Chapter 5
"...He's your ward, your... assistant, I suppose -"
Arthur's voice reverberated throughout the physicians' chambers, getting louder with every sentence that went without answer.
"He wears a neckerchief, usually - red or blue, or purple sometimes. And a tan jacket - always the same one. He's clumsy, and rude - but he's been learning your trade, recently, helping you with patients. Though it's a wonder he's never ended up killing one by mistake -"
Arthur rambled to the walls, relentless, even when Gaius seemed to have stopped listening.
"He came to Camelot several years ago - I threw him in the cells, at first, because he tried to fight me, the fool. But then he saved my life, somehow, when the sorceress attacked at the concert - and my father appointed him as my servant. And he's been with me through everything since then, thick and thin -"
"Sire, please!" Gaius raised his voice to stop Arthur, his scowl back in full swing. "I assure you, my Lord, I am not experiencing a lapse in memory. I don't know who it is you are talking about."
Arthur shook his head stubbornly. "You've got to remember him," said Arthur, resolute. "Somehow, something - maybe some small detail will trigger it. But - I can't see how you'd ever forget Merlin. He's like a son to you, you've said so!"
"I have never said anything of the sort," stated Gaius haughtily. "My Lord, you said that things aren't as they should be, and that there is something wrong with the world. Perhaps this has to do with that change, whatever it is?"
"Yes - yes, it must do," Arthur agreed distractedly. "But if we can figure it out - if you can just remember something, break out of this lie - maybe we can put things right."
Gaius sighed loudly, seeming to lose patience. "Sire, that is a fine idea, but I'm afraid that I simply do not remember anything that you seem to. I have no connection at all to this Merlin person."
"But that's the thing - you do," said Arthur, slapping a hand against Gaius's table in punctuation. "You know him. You know his mother Hunith. You're her friend!"
Gaius paused at the words, frowning in fresh confusion. "Hunith?"
"Yes!" Arthur exclaimed, a hint of excitement shining through the blind panic. "Finally! Yes, Hunith of Ealdor. She's Merlin's mother!"
Gaius still looked unconvinced. "... I do know Hunith - we were friends, some time ago," he said slowly. "But I have not heard from her in many years. I recall that she had a child…perhaps a son, though I'm not sure."
"Well, I'm sure," said Arthur, brushing past Gaius' doubts. "His name is Merlin, and he should be here. Yesterday, he was here. It's… it's as if something has taken my life and shattered it into pieces, scattering them around in the wrong order. Everything is… different. Wrong."
"That is alarming indeed." Gaius spoke gravely, but Arthur could still hear the note of falseness - a lingering tinge of disbelief. "Perhaps you could tell me exactly what else is so different?"
Arthur sighed in frustration, throwing himself down into a chair by Gaius' table - one of the few that wasn't laden with books and knickknacks. "Yesterday, there was no talk of betrayal or sorcery in the kingdom. No arrests, besides a few petty criminals. No executions," said Arthur. Laying it out made everything seem more impossible, and more unsurmountable. How could this not be the work of sorcery? And yet, what would a sorcerer have to gain from turning Camelot into this? "Yesterday, the dungeons were empty, and today they are full. Yesterday, Leon was my longest-serving and most loyal knight, and today he has left my service. Yesterday, Lancelot was dead, and now he has come back to life, married to Guinevere. And she… she seems terrified of me, where yesterday, we…we were…"
Gaius let out thin, dissecting breaths through his noseas Arthur lapsed back into silence.
"Lancelot - the blacksmith? You're saying you remember him dying?"
"Amongst other things," said Arthur, turning his gaze to the scuffed stone floor. His stomach lurched as the discomfort that had plagued him all day returned, attacking him in a wave of heat and nausea.
"And the arrests and executions? You say that it was not you who ordered these latest raids?"
Arthur's head snapped up. "No," he said, dizzy. "Of course not. Why would I? I don't even know why we are on high alert for a sorcerer. I don't know what could warrant… this."
