Hello everyone!
Guess who has worked extra-hard! Three chapters in a week! Christmas has been rubbing off me, this is worrisome :)
This chapter is not really long, but it is an essential transition (I will not call this a filler, nope :P)! I hope you like it!
Special thanks to all the reviewers for last chapter:
Sparky199: You are my most regular reviewer ever! Thank you so much!
TobiasBoon: ahahah :) Here is 'more' !
Super-Sherlocked-Gallifreyan: I loooove your stories! I'll definitely keep reading them! Thanks!
Daughter of Death and Magic: Thanks for the review! It is so kind :) (I am sorry this chapter is even shorter than the last one...I'll try to do longer next time) :D
Emmee: I hope this was not an 'extra long' wait :P Thanks!
cattj003: Thank you for the nice review! Keep reading!
Okay, on with the fic!
Morning of the eighth day of Camelot's possession
The news of the Lost Prince's possible survival spread like wild fire throughout the kingdom. The next dawn saw the army up and ready to leave for Essetir. The troops were stationing in the huge courtyard of the castle – it needed to be huge for the dragons to land on it, Hunith reflected. After all, this was a Dragonlord's kingdom -. All looked up at their King, waiting for the signal to march.
Hunith was walking down the marble stairs alongside King Mycroft, observing the monarch. The King held a resolute expression, his eyes firmly set on the assembly of knights and mages.
The time to finish it all had come.
The rescue party was scurrying through the forest of Essetir. The twelve druids had already been on the road for over a day, and hoped to reach Essetia before nightfall.
Alaric had never been that far away from the druid settlement. His camp was one of the last safe havens of Essetir, left untouched by Moriarty's greed. His home forest shone with life; there, the oaks would blaze with the greenest leaves, the birds would sing the purest melodies. As he ran, everywhere he looked was destruction, desolation, death. The burnt shapes of trees blurring past him were proof enough that Moriarty had to be stopped. The renegade had rampaged Essetir, leaving behind nothing but charred remnants. Emrys would help return life to the land – but for that, they needed to save him and the Once and Future King before it was too late.
Lost in thoughts, he nearly stumbled upon the druid leading the rescue. He cried out in surprise, causing one of the sternest elders to shoot him a glare. He instantly closed his mouth before looking up at what had caused the halt.
Two horses were riding their way.
On their back, four men – two on each horse.
Alaric reached out with his magic, and gasped.
Emrys, the Once and Future King, a Prince from Semloh, and, uh…a warrior of some kind.
But that was not what had caused his gasp.
The first two men were barely alive.
His healer-mode kicked in and he sprinted towards the horses, causing the riders to stop.
The black haired man from Semloh dismounted, careful not to cause Emrys – whom he had been holding during the ride - to fall off the horse. He nearly lost his footing, leaning against the horse to reduce his swaying, and glared at the druids.
'You took your time.'
And with that weird comment, the man passed out.
The warrior of some kind, a kind-looking fair-headed man, quickly dismounted his own horse and ran to his companion's side before Alaric could react. The man put two fingers to the Prince's neck and sighed in relief.
'Just unconscious. He hasn't properly slept in ages.'
After a few seconds, the man remembered that a dozen of druids were staring at him. He looked up.
'Are you druids?'
He seemed to reconsider his greetings.
'Well, go and help them. Quick!'
Alaric did not wait more to scurry at Emrys' side. After a small shock at his young age – he was only a few months older than Alaric himself!-, he carefully levered the thin body of one of the greatest legends of his generation on the ground. He placed his hands on the young man's chest, closed his eyes and let his magic scan the warlock's body.
No obvious injury, slight dehydration, and-
Alaric nearly released his magic in shock. Emrys had transferred his magic to King Arthur, and by doing so, had used up most of his life force. And by the impression Alaric got, he was still doing so - even unconscious and on the brink of death.
Is the Once and Future King so hurt he is only holding on thanks to Emrys' magic?
Alaric released his magic and mentally shared his conclusions with the other druids, who sombrely nodded.
They had to teleport the four men back to camp. Urgently.
The druids, helped by the warrior, quickly laid the three unconscious men together before organizing themselves in a circle, taking each other's hands and chanting.
Their chants grew in intensity before silence invaded the forest again.
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Byyyyye :)