15. Gaius' quest

It was just as well that Merlin did not know what fate had befallen his other friends back in Arenboarth's village, as the additional worry wouldn't have done him any good.

After they had given up their search for Prince and warlock, Uther sat at a still unconscious Gaius' side, head buried in his hands, a pale spectre of the man who had kept all of Camelot on its toes for more than twenty years. Other than the Prince had assumed, his father did not think about rebellion or fighting back or arming Camelot's battlements. On the contrary.

Twice Gwen tried to rouse him, to make him at least drink or eat something but he didn't want to. If he had yelled at her, threatened her, accused her of every vile thing possible, she would have swallowed it without comment, knowing that he was on the mend.

Instead he scared her witless with his meekness and tame humility. For the first time ever she heard Uther Pendragon accuse himself of being too rude, brainless, brutal, a total failure who had succeeded only in destroying everybody's life, Igraine's, Arthur's, even Gaius', as well as his own.

The woman who had thought the King of Camelot physically unable to shed tears finally saw him weeping like a sick child in remorse, utterly convinced that he had succeeded in pushing his son away, that he'd never see him again, that Gaius would die, Camelot would fall and that his world would come to an untimely end.

In other words, in his usual rash and ruthless way, Uther tried to make amends for a lifetime of recklessness and inconsideration within a few hours of depression, deeply rattled by the fact that he, always the quick decider, the man who knew what others should do in each and every possible situation, was clueless as to what he should do.

Arthur's letter to Merlin, the epistle the young warlock had shoved under the door of Uther's quarter, had told the father enough to at least abstain from the idea of searching for his son himself, then and there, alone if needs be. The more so as the wizard to whom the Prince had entrusted his family's security, was nowhere to be found either.

"Oh, what have I done, what have I done" the inconsolable King repeated over and over again, until Gwen cradled him in her arms and dandled him softly, feeling unspeakably idiotic and ridiculous.

Recent events had buried her more tender feelings for little Thomas' grandfather as well as her heroic wishes to be the spirit of comfort for the Pendragon family in a dark pit of frustration and therefore she felt less lenient towards Uther than she'd otherwise been.

For the Gods' sake, the man had murdered her father and if had not been for her husband being his son and little Thomas being his grandchild, she'd gladly heard about his imminent death. Now Uther was family and look what that had brought her to.

Besides, for all her better judgement and her knowing that Arthur had gone on dangerous quests before, only to return unscathed, Uther's desperate grief terrified her. It wasn't only that she felt betrayed and bitterly humiliated by Arthur leaving her without a word of explanation. Surely King Uther knew best what and what not his son could do. If the father was that devastated by fear and worry, surely there was reason to be concerned? What if Arthur would not come back? What if little Thomas was already an orphan? What if….?

When Marwon knocked thrice without getting an answer and, finally worried, opened the door forcefully, he startled her enough to jump to her feet with a horrified scream. She screamed even louder when Uther was up in the blink of an eye and roaring like an angered lion, sword ready over his head, looming above her and the old healer in a defensive stance like an avenging angel freshly fallen from the sky.

No matter how many days of life in this world the Gods would grant her they wouldn't be enough to ever understand the mystery that was her father in law!

Gone was the weakness, the humility; the man who towered over the scared young Druid was a murderous beast, resolved to defend his own.

"Please, My Lord, it's me, it's Marwon."

Uther needed a moment before the meaning of these words reached the responsible parts of his brain. "Oh!" Nervously the King cleared his throat. "Sorry."

Visibly embarrassed Uther sheathed his weapon, furtively wiped his eyes and tried to regain at least some of his normal composure. "What is it you bring?" he said, regally enough for Gwen to wish she'd slapped his face why she still had had the chance.

"It's my father, Sire" the young Druid said, for once not thinking about his illegitimacy. "He's dead. My Lord Arenboarth is dead."

The words shot through Uther's brain searching for a place to settle and found none. "Dead? What do you mean, dead?" Still half dazed by his own grief, Uther had successfully got his wires crossed.

