So... I could have sworn that I never actually posted this. I thought it had been a dream, especially since I never received any notifications until a few days ago. Anyway, since I hate it when authors start a story and never finish it, I'll do my best to finish this one. I can't promise regular updates, as my job involves a lot of unexpected fieldwork in places with no internet and where my computer is running data acquisitions on communal screens... but it will get done.
(You can all thank TheDiamondSword400 whose favorite alert popped up in my inbox and alerted me to the fact that I had actually posted this.)
A child. They had been chasing a child. And they had wounded a child. They were going to kill a child. Arthur battled to reign in his emotions. He was the prince of Camelot, almost a man. He could not have emotions.
Nonetheless, they roiled under his skin and demanded he act. Wasting no time, Arthur mounted his horse and rode back to his prisoner. He had some questions that needed answering. He rode quickly back to where he had left the soldier tied down and found only ropes that had been sliced. Cursing, he dismounted and cast around for signs of the escapee. Over the sounds of his horse settling and his internal scolding, he caught the faint sounds of someone running. Following his ears, Arthur quickly found the trail and ran to catch up. As he caught up to the soldier, the man turned to face him, holding a dagger up menacingly. Arthur slowed and began to study the area. Seeing this, the man spoke up.
"I can't let you take me alive and I can't go home without the boy. I would be a dead man either way."
"What boy? Why are you chasing him?"
"He's- I can only tell you that the king will stop at nothing to get him back, poor sod. He's better off dead."
"Wait-" Arthur cut himself off. The soldier thrust upwards into his own chest and fell forward. Arthur walked over and kicked him onto his back to make sure he was dead. With a sigh, he turned back towards the river. Again, he called his horse to him. As he walked, he thought over the man's words. "King" must refer to Cenred, but what could possibly be so special about a boy that Cenred would risk war by sending soldiers to Camelot to retrieve him? Arthur could think of only two possible answers. Either the boy was magical or he was important. Perhaps he was of noble blood. Or… perhaps he was Cenred's illegitimate son?
Whatever the reason, Arthur intended to find the boy first.
He rode back to the river where he had found the footprint. The fall rains had filled the river and while Arthur's side provided easy entry, the opposite side would make an exit impossible. The river had cut into a hillside and the bank was steep and loose. From where he stood, Arthur could not discern any signs that the boy ever reached the other side. Adding a fresh wound into consideration, he doubted the boy could swim upriver. Most likely, Arthur decided, the boy had been swept away by the current.
He spent the rest of the day following the river and hoping he would find the boy alive. He did not travel far before sunset, having taken the time to search carefully on each side of the river bank. Having been so absorbed in the search, Arthur almost missed the looming clouds of another fall storm. The rain would likely make finding the boy's trail harder- not that Arthur had found a trail to follow anyway. Deciding that tracking at night, alone and in rain on a riverbank, was a wasted effort; he set up camp and fell asleep wondering again, when he had become so invested in saving a boy he had never even seen.
Arthur woke the next morning feeling an urgent tugging at the back of his mind. Sitting up, he saw that the overhang where he had set up camp last night showed no signs of intruders. Yet something was nagging at his mind. He carefully slipped out into the forest and saw that the sun was only just beginning to rise and warm the wet chill of the night. Fortunately, the sky looked clear again- a good day for tracking, Arthur thought. The tugging sensation returned and pulled him towards the river. After a few minutes of walking, he stepped out onto the riverbank. He looked around but saw nothing out of place. He felt a sense of urgency cross him, and decided to give into it. He ran back to his camp and packed up immediately. Mounting his horse, he returned to the river and continued to follow it, hoping for a sign that the boy had survived.
Truth be told, Arthur was beginning to despair. What if the boy was already dead, by wound or by drowning? He spent a few minutes wrestling with that thought until he simply decided that it was his duty to finish his quest. So what if he had never met the boy? As prince, and knight, he should care for his people. He ignored the annoying voice that told him that this boy was not even from Camelot.
