"What the hell kind of servant drinks poisoned wine?" Arthur mutters under his breath as he glances at the map, reassuring himself he still has his bearings. The Forest of Balor should be another half-day's ride, and if the map is right, it should be large enough that he can't possibly miss it. However, if Merlin's condition is as bad as Gaius had told him, then it will do no good for anyone to have him delayed. He isn't sure he can stand ever facing Hunith again if her son dies to save him, to say nothing of Leon. "Are you ready, Llamrei?" he asks of his mare, and she flicks her ears at him with a soft whicker. A short respite seems to have done well for her. "Good. I have an idiot to save."
As he reaches for the reins, however, he hears the snap of a twig from behind him, hearing the sound of someone approaching him. Arthur draws his sword, whirling to face the source of the sound…and swears aloud. "Gods be damned, Leon, I told you to stay in Camelot," he says, sheathing the blade once more.
The knight gives him a wry smile as he leads along his odd spotted horse on foot, drawing up besides Llamrei. "Actually, you asked me to stay in Camelot, you didn't order me to," he remarks. "And while I understand you made the decision to go alone, you should understand you made an idiotic decision which I have elected to ignore."
Arthur gapes for a moment. None of his knights have ever spoken to him like that, least of all Leon, usually the very picture of decorum. Come to think of it, nobody has spoken to him like that…except Merlin. He closes his mouth and shakes his head. "That brother of yours is a terrible influence."
"Always has been. Are you ready?"
"Yes. How did you manage to catch up anyways? I had the lead on you."
Leon chortles, patting his horse's neck. "Aragonian bred, sire. No better mount. I'm just grateful she hasn't bitten me yet," he says, swinging himself up into the saddle; the mare snorts and stamps one hoof impatiently, tossing her particolored mane.
"You do realise that you'll be in a great deal of disfavor when we return?" Arthur prompts as he mounts up as well.
"Perhaps." The other knight smirks a little. "There are more subtle ways out of the city than riding full-tilt through the guards at the front gates. If one knows where to look and whom to speak to, there are even ways that callous father of yours doesn't know about."
The backhanded reproof coupled with insult to his father in the same breath makes Arthur wonder if perhaps the half-brothers are far more alike than one would think. "Careful now, Sir Leon," he warns.
Leon turns in the saddle to give him a perfectly cordial smile. "I was carried away by strong emotion, sire. Shall we go?" He puts heels to his horse without waiting for an answer.
Staring after the knight, Arthur shakes his head and urges Llamrei on.
The Forest of Balor is indeed far larger than he had thought, seeing it on the map. It spreads vast and dense, stretching from horizon to horizon up against the mountains; the trees grow close and thick in a coat of deep green armour. Cold mists seep down off the mountains to mask the trees in thick fog. There's a deep feeling of unease emanating from it. Arthur tries to shake himself of the feeling, scowling at his own foolishness. Superstition, nothing more.
"Almost like being home," Leon remarks beside him, sounding braver than Arthur feels.
"Oh?" he says as they ride for the treeline.
"Silverpine is called as such from the constant mists that form in the forests on the mountains. Show me a lake and a valley of pasturage for sheep, I'd be perfectly at ease." As they reach the trees, Leon dismounts and takes the reins of his horse. "Trees this old will have a great deal of low branches. It'll be easier to walk."
As they walk through the close trees, having to take care to pick their way over the thick sprawl of roots, Arthur hears a thin, human sound coming from ahead of them. A woman, weeping. He glances to Leon, wondering if he's imagining it, but from the look of confusion on the other knight's face, he doesn't think so. Moving towards the sound, he spies a young woman, sitting against a tree and crying. She's cut and bruised all over the place, trembling.
"Are you alright?" Arthur asks as they approach her.
She starts at the sound of his voice, glancing up to them. Her gaze slides past Arthur, and she screams.
The beast from Gaius's book, the cockatrice, in full living colour and hideously large. It advances down the ridge towards them with uncanny speed, its body held low to the ground. Leon swears aloud, and they quickly draw swords, moving to stand between the cockatrice and the young woman. It hisses and growls, shifting its weight on its short, bowed legs, glaring at them with cold slitted eyes. A forked tongue flickers in and out like a whip, sharp teeth bared in warning.
They both circle the cockatrice. Arthur moves to the left, and Leon to the right. He knows that the beast is far too fast and no doubt stronger than both of them, so if they can keep its attention divided between the two of them, they'll have an advantage. The cockatrice lunges towards Arthur, jaw open wide. Its long tail whips past, and gripping the sword hilt in both hands, Leon plunges the blade straight down into the ground through the beast's tail, pinning it neatly. It shrieks loud enough to be heard a league away, surely, rearing up on its hind legs in a fury. Arthur raises his arm and hurls his sword like a spear, right into the cockatrice's exposed underbelly. A final gurgling roar and it collapses in a heap, twitching fitfully.
