THE CYCLE


The cut was an ugly, uneven line running from the man's face down through his chest, ending right above his belly button. He panted as she applied the poultice - a simple mix of plantain and yarrow to stop the bleeding and seal the wound – each sharp inhale of pain immediately followed by a scream somewhere else. When he finally grew still for a moment Gwen pulled a maid to his side, her orders coming in a quick clipped tone.

"Bandage him up."

She didn't wait for an answer.

The healing tent was in no shortage of people in need of help. Everywhere Gwen looked there seemed to be someone bleeding, dying or shouting. Numbly she stood there, wondering where to go next when the flaps of the tent opened up and two knights came in, bellowing at the nearest woman for help. Gwen shook, watching the young girl stare wide eyed at the new arrival, her shaking hands barely working as the knights shouted at her to help them. She was clearly at loss before the bleeding body, her mouth gaping like a fish. When she started crying, Gwen held up her skirts and hurried to her side.

"You see to him right now or I'll have you hanged!" One of the men pulled his sword, making the maid trip away from it.

"I can't… I…"

"He is a knight!" The second one kicked a bucket full of bloody bandages, spilling everything on the ground. "Did you hear me!?"

"Put him on the table!" Gwen screamed over them, her voice hoarse as the men turned to face her. "Put him on the table, I'll see to him!" As her meaning registered there finally seemed to be some measure of wits in thier eyes and they moved to do as she asked. Gwen quietly turned to the woman. "You get out of here, get some rest, hurry."

She pushed the crying nurse to the entrance, knowing she wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last to collapse at some point. Already many of Gaius' volunteers found that they didn't have the stomach or the mind to see so much. It was one thing to slaughter a pig or treat the injured at home; it was another to be surrounded by human voices under so much stress, from the screaming to the dying and the need to be available at all times. She had seen young women puking on the floor more than once already, as the strain of losses pulled further and further untill something snapped. As she turned to the newcomer Gwen knew she would face another such a battle, for one look at the man had her mind sinking into a numb state of unfeeling that she was slowly becoming familiar with.

"You will heal him." One of the knights who brought him was saying, a command. "You'll heal him or I'll see to your punishment myself."

"I'll try."

"You didn't hear me wench!" She startled at his voice, barely understanding a word as she tried to survey the wounded man. "That is Lord Cygnus's cousin, his name is Sir Dyland! He cannot die!" The other agreed. "Where is the physician?"

"Busy."

"You'll get him immediately."

"He is busy" She forced the words out, ignoring the bare steel in the knight's hand.

"Haven't you heard us, woman…" She tuned out the words, inspecting the makeshift bandages enrolling the man's torso. When she sniffed it a bit, there came a foul stench that almost had her reeling, but her face remained as calm and collected as she could manage. Quietly, she looked to Sir Dyland's face, panting, glassy eyed, in pain.

"You'll be all right, I'll give you some medicine, and you'll be good as new. Do you hear me?" Gwen refused to look at the other knights as she brought up one of the flasks Gaius had distributed earlier. He drank all of it in desperation, understanding it would be his salvation. Gwen wished it was so.

"Is he going to be all right?" One of the knights said, the other one, who had screamed at the maid earlier was still red faced behind his mustache. Slowly, she took them in, big men, in armour, swords, both clearly unhinged. Behind them, the bucket of bloody bandages was still on the ground, kicked around in their anger. The decision was easy.

"You can't be here right now."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't help Sir Dyland with you getting in the way, now please leave." She stood her ground, not really lying, turning quickly as she saw a familiar face. "Kayla, clean the wound, we have to hurry."

The woman stopped, darted her eyes to the knights and then moved to obey, grabbing a pair of scissors as Gwen held Sir Dyland's hand, staring the knights down all the time. They clearly didn't trust her, but they also knew very little about Sir Dyland's state. Gwen did her best to keep her face steeled, like she had seen Morgana doing long ago, the face of someone who wouldn't balk or hesitate. Then, finally, one of them grumbled. He grabbed the man with the mustache and soon they were both gone.

