"Excuse me?" Arthur said.
"Which of these graves is Will's?" Hunith asked, voice hard. "If magic makes a person so different from normal people, surely you can tell me that?"
Arthur frowned at her, and glanced around at the rows of stones, none of which had writing upon them. Here and there, flowers that were half-dead themselves rested beneath the gray slabs, but nothing to indicate who was laid to rest where. Under Hunith's sharp gaze, Arthur began to walk between the graves, scrutinizing each one for some sign that evil was lying beneath the dirt, but no matter how hard or how long he stared, he could not find anything. Finally he ended up next to the grave that seemed most recent, the earth more discolored than the rest as though it had recently been turned, and he ventured an educated guess.
"This one."
He glanced over at Hunith, and there was a look in her gaze that was very nearly triumphant.
"Will lies here, Arthur," she said, and pointed to the grave nearest the gate, though still a good few yards away.
"Then who is here?" Arthur wondered.
"An old man," she answered. "He died just a few months ago in his sleep. It was his time."
Arthur looked at her in silence. What was this supposed to prove? Was it some sort of test, because if it was, he had clearly failed.
"You can't see any difference from grave to grave, can you?" Hunith said, her voice softening just a little. Arthur shook his head woodenly. "Nor from stone to stone?" He shook his head again. "Why is that, young man?"
"I don't know," he responded warily.
"Because," she said, and moved to kneel beside Will's grave, "in death, we are all just men. Our power, anything that makes us different from others, is all stripped away. We are all equal in the afterlife."
"That does not change what a man is while he is ali-" Arthur began.
"Arthur Pendragon," she interrupted fiercely. "You are a good man, but you are still ignorant. Was Gaius not a sorcerer once?"
"He was," Arthur acknowledged. "But he renounced magic and came back to the right side."
"Magic takes no sides," Hunith said gently. "And isn't that kind old man all the proof you need that magic itself is not enough to corrupt a man?"
Arthur had nothing to refute with. Hunith beckoned him to crouch beside her and he did so, watching her cautiously as though expecting her to reach out and grab him suddenly. She did not lash out at him, but rather took his gloved hands in hers and pressed them against the dirt above Will's head. Arthur did not want to touch the grave, it made him feel uneasy, but he did not pull away. A little bit of dirt crumbled beneath his gloves and slid down the gentle slope of the miniscule hillock.
"He was just a boy, Arthur," Hunith said. "He deserved none of the judgement that your father was predisposed to deliver. Just a boy."
He stared not at his hands but at Merlin's mother, whose face was earnest and almost pleading and whose brilliant eyes shone brightly. He swallowed convulsively.
"There are sorcerers out there who would give their lives to protect men like you," she continued. "Sorcerers who fight for good causes and for great men. I'm sure there's one watching over you as well, even if you don't know it."
Arthur hesitated, unsure what he would say when his lips parted.
"Even if…" he began. "Even if you're right-if there are good sorcerers out there-how could they be separated from the evil ones?"
Hunith smiled sadly.
"They can't be," she sighed. "Not anymore than traitorous knights can be weeded out before they commit treason. You have to trust your own judgement. Sorcerers are just people, Arthur, that's all. You judge them by the same rules to judge anyone else. They deserve that much."
There was a lump in Arthur's throat again, one that he found it difficult to swallow past, and he looked away from Hunith in embarrassment. Abruptly, his stomach growled, and his face burned with mortification.
"Come," she said briskly, climbing to her feet. "You're hungry, and you'll need a bed for the night."
Arthur followed her wordlessly, and together they left the graveyard, Arthur's skepticism following like a heavy cloud above their heads. He hadn't really taken into consideration what Hunith had said, and he was sure that she was aware of this, but he couldn't completely brush her words off either. Disjointed phrases bounced around his head as they walked, and they harassed him while he shared the bread and cheese that Gwen had packed with Hunith, and even penetrated his restless, uncomfortable sleep.
Sorcerers who fight for good causes...Just a boy...All just men...Gaius a sorcerer…
Arthur punched the lumpy pillow that Merlin's mother had given him and rolled over on the hard bed, trying to ignore the words that pricked his brain like needles.
Magic takes no sides...traitorous knights…
Arthur yawned and fisted his eyes furiously. He'd need an early start in the morning, but to do that he would need decent sleep as well.
Just a boy...Just a boy…
The prince was never quite sure if he had, in fact, dozed off, but if he had, those words had been echoing even within his deepest dreams, because they were still lodged in his mind when the moth-eaten drapes were yanked away from the windows of the shack.
"Rise and shine," said Hunith, and Arthur irritably recognized Merlin's morning greeting. "You'll want breakfast before you leave, I'm sure."
Arthur groaned unintelligibly and melted out of the so-called bed, wincing as his joints crackled and creaked as though he were a man of Gaius' age. Hunith spared him little sympathy, ushering him to his feet and pointing him to the table, where a chipped bowl held gray, lumpy porridge sat on the roughly hewn table.
