The forest was alive with birdsong and the scurrying of small animals through the underbrush, but Arthur could not find it in himself to appreciate the scenery, urging his horse past a couple of squirrels scuffling for an acorn and startling a small doe out of the bushes. He spurred it on, cantering between the trees as though fleeing a fire and making a thunderous racket all the while. The horse's hooves hammered against the well-trodden forest floor, and Arthur was made glad that he was not out hunting, for there would be no sneaking up on the game in this manner.
His fingers were gripping the reins so tightly that they were starting to ache, but he dared not loosen his grip lest the horse's speed lost him. He couldn't really justify his haste when he knew that his servant was in no immediate danger, unless one counted the half-mad villagers that his mother lived with, but neither could he find it in himself to slow down. He wasn't worried, he insisted to himself, just peeved, but even angry, most men would not be in such a rush.
He squinted against the sunlight pouring through the canopy of green leaves, wishing that a cloud might cover the sun's highest peak just so that it did not blind him so. The running of a stream could be heard nearby, and Arthur's horse slowed down suddenly, nearly throwing him over its head, cursing. As it was, he slid down the side until his left leg was just barely hooked over its sleek back, as though he had taken a good blow in a tourney. He scrambled to recover his seat, shouting obscenities at the horse, but it ignored him, tossing its mane imperiously and making its leisurely way toward the sound of running water.
"You can have water when we get to Ealdor!" Arthur snapped at the horse, but of course it took no notice.
He was about to steer it away, whatever it took, when he realized that the horses probably hadn't been fed or watered since dawn, when Merlin supposedly left. With Merlin gone, there was no one else to take care of them. Groaning his misfortune, Arthur dismounted the horse and let it drink while he moped on a nearby rock. He hadn't realized that, without Merlin, even the horses would be affected. He hadn't realized either that, in the grand scheme of things, he relied so heavily on the useless servant that clearly wasn't so useless after all.
"Since when did I start needing someone so pathetic?" he wondered grumpily out loud, raking a gloved hand through his hair.
The horse flicked its tail as though in acknowledgement, though it did not turn to look at him. He looked at it, nonplussed, as though it represented all the things that were confusing him so much presently, and it flicked its tail again, giving a soft whinny.
"This is ridiculous," Arthur shook his head. "It isn't like you even know what I'm saying. Why am I talking to you?"
The horse snorted and looked away from the stream, fixing him with its wide brown gaze. There was no hint of a deeper understanding in its eyes, none at all, and yet he felt as though there was something that it would say, if it had the ability. Of course, this was absolutely ridiculous. Horses couldn't talk, and even if they could, what would one want to say to him?
"If you're done drinking, I would like to be off again," said Arthur sourly. The horse tossed his head but returned to Arthur's side, nudging him with its large black nose. He took a hold of the reins, but before he could mount the creature, it stomped its feet and tried to move away. He frowned and jerked on its bridle. It snuffled, stomped its feet again, and once more tried to lead him into the trees.
"Ealdor is that way," Arthur snapped, forcing the horse's head around. It snorted, and yet again pawed at the ground, but it didn't move. "That's better."
He climbed up onto the horse's back and urged it on, though it was reluctant to pay heed.
Arthur reached the ridge overlooking the small village where Merlin grew up just as the sun was about to touch the horizon, bathing the valley in an eerie red glow. Arthur waited for a moment on that ridge, gathering himself so that he would neither kill his servant on sight nor hug him, and then snapped the horse's reins, making all haste down to the village beneath him. The horse galloped down the slope with the such speed that the wind stole Arthur's hood away and whipped through his hair and stung his eyes until he could scarcely see, but he did not slow down until he reached the end of the slope; then only so that he would not race straight through the small village.
People cried out greetings as they recognized him at the gates, and a young boy saw him and raced into a nearby house, shouting the entire way. Arthur slid from his horse and was met by several embraces and more claps on his shoulder as the villagers came to see what all the fuss was about.
