Cured
By TheAlmightySun
Chapter three
_____
"So where are you headed?" Lancelot asked while he, Lady Atora, and her faithful servant, Lora, were walking with the two horses back toward the path.
Atora was sitting on Brown's back. She sat like a village girl would sit, rather then a dignified lady, with her skirts pulled back. Lancelot himself was walking, holding Brown's reins and feeding her carrots out of his pocket. He'd insisted on being the one to walk, after Atora's many refusals.
"We were riding toward Camelot," Atora said, her intent eyes turning to gaze sightlessly into the forest. "Arthur Pendragon's birthday is a few days away. We are already late."
"Ah," Lancelot nodded, eyeing her from the corner of his eye. Lora coughed uncomfortably. Atora paid her no notice.
"I was heading that way myself." He said. Brown nuzzled him affectionately, and he rubbed her head. "Not for the celebrations, of course," he added, seeing Lora's surprised smile. "I wouldn't be invited to such things."
"You're not missing much," the servant said, unsuccessfully trying to decrease the attention from her now silent lady. "Just a lot of speeches and wine."
"I thought as much," Lancelot chuckled, seeing the clearing up ahead. "Would you like me to ride with you?"
"We are short one horse," Lora nodded, turning to Atora questioningly. "Atora?"
"Hmm?" The lady said, breaking out of her reverie. "Did you say something?"
"Yes," Lora said patiently. "Lancelot was asking if he could-"
"Yes, sure," Atora said. "But Lora and I will have to ride together. I can't allow you to walk the entire way."
"It's fine, really, my lady-"
"For me," She said, and Lancelot laughed. "And please, call me Atora. The whole 'lady' situation is awkward enough as it is."
"I thought you were the King's niece," Lancelot mentioned, picking up his rucksack. They had reached the clearing. "We should probably make camp," He added as an afterthought, putting it back down. It was getting very dark, and the sounds of haunting animals had begun to fill the cool night.
Atora slid off Brown's back, her eyes clouded with thought.
"She is," Lora confirmed after a pause, when Atora, who was staring at Brown's neck, did not reply. Lancelot helped her off the horse. She thanked him, pulling out the night's supplies.
They set up a tent under the starry sky, and Lancelot built a fire with twigs Lora collected.
Atora had once again sunk into her deep thoughts. Lora looked at her with worry.
"Have you got any food?" He asked, tending the flames.
"Yes, of course," Lora muttered, taking a bag off her horse's back. She gave it to Lancelot, who took out a few pieces of meat, and placed them over the fire.
"I think-" Atora paused, thoughtful. "I think I'll go rest, if that's alright."
"What ever you want, my lady," Lora said, and Atora sighed. Lancelot turned the meat. The girl went inside the tent, closing the cloth behind her.
They sat around the fire, staring into its depth.
"She's not usually like this," Lora said finally.
"I didn't say anything," Lancelot hurried to insist, kicking himself.
"I know she seems odd," Lora said, giving him a helpless look. "I mean- brooding. And sad. But she has a good reason, truly."
Lancelot glanced at her curiously, wondering. "She doesn't- that is, she seems distracted."
Lora turned her gaze back to the flames. "I..." She swallowed. "Lady Atora is a complicated individual," She said, not meeting Lancelot's gaze. He turned away, sorry for asking. Lora bit her lip. "She sometimes… dwells on the past. Don't we all?" She giggled, playing with the twigs by the fire. Lancelot nodded, glancing briefly at the silent tent. Sounds of movement could be heard from within, and harsh gasps.
"Is she-"
"She's having a nightmare," Lora said quickly, getting up. "I should give her some-" the noise subsided. Lora gazed hesitantly at the tent, before sitting back down, heaving a sigh. He repositioned the meat, and leaned backwards against the tree behind him.
Lora was young, maybe seventeen, with short black hair and large, light eyes. Her skin was especially pale and milky, and around her neck she wore an old wooden pendent. Lancelot could tell she cared dearly for Atora, though she seemed at a loss when it came to her odd mistress.
"And what of you, sir Lancelot?" The girl asked, eyeing him suddenly. "Do you make a habit of saving young girls from mad horses in the thicket of the forest?"
