Reposted: May 18, 2015

Chapter 4: The Lost Kitten

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"Anyway, it doesn't matter how much, how often, or how closely you keep an eye on things because you can't control it. Sometimes things and people just go. Just like that."
― Cecelia Ahern

It had been several weeks since the tournament in which Arthur had proven himself to…well, himself, had ended, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

To be honest, Arthur had always felt like there was something missing- as cliché as it might sound. For a long time, he had thought that it was because he had grown up as an only child (Morgana really didn't count, as she was not actually his biological sister, nor sisterly in her affections) and without a mother figure. As he had gotten older, he eventually set such sentimental and childish notions aside—well, not entirely aside, but he had managed to place such feelings in the little locked portion of his brain, where he sent everything he did not feel like dealing with—he could only hope that said box did not have a capacity limit. Thankfully, he had enough self control that it was almost like such thoughts and emotions never existed in the first place.

Of course it helped that no one dared to bring up the late Queen, not to mention, Uther himself never mentioned her name. It was, after all much easier to forget about missing someone and to forget that they ever existed, if everyone around you did the same.

No, he had become convinced that the thing that he was missing was not his mother, but the chance to prove himself, to show that he was worthy of being successor to the throne….really, to make Uther proud. But again, he soon realized how childish and impossible both those notions were. Arthur knew from the time he was able to walk that it was a near impossible feat to make Uther proud of anything, and that the old man would cling to the throne until his last breath…. so proving himself was not something that needed to be done, as it would make little difference to Uther in the long run. At least that was how Arthur saw it.

His latest explanation for the hollow, empty feeling was that he didn't need to prove himself to his kingdom, subjects or father, but to himself. It was largely why he had chosen to enter the jousting tournament as an unknown—he had thought once he had won it, that the feeling would finally go away. Yet, here he was, two weeks later and it was as present as ever….if anything, it felt like it had only grown since then. And he couldn't explain why.

And while he tried to hide his melancholy mood, and he knew that he was doing a fairly decent job at it….it was still there.

Of course his own horrible mood was not helped in the least by the fact that his manservant was also demonstrating uncharacteristically low humors. While Merlin had not shown the same amount of anger, or let's face it—hatred, since his encounter with the fey-looking boy, he had been surly and wapish since.

Even more frustrating was the fact that no amount of prying on Arthur's part could get Merlin to say anything on the matter. And Arthur had tried—oh had he tried. He had tried coming at the topic surreptitiously at first, and when that failed, he tried to trick the information out of Merlin. Finally, met with nothing but unanswered questions, Arthur had asked about it point blank, only to be told to keep his royal ass out of it (Merlin's words—Arthur knew he was not an ass, even of the royal variety).

So, in all fairness, he blamed at least part of his morose mood on his man-servant. Merlin knew how curious Arthur was….if Arthur didn't know better he would have sworn that Merlin was keeping it a secret just to vex him! But he had saw his servant staring into space, his shoulders slumped, eyebrows furrowed like the fate of Camelot, if not the entire five kingdoms was resting on his shoulders, so he knew that whatever was involved with Henry, that it was not something that Merlin was keeping silent on just to be annoying. No, it was obvious that the issue was weighing rather heavily on the idiot.

And while Arthur did love to goad and tease Merlin mercilessly, he was not actually cruel, (he just liked to pretend to be) so let his servant keep his secrets for the time being. Perhaps one day Merlin would trust him enough to confide in him. But until that day….

Arthur shook his head bringing his attention back to the present, where his father was finishing his speech on whatever it was that he had been talking about (Arthur couldn't help it! his father had so many bloody speeches, about so many boring things, that he often found his attention slipping away when it shouldn't. But he would challenge anyone!—anyone, to try and pay attention to these boring matters….it was impossible!)

"Well then, it is settled. I will send one squadron of men to guard you on your sojourn tomorrow" Uther finished looking to where Morgana stood, along with Gwen.

"Thank you, Milord. I do not think it should be necessary, but your worry for my safety honors me as always" Morgana replied sending Uther her best 'I'm sweet and innocent' smile, and a smirk towards Arthur.