"I recant what I said before," Arthur remarks as he carefully retrieves his sword, using a handful of leaves to wipe the off-color blood from the blade. "I am grateful to have you here, Leon."
Leon snorts a little, then turns to look at the young woman, watching them with enormous, fearful eyes. "Are you alright? Who did that to you?" he asks, nodding towards her darkly bruised arm, marked with cuts that are too small to have come from the cockatrice.
"My master," she replies in a trembling voice. "I...I ran from him, and then I got lost, and I don't know where to go. Please, please, don't leave me here."
They exchange a small glance, silently agreeing. Servants who tried to flee their masters were punished most severely, and if the one she had already treated her so abominably...it wouldn't be a good idea to leave her alone and unarmed. "We won't," Arthur reassures, offering a hand to her. "We'll take you from this place, but not yet. There's something we have to do first." His gaze slides towards the yawning gape of a cave, just past where the cockatrice had appeared.
The girl follows his glance. "In the caves? Why in there?" she asks.
"We...need something. A plant. It grows in the caverns," Arthur replies after a moment's hesitation; Leon frowns, seeming suspicious, but of what, Arthur doesn't know. She's only a girl, an injured one at that, and they are both armed knights.
"The mortaeus flower? I know where they are," the young woman says, holding her injured arm close to here. "Here, I can take you to them." She turns and walks towards the caverns, glancing back at them expectantly.
Arthur leaves the horses tied to a nearby tree, pausing to fashion a pair of makeshift torches for them. Staring into the darkness of the cavern, he turns to Leon. "Wait here for us. If there are any more of those beasts about, I don't want them coming in after us." The taller man frowns slightly, casting another glance towards the girl, but then he nods, standing at the mouth of the cavern; Arthur looks to the young woman and hands her one of the torches. "Lead the way."
He doesn't like this.
Something about that girl unsettles him. The mortaeus flower is supposedly so rare that they aren't common knowledge, yet she had known exactly what they were the moment Arthur mentioned the caverns. Perhaps the locals had more knowledge of the area, but he doesn't see how anyone could get past the cockatrice with any sort of ease. Resisting the urge to follow them in, Leon rakes his gaze around the forest, listening for the stirring of any other beasts, one hand curled on his sword hilt. Surely they ought to be back soon, the flowers couldn't possibly grow that far underground...
"Leon!"
Arthur's distant shout echoes from inside the cave, a sound of fear and panic. Swearing softly, Leon draws his sword and turns to run into the caverns, then halts in place as the young woman emerges from the darkness. All the trembling fear is gone from her. She stands with her back straight and chin lifted. Her injuries have vanished as well, and a cruel smirk is fixed on her lips. Leon starts to raise his sword. She flicks her fingers at him. "Hathian," she says sharply, her eyes flickering gold.
He drops his sword with a gasp as it suddenly grows scalding hot in his hand, as though he's tried to seize it directly from the forge. If he didn't have his glove on, he'd have lost some skin from his palm, certainly.
"You cannot save your golden prince," she laughs, casting aside the torch. For every step she advances, Leon takes one in retreat, keeping the same space between them as he would an opponent, just slightly more than arms' length. She may be a small woman, but she has magic, and he is unarmed. "Did you think to defeat me with your little toy? I am a Priestess of the Old Religion, you foolish boy, I am not—"
Leon smashes a fist into her face.
One of the first things he ever learnt was that no man raises his hand to a woman in anger or he is no true man. However, if she is truly a High Priestess, then she is no normal woman, and given that she is threatening the life of his prince, he thinks it fair to assume he has the right of it. As it is, she only staggers back, even though he'd lain grown men out with a blow like that. Leon shakes his hand out, feeling as though he's just punched a tree trunk.
Blood pours from her nose, her mouth a red ruin. Her eyes widen almost comically, hands rising to cup her face in disbelief.
Leon holds his breath as her gaze snaps to him, spilling into gold.
There is an impact upon the air around them, thunder without sound. Glittering darkness overtakes him.
Magic might well be forbidden in Camelot, but Arthur has never been so overjoyed to see light in his entire life.
