Cured
By TheAlmightySun
Chapter eight
_____
And just like that, they were gone.
"Arthur," Gwen whispered, her eyes too moist. He didn't look at her, his eyes gazing at Gaius, who stared after the carriage in shock.
"Arthur." But he didn't answer. Gwen closed her eyes. Her head was exploding.
When she opened them she saw Lancelot running toward them, his handsome features appalled.
"What happened?" He demanded, and his voice flooded her like a calming breeze. She pushed down the tears, and shook her head.
"They... How long have you been there?"
"Just a few minutes. Did they hurt you?" He took her arm gently, pulling off the sleeve and gazing at the bruises developing over her skin. "Where are they taking Merlin?"
"I don't know," she said. "I'm fine. I'm… fine," But she wasn't. Merlin's sightless eyes staring at the chains around his wrists arrested her mind, erasing everything else. They were wrong. Merlin wasn't a sorcerer. He wasn't. He was sick. Where were they taking him? Why?
Lancelot glanced at Arthur. The prince was still looking after the carriage, which had long since disappeared around the corner.
"Sire?"
"We need to go after them," Arthur said, turning to go into the house. He took his sword off the table. His eyes landed on Merlin's empty room. He looked back towards the others. "Excellent timing, Lancelot. I can't take them all down by myself."
"Right," Lancelot nodded. Gwen stared from one to the other, her fear growing.
"I'll go get a horse. Could you get us some supplies, Gwen?"
"Of course, sire."
"If we go, we must hurry," Lancelot was saying, while his eyes studied the mess within the apartment. He gave Gwen a quizzical look, but remained silent.
"My lord," She said then, biting her lip. "Your birthday is only three days away-"
"We'll be back by then."
"You should tell you father."
"He'd lock me in the dungeons if I do." Arthur tied his belt around his waist, and headed for the door. "Gwen, you need to warn everyone about the water. If they-" he froze in the entrance, gulping hard.
Gaius stood there, his face grave. The old man's voice seemed to age as he spoke. "Is that where they're pouring the poison?"
There was a moment of silence. Lancelot glanced at Gwen, confused.
"How'd you know?" Arthur asked, lowering his gaze from the man' fierce eyes. Gwen had never seen Gaius quite like this. His face was furious and sad and frightened and determined, all at the same time.
"I know Amaroe," Gaius said, entering the house. He glanced around his apartment, but did not seem surprised.
"He calls it a cure," Gwen whispered. Gaius nodded, picking up the bloodied knife off the floor.
"I imagine as much," he said, turning to Arthur. "Of sorcery?"
"Yes," The prince said. He stood motionless at the door, as if waiting for instructions. Gaius turned away from him, looking around the room.
"And Merlin…"
"We fear it affects more then sorcerers, now," Arthur said. Gwen looked at the floor. "He's been sick for a few days, but I didn't realize…" he trailed off. "Amaroe thinks Merlin's a wizard. I don't know why's he's taken him, but-"
"He's taken him to study his powers," Gaius said, cutting him off. "I believe Amaroe has a place somewhere where he conducts his experiments. It should be somewhere near the valley, Jorks. You should go there."
"Right," the prince said. "Lancelot. Are you coming?"
"It's a two day journey, sire," Gwen said, as the two men headed for the door. Gaius was paying them no notice. He picked up a book that was on the floor, his eyes blank. "Your father would start a war if you were late for your birthday, with all the five kingdoms here for the celebrations-"
"We'll just have to be quick about it, then, won't we?" Arthur asked, and stepped outside. "Lancelot, meet me at the city gates in ten minutes. Gwen, I need your help gathering supplies." Gwen followed him uncertainly toward the castle, leaving Lancelot and Gaius standing in the chaotic room, listening to the people's gossip outside.
"Is this what you needed to speak to the king about?" Lancelot asked. Gaius breathed deeply.
"If Amaroe discovered a way to get rid of sorcery, he must have first found out where sorcery is within a man, and has managed to isolate it, and then block it." He said slowly, giving Lancelot a serious look. "Amaroe has the antidote to this… cure. When you find him, you must locate it. Before it's too late."