Relieved, Gwen stopped holding her breath, inhaling the heavy air of blood and infection, while Sir Dyland's grip went from crushing to limp. The potion had done its job. Kayla was already cutting off the bandages when Gwen stopped her. The ruse wasn't needed anymore. "It's all right, go on."

"But…" Kayla trailed off as Gwen quietly retrieved the piece of coal from her dress pocket and marked a dark black X on Sir Dyland's forehead. The potion would keep him down until the end. "Oh."

"Come on, there are some we can still help."

Dressing bandages, sewing people, giving out the knock out potion when necessary and marking more foreheads that she cared to count, Gwen found herself going through the motions, each action a well-rehearsed pantomime between life and death. She was aware of everything and nothing, from the maids who needed kind words and support to those she needed to send away, from those that Gaius needed to see for himself and those she knew could wait.

At some point, she even caught herself by the Physicians' side as he worked, his old face covered in sweat, his white hair unusually pulled back into a ponytail.

"It's only the hand, luckily, Gwen…" On the table the man was sweating. His chainmail was all dirty, but worst of all was the red, bloody mess that was his right hand. Mangled fingers twisted and butchered, leaving out exposed bones and flesh. Someone had tied it up and did a poor job at it. She didn't even need to hear it to know what Gaius would ask and before the words left his lips she had the bone saw ready.

"Wait, you can't..." The knight shouted when he realized what was happening, Gaius just shook his head.

"We must."

"No, please, you can't do that, please, not..."

"Sire! Your hand is gone, infection will set sooner than you think. You might die if I do nothing."

"But..."

"Please, drink this."

He refused the potion, crying the whole time. Gwen could understand. Losing a hand would make it difficult to find work, even harder to use a sword. It would take years if he trained with the other hand, and not all kings were patient or kind to wait around, paying for a knight in recovery. They took his hand anyway. Much later Gwen would make the mistake of stopping. It was a brief pause that got her to look around. The smell was a heavy mix of scents like blood, sweat and shit, a sour, heavy scent that reeled her senses. The noise overwhelmed her until she heard, not the words, but the raw deep emotion entangled in an undecipherable web. Suddenly she was afraid, scared of making mistakes, wishing Merlin was here helping Gaius and she was back in Camelot, worrying about storages and clean hallways. Bile immediately rose in the back of her throat, and quickly, she was stumbling out of the tent in desperate need for fresh air.

Outside the winds were rising as the afternoon drifted into the night, but behind them the skies were black with smoke as if dozens of pots of ink had been dropped over the blue velvet by God's own hand, except Gwen was taught from very young age that god never made mistakes. No, the origin of that smoke was at the hands of men from her country who were out there burning everything they couldn't carry back to the army. Luckily, the fires were distant, the air was cold, good, and caressing her face.

"Gwen?" As Gaius came to stand by her side, his eyes followed her gaze to the smoke in the east. "It seems that they are getting more frequent every day."

"I don't like to think about it."

"I don't either." The Old Physician took her in, picked up a flask from his robes and held it out to her. "Take a sip, it will help."

"Is that?"

"Not even experience can make dealing with the gruesome and painful easy without something to numb the senses." He peered at her from under knowing eyebrows. "You're still new to this, so I will allow a sip or two."

Yes, Gaius probably did understand. If you took half of his years away he would still be two or three times more experienced.

"I thought this would be over by now." She pointed out, the taste of strong wine sharp on her lips.

"Wars are seldom quick." Gaius told her gently. "Songs and books make it seem so, like two great armies meeting in glorious battle, with a hero or two solving the conflict all by themselves, but the reality is far more complicated. Some wars can last days; others might drag themselves through months and seasons. There is really no way to tell."

"You've been through many battles?"

"I've been by Uther's side for years, war was alway in his blood."