Following the silvery blue-white glow up the cavern wall, grasping at the ledges and pits large enough for him to hold. He can hear the scuttling of the enormous spiders behind him, like dead twigs scraping over stone, coming up after him. He feels a tickle against his calf and kicks back at it, not daring to look down, feeling his boot strike something solid that goes falling away into the darkness. The light goes up higher, illuminating a path leading up higher to where the rock wall curved up into a ceiling...and into a shaft leading upwards to a narrow sliver of starry sky.
As he ascends higher, the light breaks apart and dissolves like smoke, but he doesn't need it any longer, moonlight spilling down into the crevasse, and he can see the edge, grass feathering over the lip. One last desperate heave upwards, and he gains the lip of the fissure. He starts to drag himself upwards when the unstable edge begins to crumble. Arthur cries out as he starts to slide backwards into the abyss, the ground crumbling as he scrabbles for something, anything to hold onto. His legs kick at empty air.
Strong hands seize his arms.
"Leon!" he wheezes out. If he had the breath for it, he would've cheered.
The curly-haired knight looks thoroughly ruffled and somewhat dazed, an enormous bruise already forming on the side of his face. His grip, however, is like iron, and he drags Arthur upwards, armour and all, onto solid ground. They both collapse in an undignified heap, catching their breath. The spiders, apparently, have no love of open air, since none of them appear from the crevasse. "Do you have it? The mortaeus, do you have it?" Leon pants out.
Arthur grasps at his belt pouch, feeling the velvety petals and the so-precious leaves. "I have it. What happened to your face?"
"The woman, the sorceress, she felled me with magic. I hit my head, I think." He chortles hoarsely. "Considering I struck her in the face, I believe I'm in remarkably good form."
At that, Arthur lifts his head, mouth agape. "You did what?"
Leon laughs as he sits up, gingerly touching the side of his face. "She paid me back in kind, sire. I think I hurt my hand more than I hurt her, to speak true." He gets to his feet and leans down to draw Arthur up. "Now let's go. We need to get back to Camelot. Merlin's waiting for us."
The ride back to Camelot is swift yet impossibly long. The memory of the light haunts Arthur's thoughts, yet he doesn't dare mention it to Leon. It seems to him a double-edged sword to have, an alleged destiny that even sorceresses won't cross, a guardian keeping watch on him...and having a magical protector as well as a father who finds the very word magic abhorrent.
Finally, the landscape around them becomes more and more familiar. The hedgerows and fields begin to take on a well-known pattern, and Arthur's heart jumps in his chest when the familiar spires of Camelot appear, the white walls and towers shining brightly. They halt temporarily on a ridge, the front gates in sight, and the elation that he'd just felt vanishes like a swift bird taking wing. Llamrei blows hard, near spent, but Leon's spotted horse is scarce winded, prancing in place with her strange high-stepping gait. "Did anyone see you leave the city, Leon?" Arthur wonders, staring at the gates. There are more men than he recalls being there before, and he has an idea of the sort of temper that his father is in. "Does anyone know you're gone?"
The other knight shakes his head. "No, sire. Well, none but Hunith and Gaius, but they would not say anything of it. Why?"
Arthur carefully fishes out the mortaeus flower; it's slightly wilted and the velvety petals are bruised, but the all-important leaves look unharmed. Or at least, so he hopes. For Merlin's sake. "Then you go back in the way you left. Get this to Merlin. I will deal with my father's temper. He doesn't take well to being disobeyed, least of all by me." He passes the delicate scrap of plant over to Leon. He has no doubt that his father will be furious with him and will demand an explanation or at the very least an audience so he can be shouted at in person. Nobody leaves the King's presence without permission. It is time that Merlin surely doesn't have.
"Very well. Thank you, Arthur."
Being addressed by name makes him smile a little despite the situation. Leon turns his horse and rides away, towards the outer walls rather than the gates proper, and Arthur counts to ten to give him a decent start. Leaning forward, he pats Llamrei's neck. "Come on, girl. Almost home now," he reassures, then urges her into a canter, making directly for the gates and his father's awaiting fury.
Waking is sometimes like falling asleep, slowly and then all at once. Merlin, however, wakes only slowly, dragging himself up out of a deep, feverish darkness back to the surface, with exhaustion still clinging to him around his corners and edges. He can smell woodsmoke and herbs and old parchment; Gaius's chambers, then.
He pries his eyes open slowly, and a familiar, beloved face swims into focus before him. "Mother?" he mumbles.
She lets out a joyous cry, leaning over to pepper his face all over with kisses, and Merlin lets out a raspy cough of a laugh, resting his cheek against her warm hand. "What hap'n'ed?" he asks. There's an awful taste in his mouth, like he's just licked a tavern floor, and he feels all over grimy and sweaty, an ache in his joints and a prickling heat across his skin. He recalls drinking the wine at the feast, the burning constriction in his throat, and after that...nothing. Just scattered flashes of colour and light and sound that all run together into mush.