Gaius pursed his lips, staring intently at Arthur with that piercing gaze. "Much more has been done with much less reason," said Gaius, evaluating. "You did order the search of the castle a fortnight back, for just a whisper. My chambers were nearly torn apart in that raid."
He hadn't noticed - when he'd walked into Gaius' chambers earlier, he'd looked for jarring changes, huge gaps in what he was used to. He hadn't seen the torn pages, chipped pottery, or cracked glass vials, then. Now he cast his eyes around the room again, taking in the patched-up evidence that a heavy-handed, destructive troupe of guards must have left.
"No," said Arthur again. The word was beginning to feel useless, coming from his lips. "I never ordered that. I have no memory of that ever happening."
The old physician's skewering gaze only grew more incredulous. "Well then, surely you at least remember the many years worth of raids and executions you have ordered since the start of the Second Great Purge?"
He was shaking. Not just a tremble in his hands, anymore - Arthur's body shuddered against his will, and a rushing howl filled his ears like the sound of a too-full river breaking its banks. No. He felt his muscles spasm, aching to leap to his feet but locked in place by suddenly-leaden limbs.
"Purge?" Arthur repeated quietly. "The Second…?"
Gaius must have seen the horror in Arthur's eyes. He paled, moving around the table to stand nearer. "Sire, perhaps we should…"
Arthur finally forced his limbs to move - he bolted upright, backing away as Gaius moved closer.
"There is no Second Great Purge," he whispered, struggling to draw in breath through his too-tight throat. "I would never allow that."
Second Great Purge - the phrase itself turned his insides cold. He'd been too young to make any real memories of the Great Purge, as his father proudly called it - but despite that, he sometimes thought he could recall something of that endless year. Perhaps just the smell of smoke, or the sound of screaming as hundreds were led to their deaths - or the look of resolute triumph that his father must have worn, through each and every trial and execution. If there were even trials. Those older than him shuddered at the mention of that year, though they never could within his father's sight. Arthur himself always had to endure the taste of bile that the mention of it left him with - especially on those occasions when Uther had proudly told Arthur that he'd done it for him. Cleansed the kingdom, so that Arthur would be king of a pure and just land.
Arthur hated to think of it, but there was nothing he could do. The Great Purge had come and gone. Rather than dwell on the hard choices that his father had made, he'd simply vowed to make different ones. Never, he told himself, would he put his people through such a horror. He would find better ways to keep his kingdom safe.
Sometimes he worried what he would do if magic took root within Camelot again. He wondered how he would protect his people from the dangers of magic without the violence that his father had resorted to. But never once - not in all his years, as prince and king both - had he ever considered the possibility of one day bringing about another purge.
Gaius had paused a few feet away from Arthur, still staring with that look in his eyes - half pitying, half disbelieving. "I see," he said finally, sounding very much as if he didn't.
Arthur was shaking his head - trying desperately to distance himself from the thought of what might be. "This isn't real," he muttered, eyes flitting away. "It can't be."
"Please, Sire, sit down. I'm worried for your health," said Gaius, taking a slow step forward and reaching for Arthur's shoulders. "Tell me, what was the last thing you remember before today?"
Arthur held a hand out to keep Gaius at bay, trying to reign in his breathing. Not real. His heart was pounding like a drum in his throat, and in his minds' eye all he could see were the blank, hopeless faces of the prisoners from earlier. The smell of the dungeons, and the sound of dozens of tight-packed bodies trying to maintain steady breath… the memory made his skin crawl. "Nothing," said Arthur, throat rasping. "Nothing like this."
His mind did not want to clear - did not want to free him of the torment that those images brought - but when it finally did, he realized that what he'd just said wasn't true at all.
"Wait - no," he gasped, casting his thoughts back. "The hunting trip. I forgot again."