Yes, perhaps it was. Gwen was not alive in the prime of Uther Pendragon, but everyone heard the tales of his conquests. He was the King who brought Camelot from ruin to its prime, the man who defeated corrupted king Ban and brought law and order to his lands. He was the king who saved the people from oppression and the evils of sorcery with nothing but steel and the strength of his arm. He made laws to protect the people. Created knight to protect the people. Took taxes to protect the people. He killed to protect the people. That is what she was told.

She had taken a second gulp of wine and Gaius had retreated back inside when she saw the rider approaching from amidst the tents. Mounted on a white stallion, armored and bloodied, Arthur looked almost like the heroes that Gaius mentioned, tall and handsome, men who could win battles all by themselves. When he dismounted and came closer though, she saw the person underneath, covered with grime and sweat, with a cut that had taken a chunk off his right ear and a bandage around his left arm where the chainmail had been breached. He looked tired and ragged, yet the first question he asked was one of the reasons she loved him. "How are my men?"

Gwen smiled, trying to be reassuring. "There wasn't a count yet, but everyone is doing their best, most will make it of that I'm sure."

"Good, that is good."

"You're hurt." Gwen motioned to his patched up arm, and Arthur chuckled.

"It's nothing; a spear came through the shield wall. Merlin patched me up."

"He was very stubborn about it." Merlin said from behind him, equally dirty, equally tired. "I had nothing for the wound though and it's been a while, he should probably redress it."

Arthur shook his head. "There is no time for that." When Gwen looked in search for an explanation, he continued. "After Madoc retreated, my men intercepted a messenger from Bayard, he will be speaking to my father soon."

"Do you know what he wants? Is it something serious?"

"Yes" Merlin answered for her, gravely.

She looked to Arthur for some clarification but he refused to meet her gaze. It was probably something sensitive then, an information Merlin had probably overheard. She wanted to ask, but there seemed to be no space for it in the tight tensed coil around them. Arthur had eyes like she had seen in some of the nurses back inside, eyes of someone that needed a reprieve. Merlin was probably the same. Dire news could be left for later.

"Let me do it for you." She motioned to the bandage, taking Arthur's hand and blushing despite herself. "Come on, I promise I'll be quick."

"Well…" His voice trailed off, his features softening despite his uncertainty.

"Go on, you prat!" Merlin suddenly shouted from the back, attracting a glare from Arthur. "Five minutes won't make a difference, besides, I treated you, so physician's orders."

"You're not a physician."

"Acting physician, since Gaius can't follow you around everywhere, now go."

"He is right, come" Gwen said, sensing her opening. She tightened the hold on his hand, and the gesture seeped the fight out of him.

She saw Merlin mouthing a 'thank you' to her, then took Arthur to one of the supply carts away from the tent. Knowing that Arthur cared for his men, it was best if he didn't hear or see the insides of the pavilion for now. She also didn't ask Arthur about the battle itself. She had gathered enough bits and pieces during her work. Arthur's vanguard had apparently met Madoc in battle a few miles away from there. If he was here now, she had to guess he had won. That was enough.

It was only as she was finishing that she noticed Arthur's silence though. He was staring at the dagger in her hands, a dagger she had forgotten about - again - as she cut through the bandages and used horsehair to resew his wound shut. Suddenly embarrassed, she held it in the light, pursing her lips and speaking quietly.

"I tried to give it to you, but it never seemed the right time."

"Where did you find it?" He said, gingerly accepting it from her hands.

"Under your father's bed, I don't know how it got there."

She had guesses, theories and ghosts of stories that could or not be reality. Many of them involved a woman she didn't really know, a stranger with plots and schemes thick with evil intentions. In front of her, Arthur just stared.

"I remember buying it for her." He reminisced. "I never did get her a good present, but after we got her back I thought I should make an effort. I bought this one dagger from a Frankish merchant, it was some of the best steel out there, but Merlin said it had to be pretty."

"I'm sure he was right."