He smiled. "I haven't got anything better to do, to be honest," He said, and Lora raised her eyebrows. "I come from a small village. I know little other then sword fighting and battle tactics, but you'd be surprised how few people need men such as myself."
"Certainly not," She said, astounded. "With new wars being started every other week!"
"It's alright," he hurried to say, chuckling. "I've enjoyed my freedom. Warfare was never what I wanted to do. Just help and save people. And I don't need uniform to do that."
"Clearly," She smiled. Lancelot laughed, checking on the food.
"It's a bit raw," he said, passing her a slice. "And hot."
"That's fine," she muttered, gratefully. Lancelot took his canteen out of the bag, offering her the water.
"I wish… that you'd excuse my lady, sir Lancelot," Lora said then, giving him a despairing gaze. "She's been through much in her short life. And going to Camelot… It seems to upset her, somehow."
"I understand," he said, straining to deflate the curiosity inflating within him. "We all have tragedies in our past."
"Yes," Lora nodded, hesitantly. She glanced at the tent. "But lady Atora's…" She trailed off. She looked down at the food in her arms, and then handed it back to Lancelot.
"I'm sorry," She said. The sounds from the tent begun again, as Atora's nightmares returned. "I seem to have lost my appetite."
She stood up uncertainly, giving him an apologetic look.
"Good night, miss Lora," He said, getting up as well.
She blushed, and turned toward the tent. "Good night, sir Lancelot."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Two days later Gaius was packing his bag.
"I don't understand why you have to leave," Merlin said, leaning on the table, watching his friend and teacher as he packed food into an old rucksack. "I could go get the herb myself. There's no need for you to travel half way across the country all by yourself."
"I doubt you'll recognize it, Merlin," Gaius said, sniffing a suspicious looking loaf of bread. "The Borkea herb is rare, and looks very similar to its poisonous counterpart, the Gorao flower."
"Right."
"Beside, I've been meaning to go to the Valley of Jorks for quite some time now. A good friend of mine lives in the nearby forest, and she's been promising me a new soup recipe since before I met your mother."
"I could come with you, then." Merlin offered. He couldn't remember the last time he's had a vacation. With the Prince's birthday coming up in exactly nine days, he couldn't bear the thought of all the preparations that would have to be done. Neighboring kings were coming to visit, along with their many young daughters, hopeful for a possible match. Of course they had no chance. Arthur was still obsessed with Gwen, the servant girl his father would never allow him to marry. And yet the princesses would come, demanding flowers and perfumes and fluffy pillows, all of which would be delivered, of course, by Merlin.
"Don't be silly," Gaius said, smiling. "Arthur needs your help here. You shouldn't miss the grand celebrations."
Merlin sighed. Closing his bag, Gaius laughed. "Don't worry, Merlin," He comforted. "It won't be that terrible. I'll be back in a week or two, so try not to destroy the city while I'm away."
"I'll do my best," Merlin said, smiling as well. He glanced out the window. The sun was about to rise. He cursed, diving for his magically cleaned vest. "I've got to get Arthur his breakfast," He yelped, putting it on hurriedly. "Good luck!"
Gaius chuckled as the front door closed loudly behind the running boy, pulling his bag to his shoulders. Before he left he noticed the magic book he'd once given his young apprentice, slightly visible underneath a pile of older notes.
"That boy will be the death of me," He muttered, taking the book and placing it carefully in its usual place, behind the fireplace. Finished, he pulled up his rucksack once more, glanced in amusement around at his familiar home and the mess Merlin had managed to bring to it in just a few short months, and left.
Outside, Merlin was running toward the castle kitchens, trying at the same time to pull his left shoe on and slide his arm through the sleeves of the vest.
He saw Gwen on her way as well, carrying a bucket filled with water from the well. She eyed him with raised eyebrows.
"Late again, Merlin?" She asked, amused, and smiled at him.
"Me? No," He denied, grinning. "You wouldn't possibly let me burrow some of that?"
Gwen rolled her eyes. "Of course. Don't I always?"
