Chapter 2

The gamekeeper found himself shoved aside, a tall curly haired knight blocked him entirely from from the prince as the scene unfolded. The knight's heavy hand never left his shoulder, only tightening as he saw the wounded boy try to get up as the prince leapt from his horse, calling out in shock.

"Merlin, no," he shouted, even as the younger dark haired man stumbled in his attempt to rise. His legs supported him for only a second before he fell again. He collapsed limply, without a sound even as the prince reached his side.

"Merlin", he cried again. Even as he knelt, he removed his cloak, pressing the wadded up underside of the cape hard into the boy's wounded back in an attempt to stanch the bleeding. The boy didn't move, and the prince seemed to be trying to rouse him, even as he maintained an even pressure on the wound. The boy finally stirred and one of the other knight's took over holding the sodden blood-soaked mess of the king's cape, firmly on the bleeding, as the prince continued to talk to the boy quietly.

After a few anxious minutes, the prince himself, peeled back the cape to peer carefully at the wound.

"Not as bad as it looks," he said strongly, with evident relief. "It's a long gash along the shoulder, skirting the bone but it didn't penetrate through. It got stopped by your shoulder blade. You have the luck of a perfect idiot Merlin. You're going to need stitches. Better Gaius should do it than than Lancelot or I!" His voice grew in merriment, as relief flooded over his features and he touched the dark haired boy's head, in heart-felt warmth.

The gamekeeper understood nothing of what was happening, except that the prince and all his party seemed to know the poacher.

"You shot Prince Arthur's manservant," the knight behind him said in a steely tone.

"He's a servant? He wears no livery, my lord. He was not with the royal party. These peasants take any advantage they can to hunt the king's lands...How was I to know?"

But it was clear that the crown prince was not listening to the gamekeeper; his attention focused solely on attending his injured servant. If the gamekeeper had not known better, he would have thought they were friends, at the very least. It was incomprehensible.

"I thought this idiot of a gamekeeper had killed you," the prince said to the younger man, with undisguised anger. Checking the wound again, and supporting the boy to rest more comfortably against his knee, the prince motioned for the rest of the knights to attend to him.

"The medical supplies are on Merlin's horse, Lancelot. I don't want to move him too much, until the bleeding slows. He needs some water." His tone was clipped and calm but the knights sprang into action as if he had shouted the orders in desperation. The prince remained by the side of his servant.

"My lord" the gamekeeper began again, speaking more loudly. "I believed he was a poacher. They hang about when you hunt hoping to take an animal that leaves the royal forest for their own families. Look at his boots, his jacket, Sire..."

"I know your role", said the prince, finally looking up at the man. His steely eyes almost frightened the gamekeeper, but deep down he feared the King even more. He did not understand the concern over this servant.

What is your name, man?"

"Julian, of the clan MacIntyre," he said proudly.

"You are dismissed, "

"I'm, I'm sacked, " he stuttered.

"Leave me. We will discuss this later", he said, half rising. The anger in the prince's eyes made him step back a bit. He could not believe what was happening. The prince moved the servant gently to the care of the knight who was helping him and stood then. He realized that the prince was every bit as intimidating as his father, as he approached the gamekeeper and glared at him.

"My lord, he looked like a peasant, a poacher. I dealt with him as King Uther instructs." He tried to explain himself. "He is only a servant, Sire, surely..."

"Silence!" the Prince shouted. He was fairly trembling with anger and disgust as he looked into the eyes of the gamekeeper, his hand on his sword hilt. "You are lucky to have your life. If my servant had been killed, I would slay you where you stand... Do you understand?"

The man in green nodded. but he did not understand. Not really. He did not know how to comprehend the actions before him. The boy on the ground moaned, trying to sit up again. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, but determined.

" Arthur," he called, his voice miserable and achingly young.

The prince turned, and he was beside the injured servant quickly, almost as if the gamekeeper, who had been focus of his ire only a moment before, had disappeared into thin air. He took an offered waterskin from one the knights and gently lifted the servant's head to make it easier to take a few sips. He propped the boy up his side, braced against himself, but it was clear that the servant was too weak to hold himself up and he half sagged into the crown prince's lap. He was shaking uncontrollably, and he hissed with pain as they shifted him carefully. Together the prince and the knight, whose name was Lancelot, bound his wound tightly and wrapped a blanket around him.

"Don't swoon like a girl, now," said the prince in a vaguely derogatory tone, which prompted the servant to smile faintly, even as his head lolled on his master's shoulder. Merlin reached out his hand and the prince took it firmly.

"It won't be long, Merlin. I'll get you to Gaius before you know it," His voice was calming and the servant nodded wearily.

Before the gamekeeper knew it, the royal party had mounted and gone. Carefully transferring the servant to ride in front of his master took only a few minutes. He would not forget the look the crown prince had given him as they began the road back to Camelot. There was a soul deep anger in them that clearly indicated the matter was not finished.

Still not able to understand his error, heartsick at losing his position, the gamekeeper trudged home.