Arthur grit his teeth and forced himself not to glare back at his father's ward; Morgana was always trying to rankle him and she knew that he hated when she acted so innocent and sweet with Uther—she had always managed to get herself out of trouble with that smile, usually, while getting him into it. And what did she need a guard for anyway….? Oh, right! He had forgotten that she and Gwen were headed off to her father's grave tomorrow so that she might pay her respects.

For this reason, more than anything else, he kept his annoyance in check. For while they had always been adversaries, (friendly—well, usually friendly ones), he truly did feel sorry for her loss of her father. He may not like his father most of the time, but he did love Uther and he knew should someone kill him Arthur would have been heartbroken. It was why he did not protest her journey through bandit infested woods to visit her father's grave—despite what his gut was telling him.

He would have insisted on accompanying them (and not just because Gwen was going with Morgana), but he unfortunately knew his father would say no. Arthur had other duties to attend to tomorrow—some of which included the assessment of several young nobles who wished to become knights of Camelot….so no, there was no way Uther would allow Arthur to go along with the girls.

Plus he was being ridiculous…acting like Merlin with his worrying. They would be fine; they had some of his father's best men going with them to ensure so.

….Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong.

-00—

Kendrick lay still and silent on the wet overgrowth of the quickly lightening forest floor, he ignored how cold and numb the portion of his body that was in contact with the wet moss and leaves was…after all, this was not his first 'stakeout,' though if everything went to plan, it would be his last.

No, matter what he told his men and any unfortunate enough soul to encounter him when he was drinking in the tavern and in the mood to tell stories, (unfortunate, because said soul generally ended up dead by the end of the night—no point in having a wagging mouth to get him into trouble, and one could never be too sure what they spilt when drunk. Better safe than sorry; his mother taught him that much, if nothing else) he did not truly want the life of a bandit. Oh no, sure he would take it over being a piss-poor farm hand, but given the choice he wouldn't have said no to having been a lord in this life; rich off the back of others…yeah, that sounded like the life. But alas, apparently the fates had not made it so, so he had been forced to do the next best thing…steal, barter and swindle himself rich.

And sure, it hadn't exactly turned out as profitable as he had thought it would (apparently, there were far more bandits then wealthy targets these days) but if this next grab went off right, then he could hang up his boots so to speak. Yes, this next target was more than just a wealthy one; this target was actually a someone….a someone, who was apparently very dear to the king. And to think he'd gotten the information from one of those poor souls of his.

Turns out, one of the knights being sent to guard the Lady Morgana and her maid, had one of those so feared wagging tongues, and after a few tankards of mead, Sir Beves just couldn't stop himself from bragging the fact that he—he, a fairly new knight, had been selected to accompany his King's ward to visit her dead father's grave. Oh, it had been easy enough to get the when, where and guard numbers from the fool before slipping him a compound of Hebane* (something that Deon had taken to carrying with him ever since that run in with that one wench's husband….it was simply easier to slip the powdered root to his conquests and have them forget all about their night, then to deal with angry spouses or lovers the next day) and making haste to round up the appropriate numbers to pull off this ambush. He would have simply slit the idiot's throat, but he couldn't risk the king changing plans if one of the knights chosen didn't report in for duty the next day—this was easier, plus he would be dead soon enough.

After what seemed like hours, (and likely was) Kendrick was rousted from his gleeful plotting by the clacking of horse hoofs. Plotting on what exactly he was going to spend his ill gotten goods on once he delivered the Lady Morgana to Hengist; not that Kendrick was exactly happy with this bit (as he had hoped to sell her to the highest bidder) but unfortunately one of Hengist's men had been in the tavern and had told the cruel-hearted war Lord the same information that Kendrick had managed to get. Really, he was lucky that the King had decided having Kendrick snatch the king's ward rather than one of his own men was a good idea. That, and the fact that King Hengist had still agreed to pay him handsomely for the delivery….not that Kendrick exactly trusted the man, but it wasn't as though he had a lot of choices; and life with some riches, was better than death with more.

He gave a quick quiet whistle that could easily have been mistaken for that of a bird's to alert the rest of his men (well, men that had agreed to work with him for this job anyway). He would have to find some way to dispose of them quickly and quietly once this was all over with and he had his money….leaving them alive would just be asking for trouble in the future (aka: blackmail).