"Thanks." She gave him the bucket, and, sinking his hand into it, he drunk. Gwen laughed.
"The farmers were late with the vegetables this morning," He said once he finished.
"Sure they were."
"Yes. And the cooks were taking longer then ever to light the fire."
"Merlin?"
"Yes?"
"Don't make up defenses. Run!"
Laughing, he rushed over to the kitchens, hurriedly placing together a plate and a glass of orange juice. The cooks were eyeing him, entertained.
"I have an excuse this time," He said, picking a loaf of bread from the oven.
"You always have an excuse," Mora, the chef, chuckled. "It's just never any good."
Merlin smirked at her, grabbing the plate and rushing out the door, to the Prince's chambers. The sun was almost fully up. Arthur would have his head if he were late again. It would be the eighth time this week, not to mention that thing with the mouse, and the robe, which was still a tad too lively to-
He crushed into someone, falling to his knees. Desperately he leaped after the plate, catching it as it fell, only to watch the juice sip into the sandy ground. Merlin banged his head on the dirt. He was doomed.
"I'm sorry," A voice said behind him, and he turned. A young girl stood there, light of hair with strange blue eyes. "I didn't mean to trip you."
Merlin blinked at her. She seemed familiar, somehow. "It's my fault," he said, getting up. On second glance, he saw that her wrists were bloody, as if they've recently been untied. She saw him looking, and pulled down her sleeves.
"What's…" Merlin looked her over. She was pale, and small. As if she was recently released from a dungeon. "happened to you?"
She looked down. Her voice was bitter. "I was sick."
Merlin gazed at her hands again, frowning. "…Oh."
There was an awkward silence. The girl was small, and skeletal. She looked at the ground, seeming lost.
"Are you better now?" He asked, uncertain.
She raised her eyes to him, and he saw her tears. "No." he barely heard her words.
"Merlin!" Merlin's head snapped up. Arthur was at the castle entrance, fully dressed and furious. "It's practically midday! I've got men to train!"
He turned back to the girl. "I have to go," He murmured apologetically. She said nothing, staring up at him, tears sliding down her childish face. "It's gonna be alright," he told her.
She didn't answer. Her eyes fell back to the ground. Her face became emotionless.
"Merlin!"
He glanced up.
"Merlin!"
When he glanced back down, she was gone.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Arthur was abusing his food.
"There's no need to be so-"
"Be quite, Merlin."
Merlin shut up. He glanced out the window, still thinking about the little girl.
"Where's my juice?" Arthur demanded after awhile, glancing at the half empty glass.
"…I fell on the way over."
"Of course you did. I have no idea why I take all this nonsense from you, Merlin. You're one of the worst servants I've ever had in my entire life. Actually, I think you ARE the worst. I've never met anyone who was such a-"
"Is there something bothering you, Sire?" Arthur paused. Merlin eyed him, slightly amused.
"It's my father," Arthur said slowly, putting down his fork. "He's reopened his campaign against magic a couple days ago."
Merlin bit his lip, thinking. "I see."
"Yes," Arthurs said. "He's been talking about nothing but since Morgana's kidnapping. We've gathered six suspects since she was taken, and they're all dead."
Merlin lowered his gaze. He knew that. He's been present in every single execution, watching the five guilty sorcerers as they burned in the flames. One of the six was innocent. She was a sorceress, certainly, but she was a healer, and has never harmed a soul. She was a poor woman, who left six orphaned children behind, all of which were now under Uther's suspicion. The oldest was ten. Merlin remembered her death vividly. He didn't see it, since Gaius wouldn't let him out of the house, fearing he would save her and reveal his magic powers- but he heard it. Not her screams- she was silent. But her children's high pitched sobbing and screams of pain had filled his mind days after.
"It's not that I… disagree," Arthur said, pulling Merlin out of his reverie. "I know sorcery is an evil craft. I know anyone who uses it must be punished accordingly. But…"
"What is it, sire?"
Arthur sighed, looking up at Merlin. His eyes were lost. "You should have seen her," he said, quietly, as though someone could hear them. "That… Amaroe, the scientist- he's been working somewhere in the north, for years, on a way to bind a sorcerer's magic without killing him. And… now he's done it. He'd… perfected… a cure."