"Prince Arffur!" bellowed a pot-bellied man with a wide, semi-toothless grin. "How 'ave ye been?"
"How are things in Camelot?" asked a young woman, blushing fiercely.
"Good to see ya again, Arthur," said an older woman he vaguely recognized. He craned his neck to see over the crowd, neglecting to answer even a single inquiry as he searched for that familiar dark head.
He didn't see Merlin, but he did watch as that little boy returned from the small stone cottage with a dark-haired woman, holding her hand and pointing excitedly at the small crowd gathered around the prince and his horse. She smiled when she saw the prince and raised a weather-beaten hand in greeting. He waved in return, and tried to gracefully escape the suffocating congregation so that he could speak with her.
"Arthur," she greeted warmly, smiling as though he were her own son. "It's so good to see you."
"Hunith," he responded, taking her hand and pressing his lips to her fingers respectfully.
"Come inside," she said, holding open the door. "It cools off at night this time of the year."
Arthur bowed his head and followed her inside, his stomach twisting, but when he looked around, there was not a soul to be seen aside from himself and Merlin's mother. Confused, he turned to question her, but she was already at her stove with her back to him, stirring something in a pot.
"Tell me," she said as she cooked. "How have you been?"
"Ah…" said Arthur distractedly, looking around still as though he expected his servant to pop out of a cupboard or from behind the moth-eaten drapes. "Well...I have been…very well."
"That's always good to hear," she said cheerfully.
"How has the village been?" Arthur asked courteously.
"Oh, everything's been so much better since you helped us," she responded. "The villagers still talk about you all the time. They're ever so grateful for your help."
"Yes, I got that impression," he said dryly. "They sort of mauled me when I arrived."
She laughed.
"So what brings you back to Ealdor, Arthur?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.
He straightened up, glad to have been given the chance to state his intention without appearing callous.
"Your son," he said, and his voice took on an edge he hadn't intended. "Merlin."
She frowned and turned to face him fully, concern creasing her lightly line brow.
"What's happened?" she asked fretfully. "Is he alright?"
Arthur frowned. "I should think so. He's well enough to ride a horse, in any case."
"A horse?" she echoed. "Where would he be riding a horse?"
In Arthur's place there sat a statue, one whose wide eyes were fixed on Hunith in unbelievable incredulity.
"...Here," he said, tone incredibly unsure. Hunith's frown deepened.
"Here?" she repeated. "Merlin hasn't come here. Is he not in Camelot?"
Arthur's heart plummeted past the soles of his feet and straight through the earth, leaving a hollow, fearful sensation in its wake. Understanding came to him with the force of a battering ram, and he saw it come in Hunith's eyes an instant later. Merlin wasn't there. Neither was Merlin in Camelot. If that was the case…
He must have been somewhere in the middle.
"Arthur, where is my son?" Hunith said quietly. Arthur shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. All of the blood had left his face, leaving him as pale as death itself, and this did very little to ease Hunith's mind. "Arthur, where is he? What happened?"
"Merlin," Arthur said slowly, fighting the urge to leave and search the woods for the boy this instant. "He left at first light this morning. Told some people that he was coming to visit you. I haven't seen him since last night."
"He hasn't been here," she fretted, looking fearfully at the floor. "What could have made him leave in such a hurry like that? It isn't like him to leave on his own."
Arthur swallowed and looked away. "I should-I should go out and look for him," he said, making to stand up. Hunith held out a hand, and though she had no authority over him, Arthur found himself frozen where he sat. Her piercing eyes, so like her son's, locked onto his gaze, trapping him despite how he longed to look anywhere else.
"Arthur, what's happened to my son?" she said quietly. "Why did he leave without even telling you?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, Hunith," said Arthur weakly. "I have no-"
"Don't lie to me, young man," she said commandingly, and Arthur heard for the first time the imperious tone of a mother. "Why did he go without you?"