Lancelot nodded in understanding. Then he glanced out the door, at where the carriage and cage had been just moments ago.
"What was wrong with him?"
"As I understand it," Gaius started, gazing too at the street, "Amaroe has found away to separate magic from its host. Most sorcerers are born, not made, Lancelot, and having something that is so deeply imbedded into their very identity vanish suddenly…" He paused, turning his eyes away. Lancelot thought of Merlin's broken form, thinking. "They don't know where it has gone. Somehow, they don't even remember what it was. Merlin is a very, very powerful sorcerer." Lancelot looked at his friend's room. It was dark. "I can't imagine… the pain… of such a large part of himself, gone."
Lancelot turned to the door. He paused at the entrance, addressing the old man. "It's going to be alright, Gaius."
Gaius didn't answer. When Lancelot looked back, he saw him standing over the kitchen table, where a book of healing potions lay open, herbs scattered over it in a mess.
Lancelot swallowed, closing the door behind him. Brown stood where he left her, her large eyes blinking at him with human emotion within them.
"It's going to be alright," He told her, rubbing her neck.
Then he jumped on her back and pulled the reins. Curious bystanders, who pointed at it and whispered fearfully, surrounded Gaius's house.
"Let's go."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The carriage slid silently through the morning's cool air.
Amaroe was sitting within the cart, dark curtains covering the windows. He was overjoyed with excitement and self-satisfaction. Never before had he felt so accomplished in his life.
Behind the wall on which he leaned was the cage, with the sorcerer silent with in it. Amaroe could hear the chains as they clanked against each other with the turning of the wheels. He glanced at the window behind him, his smile growing at the sight of the dark haired boy, hugging his knees and staring at the cage floor.
The thought of his power made Amaroe chuckle to himself. Only in the last couple years had he started thinking of using sorcerers to his own devices. The two men leading the horses in front were excellent examples of the idea's success. Most of the ones he's tried to control had died during the trails, but he'd learned much from every experiment. Certainly with the power this one possessed, he could do wonders to the five kingdoms.
Amaroe sat back down, thinking. He wouldn't immediately start with the tonics. Those proved too dangerous, and the boy was too precious to waste. There were more pressing issues to deal with, any way. That snot-nosed prince, for instance. He could never operate freely with Arthur Pendragon watching his every move. If the prince was ever to rule, all Amaroe's hard work would go to waste.
Behind him, the sorcerer hissed with pain. His chains screeched as he moved. Amaroe paid him no notice. A thought suddenly occurred to him.
"Corbell!" he called, and the horses halted. The door opened, and the larger of his servants gave him his usual, blank look.
The two men hadn't spoken in years. They were both warlocks, though not particularly powerful ones. They were his most recent successes. They did anything he asked, unquestioning and silent. Of course the experimentation had them mute and dumb, but that was only to be expected. Future trails would be better.
"Get rid of our tracks," Amaroe ordered, pointing at the dirt road behind them, where the carriage's prints were obvious among the rest, thanks to the cage's extra weight. "They might try to follow us."
Corbell did not answer, but he and his brother turned as one to the back of the carriage, and began moving their hands in unison. Momentarily, the tracks were gone, leaving the road peculiarly clean.
"Good. Continue."
They got back to their sits, slapping the horses to make them move. Amaroe leaned back, yawning.
There were still a few hours away from home.
Amaroe closed his eyes, listening to the harsh breathing of the boy behind him.
He dreamed of nothing.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Atora placed her bag on the bed, sighing.
"Would you like me to help you dress, my lady?"
She glanced at Lora, who stood in the room's entrance, her face excited.
"I'm fine, thanks," Atora told her. "You can go explore, Lora. I'll be alright." The girl's face erupted into a gigantic smile, and she bowed gratefully.
"Thank you, my lady!"