"Oh," Merlin hummed. A… cure?
"But- you should have seen the girl he brought as his grand achievement," Arthur said, jumping out of his chair, pacing. "She was, what, twelve? The tiniest thing I've ever seen, never seen a scrap of sunlight in her entire life- she just stood there, sobbing in the corner." Merlin looked out the window again. So she was a prisoner. "Amaroe said she was a sorceress, but how can such a small child be evil? And… well, she was… odd. Not normal. She kept looking at the floor, and when she wasn't looking at the floor, she was looking around widely, like she was… searching for something."
"Searching, sire?"
"Yes!" Arthur paused his march, looking back at Merlin with a confused, unsure gaze. "I'm just… she was a shell, Merlin. A shell of a kid, and… Well, isn't it better to kill them, rather then condemn them to such a hell? She seemed so… fragile. And broken. And when they've set her loose in the city she just stood there, by the gates. Like she didn't know where to go."
Merlin looked at the prince, biting his lips. "Well, maybe… maybe it only worked on her. Maybe it won't work on anyone else."
"If it won't, Amaroe would lose his head," Arthur muttered, beginning to pace again. "I haven't seen my father so happy in years."
"You can't be sure," Merlin continued, moving to clean the untouched plate. "Sorcerers are tricky. They're bound to find a way out of… whatever it is."
"And stay in Camelot?" Arthur protested, grabbing his plate out of Merlin's hands. "Filling the city with their evil magic?"
Merlin closed his eyes. It was hard, lying, forever. "I know. Sire. I'm sorry."
"You better be," Arthur sat back down, but remained motionless over the plate. There was silence.
"Take it away, Merlin," He said finally, motionless. "I've lost my appetite."
"Yes, Sire."
As he was leaving the room, thoughts cloudy, Merlin saw Arthur rest his head on his hands, deep in thought.
Day five:
The Borkea herb was one of the most grotesque plants ever discovered by man.
It was a sickish gray color with thorns, out of which oozed a yellow, snot-like substance that smelled of horse dung.
Apart from that, it was also the key ingredient in Gaius's most successful flu remedies.
Jorks Valley at the end of winter was a snow carpeted wonder. Gaius breathed in the night's air, looking down into the valley, where the village of Jorks lay, hidden beneath the heavy snow. On the path toward it stood his old friend, Moro, smiling his wide smile, and waved. Gaius laughed, leading the horse down the path.
"Hello there, old man!" Moro called, turning his own horse and joining Gaius on his ride to the village. "It has been too long."
"Indeed, my friend," Gaius said, eyeing the familiar stranger. "You've become a man."
"As all boys must," Moro nodded. "You look well. Has the journey been difficult? We did not expect such a storm so late in the season."
"It was fine," Gaius replied. "Though I fear my toes have turned into stone."
"We must fix that," Moro chuckled. "Follow me. I have a burning oven and a royal dinner waiting for you."
"And the young lady of whom I've heard so much about?" Gaius questioned, teasing slightly.
"We're not sure if it's a girl yet. But- four more months!" Moro said, and pulled the horse's reigns to spring into a gallop. Feeling once again a young, vibrant wizard Gaius followed him, in a hurried trot.
OOOOOOOO
"And what have you been up to all these years, Moro?" He asked, putting down his fork.
"I am a physician," The man said, "as you must have assumed from the start. Your remedies have done wonders on the town people, Gaius- many of them owe you their lives."
"They are just remedies," Gaius conceded with a smile. "It is the healer that is to blame for any success."
"And so I blame you," Moro chuckled, and his wife, the beautiful Perry, grinned at him affectionately.
"But onto more serious business," Gaius continued, emptying his water glass. He had told Merlin that he had left for Jorks for a mere visit, but that was a lie. He came to offer assistance to his helpless old charge. Gaius smiled at Perry, whose previously joyous eyes turned to her swollen stomach, troubled. "You've told me of a sickness in your letter. A plague."