With all the confusion of the day, it had slipped his mind again - but he remembered now. The hunting trip. The blank space where the memory of the rest of his day should've been. Then, this morning… waking up with that unfamiliar servant in his chambers, seeming strangely avoidant when Arthur asked where Merlin was.
"When I woke this morning, I thought I was ill," said Arthur slowly, frowning at Gaius. "I couldn't remember anything from yesterday evening. All I could remember was going on the hunting trip. I took Merlin, and we rode through the east woods. And then… I don't remember how it ended."
Gaius nodded slowly, tight-lipped. "And you think something must have happened to make you forget?"
"It's the only thing that makes sense," said Arthur. It didn't really make all that much sense - nothing about today made sense - but having something to latch on to, something that could potentially explain why the world had been turned upside down… it did bring him a small amount of relief. "Something must have befell us."
"Well then, Sire," said Gaius finally, after a moment of tense silence had passed. "What will you do?"
Arthur stared back at Gaius for a long moment before forcing his gaze down to the floor. Despite having made what felt like a significant discovery, he still felt utterly at a loss. His heart was still racing, the sound of it pounding in the back of his mind, and his breaths still fought to escape him faster. His thoughts kept circling between everything that he'd learned today, reminding him of everything and everyone he'd somehow lost in the span of a few hours.
Out of everything, Arthur couldn't stop picturing the prisoners down below, the suffering that they were enduring even now - let alone the unimaginable suffering that must have already come and gone for the people it was not too late to save. His fury at what had been done in his name was only surpassed by the horrible feeling of guilt that threatened to poison him from within. Somehow - through magic, or madness, or some impossible shift in the fabric of their entire world - everybody else seemed convinced that it was Arthur himself who had done this. Arthur couldn't even deny it - somehow, whether it had been an imposter or a trick or even just a false memory, still… to his people, it had been him.
He couldn't imagine how this had happened. He couldn't imagine what everyone must think of him - but, as Gaius asked him what he planned to do, he knew two things quite clearly. The first was, of course, that he would not rest until he somehow put the world back together again.
The second was that - despite his better judgment, and despite his inclination to be defensive or even embarrassed of the fact … that he could not do this without Merlin by his side.
Losing everyone else was torture. But, to go up against everything else alone, without Merlin - no. He couldn't.
"I'm going to Ealdor," said Arthur finally.
Taking a step back, Gaius gaped at him. "Ealdor? Why?"
"To find Merlin."
Normally, these kinds of decisions were only the hardest in the making - normally people like Gaius were quick to praise him for doing the right and moral thing, even when others such as Uther would have called him a fool. It was practically muscle memory for Arthur to relax as he said those words - but he was certainly not expecting the look that Gaius gave him in response.
"Merlin, the servant?" Gaius asked, incredulity stretching every syllable. "Are you sure that's wise, Sire?"
It was a question in a tone that Arthur was used to getting from Gaius, in some form or other, but not about something like this.
"Yes, it is," said Arthur firmly, eying the physician. "Merlin was the only other person with me on the hunting trip yesterday - and that's where it all began, I'm sure of it. Something went wrong, and whatever it was that befell us - Merlin must have been caught up in it, as well. Merlin may be the only other person who has the same memories as I do. He might remember something important that'll help us put things right. And he - well, he should be here. So - I need to find him."
"I suppose that may be true," Gaius mused, still scrutinizing Arthur through narrowed eyes. "But surely there are more urgent matters to be addressed? Ealdor is a day's ride from here, at least."
"I know how far it is," Arthur replied sharply. He couldn't help it. To see Gaius talking this way, giving Arthur advice without a thought or care for Merlin's wellbeing and safety… It was beyond strange. "There is much to do, but - this is where I need to start. I know it."
"You don't even know that this Merlin person is in Ealdor, Sire," argued Gaius. "He may have been born there, but there's nothing that indicates -"
"He'll be there," said Arthur resolutely, stubbornly ignoring Gaius' words. They couldn't be true - no, he wouldn't consider them. He couldn't. "He has to be. He lived there all his life, until he came to Camelot. If he never came here, in this false life - then he must still be in Ealdor."