As they moved silently into position, he could not shake the sudden feeling of foreboding that stole over him…

He shook his head trying to concentrate on the ambush that would take place mere seconds from now, angry at himself. He was being a superstitious fool again, finding cause and effect, where there was none. He had been doing so for weeks…. one of the reasons that he had decided he needed to get out of this life and chance making this final large grab, was so that he would not have to travel these woods any longer. There was something, well….evil about these woods; a sense of such darkness that it chilled even a cold hearted killer like Kendrick to his very bones. And that feeling of wrongness had only grown in the last few weeks.

He had heard rumors and stories from some of the men he was working with, rumors of how whole parties vanished without a trace, men—men who had survived years as fugitives and outlaws, were suddenly turning up in Camelot to turn themselves in, begging to be taken to the dungeons, to the gallows…anywhere, but back to the forest. He had tried to brush off the stories as the overactive imaginations and boredom of fellow criminals—really, it would make more sense that these criminals were hoping to scare their competition from the woods then there being some mystical evil presence lurking within them. But somehow, no matter what he told himself, Kendrick knew that the stories were not lies….that the one area of the forest that they had never noticed before, had suddenly become a place to avoid at all costs—something that had occurred within the last few weeks…..

Yes, they needed to succeed in this; kidnap the Lady, kill the unneeded, and get paid. It was the only option for him now. Because Kendrick somehow knew, deep down, that if he did not get out of this life soon, that it wouldn't last a whole lot longer.

-00-

It happened so quickly that she didn't even have time to think her reaction through.

One minute she had been riding, her thoughts stuck on the one person who had seemed to occupy them as of late, all while pretending otherwise by chatting with Gwen. Her thoughts had been coming back to said person ever since her fraught filled trip to see the druids….someone, who until that time she had only seen as her adopted brother's unskilled servant…and perhaps even a friend of sorts, but who now…..

No, it was these thoughts that would put her in even more danger then she already was in—for being Uther's ward was not exactly the safest of positions, especially given his hatred of magic and her happening to be oh you know; magical. Obsessing over a mere serving boy (no matter what kindness he had shown her without any reason to do so) would bring nothing but pain and sorrow; it was best that she set such thoughts aside….but try as she might….

The thing was her obsession was not so much the obsession of a heart-sick little girl, but one of need. She needed to figure out Merlin, to know what made him tick, to figure out what it was that he hid….from her, even from Arthur, it would seem. She had no question as to his loyalty and love for her brother, but at the same time she could tell that the Merlin she saw every day in court- bantering and teasing the prince, was not the whole—or even the true, Merlin. Maybe that was why she suddenly felt so drawn to him….he was like her, living only half a life; half a truth.

Her thoughts and her concentration on such thoughts, was likely the reason that she had not realized the ambush that came upon them, until it was too late. She wanted to think that had she been less distracted, that she would have sensed something amiss—either through her magic or her keenly honed hunting skills (Arthur had allowed her to sneak off with him a time or two when they were young to hunt—something, that to her brother's** surprise, she turned out to be very good at). But unfortunately for her, and the rest of her party, she did not sense them at all…in fact it was Sir Robert's startled yell for her and Gwen to follow him, that woke her to their presence.

Knowing that this was not the time to show her preference for fighting verses fleeing like the helpless maiden's that all the knights and bandits took her and Gwen to be, (for she might be better with a sword than most thought, but she was not stupid enough to think that she could win a fight that many of the far more skilled and better trained knights were losing) she did as instructed, only to watch Sir Robert fall to an arrow in the back and to be violently yanked from her horse. Both her and her servant managed to escape their captor's hold, and then they were once again fleeing…desperate to put some space between them and the men who slaughtered the last of the knights without thought.

Alas, they're flight away from the fighting group was in vain as they discovered that they had run right towards the very man who had initiated the attack to begin with. A few angrily spoken sentences later, Morgana knew what she must do if they hoped to escape with their lives…

She may have been Uther's very protected ward, but she was not stupid nor naïve; she knew what happened to young women in her position…or even worse, Gwen's. They might keep her alive and unharmed for long enough to secure a ransom from Uther but they would have no qualms on doing the same for a serving girl….and she knew that when it came to these kind of things, death was really the least evil they could expect.

It was with this knowledge that Morgana convinced Gwen to aid her in her hastily thought up escape plan, and yes, perhaps it was not overly cunning or clever. Perhaps there was a very large margin for error, but it was their only hope.