"Occasionally" Arthur said. "Anyway, I got back to the merchant and tried to exchange for a new one. I'm pretty sure I got robbed, but anyway, I thought this one was pretty. I was still afraid she would hate it, of course." He paused, swallowing, touching the edge with his thumb. "Do you think she wanted to kill my father with it?"

Gwen took a deep breath, slowly letting it out with the tension of her body. Then, finally, she nodded, because it was the truth, and she wouldn't deny Arthur her thoughts. The prince offered her a sad smile in response, running his fingers over the adorned hilt. "For how long have you kept it?"

"Through winter."

"Oh." He said, leaving Gwen unsure if that was a good thing, he run a hand over his hair and blinked, taking her hands into his. "I never asked how you felt about it, did I?"

"About what?"

"Looking after my father."

"It was nothing."

"It was a lot." He corrected her, his eyes ever so gentle and pained. "I should have gotten someone else, someone less involved."

"Arthur, I didn't mind."

"But you should've." He insisted. She wanted him to stop. "Didn't you feel angry at him? Weren't you…" He swallowed his words, spilling out the rest in a strung up voice. "He killed your father, Gwen, how can you still show him kindne..."

Gwen got to her feet immediately, cutting off Arthur's words. She looked away, grabbing for her skirts in search of something to support her. She was exhausted, raw with nightmares, worries about Elyan and a deep sentiment of missing her house in the lower town and Lancelot, yes she missed him too, probably bored out of his mind somewhere in the citadel. Uther did kill her father. The law, the knights, in the end nothing could protect him. Her world had shattered in a cold morning to the vision of a cart and a body covered in white. When she finally found strenght to gaze his way once more, the usual excuses vanished. She didn't want to hurt Arthur, but he was looking at her with those eyes that both demanded and needed to hear her. She wondered where that resolution had come from, but perhaps it was always there and people simply underestimated him too often.

"Merlin once asked me the same thing." She finally said.

"He did?"

"Yes."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I wouldn't let someone else's actions turn me into someone I'm not. He asked me if I would kill Uther had I the chance to do it, and I told him that would just make me as bad as he is." She squared her shoulders as if preparing for a fight and it was one, a fight with an enemy inside herself. In front of her, Arthur seemed disturbed, however, once she started, there was no stopping. "Somedays are better than others though."

"You hate him"

Gwen gulped. "I try not to, Arthur, I do, but how can I help it?" She blinked, feeling tears descending down her cheeks, a sniffle shaking her body. "Dammit, I don't want to do this."

"Gwen..."

"Arthur, please..."

"Guinevere!"

"I hate him!" She said, feeling robbed and raw. She just wanted to patch him up. Offer him kindness, and yet somehow the conversation had eaten at the last shreds of her control. "You're right, I hate him, I truly do. You're always talking about how gentle and thoughtful I am and I..." She hiccuped, breathing through her nose, holding herself together inside the Prince's eyes. "I'm a person, Arthur, I feel everything like everyone else, but I don't want that hatred to rule me. I can't let it. I don't want to be like that. I don't..."

His hands held her shoulders and she clung to him for dear life, her nails digging into his mail while he held her. As her tears dried out, she felt his hand, bare and rough, touching her cheek warmly then she felt him placing the dagger back in her hands, his eyes looking away. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be."

"But I am."

She snivelled, holding her arms together, closer to her body. The dagger in her hands was oddly warm, the air chilly. Arthur walked away silently, his words echoing in her mind long after he left her. She had no idea what had made him ask those question, what had propmted such deep interrogation on the reality of her feelings. She just hoped he wouldn't do anything too dangerous.


Arthur didn't arrive in time to hear the messenger, or to listen to the war council. He walked to the command tent still wearing his battle armor, feeling hot, sticky and uncomfortable in his own skin, with Gwen's tears drying on his mail. When he got there, the lords and kings were already leaving, seeming displeased. Alined, specially, was grumbling under his breath as he followed King Banna to their own accommodations.