"Sire, I cannot advise such a long journey for you, not without an examination at least-"
"Damn it, Gaius, I'm not ill!" Arthur snapped, eyes flashing. "And I'm not just giving up on Merlin."
Gaius pressed his lips into an acknowledging line. "Very well, Sire," he said, dipping his head in a slight bow. "Then I wish you good luck on your journey."
Arthur blinked, thrown off-balance by Gaius' sudden acquiescence. "Thank you," he said, after a beat. "And - Gaius, please don't mention any of what I've said to anybody else. I don't want talk of magic or my… er, problem… reaching the wrong people."
Gaius nodded solemnly, lowering his head again. Arthur gave him a nod back and turned to leave, taking long strides towards the door.
He was halfway out into the hall when he faltered, doubling back. "Gaius?"
The physician had not moved. He raised his eyebrows at Arthur expectantly. "My Lord?"
"...Tell me," said Arthur slowly, unsure of whether or not he wanted to know. "Why is Guinevere so afraid of me?"
Seconds passed before Gaius reacted - and when he did, his expression morphing to one of carefully crafted puzzlement, Arthur saw straight through it. "I'm sure Gwen isn't afraid of you, Sire," said Gaius dismissively, clasping his hands before him. "Perhaps you merely startled her."
Arthur sighed. "Just tell me, Gaius," he said flatly. "I know you're lying."
Gaius paled, faltering as he lowered his gaze. He seemed to chew on his words for a few moments before finally clearing his throat.
"Gwen is afraid of you, Sire," admitted Gaius, meeting Arthur's eyes with a grimace. "Several years ago, you had her arrested for suspicion of using magic. She was nearly burnt at the stake. It was only thanks to Lancelot that she lived - he was able to gather enough proof of her innocence to have her released, with mere minutes to spare."
Arthur closed his eyes.
"I see," he said after a long pause. He felt as if his throat were full of glass. He tried to swallow, choking on air as tears pricked at his eyes. "Lancelot has always been a good man. Perhaps… she is better off with him."
Gaius watched him, nodding slowly. "They do seem happy together."
Arthur swiped at an eye with the back of his hand. "Thank you, Gaius." Then, he turned and strode from the room, his scarlet cloak sweeping behind him.
xxx
First, Arthur went back to the dungeons.
The stench of them had not improved. Arthur forced himself to breathe, wondering how long some of these people might have been here for. The longer the better, he thought with a horrible pang, considering what had awaited them all up in the courtyard.
He made a beeline for one of the guards - an older man, one whose face Arthur recognized. "You there," said Arthur. "I have a task for you. The prisoners are to be freed, all of them. Organize the rest of the guards and see it done. Make sure that all of the prisoners have their belongings returned to them, and that they are safely returned to their homes."
The guard stared at Arthur, wide-eyed, but he nodded after Arthur gave him an expectant look. "Yes, Sire!"
Arthur looked over to another of the guards on duty, nodding his head. "You as well," he ordered. "Spread the word."
The two guards dipped their heads at him and took off, heading down the hall. Arthur made to leave but paused, turning to glance over the row of cells further down the hallway - from within the bars, he could see the shadow of dozens of faces, still standing in stony, hopeless silence.
"I'm sorry," said Arthur, raising his voice slightly so that it echoed down the corridor. Then he turned and left.
xxx
In his chambers, Arthur opened three of his desk drawers before he found a blank scroll of parchment. He spread it before him, then reached back into the drawer to pull out a feathered pen and ink jar.
Sitting at the desk, Arthur wrote a name at the top of the page in a looping, formal cursive script. Guinevere.
Then he paused, staring up into the light filtering through the stained-glass windows of his chambers.