(Following dialogue taken from Merlin, Season 2; episode 4: Guinevere and Lancelot)

Morgana glared at Kendrick (apparently the bastard who had orchestrated this entire thing), mentally thinking of all the ways that she could kill him—well, kill him after she made him suffer incomprehensible horrors that is….the look that he and his goons were giving her as she played with the outer ties on her dress, were only fueling such thoughts. But no, now was not the time to take revenge on these pitiful men, she had to believe that such things as karma existed and that it would eventually lead such unmoral men to their demise but for now, it was better that she concentrate on getting both her and Gwen away from here; so she would stick to her plan. Even if said plan did involve her stripping (well partially) in front of such swine.

She had to force herself not to roll her eyes at Kendrick's pathetic comment about the temperature of the water (really, and the man thought he was clever? Even Arthur could come up with better quips then this idiot!). Instead she forged ahead with her plan, putting more effort into pretending that she was a frightened but haughty (if perhaps a little stupid, because what princess would insist on bathing; an activity that would involve less clothes, when captured by horny bandits?) princess.

"I'm sure I'll manage. If you were any kind of gentleman, you'd give me some privacy." She stated disdain dripping from her mouth, with a glare to match.

Kendrick smirked, not moving his eyes even an inch from where they were resting on her still covered chest, "Well, unfortunately for you, I am no kind of gentleman. Now get on with it." She could hear the raucous laughs and snickers from the idiot's other men, but didn't let it deter her. She would succeed in this.

Slowly removing her outer gown, in a way that would draw as much of the men's attention towards her and away from her servant, she saw that she was at least partially successful, as one of the thugs let go of Guinevere and took a step towards her. Morgana decided to go one step further and protest yet again, "You can at least turn your backs."

Apparently Kendrick wasn't as entirely stupid as he seemed, for he snorted in disbelief, "So you can make a run for it. Do you think I'm that stupid?"—again the key word was entirely and Morgana didn't bother to hide her triumphant smirk as her plan fell into place.

"I think you're very stupid" was her next line, and yes, it might have been a little cliché or expected but hey, she was a little too distracted with carrying out the next few steps successfully, to bother with wasting time to think up a clever retort. Gwen- bless her, did exactly as she had been instructed and lunged forward, quickly pulling Kendrick's sword from its sheath, while Morgana delivered a hit to the face.

A toss of the sword from her maid to her, a few painful (well, to the men who received them) slashes later and they were once again running for their lives. Tree roots seemed to appear out of nowhere, tripping and slowing their progress, as brambles and branches latched on to their long gowns (not for the first time Morgana cursed the dress that Uther insisted was appropriate for a young lady, made of far too long of lace and silk to allow for a speedy get away). Well, at least she had ditched the outer part of her embroidered shackle.

Unfortunately it seemed as though it was not enough, as she felt her ankle catch on one of the cruel roots and felt her body lurch towards the hard ground. With a pained cry, she knew that the snap she had heard was not a stray branch or stick in her path, but her ankle.

At hearing the cry, Gwen stopped her own flight to rush back to Morgana's crouched form, "My lady! Morgana….please we must run, they are closing in on us!"

Morgana winced as Gwen pulled her to her feet but she knew that Gwen was right, even now she could hear the sounds of their pursuers closing in on them. Determinedly she placed weight on her injured ankle, only to have it give out once more—and she knew in that moment that she was done for. There had been a slim enough chance of her and Gwen escaping when they were in perfect health, but with her lame….

Well, perhaps Gwen still had a chance. Maybe she could return and tell Uther and the court what had befallen Morgana and the rest of the party, to bring help….

"Go!" she cried out, pushing Gwen away from her.

"But, my lady…." Gwen started to protest, only to be pushed by Morgana again.

"No, you must run Guinevere. Get away from here, back to Camelot and let them know what has happened to us….go get help. I cannot escape with my ankle like this, you are my only chance. So, please for me….run!"

Gwen gave her one more reluctant stare, but it seemed as though she saw the truth in Morgana's words as she gave a terse nod, "Hold on my Lady I will be back for you," before letting go and fleeing deeper into the woods.

Morgana drew in a shaky breath, hoping that it would not be the last time she saw her maid…hoping that she had made the right decision. She forced herself to stand-up again and move away from where she knew Kendrick was coming from. She would be damned if she would wait here, helpless and alone for her own capture…she knew that she had little hope in escaping them, but it didn't mean that she wasn't going to try.