Arthur found that there was a massive lump in his throat, one that he could scarcely make a sound past, but he tried anyway. His fingers trembled, and he folded them tightly in his lap so that the woman would not see his weakness.
"We-ah-had a fight," said Arthur offhandedly. "Last night. He stormed out afterward, and I guess he was still angry this morning."
"A fight?" she said in surprise. "It's not like Merlin to hold a grudge. What were you fighting about?"
Arthur opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, shut it again. His fingers shifted uneasily.
"About...about Will," the young man said, voice very nearly inaudible.
"Will," she repeated woodenly. "What could you have possibly had to fight about in regards to Will?"
"Well, I suppose it wasn't Will specifically," Arthur allowed. "Just...magic. Merlin was using his friend as an example that not all sorcerers were evil. I just tried to explain to him that it would have corrupted his friend, had there been more time."
Hunith's features tightened, and Arthur cursed himself. That would certainly be a touchy subject here, when Will was the boy that had given his life to save Arthur's, but the fact that he had magic could not be overlooked. Judging by the look in Merlin's mother's eyes, she did not agree.
"Arthur Pendragon," she said severely. "That boy saved your life. He died doing it. What right do you have to call him evil?"
"Hunith…" he said weakly.
"You have been influenced by your father's blind hatred; I understand that," Hunith said. "But surely you can make your own observations? His magic saved you. I wonder how many other times magic might have saved your life?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur scoffed. "I've never needed magic to survive."
She gave him a dark look. "I wouldn't bet so much as a copper piece on that, young man. Magic is no more evil than a sword or a crown. It is the wielder, and not the object, that is corrupt. Great kingdoms have toppled when a corrupt man was given the power to make it happen. But even greater kingdoms were built by a good man given the same power. It's foolish to think that it is the tool that should take the blame."
"The sword is an entirely different thing!" Arthur argued, finding himself getting caught in the same dialogue that had been shared the previous night. "There is no special power in the sword like there is in magic, and it-"
"Enough," said Hunith sharply. Arthur stopped talking at once, and she gestured for him to stand. "Come with me, young man. There is something you should see."
Arthur looked dumbfounded that anyone, least of all a peasant, would interrupt him and order him around so brazenly, but then, this was Merlin's mother. He had to have learned it from someone. Recognizing that what Hunith said was not a suggestion, he rose to his feet and gestured wordlessly for her to lead the way. She gave him a curt nod and strode out of the shack as only an angry woman could. Arthur was reminded vividly of Morgana in one of her moods, and wondered if maybe there was less separating everyday townsfolk and those of noble blood than he had once thought.
Merlin's mother led him down the dirt road through the village, smiling and nodding as others greeted her, and Arthur did the same when he was acknowledged, though the smile came with more difficulty to he who was unaccustomed to wading through the cluttered street of the small village. Twice he nearly tripped over a stray chicken, and once a dog snapped at his ankles after he had stepped on its tail and woken it from its peaceful sleep. Hunith did not slow down or look back to see if he was following, but strode with long, sure strides past home after rickety home, deftly maneuvering around romping children that ran straight into Arthur's stomach.
"Hunith, where are you leading me?" Arthur demanded.
"You'll see," she responded cryptically. "Outside the village."
Lips pressed tightly together into a thin line, Arthur fell silent as he continued to follow the older woman, chafing at allowing himself to be ordered around. After several more greetings and another near-death-experience-by-stumble, they reached the edge of the town, and Arthur saw a square of land a few yards away that had been sectioned off by a roughly constructed wooden fence. It was to this section of land that Hunith led him, holding open the lopsided gate so that he may proceed her. Upon stepping past the wall, Arthur realized that they were in a graveyard; round stones rested on the ground, each about the same distance apart, and beneath them, mounds of earth rose slightly higher than the ground level. He frowned and looked back at Hunith, who was watching him sharply.
"Why did you bring me here?" Arthur asked, confused. She gestured at the small cemetery.
"Tell me which one of these graves is Will's."