"Ah, prince Arthur." Lord Cygnus stopped him at his passage. "The king was just calling for you. He is rather impatient."

"Thank you, my lord."

When he passed through the flaps, he found his father alone by the table, the food on top of it long consumed just waiting for the servants that would come and clean it up. At the sight, his stomach twisted. He had eaten only an old piece of black bread that Merlin had found somewhere, and that had been hours ago when Madoc had finally retreated. He hardly felt any apetite however. He watched the king, the crown forgotten in front of him, hair clinging to the sweat on his forehead. Outwardly he looked the same he had back in Camelot, a shell of ice, but Arthur could, to his shame, recognize the storm behind his eyes, the tension on his shoulders and the baited breath of snarled words.

"Father."

"Arthur." He said, startled.

"Forgive me, I lost the meeting."

"Nonsense, we received the most fortunate news." His father said, his smile wrong like a broken window. "I also have a task for you."

"Sire?" Arthur shifted, uncertain. "Don't you wish to hear my report about Madoc's movements? My vanguard met him three times during the day before we managed to push him south of the river."

"Yes, yes, I already know of it. Bayard's messenger also described to us how he trapped the sorcerer army in a forest called Green Ash."

It was a bit more complicated than that. Arthur had sought his own answers when he intercepted the messenger, assembling a picture of what had happened with each small piece. Apparently, the army that would have met them in battle was already much closer than they expected. Said army had been attacked by a traitor, some man called Lord Belmont of Hilltop, after which Belmont run to the closest possible ally which was Bayard's and Olaf's combined forces. From that, Arthur put together that Madoc must've been trying to link back to the sorcerers, whose strategy should've taken a huge blow. There was another matter also, one that Arthur could guess, would come soon.

"Are we going to join them?"

"Yes, we shall move our forces to the east and block their chances of escaping. We shall surround the forest. That is not important though, what is important is that you assemble a force of knights and ride as fast as you can to Bayard."

"Sire?"

"He has the witch as his prisoner." His father finally said, gritting his teeth. "Morgause."

"You want me to take her into our custody."

"I want her burned." The king snarled. "You'll take her and bring her to me."

Arthur nodded, tracing a silver plate in front of him. The chicken bones were already attracting flies, and he scared them off. "Will Bayard deliver her to us?"

"He has asked for first claim to the lands of Essetir once the war is over, as far as I'm concerned he can have it."

"I don't imagine the other kings liked that."

His father huffed, pouring himself some wine and taking a gulp. "Essetir is a pigsty, full of slavers and heretics. If Bayard wants to deal with it, he can feel free to do so." Arthur nodded. "I want you to ride out at first light."

It was as he rehearsed his response that Arthur heard it, below the buzzing of the flies, the tells of an old familiar story.

From the distance, he heard Morgana accusing his father of the vilest crimes. What have these people done to you? Why are you so full of hate? Uther grabbed her throat and Arthur sought his sword. He heard whispers from a thousand voices, and visions created by the magic he had learned to fear from young age as the thing that took his mother from him. You're nothing but a hypocrite and a liar! More recent memories were also there, freshly rotten, his uncle's eyes burning like frostbite, snarling words that hurt his ears and his heart. He saw sorcerers attacking his home, thought of names long memorized. Tauren, Cornelius Sigan, The Knights of Medhir. A camp of druids in the night, with men, women and children. He thought of Gwen, a far better person than he was.

"Father." He begun, hoping the word would present weight to his appeal. "It appears to me that this situation presents us with an opportunity."

He expected some recognition to come forth, but Uther was still not looking at him. Arthur braced himself and continued.

"It was argued by some that we came into Essetir ill prepared. We took many men from our fields, our forces were still recovering, and our supply lines will be stretched further the more we move into the country. Now that we have Morgause under lock and key, I would say that Essetir's threat diminishes considerably…"

"Get to the point, Arthur." Hold your arm up, Arthur. Watch your feet, Arthur. Behave yourself, Arthur. Obey me, Arthur.

