Arthur decided to spare Gareth's family the sight of his mutilated remains and they buried him right at the clearing, marking the spot with stones.
By the time Leon and he were done with the improvised grave, the sun was climbing fast and Odlof and Osric had rounded up the horses. The injured one, limping and weakened by whatever wicked curse the arrows had carried, had to be put down. The rest were now grazing nearby, no longer spooked.
"No sight of Lionel, sire," reported Odlof and came to stand next to Arthur.
"Most likely, he's too ashamed to return," Leon replied.
Osric spat on the ground. "That coward better choose self-exile! A servant showed more courage than him."
They looked over to Merlin. Arthur liked to complain about Merlin's uselessness, but Osric was right – confronting an evil sorcerer sans armour, with only a knife in hand, had been brave. Reckless, too, though Arthur could relate to that trait.
The manservant had by now rebuilt the campfire and sourced blankets, furs, waterskins and the likes from the sorcerer's scattered supplies in order to tend to the injured.
Their last remaining squire, Lancelot, had staggered back into the clearing shortly after the beast had run off, merely scratched and bruised. Merlin was currently cleaning his wounds with fresh water, covering the deeper cuts with improvised bandages. The servant had done the same for the blisters on Osric's and Odlof's hands. Meanwhile, Geraint was still out on his makeshift sickbed, partly stripped of his armour.
"We should return to Camelot, sire," said Leon. "We can be there before nightfall if the dry weather holds up."
The suggestion was reasonable enough, given their diminished numbers and supplies, but Arthur found himself disagreeing.
"And let the beast roam free to attack others? It's bleeding. We can follow its tracks and strike when it's still weakened. If we return to Camelot, it might regain its strength or fall back into the hand of warlocks."
"We have but one sword left intact, sire," Odlof stated, pointing at Lionel's abandoned weapon.
"You saw how useful a sword is against that beast," Arthur argued. "Another dagger or two to its soft stomach will do the trick, I'm certain of it. We've got plenty of knives among us, and torches to keep the monster in check."
"I'm with the prince," said Osric, balling a fist, "it's now or never – let's slay this monster!"
"Fine," said Odlof, "I'm in, too."
"What of Sir Geraint?" Leon interjected.
Arthur considered this, then said: "Merlin can stay with him."
"Unprotected, sire?" Leon replied doubtfully. "More sorcerers could come to this area in search of their comrades. The two would be easy prey."
Arthur knew Leon was a voice of reason, but that griffin had cruelly slain one of their own. It would not do to have it take more lives because they had decided to retreat like that coward Lionel.
"Merlin," Arthur called over. "How is Sir Geraint?"
The servant turned and took another look at the knight, then hesitantly replied: "His breathing is steady and I saw no bleeding. But he seems to have suffered a heavy blow to the head, sire."
"My lord, that man is in no condition to—," Leon started again, but at that moment, Geraint stirred, perhaps awakened by their exchange.
Merlin abandoned Lancelot's side and hurried over. "Slow, Sir Geraint, you're unwell," he advised, but the knight sat right up, groaning loudly.
One moment later, he bent over to the side and threw up. Arthur allowed the knight some minutes to settle down and accept a drink of water from Merlin, then approached him.
"Sir Geraint," he urged, "we want to pursue the griffin. Are you able to ride?"
The knight stared at him, looking confused. For a moment, it seemed he didn't recognise Arthur, but then he blinked and ground out: "I can always ride, sire."
This was good enough for Arthur, who looked over at Lancelot. The squire stood: "I'm ready, sire."
But Leon still looked unconvinced. Arthur was sure the man would follow an explicit order from the prince, but this mission required trust. It was not the day to pull rank.
"Sir Leon," Arthur urged him instead, "this might be our only chance to stop this monster before it can do more harm. Now that it had a taste of human blood, who knows what it might do. There are villages beyond these woods, filled with innocent people. Isn't it our duty as knights of Camelot to protect them?"
Leon took his time as he considered what had been said. Arthur met his gaze unflinchingly until the knight finally bowed his head in agreement: "Sire."
Satisfied, Arthur ordered: "Good. Everyone get prepared!"
Arthur had Merlin toss the sorcerer's glowing weapons into the campfire, which burned readily enough. Osric and Odlof had to heave Geraint onto his horse, but once he was in the saddle, he could hold his own. Soon they were on their way with Arthur leading the way. They had lit their torches, carrying them in one hand as they rode, ready to use them against the beast.