It took him far too long - what felt like an hour, at least - to simply write a few short sentences. Finally, once the scratching of his quill came to a halt, he folded the parchment into fourths and sealed it.
Before he left the castle, he took the long way around and wandered through the west wing of the castle, trying to remember where Lord Beorn's chambers were. His memory may not have served him at all - perhaps Beorn had moved between rooms, in this false life? - but after trying a few different doors, he finally found the right one.
Lord Beorn was sitting at his desk when Arthur interrupted him. The man was familiar to Arthur, of course - he was tall and spindly, with dark salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His was a familiar face at court, but not one that Arthur had spoken a direct word to in years. Or, at least - Arthur had no memory of speaking to him in years, but that was clearly not the case in this new version of the world. Beorn smiled pleasantly when he met Arthur's eyes, but the expression melted from his sharp face at Arthur's words.
"Beorn. I wanted to find you before I leave the city. I have instructed the guards to release all of the prisoners in the dungeons, immediately. There are to be no more raids or arrests until I return to Camelot. Please make sure that these orders are followed, with absolutely no exceptions."
Beorn leaped to his feet, looking stricken. "But- Sire- why? You're releasing the traitors? And - leaving Camelot?"
"I do not have time to argue, Beorn," snapped Arthur, glaring. "I have received urgent news from outside of Camelot that requires my attention. As a result, I am putting a hold on all magic-related investigations. You will do as I command."
The Lord stiffened, eyes wide. He looked as if he dearly wanted to argue, but was too stunned by Arthur's harsh words to risk it. "As you wish, your Highness."
With a nod, Arthur turned and stalked out of Beorn's chambers. Just one thing left to do.
xxx
By the time Arthur had gone down to the stables and retrieved his horse - fully saddled and laden with supplies, thanks to a trembling stablehand who'd jumped to take Arthur's place as soon as he'd seen the king working - it was already mid-afternoon, with the sun fast approaching the horizon. Arthur wasn't sure how the day had slipped by so quickly. Of course, he'd spent most of it in a frantic haze, his head splitting from the series of horrible revelations the past few hours had brought. He was beyond exhausted, and yet he itched to be away from Camelot already.
He rode through the lower town at a brisk trot, avoiding the eyes of the people he passed. He'd packed a cloak to wear, just in case, but now he wished he'd already thrown it over his head to hide from his subjects' open-mouthed stares. They leaped out of the way as they recognized him, an unnatural hush sweeping down the road in his wake. He'd noticed it earlier, and it was now more apparent than ever. The people of Camelot were afraid of their king.
Arthur urged his horse on faster, keeping his eyes tracked on the muddy ground before him until he reached Gwen's house.
Once he reached that familiar stretch of road, he jumped down and tossed his horse's reins over a fence. Her house was different too, he now noticed - it seemed newer, somehow, or at least kept in better repair than he was used to. Planters full of colorful flowers and fragrant herbs lined the front, and a neat row of stepping stones marked the path up to the door.
Arthur walked up the path slowly, pulling the sealed letter from his pocket. Through the front windows, he could see the simple curtains hanging on the other side, and behind the curtains he caught sight of two figures sitting at the table.
Guinevere, of course, in her simple gray dress - and beside her sat a dark-haired man in a loose-fitting tunic. Lancelot. They leaned towards one another, hands intertwined across the table - Arthur watched as they both smiled, shoulders shaking as they laughed at something together.
He stood there for far too long, stony-faced, watching the pair. It was an odd feeling - because, he truly had loved them, both of them. Lancelot had been his knight, a brother in arms. And Gwen… he'd never known he could ever feel so much for a person before he'd fallen in love with her. Seeing them so happy was all he'd ever wanted for the both of them - but not like this. This was like getting his heart ripped out, string by string.