"I believe this might be an opportunity to sue for peace."

Uther Pendragon stood very still, like a statue made of ice; his voice however was indignant, thick with disbelief. Arthur had seen this before, many times. He would come to his father, knowing that what he had to say wouldn't be taken well. The furrowed brow, the pursed lips, the slight clenching of his jaw before he raised his voice. Stabs and slashes he could never parry, knowing that the part of Uther Pendragon that loved him would never surpass the parts that made Arthur afraid to speak freely. "You would see me capitulate like a coward?" He rose from his seat and Arthur fought against the urge to flinch at the imposing figure. "Are you out of your mind? Have you no shame? No sense of honor to what was done to our family? Would you abandon your sister to those fanatics?"

Sister.

It was the first time his father mentioned the word, and Arthur wondered if he had always thought of them like this, brother and sister living in the same castle. In his mind, he watched the sadness in her, purged and revealing as she told him her tale. Outwards, Arthur fought against the lump stuck in his throat, struggling to present so many thoughts at once that he feared to fail at the first word. Then the fated question returned to his mind in full force. "Was my mother not enough?"

Those words seemed to strike the king, his shoulders sunk low and in the blink of an eye Arthur saw the mighty disappearing behind a tired old man. Sounding more like the father he loved, Uther's answer came in the form of a choked whisper. "I needed an heir."

Abomination, Agravaine snarled from far away.

"Morgana always spoke against the way you treated those with magic" He said, unable to stop now. "If you kill Morgause, if you kill her sister, she will come for you and I'll have to fight her for I love you so."

King Uther Pendragon didn't answer his son right away. He moved towards the table, his hand, a fist, landed over the wood almost softly to support his weight. He peered down to the crown lying there. Arthur held on to hope that this time his father would actually consider his words, that his parent would actually think him wise enough to listen. Then, the fist moved, grabbed the crown and placed upon Uther's head. His father stood before him, stronger that he had seen him since Morgana's betrayal.

"Morgana is not under a spell, father."

"You cannot know that."

"I can, I know and you know it too." Arthur said, hurrying before his father could interrupt. "You know she was in her right mind, that she made her choices. This whole endeavor will not bring her back, and it won't turn her into the woman we both knew. I know how hard it is to accept that things have changed, but they have and if you kill Morgause I fear she might never forgive…"

"You dare!" His fist hit the table, sending the silvery clattering to the ground, chicken bones and half eaten tomatoes rolling over Arthur's boots. The flies buzzed away. His voice was hard and low. "I will not tolerate the presence of sorcery. Not in here, not anywhere, do you understand? Morgause will burn, these sorcerers out there will die and Morgana will return home even if I have to bring her in chains."

Pendragon, they whispered in a chant of a thousand voices, and the children were sinking below the water.

"Father…."

"You're the First Knight of Camelot, Prince Arthur and you will do as your king commands."

The First Knight of Camelot is sworn to the king, to his country, its laws and its code.

The code bends for no man.

Then the code is wrong!

Arthur had expected such, he had even predicted his father's flaring temper when it came to magic, and yet he felt the familiar sting behind his eyes all the same. "Sire." He said, not really managing to say the word, but his father had already turned his back to him. Arthur swallowed his tears, afraid that his father might call out his weakness, and turned, ready to step outside.

"Arthur."

"Yes?"

"You'll go to Bayard, and bring the witch to me." His father's hand landed on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, his eyes were almost kind. "You'll do this and things will begin to be set to right. You'll see my son. Our family will be together again. I promise you."

When Arthur finally left the tent, he felt something familiar that had taken his hand his whole life and followed him whenever he expected something from his father. Only now, he recognized it keenly as defeat.