Or, as his daughter in law phrased it in her own heart, the King was once more a few bricks short of a load.

Gwen hadn't known that Marwon was Arenboarth's son, but she didn't think much of it, except how she had felt when her father had died. "He means his father has passed away" she said irritably before she turned to the crestfallen Druid. "I am so very sorry, Marwon. He was a fine man, a truly great man. We will miss him so very much."

"But why did he die? I mean, now of all times." Uther sounded as if Arenboarth had died of sheer spite, for no other reason but to do the King of Camelot a tort.

Marwon shrugged helplessly. "He bled to death. We did all we could, but he just…. he just…" His self-control failed him and he wept openly.

Uther tut-tutted. A grown up man and cried like that. Really, it was too embarrassing. "Well, that's most unfortunate." Belatedly he remembered his manners. "My condolences, of course."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Who's going to be the leader of your tribe now? You?" The King eyed the younger man critically. Would this little twerp, this overemotional walking beanpole ever be a worthy substitute for the great Arenboarth? He doubted it very much. Blast it, the Druids needed a leader who, besides having powerful magic, was able to cut a figure in the eyes of the world.

Putting the disgraceful past he had with these people conveniently out of his always calculating mind, Uther pondered that - what was of course more important - the Pendragons might need the Druids in future. Oh, where the hell was this fool Merlin when one needed him? Wasn't he somehow special for these people? Didn't they even have a nickname for him? Uther wished he had listened to Gaius at least sometimes.

"Our elders will choose, with the help of the Great Mother" Marwon meanwhile said and he straightened his back. "I wanted Your Majesty to know that my father …... He…. even after all what has happened in the past, he held the Pendragons in high regard, your son especially, more than he ever respected a swordsman. I just thought you might want to know that."

He looked up and found Uther staring at him with hot cheeks. His Majesty wasn't a sensitive man, but he had liked the last of the Lord Druids a great deal and only now he remembered it.

"My Lord Arenboarth's body will be burned shortly before sunrise" Marwon continued. "I thought you might wish to attend the funeral. As you're going to leave us soon for Camelot I shouldn't wonder." The Druid managed a polite little smile. "I'm sure Prince Arthur will find his way home sooner or later. I think, if I were in his shoes, I would want to go home eventually, no matter what my quarrel was about."

"Yes" was all a hoarse Uther came up with. "Sure. When Gaius is able to travel, we will depart immediately."

Guinivere went with Marwon and left her father in law with his healer friend. She thought that Agneta and especially Mirella would be in dire need of solace right now, much more than a King who only saw his own needs most of the time.

So Uther was alone with him when the ailing physician opened his eyes half an hour later.

"Gaius" the King said, smiling radiantly. "Oh thank Gods you're back. I thought…. I was so afraid you'd….." Lost for words he took the older man's hand and pressed it cautiously. "How do you feel?"

"Well enough, thank you" was the weak reply but then Gaius frowned. Pictures came to his mind, of Arenboarth in the library. "And that's exactly why I can't allow you to leave" the Lord Druid had said before he had knocked Gaius out.

The physician's throat tightened, his heart cramped and he had trouble breathing. "Uther, where's Arthur? And Merlin? Please, bring them here, I must talk to them. Please, hurry."

"They're not here, actually my son has gone on some quest, some foolish wild goose chase with Antek and this Merco fellow of all people, they'll be back soon and then…"

"Quest? What quest? Uther, you have no idea….where's Merlin?"

"You know the little idiot, of course he's run after his adored master. Now you must rest, you mustn't be that agitated…"

"Uther, for the Gods' sake, listen to me…."

In that very second the village's alarm bells rang out and an unfamiliar young Druid burst into the room. "We're under attack. The village is surrounded by soldiers. They're laying waste to our sacred gardens…."

It was obvious that the young man was in a state of total panic and the sight of him was enough to let all of Uther's instincts spring into action. Shouting at the devastated young man to take care of Gaius, he was out in an instant, roaring orders right and left as soon as he bumped into Leon and his men and a few minutes later all the knights and the King of Camelot were in full fight with a group of enemies that had made it inside the village.