They were carefully making their way through the forest. The beast had left a clear trail of dark blood and had also flattened most of the underbrush, pathing a clear way for their horses. They followed it for what must have been a half hour when they arrived at a clear, rocky area where the trail suddenly left of.
Confused, Arthur turned his head. To the far left and right, bushes and trees remained untouched.
"It must have flown up, sire," Lancelot suggested from behind.
The squire's words made sense. Arthur looked up at the rocks. It was a steep wall of jagged stone and scattered boulders, a climb of at least fifty feet. At the edge of the cliff above, Arthur could just make out spots of what could be the same sticky blood that was still making his own scalp itch.
"You're right, squire," Arthur said. "It's up there, licking its wounds."
"I'll climb and report," Osric volunteered, got off his horse, handed his torch to Merlin and started to relieve himself of his armour. Soon, he was down to his tunic and breeches, assessing the wall. Confidently, he started his ascend, seemingly unbothered by his recently burnt palms.
"Get off and have your knives at the ready," said Arthur as he dismounted. "Merlin, tie up the horses over there and stay back."
The manservant obeyed wordlessly and soon, Arthur and his men were standing at the bottom of the rocks, talking strategy with their knives and lit torches at hand. Geraint looked like he might be sick again soon, but seemed determined to help.
From below, they watched Osric near the top of the cliff. For a man well past forty summers, Arthur thought, the knight showed remarkable strength and endurance, only resting to find another protruding rock or wayward root to aid in his climb.
He had just pushed his upper body over the ledge when the screech of the griffin echoed through the forest.
A moment later, Arthur watched in horror as Osric was pushed back over the edge of the cliff, only just hanging on to the ledge with his fingers.
"Brother!" shouted Odlof, stepping forward, but there was no time.
The beast, flapping its massive wings, descended from the rocks and landed on the forest floor. It snapped aggressively with its beak, but didn't charge, cocking its eagle head at the flames.
The knights set into motion, surrounding the monster from five sides, raising their torches. They were all to distract and confuse the creature, so that one man might get a chance to slip underneath its belly and slit it open.
The first part of the plan worked: the beast kept circling on the spot, snapping at the air but unwilling to charge at any one of them. Finally, Leon found an opening and let go off his torch to roll underneath the griffin and stab it. A frustrated shout escaped him and a moment later, the creature, sensing the opening behind it, had retreated, then tried to peck at the knight on the ground. Leon rolled to the side and scrambled to his feet, only just escaping the attack because Arthur scared the griffin away with fire.
"It didn't work," Leon shouted desperately over the roar of the beast, presenting them with a broken dagger.
Arthur let out a groan of disbelief and wildly waved his torch at the griffin to drive it further away. What had gone wrong? Arthur's blade had easily slashed the creature underneath, hadn't it?
"You must have missed the weak spot, Leon! Again!" Arthur ordered, but now that the griffin had escaped their formation, they had a harder time keeping it in check.
Then, it all happened quickly. Geraint suddenly turned away and threw up, weakening their line of defence. Odlof, sensing this might be their last chance, found a way to slide underneath the beast from the side, slashing at it, but his frustrated shout did not bode well.
The griffin bucked, unharmed, flapping its wings to get away from Odlof, sweeping the knight to the side. A second later, Leon suffered the same fate as he charged with a second knife, and was thrown into the underbrush.
"Lancelot!"
Merlin's voice could just be heard over the roar of the beast, but Arthur had no time to see what was going on with his servant, as the griffin had locked his eyes on him and now seemed determined to charge, torch or no.
Arthur tensed and walked backwards. His foot caught on something, a rock perhaps, and then he was on his back with the beast above him. The griffin screeched triumphantly. It pecked at him, but Arthur could defend himself from its first attack by using the torch as a shield. The griffin swept it to the side, then reared up again, gaining momentum for the second attack as it opened its beak and—
A blood-curdling scream escaped the creature and it fell, twitching and mewling as it lay on the ground. A bubble of bright, blue light burst from its body, then all was silent.
Next to the fallen griffin, Lancelot stood and breathed heavily. He was holding onto a hunting knife with both hands. His arms were coated in thick, black blood.