"I thought it was a plague, at first," she muttered. Gaius had known Perry since she was a small child, and her father, Percy, died under his care. "That is- it spread so quickly. In one day, eight sick. The next, seventeen more. But after the first week it's stopped spreading, and only those affected remained ill."
"So it is not fatal," Gaius assumed, while Moro began clearing the table, gesturing for his wife to sit down.
"Well," She said, uncertainly. "It's… difficult to say."
There was a moment of silence. Gaius leaned forward on the table, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"There were thirty seven sick in all," Moro said, coming back. "they came for me for remedies. Those who became sick at first, well, they confused me- that is, the later to fall were… well, more powerful, that is. Sorcerers," he said.
"Ah," Gaius said, leaning back. "Sorcerers?"
"Yes." Perry muttered, rubbing her stomach in thought. "The illness started just last month, and at first we thought it was some sort of flu- that is, the ill complained of headaches. Moro gave them the usual remedies and sent them on their way. But then the next day, they would return- usually brought by a friend, or family member- confused, silent, looking this way and that as if… as if they were searching for something."
"And they were sorcerers?"
"That's it exactly," Moro said. "I know most of those who use sorcery in Jorks- but these new ones I did not recognize. Later I realized that they were indeed sorcerers- very weak ones, some of them not even aware of their powers."
"And you discovered this when…"
"When more ill began to arrive," Perry said. Her face grew dark. "Them I personally knew as sorcerers for certain. They came, again with the strange headaches, and then… complaining that they'd… lost, something, Gaius." She gave the man who raised her a pleading look. "At first it was just the way they searched around, like the others before them, but after a few days it became more frantic, hysteric, and they would mutter under their breath about things that are gone and lost forever. The first wave of sick people remained as they were, muted and hurting, always searching for something just beyond their reach- but still working, functioning within the town, so it truly seemed just a flu. But the others…"
Moro left for the kitchen again, returning with a steaming teapot and cups. He seemed saddened. "What?" Gaius asked, looking from him to his wife, as they looked at each other mournfully.
"They just kept getting worse," Perry said. "After another day they stopped coming- I went to visit them in the village to try and figure out what was wrong. They were so lost, Gaius. No matter what I gave them, they would remain within themselves, obsessed with whatever it was they were searching for. That's all they talked about. They could think of nothing else. Only whenever I asked them what they were looking for, what they'd lost, they won't be able to tell me. They'd forgotten."
Perry poured the tea while Moro sat, taking her hand in his. "We do not know the cause of this illness," Perry said, her voice high and clear, sorrowful. "Only the people of the village were affected. I have stopped leaving the house, for fear of getting infected."
"But you are not a powerful sorceress, Perry."
"No," the woman smiled lightly. She touched her belly gently. "But she is."
"It seems that the more powerful the wizard, the longer it took them to become sick," Moro stated, looking at Gaius searchingly. "And the more terrible was the sickness. Do you remember Joall?"
Gaius nodded. "Of course. He was one of the most promising sorcerers I've ever met."
Perry and Moro exchanged foreboding looks. "He came to me three days after the outbreak," Moro said. "He said something was eating at him form the inside. He could barely say a word, and kept being… distracted by the smallest of sounds- like the others, searching for something lost. I gave him pain relievers but they did not seem to work. Two days after he was completely lost within himself. He couldn't even recognize me. All he did was mutter and cry, about that thing that he couldn't find, searching and sobbing from pain. He died two days later," He added slowly. Gaius felt his eyes moisten. "Suicide."
"Had anyone else-"
"Yes," Moro said, looking at the table. "Three others, not as powerful as him. It must be a symptom of the disease."
"And has anyone become sick since?"
Perry smiled ironically. "There are no more sorcerers in Jorks, Gaius."
They sat there in silence while the tea cooled.
"What do you think it could be, Gaius?" Moro asked, pleadingly. "I fear the weaker sorceress would become sicker. They will die," He whispered, glancing, fear struck, at his pregnant wife.
"It is a sickness that befalls only those that use magic," Gaius said, slowly. They sat, motionless, while he thought, gazing at the opposite wall in a strange, reminiscent way.
"I've… I might…" he hesitated, growing silent again.