Just past midday, Arthur found it. There, on the other bank, he could see that the mud and gravel had been disturbed. It looked as if something had been dragged in, or out and the trail partially washed away. The urgency made itself known again, but he restrained himself as he patiently let his steed pick its way across the river. Reaching the bank, Arthur dismounted and once again felt his heart clench at the sight of the small handprints beside the drag marks. It seemed the boy had eventually made it to his hands and knees, and though the rain had softened the tracks, Arthur was well able to follow the trail. Arthur followed the pitiful trail into the woods. He hadn't taken more than ten steps before he finally saw the object of his search.
Arthur stepped forwards, and then stopped as he heard the boy whimper. He raised his hands and spoke in a quiet, formal, tone, "I mean you no harm." He thought for a second, and then said more gently, "I mean, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help you."
He took another step forward but again the boy whimpered and even attempted to rise. He turned his head weakly and Arthur realized that the boy was trying to find an escape route. He glanced down at himself and thought of something. He whistled to his horse and backed away when the boy began to cry. Arthur thought that the lad must have thought he was calling for more men. When his horse came forward, he reached gently to hold it back. Ignoring the voice in his head telling him this could be a trap, he unbuckled his sword and knife. He tucked them away into a saddle bag within easy reach.
He turned back to the boy and stepped forwards. This time, he did not stop when the boy whimpered, but instead sat himself just outside of arm's distance. Speaking in a tone he reserved for spooked horses, Arthur tried to calm the boy. The silent tears were unnerving, as Arthur was sure that had he the strength, the boy would be sobbing.
"Hello. I'm Arthur. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help you. I can see that you are frightened, but I promise that you don't need to be scared of me."
As he spoke, Arthur observed the boy. The child wore nothing but a ragged shift- the mark of a slave child. The shift was in poor condition, missing a sleeve, dirty, torn, and marked with many bloodstains. It was also still wet, and revealed that the boy was emaciated. The belly that should have been plump was instead caved in- just like the boy's cheeks. The boy's face was badly bruised and covered in cuts. It looked as if one of his cheekbones had been crushed by a blow and Arthur had to quell his anger again. The boy's uncovered arm and legs were also thin, bruised and covered in what Arthur easily identified as lashes from a whip- some new, some old. Whoever had abused this boy had done so over a period of time. Finally, there was a crossbow bolt lodged in the boy's left shoulder which bled steadily. Arthur swallowed and met the boy's tearful gaze.
"I can see that someone has hurt you, is that why you were running? Did those men hurt you?"
The boy didn't respond and Arthur wondered if the boy could understand him. He kept talking nonetheless, hoping to gain the boy's trust so he could tend to the injuries.
"You don't need to worry about them anymore. I found them and I saw that they were chasing you."
Arthur paused. The boy had reacted to that. His drooping eyelids had jerked open and he looked at Arthur with something like hope behind the terror. His shuddery breaths had ceased.
"I stopped them. I didn't want them to hurt you anymore."
The boy began to breathe and cry again. Arthur wondered if he had been wrong in his conclusions until he saw the boy relax. "Will you let me help you?"
Arthur held his breath. The boy studied him for a long moment, and finally nodded.
Arthur slowly crawled over, not wanting to stand and startle the boy. The boy tensed at Arthur's touch but did not pull away. Arthur thought back to everything Gaius had ever taught him, and decided on a course of action.
"I know a place where we can set up camp for a while. It's going to take some time to treat your wounds and you'll be more comfortable there. Let's move there first, and then we can st-"
Arthur paused as he realized he did not know the boy's name.
"Will you tell me your name? I don't know what to call you."
The boy looked away sadly, and then looked back at Arthur. He seemed to be considering Arthur, and Arthur laid his hand gently on the boy's arm.
"Please tell me your name?"
Merlin. My mum called me Merlin.
Before Arthur could process the shock that came with this knowledge, Merlin jerked violently and lost consciousness.