"Eat. Quickly," the woman said. "I washed your cloak. You'll need to leave as soon as possible."
"That keen to get rid of me?" Arthur said wryly.
"I am very keen for you to find my son," Hunith corrected. Arthur's amusement was snuffed out, and he picked up the bowl and downed the porridge, screwing up his face automatically, but he scarcely tasted Hunith's idea of breakfast.
"You and Merlin have that in common," he grumbled, setting the bowl down and reaching for the cloak draped over the foot of the bed, which had indeed been freshly washed. "You love ordering me around. I would remind you that I am the crown prince of Camelot, but I fear that it would be a waste of breath."
"You know my son quite well," said Hunith with a wan smile. "Someone needs to keep you on your toes."
Arthur swung the heavy cloak around his shoulders, buckling it securely before hoisting Merlin's shoulder bag up. Hunith's eyes followed the bag, a frown creasing her brow.
"Is that Merlin's?" she wondered. Arthur glanced down automatically.
"Yes. He left it in my chambers-it was just the first one I grabbed," he explained.
"Was-was there anything inside it?" she asked hesitantly. Arthur shrugged.
"Just a musty old book," he answered. "Probably something from Gaius. I didn't bother checking it-I wouldn't understand any of it in any case."
Hunith pressed her lips together, then shook her head as though dispelling water from her ears and led him out of her home to where his horse had been tethered for the night. It tossed its mane when it saw him, and he grinned as he untied it from the termite-infested wooden fence, stroking its big nose softly. The saddle had been left on its back, so Arthur climbed up and fitted his feet into the stirrups, glancing down to find Hunith watching him with an anxious expression that he was quickly coming to link with Merlin.
"I will find him, Hunith," Arthur assured her.
"See that you do," she said sternly. Just as he was about to snap the reins, though, he felt her small hand on his knee. "And Arthur? Remember what I told you."
Arthur gave her an artificial smile that cracked across his face like pottery that had dried too quickly. He could promise to remember what she said, but he could make no such vows that he would consider it, for to do so would not only go against everything that Arthur had been raised on, but would also be akin to treason. She stepped away, and he kicked the horse's sides. They were off, galloping with the sound of thunder out of the village, whipping away as villagers called out farewells and good wishes. Arthur bent low over the steed, knowing that once they were in the forest they would be forced to slow down, or else risk running headlong into a tree, and wanting to be as quick as possible.
Honestly, the prince should have left the moment he realized that Merlin was not in the village. Instead he had waited and wasted precious time that he could have spent searching for his servant, time in which that boy might well have been in danger. But he couldn't search very effectively in the night, and neither could he callously turn away Hunith's graciousness. He would just have to scour the woods now, and hope that he found Merlin with all of his limbs still attached.
The sun was high in the sky, Arthur was sweating beneath his cloak, the horse had slowed to a trot, and Merlin had yet to be found. Arthur had spent the entire morning and the beginning of the afternoon searching under every rock and around every tree for any sign that his servant might be nearby, and he had come up empty-handed. The horse was exhausted, and so was he, and though it went against every fibre of his being, he knew the smartest option available to him was to return to Camelot. Neither he nor the horse could be out much longer, and in any case, Arthur had a horribly uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach, a nagging voice in the back of his mind that he could not silence no matter how hard he tried.
He left because he wanted to get away from you, it taunted him. Why would he want you to find him now?
Arthur tried with all his might to ignore it, to shut that voice out, but it would not give him even the slightest reprieve. It tortured him continuously, an invisible whispering in his ear that said that even if Arthur found him, Merlin would not return with him.
He wanted to be shot of you. He doesn't want to see you. He'll just send you away, you know he will. He's never listened to you before.
What hurt Arthur even more was that there was another voice in his head, one very like his own, that would add to this whispering.
Good riddance. He was useless as a servant anyway. Always challenging and questioning you. You're a prince, and he's a servant. He has no right to behave the way he does.
"He does what he thinks is right," Arthur said aloud, raking a gloved hand through his hair. "And he usually is right."
The horse beneath him tossed his head as if to agree, but then began to turn in the opposite direction from that in which Arthur was steering him. The prince scowled and jerked at the reins, causing the horse to stamp in irritation and then try to continue in that direction. Arthur dug his heels into the horse's sides and forced his head around.
"What is wrong with you?" Arthur demanded. "You've been behaving very odd ever since we set out yesterday!"
The horse stamped again and turned its head to look at Arthur, and the prince could have sworn it looked angry with him. He frowned, jerking at the reins for a third time, and the horse finally relented, clopping sullenly down the path that Arthur was trying to follow. Heart heavy, Arthur started for Camelot. Maybe Ser Leon could talk Merlin into returning to the castle, if he found the boy.
"I'll have to send out a search party immediately," Arthur sighed. "C'mon. The sooner we get to the castle, the sooner we can send them out."
He snapped the reins, and the horse picked up his pace to a cautious canter, daring to go no faster in the thick trees. He could only pray to the gods that Merlin could wait long enough for him to send out a party.