaze. When she was satisfied she offered him a towel and Merlin stepped out of the tub, shivering, his soaked trousers clinging to his legs. He could see his friends in similar stages of bathing, however, his eye drew to the corner of the room where Mordred was obstinately refusing to take off his shirt.
Gwaine noticed this too, and unable to help his friend without drawing unwanted attention to him Gwaine focused on drawing the knights' attention to himself instead. He laughed loudly, splashed the water a bit, and even started to sing a bawdy chorus. For the moment it worked and the knights paid little heed to Mordred who was on the other side of the room. However, when the knights realized Gwaine was only trying to make a bit of harmless rukus one spoke with the other two and then left the room. Arthur shot Gwaine a look, but when he saw the serious expression on Gwaine's face he turned away.
The girl who had approached Mordred was slightly younger than him, and she seemed very shy and demure. Without looking at his face she asked him to remove his shirt. When Mordred didn't comply she raised her head sharply, uncertain of what to do. Mordred bit his lip. He glanced at the knights watching from the corner of the room, and knew that he couldn't reveal his tattoo, but also didn't want to draw undue attention to himself. If he refused to do as she requested the knights might think he was hiding something and search him, where they would certainly find his tattoo. Mordred could see he didn't have many options at the moment. His only hope was to be as subtle as possible. He whispered to the girl,
"I have a deformity on the front of my shoulder. It makes me very uncomfortable to show it to anyone, would it be alright to take my shirt off after I enter the tub?" The girl's face reddened at being addressed so directly. Mordred bit his lip again. He knew the request was slightly absurd coming from a prisoner who obviously had more pressing issues than his own vanity, but the girl seemed uncertain enough that she gave him a quick nod, and he walked over to the tub, and slipped off his shirt once he was covered by the water. She accepted the sopping garment wordlessly and took it over to the back of the room, dropping it on a shelf and returning with soap and a towel. Mordred couldn't help the blush that rose in his face as she started scrubbing his thick, curly hair. He tried to sink further in the water, but a hissed "Stay still!" stopped him. When the girl finished she passed him the soap and Mordred reached to take it but her hand had become frozen around the bar. She turned sharp eyes on him and Mordred swallowed a lump in his throat. She had noticed his tattoo. A dawning look of understanding crossed her face, as she realized the reason for his odd behavior. Mordred tried to look at her with his most pleading expression. A hint of compassion softened the girl's face and she looked at Mordred with something akin to pity. Now she loosened her grip on the soap and as Mordred took it she whispered,
"You have enough troubles already. I won't add to them." Mordred ducked his head in thanks and began scrubbing himself, careful to keep his whole torso underwater. When he had finished she fetched Mordred's shirt and he slipped it on before he rose from the water. As the last of the captives finished toweling off the knight who had left minutes earlier returned, seven pairs of manacles dangling from his hands. Immediately the atmosphere of the room sobered, everyone reminded of the grim fate facing the men. The knights clamped the manacles around the wrists of the prisoners and escorted them from the room, bringing them to stand in an inner courtyard where the blazing sun would quickly dry their wet hair and clothes. Once they were dry soldiers and some knights started to stream into the courtyard, Lord Grondin following them. He grinned at his captives, and addressed Arthur.
"Now your time has come to kneel at the feet of the Sarrum." He yelled at his knights, "Move! Get them to the Great Hall." The prisoners were hustled through bending hallways of the castle, amidst the surprised gasps of servants, until they reached two great oaken doors.