A hand runs over his hair, which feels just as grimy as the rest of him, but this hand is much larger and more callused than Mother's. "You gave us a fright, Merlin, that's what happened," Leon says quietly. "This is the first time you've been lucid in days."
"Kindly never do it again," Gwen adds, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek.
Merlin closes his eyes for a moment, breathing in slowly. His chest aches. "What was I poisoned with?"
Gwen and Leon both let out disbelieving little laughs, and Mother shakes her head, running her fingers through his sweaty hair. "The mortaeus flower. The petal was stuck inside the goblet."
He opens one eye, looking at Gaius. "How in seven hells did someone get hold of that?" He frowns a little, his sticky mind gradually recalling what he has read about the deadly little plant and how to cure its effects. "And who went to get it for me?"
Leon chuckles at that, looking entirely smug. "Arthur did."
Pardon? The golden git himself, Prince Prat, rode all the way to the Forest of Balor to save his life? Merlin huffs and sits up a little, accepting the cup of water that Mother hands him. Nothing has ever tasted better in his entire life. As his mind slowly clears up, he looks at Leon properly for the first time and frowns. "Name of the Mother, what have you done to your face?" he asks.
"I'll tell you later. For now, you need to eat. And bathe. You stink," Leon adds with a smirk.
His muscles are fatigued and aching, but he still finds strength enough to cuff Leon's ear. "I was poisoned, you arse, I couldn't exactly get to the bath."
"Whatever you say." He straightens up and ruffles Merlin's hair again. "Now, I have to return to my duties before the King takes notice of my absence. I'll see you tonight. Try to stay out of trouble until then, if you can," he remarks, and Merlin rolls his eyes hard enough to give himself a headache.
Gwen leans forward to kiss his cheek again. "I am going to go and tell Lady Morgana that you're well. I've left my lady on her own long enough."
As the knight and the maidservant leave, Mother rests a hand on his head. "And you, young man, are going to eat your dinner before I let you set foot out of these chambers," she informs him; that, he has no issue with. His stomach feels as though it's ready to eat itself and then move on to the rest of his innards. He wonders if he's eaten anything at all, caught in the delirium of poisoning. He doubts it.
Merlin is carefully eating a bowl of stewed chicken, having to concentrate on not dropping the spoon or spill it for trembling, when he hears a familiar drawl from the door of Gaius's chambers. "I see you're still alive, then."
He sets the spoon in the bowl and turns around to face Arthur. "Indeed I am. I understand I have you to thank for that," he adds with slight bemusement, eyebrows raised.
Arthur moves closer, coming to rest a hand on the back of his chair. "Your brother helped."
"You still went first."
The prince shifts his weight slightly, his gaze sliding away. Merlin hides a smile; he's embarrassed, embarrassed to have done something so selfless for a mere servant and to then be confronted with that kindness. "Yes, well, a half-decent servant is hard to find. I simply wanted to be sure you'll be resuming your duties tomorrow."
"Of course."
Arthur nods and moves away, heading back for the door.
"Arthur," Merlin calls, and the young man stops, turning back. "Thank you." He arches an eyebrow. "But don't suppose that this means I'll be polite with you now."
That earns him a most unprincely snort. "Never even conceived of it," Arthur replies. "I'll see you in the morning."
A few moments after Arthur leaves, Leon returns to escort him home. Mother insists that he stay another night and rest, but he won't turn her or Gaius out of their beds again. He would feel better in his own bed, anyways, surrounded by his own things and the safety of his magic. It takes far longer than any normal day, given that the muscles in his legs feel about as firm as overboiled turnips, but he does have enough pride to not let Leon carry him through the streets like a maiden.
Finally, though, finally, they reach the townhouse. "She hid herself from me," Merlin mutters as he staggers in, only his brother's firm grip on his arm keeping him upright. He sighs in relief when Leon helps him down onto a couch, sinking back into the cushions; Allegra immediately lopes over to sit beside her master, resting her long muzzle on his thigh. He'd prefer his bed, but the stairs are too daunting a challenge at the moment. Perhaps after a moment's rest.
"Who did? The woman? She hid from everyone, walked right in with the rest of the Mercians."
He shakes his head slightly, sinking back into the couch with relief and scratching Allegra's ears. "No, her magic. I can feel it in others." Brow furrowed, he rubs his fingers together as if recalling an unfamiliar texture or a lingering sensation of touch. "Like heat coming from an oven. And yet she could hide herself from me."