"I've taught a boy, once," He said finally. "...Before I met your father, Perry. He was an orphan, and only later did I realize his parents were killed by the wizard Grae. During the great purge. Grae and his followers came to a small village in the north, and massacred everyone within it as a form of rebellion against Uther's army. Few survived, but Amaroe, then twenty, did. I took him under and taught him everything I knew- he had a brilliant mind, one of the brightest students I've ever taught." There was a pause. Moro and Perry looked at each other. Gaius had grown silent again, remembering. His face was very pale.
"So this Amaroe… he became a physician?" Moro asked.
"Hardly," Gaius chuckled. "Healing was beneath him. He wanted to invent. To create. And most of all, he wanted to get rid of sorcery."
"That's not completely inconceivable," Perry said. Moro had stiffened with anger. She massaged his hand. "If his family was killed."
Gaius didn't answer. He sighed, shaking his head.
"Amaroe believed magic contaminates the soul," he muttered finally. "That it is like a disease, turning those affected into evil, power-hungry murderers. He wanted nothing more then to rid the world of everything and everyone magical. He was very brilliant. He…" The old man sunk into a reverie again.
"He was the first and last I've ever gave up on. And I've never stopped regretting it since."
The two others glanced down. Moro hugged his wife to him, and she shivered.
"What's happened to him?"
"Oh, he grew on to work under the king," Gaius said. "Uther has for years tried to vanquish sorcery- and no one would stand in his way if this extinction was done without the lose of human life. I… Eventually I told Uther my thoughts in the matter, and I thought he'd listened to me. I thought he understood the terrible-" and then he froze again, glancing at Perry with evident guilt.
"But… isn't it better?" Moro asked, looking from Gaius, to his wife, and back. "To bind magic, rather then kill those who use it?"
"It is not better," Perry said. "I'm not a great witch, but I know my magic is part of who I am- I could not live without it."
Gaius didn't answer. He was staring at the wall, lost in his memories.
"But what does this have to do with Jorks?" Moro asked, standing up and beginning to pace the room.
"I've heard Amaroe was working somewhere in the mountains," Gaius looked out the window thoughtfully. "I never expected… for him to succeed."
"So what do we do?" Perry asked, holding on to her inflated stomach.
All of them looked at the child brewing within her.
"I suppose I must return to Camelot," Gaius said. "To speak with the king."
"But you just got here," Moro protested. "The journey takes two days, even without the storm heading this way-"
"If this disease is designed to bind the magic of wizards, then it has been successful," Gaius said forcefully. "There is no where in the kingdom Uther would like to purify more then Camelot. If this… cure, works- which I believe it does- that is where they would spread it."
"And from then to the entire kingdom," Perry said quietly.
"Yes," Gaius said. "I suggest you leave here, Moro. Tell everyone you can on your way out. I'm certain you have a few months before this spreads beyond the borders."
Moro and Perry looked at each other, pale faced. "Yes. Of course," Moro muttered. "But what about-"
"The sick?" Perry finished, looking out to the snow village just beyond the woods.
"I must speak to Uther," Gaius repeated, getting up. Moro stood to protest, but then stopped himself, looking down at his frozen wife. "I've taught Amaroe myself. If he's created a poison only for sorcerers, it was only after isolating sorcery itself."
"You mean… he's bottled magic?" Perry demanded, getting up as well. Then she sat back down, clutching her stomach.
"Not magic," Gaius shook his head, pulling up his rucksack. Moro closed his eyes. "No one can bottle magic. But he's found whatever it is that allows wizards to practice sorcery. He'd know how to stop the disease."
"Surely you can wait till morning," Moro said, staring as the old man turned to the door.
"No," Gaius sighed. He glanced at the young woman again, his guilt growing. What have I done? "I fear I'm too late already."
Comments? Anyone? Anyone?
A billion thanks to Persephone of Peridot for alerting me to a shameful mistake in the last update (a repeated section! After I've looked it over twice!!) and also to all the amazing people who took the time to review. You should know that the story has almost fifty pages at this point, and it's all thanks to you! (And the English project I'm trying to avoid. But still.)