Arthur got to his feet to look at the considerable damage the squire had done to the beast's belly. Carefully, he stepped closer, touching the griffin's neck, prodding at its eyes.
"It's dead," he announced.
Leon came over, followed more slowly by a swaying Geraint who was only just propped up by Merlin's shoulder. Soon, they were joined by Odlof and Osric. The latter seemed to have just avoided what would have been a deadly fall and successfully climbed back to the ground. Except for a few bruises and scratches, everyone had come out intact.
The brothers were thumping Lancelot on the back, congratulating him on a job well done.
"Who would've thought?" Odlof bellowed triumphantly. "Leave it to the bastard squire to put us knights to shame!"
Lancelot, likely used to being addressed so crudely, didn't react. He had lowered his arms and was still staring at his knife like it might soon turn into another griffin.
Arthur stepped up, grabbing Lancelot by the shoulders. "Well done, Lancelot. Camelot will gain a splendid knight in you when the time comes."
This seemed to shake him from his daze.
"Thank you, sire," Lancelot replied with a respectful bow of the head. "I'm honoured."
It was too late to return to Camelot by daylight and all of them were tired. They found another arm of the forest's creak flowing nearby and made camp there. It looked like it might rain, so they set up their tarps this time.
Arthur and Lancelot undressed and braved the cold waters, washing off the sticky blood of the griffin. By the time they had cleaned up and scraped the worst off their armour, too, the other knights had hunted down some small fowl and were sitting on the bare floor. The two birds were already gutted and sizzling over a fire and Merlin was just handing out bread and hard cheese from their packs.
Only Geraint was missing. Arthur spotted him lying on his bedroll some steps away, fast asleep under his tarp. Likely, he was still too sick to eat.
"Sit down, Merlin," Arthur called when the manservant kept hovering. "You deserve a break, just like the rest of us."
Merlin threw him a long, considering look before he joined them by the fire. Leon wordlessly handed Merlin some of the meat. They ate in silence as exhaustion settled in.
Arthur let his eyes roam over their diminished party. The knights were staring into the fire, looking to be lost in thought with their shoulders relaxed from fatigue. Only Lancelot still seemed to be on edge. The squire kept fiddling with the knife that had slain the griffin long after they were done eating, perhaps reliving his unexpected moment of glory.
By nightfall, it had started drizzling. Arthur took first watch, allowing his men to get some much-needed sleep.
"You, too, Merlin," he scolded quietly when he saw his manservant still walking about long after the others had laid down under their tarps, "you need to sleep."
"Yes, sire," he said. "Just checking on Sir Geraint."
Arthur watched him wake and fuss over the man, urging him to drink. He found himself wondering how much of Merlin's little free time might be spent learning the physician's trade on top of serving Arthur. Gaius had expected his ward to be his assistant at Camelot, after all.
Finally, Merlin finished up and walked to his own bedroll which he had placed close to Arthur's.
"How is he then?" Arthur asked with a nod towards Geraint.
"He needs to see Gaius as soon as possible. I'm not sure how to help him, sire. His speech is slurred and he keeps getting confused about where he is. But at least he's keeping down the water."
"I shouldn't have made him come," Arthur murmured, thinking of Leon's warnings.
"You didn't make him, he wanted to. Besides, you had little choice, sire," Merlin replied. "And the griffin's dead, so you made the right decision."
Arthur did not know why the approval of a servant eased the burden of responsibility in his chest. Perhaps Merlin also deserved some kind words in return: "You've done good work here, Merlin. I don't regret bringing you along."
The manservant shook his head, avoiding Arthur's eyes. "I've hardly helped. It is Lancelot who's earned your praise."
"Knowing when to step back is a valuable skill often overlooked," Arthur told him. Merlin shrugged and Arthur scowled: "Just take a compliment, Merlin!"
"Thank you, my lord."
Merlin fumbled with his bedroll. He was about to lie down, but then seemed to think better of it, propping himself up to look at Arthur.
"Sire," he murmured. "Sir Odlof, why did he call Lancelot that?"
Arthur frowned. "What do you mean?"
"The bastard squire," Merlin quoted the knight's earlier words.
Arthur looked at the men around him. They seemed to be fast asleep, but Arthur despised this kind of gossip. "It's not your place to tattle about noblemen, Merlin."