Leon nods thoughtfully, then recalls the sorceress's words in the cavern. "She said that she was a priestess. Perhaps that is a gift of hers."
"Perhaps. Still. Worrisome." He puts his head back against the cushions. The corners of his mouth twitch. "And you...punched her in the face."
"Yes, I did. I'm surprised she didn't kill me, considering," Leon remarks, rubbing his bruised knuckles and flexing the ache out of his fingers.
Merlin hums a little, eyes half-closed; one hand strokes Allegra's head in uneven, drowsy motions. "Might've been me," he mumbles.
"Eh?"
"I..." He yawns enormously wide. "...put 'n enchantment. Blessing. Keep y' from bad magic."
Smiling slowly, Leon stands and walks over to run a hand over Merlin's hair, gently ruffling the tangled curls. It doesn't surprise him in the least to hear that Merlin has found a way to cast a blessing around him, no matter how reckless it might be, and he can't even have it in him to be angry. Leaning forward, he presses his lips to Merlin's brow, still warm from lingering fever. Rather than trying to rouse Merlin again, he scoops his younger brother off the couch and carries him up the stairs to his chambers, Allegra loping at his heels.
The dog bounds up to lay across her master's feet when Leon sets him on the bed, thumping her plumed tail on the bedcover. Leon chuckles at her lolling red grin, smoothing down Merlin's hair. "Never again, little villain," he says quietly; Merlin only mumbles and rolls over. Leon glances down at Allegra and scratches the hound's ears. "Keep a watch on him, yes? He gets in trouble without supervision."
Allegra thumps her tail vigorously, resting her muzzle on the nearer of Merlin's sprawling legs.
Arthur twists his ring thoughtfully as he gazes at the hearth unseeing, seeing the flames paint an ever-changing, flickering pattern against the rushes. He is still thinking of the light in the darkness, like blue fire blown into a glass ball. It unnerves him just slightly. Not the magic itself, though yes, it is that. It is how everything Father has ever told him about magic does not quite line up with what he has seen.
To know the heart of one sorcerer is to know them all.
He mulls over Father's words, rubbing his thumb over the delicately engraved band. The sorceress had tried to kill him, albeit indirectly as apparently it isn't his 'destiny' to die at her hand. She had certainly been content to leave him to be spider bait, however. And the light had come for him. The light had done him no harm. Indeed, it had illuminated the way for him, shining on the path he needed to climb in order to get out of the caverns. If it hadn't, there is a more than decent chance he would currently be feeding a host of spiders at the bottom of a deep pit.
"How was your time in the dungeons?" Morgana drawls as she strolls into his rooms without knocking, her shaggy bear of a dog loping alongside her. She never goes anywhere without the beast now, always on its braided silk lead and studded collar. Arthur doesn't actually mind it so much. The dog does well to ward off any unwanted attentions from noblemen, given that she's as tall as a man on her hind legs, and it makes Morgana happy at any rate.
"Splendid, thank you for asking." Arthur dangles his arm over the side of his chair, and Celeste lopes over to push her head beneath his palm, tail sweeping the floor. "Those wonderful consequences that you told me to damn."
Morgana smiles a little, leaning her hip against the side of the table. "Yes, well. You did the right thing, Arthur. We all know it. Thank you."
Arthur ruffles Celeste's ears, thinking of another wolfhound in a spring wood. "You're thanking me, Father said he's proud of me, have you all been poisoned as well?" he muses in good humour.
"Oh, hush." She swats his shoulder. "Now, are you going to tell me what you're in here brooding about?"
He sobers, turning his gaze back down towards the hearth. Celeste nudges his hand for further petting, and he obliges absentmindedly. "It's just..." He pauses a moment, weighing the wisdom of telling her about what had happened in the caverns. Morgana's always been quick to pardon the use of magic. "Someone knew I was in trouble and sent a light to guide the way," he says at last.
Morgana listens with surprising solemnity as he tells the story of the cockatrice and the mysterious young woman that had turned out to be far more dangerous than she appeared to be. And when he had been abandoned to the darkness, Leon waylaid by the sorceress's magic, a light had come to him, illuminating the path. As strange as it sounds, a part of him is relieved to think that there is someone watching out for him. Magic or not. The idea of owing such a debt to a sorcerer, however, knots up inside him unpleasantly.
When he finishes, Morgana surprises him even further by leaning forward and giving him a gentle half-hug with one arm, as best as can be done with him sitting down and her standing. "Well, no matter who it was, I'm glad you're home safe, Arthur," she reassures him. "Goodnight. Celeste, come."
He watches her go in disbelief, shaking his head. What a peculiar day.