Thomas hung behind the others the next day, his eyes scanning the woods as they climbed a steep hill. Moonlight nickered under him, her hoofs struggling to grip the loose dirt below.
"Easy girl." Thomas soothed, not breaking eye contact with the dark forest. He watched as a bird eyed them from an oak branch, eyes narrowed with suspicion. Thomas understood that. Animals didn't trust the likes of men because they'd known nothing but harm at their hands. Thomas loved the creatures of the world. He'd raised Moonlight from a colt after his father had found her abandoned in a ravine, in the dead of summer with not a drop of water to her name. She'd been a sickly filly, and it had taken many sleepless nights for Thomas to nurse her back to health.
Needless to say, the young Druid would much rather be with his horse than any human being.
I wish I didn't need unicorn's blood to complete my mission, Thomas thought. Of all things… Why must it be that? I don't want to hurt such a creature.
Thomas had heard that those who killed a unicorn would be sentenced to bad luck like no other… but surely that wasn't to say that would happen to one who simply pricked the majestic beast, right?
As the sun began to sink below the horizon, Thomas and the others entered a small town. The town was alive with activity. People going here and there, from the tavern to their homes.
"We'll stop here for the night." Arthur decided, slowing his horse to a halt and hopping down.
Arthur got them a room above the tavern. It was dirty and unkept, and Thomas watched bitterly as a roach scuttled about on the ceiling, clearly distraught at these intruders to it's home.
"Room befitting a king?" He snickered, struck by the irony. Arthur gave him a sharp look, setting his satchel down beside the one bed in the room.
"It'll do." He declared. "That is, unless you'd like to sleep downstairs with the drunks?"
Thomas clamped his jaw shut, though his eyes shot daggers at the Camelot king.
If he knew what I was capable of… If any of them knew what I was capable of… they would never speak to me like that! Thomas turned away, frustrated beyond words. It isn't fair.
That night, Thomas lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Below, he could hear the roars of laughter coming from the tavern.
Surely drinking beer and being fools can't be that fun? Thomas marveled, sitting up and staring down. His father had forbidden him from ever touching alcohol until he felt he was old enough to handle it.
"A Druid does not allow anything to destroy his focus," the man had explained. "Being level-headed in all situations is the key to being safe, my little one."
But surely he was old enough now? He was doing the labor of destiny herself and helping to complete the noble works of Morgana Pendragon!
I'm seventeen, Thomas slowly stood up. I can handle a beer or two.
"Thomas?" A small voice made him jump. He turned around. Callum was sitting up in bed, watching him. "Where are you going?"
"I'm…" Thomas slowly grinned as he was struck by an idea. "I'm going downstairs. Why don't you come with me?"
Callum scowled.
"Why?" He asked.
"Because," Thomas gave a quiet laugh. "It'll be fun. I won't let any harm come to you, you're too important." Callum blinked. "Er, to the king."
"Oh…" Callum glanced sideways, at Arthur. "I really shouldn't."
"Oh, come on!" Thomas kept the pressure. "He wouldn't care."
"Oh, yes he would!" Callum yelped. "And I'm already in trouble as it is."
"We'll be back before they wake." Thomas insisted. This was a great opportunity for him to get closer to the chosen one, form a bond with him.
"I don't know…"
Thomas let out a sigh, walking over to the door and prying it open.
"Suit yourself." He said.
"Oh…ok." Callum chewed his lip, getting to his feet. "I'll come. But I'll kill you if I get punished for this!"
Downstairs was packed. But Thomas managed to get him and Callum a seat at a table where men were gambling. One man had three cups and a bean, he would put the bean under one cup and then move them around. The goal of the game was to say correctly which cup the bean was under.
"One on the right." Thomas said boredly, drawing all attention to him. He knew which cup it was under. How could he not? Frankly, he was surprised the man was actually playing fair. The man blinked in surprise, before shaking it off and grinning.
"You are correct, son!" He laughed. "But seeing as you don't have any money on the table…"
Thomas took out a handful of gold coins from his boot and thrust them on the table. He grinned up at the man.
"Game on."
After the third correct guess in a row, many people had gathered around the table to watch.
"He has to be cheating somehow!" Thomas heard one snort. "There's no way he's doing this genuinely."
In Thomas's eyes, using magic wasn't really cheating. He'd been born with a gift, and he had every right to use it.
"One on the left."
"One in the middle."
"One on the right."
"Left."
"Left."
"Right."
"Middle."
By the tenth time Thomas had won, the man with the cups swallowed and cleared his throat.
"I think that's enough for tonight." He declared, having lost more money than he knew how to handle. Thomas laughed as the man packed up his stuff and left. He'd never had such fun before!
"Wow." Callum was sitting beside him at the table. "You're really good!"
Thomas grabbed the kid's shoulder, giving him a playful little shake.
"Aren't you glad you came?" He teased.
"Um…" Callum shrugged. "Yeah. I guess."
"You will be." Thomas flagged down one of the ladies who worked in the tavern. "Two shots of whiskey, please."
"Thomas!" Callum whimpered. "I can't drink!"
"Why not?" Thomas titled his head. "You can handle it."
"Maybe!" Callum took a step back. "But I don't like it!"
"Don't be a baby." Thomas scolded. "It won't hurt you."
Callum's jaw firmed, and he turned away. Without a word, the little boy pushed his way through the crowd and over to the stairs. Thomas stared after him a moment, before shrugging. The woman brought the two shots over, and Thomas threw one back in one gulp. He grimaced as the drink hit his tongue… It was awful.
Cheers. The teenager thought bitterly, downing another one. As he sat there, he began to notice a slight buzz in his head. It felt good.
"Hey," the young man cried out. "Can I get another?"
Thomas was awoken to a boot prodding him in the ribs. He rolled over with a groan, his head pounding like his brains were being smashed by tiny men with sledgehammers.
"Thomas?"
Recognizing the voice of King Arthur, Thomas turned back over and opened his eyes. He whined as light hit them. The king was standing over him, a frown on his face. Thomas sat up slowly. He was still in the tavern, his hair a mess, and his back aching from having slept on the hard floor.
"Umm?" He asked, looking up at the king. Arthur shook his head in distaste.
"We're leaving." He said. "So, you'd best get yourself together."
"I'm fine." Thomas declared, staggering to his feet. The world started spinning around him. "Nothing is wrong with me."
Arthur turned away with a scuff.
"You're a foolish boy who thinks he's a man." He muttered. "That's what's wrong with you." Arthur turned back towards him. "I don't care if you're falling off the horse the whole time, we're leaving."
"Ok." Thomas felt so nauseous, it was a miracle he was standing up. As soon as Arthur began to walk away, that miracle left him and he fell forward, right into the table. The table shattered under him. Thomas struggled like a turtle stuck on it's back. When he'd managed to sit back up, Arthur was staring at him from the doorway, his expression blank.
"I'm not paying for that." The king said. "So you'd best pull some of that gold out of your boot."