As she ran (limped) in the direction that Gwen had gone in, she felt the air change. It had been a rather nice and sunny day out when they had first departed and even while riding through the dense forest some of that sunshine had managed to filter through, lighting up the dark woods around them. Now however, she realized that this was no longer so….there was a chill to the air that didn't feel entirely natural. She fought a shudder that ran down her spine as she forged ahead, keen on getting as far away from the bandits as she could.

The natural light in the forest seemed to be almost non-existent the further she ventured, until she could hardly make out the ground ahead of her. It was because of this, that she once again found herself losing her footing.

Only this time it was not the forest floor that met her, but that of empty air.

-00-

When Harry woke that morning, he had not known that the events of the coming day, would lead to changes in his life that even he; who had lived through so many life altering, destiny defying events, would ever have guessed. Nor could he have known the consequences of said changes.

It had been more or less two weeks since he had come to the horrifying realization that his blood relative's hatred of him had followed him from his past world into this one. At first he had been far too heartbroken and disappointed to see the irony and sick humor of the situation, but given time and distance, he could-if not appreciate, then resentfully admire, sister fate's tenacity to fuck with his life. Of course two weeks and a few dozen miles was not nearly far, nor long enough to really ease any of the hurt that had been administered by his half brother's angry glares and sharp words…but it was however, enough for him to at least pretend that they did not affect him as much as they did.

Of course, his own actions since then displayed the fallacy of such sentiments….if he truly had not cared that Merlin had all but disowned him without giving him a chance, he would have moved on, travelled beyond the forest surrounding Camelot and have begun to make the new life he had thought he had wanted. But he had not….and really, he couldn't even say why that was.

When Merlin had first told him to leave, Harry had every intention of heeding his brother's words and getting as far away from the distain (Merlin) and pity (Gwen) that was being thrown his way. However, when he actually began his trip back through the densely treed forest, heading who knows where, he found himself unable to continue on. Not physically of course—but something—an ancient instinct; his magic (honestly, he wasn't even really sure what it was) made him feel as though leaving the area, truly leaving, would be a mistake. And Harry having been a child of magic and a great believer in following one's intuition, had listened to said feeling, shoring up camp a mere dozen miles from the city under the overhang of a steep—almost unnatural—drop off.

While common sense might have asserted that setting up camp in basically a basin of green was not the best defensive decision, (a higher perch, so that he could keep an eye out for trespassers and bandits would have been smarter) his instincts once again drew him to the area- as though there was a soothing, ancient power running through it. (In a lot of ways it reminded him of the same power that Hogwarts gave off: one of ancient knowing and strength).

Not to mention, that he had erected every anti-muggle ward he could think of around his camp—including a few that were closer to being dark then many of his old brethren would probably have approved of (one of which had always guarded Grimmauld place, making the trespasser or those who drew near the encampment feel a sense of great wrong or fear…turning into hallucinations the closer they got. It was surprisingly effective in deterring bandits from entering the area—superstitious lot they were). So no, it wasn't as though Harry had to worry too much about his solitude being disturbed, as he highly doubted that outside of his half brother, that there were very many true people of magic left in Camelot who would have been able to get through the wards (he imagined that Uther's hatred of magic had insured that much).

Which led to his second problem—ironically enough; that there was no one to disturb his solitude, which essentially meant that he was left alone, day after day, night after night, with his brooding thoughts (something that was not a good thing, as his head—especially now that it contained both his own past and Myror's, was not the happiest of places). Really, it was a catch twenty-two; he wanted and needed to be alone, as much as he feared and hated the loneliness that came from being so. Yes, he was just that messed up.

The thing was, that while he had always believed in following his instincts and listening to what essentially Mother magic was telling him—nothing had happened to tell him that he had interpreted that feeling correctly. He had after all, been here for two weeks with absolutely nothing happening. He didn't know what he was waiting for, or even if he were to say hell with it, what he was supposed to do instead. All of his plans for this world had started and revolved around his brother….which despite the fact that he had given Gwen a centering stone for Merlin, he doubted his half brother would ever use.

