Uh, I apologize, but this chapter is not funny. At all. I needed Arthur to get a slap in the face and this served nicely.
The way into Westmorland was crowded. After coming to the next kingdom or so, there was a large road heading into the country, jam packed with travelers and wagons. Some were just travelers, traders, and merchant-types, but most seemed to be family units. They looked like normal people and sounded like normal people and behaved like normal people, but Arthur and Merlin had nearly died of shock their first night on the congested road.
One person from almost every little individual traveling company joined a big group by the side of the road. They all joined hands and made a giant ring. Someone put a single stick of wood in the middle of the ring. The two Round Table men stepped closer, curious. Then they'd fallen into each other with half-smothered yelps as the ring raised their hands and at least twenty pairs of eyes flashed golden. The stick was consumed with a bonfire large enough to warm all travelers within a one mile stretch of road.
Arthur, his hand trembling on the hilt of his sword, had looked at Merlin and Merlin could see terror in the young king's eyes, something he'd hardly thought possible. He felt almost sick himself, but he wasn't sure why. It was beautiful magic, and he knew the bonfire would burn all night long and need only that one stick to maintain itself. Maybe it was the fact that this would clearly be a very different sort of quest than either he or Arthur had ever gone on—and here was Arthur, already panicking. Three days later the two were a little more used to it, although Arthur was actually looking forward to entering the magic-legal country now, to get an ounce of peace of mind. Had their magical traveling companions sleeping all around him realized who he was, Arthur had no doubt he'd be dead. He hadn't slept in days.
And then there was the talk. Three days of magical sob stories. Another day and Arthur would consider going out to hang himself to save everyone else the trouble.
"Heading to Westmorland?" murmured the head of one family to another. When an answering nod was given, the speaker continued. "We're just coming in from New Orkney, passing through on our way to Old Orkney, where Lot's reach is weaker."
The other man had nodded. "We're leaving Camelot," he told the other. "Our daughter's ten. My Rena cried for a week when she started moving things. Our family has lived in Camelot for ten generations. We had to leave everything…Our parents will never see their granddaughter again."
On Merlin's side, another conversation had started between two other families. "My husband was killed for sorcery three months ago," a young woman said to her walking companion, her expression hard and brave. "We'd only been married a year. He was executed on our anniversary. Then I found out I was with child. I couldn't stay in Mercia a minute longer."
"You did right," the man beside her said. "My sister…her husband was convicted a month after she gave birth. When Father found out she'd had a sorcerer's son, he…he…"
The woman tossed her braid back and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Drowned him, didn't he? Better a dead grandson and a live family than risk harboring a sorcerer without knowing it?" The man nodded, tears sparkling in his eyes. "My mother said the same thing to me, when I told her why I was leaving."
"My sister went mad and was dead within three days. I couldn't stay in Camelot anymore. I just couldn't."
Arthur's face burned crimson and he stared at the ground, trying not to listen. Merlin nudged him with his shoulder, although his heart ached even as he did. His people. He was among his people and he couldn't admit it, not while Arthur was with him. He could feel their pain, but he couldn't commiserate. It hurt.
"Maybe someday we can live in peace," somebody was saying behind them. "Who knows? There's Garis ap Gwyar."
"Aye, gods bless the ap Gwyar boys. And they say Queen Annis may turn sympathetic."
"I've heard all these delicious rumors about Arthur Pendragon."
Arthur's ears were now pink.
"What sort of rumors?" the pregnant woman asked.
The speaker, a blemish-y teenaged boy in a green shirt, turned to her. "They say he's requiring a fair trial now, for anyone accused of sorcery. Someone was actually acquitted a month back. Some say he might be someone important to us, and he may smile on us yet."
The man with the dead sister shook his head. "The son of the son of the dragon? Smile on us?" He laughed. "Do you hear that, everyone? This boy thinks Death's brat will repeal his Reaper father's ban on magic."
A sour wave of laughter broke out. Arthur's eyes burned. Someone punched Merlin's arm. "How about you two? You haven't said much these last three days."
The king of Camelot's smoldering eyes popped open wide, but he kept his gaze on the ground. Merlin stammered for a second, then began the story they'd been using. "We're cousins, leaving New Orkney. My parents died long ago, and Uncle Geoffrey was caring for both of us. Lot burned him for sorcery and we had nowhere else to go." Yeah, that still sound's good. Now to explain Arthur's sudden catatonia. "My cousin… has yet to get over his father's death. I…was out of town, but he saw it happen. Lot made him watch."
The company hissed and nodded in sympathy. "Lot's horrid," said one woman behind them, "but it could have been worse, for your cousin. Quietus would have burned him, too."
"Who?" Merlin asked, although he had a small idea.
"Uther the Reaper," the woman said, and her tone was hushed with fear even though the man himself was dead. "Quietus. Death."
"It is the only thing he ever offered us, the lying hypocrite." A man spat on the ground.
"We threaten our children with his spirit when they don't behave," another man said. "Heed your mother or Quietus will throw you down the well. Eat your vegetables or Quietus will send his Bear to gobble you up."
Merlin frowned. "His bear? …Oh."
Arthur shot Merlin a look, not understanding and not comfortable with this kind of talk at all. Merlin leaned forward and whispered into his master's ear. "It's an older language. Gaius was trying to teach me medical terms and I started asking questions. Arthur in the old tongue is Artos, and it means bear."
"Don't know why the Reaper was so unhappy to begin with," said the woman who had called him Quietus first. "He asked Nimueh to give his barren wife a child—" Merlin and Arthur both went rigid—"—when he could have asked the same of any hedgewife without the complicated old rites and it may have worked. I suppose he wanted to be sure it was a son, a perfect son, or something."
"True," said a man. "You should do well to think twice before asking something like that of someone with that kind of power, especially when she'd already shown signs of slaving to an unhappy Sidhe Eldership ready to revolt."
"But he didn't, and he knew a life would be taken—"
"I think he thought it would be NImueh's."
"Yes, exactly. And then instead of doing the sensible thing and deposing Nimueh, he has to go and start killing everything…"
There was a sort of collective sigh among the others before they began arguing amongst themselves about who should have died in Igraine's stead. Arthur was white by this time. He looked at Merlin. "You said—" he whispered hoarsely.
"I thought it was a lie," Merlin lied back, hating himself. "It made sense as a lie. Who'd imagine your father—"
"Quietus." Arthur closed his eyes, his breath coming shorter and shorter. "I can't stay here, Merlin. I've got to get out of here. We've got to leave, now."
"What about the Cup of Life?"
"Hang the Cup of Life. Get me back. To. Camelot."
"Look!" Someone yelled, pointing ahead. "It's Vortigern's half-castle! We've crossed into Westmorland!"
Several cheers started up and the pace quickened. Merlin grabbed Arthur's wrist and pulled him out of the road. "Look," he said. "Go back to Camelot if you want, but I'm going on. I'm sure Garis's men brought the Cup here and I'm going to find it. It won't take long to figure out if it's still here or not." He was almost half-believing the Cup of Life lie himself by this time, and had to remind himself he was really here for pesky dragons easily caught.
Arthur, still pale and a little twitchy, looked at Merlin and shivered. "Fine," he snapped. "Since we're already here, we may as well look around. But we're leaving as soon as we can, you hear? As soon as we can."
That same day, Arthur was recognized as the "Bear-King of Camelot."