Finally he shook his head, swallowing heavily, and quietly shoved the letter back into his pocket. Head low, he went back to his horse and mounted before riding off towards the city gates.
xxx
It felt strange to be riding out from Camelot alone. He'd never really thought about it, but Merlin usually accompanied him on any trip this far outside the city gates - to not have him by Arthur's side was jarring, the silence seeming ominous and unfriendly. He could've brought along some knights or a few guards, or course, but the idea seemed even worse than the alternative. Right now, the guards and even his knights were strangers to him, because the Arthur that they knew was a stranger as well.
Normally, a ride like this would be spent in flippant conversation - Merlin would be throwing out snarky quips while Arthur fended him off with casual insults. If the knights or guards accompanied them, the others would observe the dialogue with practiced reserve, although Gwaine more often chipped in with his own witty remarks. In their absence, Arthur tried to distract himself by paying excessive attention to his surroundings and decidedly not thinking about what they all now must think of him.
By the time he made it out of Camelot's surrounding woods and into the outer fields, the sky had turned a blazing orange with bold indigo shadows racing to extinguish it. The light filtered through the newly-turned leaves, casting them in even more vivid tones of autumn. Arthur urged his horse into one last gallop and made for a far-off copse of trees, wishing he could just ride through the night but knowing that would be foolish to attempt alone.
Instead, he set about picketing his horse and spreading out his bedroll as the sky darkened into night. He decided against a fire - it was nearly a full moon out tonight, and the air was still faintly warm from the unexpectedly summer-like day. So, Arthur just pulled out a few cold provisions from his pack and settled against a log, watching the trees around him fade away into black.
With the quiet of the night came too much silence, and too much time to think. Arthur counted blades of grass, and then counted the ridges along the log he leaned against, and then simply counted his own breaths. With every soft snapping twig and crackling leaf, his thoughts leaped to places he didn't want them - had someone followed him out from Camelot? Were the supposed sorcerers hidden within Camelot coming out to find him and take their revenge? Was he going mad, after all?
Whenever his mind jumped to these unlikely conclusions, he found himself gazing around his meager camp, seeking out the spaces that Merlin would have filled if he were here. If Merlin were here, he'd probably be jumping in fright with every sound in the night, and Arthur would get to laugh at him instead of feeling uneasy himself. But then, if Merlin were here, Arthur probably wouldn't feel so… whatever he felt. Isolated. Watched.
The day had taken its toll on him. His mind felt wrung-out and spent, and his memory of the day's events almost felt like that of a dream. It wasn't a surprise, then, that as soon as he tried to force himself to sleep, images of emaciated peasants and smoking pyres nearly overwhelmed him. When Arthur shook himself free of the onslaught, he found that all he could think about was what Merlin might be doing. Would Merlin already be making his way back to Camelot, assuming he still had his true memories? Perhaps he'd set out earlier that day, and Arthur would run into him on the road. But then, if Merlin had set out on his own, he might not make it far enough to reach Arthur - Merlin could be far too clumsy and oblivious for his own good, and the last thing Arthur needed right now was for Merlin to get himself hurt in some idiotic way.
Arthur sighed in frustration, forcing the conflicting thoughts from his mind. He spent the night in a restless doze, tossing from side to side as the moon rose and fell. Half-dreams flitted through his mind and then fed back into themselves, restarting to once again show him flickers of Merlin and Camelot and a sea of blank-faced prisoners. He finally lost his sense of time in the deep dark of early morning, and when he jolted awake again it was due to the rumbling sound of thunder in the distance.
It was still a few hours before dawn, but Arthur gave up on sleep and started packing back up his things. He was tired of waiting, tired of letting his thoughts spiral as he worried about the whereabouts of his servant. He'd find Merlin today, in Ealdor or on the road, one way or another - and then, they could get started on putting things right. Then Arthur would have at least one friend by his side. He could deal with everything else, if he just had that.