Merlin looked at him, unfazed, and Arthur sighed. Well, it wouldn't do to have a curious Merlin ask around at Camelot and end up making enemies.
He leaned towards Merlin and explained quietly: "It is my understanding that Lord Eldred of Northumbria was known to have sired four children, all daughters. Then his wife got very sick and didn't leave her chambers for months. When she was seen again, a fifth baby was suddenly presented, the eagerly awaited heir: Lancelot – who, if you want to believe such slander, is the spitting image of a disgraced scullery maid."
Understanding dawned on Merlin's face. He turned his head, perhaps seeking out Lancelot's form among the sleeping men.
Arthur frowned: "If I ever hear you talk about this, I'll have you put in the stocks for a week. Lancelot proved himself every bit the nobleman today and I'll be the first to defend his good name. Now, go to bed."
Finally, the manservant obeyed him.
In the morning, they tore off one of the beast's massive claws as proof of their ordeal, hoisting it onto the strongest horse, then left for Camelot at a modest pace to account for the added weight of their trophy and Geraint's condition.
They were slowed down further by recurring showers that were slowly turning the forest path into mud. By the time they were riding into the citadel, they were soaked and the weather had only gotten worse.
Servants and stablehands rushed out into the rain to give them a hand. When Arthur had dismounted, Merlin had already called at a boy to fetch the physician for Geraint and was now unsuccessfully pulling at the buckles of Arthur's pack with slick fingers. His clothes, much too thin for the weather, were all but glued to his body and he was shivering.
"Let this lot deal with the bags," Arthur took pity on him. "Go get changed, then draw me a bath in my rooms. I'm freezing."
Merlin nodded and hurried away.
Arthur oversaw the unloading of the claw from a roofed part of the courtyard, spoke to the groom of their missing horse's fate, then had the steward inform Agravaine of their return, Gareth's death and Lionel's disappearance.
Feeling that he had done his part, Arthur finally went inside.
As he walked up to his chambers, leaving wet, muddy tracks on the castle floors, he suddenly felt like the walls were closing in on him. Out there in the forest, fighting sorcerers and their beast, he had been in charge. The men had followed his commands, accepting the prince of Camelot as their natural leader. Here in the castle, with his uncle eyes and ears ever-present, things weren't so easy.
A memory of Merlin's accusing eyes assaulted him: You're telling me the heir to the throne of Camelot is powerless?
With a jerk of his head, he willed the morose thoughts away.
When he entered his chambers, he was surprised to have a scalding hot bath waiting for him behind the privacy screen. Merlin, his hair sticking out in funny ways from a quick dry, was scurrying about, readying a change of clothes for Arthur.
"How many hall boys did you bully to get this drawn so quickly?" Arthur asked, bemused.
Merlin looked up. For a moment, he seemed genuinely confused, then he flashed him an insolent grin: "I shall make sure to work slower next time, my lord."
He helped Arthur out of his armour and clothes, then busied himself with some chores as Arthur soaked his aching muscles. When he nearly fell asleep in the tub, he got out and got dressed on his own, only to find an early dinner waiting.
"I thought you might be hungry, my lord," Merlin said from where he was kneeling at the fireplace with a basket of wood.
Humming contently, Arthur settled down at the table and dug in. Really, Merlin was slowly turning into a half-decent manservant. They talked of Geraint, who seemed to have been put on strict bed rest, and Arthur soon found himself genuinely enjoying Merlin's company.
A sharp knock interrupted what could have been a pleasant evening. Arthur nodded at the door and Merlin went to open it.
When the manservant practically jumped back, Arthur knew for certain it was Agravaine before he'd even set eyes on the man.
Annoyed that his uncle would disturb the privacy of his quarters, Arthur set down his knife and stood, but went for a neutral tone as he greeted his uncle. They exchanged the barest of nods.
"Arthur, a word?" Agravaine said.
Merlin, still looking like he'd seen a ghost, promptly disappeared into the sideroom. Arthur didn't blame him, dearly wishing he could do the same.
"Can't this wait, uncle?" he said with some annoyance. "I'm fatigued."
Agravaine didn't reply, only smiled a smug smile and sat like he belonged.
Arthur sighed. Odious, odious man!
"Wine?" he offered.
With Merlin gone, Arthur poured a cup himself, which Agravaine readily accepted.