The centering stone had been result of the collaboration between Hermione and Luna of all people. They had been partnered together in their Arithmancy class (one that Harry had entered into late in his fourth year after wanting to get as far away from Trelawney and her divination bullshit as possible) and for their yearend project, the girls had enchanted a few dozen pebbles to essentially act as a honing beacon. The user would push a small amount of their own magic into the stone, causing it to activate and the receiver (or person given the stone) would then instinctively know where to find said person when they truly desired it.

It was actually a rather simple, yet fascinating piece of magic, as the stone could not be stolen or used by someone who it was not intended for, nor could it be used if the receiver had ill intent towards the person the stone sought. And while Merlin would have no idea what the stone was actually for should he ever want to find Harry, while the stone was in his possession, his own magic would lead him to the wizard (the one down side of the stone was that if could not be used by those without magic).

Sadly, despite the genius of the pebbles, Harry had a feeling that the one he gave Merlin would be essentially useless, as his brother would have to actually want to see or find him again. And as much as Harry wished that would someday be true, he was not a naïve idiot.

Sighing softly to himself as he puttered around his rather barren camp (he had supplemented his puny amount of supplies with a few items that wayward bandits had dropped in their terror to flee the area—so his camp now included a shoddily built shelter of sorts, a few pots and pans, a decent bed roll and few blankets, as well as several herbs and black market ingredients; the last which he had put to good use making up various potions—from healing balms to some lesser known poisons) trying to reach a decision that had been weighing down on him these last few days.

While he had listened to his gut feeling and set up here, he was growing bored and restless…he knew that he would need to move on soon; if not to figure out his new life, then to at least stop himself from succumbing to the monotony of his current one. He just had to figure out where it was that he was supposed to go now.

He should probably head out of Camelot and the lands ruled by Uther, as he still hoped to find a sorcerer or someone knowledgeable in magic to help him figure out just what was going on with him. He still suffered from horrible nightmares and visions that he had come to recognize as Myror's memories and desires, as well as waking up in places that he had no memory of travelling to. Large gaps of time seemed to essentially disappear…scarily enough it reminded him of how Ginny described her own experience of being possessed by Tom Riddle. The very thought that he was not entirely in control of this body and its action was truly a terrifying one.

Of course he had done his best to convince himself that it was not so-that it was simply his body adjusting to having two separate soul halves suddenly forced together once more. However, as more and more time passed and the memories and periods of unknown did not diminish, Harry was slowly being forced to acknowledge that there might be more to this then simply a period of readjustment.

The only thing that was really holding him here now, was the realization that he had never checked in on the wayward prince—too distracted with first the excitement of finding his brother, and then by the disappointment of being rejected by him. He knew that Prince Arthur was most likely fine, that the people around him were aware of the potential threat of assassination now, and that there was little that Harry could add or do to change said threat (even if the people aware seemed so negligent that they had never even suspected Harry of possibly being the hired assassin, despite him being a literal stranger showing up in their city—he wasn't sure whether he was glad for their oversight or insulted). But once again there was a feeling that he really should, no, that he needed to see the prince and make sure that he was okay.

And once again, it made no sense.

A sudden desperate cry interrupted his thoughts, causing him to knock over the potion he had been brewing (a brew that caused whatever was soaked in it to become impenetrable to steel and flint—kind of perfect for the clothing of someone travelling in these times—times, where sword and arrow were more often than not, the cause of death). He didn't even have time to pinpoint the source of the noise before there was a soft thud, followed by the sound of a pained gasp.

Harry froze, his gaze stalled on the sight of a crumpled body lying motionless in the outer area of his camp. It was clear that the body (a woman's, given the dress and from what he could see, long raven locks) had somehow managed to get through his wards and fall over the steep overhang that overlooked his camp. Ignoring for now that this should have been impossible (unless she was magical…which as he had said before was doubtful what with Uther around) he rushed over to where she now lay, still as death.

When he reached her, he carefully turned her onto her back and gently moved disheveled strands of hair off of her face, surprised to find that outside of a superficial cut on her head, and a rather swollen ankle, she appeared unharmed. Well unharmed besides the fact that she was currently unconscious, that is.

Not knowing what else to do, he carefully picked her up and carried her over to where his bed roll was, setting her down to go and locate his healing potions and perhaps a few pungent herbs to wake the girl up with. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the intrusion, it was obvious from her missing outer garment, and her injuries—superficial as they were—that something had happened to the young woman. And he was nothing if not a gentlemen.