She left, almost running. Atora chuckled, falling down on the second bed in the room. She slanted her head to the right, glancing thoughtfully out the window at the courtyard, where carriages and the servant's tents covered every scrap of floor. Her hair was sprawled around her head in a mess, and her cloths smelled like horses and fire. She breathed in, closing her eyes. Outside, the sounds of loud, screaming royal people were lost in the distance.
Suddenly the door opened, and a woman walked in.
"Oh-I'm sorry, my lady," the woman said. She was a servant, her hair dark and long and her skin brown in color. "I thought I saw the prince and his wife at the dining room."
"You probably did," Atora said, sitting up. The woman was holding a basket with clean sheets, and her face was troubled, though she tried to hide it. "I'm their daughter."
"You're Lady Atora." The woman smiled a servant smile, one that Atora knew to be less then genuine. "I'm Gwen. Everyone's been wondering where you were."
"Just late," Atora said, gazing at Gwen thoughtfully. "Is something the matter?"
Gwen blinked, shaking her head. "No, of course not, my lady." She placed the basket on the table. "Do you mind if I start?"
"No."
Atora followed the maid as she pulled the sheets off her parents' bed. She stood up, pulling clean cloths form the basket.
"Would you mind if I help?"
Gwen froze, gaping. "But, my lady-!"
"I'm bored to tears already," Atora told her. "Personally I can't stand these sort of… celebrations. Long speeches and men clashing swords. I'd rather be of use."
Gwen hesitated, and then nodded. "Well, sure, my lady. Whatever you want."
"It's Atora," Atora said, helping Gwen shove the dirty sheets in the basket. "Do you know if the feast would be finished anytime soon?"
"I'd think it'll take a while longer," Gwen said, seeming distracted. "They've been waiting for Prince Arthur."
Atora glanced sharply at Gwen, noticing her voice growing quieter. "I haven't seen the prince since my arrival this morning," She said off handedly. "Do you know where he's gone?"
"No, my la- I mean… no. "
They spread the new sheets, tucking them under the mattress. Gwen concentrated on the lining of the cloth, silent.
"I haven't seen Arthur in a very long time," Atora continued, curious. "Over four years, now. The last time I saw him he was just turning of age. There was a hilarious incident with the pregnant horse in the stables- and the vase-"
"I remember that," Gwen said, and smiled. This time it was true. "It was my first year working in the castle. Where you there?"
"Yes. The expression on his face…!"
"Yes, I know! With the frogs jumping all about…"
"Oh yes! I forgot about that." They laughed, moving on to Atora's bed. Gwen glanced out the window, at the city gates, and turned serious once more.
Atora tried not to groan. "And what is scheduled after the banquet, Miss Gwen? Not another horse race, I hope. There was one just this morning when I came through."
"Just Gwen," The maid muttered. "No, there's a haunt, I think. In the forest."
This seemed to make her even more troubled. Silently she folded the sheet, deep in thought.
"I think I'm done. Thank you for your assistance, my- Atora."
"Wait, don't leave," Atora begged, before she could stop herself. Gwen glanced out the window hesitantly, but paused. "I was… well, I was hoping you could help me," she said. "I…" Come on. Say it. "I was looking for…" say his name. Say it. "…For my guide. Lancelot?"
She kicked herself inwardly as Gwen's eyes widened.
"You know Lancelot?"
"I've been traveling with him for over a week," Atora said, a tad surprised at Gwen's reaction. "He showed us the way to Camelot. You know of him?"
"Of course. I mean- I do. But he's gone. He left."
Atora frowned. "But- he told me he'd stay. He said he had friends in the city."
Gwen looked at the floor, and her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them on her sleeve. "I- I wouldn't know."
"You seem to know," Atora said, but the maid turned away from her.
"I'm sorry my lady," She said, without correcting herself. "I need to go. There are… other rooms. To tend to. To clean."
"Of course," Atora said, and Gwen rushed out the door. Atora turned to her freshly made bed, groaning, and fell face forward into the pillows.
"Nice job, princess," she told herself, using her official title as the prince's only daughter. "Good luck finding him without using his name."
She turned her head to look out the window again. The sky was gray.