The attackers left no room for doubt that they meant business. Already in the first onslaught they had left the ground littered with dead or maimed Druids of all ages, even children hadn't found any mercy. The other village inhabitants ran all over the place, from this side to another and back again, terror-stricken, fearful for their loved ones, but not fighting back.

Uther's heart sank. With Arenboarth dead nobody was there to tell the scared people what their sacred rules of pacifism would allow in such a situation and what not. Perhaps with someone like their secretly adored Emrys present – the name shot into Uther's brain suddenly - showing them what magic could do in a battle, they would have thought twice about being slain without even an attempt at defending themselves and their homes.

As it was, the Druids were just life stock ready to be slaughtered.

"Mirella" Leon screamed at the top of his voice. "Mirella, run. Don't do that!"

Only now Uther spotted Leon's wife and her brother, trying desperately to assemble a group of younger Druids in front of a house near the village centre. Obviously Marwon was not willing to go down without a fight as he held a sword and Mirella did likewise. Three or four of the others stayed at their side and looked as if they wanted to join the fight, but all the others refused, obviously resolved not to fight back.

The King cursed through gritted teeth. "Blast the idiots. Godforsaken, blind cowards."

His own blade brought another enemy to his knees and finished the man off without Uther really thinking about it and for a brief spell, no other attackers followed.

Leon had pressed forward to get to his pregnant wife the second he had seen her in the fight. Out of habit the other Camelot knights and soldiers had immediately turned and followed him; with Arthur absent, Leon was their leader in a fight, King or no King somewhere in the hubbub.

Cursing again, Uther made ready to also follow his wayward head knight, when the sight of Guinivere joining the group of Marwon and Mirella with a sword in her hand let his blood run cold.

The group of enemy soldiers that suddenly blocked their way felt the whole brunt of Uther's and Leon's wrath and fear and they paid for it with their lives; but what good did that do when the attackers never seemed to get short of reinforcements?

With increasing despair the King watched an even stronger detail of attackers run for the pitifully few and untrained defenders of the small cottage. A handful of them were fenced off by the determined use of magic Arenboarth's children performed, but soon enough, whilst Leon, his men and his King were still held up by their own opponents, steel clashed against steel and the few young people, the two women and Arenboarth's son fought for their very lives.

Uther and Leon only reached the cottage entrance after the fight had been pressed back into the house where the enemies did their best to slaughter the defenders one by one. With Marwon already bleeding from a deep gash in his left arm, two of the other Druids down and the two women on the brink of total exhaustion, their chances were slim.

However, the luck was turned as Uther and his warriors fell on the attackers' back. Squeezed into the narrow corridor and staircase, between the Druids, who found new strength on the King's arrival, and the determined knights and soldiers they could not move and it was only a question of time before they'd be killed.

In spite of the unexpected exercise Uther breathed easier when he realized they finally had a chance. While he pressed his present opponent upwards on the stairs, waiting for the right moment to thrust into the man's barely protected belly, he noticed a female figure sweeping by the first floor door. In a jiffy he heard her scream with horror, closely followed by Guinivere and Mirella when they looked up.

An enemy soldier held two babies high in the air, and then the fight was over.

Later on it was no denying that the two Cymbrian soldiers who had found Agneta, her baby son and little Thomas hidden in the bedroom had won the day single-handedly.

Next morning's sun found the still terrified Druid survivors huddling around the village well, closely watched by a strong Cymbrian guard while the Camelotians as well as Marwon and his sister had earned themselves a special treatment.

Uther had known better than to protest and make a fuss when they tied him up but his pale face and set jaws showed how he felt about this dreadful humiliation. It took all his self-control to keep quiet for the sake of his little grandson and his mother. Yet in his head his thoughts were running amok. What did these people want? And the most troublesome thought of all – had his son ran into these men and if so, why didn't they say it, make use of it? What if…. – he hardly dared to finish the thought – what if Arthur was already dead?

The question was burning on his tongue but if by any chance his boy had made it out of this trap unharmed it wouldn't be his father who put these bastard's on his scent.