He could tell by the finery of even her under dress and the bracelet that she wore, that she came from means….definitely not a peasant or serving girl. He could not think of a reason why a noblewoman should find herself out in this area of the woods, but decided that it did not matter for the time being. He would have helped her, servant or queen.

As he slowly cleaned the blood from her forehead he could not shake the feeling of familiarity…like she was kin, or at least someone he should know. It felt as though she was important—that she would somehow play a great role in his future….

Harry shook his head bemused and a little annoyed with himself and his absurd thoughts. Why should one girl, noble or not, have any effect on him? He would clean her up and send her back to safety and that would be that. This was simply a small flicker in his eventually path….something that he would likely forget about in a few days; nothing more, certainly nothing life changing.

He didn't realize just how wrong he was.

-00—

Back and forth, back and forth, back and….okay she needed to calm down. Pacing relentlessly before the courtyard orientated window in Morgana's room, was not beneficial to anyone. It would not ensure that Arthur came back safe and sound.

Because that was what had Gwen pacing like one of the much avoided mentally afflicted peasants that her mother (when she was alive) had warned her about; worry about the crowned prince. That's not to say that she wasn't also worried about her mistress, Lady Morgana—for she was, truly she was….but once again—much to her irritation and resentment—Arthur seemed to trump all else in her mind.

Sadly, it had been this way even before she had come to realize her feelings for the prince (which happened almost directly after he won the tournament a few weeks ago), knowing what she did now, she realized that she had probably always harbored somewhat of a crush on the man… she just hadn't recognized that fact until rather recently. She had thought that the way her heart rate picked up and her palms grew damp when she was around him was simply a sign that she was nervous because of how much higher his station was above her own…really, looking back on it, it was a rather lame excuse considering the same did not occur when she was in Lady Morgana's presence, despite her elevated status. Unfortunately (or fortunately—she was still undecided on this point) seeing him win the tournament and then be humble enough to let another man (the man posing as Sir William in public) take the credit, had removed the blinders from her willfully ignorant eyes. And as much as she tried to fight it and convince herself that it was both hopeless and pointless to pine after a prince when she was but a serving girl, her heart would not listen to reason.

It was why she could not tear herself away from the window of Morgana's empty chambers. A part of her, one that she was doing the best to smother, was feeling horribly guilty over her worry. Not over the fact that she worried, no…but the fact that she was much more worried about the prince who had left two days ago with a group of knights to go and search for the missing Morgana, then she was about the missing lady herself. It truly made her a horrible person considering Morgana had—perhaps not sacrificed herself for Gwen, but had allowed her a chance to escape what would not doubt have been a terrible fate.

And she was worried for her friend…it was just that she couldn't really spare the extra worry for Morgana, when it was all being used up by Arthur.

They had not ridden that far before they were attacked….perhaps 10-15 miles** at most, and she was pretty certain that they had not travelled a huge distance to where the bandits camp was located; it should not have taken Arthur and his men more than half a day's ride at most to reach where she had last seen Morgana. Even if the bandits had managed to recapture her mistress and chose to ride on towards wherever they had been originally planning on taking the girls, (she had heard one of them mention the name Heingst—which when she told King Uther that fact, had caused the king to pale to the color of freshly bleached linen) Arthur should have returned by now; or at the very least sent word.

What if they too had been ambushed but instead of being taken hostage, had been killed outright? Or were lying injured somewhere, or had been attacked by an evil sorcerer? (the last was really not that much of a leap considering the number of evil magic wielders with grudges against the king and his family)—not to mention, they never had found the hired assassin that was supposed to have been sent by King Odin to kill the prince. The anxiety that had been knawing at her since she last saw Arthur ride out tripled at this thought.

She found her head jerking up and her eyes flying to the window once more when she heard the clattering of horse hooves. She almost let out a sob of relief when she recognized the golden head of hair that could belong to no one but the prince himself. It took her a minute to catch her breath from the sheer relief at seeing him return alive and well, before she once again scanned the group that had returned—hoping against hope that there would be two causes to celebrate.

She felt her heart plunge, and the guilt that she had been suppressing come back full force—there was no sign of Lady Morgana….it could only mean that they hadn't found her. What that meant for the king's ward, Gwen was afraid to even ponder.