In her mind's eye was his face, contorted with fear and pain.
Deep and far within her own private thoughts... she couldn't stop thinking his name.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Arthur's hand fingered the dirt, searching for clues.
"I don't understand," He said, standing up, the dirt dropping from his hand. "How could there be no tracks?"
"I don't know, sire," Lancelot said. They've been riding for a couple of hours, searching for some sort of sign of the carriage's passing in the way to Jorks. There were none. Arthur turned back to his horse, frowning.
"We should keep moving. They can't keep wiping them the entire way there."
"Are we sure they're headed for Jorks?" Lancelot asked, urging Brown to follow Arthur's white stallion up the path. Over the last hour Arthur had been feeling Lancelot in on everything that has happened to lead to their journey. He did not like it. "I know Gaius said that, but-"
"It's our best shot," Arthur said, though he seemed uncertain. "They could be anywhere."
Lancelot kept quiet, silently agreeing. They were traveling lightly- only a few packs of food, swords and arrows, light armors and no sleeping bags. They had three days to get Merlin and come back. And they didn't even know where he was.
Lancelot's head snapped to the side, his senses perking. "Did you hear that, sire?"
"If someone calls me 'sire' one more time, I'll have them executed," Arthur muttered, annoyed. Clearly Merlin's abduction has taken its toll on him. Lancelot didn't respond. He was listening. Someone was hiding in the bush.
"Show yourself," he called, drawing his sword.
Arthur had heard it, too, and he slid off his horse. "Who's there?"
They stared at the bush for a while. Finally, the thick leaves parted, and a girl marched into the sunlight.
Arthur stepped back, shocked and confused. "Aren't you…"
"I am Norane," she said. Lancelot glanced at Arthur, wondering what was going on. "You're going the wrong way."
There was a pause.
"You're going the wrong way," The girl repeated. She had very pale skin, blonde hair, and a lost expression.
Arthur shook himself out of the shock, and gaped at her. "How'd you get here?" He asked, glancing back at the road suspiciously.
"I saw you going the wrong way, a very long time ago." She said. Her voice was so quiet, Lancelot could hardly hear it. "I came to tell you the way."
"By foot?" The prince demanded, bewildered. Lancelot slid the sword back in place, sliding off Brown's back. The girl's hair was filled with leaves.
"I told you. It was a long time ago. Before I was cured."
"Is this the girl you told me about?" Lancelot asked suddenly, grasping the situation. "Amaroe's success?"
"That's the one. What do you mean you saw us?" Arthur glared at the girl suspiciously.
"In a dream."
"You're a prophet," Lancelot said. Her response was a mild stare. He took it as a yes. "So which is the right way? Do you know?"
"Hey, wait a minute," Arthur protested. "We shouldn't trust her if she's a sorceress."
Lancelot tried not to show his agitation. Norane turned her icy eyes to the prince.
"I am no longer a sorceress, Arthur Pendragon. I have been cured."
The way she said cured sent chills running down Lancelot's back. Arthur looked away from her uncomfortably. They were alone in the forest.
"I've been in Amaroe's dungeons all of my life," She said into the silence, her voice monotonic. "They are up at the higher parts of the mountain. I saw the way when they were bringing me to Camelot."
"No," Arthur shook his head in protest. "Gaius told us they were near Jorks. That's the other direction."
"Is it," Norane said, still staring at him. Arthur and Lancelot exchanged uncertain looks. Brown puffed impatiently.
"Amaroe has been experimenting in the mountains for years," The girl said. "Jorks is a valley. There is a river that starts in the snow cupped mountains, where Amaroe's wastes are poured, and ends in a once-beautiful lake near the valley."
"What do you mean, poured?" Lancelot asked, not sure he wanted to know. "Are you talking about the Ork River?"
"Yes."
Arthur shut his eyes. "Dozens of villages use that river," he said.
Lancelot glanced at the prince. "Didn't Gaius say the people of Jorks have been affected by the cure?"
"He did," Arthur said. "As did hundreds of other people, apparently."