Soon it became obvious that there was no need for that.

"Some people are still unaccounted for" the Cymbrian commander said sternly. "Your Majesty wouldn't by any luck know where we could find Count Antek? Or even more interesting, your son and heir Prince Arthur?"

Uther winced as he recognized Arthur's letter in the man's hand. Why the hell hadn't he destroyed it in time? "My son has gone on a trip of his own, as you can surely see from the letter you've stolen. If you're literate that is. One never knows with a Cymbrian."

The foreign warrior cocked a brow but otherwise ignored the jibe. "I'm sure we'll find His Royal Highness soon enough" he replied calmly. "In the meantime, my King offers you and your….friends his hospitality and it would be impolite to keep His Majesty waiting. After you, Your Grace."

His feet tied to the stirrups of a horse, Uther had the dispensable pleasure to see his knights, the Druid siblings as well as his daughter in law with his grandson being paraded out of the village; a silent yet powerful reminder of what kind of disaster any resistance would bring about.

"What about the others?" the King asked his captor. "They're just a bunch of peasant cowards with some spells good only for fieldwork. Surely King Cendred has no interest in seeing them perish?"

The Cymbrian pointed at Marwon's and Mirella's departing backs. "Let's just hope these two will be enough to let the others see reason and stay out of our hair. Now, My Lord. If you please….."

Uther swallowed painfully. And then, for the first time in many, many years, the King of Camelot just did as he was told.

Somewhere in the crowd gathered round the well, Gaius scrambled to his trembling feet and watched them being herded away through a mist of warm and salty water. If he walked a step or two, he almost fell down. Using his rusty magic for anything fruitful was out of the question. Hardly ever he had felt so very weak and useless.

Something tucked at his sleeve while the last Cymbrians, with a torrent of empty threats and abuse, made ready to follow their comrades.

"You're crying" the little Druid boy stated in a most matter-of-fact manner.

"No I'm not" Gaius replied curtly. "Something has come into my eye."

"Yeah, sure" the child's face said unmistakably. "My mother is crying, too. My elder sister is injured."

"What do I care?" was the angry reply. Uther's life-long friend, Merlin's guardian and Arthur's sometime surrogate-parent was far from being sympathetic. Not while his own troubles were almost killing him.

"Aren't you a healer?" the child insisted.

"I can help nobody, not even myself right now. Go away!"

The boy stared at him with a frown but said nothing for quite a while. Gaius would have liked to push him away but couldn't make up his mind to do so. He was so incredibly tired.

Suddenly the child heaved a giant sigh. "She's hurting very badly, you know."

"Who?"

"My sister. The one I told you about?"

Gaius looked at the skinny little creature. Two big brown eyes, two big knees and not much more except the special blend of confidence and trust only a child can muster; a child that has been brought up with love and affection instead of threats and too much discipline.

For all him being almost a young man when they had first met, Merlin had looked at him that way, before life had taught the young warlock otherwise. Arthur, by the way, never had. He'd always looked as if he had been born with the knowledge that the world was a dangerous and hostile place; that one had to fight for and earn the right for every breath and step in it.

The healer's heart hurt. He had once told Arenboarth how very deeply intertwined his own existence was with Camelot and the Pendragons, but only now he fully felt the truth of that. Without the two he felt he had no life whatsoever.

So there was nothing for it then. He would have to overcome the weakness of his old bones and weary flesh, he thought. Maybe it was a bit over-dramatic, but, by the state he was in, fully justified. With Uther obviously incapacitated for the duration, his old friend would have to see what he could find out about the two young men that were dear to his heart.

Two or three days at most and then he would be on his way. In the meantime there was no need to sit idle, though. "Where is your sister?" he asked grumpily.

Decisively the boy pointed at a place on the well's left side; at the same time he grabbed the old man's arm and dragged. "C'me on. Hurry!"

"For the love of Camelot" Gaius thought with a flicker of irony while he followed the child. "And I pray to all Gods that somebody does the same for my bunch."