"I heard what happened. Poor Gareth. I shall write to the Earl of Richmond myself. Now, tell me about those sorcerers…"
By the time Agravaine had gotten whatever information he'd been looking for and left, Arthur's food had grown cold and Arthur lost his appetite. Merlin, who had eventually dared to step back into the room to refill their cups and hover by Arthur's side, relaxed only when the door was closed and Agravaine's footfall had ebbed away. He went to peer outside the corridor, then locked the door.
With his back to the wood, he sighed: "Finally, I thought he'd never leave! Does he always demand such thorough reports?"
Arthur felt some of his own tension ease. "Please, this was easy. You should've seen him when I ran away from Camelot. He interrogated me for hours."
"Ran away?" Merlin repeated incredulously.
"I was ten and tired of princely duties," Arthur explained, happy to get his mind off things. "At first, I only wanted to see what the commoners were up to, perhaps get some ale at a tavern. I ended up sleeping in some hayloft just outside the city and soon, I was gone for three days. By the time they finally caught me, I had almost gotten myself hired as apprentice to a traveling merchant. Oh, I was so sure Sir Ranulf would spank me right there and then in the council chamber when the guards finally dragged me in again…"
Arthur found himself chuckling as he trailed of.
"Sir Ranulf?" Merlin asked, sounding equally amused.
"One of the noblest knights I have ever met, and an old friend of my father's. I was his page and, for a short time after that, his personal squire." Arthur felt his stomach squeeze and his voice had grown a bit weak. He suddenly regretted ever bringing this old story up. What was he thinking, anyway? He was talking of personal matters to a servant.
But Merlin's tone was gentle when he asked, "What happened to him?", and Arthur gave into the urge to confide.
"Agravaine had him killed," he spat bitterly. "Burned, for sorcery. On my fifteenth birthday, too."
He abruptly stood and walked to the window, staring out into the empty courtyard. Memories assaulted him.
"They searched his chambers under some pretence, found an artifact of the old religion, supposedly magical. I'm sure it wasn't Ranulf's. His face when they tied him to the pyre, I shall never forget…"
Arthur had to clear his throat against a forming lump. He should stop, he thought. He was baring himself to a commoner. Him, a prince!
Yet, he continued: "I know now that my uncle feared his influence over me. Ranulf – he was loyal to my father, grooming me to be my own man, and I was starting to question my uncle's behaviour. Agravaine wanted to win back control over me, but he miscalculated. From that day, I swore to myself never to be manipulated by him again. To be my own man."
When he turned away from the window, Merlin had stepped closer. There was a look of determination on his face as he urged: "Then get rid of him! I've seen you lead men into battle now and they followed you willingly. You must inspire them to fight your uncle!"
Arthur stared at him, taken aback by the intensity of Merlin's eyes, the spirit of defiance in his voice.
"Merlin, it's not that easy. My uncle has had years to expand his influence. Half of Camelot is licking his boots, and the other half's too scared to do so much as breathe in his presence!"
"They only need to believe that you'll stand up to your uncle like you faced that griffin, and they'll find the courage to speak up!"
Arthur was shocked to realise that Merlin was getting under his skin. The servant had not shown an ounce of true servility or reverence towards Arthur in the month he'd known him, yet Merlin was now staring at him like he believed him capable of moving mountains. Arthur felt strangely helpless in the face of Merlin's sudden conviction.
A bitter laugh escaped him and he found himself exclaiming: "You're hysterical."
"Why?" Merlin retorted. "Because I believe you can be more than an arrogant bully?"
"If you're looking for a saviour, I'm not that man," Arthur spat, wanting to lash out. "My uncle has made sure I could never be. You're a dreamer to think otherwise, Merlin."
"Better a dreamer than a…" Merlin trailed of, quickly lowering his eyes to the floor.
"A what?" White, hot anger suddenly welled up in Arthur's chest. He went and grabbed Merlin's arm, harshly shaking him. "A what, Merlin?"
But Merlin refused to meet his eyes, any trace of his earlier confidence vanished as he studied the floor.
"Speak, damn it!" Arthur hissed at him. "Answer me! Obey me, or I swear I will have you whipped!"
"Forgive me, sire," Merlin replied, his voice uncharacteristically meek.
He freed his arm from Arthur's grip with some effort and a moment later, he was gone. But the unspoken words still hung in the air long after the servant had left:
A coward.