Deciding that she needed to hear for herself what had taken the group so long to return and to find out if they had discovered anything-anything at all about Morgana's whereabouts, she quickly used the servant's entrance to Morgana's chambers and descended at a rapid pace.

It was a great source of amusement (and perhaps annoyance) to her, how the nobles and knights of the court thought they knew everything in regards to Camelot and her castle….when in truth, they knew very little. It was the servants who truly knew the citadel inside and out; all the hidden hallways and exits, the secret alcoves and hideouts—really, if Uther was smart he would have put one of the kitchen boys or chamber maids in charge of defensive strategy; well, at least in regards to the King's home.

But alas, as far as Uther was concerned, servants and peasants were far too stupid to have anything to offer their higher ups (outside of cleaning their clothes, cooking their food, tidying their chambers etc), or to even pose a threat. It was with this knowledge that Gwen found herself crouched behind one of the tapestries (one of the many that connected with one of the servant hallways) overlooking the throne room, while listening carefully to what was being said.

"Did you find her?!" the king demanded, even though it was rather obvious that the group had not… considering the ladies absence.

"No, father we did not. It's like she simply vanished….we searched everywhere for her and there was no trace" Arthur stated worry and guilt weighing down his voice.

"What do you mean?" Uther once again questioned his tone harsh and disbelieving, "one cannot simply vanish Arthur!"

"We tracked the bandit's down and arrested them sire, she was not with them and after being questioned extensively" –Gwen shuddered at this, she knew what he meant by being questioned extensively and while she felt no pity for the men, she couldn't stop her stomach from turning slightly at the thought—"and they last saw her fleeing from them. Apparently she was running and suddenly she was just gone…." Arthur trailed off.

There was a heavy silence in the air and Gwen just knew what Uther's next words were going to be—of course she was not disappointed.

"Sorcery?!" Uther questioned, though you could tell from the tone of his voice that it was really not a question.

She heard Arthur sigh, and imagined that he would be running a stressed hand through his hair by now, "Perhaps…I have no other explanation. But there was no one in the vicinity….not even a sign that there ever was….her trail just….well, vanishes"

Gwen flinched at the sound of something hitting stone, most likely something that the king had thrown to show his displeasure and frustration, "Well go back and find her then! Take as many men as you need Arthur…this sorcerer, whoever it may be, must be caught. I will not lose her…."

"Of course father…" Arthur answered immediately and Gwen listened to the sound of retreating footsteps and a closing door.

She, herself, quickly scampered back into the hidden hallway and made her way down towards the kitchens (where she had been assigned until Morgana came back). This was not good.

From the sound of Arthur's parting statement, he was only going to humor his father; his voice had made it sound as though he truly did not believe that they would find the king's ward. Gwen tried to ignore the swell of guilt that once again hit her, at how much she wished that Arthur would not go back out into the forest where there was a possible all powerful sorcerer lying in wait. How, deep down in a dark part of her, she wished that they would just give up their search.

She wanted Morgana back as much as the next person, but not at the price of the prince's safety. That and she could not help but agree with Arthur's sentiments….she doubted that even if they searched for the next month that they would find any trace of Morgana.

No matter how much the King wished it.

Note:

Story title: taken from verse in the children's story; The Lost kitten

*Henbane is a flower which is thought to make the consumer forgetful. In Greek mythology, the dead who wander the shores of the River Styx are crowned with henbane, most likely because of its real life ability to make one forget oneself. Greek oracles were said to breathe the smoke of this baneful Saturn herb in order to divine the future. Logically enough, it is sacred to Hekate. It was used ritually in ancient Scotland, apparently in connection with honoring the dead, as it was found in a Neolithic funerary site. There is some argument that its remnants there represent a henbane beer that was either given to the dead to ease them on their path or that was drunk by the mourners (retrieved /hyoscyamus_ )

**I am having Morgana call Arthur her 'brother' not because she is aware that technically they are brother-sister, but simply because she grew up a ward of Uther's and sees Arthur as a brother figure.

***I am having them measure distance in miles simply because it is easiest. I did try and find what measures of distance they used in the late 5th-early 6th century (time when King Arthur is believed to have reigned although this fact is widely speculated and not certain) but drew a blank. So decided to just use what I wanted. Sorry, if it is in fact incorrect ;)