For the rest of the night he made plans. One hundredth riders would make for a magnificent force. It wasn't nearly as many as the ambushed parties, but he would ride fast and without delay. No one would catch him in time. He would need to pick them wisely. Tired, he took in all the men around him, fearing all the ears that would be eager to speak to his father or some other lord. On his waist, the sword from the stone was singing.

Pick me up. Cast me away.

"Merlin!"

"Sire!" His servant materialized as if from nowhere, his resolute face making it clear he was already aware of the news. For Arthur he was a welcome face, trustworthy beyond his duties, someone of more value that he could put into words.

"Walk with me, would you."

"All right, where to?"

"Just walk Merlin." He turned on his heels, guiding his servant through the throng of tents and men. He passed through an arsenal where blades were being sharpened, the kitchen where an enormous cauldron held the food of dozens. He stepped through a square of horses and walked by an arm wrestling match where he saw Percival yawning as Gwaine collected his dues.

"So, this walk, is it going to be a habit? Is it because you're fat?"

"Shut up, Merlin."

Something of his mood must have finally come through. "So, it's serious then."

"I'm afraid so."

After a while of walking, they were out of the camp, walking through the net of guards who gave passage at his sight. Soon, he and Merlin were both alone, standing among tall old oaks who whispered distant words under the wind. The wheather had been chilly and wet for somedays now, not really raining but not really hot either. Below him, his boots moved over wet soil as he thought of far off dreams he must've had a thousand times as a child.

It was a secret of course. He had mentioned it once to Guinevere, but never went into detail about how he would always question farmers at court whenever he could. In his dreams, his farm would prosper. He would plant wheat and rye and be careful about the harvest. If the wheat was too dry he heard the grain would fall off, but if it was too wet the grain would rot. Farmers had to watch for the rains. Beans were another matter; he could have beans by each summer with a good land. For that he needed to care for the soil. Most farmers used seaweed and marl, but Arthur knew the best fertilizer was dung, pure and simple. For a prince it would be easy for him to acquire dung, but in his dreams he wasn't prince, and Merlin probably wouldn't be willing to shovel it all for him. What he looked forward the most, however, was a small patch of land where he would have strawberries. He knew that it was possible to harvest strawberries twice a year if you get buds in Summer and Autumn, and he would greet each season with a bite of sweet and a pinch of sour. Morgana loved strawberries.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about what would happen if I started walking and never stopped."

"You would grow bored."

"Wouldn't you come with me?"

"No chance." Arthur chuckled, happy when a small smile tugged at Merlin's lips. "All right, I will think about it."

Arthur pursed his lips in a tight smile; the taste of strawberries was a memory. "You might regret saying that after what I tell you."

"What is it?"

"I'm thinking about freeing Morgause." As it was expected, Merlin didn't take it well. He stood there, looking like a witless fish until Arthur punched him on shoulder "Say something."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Here we go."

"She tried to kill you!" Merlin argued, motioning with his hands. "Have your forgotten about that?"

"Not really."

"What about everyone else? What about Gwen? What about Camelot?"

"I'm aware."

"Are you? Because I honestly think you're going a bit mental, maybe we should see Gaius, come on."

"Merlin."

"Oh, yes, she tried to kill me too, remember? I do, very clearly."

"Merlin." Arthur moved in front of his servant… no, his friend. Arthur knew he would never be asking something like this from someone that was less. "Merlin, just listen, all right." As Merlin tilted his head in exasperation, Arthur unsheathed his sword and shoved it into the earth, letting the handle bounce around as he sat down on a moss covered stone. "Morgause is our enemy and I'll admit, I thought that having her in Essetir didn't bode well for us. I truly believe we have to stop her if Camelot was ever to be safe."

"All good arguments those are, maybe we should end it there."

"However…"

"Dammit."

"However" Arthur repeated. "We kill Morgause, then what? My father burns her at the stake and I'm sure Morgana won't take it well." Arthur waited, swearing that Merlin wanted to say something. When he didn't, he continued. "You saw how it is out there, the fighting. I want to stop it. I don't want more knights, more people to die. I thought it was necessary, but more and more I think I was wrong to even allow my father to march this far."