He was packed and riding out into the fields again before the sky had begun to lighten. When the sun's golden rays did tip over the tops of the distant row of threatening storm clouds, he had already made it to the edge of the Forest of Ascetir. The forest was the most dangerous step of the journey - once he crossed the border, of course, Cenred's men could be an issue, but the Forest of Ascetir was full of serkets and other dangerous beasts. The druids lived there too, not that they often posed a threat to travelers - but in this convoluted version of the world, the druids were sure to have much stronger feelings about Arthur than he was used to.
He might've considered diverting around the forest entirely and going under the Ridge of Ascetir instead, in different circumstances - but if Merlin had started on his own journey from Ealdor to Camelot, he'd surely take the road through the forest. Arthur couldn't risk missing Merlin and letting him make it back to Camelot alone. And, anyway, a diversion like that would add half a day to his journey, at least. It wasn't worth it.
So Arthur kicked his horse into a run and plunged into the misty shadows of the forest, racing along the winding road as fast as his steed was willing to carry him. Around every bend, he half-expected to see Merlin marching along towards him, face splitting into a grin at the sight of Arthur - but again and again, Arthur was met with an empty road. He didn't encounter a single traveler, all the way through the forest.
It was no matter, of course. Merlin might still be in Ealdor - perhaps spending some time with his mother, since he didn't get to see her all that often. Arthur rode on, eyes still sharp for creatures or bandits.
When he finally reached the outer edge of the dense forest and broke out onto the hilly fields that hugged Camelot and Cenred's borders, it was nearly midday. The towering rain clouds that had leisurely made their way across the land now loomed overhead, casting down a bold shadow and filling the air with a heavy, inevitable expectation.
Arthur's horse was exhausted, but he pushed the stallion further, refusing to slow down. They were so close now - just a few more hills, a few more vales of birch and oak thickets. Arthur stared at every point where the road disappeared up ahead, willing a familiar figure to appear - but the road seemed wilder than he remembered, and nearly faded completely at times. The few tracks that he'd seen marking the muddy path through the forest were all but gone now, and still he hadn't encountered a single soul on his journey.
That didn't matter. Arthur rode faster, galloping flat out down the overgrown road, until he entered the final swath of shady beeches that surrounded the little town of Ealdor. Over the sound of creaking leather and pounding hooves, he thought he could hear the sounds of the village - perhaps a dog barking? The distant sound of tools clattering? Was that the smell of wood smoke?
When his horse burst out from the thicket into the flat clearing where Ealdor resided, the sudden change in the light blinded him. He blinked, squinting - and at first, he thought he must have miscalculated how far he'd ridden. The clearing was flat and empty, still and devoid of life. Arthur slowed his horse, looking around to try and recover his bearings.
It was then that he smelled it. Smoke, and charred wood. He hadn't imagined it.
But - there was nothing around. Nothing, but…
In between clusters of tall grass and spindly weeds, dark lines and low mounds broke up the green. A few feet to Arthur's right, a nearly-hidden row of blackened stumps hugged the faded road. Beyond it, the dark something made a large rectangular shape, with a strange jagged hill of charred scraps at the center.
Arthur pulled his horse to a halt, staring around the clearing. More blackened lines and strange rectangles - dozens, laid out across the clearing. Towards the middle of the clearing was a crumbling stone structure, half-disintegrated and covered in moss - an old well. And there beside it, a few long beams stretched across the grass, charred and shredded. A few paces farther into the swaying stalks, the shattered remains of a collapsed stone wall lay half-hidden by crabgrass and dandelions.
He hadn't miscalculated. He knew this clearing. Arthur knew exactly where he was, and - he couldn't breathe.
Ealdor. Where the tiny town had once stood - now, all that remained were blackened ruins.
The entire village had been burned to the ground.
.
.
.
A/N:
...thoughts?
Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed so far! I am so excited to see what you think of this one...
Also, FYI - I replaced ch4 because I always forget that FFN eats formatting sometimes. There were supposed to be two scene breaks in there that disappeared...oh well.
I'll be posting the next one soon! :)