"I wouldn't be worried about them," Norane said dispassionately. "None of the sorcerers in those villages were very powerful. The truly powerful are far away from Camelot and Uther's prosecutions. Your friend is very abnormal in that aspect."
"Our friend is not a sorcerer," Arthur said, rubbing his head. "Are you sure you know the way to-"
"Of course he's a sorcerer," Norane said tonelessly.
Lancelot froze, and then started playing with Brown's reins. Arthur gazed at Norane, annoyed.
"No, he's not."
"Yes, he is."
Arthur shook his head, remounting his horse. "I know Merlin. He's not evil."
"I never said he was evil, Arthur Pendragon," Norane said.
Arthur took a swing from his water skin, and then wiped his mouth. "Sorcerers are evil."
Lancelot cleared his throat. He'd never noticed Brown's neck was quite so ordinary before.
"I'm a sorcerer," Norane said. "I'm not evil. At least, not that last time I checked. I don't check very often, though."
"I didn't mean-"
"What else could you have meant?"
Arthur took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Lancelot offered Norane his arm, pulling her onto Brown's back, and jumped elegantly behind her. "Merlin isn't a sorcerer. He would have told me."
"And have you execute him?" Norane asked, in the same emotionless tone. Lancelot tried to signal her to shut up, but she didn't notice. "I wouldn't have."
"I wouldn't have executed him." Arthur said, moving his horse backwards, toward Camelot. "Are you sure you know the way?"
"Yes, Arthur Pendragon."
There was an awkward silence as they rode back. Arthur sat brooding in his saddle, frowning.
"If Merlin was a sorcerer I would have noticed," he said finally.
Norane didn't answer. She was staring forward, her eyes vacant.
"He couldn't be a sorcerer," Arthur continued, now talking to himself. "He's… Merlin."
"Excellent argument, Arthur Pendragon."
Lancelot forced down a chuckle. He'd promised Merlin he'd keep his secret. But didn't the fact that Arthur was here, risking his life for his servant, proof that he wouldn't tell anyone, either?
"Getting sick at the same time as sorcerers doesn't make you a sorcerer," Arthur said loudly, becoming agitated.
"No, it doesn't. Sorcerers are born, not created."
"That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean, then?"
"I meant-" Arthur paused. "I meant that Amaroe's cure started affecting non-magical people, and that's why Merlin got sick."
"Of course. Among all the people of Camelot, and all the people drinking from the Ork, your servant alone became ill."
"He was the first!"
"Of course, Arthur Pendragon."
"I-God!" The prince called, pissed. "What do you want from me?"
Norane kept looking forward, emotionless. "To kill Amaroe, Arthur Pendagon."
Lancelot and Arthur glanced at each other, surprised.
"Oh," Lancelot muttered. "Right."
"Why?" Arthur asked, forgetting his dying anger.
Norane's face remained impassive.
"He is evil."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Gaius sat on Merlin' bed, his hands shaking.
He was too late.
He should never have left. He should have known better. What with Uther's growing anxiety over Morgana's kidnapping. He should have realized something like this was bound to happen- he knew it would. He'd known about Amaroe and his cruel experiments for years. How could he have done nothing, all this time? How could he let it go on?
Merlin's blank face haunted his mind's eyes. He had been staring right at him, but did not recognize him. It was as if his beloved almost-son was gone, and only his broken, defeated body remained behind.
He'd sat the boys on their way with few words of advice. He didn't know what to tell them. He didn't know what to tell himself. Was there hope? Did Amaroe really have an antidote, or was that just hopeful thinking, nonsense, the desperate wish of a desperate man?
And what of the disease's final stages? Was Merlin nearing them? Will he sometimes soon find a knife, or a sword, and end his misery?
Gaius's hands were clutched around the kitchen knife he'd found, covered with Merlin's dried blood, on the floor.
He shut his eyes, letting tears slide down his wrinkled face.
"That boy will be the death of me," he whispered, letting the knife drop to the floor.
I know, I know. Me and my empty promises.
I hope this made up for the lateness... A little...