He struggled, hoping that Merlin would understand. He knew there would be no accusation of treason from him, at least.

"What about what you saw? Your vision?" Merlin questioned, hands on his hips. "Remember? You said you saw Morgana attacking Camelot with Agravaine by her side."

"I know."

"What about it?"

Arthur sighed. "I didn't tell you all that happened in that cave, but Morgana could've killed me if she wanted to. She didn't. I thought she was gone, but the way she talked to me. I think there is hope for peace still."He fidgeted. "And in case you're wondering, I won't make you do anything. I'll be helping a sorceress and that is treason, no matter how you look at it."

"You're right, you will be helping a sorceress. What would your father say?"

Arthur almost felt like laughing. Maybe he was crazy. "I think that my father might be wrong about many things."

He waited, half expecting Merlin to say 'no'. The young man before him furrowed his brow seeming at loss for words. He run a hand over his short dark hair and paced back and forth. Then he stood still. His eyes shimmered even in the dark, touched by the cold glow of the moon. Arthur waited. The whole time he had met Merlin, he had struck Arthur as both wise and silly in equal measure, but never as someone who hated magic with the same passion as others in Camelot. In fact, he helped Arthur one too many times. He wanted that help now, more than ever.

"Arthur, I don't think…"

"Wait!" Arthur got to his feet when he saw a shadow moving behind Merlin. His servant turned around, seeking it as well, and then Arthur saw it, a shape like a man walking through the roots and trees. "Who goes there? Are you lost?" The sight of the red cloak made Arthur relax, it was clearly someone from Camelot. With any lucky he hadn't heard anything. "Answer me!"

"Arthur?" said Merlin.

In front of them, the man stopped. Maybe he had come out to relieve himself and was embarrassed. He held something in his hand, glinting in the light of the stars, something palmed and raised over his shoulder "Prince Arthur?"

"That is me."

"King Odin sends his regards."

"What?" Something glinted in the darkness, whispering sharply in his direction, but before Arthur realized what it was, he was already being hit from the side by something heavy and skinny. They toppled over together, Merlin on top, his wide eyed gaze looking down on a stunned Arthur for a bit too long. "Are you all right?"

"Merlin." But a second whisper whistled through the foliage and then Merlin was gasping, his body bending forward in pain. "MELIN!"

Arthur held his servant as the guard appeared. A third knife already sailing. Desperetely Arthur tried to shove Merlin away, but he heard the thud of the blade sinking into flesh despite his efforts. "Merlin!" He screamed, managing to get to his knees as his friend fell to the side. The killer was there, before him. He had a forth knife in hands and a gleeful smirk on his face.

Questions flew by his mind in quick sucession.

The knife flew.

Arthur was ready. He raised his arm and let the blade bounce off the vambrance. Fast and quick, the prince moved to the sword, closing his hands around it as he heard the bellow of the guard at his back. He pulled it from the earth and turned around, white rage boiled in his soul, spilling out in a roaring blind slash.

Light burst before his eyes, consuming him for an instant.

When it was gone, the man in camelotean armor stood before him aghast. The sword in his hands cracked and the pointy end fell off. Then, a moment later, as if hit by the same cut, the top half of his head followed, right above the nose. Arthur watched dumbfounded as the rest of the body crumbled. Then his desperate eyes turned to Merlin, as if to seek an answer and finding his body very, horribly, still.

"Merlin!" Arthur cried out, kneeling on his side. The knives had both sunk into his back, almost to the hilt. Arthur reached out, desperate to take them off and then stopped, afraid. Theough his hurry an old lesson whispered that if he did, Merlin would bleed out. He had no idea what damange had been done. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!" Nobody answered, they were alone with a dead killer. He needed to get back.

Crying, Arthur managed to somehow lift Merlin in his arms, stumbling back to camp and shouting himself hoarse.


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