Chapter 3

Gaius had stitched carefully and precisely, and he was nearly done. The long gash, with a deeper entry where the arrow had hit the bone was nearly closed. Merlin had bled a lot during the procedure, and Guinevere's calm hands had helped Gaius while he coaxed the wound closed. Merlin, well dosed with a pain draught, had drifted in and out of awareness as they worked on him, but neither Arthur nor Lancelot could bring themselves to leave their friend during this anxious work.

They waited by the door, not daring to speak, as Gaius' temper could flare in a situation like this, and they did not wish to be banished.

The gash on his upper back was exposed, but the rest of Merlin was covered with warm blankets as he lay face down on a cot near the fire. Arthur could see another scar, a bit higher up on the same shoulder. He sat down gingerly next to his servant as Guinevere and Gaius moved away. Gaius was muttering amongst his vials of tinctures and elixirs compounding a draught, and Guinevere quietly gathered the blood soaked towels they had used and left to bring up some broth from the kitchen. Her glance was quiet, almost pleased as she looked over at the prince and his servant.

As Arthur settled in the chair next to Merlin, he was at a loss of what to say. His servant seemed to be worn out but unable to get comfortable. Gaius was concocting another of his vile tonics. Lancelot sat on the other side, quiet and grave, but somehow a comforting presence.

"Where did you get that?" said Arthur conversationally, pointing at the older scar, hoping he did not look or sound as concerned as he felt, looking down at the now stitched together wound. It looked like it would heal cleanly, and Arthur had certainly seen worse. All would be well barring infection. But it was obvious that it had been a matter of inches and the angle of the shot that had spared Merlin's life and that was what disturbed him deep down. Luck had been on their side that day and Arthur was more grateful than he could even bear to admit. Merlin was very pale, his lips almost colorless, but he smiled a bit as he slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the prince.

"Got it from a prat who didn't like the way I talked to him," he murmured.

"Oh" said Arthur in stunned comprehension, the memory of it surfacing clearly as any painted image. "I had a mace..."

At that, Arthur felt rather than saw the glare Lancelot sent him. But Gaius interrupted fortuitously.

"Let him rest now Sire," said the old man as kindly as he could. He spoke to the prince but looked dirctly at Lancelot. Even as the words left his mouth there was knock on the door, and one of Uther's guards entered to say that the king wished a word with his son.

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Lancelot gently pushed back Merlin's fringe of hair, as he saw the lines of pain start to fade from around Merlin's eyes. It brought him comfort merely to see the boy breathe, to see the faint blue sparkle in the servant's eyes as he faded in and out of sleep. Merlin's discomfort held him tightly and did not let him rest for long. Lancelot was shaken by his friend's close call.

Lancelot, more than anyone else knew it was sheer luck that the gamekeeper had not killed Merlin today.

Lancelot had hunted on the king's land with permission more than once, when the kitchen had needed fresh game for a feast. He already had worked with Julian MacIntyre. He was a competent gamekeeper,who was assiduous in his daily routines.

Lancelot was not a noble, so he had a rather jaundiced view of gamekeepers. It was his private opinion that Julian was a cruel man, who liked to seem jovial, even kind. He was a man who pleased his overlord Uther, and never deviated from his strict rules and congratulated himself for his own version of loyalty. It did not matter to him, what happened in the villages around him. Although he knew of the illnesses that ravaged the town of Camelot, although he knew when an accident had made it difficult for a family to hunt, it mattered not to him. He had a job to do and in his world view, the peasants were always hungry; like rats, they were always ready to steal when times were hard. Julian had carried out sentences, both public and private, as his job required. Amputations, hangings, castrations. Once he had even had the dogs hunt one of the poachers down. Lancelot suspected he relished his duties and avoided him when possible.

These actions were common things for most gamekeepers and though they grated on his noble heart, Lancelot knew that Uther would see the protection of the hunting lands as a right granted by the Almighty himself. He sighed. Maybe Arthur would see it differently. He could not forget the heartbroken pain in Arthur's eyes as he had tried to stanch Merlin's bleeding.

Julian was known to be an excellent shot,and Lancelot thanked the powers of the forest for the unusually poor aim that had spared Merlin's life.

"Sleep now," whispered Lancelot, patting his friend's uninjured shoulder. He would not be parted from Merlin's side on the next hunt, he promised himself.

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"It is unfortunate that the gamekeeper shot your manservant, Arthur, but the man was doing his job," said Uther with an air of casual finality.

"As was my servant, Father. If the gamekeeper is so aggressive about poachers, it could have been one of my knights."

Uther chuckled as he reached for his cup of wine. "As if he could not tell a knight of Camelot from a peasant!" He took a long drink before he looked up at his son. "You make too much of this, Arthur. The forests are mine and you know as well as I do that I cannot allow the peasants to encroach on my hunting lands. They would decimate the game. Everyone would suffer. If I dismiss this gamekeeper, another one would still have to do the same job. Let it go."

"You know as well as I do, Father, that each gamekeeper patrols the forest in his own way. I cannot feel at ease with the brutality of this particular man."

"Because he shot your servant, Arthur? You rush to judgement."

" I do not trust him near my hunting parties, Father. On those days I hunt, I am better off alone than with that man, because I will not work with a keeper who would shoot an unarmed servant, in the back, without a warning."

The words struck home and Uther shifted uncomfortably,saying nothing.

Sensing the King's resolve wavering, Arthur continued. "Let me find another gamekeeper, Father. I need someone I can trust on a hunt." The boy had a point. He knew that stubborn look in Arthur's eyes. It was his own. Very little would change his son's opinion of the game keeper now, and in the end it did not matter a great deal to the King. He seldom hunted now, and it was a fine idea that Arthur set his stamp on how he was going to run things. It was a small concession. The king savored his wine before he spoke.

"Very well, Arthur. He does not attend the forest the days you lead a hunt. Perhaps you are right, another game keeper might be in order. We will begin the search."

"Thank you, Father," said Arthur respectfully. The crown prince bowed, leaving the king alone by the fire.

King Uther took another deep draught of his wine. He wondered if Arthur would ever outgrow these peevish streaks that surfaced at the oddest of times.